[Illustration: Gentle Julia]

GENTLE JULIA

BYBOOTH TARKINGTON

AUTHOR OF PENROD, PENROD AND SAM, THE TURMOIL, ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED BYC. ALLAN GILBERTandWORTH BREHM

GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

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COPYRIGHT, 1922, BYDOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANYALL RIGHTS RESERVED

COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY P. F. COLLIER AND SON COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1919, BY THE PICTORIAL REVIEW COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATESATTHE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 

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TO M. L. K. 

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GENTLE JULIA

"Rising to the point of order, this one said that since the morguewas not yet established as the central monument and inspiration ofour settlement, and true philosophy was as well expounded in theconvivial manner as in the miserable, he claimed for himself, notthe license, but the right, to sing a ballad, if he chose, upon evenso solemn a matter as the misuse of the town pump by witches. "

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GENTLE JULIA

CHAPTER ONE

Superciliousness is not safe after all, because a person who forms thehabit of wearing it may some day find his lower lip grown permanentlyprojected beyond the upper, so that he can't get it back, and must gothrough life looking like the King of Spain. This was once foretold as aprobable culmination of Florence Atwater's still plastic profile, ifFlorence didn't change her way of thinking; and upon Florence'sremarking dreamily that the King of Spain was an awf'ly han'some man, her mother retorted: "But not for a girl!" She meant, of course, that agirl who looked too much like the King of Spain would not be handsome, but her daughter decided to misunderstand her. 

"Why, mamma, he's my Very Ideal! I'd marry him to-morrow!"

Mrs. Atwater paused in her darning, and let the stocking collapseflaccidly into the work-basket in her lap. "Not at barely thirteen, would you?" she said. "It seems to me you're just a shade too young tobe marrying a man who's already got a wife and several children. Wheredid you pick up that 'I'd-marry-him-to-morrow, ' Florence?"

"Oh, I hear that everywhere!" returned the damsel, lightly. "Everybodysays things like that. I heard Aunt Julia say it. I heard Kitty Silversay it. "

"About the King of Spain?" Mrs. Atwater inquired. 

"I don't know who they were saying it about, " said Florence, "but theywere saying it. I don't mean they were saying it together; I heard onesay it one time and the other say it some other time. I think KittySilver was saying it about some coloured man. She proba'ly wouldn't wantto marry any white man; at least I don't expect she would. She's _been_married to a couple of coloured men, anyhow; and she was married twiceto one of 'em, and the other one died in between. Anyhow, that's whatshe told me. She weighed over two hunderd pounds the first time she wasmarried, and she weighed over two hunderd-and-seventy the last time shewas married to the first one over again, but she says she don't knowhow much she weighed when she was married to the one in between. Shesays she never got weighed all the time she was married to that one. DidKitty Silver ever tell you that, mamma?"

"Yes, often!" Mrs. Atwater replied. "I don't think it's veryentertaining; and it's not what we were talking about. I was trying totell you----"

"I know, " Florence interrupted. "You said I'd get my face so's myunderlip wouldn't go back where it ought to, if I didn't quit turning upmy nose at people I think are beneath contemp'. I guess the best thingwould be to just feel that way without letting on by my face, and thenthere wouldn't be any danger. "

"No, " said Mrs. Atwater. "That's not what I meant. You mustn't let yourfeelings get _their_ nose turned up, or their underlip out, either, because feelings can grow warped just as well as----"

But her remarks had already caused her daughter to follow a trail ofthought divergent from the main road along which the mother feeblystruggled to progress. "Mamma, " said Florence, "do you b'lieve it's trueif a person swallows an apple-seed or a lemon-seed or a watermelon-seed, f'r instance, do you think they'd have a tree grow up inside of 'em?Henry Rooter said it would, yesterday. "

Mrs. Atwater looked a little anxious. "Did you swallow some sort ofseed?" she asked. 

"It was only some grape-seeds, mamma; and you needn't think I got totake anything for it, because I've swallowed a million, I guess, in mytime!"

"In your time?" her mother repeated, seemingly mystified. 

"Yes, and so have you and papa, " Florence went on. "I've seen you whenyou ate grapes. Henry said maybe not, about grapes, because I told himall what I've just been telling you, mamma, how I must have swallowed amillion, in my time, and he said grape-seeds weren't big enough to get agood holt, but he said if I was to swallow an apple-seed a tree wouldstart up, and in a year or two, maybe, it would grow up so't I couldn'tget my mouth shut on account the branches. "

"Nonsense!"

"Henry said another boy told _him_, but he said you could ask anybodyand they'd tell you it was true. Henry said this boy that told him'suncle died of it when he was eleven years old, and this boy knew a grownwoman that was pretty sick from it right now. I expect Henry wasn'ttelling such a falsehood about it, mamma, but proba'ly this boy did, because I didn't believe it for a minute! Henry Rooter says he nevertold a lie _yet_, in his whole life, mamma, and he wasn't going to beginnow. " She paused for a moment, then added: "I don't believe a word hesays!"

She continued to meditate disapprovingly upon Henry Rooter. "Old thing!"she murmured gloomily, for she had indeed known moments of apprehensionconcerning the grape-seeds. "Nothing but an old thing--what he is!" sherepeated inaudibly. 

"Florence, " said Mrs. Atwater, "don't you want to slip over to grandpa'sand ask Aunt Julia if she has a very large darning needle? And don'tforget not to look supercilious when you meet people on the way. Evenyour grandfather has been noticing it, and he was the one that spoke ofit to me. Don't forget!"

"Yes'm. "

Florence went out of the house somewhat moodily, but afternoon sunshineenlivened her; and, opening the picket gate, she stepped forth with afair renewal of her chosen manner toward the public, though just at thatmoment no public was in sight. Miss Atwater's underlip resumed theposition for which her mother had predicted that regal Spanish fixity, and her eyebrows and nose were all three perceptibly elevated. At thesame time, her eyelids were half lowered, while the corners of her mouthsomewhat deepened, as by a veiled mirth, so that this well-dressed childstrolled down the shady sidewalk wearing an expression not merely ofhigh-bred contempt but also of mysterious derision. It was an expressionthat should have put any pedestrian in his place, and it seems a pitythat the long street before her appeared to be empty of human life. Noone even so much as glanced from a window of any of the comfortablehouses, set back at the end of their "front walks" and basking amidpleasant lawns; for, naturally, this was the "best residence street" inthe town, since all the Atwaters and other relatives of Florence dweltthere. Happily, an old gentleman turned a corner before she had gone ahundred yards, and, as he turned in her direction, it became certainthat they would meet. He was a stranger--that is to say, he was unknownto Florence--and he was well dressed; while his appearance of age(proba'ly at least forty or sixty or something) indicated that he mighthave sense enough to be interested in other interesting persons. 

An extraordinary change took place upon the surface of Florence Atwater:all superciliousness and derision of the world vanished; her eyes openedwide, and into them came a look at once far-away and intently fixed. Also, a frown of concentration appeared upon her brow, and her lipsmoved silently, but with rapidity, as if she repeated to herselfsomething of almost tragic import. Florence had recently read anewspaper account of the earlier struggles of a now successful actress:As a girl, this determined genius went about the streets repeating thelines of various roles to herself--constantly rehearsing, in fact, uponthe public thoroughfares, so carried away was she by her intendedprofession and so set upon becoming famous. This was what Florence wasdoing now, except that she rehearsed no rôle in particular, and thewords formed by her lips were neither sequential nor consequential, being, in fact, the following: "Oh, the darkness ... Never, never, never! ... You couldn't ... He wouldn't ... Ah, mother! ... Where theriver swings so slowly ... Ah, _no_!" Nevertheless, she was doing allshe could for the elderly stranger, and as they came closer, encountered, and passed on, she had the definite impression that he didindeed take her to be a struggling young actress who would some day befamous--and then he might see her on a night of triumph and recognizeher as the girl he had passed on the street, that day, so long ago! Butby this time, the episode was concluded; the footsteps of him for whomshe was performing had become inaudible behind her, and she began toforget him; which was as well, since he went out of her life then, andthe two never met again. The struggling young actress disappeared, andthe previous superiority was resumed. It became elaborately emphasizedas a boy of her own age emerged from the "side yard" of a house at thenext corner and came into her view. 

The boy caught sight of Florence in plenty of time to observe thisemphasis, which was all too obviously produced by her sensations atsight of himself; and, after staring at her for a moment, he allowed hisown expression to become one of painful fatigue. Then he slowly swungabout, as if to return into that side-yard obscurity whence he had come;making clear by this pantomime that he reciprocally found the sight ofher insufferable. In truth, he did; for he was not only her neighbourbut her first-cousin as well, and a short month older, though tallerthan she--tall beyond his years, taller than need be, in fact, and stillin knickerbockers. However, his parents may not have been mistaken inthe matter, for it was plain that he looked as well in knickerbockers ashe could have looked in anything. He had no visible beauty, though itwas possible to hope for him that by the time he reached manhood hewould be more tightly put together than he seemed at present; and indeedhe himself appeared to have some consciousness of insecurity in thefastenings of his members, for it was his habit (observable even now ashe turned to avoid Miss Atwater) to haul at himself, to sag and hitchabout inside his clothes, and to corkscrew his neck against the swathingof his collar. And yet there were times, as the most affectionate of hisaunts had remarked, when, for a moment or so, he appeared to be almostknowing; and, seeing him walking before her, she had almost taken himfor a young man; and sometimes he said something in a settled kind ofway that was almost adult. This fondest aunt went on to add, however, that of course, the next minute after one of these fleeting spells, hewas sure to be overtaken by his more accustomed moods, when his eyewould again fix itself with fundamental aimlessness upon nothing. Inbrief, he was at the age when he spent most of his time changing hismind about things, or, rather, when his mind spent most of its timechanging him about things; and this was what happened now. 

After turning his back on the hateful sight well known to him as hiscousin Florence at her freshest, he turned again, came forth from hisplace of residence, and joining her upon the pavement, walked besideher, accompanying her without greeting or inquiry. His expression offatigue, indicating her insufferableness, had not abated; neither hadher air of being a duchess looking at bugs. 

"You _are_ a pretty one!" he said; but his intention was perceived to befar indeed from his words. 

"Oh, _am_ I, Mister Herbert Atwater?" Florence responded. "I'm _awf'ly_glad _you_ think so!"

"I mean about what Henry Rooter said, " her cousin explained. "HenryRooter told me he made you believe you were goin' to have a grapevineclimbin' up from inside of you because you ate some grapes with theseeds in 'em. He says you thought you'd haf to get a carpenter to builda little arbour so you could swallow it for the grapevine to grow on. Hesays----"

Florence had become an angry pink. "That little Henry Rooter is theworst falsehooder in this town; and I never believed a word he said inhis life! Anyway, what affairs is it of yours, I'd like you to please beso kind and obliging for to tell me, Mister Herbert IllingsworthAtwater, Exquire!"

"What affairs?" Herbert echoed in plaintive satire. "What affairs is itof mine? That's just the trouble! It's _got_ to be my affairs becauseyou're my first-cousin. My goodness _I_ didn't have anything to do withyou being my cousin, did I?"

"Well, _I_ didn't!"

"That's neither here nor there, " said Herbert. "What _I_ want to knowis, how long you goin' to keep this up?"

"Keep what up?"

"I mean, how do you think I like havin' somebody like Henry Rootercomin' round me tellin' what they made a cousin of mine believe, andmore than thirteen years old, goin' on fourteen ever since about a monthago!"

Florence shouted: "Oh, for goodness' _sakes_!" then moderated the volumebut not the intensity of her tone. "Kindly reply to _this_. Whoeverasked you to come and take a walk with me to-day?"

Herbert protested to heaven. "Why, I wouldn't take a walk with you ifevery policeman in this town tried to make me! I wouldn't take a walkwith you if they brought a million horses and--"

"I wouldn't take a walk with _you_, " Florence interrupted, "if theybrought a million million horses and cows and camels and--"

"No, you wouldn't, " Herbert said. "Not if _I_ could help it!"

But by this time Florence had regained her derisive superciliousness. "There's a few things you _could_ help, " she said; and the incautiousHerbert challenged her with the inquiry she desired. 

"What could I help?"

"I should think you could help bumpin' into me every second when I'mtakin' a walk on my own affairs, and walk along on your own side of thesidewalk, anyway, and not be so awkward a person has to keep trippin'over you about every time I try to take a step!"

Herbert withdrew temporarily to his own side of the pavement. "Who?" hedemanded hotly. "_Who_ says I'm awkward?"

"All the fam'ly, " Miss Atwater returned, with a light but infuriatinglaugh. "You bump into 'em sideways and keep gettin' half in front of'em whenever they try to take a step, and then when it looks as ifthey'd pretty near fall over you--"

"You look here!"

"And besides all that, " Florence went on, undisturbed, "why, yougenerally keep kind of snorting, or somep'n, and then making all thosenoises in your neck. You were doin' it at grandpa's last Sunday dinnerbecause every time there wasn't anybody talking, why, everybody couldhear you plain as everything, and you ought to've seen grandpa look atyou! He looked as if you'd set him crazy if you didn't quit thatchuttering and cluckling!"

Herbert's expression partook of a furious astonishment. "I don't anysuch thing!" he burst out. "I guess I wouldn't talk much about lastSunday dinner, if I was _you_ neither. Who got caught eatin' off the icecream freezer spoon out on the back porch, if you please? Yes, and Iguess you better study a little grammar, while you're about it. There'sno such words in the English language as 'cluckling' and 'chuttering. '"

"I don't care what language they're in, " the stubborn Florence insisted. "It's what you do, just the same: cluckling and chuttering!"

Herbert's manners went to pieces. "Oh, dry up!" he bellowed. 

"That's a _nice_ way to talk! So gentlemanly----"

"Well, you try be a lady, then!"

"'Try!'" Florence echoed. "Well, after that, I'll just politely thank youto dry up, yourself, Mister Herbert Atwater!"

At this Herbert became moody. "Oh, pfuff!" he said; and for some momentswalked in silence. Then he asked: "Where you goin', Florence?"

The damsel paused at a gate opening upon a broad lawn evenly divided bya brick walk that led to the white-painted wooden veranda of an ampleand honest old brick house. "Righ' there to grandpa's, since you haf toknow!" she said. "And thank you for your delightful comp'ny which Inever asked for, if you care to hear the truth for once in your life!"

Herbert meditated. "Well, I got nothin' else to do, as I know of, " hesaid. "Let's go around to the back door so's to see if Kitty Silver'sgot anything. "

Then, not amiably, but at least inconsequently, they passed inside thegate together. Their brows were fairly unclouded; no special marks ofconflict remained; for they had met and conversed in a manner customaryrather than unusual. 

They followed a branch of the brick walk and passed round the south sideof the house, where a small orchard of apple-trees showed generouspromise. Hundreds of gay little round apples among the leaves glancedthe high lights to and fro on their polished green cheeks as a breezehopped through the yard, while the shade beneath trembled withcoquettishly moving disks of sunshine like golden plates. A pattern oforange light and blue shadow was laid like a fanciful plaid over thelattice and the wide, slightly sagging steps of the elderly "backporch"; and here, taking her ease upon these steps, sat a middle-agedcoloured woman of continental proportions. Beyond all contest, she wasthe largest coloured woman in that town, though her height was notunusual, and she had a rather small face. That is to say, as Florencehad once explained to her, her face was small but the other parts of herhead were terribly wide. Beside her was a circular brown basket, of atype suggesting arts-and-crafts; it was made with a cover, and there wasa bow of brown silk upon the handle. 

"What you been up to to-day, Kitty Silver?" Herbert asked genially. "Any thing special?" For this was the sequel to his "so's we can see ifKitty Silver's got anything. " But Mrs. Silver discouraged him. 

"No, I ain't, " she replied. "I ain't, an' I ain't goin' to. "

"I thought you pretty near always made cookies on Tuesday, " he said. 

"Well, I ain't _this_ Tuesday, " said Kitty Silver. "I ain't, and I ain'tgoin' to. You might dess well g'on home ri' now. I ain't, an' I ain'tgoin' to. "

Docility was no element of Mrs. Silver's present mood, and Herbert'shopeful eyes became blank, as his gaze wandered from her head to thebrown basket beside her. The basket did not interest him; the ribbongave it a quality almost at once excluding it from his consciousness. Onthe contrary, the ribbon had drawn Florence's attention, and she staredat the basket eagerly. 

"What you got there, Kitty Silver?" she asked. 

"What I got where?"

"In that basket. "

"Nemmine what I got 'n 'at basket, " said Mrs. Silver crossly, but addedinconsistently: "I dess _wish_ somebody ast me what I got 'n 'at basket!_I_ ain't no cat-washwoman fer _no_body!"

"Cats!" Florence cried. "Are there cats in that basket, Kitty Silver?Let's look at 'em!"

The lid of the basket, lifted by the eager, slim hand of Miss Atwater, rose to disclose two cats of an age slightly beyond kittenhood. Theywere of a breed unfamiliar to Florence, and she did not obey the impulsethat usually makes a girl seize upon any young cat at sight and caressit. Instead, she looked at them with some perplexity, and after a momentinquired: "Are they really cats, Kitty Silver, do you b'lieve?"

"Cats what she done tole _me_, " the coloured woman replied. "You bettashet lid down, you don' wan' 'em run away, 'cause they ain't yoostalivin' 'n 'at basket yit; an' no matter whut kine o' cats they is orthey isn't, _one_ thing true: they _wile_ cats!"

"But what makes their hair so long?" Florence asked. "I never saw catswith hair a couple inches long like that. "

"Miss Julia say they Berjum cats. "

"What?"

"I ain't tellin' no mo'n she tole me. You' aunt say they Berjum cats. "

"Persian, " said Herbert. "That's nothing. I've seen plenty Persian cats. My goodness, I should think you'd seen a Persian cat at yow age. Thirteen goin' on fourteen!"

"Well, I _have_ seen Persian cats plenty times, I guess, " Florence said. "I thought Persian cats were white, and these are kind of gray. "

At this Kitty Silver permitted herself to utter an embittered laugh. "You wrong!" she said. "These cats, they white; yes'm!"

"Why, they aren't either! They're gray as----"

"No'm, " said Mrs. Silver. "They plum spang white, else you' Aunt Juliagone out her mind; me or her, one. I say: 'Miss Julia, them gray cats. ''White, ' she say. 'Them two cats is white cats, ' she say. 'Them catsbeen crated, ' she say. 'They been livin' in a crate on a dirty expresstrain fer th'ee fo' days, ' she say. 'Them cats gone got all smoke' upthataway, ' she say. 'No'm, Miss Julia, ' I say, 'No'm, Miss Julia, theyain't _no_ train, ' I say, 'they ain't _no_ train kin take an' smoke twowhite cats up like these cats so's they hair is gray clean plum up tothey hide. ' You betta put the lid down, I tell you!"

Florence complied, just in time to prevent one of the young cats fromleaping out of the basket, but she did not fasten the cover. Instead, she knelt, and, allowing a space of half an inch to intervene betweenthe basket and the rim of the cover, peered within at the occupants. "Ibelieve the one to this side's a he, " she said. "It's got greenishereyes than the other one; that's the way you can always tell. I b'lievethis one's a he and the other one's a she. "

"I ain't stedyin' about no he an' she!"

"What did Aunt Julia say?" Florence asked. 

"Whut you' Aunt Julia say when?"

"When you told her these were gray cats and not white cats?"

"She tole me take an' clean 'em, " said Kitty Silver. "She say, she sayshe want 'em clean' up spick an' spang befo' Mista Sammerses git here tocall an' see 'em. " And she added morosely: "I ain't no cat-washwoman!"

"She wants you to bathe 'em?" Florence inquired, but Kitty Silver didnot reply immediately. She breathed audibly, with a strange effect uponvasty outward portions of her, and then gave an incomparably dulcetimitation of her own voice, as she interpreted her use of it during therecent interview. 

'Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say--'Miss Julia, ma'am, my bizniss cookin'vittles, ' I say. 'Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I tole her, 'Miss Julia, ma'am, Icook fer you' pa, an' cook fer you' fam'ly year in, year out, an' I hopean' pursue, whiles some might make complaint, I take whatever I find, an' I leave whatever I find. No'm, Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say--'no'm, Miss Julia, ma'am, I ain't no cat-washwoman!'"

"What did Aunt Julia say then?"

"She say, she say: 'Di'n I tell you take them cats downstairs an' clean'em?' she say. I ain't _no_body's cat-washwoman!"

Florence was becoming more and more interested. "I should think thatwould be kind of fun, " she said. "To be a cat-washwoman. _I_ wouldn'tmind that at all: I'd kind of like it. I expect if you was acat-washwoman, Kitty Silver, you'd be pretty near the only one was inthe world. I wonder if they do have 'em any place, cat-washwomen. "

"I don' know if they got 'em some place, " said Kitty Silver, "an' Idon't know if they ain't got 'em no place; but I bet if they do got 'emany place, it's some place else from here!"

Florence looked thoughtful. "Who was it you said is going to call thisevening and see 'em?"

"Mista Sammerses. "

"She means Newland Sanders, " Herbert explained. "Aunt Julia says all hercallers that ever came to this house in their lives, Kitty Silver nevergot the name right of a single one of 'em!"

"Newland Sanders is the one with the little moustache, " Florence said. "Is that the one you mean by 'Sammerses, ' Kitty Silver?"

"Mista Sammerses who you' Aunt Julia tole _me_, " Mrs. Silver respondedstubbornly. "He ain't got no moustache whut you kin look at--dess someblackish whut don' reach out mo'n halfway todes the bofe ends of hismouf. "

"Well, " said Florence, "was Mr. Sanders the one gave her these Persiancats, Kitty Silver?"

"I reckon. " Mrs. Silver breathed audibly again, and her expression wasstrongly resentful. "When she go fer a walk 'long with any them callersshe stop an' make a big fuss over any li'l ole dog or cat an' I don'tknow whut all, an' after they done buy her all the candy from all thecandy sto's in the livin' worl', an' all the flowers from all thegreenhouses they is, it's a wonder some of 'em ain't sen' her a mule fera present, 'cause seem like to me they done sen' her mos' every kine ofanimal they is! Firs' come Airydale dog you' grampaw tuck an' give awayto the milkman; 'n'en come two mo' pups; I don't know whut they is, 'cause they bofe had dess sense enough to run away after you' grampawtry learn 'em how much he ain't like no pups; an' nex' come them twocanaries hangin' in the dinin'-room now, an' nex'--di'n' I holler so'sthey could a-hear me all way down town? Di'n' I walk in my kitchen onemawnin' right slam in the face of ole warty allagatuh three foot longa-lookin' at me over the aidge o' my kitchen sink?"

"It was Mr. Clairdyce gave her that, " said Florence. "He'd been toFlorida; but she didn't care for it very much, and she didn't make anyfuss at all when grandpa got the florist to take it. Grandpa hatesanimals. "

"He don' hate 'em no wuss'n whut I do, " said Kitty Silver. "An' he ain'tgot to ketch 'em lookin' at him outen of his kitchen sink--an' he ain'tfixin' to be no cat-washwoman neither!"

"_Are_ you fixing to?" Florence asked quickly. "You don't need to do it, Kitty Silver. I'd be willing to, and so'd Herbert. Wouldn't you, Herbert?"

Herbert deliberated within himself, then brightened. "I'd just as soon, "he said. "I'd kind of like to see how a cat acts when it's gettingbathed. "

"I think it would be spesh'ly inter'sting to wash Persian cats, "Florence added, with increasing enthusiasm. "I never washed a cat in mylife. "

"Neither have I, " said Herbert. "I always thought they did itthemselves. "

Kitty Silver sniffed. "Ain't I says so to you' Aunt Julia? She done toleme, 'No, ' she say. She say, she say Berjum cats ain't wash they self;they got to take an' git somebody else to wash 'em!"

"If we're goin' to bathe 'em, " said Florence, "we ought to know theirnames, so's we can tell 'em to hold still and everything. You can't domuch with an animal unless you know their name. Did Aunt Julia tell youthese cats' names, Kitty Silver?"

"She say they name Feef an' Meemuh. Yes'm! Feef an' Meemuh! Whut kine o'name is Feef an' Meemuh fer cat name!"

"Oh, those are lovely names!" Florence assured her, and, turning toHerbert, explained: "She means Fifi and Mimi. "

"Feef an' Meemuh, " said Kitty Silver. "Them name don' suit me, an' themlong-hair cats don' suit me neither. " Here she lifted the cover of thebasket a little, and gazed nervously within. "Look at there!" she said. "Look at the way they lookin' at me! Don't you look at _me_ thataway, you Feef an' Meemuh!" She clapped the lid down and fastened it. "Fixin'to jump out an' grab me, was you?"

"I guess, maybe, " said Florence, "maybe I better go ask Aunt Julia if Iand Herbert can't wash 'em. I guess I better go _ask_ her anyhow. " Andshe ran up the steps and skipped into the house by way of the kitchen. Amoment later she appeared in the open doorway of a room upstairs. 

CHAPTER TWO

It was a pretty room, lightly scented with the pink geraniums and bluelobelia and coral fuchsias that poised, urgent with colour, in thewindow-boxes at the open windows. Sunshine paused delicately justinside, where forms of pale-blue birds and lavender flowers curled upand down the cretonne curtains; and a tempered, respectful light fellupon a cushioned _chaise longue_; for there fluffily reclined, ingarments of tender fabric and gentle colours, the prettiesttwenty-year-old girl in that creditably supplied town. 

It must be said that no stranger would have taken Florence at firstglance to be her niece, though everybody admitted that Florence's hairwas pretty. ("I'll say _that_ for her, " was the family way of puttingit. ). Florence did not care for her hair herself; it was dark and thickand long, like her Aunt Julia's; but Florence--even in the realisticpresence of a mirror--preferred to think of herself as an ashen blonde, and also as about a foot taller than she was. Persistence kept thispicture habitually in her mind, which, of course, helps to explain herfeeling that she was justified in wearing that manner ofsuperciliousness deplored by her mother. More middle-aged gentlemen thanare suspected believe that they look like the waspen youths in themagazine advertisements of clothes; and this impression of theirsaccounts (as with Florence) for much that is seemingly inexplicable intheir behaviour. 

Florence's Aunt Julia was reading an exquisitely made little book, whichbore her initials stamped in gold upon the cover; and it had evidentlyreached her by a recent delivery of the mail, for wrappings bearingcancelled stamps lay upon the floor beside the _chaise longue_. It was aspecial sort of book, since its interior was not printed, but alllaboriously written with pen and ink--poems, in truth, containing morereferences to a lady named Julia than have appeared in any other poemssince Herrick's. So warmly interested in the reading as to be ratherpink, though not always with entire approval, this Julia nevertheless, at the sound of footsteps, closed the book and placed it beneath one ofthe cushions assisting the _chaise longue_ to make her position acomfortable one. Her greeting was not enthusiastic. 

"What do you want, Florence?"

"I was going to ask you if Herbert and me--I mean: Was it Noble Dillgave you Fifi and Mimi, Aunt Julia?"

"Noble Dill? No. "

"I wish it was, " Florence said. "I'd like these cats better if they werefrom Noble Dill. "

"Why?" Julia inquired. "Why are you so partial to Mr. Noble Dill?"

"I think he's _so_ much the most inter'sting looking of all that come tosee you. Are you _sure_ it wasn't Noble Dill gave you these cats, AuntJulia?"

A look of weariness became plainly visible upon Miss Julia Atwater'scharming face. "I do wish you'd hurry and grow up, Florence, " she said. 

"I do, too! What for, Aunt Julia?"

"So there'd be somebody else in the family of an eligible age. I reallythink it's an outrageous position to be in, " Julia continued, withlanguid vehemence--"to be the only girl between thirteen and forty-onein a large connection of near relatives, including children, who allseem to think they haven't anything to think of but Who comes to seeher, and Who came to see her yesterday, and Who was here the day before, and Who's coming to-morrow, and Who's she going to marry! You reallyought to grow up and help me out, because I'm getting tired of it. No. It wasn't Noble Dill but Mr. Newland Sanders that sent me Fifi andMimi--and I want you to keep away from 'em. "

"Why?" asked Florence. 

"Because they're very rare cats, and you aren't ordinarily a verycareful sort of person, Florence, if you don't mind my saying so. Besides, if I let you go near them, the next thing Herbert would be overhere mussing around, and he can't go near _anything_ without ruining it!It's just in him; he can't help it. "

Florence looked thoughtful for a brief moment; then she asked: "DidNewland Sanders send 'em with the names already to them?"

"No, " said Julia, emphasizing the patience of her tone somewhat. "Inamed them after they got here. Mr. Sanders hasn't seen them yet. He hadthem shipped to me. He's coming this evening. Anything more to-day, Florence?"

"Well, I was thinking, " said Florence. "What do you think grandpa'llthink about these cats?"

"I don't believe there'll be any more outrages, " Julia returned, and herdark eyes showed a moment's animation. "I told him at breakfast thatthe Reign of Terror was ended, and he and everybody else had to keepaway from Fifi and Mimi. Is that about all, Florence?"

"You let Kitty Silver go near 'em, though. She says she's fixing to wash'em. "

Julia smiled faintly. "I thought she would! I had to go so far as totell her that as long as I'm housekeeper in my father's house she'd dowhat I say or find some other place. She behaved outrageously andpretended to believe the natural colour of Fifi and Mimi is gray!"

"I expect, " said Florence, after pondering seriously for a littlewhile--"I expect it would take quite some time to dry them. "

"No doubt. But I'd rather you didn't assist. I'd rather you weren't evenaround looking on, Florence. "

A shade fell upon her niece's face at this. "Why, Aunt Julia, I couldn'tdo any harm to Fifi and Mimi just _lookin'_ at 'em, could I?"

Julia laughed. "That's the trouble; you never do 'just look' at anythingyou're interested in, and, if you don't mind my saying so, you've gotrather a record, dear! Now, don't you care: you can find lots of otherpleasant things to do at home--or over at Herbert's, or Aunt Fanny's. You run along now and----"

"Well----" Florence said, moving as if to depart. 

"You might as well go out by the front door, child, " Julia suggested, with a little watchful urgency. "You come over some day when Fifi andMimi have got used to the place, and you can look at them all you wantto. "

"Well, I just----"

But as Florence seemed disposed still to linger, her aunt's mannerbecame more severe, and she half rose from her reclining position. 

"No, I really mean it! Fifi and Mimi are royal-bred Persian cats with awonderful pedigree, and I don't know how much trouble and expense itcost Mr. Sanders to get them for me. They're entirely different fromordinary cats; they're very fine and queer, and if anything happens tothem, after all the trouble papa's made over other presents I've had, I'll go straight to a sanitarium! No, Florence, you keep away from thekitchen to-day, and I'd like to hear the front door as you go out. "

"Well, " said Florence; "I do wish if these cats are as fine as all that, it was Noble Dill that gave 'em to you. I'd like these cats lots betterif _he_ gave 'em to you, wouldn't you?"

"No, I wouldn't. "

"Well----" Florence said again, and departed. 

Twenty is an unsuspicious age, except when it fears that its dignity orgrace may be threatened from without; and it might have been a "badsign" in revelation of Julia Atwater's character if she had failed toaccept the muffled metallic clash of the front door's closing as a tokenthat her niece had taken a complete departure for home. A supplementalconfirmation came a moment later, fainter but no less conclusive: thedistant slamming of the front gate; and it made a clear picture of anobedient Florence on her homeward way. Peace came upon Julia: she readin her book, while at times she dropped a languid, graceful arm, and, with the pretty hand at the slimmer end of it, groped in a dark shelterbeneath her couch to make a selection, merely by her well-experiencedsense of touch, from a frilled white box that lay in concealment there. Then, bringing forth a crystalline violet become scented sugar, or a bitof fruit translucent in hardened sirup, she would delicately set it onthe way to that attractive dissolution hoped for it by the wistfuldonor--and all without removing her shadowy eyes from the little volumeand its patient struggle for dignified rhymes with "Julia. " Florencewas no longer in her beautiful relative's thoughts. 

Florence was idly in the thoughts, however, of Mrs. Balche, thenext-door neighbour to the south. Happening to glance from a bay-window, she negligently marked how the child walked to the front gate, openedit, paused for a moment's meditation, then hurled the gate to a vigorousclosure, herself remaining within its protection. "Odd!" Mrs. Balchemurmured. 

Having thus eloquently closed the gate, Florence slowly turned and movedtoward the rear of the house, quickening her steps as she went, until ata run she disappeared from the scope of Mrs. Balche's gaze, cut off bythe intervening foliage of Mr. Atwater's small orchard. Mrs. Balche feltno great interest; nevertheless, she paused at the sound of a boy'svoice, half husky, half shrill, in an early stage of change. "What shesay, Flor'nce? D'she say we could?" But there came a warning "_Hushup_!" from Florence, and then, in a lowered tone, the boy's voice said:"Look here; these are mighty funny-actin' cats. I think they're kind ofcrazy or somep'n. Kitty Silver's fixed a washtub full o' suds for us. "

Mrs. Balche was reminded of her own cat, and went to give it a littlecream. Mrs. Balche was a retired widow, without children, and too timidto like dogs; but after a suitable interval, following the loss of herhusband, she accepted from a friend the gift of a white kitten, andnamed it Violet. It may be said that Mrs. Balche, having few interestsin life, and being of a sequestering nature, lived for Violet, and thatso much devotion was not good for the latter's health. In his youth, after having shown sufficient spirit to lose an eye during a sportingabsence of three nights and days, Violet was not again permitted enoughfreedom of action to repeat this disloyalty; though, now, in hisadvanced middle-age, he had been fed to such a state that he seldomcared to move, other than by a slow, sneering wavement of the tail whenfriendly words were addressed to him; and consequently, as he seemedbeyond all capacity or desire to run away, or to run at all, Mrs. Balcheallowed him complete liberty of action. 

She found him asleep upon her "back porch, " and placed beside him asaucer of cream, the second since his luncheon. Then she watched himaffectionately as he opened his eye, turned toward the saucer his nobleHenry-the-Eighth head with its great furred jowls, and began the processof rising for more food, which was all that ever seemed even feebly torouse his mind. When he had risen, there was little space between himanywhere and the floor. 

Violet took his cream without enthusiasm, pausing at times and turninghis head away. In fact, he persisted only out of an incorrigiblesensuality, and finally withdrew a pace or two, leaving creamy tracesstill upon the saucer. With a multitude of fond words his kind mistressdrew his attention to these, whereupon, making a visible effort, hereturned and disposed of them. 

"Dat's de 'itty darlin', " she said, stooping to stroke him. "Eat um allup nice clean. Dood for ole sweet sin!" She continued to stroke him, andViolet half closed his eye, but not with love or serenity, for hesimultaneously gestured with his tail, meaning to say: "Oh, do take yourhands off o' me!" Then he opened the eye and paid a little attention tosounds from the neighbouring yard. A high fence, shrubberies, andfoliage concealed that yard from the view of Violet, but the sounds wereeloquent to him, since they were those made by members of his owngeneral species when threatening atrocities. The accent may have beenforeign, but Violet caught perfectly the sense of what was being said, and instinctively he muttered reciprocal curses within himself. 

"What a matta, honey?" his companion inquired sympathetically. "Ess, badpeople f'ighten poor Violet!"

From beyond the fence came the murmurings of a boy and a girl in hushedbut urgent conversation; and with these sounds there mingled wateryagitations, splashings and the like, as well as those low vocalizingsthat Violet had recognized; but suddenly there were muffled explosions, like fireworks choked in feather beds; and the human voices grewuncontrollably somewhat louder, so that their import wasdistinguishable. "_Ow!_" "Hush up, can't you? You want to bring thewhole town to--_ow!_" "Hush up yourself!" "Oh, _goodness_!" "Look out!Don't let her----" "Well, look what she's _doin'_ to me, can't you?""For Heavenses' sakes, catch holt and----_Ow!_"

Then came a husky voice, inevitably that of a horrified coloured personhastening from a distance: "Oh, my soul!" There was a scurrying, and thegirl was heard in furious yet hoarsely guarded vehemence: "Bring theclo'es prop! Bring the clo'es prop! We can poke that one down from thegarage, anyway. _Oh, my goodness, look at 'er go!_"

Mrs. Balche shook her head. "Naughty children!" she said, as she pickedup the saucer and went to the kitchen door, which she held open forViolet to enter. "Want to come with mamma?"

But Violet had lost even the faint interest in life he had shown a fewmoments earlier. He settled himself to another stupor in the sun. 

"Well, well, " Mrs. Balche said indulgently. "Afterwhile shall have somemore nice keem. "

 * * * * *

Sunset was beginning to be hinted, two hours later, when, in anotherquarter of the town, a little girl of seven or eight, at play on thedomestic side of an alley gate, became aware of an older girl regardingher fixedly over the top of the gate. The little girl felt embarrassedand paused in her gayeties, enfolding in her arms her pet and playmate. "Howdy' do, " said the stranger, in a serious tone. "What'll you take forthat cat?"

The little girl made no reply, and the stranger, opening the gate, cameinto the yard. She looked weary, rather bedraggled, yet hurried: her airwas predominantly one of anxiety. "I'll give you a quarter for thatcat, " she said. "I want an all-white cat, but this one's only got thatone gray spot over its eye, and I don't believe there's an all-whitecat left in town, leastways that anybody's willing to part with. I'llgive you twenty-five cents for it. I haven't got it with me, but I'llpromise to give it to you day after to-morrow. "

The little girl still made no reply, but continued to stare, her eyeswidening, and the caller spoke with desperation. 

"See here, " she said, "I _got_ to have a whitish cat! That'n isn't worthmore'n a quarter, but I'll give you thirty-five cents for her, moneydown, day after to-morrow. "

At this, the frightened child set the cat upon the ground and fled intothe house. Florence Atwater was left alone; that is to say, she was theonly human being in the yard, or in sight. Nevertheless, a human voicespoke, not far behind her. It came through a knot-hole in the fence, andit was a voice almost of passion. 

"_You grab it!_"

Florence stood in silence, motionless; there was a solemnity about her. The voice exhorted. "My goodness!" it said. "She didn't say she_wouldn't_ sell it, did she? You can bring her the money like you saidyou would, can't you? I got _mine_, didn't I, almost without anytrouble at all! My Heavens! Ain't Kitty Silver pretty near crazy? Justthink of the position we've put her into! I tell you, you _got_ to!"

But now Florence moved. She moved slowly at first: then with moredecision and rapidity. 

 * * * * *

That evening's dusk had deepened into blue night when the two cousins, each with a scant, uneasy dinner eaten, met by appointment in the alleybehind their mutual grandfather's place of residence, and, havingclimbed the back fence, approached the kitchen. Suddenly Florence liftedher right hand, and took between thumb and forefinger a lock of hairupon the back of Herbert's head. 

"Well, for Heavenses' sakes!" he burst out, justifiably protesting. 

"Hush!" Florence warned him. "Kitty Silver's talkin' to somebody inthere. It might be Aunt Julia! C'm'ere!"

She led him to a position beneath an open window of the kitchen. Herethey sat upon the ground, with their backs against the stone foundationof the house, and listened to voices and the clink of dishes beingwashed. 

"She's got another ole coloured darky woman in there with her, " saidFlorence. "It's a woman belongs to her church and comes to see her 'mostevery evening. Listen; she's telling her about it. I bet we could getthe real truth of it maybe better this way than if we went in and askedher right out. Anyway, it isn't eavesdropping if you listen when peopleare talkin' about you, yourself. It's only wrong when it isn't any ofyour own bus--"

"For Heavenses' sakes hush _up_!" her cousin remonstrated. "Listen!"

"'No'm, Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say"--thus came the voice of Mrs. Silver--"'no'm, Miss Julia, ma'am. Them the same two cats you han' me, Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say. 'Leas'wise, ' I say, 'them the two same catswhut was in nat closed-up brown basket when I open it up an' take an'fix to wash 'em. Somebody might 'a' took an' change 'em 'fo' they got to_me_, ' I say, 'Miss Julia, ma'am, but all the change happen to 'em sencethey been in charge of _me_, that's the gray whut come off 'em whiles Iwashin' 'em an' dryin' 'em in corn meal and flannel. I dunno how much_washin'_ 'em change 'em, Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say, ''cause how muchthey change or ain't change, that's fer you to say and me not to jedge, 'I say. "

"Lan' o' misery!" cried the visitor, chuckling delightedly. "I wonderhow you done kep' you face, Miss Kitty. What Miss Julia say?"

A loud, irresponsible outburst of mirth on the part of Mrs. Silverfollowed. When she could again control herself, she replied moredefinitely. "Miss Julia say, she say she ain't never hear no sechoutragelous sto'y in her life! She _tuck_ on! Hallelujah! An' all time, Miz Johnson, I give you my word, I stannin' there holdin' nat basket, carryin' on up hill an' down dale how them the same two Berjum catsMista Sammerses sen' her: an' trouble enough dess ten'in' to thatbasket, lemme say to you, Miz Johnson, as anybody kin tell you whutevertried to take care o' two cats whut ain't yoosta each other in the samebasket. An' every blessed minute I stannin' there, can't I hear that oleMiz Blatch nex' do', out in her back yod an' her front yod, an' plum outin the street, hollerin': 'Kitty? Kitty? Kitty?' '_Yes!_' Miss Juliasay, she say, 'Fine sto'y!' she say. 'Them two cats you claim my Berjumcats, they got short hair, an' they ain't the same age an' they ain'teven nowheres near the same _size_, ' she say. 'One of 'em's as fat as_bofe_ them Berjum cats, ' she say: 'an' it's on'y got one eye, ' she say. 'Well, Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say--'_one_ thing; they come out white, all 'cept dess around that there skinnier one's eye, ' I say: 'dess thesame you tell me they goin' to, ' I say. 'You right about _that_ much, ma'am!' I say. "

"Oh, me!" Mrs. Johnson moaned, worn with applausive laughter. "What sherespon' then?"

"I set that basket down, " said Kitty Silver, "an' I start fer the do', whiles she unfasten the lid fer to take one mo' look at 'em, I reckon:but open window mighty close by, an' nat skinny white cat make one jump, an' after li'l while I lookin' out thishere window an' see that ole fatMiz Blatch's tom, waddlin' crost the yod todes home. "

"What she doin' now?" Mrs. Johnson inquired. 

"Who? Miss Julia? She settin' out on the front po'che talkin' to MistaSammerses. "

"My name! How she goin' fix it with _him_, after all thisheredishcumaraddle?"

"Who? Miss Julia? Leave her alone, honey! She take an' begin talk sofas' an' talk so sweet, no young man ain't goin' to ricklect he evergive her no cats, not till he's gone an' halfway home! But I ain't toleyou the en' of it, Miz Johnson, an' the en' of it's the bes' part whuthappen. "

"What's that, Miss Kitty?"

"Look!" said Mrs. Silver. "Mista Atwater gone in yonder, after I comeout, an' ast whut all them goin's-on about. Well suh, an' di'n' he comewalkin' out in my kitchen an' slip me two bright spang new silbuhdolluhs right in my han'?"

"My name!"

"Yessuh!" said Mrs. Silver triumphantly. And in the darkness outside thewindow Florence drew a deep breath. "I'd of felt just awful about this, "she said, "if Noble Dill had given Aunt Julia those Persian cats. "

"Why?" Herbert inquired, puzzled by her way of looking at things. "Idon't see why it would make it any worse _who_ gave 'em to her. "

"Well, it would, " Florence said. "But anyway, I think we did ratherwrong. Did you notice what Kitty Silver said about what grandpa did?"

"Well?"

"I think we ought to tell him our share of it, " Florence returnedthoughtfully. "I don't want to go to bed to-night with all this on mymind, and I'm going to find grandpa right now and confess every bit ofit to him. "

Herbert hopefully decided to go with her. 

CHAPTER THREE

Julia, like Herbert, had been a little puzzled by Florence's expressionof a partiality for the young man, Noble Dill; it was not customary foranybody to confess a weakness for him. However, the aunt dismissed thesubject from her mind, as other matters pressed sharply upon herattention; she had more worries than most people guessed. 

The responsibilities of a lady who is almost officially the prettiestperson in a town persistently claiming sixty-five thousand inhabitantsare often heavier than the world suspects, and there were moments whenJulia found the position so trying that she would have preferred toresign. She was a warm-hearted, appreciative girl, naturally unable toclose her eyes to sterling merit wherever it appeared: and it was notwithout warrant that she complained of her relatives. The whole family, including the children, she said, regaled themselves with her privateaffairs as a substitute for theatre-going. But one day, a week after theirretrievable disappearance of Fifi and Mimi, she went so far as toadmit a note of unconscious confession into her protest that she wasgetting pretty tired of being mistaken for a three-ring circus! Such washer despairing expression, and the confession lies in her use of theword "three. "

The misleading moderation of "three" was pointed out to her by herniece, whose mind at once violently seized upon the word and divested itof context--a process both feminine and instinctive, for this child wasalready beginning to be feminine. "Three!" she said. "Why, Aunt Julia, you must be crazy! There's Newland Sanders and Noble Dill and that oldwidower, Ridgley, that grandpa hates so, and Mister Clairdyce and GeorgePlum and the two new ones from out of town that Aunt Fanny Pattersonsaid you had at church Sunday morning--Herbert said he didn't like oneof 'em's looks much, Aunt Julia. And there's Parker Kent Usher and thatfunny-lookin' one with the little piece of whiskers under his underlipthat Noble Dill got so mad at when they were calling, and Uncle Joelaughed about, and I don't know who all! Anyhow, there's an awful lotmore than three, Aunt Julia. "

Julia looked down with little favour upon the talkative caller. Florencewas seated upon the shady steps of the veranda, and Julia, dressed for awalk, occupied a wicker chair above her. "Julia, dressed for awalk"--how scant the words! It was a summer walk that Julia had dressedfor: and she was all too dashingly a picture of coolness on a hot day: abrunette in murmurous white, though her little hat was a film ofblackest blue, and thus also in belt and parasol she had almost matchedthe colour of her eyes. Probably no human-made fabric could have comenearer to matching them, though she had once met a great traveller--atleast he went far enough in his search for comparisons--who told herthat the Czarina of Russia had owned a deep sapphire of precisely thecolour, but the Czarina's was the only sapphire yet discovered that hadit. One of Newland Sanders's longest Poems-to-Julia was entitled "BlackSapphires. "

Julia's harmonies in black sapphire were uncalled for. If she really hadbeen as kind as she was too often capable of looking, she would havefastened patches over both eyes--one patch would have been useless--andshe would have worn flat shoes and patronized a dressmaker with geniusenough to misrepresent her. But Julia was not great enough for suchgenerosities: she should have been locked up till she passed sixty; hersufferings deserve no pity. 

And yet an attack of the mumps during the winter had brought Julia moresympathy than the epidemic of typhoid fever in the Old Ladies' Infirmarybrought all of the nine old ladies who were under treatment there. Juliawas confined to her room for almost a month, during which a florist'swagon seemed permanent before the house: and a confectioner's frequentlystood beside the florist's. Young Florence, an immune who had known themumps in infancy, became an almost constant attendant upon the patient, with the result that the niece contracted an illness briefer than theaunt's, but more than equalling it in poignancy, caused by the poorchild's economic struggle against waste. Florence's convalescence tookplace in her own home without any inquiries whatever from the outerworld, but Julia's was spent in great part at the telephone. Even a poemwas repeated to her by the instrument:

 How the world blooms anew To think that you Can speak again, Can hear The words of men And the dear Own voice of you. 

This was Newland Sanders. He was just out of college, a reviewer, apoet, and once, momentarily, an atheist. It was Newland who was presentand said such a remarkable thing when Julia had the accident to herthumb-nail in closing the double doors between the living-room and thelibrary, where her peculiar old father sat reading. "To see you suffer, "Newland said passionately as she nursed her injury:--"to see you inpain, that is the one thing in the universe which I feel beyond all mycapacities. Do you know, when you are made to suffer pain, then I feelthat there is no God!"

This strong declaration struck Herbert as one of the most impressivethings he had ever heard, though he could not account for its being saidto any aunt of his. Herbert had just dropped in without the formality ofringing the bell, and had paused in the hall, outside the open door ofthe living-room. He considered the matter, after Newland had spoken, andconcluded to return to his own place of residence without disturbinganybody at his grandfather's. At home he found his mother and fatherentertaining one of his uncles, one of his aunts, two of hisgreat-uncles, one of his great-aunts, and one of his grown-up cousins, at cards: and he proved to be warranted in believing that they would alllike to know what he had heard. Newland's statement became quitecelebrated throughout the family: and Julia, who had perceived almost asacred something in his original fervour, changed her mind after hearingthe words musingly repeated, over and over, by her fat old Uncle Joe. 

Florence thought proper to remind her of this to-day, after Julia'sprotest containing the too moderately confessional word "three. "

"If you don't want to be such a circus, " the niece continued, reasoningperfectly, "I don't see what you always keep leadin' all of 'em on allthe time just the same for. "

"Who've you heard saying that, Florence?" her aunt demanded. 

"Aunt Fanny Patterson, " Florence replied absently. "F'r instance, AuntJulia, I don't see what you want to go walking with Newland Sanders for, when you said yourself you wished he was dead, or somep'n, after theregot to be so muck talk in the family and everywhere about his sayin' allthat about the Bible when you hurt your thumb. All the family----"

Julia sighed profoundly. "I wish 'all the family' would try to thinkabout themselves for just a little while! There's entirely too littleself-centredness among my relatives to suit me!"

"Why, it's only because you're related to me that _I_ pay the very_slightest_ attention to what goes on here, " Florence protested. "It'smy own grandfather's house, isn't it? Well, if you didn't live here, andif you wasn't my own grandfather's daughter, Aunt Julia, I wouldn't everpay the _very_ slightest attention to you! Anyway, I don't _much_criticize all these people that keep calling on you--anyway not half asmuch as Herbert does. Herbert thinks he always hass to act so critical, now his voice is changing. "

"At your age, " said Julia, "my mind was on my schoolbooks. "

"Why, Aunt Julia!" Florence exclaimed in frank surprise. "Grandpa saysjust the opposite from that. I've heard him say, time and time and timeagain, you always _were_ this way, ever since you were four years old. "

"What way?" asked her aunt. 

"Like you are now, Aunt Julia. Grandpa says by the time you werefourteen it got so bad he had to get a new front gate, the way theyleaned on it. He says he hoped when you grew up he'd get a little peacein his own house, but he says it's worse, and never for one minute thelivelong day can he----"

"I know, " Julia interrupted. "He talks like a Christian Martyr andbehaves like Nero. I might warn you to keep away from him, by the way, Florence. He says that either you or Herbert was over here yesterday andused his spectacles to cut a magazine with, and broke them. I wouldn'tbe around here much if I were you until he's got over it. "

"It must have been Herbert broke 'em, " said Florence promptly. 

"Papa thinks it was you. Kitty Silver told him it was. "

"Mean ole reptile!" said Florence, alluding to Mrs. Silver; then sheadded serenely, "Well, grandpa don't get home till five o'clock, andit's only about a quarter of two now. Aunt Julia, what are you waitin'around here for?"

"I told you; I'm going walking. "

"I mean: Who with?"

Miss Atwater permitted herself a light moan. "With Mr. Sanders and Mr. Ridgely, Florence. "

Florence's eyes grew large and eager. "Why, Aunt Julia, I thought thosetwo didn't speak to each other any more!"

"They don't, " Julia assented in a lifeless voice. "It just happened thatMr. Sanders and Mr. Ridgley and Mr. Dill, all three, asked me to take awalk this afternoon at two o'clock. "

"But Noble Dill isn't going?"

"No, " said Julia. "I was fortunate enough to remember that I'd alreadypromised someone else when he asked me. That's what I didn't rememberwhen Mr. Ridgely asked me. "

"I'd have gone with Noble Dill, " Florence said firmly. "Noble Dill is myVery Ideal! I'd marry him to-morrow. "

"It seems to me, " her aunt remarked, "I heard your mother tellingsomebody the other day that you had said the same thing about the Kingof Spain. "

Florence laughed. "Oh, that was only a passing fancy, " she said lightly. "Aunt Julia, what's Newland Sanders supposed to do?"

"I think he hasn't entered any business or profession yet. "

"I bet he couldn't, " her niece declared. "What's that old Ridgelysupposed to be? Just a widower?"

"Never mind!"

"And that George Plum's supposed to do something or other around UncleJoe's ole bank, isn't he?" Florence continued. 

"'Supposed'!" Julia protested. "What is all this 'supposed to be'? Wheredid you catch that horrible habit? You know the whole family worriesover your superciliousness, Florence; but until now I've always thoughtit was just the way your face felt easiest. If it's going to break outin your talk, too, it's time you began to cure yourself of it. "

"Oh, it doesn't hurt anything!" Florence made careless response, and, asshe saw the thin figure of young Mr. Sanders approaching in thedistance, "Look!" she cried, pointing. "Why, he doesn't even _compare_to Noble Dill!"

"Don't point at people!"

"Well, he's nothing much to point at!" She lowered her finger. "It's nodepredation to me, Aunt Julia, to give up pointing at Newland Sanders. Atch'ly, I wouldn't give Noble Dill's little finger for a hunderd andfifty Newland Sanderses!"

Julia smiled faintly as she watched Mr. Sanders, who seemed not yet tobe aware of her, because he thought it would be better to reach the gateand lift his hat just there. "What _has_ brought on all this tendernessin favour of Mr. Dill, Florence?"

Her niece's eyes, concentrated in thought, then became dreamy. "I likehim because he's so uncouth, " she said. "I think he's the uncouthest ofany person I ever saw. "

"'Uncouth'?"

"Yes, " said Florence. "Herbert said I was uncouth, and I looked it up inthe ditchanary. It said, 'Rare, exquisite, elegant, unknown, obs, unfamiliar, strange, ' and a whole lot else. I never did know a word thatmeans so much, I guess. What's 'obs' mean, Aunt Julia?"

"Hush!" said Julia, rising, for Mr. Sanders had made a little startledmovement as he reached the gate and caught sight of her; and now, strawhat in hand, he was coming up the brick walk that led to the veranda. His eyes were fixed upon Julia with an intensity that seemed to affecthis breathing; there was a hushedness about him. And Florence, infascination, watched Julia's expression and posture take on those littlechanges that always seemed demanded of her by the approach of a young oryoungish man, or a nicely dressed old one. By almost imperceptibleprocesses the commonplace moment became dramatic at once. 

"You!" said Newland in a low voice. 

And Julia, with an implication as flattering as the gesture wasgraceful, did not wait till he was within reach, but suddenly extendedher welcoming hand at arm's length. He sprang forward convulsively andgrasped it, as if forever. 

"You see my little niece?" Julia said. "I think you know her. "

"Know her?" Mr. Sanders repeated; then roused his faculties and gaveFlorence a few fingers dangling coldly after their recent emotion. "Florence. Oh, yes, Florence. "

Florence had not risen, but remained seated upon the steps, her look andair committed to that mood of which so much complaint had been made. "How do you do, " she said. "There's Mr. Ridgely. "

"Where?" Newland asked loudly. 

"Comin' in at the gate, " said Florence. "He's goin' walkin' with you, too. "

In this crisis, Mr. Sanders's feeling was obviously one of startledanguish. He turned to Julia. 

"Why, this is terrible!" he said. "You told me----"

"Sh!" she warned him; and whispered hastily, all in a breath:"_Couldn't-be-helped-explain-next-time-I-see-you. _" Then she advanced agracious step to meet the newcomer. 

But the superciliousness of Florence visibly increased with this advent:Mr. Ridgely was easily old enough to be her grandfather, yet she seemedto wish it evident that she would not have cared for him even in thatcapacity. He was, in truth, one of those widowers who feel younger thanever, and behave as they feel. Since his loss he had shown the greatestwillingness to forego whatever advantages age and experience had givenhim over the descendants of his old friends and colleagues, and hischeerfulness as well as his susceptibility to all that was charming hadbegun to make him so famous in the town that some of his contemporariesseemed to know scarce another topic. And Julia had a kinder heart, asher father bitterly complained, than most girls. 

The widower came, holding out to her a votive cluster of violets, apink rose among them, their stems wrapped in purple; and upon the lapelof his jovial flannel coat were other violets about a pink rosebud. 

"How pretty of you!" said Julia, taking the offering; and as she pinnedit at her waist, she added rather nervously, "I believe you know Mr. Sanders; he is going with us. "

She was warranted in believing the gentlemen to be acquainted, becauseno longer ago than the previous week they both had stated, in herpresence and simultaneously, that any further communication between themwould be omitted for life. Julia realized, of course, that Mr. Ridgelymust find the present meeting as trying as Newland did, and, to help himbear it, she contrived to make him hear the hurried whisper:"_Couldn't-be-helped-explain-some-day. _"

Then with a laugh not altogether assured, she took up her parasol. "Shall we be starting?" she inquired. 

"Here's Noble Dill, " said Florence, "I guess he's goin' to try to gowalkin' with you, too, Aunt Julia. "

Julia turned, for in fact the gate at that moment clicked behind thenervously advancing form of Noble Dill. He came with, a bravado thatwas merely pitiable and he tried to snap his Orduma cigarette away withthumb and forefinger in a careless fashion, only to see it publiclydisappear through an open cellar window of the house. 

"I hope there's no excelsior down there, " said Newland Sanders. "A goodmany houses have burned to the ground just that way. "

"It fell on the cement floor, " Florence reported, peering into thewindow. "It'll go out pretty soon. "

"Then I suppose we might as well do the same thing, " said Newland, addressing Julia first and Mr. Dill second. "Miss Atwater and I are juststarting for a walk. "

Mr. Ridgely also addressed the new arrival. "Miss Atwater and I are juststarting for a walk. "

"You see, Noble, " said the kind-hearted Julia, "I did tell you I hadanother engagement. "

"I came by here, " Mr. Dill began in a tone commingling timidity, love, and a fatal stubbornness; "I came by here--I mean I just happened to bepassing--and I thought if it was a walking-_party_, well, why not goalong? That's the way it struck me. " He paused, coughing for courage andtrying to look easily genial, but not succeeding; then he added, "Well, as I say, that's the way it struck me--as it were. I suppose we might aswell be starting. "

"Yes, we might, " Newland Sanders said quickly; and he placed himself atJulia's left, seizing upon her parasol and opening it withdetermination. 

Mr. Ridgely had kept himself closely at the lady's right. "You weremistaken, my boy, " he said, falsely benevolent. "It isn't aparty--though there's Miss Florence, Noble. Nobody's asked her to gowalking to-day!"

Now, Florence took this satire literally. She jumped up and saidbrightly: "I just as soon! Let's _do_ have a walking-party. I just assoon walk with Mr. Dill as anybody, and we can all keep together, kindof. " With that, she stepped confidently to the side of her selectedescort, who appeared to be at a loss how to avert her kindness. 

There was a moment of hesitation, during which a malevolent pleasureslightly disfigured the countenances of the two gentlemen with Julia;but when Florence pointed to a house across the street and remarked, "There's Great-Uncle Milford and Aunt C'nelia; they been lookin' out oftheir second guestroom window about half an hour, " Julia uttered anexclamation. 

"Murder!" she said, and moved with decision toward the gate. "Let's go!"

Thus the little procession started, Mr. Sanders and the sprightlywidower at Beauty's side, with Florence and Mr. Dill so close behindthat, before they had gone a block, Newland found it necessary to warnthis rear rank that the heels of his new shoes were not part of thepavement. After that the rear rank, a little abashed, consented to fallback some paces. Julia's heightened colour, meanwhile, was little abatedby some slight episodes attending the progress of the walking-party. HerAunt Fanny Patterson, rocking upon a veranda, rose and evidently calledto someone within the house, whereupon she was joined by her invalidsister, Aunt Harriet, with a trained nurse and two elderly domestics, asolemnly whispering audience. And in the front yard of "the HenryAtwater house, " at the next corner, Herbert underwent a genuinebedazzlement, but he affected more. His violent gaze dwelt uponFlorence, and he permitted his legs slowly to crumple under him, until, just as the party came nearest him, he lay prostrate upon his back in aswoon. Afterward he rose and for a time followed in a burlesque manner;then decided to return home. 

"Old heathen!" said Florence, glancing back over her shoulder as hedisappeared from view. 

Mr. Dill was startled from a reverie inspired by the back of Julia'shead. "'Heathen'?" he said, in plaintive inquiry. 

"I meant Herbert, " Florence informed him. "Cousin Herbert Atwater. Hewas following us, walking Dutch. "

"'Cousin Herbert Atwater'?" said Noble dreamily. "'Dutch'?"

"He won't any more, " said Florence. "He always hass to show off, now hisvoice is changing. " She spoke, and she also walked, with dignity--arather dashing kind of dignity, which was what Herbert's eccentricity ofgait intended to point out injuriously. In fact, never before hadFlorence been so impressed with herself; never before, indeed, had shebeen a member of a grown-up non-family party; never before had she gonewalking with an actual adult young man for her escort; and she felt thatshe owed it to her position to appear in as brilliant an aspect aspossible. She managed to give herself a rhythmical, switching motion, causing her kneelength skirt to swing from side to side--a pomp thatbrought her a great deal of satisfaction as she now and then caught theeffect by twisting her neck enough to see down behind, over hershoulder. 

But her poise was temporarily threatened when the walking-party passedher own house. Her mother happened to be sitting near an open windowupstairs, and, after gazing forth with warm interest at Julia and hertwo outwalkers, Mrs. Atwater's astonished eyes fell upon Florence takingcare of the overflow. Florence bowed graciously. 

"Florence!" her mother called down from the window: whereupon bothFlorence and her Aunt Julia were instantly apprehensive, for Mrs. GeorgeAtwater's lack of tact was a legend in the family. "Florence! Where onearth are you going?"

"Never mind!" Florence thought best to respond. "Never mind!"

"You'd better come _in_, " Mrs. Atwater called, her voice necessarilylouder as the party moved onward. 

"Never mind!" Florence called back. 

Mrs. Atwater leaned out of the window. "Where are you going? Come backand get your _hat_. You'll get a _sunstroke_!"

Florence was able to conceal her indignation, and merely waved a handin airy dismissal as they passed from Mrs. Atwater's sight, leaving herstill shouting. 

The daughter smiled negligently and shrugged her shoulders. "She'll getover it!" she said. 

"Who?"

"My mother. She was the one makin' all that noise, " said Florence. "Sometimes I do what she says: sometimes I don't. It's all accordings tothe way I feel. " She looked up in her companion's face, and herexpression became politely fond as she thought how uncouth he was, forin Florence's eye Noble Dill was truly rare, exquisite, and unfamiliar;and she believed that he was obs, too, whatever that meant. She oftenthought about him, and no longer ago than yesterday she had told KittySilver that she couldn't see "how Aunt Julia could _look_ at anybodyelse!"

Florence's selection of Noble Dill for the bright favourite of herdreams was one of her own mysteries. Noble was not beautiful, neitherdid he present to the ordinary eye of man anything especially rare, exquisite, unfamiliar, or even so distinguished as to be obsolete. Hewas about twenty-two, but not one of those book-read sportsmen of thatage, confident in clothes and manner, easy travellers and debonair;that is to say, Noble was not of the worldly type twenty-two. True, hehad graduated from the High-school before entering his father's RealEstate and Insurance office, but his geographical experiences (inparticular) had been limited to three or four railway excursions, atspecial rates, to such points of interest as Mammoth Cave and Petoskey, Michigan. His other experiences were not more sparkling, and except forthe emotions within him, he was in all the qualities of his mind as wellas in his bodily contours and the apparel sheltering the latter, themost commonplace person in Florence's visible world. The inner areas ofthe first and second fingers of his left hand bore cigarette stains, seemingly indelible: the first and second fingers of his right hand werestrongly ornamented in a like manner; tokens proving him ambidextrous tobut a limited extent, however. Moreover, his garments and garnitureswere not comparable to those of either Newland Sanders or that dapperantique, Mr. Ridgely. Noble's straw hat might have brightened under thetreatment of lemon juice or other restorative; his scarf was folded tohide a spot that worked steadily toward a complete visibility, and somerecent efforts upon his trousers with a tepid iron, in his bedchamberat home, counteracted but feebly that tendency of cloth to sculptureitself in hummocks upon repeated pressure of the human knee. 

All in all, nothing except the expression of Noble's face and thesomewhat ill-chosen pansy in his buttonhole hinted of the remarkable. Yet even here was a thing for which he was not responsible himself; itwas altogether the work of Julia. What her work was, in the case ofNoble Dill, may be expressed in a word--a word used not only by thewhole Atwater family connection, in completely expressing Noble'scondition, but by Noble's own family connection as well. This completeword was "awful. "

Florence was the one exception on the Atwater side: she was far, farfrom thinking or speaking of Noble Dill in that way, although, until shelooked up "uncouth" in Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, she had notfound suitable means to describe him. And now, as she walked at hisside, she found her sensations to be nothing short of thrilling. For itmust be borne in mind that this was her first and wholly unexpectedoutburst into society; the experience was that of an obscure aerolitesuddenly become a noble meteor. She longed to say or do somethingmagnificent--something strange and exhilarating, in keeping with her newstation in life. 

It was this longing, and by no means a confirmed unveracity, thatprompted her to amplify her comments upon her own filial independence. "Oh, I guess I pretty near never do anything I don't want to, " she said. "I kind of run the house to suit myself. I guess if the truth had to betold, I just about run the whole Atwater family, when it comes to that!"

The statement was so noticeable that it succeeded in turning Noble'sattention from the back of Julia's head. "You do?" he said. "Well, thatseems queer, " he added absently. 

"Oh, I don't know!" she laughed. In her increasing exaltation thingsappeared actually to be as she wished them to be; an atmosphere bothqueenly and adventurous seemed to invest her, and any remnants of humancaution in her were assuaged by the circumstance that her Aunt Julia'sattention was subject to the strong demands necessarily imposed uponanybody taking a walk between two gentlemen who do not "speak" to eachother. "Oh, I don't know, " said Florence. "The family's used to it bythis time, I guess. The way I do things, they haf to be, I guess. Whenthey don't like it I don't say much for a while, then I just----" Shepaused, waiting for her imagination to supply a sequel to the drama justsketched. "Well, I guess they kind of find out they better step aroundpretty lively, " she concluded darkly. "They don't bother around _too_much!"

"I suppose not, " said Noble, his vacancy and credulity continuing todovetail perfectly. 

"You bet not!" the exuberant Florence thought proper to suggest as apreferable expression. And then she had an inspiration to enliven hisdreamy interest in her conversation. "Grandpa, he's the one I kind ofrun most of all of 'em. He's about fifty or sixty, and so he hasn't gottoo much sense. What I mean, he hasn't got too much sense _left_, youknow. So I haf to sort of take holt every now and then. " She lowered hervoice a little, some faint whisper of discretion reaching her inwardear. "Aunt Julia can't do a thing with him. I guess that's maybe thereason she kind of depen's on me so much; or anyway somep'n like that. You know, f'r instance, I had to help talk grandpa into lettin' her sendto New York for her things. Aunt Julia gets all her things in New York. "

Undeniably, Mr. Dill's interest flickered up. "_Things_?" he repeatedinquiringly. "Her things?"

"Yes. Everything she wears, you know. "

"Oh, yes. "

"What I was goin' to tell you, " Florence continued, "you know grandpajust about hates everybody. Anyhow, he'd like to have some peace andquiet once in a while in his own house, he says, instead of all thismoil and turmoil, and because the doctor said all the matter with herwas she eats too much candy, and they keep sendin' more all thetime--and there's somep'n the trouble with grandpa: it makes him sick tosmell violets: he had it ever since he was a little boy, and he can'thelp it; and he hates animals, and they keep sendin' her Airedales andPersian kittens, and then there was that alligator came from Florida andupset Kitty Silver terribly--and so, you see, grandpa just hates thewhole everlasting business. "

Mr. Dill nodded and spoke with conviction: "He's absolutely right;absolutely!"

"Well, some ways he is, " said Florence; and she added confidentially:"The trouble is, he seems to think you're about as bad as any of 'em. "

"What?"

"_Well_!" Florence exclaimed, with upward gestures both of eye and ofhand, to signify what she left untold of Mr. Atwater's orations uponhis favourite subject: Noble Dill. "It's torrable!" she added. 

Noble breathed heavily, but a thought struggled in him and a brighteningappeared upon him. "You mean----" he began. "Do you mean it's terriblefor your Aunt Julia? Do you mean his injustice about me makes her feelterribly?"

"No, " said Florence. "No: I mean the way he goes on about everybody. ButAunt Julia's kind of used to it. And anyhow you needn't worry about him'long as I'm on your side. He won't do anything much to you if I say notto. Hardly anything at all. " And then, with almost a tenderness, as shemarked the visibly insufficient reassurance of her companion, she saidhandsomely: "He won't say a word. I'll tell him not to. "

Noble was dazed; no novelty, for he had been dazed almost continuallyduring the past seven months, since a night when dancing with Julia, whom he had known all his life, he "noticed for the first time what shelooked like. " (This was his mother's description. ) Somewhere, he vaguelyrecalled, he had read of the extraordinary influence possessed bycertain angelic kinds of children; he knew, too, what favouritegrandchildren can do with grandfathers. The effect upon him wasaltogether base; he immediately sought by flattery to increase andretain Florence's kindness. "I always _thought_ you seemed to know morethan most girls of your age, " he began. 

It was a great afternoon for Florence. From time to time she glancedover her shoulder at the switching skirt, and increased its radius ofaction, though this probably required more exercise, compared to theextent of ground covered, than any lady member of a walking-party hadever before taken, merely as a pedestrian. Meanwhile, she chattered on, but found time to listen to the pleasant things said to her by hercompanion; and though most of these were, in truth, rather vague, shewas won to him more than he knew. Henceforth she was to be his championindeed, sometimes with greater energy than he would need. 

... The two were left alone together by Julia's gate when the walk (asshort as Julia dared to make it) was over. 

"Well, " Florence said, "I've had quite a nice time. I hope you enjoyedyourself nicely, too, Mr. Dill. " Then her eye rose to the overhangingbranch of a shade-tree near them. "Would you like to see me chinmyself?" she asked, stepping beneath the branch. "I bet I couldskin-the-cat on that limb! Would you like to see me do it?"

"I would _so_!" the flatterer enthused. 

She became thoughtful, remembering that she was now a lady who tookwalks with grown gentlemen. "I can, but I won't, " she said. "I used todo lots of things like that. I used to whenever I felt like it. I couldchin myself four times and Herbert only three. I was lots better thanHerbert when I used to do all kinds of things like that. "

"Were you?"

She laughed as in a musing retrospect of times gone by. "I guess I usedto be a pretty queer kind of a girl in those days, " she said. "Well--Is'pose we ought to say good-bye for the present, so to speak, Mr. Dill. "

"I'm afraid so. "

"Well----" She stood looking at him expectantly, but he said nothingmore. "Well, good-bye for the present, Mr. Dill, " she said again, and, turning, walked away with dignity. But a moment later she forgot allabout her skirt and scampered. 

CHAPTER FOUR

Mrs. Dill, Noble's mother, talked of organizing a Young Men's Mothers'Club against Julia, nevertheless she acknowledged that in one solitaryway Noble was being improved by the experience. His two previous attacksof love (one at twelve, and the other at eighteen) had been incomparablylighter, and the changes in him, noted at home, merely a slight generalirritability and a lack of domestic punctuality due to too muchpunctuality elsewhere. But, when his Julia Atwater trouble came, thevery first symptom he manifested was a strange new effort to becomebeautiful; his mother even discovered that he sometimes worked withpumice stone upon the cigarette stains on his fingers. 

The most curious thing about his condition was that for a long time hetook it for granted that his family did not know what was the matterwith him; and this shows as nothing else could the meekness and tact ofthe Dills; for, excluding bad cooks and the dangerously insane, thepersons most disturbing to the serenity of households are young lovers. But the world has had to accommodate itself to them because young loverscannot possibly accommodate themselves to the world. For the young loverthere is no general life of the species; for him the universe is adelicate blush under a single bonnet. He has but an irritated perceptionof every vital thing in nature except the vital thing under this bonnet;all else is trivial intrusion. But whatever does concern the centrifugalbonnet, whatever concerns it in the remotest--ah, _then_ he springs tolife! So Noble Dill sat through a Sunday dinner at home, seeminglydrugged to a torpor, while the family talk went on about him; but whenhis father, in the course of some remarks upon politics, happened tomention the name of the county-treasurer, Charles J. Patterson, Noble'sstartled attention to the conversation was so conspicuous as to bedisconcerting. Mrs. Dill signalled with her head that comment should beomitted, and Mr. Dill became, for the moment, one factor in a fairlyclear example of telepathic communication, for it is impossible tobelieve that his wife's almost imperceptible gesture was what causedhim to remember that Charles J. Patterson was Julia Atwater's uncle. 

That name, Charles J. Patterson, coming thus upon Noble's ear, was likean unexpected shrine on the wayside where plods the fanatic pilgrim; andyet Mr. Patterson was the most casual of Julia's uncles-by-marriage: heneither had nor desired any effect upon her destiny. To Noble he seemeda being ineffably privileged and fateful, and something of the samequality invested the wooden gateposts in front of Julia's house;invested everything that had to do with her. What he felt about herfather, that august old danger, himself, was not only the uncalled-foraffection inevitable toward Julia's next of kin, but also a kind ofhorror due to the irresponsible and awful power possessed by a sacredgirl's parent. Florence's offer of protection had not entirely reassuredthe young lover, and, in sum, Noble loved Mr. Atwater, but often, in hisreveries, when he had rescued him from drowning or being burned todeath, he preferred to picture the peculiar old man's injuries asultimately fatal. 

For the other Atwaters his feeling held less of apprehension, more oftenderness; and whenever he saw one of them he became deferential and alittle short of breath. Thus, on a sunny afternoon, having been home tolunch after his morning labour downtown, he paused in passing youngHerbert's place of residence and timidly began a conversation with thisglamoured nephew. It happened that during the course of the morningHerbert had chosen a life career for himself; he had decided to become ascientific specialist, an entomologist; and he was now on his kneesstudying the manners and customs of the bug inhabitants of the lawnbefore the house, employing for his purpose a large magnifying lens, or"reading glass. " (His discovery of this implement in the attic, coincidentally with his reading a recent "Sunday Supplement" article onbugs, had led to his sudden choice of a vocation. )

"Did somebody--ah, have any of the family lost anything, Herbert?" Nobleasked in a gentle voice, speaking across the fence. 

Herbert did not look up, nor did he relax the scientific frown upon hisbrow. "No, " he said. "They always _are_ losin' things, espesh'ly AuntJulia, when she comes over here, or anywheres else; but I wouldn't waste_my_ time lookin' for any old earrings or such. I got more importantthings to do on my hands. "

"_Has_ your Aunt Julia lost an earring, Herbert?"

"Her? Well, she nearly always _has_ lost somep'n or other, but thatisn't bother'n' _me_ any. I got better things to do with my time. "Herbert spoke without interrupting his occupation or relaxing hisforehead. "Nacher'l history is a _little_ more important to theinhabitants of our universe than a lot o' worthless jew'lry, I guess, "he continued; and his pride in discovering that he could say things likethis was so great that his frown gave way temporarily to a look ofpleased surprise, then came back again to express an importance muchincreased. He rose, approached the fence, and condescended to lean uponit. "I don't guess there's one person in a thousand, " he said, "thatknows what they _ought_ to know about our inseck friends. "

"No, " Mr. Dill agreed readily. "I guess that's so. I guess you're rightabout that, Herbert. When did your Aunt Julia lose the earring, Herbert?"

"I d' know, " said Herbert. "Now, you take my own father and mother: Whatdo they know? Well, mighty little. They may have had to learn a littleteeny bit about insecks when they were in school, but whatever little itwas they went and forgot it proba'ly long before they were married. Well, that's no way. F'r instance, you take a pinchin' bug: What do yousuppose my father and mother know about its position in the inseckworld?"

"Well----" said Noble uneasily. "Well----" He coughed, and hastened toadd: "But as I was saying, if she lost her earring somewhere in youryard, or----"

The scientific boy evidently did not follow this line of thought, for heinterrupted: "Why, they wouldn't know a thing about it, and a pinchin'bug isn't one of the highest insecks at all. Ants are way up compared tomost pinchin' bugs. Ants are way up anyway. Now, you take an ant----" Hepaused. "Well, everybody ought to know a lot more'n they do about ants. It takes time, and you got to study 'em the right way, and of coursethere's lots of people wouldn't know how to do it. I'm goin' to get abook I been readin' about. It's called 'The Ant. '"

For a moment Noble was confused; he followed his young friend'sdiscourse but hazily, and Herbert pronounced the word "ant" precisely ashe pronounced the word "aunt. " The result was that Noble began to saysomething rather dreamy concerning the book just mentioned, but, realizing that he was being misunderstood, he changed his murmur into acough, and inquired:

"When was she over here, Herbert?"

"Who?"

"Your Aunt Julia. "

"Yesterday evening, " said Herbert. "Now, f'r instance, you take a commonlightning-bug----"

"Did she lose it, then?"

"Lose what?"

"Her earring. "

"I d' know, " said Herbert. "You take the common lightning-bug or, asit's called in some countries, the firefly----"

He continued, quoting and misquoting the entomological authority of therecent "Sunday Supplement"; but his friend on the other side of thefence was inattentive to the lecture. Noble's mind was occupied with awonder; he had realized, though dimly, that here was he, trying to makestarry Julia the subject of a conversation with a person who had thedear privilege of being closely related to her--and preferred to talkabout bugs. 

Herbert talked at considerable length about lightning-bugs, but as hisvoice happened rather precociously to be already in a state ofadolescent change, the sound was not soothing; yet Noble lingered. Nephews were queer, but this one was Julia's, and he finally mentionedher again, as incidental to lightning-bugs; whereupon the mere hearer ofsounds became instantly a listener to words. 

"Well, and then I says, " Herbert continued;--"I says: 'It's phosphorus, Aunt Julia. ' I guess there's hardly anybody in the world doesn't knowmore than Aunt Julia, except about dresses and parasols and every otheruseless thing under the sun. She says: 'My! I always thought it wassulphur!' Said nobody ever _told_ her it wasn't sulphur! I asked her: Isaid: 'You mean to sit there and tell me you don't know the difference?'And she says: 'I don't care one way or the other, ' she says. She saidshe just as soon a lightning-bug made his light with sulphur as withphosphorus; it didn't make any difference to her, she says, and theycould go ahead and make their light any way they wanted, _she_ wouldn'tinterfere! I had a whole hatful of 'em, and she told me not to take 'eminto their house, because grandpa hates insecks as much as he doesanimals and violets, and she said they never owned a microscope or amagnifying-glass in their lives, and wouldn't let me hunt for one. Allin the world she knows is how to sit on the front porch and say: 'Ohyou don't mean _that!_' to somebody like Newland Sanders or that olewidower!"

"When?" Noble asked impulsively. "When did she say that?"

"Oh, I d' know, " said Herbert. "I expect she proba'ly says it tosomebody or other about every evening there is. "

"She does?"

"Florence says so, " Herbert informed him carelessly. "Florence goes overto grandpa's after dark and sits on the ground up against the porch andlistens. "

Noble first looked startled then uneasily reminiscent. "I don't believeFlorence ought to do that, " he said gravely. 

"_I_ wouldn't do it!" Herbert was emphatic. 

"That's right, Herbert. I'm glad you wouldn't. "

"No, sir, " the manly boy declared. "You wouldn't never catch _me_ takin'my death o' cold sittin' on the damp grass in the night air just tolisten to a lot o' tooty-tooty about 'I've named a star for you, ' andall such. You wouldn't catch me----"

Noble partly concealed a sudden anguish. "Who?" he interrupted. "Who didshe say _that_ to?"

"She didn't. They say it to her, and she says? 'Oh, you don't meanthat!' and of course then they haf to go on and say some more. Florencesays----" He checked himself. "Oh, I forgot! I promised Florence Iwouldn't tell anything about all this. "

"It's safe, " Noble assured him quickly. "I'm quite a friend ofFlorence's and it's absolutely safe with me. I won't speak of it toanybody, Herbert. Who was it told her he'd named a star for her?"

"It was the way some ole poem began. Newland Sanders wrote it. Florencefound it under Aunt Julia's sofa-cushions and read it all through, but_I_ wouldn't wade through all that tooty-tooty for a million dollars, and I told her to put it back before Aunt Julia noticed. Well, aboutevery day he writes her a fresh one, and then in the evening he stayslater than the rest, and reads 'em to her--and you ought to hear grandpawhen _he_ gets to talkin' about it!"

"He's perfectly right, " said Noble. "Perfectly! What does he say when hetalks about it, Herbert?"

"Oh, he says all this and that; and then he kind of mutters around, andyou can't tell just what all the words are exactly, so't he can deny itif any o' the family accuses him of swearing or anything. " And Herbertadded casually: "He was kind of goin' on like that about you, nightbefore last. "

"About _me_! Why, what could he say about _me_?"

"Oh, all this and that. "

"But what did he find to say?"

"Well, he heard her tellin' you how you oughtn't to smoke so manycigarettes and all about how it was killin' you, and you sayin' youguessed it wouldn't matter if you _did_ die, and Aunt Julia sayin' 'Oh, you don't mean that, ' and all this and such and so on, you know. He canhear anything on the porch pretty good from the lib'ary; and Florencetold me about that, besides, because she was sittin' in the grass andall. She told Great-Uncle Joe and Aunt Hattie about it, too. "

"My heavens!" Noble gasped, as for the first time he realized to whattrumpeting publicity that seemingly hushed and moonlit bower, sacred toJulia, had been given over. He gulped, flushed, repeated "My heavens!"and then was able to add, with a feeble suggestion of lightness: "Isuppose your grandfather understood it was just a sort of joke, didn'the?"

"No, " said Herbert, and continued in a friendly way, for he wasflattered by Noble's interest in his remarks, and began to feel aliking for him. "No. He said Aunt Julia only talked like that becauseshe couldn't think of anything else to say, and it was wearin' him out. He said all the good it did was to make you smoke more to make her thinkhow reckless you were; but the worst part of it was, he'd be the onlyone to suffer, because it blows all through the house and he's got tosit in it. He said he just could stand the smell of _some_ cigarettes, but if you burned any more o' yours on his porch he was goin' to askyour father to raise your salary for collectin' real-estate rents, so'tyou'd feel able to buy some real tobacco. He----"

But the flushed listener felt that he had heard as much as he was calledupon to bear; and he interrupted, in a voice almost out of control, tosay that he must be "getting on downtown. " His young friend, divertedfrom bugs, showed the greatest willingness to continue the narrativeindefinitely, evidently being in possession of copious material; butNoble turned to depart. An afterthought detained him. "Where was it shelost her earring?"

"Who?"

"Your Aunt Julia. "

"Why, _I_ didn't say she lost any earring, " Herbert returned. "I saidshe always _was_ losin' 'em: I didn't say she did. "

"Then you didn't mean----"

"No, " said Herbert, "_I_ haven't heard of her losin' anything at all, lately. " Here he added: "Well, grandpa kept goin' on about you, and hetold her----Well, so long!" And gazed after the departing Mr. Dill insome surprise at the abruptness of the latter's leave-taking. Then, wondering how the back of Noble's neck could have got itself so fierysunburnt, Herbert returned to his researches in the grass. 

 * * * * *

The peaceful street, shady and fragrant with summer, was so quiet thatthe footfalls of the striding Noble were like an interruption ofcoughing in a silent church. As he seethed adown the warm sidewalk thesoles of his shoes smote the pavement, for mentally he was walking notupon cement but upon Mr. Atwater. 

Unconsciously his pace presently became slower for a more concentratedbrooding upon this slanderous old man who took advantage of his positionto poison his daughter's mind against the only one of her suitors whocared in the highest way. And upon this there came an infinitesimalconsolation in the midst of anguish, for he thought of what Herbert hadtold him about Mr. Newland Sanders's poems to Julia, and he had a strongconviction that one time or another Mr. Atwater must have spoken evenmore disparagingly of these poems and their author than he had of Ordumacigarettes and their smoker. Perhaps the old man was not altogethervile. 

This charitable moment passed. He recalled the little moonlit drama onthe embowered veranda, when Julia, in her voice of plucked harp strings, told him that he smoked too much, and he had said it didn't matter;nobody would care much if he died--and Julia said gently that his motherwould, and other people, too; he mustn't talk so recklessly. Out of thisthe old eavesdropper had viciously represented him to be a poser, notreally reckless at all; had insulted his cigarettes and his salary. Well, Noble would show him! He had doubts about being able to show Mr. Atwater anything important connected with the cigarettes or the salary, but he _could_ prove how reckless he was. With that, a vision formedbefore him: he saw Julia and her father standing spellbound at acrossing while a smiling youth stood directly between the rails in themiddle of the street and let a charging trolley-car destroy him--notinstantly, for he would live long enough to whisper, as the strickenpair bent over him: "Now, Julia, which do you believe: your father, orme?" And then with a slight, dying sneer: "Well, Mr. Atwater, is _this_reckless enough to suit you?"

 * * * * *

Town squirrels flitted along their high paths in the shade-tree branchesabove the embittered young lover, and he noticed them not at all, whichwas but little less than he noticed the elderly human couple whoobserved him from a side-yard as he passed by. Mr. And Mrs. Burgess hadbeen happily married for fifty-three years and four months. Mr. Burgesslay in a hammock between two maple trees, and was soothingly swung bymeans of a string connecting the hammock and the rocking-chair in whichsat Mrs Burgess, acting as a mild motor for both the chair and thehammock. "That's Noble Dill walking along the sidewalk, " Mrs. Burgesssaid, interpreting for her husband's failing eyes. "I bowed to him, buthe hardly seemed to see us and just barely lifted his hat. He needn't becross with _us_ because some other young man's probably taking JuliaAtwater out driving!"

"Yes, he need!" Mr. Burgess declared. "A boy in his condition needs tobe cross with everything. Sometimes they get so cross they go and drinkliquor. Don't you remember?"

She laughed. "I remember once!" she assented, and laughed again. 

"Why, it's a terrible time of life, " her husband went on. "Poets andsuchlike always take on about young love as if it were a charming andromantic experience, but really it's just a series of mortifications. The young lover is always wanting to do something dashing and romanticand Sir Walter Raleigh-like, but in ordinary times about the wildestthing he can do, if he can afford it, is to learn to run a Ford. And hecan't stand a word of criticism; he can't stand being made the leastlittle bit of fun of; and yet all the while his state of mind lays himparticularly open to all the things he can't stand. He can't standanything, and he has to stand everything. Why, it's a _horrible_ time oflife, mamma!"

"Yes, it is, " she assented placidly. "I'm glad we don't have to gothrough it again, Freddie; though you're only eighty-two, and with agirl like Julia Atwater around nobody ought to be sure. "

CHAPTER FIVE

Although Noble had saluted the old couple so crossly, thus unconsciouslymaking them, as he made the sidewalk, proxy for Mr. Atwater, so tospeak, yet the sight of them penetrated his outer layers ofpreoccupation and had an effect upon him. In the midst of his sufferinghis imagination paused for a shudder: What miserable old gray shadowsthose two were! Thank Heaven he and Julia could never be like that! Andin the haze that rose before his mind's eye he saw himself leading Juliathrough years of adventure in far parts of the world: there wereglimpses of himself fighting grotesque figures on the edge of Himalayanprecipices at dawn, while Julia knelt by the tent on the glacier andprayed for him. He saw head-waiters bowing him and Julia to tables in"strange, foreign cafés, " and when they were seated, and he had ordereddishes that amazed her, he would say in a low voice: "Don't look now, but do you see that heavy-shouldered man with the insignia, sittingwith that adventuress and those eight officers who are really hisguards? Don't be alarmed, Julia, but I am here to _get_ that man!Perhaps you remember what your father once said of me? Now, when what Ihave to do here is done, perhaps you may wish to write home and mentiona few things to that old man!" And then a boy's changing voice seemed tosound again close by: "He said he just could stand the smell of _some_cigarettes, but if you burned any more o' yours on his porch----" AndNoble came back miserably to town again. 

From an upper window of a new stucco house two maidens of nineteenpeered down at him. The shade of a striped awning protected the windowfrom the strong sun and the maidens from the sight of man--the latterprotection being especially fortunate, since they were preparing to takea conversational afternoon nap, were robed with little substance, andtheir heads appeared to be antlered; for they caught sight of Noble justas they were preparing to put silk-and-lace things they called "caps" ontheir heads. 

"Who's that?" the visiting one asked. 

"It's Noble Dill; he's kind of one of the crowd. "

"Is he nice?"

"Oh, sort of. Kind of shambles around. "

"Looks like last year's straw hat to me, " the visiting one giggled. 

"Oh, he tries to dress--lately, that is--but he never did know how. "

"Looks mad about something. "

"Yes. He's one of the ones in love with that Julia Atwater I told youabout. "

"Has he got any chance with her?"

"Noble Dill? Mercy!"

"Is he much in love with her?"

"'Much'? _Murder!_"

The visiting one turned from the window and yawned. "Come on: let's liedown and talk about some of the nice ones!"

The second house beyond this was--it was the house of Julia!

And what a glamour of summer light lay upon it because it was the houseof Julia! The texture of the sunshine came under a spell here; glowingflakes of amber were afloat; a powder of opals and rubies fell silentlyadrizzle through the trees. The very air changed, beating faintly with afairy music, for breathing it was breathing sorcery: elfin symphonieswent tinkling through it. The grass in the next yard to Julia's wasjust grass, but every blade of grass in her yard was cut of jewels. 

Julia's house was also the house of that person who through someungovernable horseplay of destiny happened to be her father: and thisgave the enchanted spot a background of lurking cyclone--no one couldtell at what instant there might rise above the roseate pleasance afunnel-shaped cloud. With young Herbert's injurious narrative fresh inhis mind, Noble quickened his steps; but as he reached the farther fencepost, marking the southward limit of Mr. Atwater's property, he haltedshort, startled beautifully. Through the open front door, just passed, avoice had called his name; a voice of such arresting sweetness that hisbreath stopped, like his feet. 

"Oh, Noble!" it called again. 

He turned back, and any one who might have seen his face then would haveknown what was the matter with him, and must have been only the moresure of it because his mouth was open. The next instant the adequatereason for his disorder came lightly through the open door and down tothe gate. 

Julia was kind, much too kind! She had heard that her Aunt Harriet andher Uncle Joe were frequently describing Mr. Atwater's most recentexplosion to other members of the extensive Atwater family league; andthough she had not discovered how Aunt Harriet and Uncle Joe hadobtained their material, yet, in Julia's way of wording her thoughts, anaccount of the episode was "all over town, " and she was almost certainthat by this time Noble Dill had heard it. And so, lest he shouldsuffer, the too-gentle creature seized the first opportunity to cheerhim up. That was the most harmful thing about Julia; when anybody likedher--even Noble Dill--she couldn't bear to have him worried. She was thesympathetic princess who wouldn't have her puppy's tail chopped off allat once, but only a little at a time. 

"I just happened to see you going by, " she said, and then, with anastounding perfection of seriousness, she added the question: "Did you_mind_ my calling to you and stopping you, Noble?"

He leaned, drooping, upon the gatepost, seeming to yearn toward it; hisexpression was such that this gatepost need not have been surprised ifNoble had knelt to it. 

"Why, no, " he said hoarsely. "No, I don't have to be back at the officeany particular time. No. "

"I just wanted to ask you----" She hesitated. "Well, it really doesn'tamount to anything--it's nothing so important I couldn't have spoken toyou about it some other time. "

"Well, " said Noble, and then on the spur of the moment he continueddarkly: "There might not be any other time. "

"How do you mean, Noble?"

He smiled faintly. "I'm thinking of going away. " This was true;nevertheless, it was the first time he had thought of it. "Going away, "he repeated in a murmur. "From this old town. "

A shadowy, sweet reproach came upon Julia's eyes. "You mean--for good, Noble?" she asked in a low voice, although no one knew better than shewhat trouble such performances often cost her, later. "Noble, you don'tmean----"

He made a vocal sound conveying recklessness, something resembling areckless laugh. "I might go--any day! Just as it happens to strike me. "

"But where to, Noble?"

"I don't----Well, maybe to China. "

"China!" she cried in amazement. "Why, Noble Dill!"

"There's lots of openings in China, " he said. "A white man can get acommission in the Chinese army any day. "

"And so, " she said, "you mean you'd rather be an officer in the Chinesearmy than stay--here?" With that, she bit her lip and averted her facefor an instant, then turned to him again, quite calm. Julia could nothelp doing these things; she was born that way, and no punishmentchanged her. 

"Julia----" the dazzled Noble began, but he stopped with this beginning, his voice seeming to have exhausted itself upon the name. 

"When do you think you'll start?" she asked. 

His voice returned. "I don't know _just_ when, " he said; and he began tofeel a little too much committed to this sudden plan of departure, andto wonder how it had come about. "I--I haven't set any day--exactly. "

"Have you talked it over with your mother yet, Noble?"

"Not yet--exactly, " he said, and was conscious of a distaste for Chinaas something unpleasant and imminent. "I thought I'd wait till--till itwas certain I _would_ go. "

"When will that be, Noble?" And in spite of herself, Julia spoke in thetone of one who controls herself to ask in calmness: "Is my name on thelist for the guillotine?"

"Well, " he said, "it'll be as soon as I've made up my mind to go. Iprobably won't go before then; not till I've made up my mind to. "

"But you might do that any day, mightn't you?"

Noble began to feel relieved; he seemed to have hit upon a way out. "Yes; and then I'd be gone, " he said firmly. "But probably I wouldn't goat all unless I decided to. " This seemed to save him from China, and headded recklessly: "I guess I wouldn't be missed much around this oldtown if I did go. "

"Yes, you would, " Julia said quickly. "Your family'd miss you--and sowould everybody. "

"Julia, _you_ wouldn't----"

She laughed lightly. "Of course I should, and so would papa. "

Noble released the gatepost and appeared to slant backward. "What?"

"Papa was talking about you this very morning at breakfast, " she said;and she spoke the truth. "He said he _dreamed_ about you last night. "

"He did?"

Julia nodded sunnily. "He dreamed that you and he were the very greatestfriends!" This also was true, so far as it went; she only omitted tostate that Mr. Atwater had gone on to classify his dream as a nightmare. "There!" she cried. "Why, of course he'd miss you--he'd miss you as muchas he'd miss any friend of mine that comes here. "

Noble felt a sudden rush of tenderness toward Mr. Atwater; it is alwayspossible to misjudge a man for a few hasty words. And Julia went onquickly:

"I never saw anybody like you, Noble Dill!" she exclaimed. "I don'tsuppose there's anybody in the United States except you that would becapable of doing things like going off to be an officer in the Chinesearmy--all just any minute like this. I've always declared you were aboutthe most reckless man I know!"

Noble shook his head. "No, " he said judicially. "I'm not reckless; it'sjust that I don't care what happens. "

Julia became grave. "Don't you?"

"To me, " he said hurriedly. "I mean I don't care what happens to myself. I mean that's more the way I am than just reckless. "

She was content to let his analysis stand, though she shook her head, asif knowing herself to be wiser than he about his recklessness. Acheerfulness came upon them; and the Chinese question seemed to havebeen settled by these indirect processes;--in fact, neither of them evermentioned it again. "I mustn't keep you, " she said, "especially when youought to be getting on downtown to business, but----Oh!" She gave thelittle cry of a forgetful person reminded. "I almost forgot what I ranout to ask you!"

"What was it, Julia?" Noble spoke huskily, in a low voice. "What is ityou want me to do, Julia?"

She gave a little fluttering laugh, half timid, half confiding. "Youknow how funny papa is about tobacco smoke?" (But she hurried on withoutwaiting for an answer. ) "Well, he is. He's the funniest old thing; hedoesn't like _any_ kind very much except his own special cheroot things. He growls about every other kind, but the cigars Mr. _Ridgely_ smokeswhen he comes here, papa really _does_ make a fuss over! And, you see, Idon't like to say 'No' when Mr. Ridgely asks if he can smoke, because italways makes men so uncomfortable if they can't when they're sitting ona veranda, so I wondered if I could just tactfully get him to buysomething different from his cigars?--and I thought the best thing wouldbe to suggest those cigarettes you always have, Noble. They're the onespapa makes the _least_ fuss about and seems to stand the best--next tohis own, he seems to like them the most, I mean--but I'd forgotten thename of them. That's what I ran out to ask you. "

"Orduma, " said Noble. "Orduma Egyptian Cigarettes. "

"Would you mind giving me one--just to show Mr. Ridgely?"

Noble gave her an Orduma cigarette. 

"Oh, thank you!" she said gratefully. "I mustn't keep you anotherminute, because I know your father wouldn't know _what_ to do at theoffice without you! Thank you so much for this!" She turned and walkedquickly halfway up the path, then paused, looking back over hershoulder. "I'll only show it to him, Noble, " she said. "I won't give itto him!"

She bit her lip as if she had said more than she should have; shook herhead as in self-chiding; then laughed, and in a flash touched the tinywhite cylinder to her lips, waved it to him;--then ran to the verandaand up the steps and into the house. She felt satisfied that she had setmatters right, this kind Julia!

CHAPTER SIX

Before she thus set matters right with Noble he had been unhappy and hiscondition had been bad; now he was happy, but his condition was worse. In truth, he was much, much too happy; nothing rational remained in hismind. No elfin orchestra seemed to buzz in his ears as he went down thestreet, but a loud, triumphing brass band. His unathletic chest wasinflated; he heaved up with joy; and a little child, playing on the nextcorner, turned and followed him for some distance, trying to imitate hisproud, singular walk. Restored to too much pride, Noble became also muchtoo humane; he thought of Mr. Atwater's dream, and felt almost amotherly need to cherish and protect him, to be indeed his friend. Therewas a warm spot in Noble's chest, produced in part by a yearning towardthat splendid old man. Noble had a good home, sixty-six dollars in thebank and a dollar and forty cents in his pockets; he would have givenall for a chance to show Mr. Atwater how well he understood him now, atlast, and how deeply he appreciated his favour. 

Students of alcoholic intoxication have observed that in their cupscommonplace people, and not geniuses, do the most unusual things. Sowith all other intoxications. Noble Dill was indeed no genius, and somefriend should have kept an eye upon him to-day; he was not himself. Allafternoon in a mood of tropic sunrise he collected rents, or with gladvagueness consented instantly to their postponement. "I've come aboutthe rent again, " he said beamingly to one delinquent tenant of hisfather's best client; and turned and walked away, humming a waltz-song, while the man was still coughing as a preliminary to argument. 

Late in the afternoon, as the entranced collector sat musing alone neara window in his father's office, his exalted mood was not affected bythe falling of a preternatural darkness over the town, nor was he rousedto action by any perception of the fact that the other clerks and themembers of the firm had gone home an hour ago; that the clock showed himhis own duty to lock up the office and not keep his mother "waitingdinner"; and that he would be caught in a most outrageous thunderstormif he didn't hurry. No; he sat, smiling fondly, by the open window, andat times made a fragmentary gesture as of some heroic or benevolentimpulse in rehearsal. 

Meanwhile, paunchy with wind and wetness, unmannerly clouds came smokingout of the blackened west. Rumbling, they drew on. Then from cloud tocloud dizzy amazements of white fire staggered, crackled and boomed onto the assault; the doors of the winds were opened; the tanks of delugewere unbottomed; and the storm took the town. So, presently, Noblenoticed that it was raining and decided to go home. 

With an idea that he was fulfilling his customary duties, he locked thedoors of the two inner rooms, dropped the keys gently into awastebasket, and passing by an umbrella which stood in a corner, wentout to the corridor, and thence stepped into the street of whoopingrain. 

Here he became so practical as to turn up his collar; and, substantiallyaided by the wind at his back, he was not long in leaving the purlieusof commerce behind him for Julia's Street. Other people lived on thisstreet--he did, himself, for that matter; and, in fact, it was thelongest street in the town; moreover, it had an official name withwhich the word "Julia" was entirely unconnected; but for Noble Dill (andprobably for Newland Sanders and for some others in age from nineteen tosixty) it was "Julia's Street" and no other. 

It was a tumultuous street as Noble splashed along the sidewalk. Incredibly elastic, the shade-trees were practising calisthenics, thoughnow and then one outdid itself and lost a branch; thunder and lightningromped like loosed scandal; rain hissed upon the pavement and caperedankle-high. It was a storm that asked to be left to itself for a time, after giving fair warning that the request would be made; and Noble andthe only other pedestrian in sight had themselves to blame for gettingcaught. 

This other pedestrian was some forty or fifty yards in advance of Nobleand moved in the same direction at about the same gait. He wore an oldovercoat, running with water; the brim of his straw hat sagged about hishead, so that he appeared to be wearing a bucket; he was a sodden andpathetic figure. Noble himself was as sodden; his hands were wet in hisvery pockets; his elbows seemed to spout; yet he spared a generous pityfor the desolate figure struggling on before him. 

All at once Noble's heart did something queer within his wet bosom. Herecognized that figure, and he was not mistaken. Except the One figure, and those of his own father and mother and three sisters, this was theshape that Noble would most infallibly recognize anywhere in the worldand under any conditions. In spite of the dusk and the riot of thestorm, Noble knew that none other than Mr. Atwater splashed before him. 

He dismissed a project for seizing upon a fallen branch and runningforward to walk beside Mr. Atwater and hold the branch over hisvenerated head. All the branches were too wet; and Noble feared that Mr. Atwater might think the picture odd and decline to be thus protected. Yet he felt that something ought to be done to shelter Julia's fatherand perhaps save him from pneumonia; surely there was some simple, helpful, dashing thing that ordinary people couldn't think of, but thatNoble could. He would do it and not stay to be thanked. And then, to-morrow evening, not sooner, he would go to Julia and smile and say;"Your father didn't get too wet, I hope, after all?" And Julia: "Oh, Noble, he's talked of you all day long as his 'new Sir WalterRaleigh'!"

Suddenly will-o'-the-wisp opportunity flickered before him, and in hishigh mood he paused not at all to consider it, but insanely chased it. He had just reached a crossing, and down the cross street, walking awayfrom Noble, was the dim figure of a man carrying an umbrella. It wasjust perceptible that he was a fat man, struggling with seemingfeebleness in the wind and making poor progress. Mr. Atwater, moving upJulia's Street, was out of sight from the cross street where struggledthe fat man. 

Noble ran swiftly down the cross street, jerked the umbrella from thefat man's grasp; ran back, with hoarse sounds dying out behind him inthe riotous dusk; turned the corner, sped after Mr. Atwater, overtookhim, and thrust the umbrella upon him. Then, not pausing the shortestinstant for thanks or even recognition, the impulsive boy sped onward, proud and joyous in the storm, leaving his beneficiary far behind him. 

In his young enthusiasm he had indeed done something for Mr. Atwater. Infact, Noble's kindness had done as much for Mr. Atwater as Julia'sgentleness had done for Noble, but how much both Julia and Noble haddone was not revealed in full until the next evening. 

That was a warm and moonshiny night of air unusually dry, and yetFlorence sneezed frequently as she sat upon the "side porch" at thehouse of her Great-Aunt Carrie and her Great-Uncle Joseph. Florence hada cold in the head, though how it got to her head was a process involvedin the mysterious ways of colds, since Florence's was easily to beconnected with Herbert's remark that he wouldn't ever be caught takin'his death o' cold sittin' on the damp grass in the night air just tolisten to a lot o' tooty-tooty. It appeared from Florence's narrative tothose interested listeners, Aunt Carrie and Uncle Joseph, that she hadbeen sitting on the grass in the night air when both air and grass wereextraordinarily damp. In brief, she had been at her post soon after thestorm cleared on the preceding evening, but she had heard notooty-tooty; her overhearings were of sterner stuff. 

"Well, what did Julia say _then_?" Aunt Carrie asked eagerly. 

"She said she'd go up and lock herself in her room and stuff cushionsover her ears if grandpa didn't quit makin' such a fuss. "

"And what did he say?"

"He made more rumpus than ever, " said Florence. "He went on and on, andtold the whole thing over and over again; he seemed like he couldn'ttell it enough, and every time he told it his voice got higher andhigher till it was kind of squealy. He said he'd had his raincoat on andhe didn't want an umberella anyhow, and hadn't ever carried one a singletime in fourteen years! And he took on about Noble Dill and all this andthat about how you _bet_ he knew who it was! He said he could tell NobleDill in the dark any time by his cigarette smell, and, anyway, it wasn'ttoo dark so's he couldn't see his skimpy little shoulders, and anyway hesaw his face. And he said Noble didn't _hand_ him the umberella; hestuck it all down over him like he was somep'n on fire he wanted to putout; and before he could get out of it and throw it away this ole fatman that it belonged to and was chasin' Noble, he ran up to grandpa frombehind and took hold of him, or somep'n, and they slipped, and got tofussin' against each other; and then after a while they got up andgrandpa saw it was somebody he knew and told him for Heaven's sake whydidn't he take his ole umberella and go on home; and so he did, becauseit was raining, and I guess he proba'ly had to give up; he couldn'tout-talk grandpa. "

"No, " said Uncle Joe. "He couldn't, whoever he was. But what happenedabout Noble Dill?"

Florence paused to accumulate and explode a sneeze, then respondedpleasantly: "He said he was goin' to kill him. He said he often andoften wanted to, and now he _was_. That's the reason I guess Aunt Juliawrote that note this morning. "

"What note?" Aunt Carrie inquired. "You haven't told us of that. "

"I was over there before noon, " said Florence, "and Aunt Julia gave me aquarter and said she'd write a note for me to take to Noble Dill's housewhen he came home for lunch, and give it to him. She kind of slipped itto me, because grandpa came in there, pokin' around, while she was justfinishin' writin' it. She didn't put any envelope on it even, and shenever said a single thing to _me_ about its bein' private or my notreadin' it if I wanted to, or anything. "

"Of course you didn't, " said Aunt Carrie. "You didn't, did you, Florence?"

"Why, she didn't _say_ not to, " Florence protested, surprised. "Itwasn't even in an envelope. "

Mr. Joseph Atwater coughed. "I hardly think we ought to ask what thenote said, even if Florence was--well, indiscreet enough to read it. "

"No, " said his wife. "I hardly think so either. It didn't say anythingimportant anyhow, probably. "

"It began, 'Dear Noble, '" said Florence promptly. "Dear Noble'; that'sthe way it began. It said how grandpa was just all upset to think he'daccepted an umberella from him when Noble didn't have another one forhimself like that, and grandpa was so embarrassed to think he'd letNoble do so much for him, and everything, he just didn't know _what_ todo, and proba'ly it would be tactful if he wouldn't come to the housetill grandpa got over being embarrassed and everything. She said not tocome till she let him know. "

"Did you notice Noble when he read it?" asked Aunt Carrie. 

"Yessir! And would you believe it; he just looked _too_ happy!" Florencemade answer, not wholly comprehending with what truth. 

"I'll bet, " said Uncle Joseph;--"I'll bet a thousand dollars that ifJulia told Noble Dill he was six feet tall, Noble would go and order hisnext suit of clothes to fit a six-foot man. "

And his wife complemented this with a generalization, simple, yet of asignificance too little recognized. "They don't see a thing!" she said. "The young men that buzz around a girl's house don't see a _thing_ ofwhat goes on there! Inside, I mean. "

Yet at that very moment a young man was seeing something inside a girl'shouse a little way down that same street. That same street was Julia'sStreet and the house was Julia's. Inside the house, in the library, satMr. Atwater, trying to read a work by Thomas Carlyle, while a rhythmicmurmur came annoyingly from the veranda. The young man, watching himattentively, saw him lift his head and sniff the air with suspicion, butthe watcher took this pantomime to be an expression of distaste forcertain versifyings, and sharing that distaste, approved. Mr. Atwatersniffed again, threw down his book and strode out to the veranda. Theresat dark-haired Julia in a silver dress, and near by, Newland Sandersread a long young poem from the manuscript. 

"Who is smoking out here?" Mr. Atwater inquired in a dead voice. 

"Nobody, sir, " said Newland with eagerness. "_I_ don't smoke. I havenever touched tobacco in any form in my life. "

Mr. Atwater sniffed once more, found purity; and returned to thelibrary. But here the air seemed faintly impregnated with Ordumacigarettes. "Curious!" he said as he composed himself once more toread--and presently the odour seemed to wear away and vanish. Mr. Atwater was relieved; the last thing he could have wished was to behaunted by Noble Dill. 

Yet for that while he was. Too honourable to follow such an example asFlorence's, Noble, of course, would not spy or eavesdrop near theveranda where Julia sat, but he thought there could be no harm inwatching Mr. Atwater read. Looking at Mr. Atwater was at least the nextthing to looking at Julia. And so, out in the night, Noble was seatedupon the top of the side fence, looking through the library window atMr. Atwater. 

After a while Noble lit another Orduma cigarette and puffed strongly tostart it. The smoke was almost invisible in the moonlight, but the nightbreeze, stirring gently, wafted it toward the house, where the openwindow made an inward draft and carried it heartily about the library. 

Noble was surprised to see Mr. Atwater rise suddenly to his feet. Hesmote his brow, put out the light, and stamped upstairs to his own room. 

His purpose to retire was understood when the watcher saw a light in thebedroom window overhead. Noble thought of the good, peculiar old mannow disrobing there, and he smiled to himself at a whimsical thought:What form would Mr. Atwater's embarrassment take, what would be hisfeeling, and what would he do, if he knew that Noble was there now, beneath his window and thinking of him?

In the moonlight Noble sat upon the fence, and smoked Orduma cigarettes, and looked up with affection at the bright window of Mr. Atwater'sbedchamber. Abruptly the light in that window went out. 

"Saying his prayers now, " said Noble. "I wonder if----" But, not to bevain, he laughed at himself and left the thought unfinished. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

A week later, on a hot July afternoon, Miss Florence Atwater, recoveredfrom her cold, stood in the shady back yard of her place of residenceand yawned more extensively than any one would have believed possible, judging by her face in repose. Three of her friends, congenial in ageand sex, were out of town for the summer; two had been ascertained, bytelephonic inquiries, to be taking commanded siestas; and neither theother one nor Florence had yet forgotten that yesterday, although theywere too religious to commit themselves to a refusal to meet as sistersin the Great Beyond, they had taken the expurgated oath that byEverything they would never speak to each other again so long as theyboth should live. 

Florence was at the end of her resources. She had sought distraction inexperimental cookery; but, having scorched a finger, and having beentold by the cook that a person's own kitchen wasn't worth the price ateleven dollars a week if it had to git all smelled up with broiledrubber when the femometer stood at ninety-sevvum degrees in the shade, the experimenter abusedly turned her back on the morose woman and wentout to the back yard for a little peace. 

After an interval of torpor, she decided to go and see what Herbert wasdoing--a move not short of desperation, on account of Herbert's newmanner toward her. For a week Herbert had steadily pursued hisscientific career, and he seemed to feel that in it he had attained adistinction beyond the reach of Florence. What made it ridiculous forher to hope was, of course, the fact that she was a girl, and Herberthad explained this to her in a cold, unpleasant way; for it is true thatwhat is called "feminism" must be acquired by men, and is not acondition, or taste, natural to them. At thirteen it has not beenacquired. 

She found him at home. He was importantly engaged in a room in thecellar, where were loosely stored all manner of incapacitated householddevices; two broken clothes-wringers, a crippled and rustedsewing-machine, an ice-cream freezer in like condition, a cracked anddiscarded marble mantelpiece, chipped porcelain and chinaware of allsorts, rusted stove lids and flatirons, half a dozen dead mops andbrooms. This was the laboratory, and here, in congenial solitude, Herbert conducted his investigations. That is to say, until Florencearrived he was undisturbed by human intrusion, but he was not alone--farfrom it! There was, in fact, almost too much life in the place. 

Where the light fell clearest from the cobwebby windows at the groundlevel overhead, he had placed a long deal table, once a helpmate in thekitchen, but now a colourless antique on three legs and two starchboxes. Upon the table were seven or eight glass jars, formerly used forpreserves and pickles, and a dozen jelly glasses (with only streaks andbits of jelly in them now) and five or six small round pasteboardpill-boxes. The jars were covered, some with their own patent tops, others with shingles or bits of board, and one with a brick. The jellyglasses stood inverted, and were inhabited; so were the preserve jarsand pickle jars; and so were the pill-boxes, which evidently containedstar boarders, for they were pierced with "breathing holes, " and one ofthem, standing upon its side like a little wheel, now and then moved ina faint, ghostly manner as if about to start rolling on its ownaccount--whereupon Herbert glanced up and addressed it sternly, thoughsomewhat inconsistently: "You shut up!"

In the display of so much experimental paraphernalia, there may havebeen a hint that Herbert's was a scientific nature craving ratherquantity than quality; his collection certainly possessed the virtue ofmultitudinousness, if that be a virtue; and the birds in theneighbourhood must have been undergoing a great deal of disappointment. In brief, as many bugs as Herbert now owned have seldom been seen in thecustody of any private individual. And nearly all of them were alive, energetic and swearing, though several of the preserve jars had beenimperfectly drained of their heavy syrups, and in one of them a greatmany spiders seemed to be having, of the whole collection, the pooresttime; being pretty well mired down and yet still subject todisagreements among themselves. The habits of this group, under suchunusual surroundings, formed the subject of Herbert's special study atthe moment of Florence's arrival. He was seated at the table andfrowning with science as he observed the unfortunates through thatmagnifying-glass, his discovery of which was responsible for theirpresent condition and his own choice of a career. 

Florence paused in the doorway, but he gave no sign of recognition, unless his intensified preoccupation was a sign, and Florence, perceiving what line of conduct he meant to adopt, instinctivelyselected a reciprocal one for herself. "Herbert Atwater, you ought to bepunished! I'm goin' to tell your father and mother. "

"You g'way, " Herbert returned, unmoved; and, without condescending togive her a glance, he set down the magnifying-glass, and with a pencilwrote something profoundly entomological in a soiled memorandum bookupon the table. "Run away, Flor'nce. Run away somewheres and play. "

Florence approached. "'Play'!" she echoed tartly. "I should think _you_wouldn't talk much about 'playin', ' the way you're teasing those poor, poor little bugs!"

"'Teasing'!" Herbert exclaimed: "That shows! That shows!"

"Shows what?"

"How much you know!" He became despondent about her. "See here, Florence; it does look to me as though at your age a person ought toknow anyway enough not to disturb me when I'm expairamenting, andeverything. I should think----"

But she did not prove so meek as to await the conclusion of hisremonstrance. "I never saw anything as wicked in my whole born days!What did any of those poor, poor little bugs ever do to _you_, I'd liketo know, you got to go and confine 'em like this! And look how dirtyyour hands are!"

This final charge, wandering so far from her previous specifications ofhis guilt, was purely automatic and conventional; Florence ofteninterjected it during the course of any cousinly discussion, whateverthe subject in dispute, and she had not even glanced at Herbert's handsto assure herself that the accusation was warranted. But, as usual, thefacts supported her; and they also supported Herbert in his immediatemechanical retort: "So're yours!"

"Not either!" But here Florence, after instinctively placing her handsbehind her, brought forth the right one to point, and simultaneouslyuttered a loud cry: "Oh, _look_ at your hands!" For now she did look atHerbert's hands, and was amazed. 

"Well, what of it?"

"They're all lumpy!" she cried, and, as her gaze rose to his cheek, herfinger followed her eyes and pointed to strange appearances there. "Lookat your _face_!"

"Well, what of it?" he demanded, his tone not entirely free frombraggadocio. "A girl can't make expairaments the way I do, because ifone of these good ole bumblebees or hornets of mine was to give 'em alittle sting, once in a while, while they was catchin' 'em and puttin''em in a jar, all they'd know how to do'd be to holler and run home totheir mamma. Nobody with any gumption minds a few little stings afteryou put mud on 'em. "

"I guess it serves you right, " Florence said, "for persecutin' thesepoor, poor little bugs. "

Herbert became plaintive. "Look here, Florence; I do wish you'd go onback home where you belong. "

But Florence did not reply; instead she picked up the magnifying-glass, and, gazing through it at a pickle jar of mixed beetles, caterpillars, angleworms, and potato bugs, permitted herself to shudder. "Vilethings!" she said. 

"They are not, either!" Herbert retorted hotly. "They're about thefinest insecks that you or anybody else ever saw, and you ought to beashamed----"

"I ought?" his cousin cried. "Well, I should think you're the one oughtto be ashamed, if anybody ought! Down here in the cellar playin' withall these vile bugs that ought to be given their liberty, or throwndown the sewer, or somep'n!" Again, as she peered through the lens, sheshuddered. "Vile----"

"Florence, " he said sternly, "you lay down that magnifying-glass. "

"Why?"

"Because you don't know how to handle it. A magnifying-glass has got tobe handled in just the right way, and you couldn't learn if you tried athousand years. That's a mighty fine magnifying-glass, and I don'tintend to have it ruined. "

"Why, just lookin' through it can't spoil it, can it?" she inquired, surprised. 

"You lay it down, " said Herbert darkly. "Lookin' through it the wrongway isn't going to do it any _good_. "

"Why, how could just _lookin'_ through it----"

"Lookin' through it the wrong way isn't goin' to _help_ it any, I tellyou!" he insisted. "You're old enough to know that, and I'm not goin' tohave my magnifying-glass spoiled and all my insecks wasted just becauseof a mere whin of yours!"

"A what?"

"A mere whin, I said!"

"What's a whin?"

"Never you mind, " said Herbert ominously. "You'll proba'ly find out someday when you aren't expectin' to!"

Undeniably, Florence was somewhat impressed: she replaced themagnifying-glass upon the table and picked up the notebook. 

"You lay that down, too, " said Herbert instantly. 

"Oh, maybe it's somep'n you're _'shamed_ to----"

"Go on and read it, then, " he said, suddenly changing his mind, for hewas confident that she would find matter here that might cause her toappreciate at least a little of her own inferiority. 

"'Nots', " Florence began. "'Nots'----"

"Notes!" he corrected her fiercely. 

"'Notes', " she read. "'Notes on our inseck friends. The spidder----'"

"_Spider!_"

"'The spider spends his time mostly in cobwebs which he digilently spinsbetween posts and catches flies to eat them. They are different colouredand sizes and have legs in pairs. Spiders also spin their webs incorners or in weeds or on a fence and sometimes in the grass. They aremore able to get about quicker than catapillars or fishing worms, butcannot fly such as pinching bugs, lightning bugs, and birds becausehaving no wings, nor jump as far as the grass hoper----'"

"Grasshopper!" Herbert shouted. 

"I'm readin' it the way it's spelled, " Florence explained. "Anyway, itdon't make much sense. "

Herbert was at least enough of an author to be furious. "Lay it down!"he said bitterly. "And go on back home to your dolls. "

"Dolls certainly would be _cleaner_ than vile bugs, " Florence retorted, tossing the book upon the table. "But in regards to that, I haven't hadany, " she went on, airily--"not for years and years and years and----"

He interrupted her, his voice again plaintive. "See here, Florence, howdo you expect me to get my _work_ done, with you everlastin'ly talkin'and goin' on around here like this? Can't you see I've got somep'npretty important on my hands?"

Florence became thoughtful. "I never did see as many bugs before, alltogether this way, " she said. "What you goin' to do with 'em, Herbert?"

"I'm makin' my expairaments. "

But her thoughtfulness increased. "It seems to me, " she saidslowly:--"Herbert, it seems to me there must be some awful inter'stingthing we could do with so many bugs all together like this. "

"'We'!" he cried. "My goodness, whose insecks do you think these insecksare?"

"I just know there's somep'n, " she went on, following her own line ofthought, and indifferent to his outburst. "There's somep'n we could dowith 'em that we'd never forget, if we could only think of it. "

In spite of himself, Herbert was interested. "Well, what?" he asked. "What could we do with 'em we'd never forget?"

In her eyes there was a far-away light as of a seeress groping. "I don'tjust know exackly, but I know there's _somep'n_--if we could only thinkof it--if we could just----" And her voice became inaudible, as indreamy concentration she seated herself upon the discarded ice-creamfreezer, and rested her elbows upon her knees and her chin upon thepalms of her hands. 

In silence then, she thought and thought. Herbert also was silent, forhe, too, was trying to think, not knowing that already he had provedhimself to be wax in her hands, and that he was destined further to showhimself thus malleable. Like many and many another of his sex, he neverfor an instant suspected that he spent the greater part of his timecarrying out ideas implanted within him by a lady-friend. Florence wasever the imaginative one of those two, a maiden of unexpected fanciesand inexplicable conceptions, a mind of quicksilver and mist. There waswithin her the seedling of a creative artist, and as she sat there, onthe ice-cream freezer in Herbert's cellar, with the slowly growingroseate glow of deep preoccupation upon her, she looked strangely sweetand good, and even almost pretty. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Do you s'pose, " she said, at last, in a musing voice: "Herbert, do yous'pose maybe there's some poor family's children somewheres that haven'tgot any playthings or anything and we could take all these----"

But here Herbert proved unsympathetic. "I'm not goin' to give my insecksto any poor people's children, " he said emphatically. "I don't care howpoor they are!"

"Well, I thought maybe just as a surprise----"

"I won't do it. I had mighty hard work to catch this c'lection, and I'mnot goin' to give it away to anybody, I don't care how surprised they'dbe! Anyway, I'd never get any thanks for it; they wouldn't know how tohandle 'em, and they'd get all stung up: and what'd be the use, anyhow?I don't see how _that's_ goin' to be somep'n so interesting we'd neverforget it. "

"No, " she said. "I guess it wouldn't. I just thought it would be kind ofa bellnevolent thing to do. "

This word disturbed Herbert, but he did not feel altogether secure inhis own impression that "benovvalent" was the proper rendition of whatshe meant, and so refrained from criticism. Their musing was resumed. 

"There's one thing I do wish, " Florence said suddenly, after a time. "Iwish we could find some way to use the c'lection that would be usefulfor Noble Dill. "

Now, at this, her cousin's face showed simple amazement. "What on earthyou talkin' about?"

"Noble Dill, " she said dreamily. "He's the only one I like that comes tosee Aunt Julia. Anyway, I like him the most. "

"I bet Aunt Julia don't!"

"I don't care: he's the one _I_ wish she'd get married to. "

Herbert was astounded. "Noble Dill? Why, I heard mamma and Aunt Hattieand Uncle Joe talkin' about him yesterday. "

"What'd they say?"

"Most of the time, " said Herbert, "they just laughed. They said NobleDill was the very last person in this town Aunt Julia'd ever dream o'marryin'. They said he wasn't anything: they said he wasn't handsomeand he wasn't distingrished-looking----"

"I think he is, " Florence interposed. "I think he's _very_distingrished-looking. "

"Well, they said he wasn't, and they know more'n you do. Why, Noble Dillisn't hardly any taller'n I am myself, and he hasn't got any musclepartickyourly. Aunt Julia wouldn't look at him!"

"She does, too! My goodness, how could he sit on the porch, right infront of her, for two or three hours at a time, without her lookin' athim?"

"I don't care, " Herbert insisted stubbornly. "_They_ said Aunt Juliawouldn't. They said she was the worst flirt had ever been in the wholefamily and Noble Dill had the worst case they ever saw, but she wouldn'tever look at him, and if she did she'd be crazy. "

"Well, anyway, " said Florence, "I think he's the nicest of all that goesto see her, and I wish we could use this c'lection some way that wouldbe nice for him. "

Herbert renewed his protest. "How many times I got to tell you I had ahard enough time catchin' this c'lection, day in and day out, frombefore daylight till after dark, and then fixin' 'em all up like thisand everything! I don't prapose to waste 'em just to suit Noble Dill, and I'm not goin' to give 'em away either. If anybody wanted to buy 'emand offered a good fair price, money down, why, I----"

"_That's_ it, Herbert!" his lady-cousin exclaimed with suddenexcitement. "Let's sell 'em!" She jumped up, her eyes bright. "I bet wecould get maybe five dollars for 'em. We can pour the ones that are inthe jars that haven't got tops and the ones in the jelly glasses andpill-boxes--we can pour all those into the jars that have got tops, andput the tops on again, and that'd just about fill those jars--and thenwe could put 'em in a basket and take 'em out and sell 'em!"

"Where could we sell 'em?" Herbert inquired, not convinced. 

"At the fish store!" she cried. "Everybody uses bugs and worms for baitwhen they go fishing, don't they? I bet the fish man'll buy all theworms we got, even if he wouldn't buy anything else. I bet he'll buy allthe others, too! I bet he never saw as much good bait as this all at onetime in his whole life! I bet he'll give us five dollars--maybe more!"

Herbert was dazzled; the thought of this market was arevelation--nothing could have been more plausible. Considered as bait, the c'lection at once seemed to acquire a practical and financial valuewhich it lacked, purely as a c'lection. And with that the amateur andscientist disappeared, giving way to the person of affairs. "'Give _us_five dollars'?" he said, in this capacity, and for deeper effect he useda rhetorical expression: "Who do you think is the owner of all this fishbait, may I ask you, pray?"

"Yes, you _may_, pray!" was his cousin's instant and superciliousretort. "Pray where would you ever of got any five dollars from any fishman, if it hadn't been for me, pray? Pray, didn't I first sajest ourdoing somep'n with the bugs we'd never forget, and if the fish man givesus five dollars for 'em won't we remember it all our lives, pray? And, pray, what part did you think up of all this, pray? Not one singlething, and if you don't divide even with me, I'll run ahead and tell thefish man the whole c'lection has been in bottles that had old medicineand poison in 'em--and then where'll _you_ be, pray?"

It is to be doubted that Florence possessed the cold-blooded capacitieswith which this impromptu in diplomacy seemed to invest her: probablyshe would never have gone so far. But the words sufficed; and Herbertwas so perfectly intimidated that he was even unresentful. "Well, youcan have your ole two dollars and a half, whether you got a right to itor not, " he said. "But you got to carry the basket. "

"No, " said Florence. "This has got to be done right, Herbert. We'repartners now and everything's got to be divided just exackly even. I'llcarry the basket half the way and you carry it the other half. "

"Well----" he grumbled, consenting. 

"That's the only right way, " she said sunnily. "You carry it till we getto the fish man's, and I'll carry it all the way back. "

But even Herbert could perceive the inequality here. "It'll be emptythen, " he protested. 

"Fair's fair and wrong's wrong, " she returned firmly. "I spoke first tocarry it on the way home, and the one that speaks first gets it!"

"Look here!"

"Herbert, we got to get all these bugs fixed up and ready, " she urged. "We don't want to waste the whole afternoon just talkin' about it, dowe? Besides, Herbert, on the way home you'll have two dollars and a halfin your pocket, or anyway as much as you have left, if you buy somesoda and candy and things, and you'll feel so fine then you won't mindwhether you're carrying the basket or not. "

The picture she now suggested to Herbert's mind was of himself carryingthe basket both to the fish man and from the fish man: and he foundhimself anxious to protest, yet helpless in a maze of perplexity. "Butwait a minute, " he began. "You said----"

"Let's don't waste another minute, " she interrupted briskly. "Ishouldn't wonder it was after four o'clock by this time, and we bothneed money. Hurry, Herbert!"

"But didn't you say----" He paused to rub his head. "You said I'd feelso good I wouldn't mind if I--if----"

"No. I said, 'Hurry'!"

"Well----" And though he felt that a subtle injustice lurked somewhere, he was unable to think the matter out clearly into its composingelements, and gave up trying. Nevertheless, as he obeyed her, and beganto "hurry, " there remained with him an impression that by some foggy andunderhand process he had been committed to acquiescence in an unfairdivision of labour. 

In this he was not mistaken. An hour later he and Florence were on theirway home from the fish man's place of business, and Herbert, havingcarried the basket thither, was now carrying it thence. Moreover, hisburden was precisely as heavy on this homeward leg of the course as ithad been on that terminating at the fish store, for, covered by adiscreet newspaper, the preserve and pickle jars still remained withinthe basket, their crowding and indignant contents intact. The fish manhad explained in terms derisive, but plain, the difference between afish man and a fisherman. He had maintained his definitions of the twoeconomic functions in spite of persistent arguments on the part of thebait-dealers, and in the face of reductions that finally removed ninetyper cent. Of their asking price. He wouldn't give fifty cents, or tencents, or one cent, he said: and he couldn't furnish the address ofanybody else that would. His fish came by express, he declared, againand again: and the only people he knew that did any fishing were mainlycoloured, and dug their own bait; and though these might possibly bewilling to accept the angle worms as a gift, they would probably inclineto resent a generosity including so many spiders, not to speak of thedangerous winged members of the c'lection. On account of these latter, he jocosely professed himself to be anxious lest the tops of some of thejars might work loose--and altogether he was the most disheartening manthey had ever met. 

Anticlimax was never the stimulant of amiability, and, after analtercation on the pavement just outside of the store, during which thederisive fish man continually called to them to go on and take thatthere basket out of the neighbourhood, the cousins moved morbidly away, and walked for a time in silence. 

They brooded. Herbert was even more embittered with Florence than he waswith the fish man, and Florence found life full of unexpectedness; ithad been so clear to her that the fish man would say: "Why, certainly. Here's five dollars; two dollars and a half for each of you. Would youcare to have the jars back?" The facts, so contrary, seemed to wear theaspect of deliberate malice, and she felt ill-used, especially as shehad several physical grievances, due to her assistance in pouring partof the c'lection into the jars with tops. In spite of every precautionthree or four of the liveliest items had made their escape, during thispouring, and had behaved resentfully. Florence bore one result on theback of her left hand, two others on the thumb and second finger of herright hand, and another, naturally the most conspicuous, on the point ofher chin. These had all been painful, in spite of mud poultices, but, excited by the anticipation of a kindly smiling fish man, and occupiedwith plans for getting Herbert to spend part of his two dollars and ahalf for mutual refreshment, she had borne up cheerfully. Now, comprehending that she had suffered in vain, she suffered anew, andhated bugs, all fish men, and the world. 

It was Herbert who broke the silence and renewed the altercation. "Howfar you expeck me to go on luggin' this ole basket?" he demandedbitterly. "All the way home?"

"I don't care how far, " she informed him. "You can throw it away if youwant to. It's certainly no propaty of mine, thank you!"

"Look here, didn't you promise you'd carry it home?"

"I said I _spoke_ to. I didn't say I _would_ carry it. "

"Well, I'd like to know the dif----"

But Florence cut him off. "I'll tell you the difference, since you're soanxious to know the truth, Mister Herbert Atwater! The difference isjust this: you had no biznuss to meddle with those vile ole bugs in thefirst place, and get me all stung up so't I shouldn't wonder I'd haf tohave the doctor, time I get home, and if I do I'm goin' to tell mammaall about it and make her send the bill to your father. I want you toknow I _hurt_!"

"My goodness!" Herbert burst out. "Don't you s'pose _I_ hurt any? Iguess you don't hurt any worse than----"

She stopped him: "Listen!"

From down the street there came a brazen clamouring for the right ofway; it grew imperiously louder, and there were clatterings andwhizzings of metallic bodies at speed, while little blurs andglistenings in the distance grew swiftly larger, taking shape as a fireengine and a hose-cart. Then, round the near-by corner, came perilouslysteering the long "hook-and-ladder wagon"; it made the turn and went by, with its firemen imperturbable on the running boards. 

"Fire!" Florence cried joyfully. "Let's go!" And, pausing no instant, she made off up the street, shouting at the top of her voice: "_Fire!Fire! Fire! Fire!_"

Herbert followed. He was not so swift a runner as she, though this henever submitted to a test admitted to be fair and conclusive; and hefound her demonstration of superiority particularly offensive now, asshe called back over her shoulder: "Why don't you keep up with me? Can'tyou keep up?"

"I'd _show_ you!" he panted. "If I didn't haf to lug this ole basket, I'd leave you a mile behind mighty quick. "

"Well, why'n't you drop it, then?"

"You s'pose I'm goin' to throw my c'lection away after all the trouble Ibeen _through_ with it?"

She slackened her gait, dropping back beside him. "Well, then, if youthink you could keep up with me if you didn't have it, why'n't you leaveit somewhere, and come back and get it after the fire's over?"

"No place to leave it. "

She laughed, and pointed. "Why'n't you leave it at grandpa's?"

"Will you wait for me and start fair?"

"Come on!" They obliqued across the street, still running forward, andat their grandfather's gate Herbert turned in and sped toward the house. 

"Take it around to the kitchen and give it to Kitty Silver, " Florencecalled. "Tell Kitty Silver to take care of it for you. "

But Herbert was in no mind to follow her advice; a glance over hisshoulder showed that Florence was taking another unfair advantage ofhim. "You wait!" he shouted. "You stand still till I get back there! Yougot half a mile start a'ready! You wait till we can start even!"

But Florence was skipping lightly away and she caroled over hershoulder, waving her hand in mocking farewell as she began to run:

 "Ole Mister Slowpoke can't catch me! Ole Mister Slowpoke couldn't catch a flea!"

"I'll show you!" he bellowed, and, not to lose more time, he dashed upthe steps of the deserted veranda, thrust his basket deep underneath awicker settee, and ran violently after his elusive cousin. 

She kept a tantalizing distance between them, but when they reached thefire it was such a grand one they forgot all their differences--and alsoall about the basket. 

CHAPTER NINE

Noble Dill came from his father's house, after dinner that evening, ayouth in blossom, like the shrubberies and garden beds in the dim yardsup and down Julia's Street. All cooled and bathed and in new clothes ofwhite, he took his thrilled walk through the deep summer twilight, onhis way to that ineffable Front Porch where sat Julia, misty in thedusk. The girlish little new moon had perished naïvely out of the sky;the final pinkness of the west was gone; blue evening held the quietworld; and overhead, between the branches of the maple trees, werepowdered all those bright pin points of light that were to twinkle ongenerations of young lovers after Noble Dill, each one, like Noble, walking the same fragrant path in summer twilights to see the PrettiestGirl of All. 

Now and then there came to the faintly throbbing ears of the pedestriana murmur of voices from lawns where citizens sat cooling after the day'slabour, or a tinkle of laughter from where maidens dull (not beingJulia) sat on verandas vacant of beauty and glamour. For these poorthings, Noble felt a wondering and disdainful pity; he pitied everythingin the world that was not on the way to starry Julia. 

Eight nights had passed since he, himself, had seen her, but to-day shehad replied (over the telephone) that Mr. Atwater seemed to have settleddown again, and she believed it might be no breach of tact for Noble tocall that evening--especially as she would be on the veranda, and heneedn't ring the bell. Would she be alone--for once? It was improbable, yet it could be hoped. 

But as he came hoping up the street, another already sat beside Julia, sharing with her the wicker settee on the dim porch, and this was thehorn-rimmed young poet. Newland had, as usual, a new poem with him; andas others had proved of late that they could sit on Julia's veranda aslong as he could, he had seized the first opportunity to familiarize herwith this latest work. 

The veranda was dark, and to go indoors to the light might have involvedtoo close a juxtaposition to peculiar old Mr. Atwater who was in thelibrary; but the resourceful Newland, foreseeing everything, hadbrought with him a small pocket flashlight to illumine his manuscript. "It's _vers libre_, of course, " he said as he moved the flashlight overthe sheets of scribbled paper. "I think I told you I was beginning togive all the old forms up. It's the one new movement, and I felt I oughtto master it. "

"Of course, " she said sympathetically, though with a little nervousness. "Be just a wee bit careful with the flashlight--about turning it towardthe window, I mean--and read in your nice low voice. I always likepoetry best when it's almost whispered. I think it sounds more musicalthat way, I mean. "

Newland obeyed. His voice was hushed and profoundly appreciative of themusic in itself and in his poem, as he read:

 "I--And Love! Lush white lilies line the pool Like laces limned on looking-glasses! I tread the lilies underfoot, Careless how they love me! Still white maidens woo me, Win me not! But thou! Thou art a cornflower Sapphire-eyed! I bend! Cornflower, I ask a question. O flower, speak----"

Julia spoke. "I'm afraid, " she said, while Newland's spirit filled witha bitterness extraordinary even in an interrupted poet;--"I'm afraidit's Mr. Dill coming up the walk. We'll have to postpone----" She roseand went to the steps to greet the approaching guest. "How nice of youto come!"

Noble, remaining on the lowest step, clung to her hand in a fever. "Niceto come!" he said hoarsely. "It's eight days--eight days--eight dayssince----"

"Mr. Sanders is here, " she said. "It's so dark on this big verandapeople can hardly see each other. Come up and sit with us. I don't haveto introduce you two men to each other. "

She did not, indeed. They said "H'lo, Dill" and "H'lo Sanders" in amanner of such slighting superiority that only the utmost familiaritycould have bred a contempt so magnificent. Then, when the three wereseated, Mr. Sanders thought well to add: "How's rent collecting thesedays, Dill? Still hustling around among those darky shanties over inBucktown?"

In the dark Noble moved convulsively, but contrived to affect a lightlaugh, or a sound meant for one, as he replied, in a voice not entirelyunder control: "How's the ole poetry, Sanders?"

"What?" Newland demanded sharply. "What did you say?"

"I said: 'How's the ole poetry?' Do you read it to all your relationsthe way you used to?"

"See here, Dill!"

"Well, what you want, Sanders?"

"You try to talk about things you understand, " said Newland. "You betterkeep your mind on collecting four dollars a week from some poor colouredwidow, and don't----"

"I'd _rather_ keep my mind on that!" Noble was inspired to retort. "YourAunt Georgina told my mother that ever since you began thinkin' youcould write poetry the life your family led was just----"

Newland interrupted. He knew the improper thing his Aunt Georgina hadsaid, and he was again, and doubly, infuriated by the prospect of itsrepetition here. He began fiercely:

"Dill, you see here----"

"Your Aunt Georgina said----"

Both voices had risen. Plainly it was time for someone to say:"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Julia glanced anxiously through the darkness ofthe room beyond the open window beside her, to where the light of thelibrary lamp shone upon a door ajar; and she was the more nervousbecause Noble, to give the effect of coolness, had lit an Ordumacigarette. 

She laughed amiably, as if the two young gentlemen were as amiable asshe. "I've thought of something, " she said. "Let's take the settee andsome chairs down on the lawn where we can sit and see the moon. "

"There isn't any, " Noble remarked vacantly. 

"Let's go, anyhow, " she said cheerily. "Come on. "

Her purpose was effected; the belligerents were diverted, and Noblelifted the light wicker settee. "I'll carry this, " he said. "It's notrouble. Sanders can carry a chair--I guess he'd be equal to that much. "He stumbled, dropped the settee, and lifted a basket, its contentscovered with a newspaper. "Somebody must have----"

"What is it?"

"It's a basket, " said Noble. 

"How curious!"

Julia peered through the darkness. "I wonder who could have left thatmarket basket out _here_. I suppose----" She paused. "Our cook does domore idiotic things than--I'll go ask her if it's ours. "

She stepped quickly into the house, leaving two concentrations ofinimical silence behind her, but she returned almost immediately, followed by Kitty Silver. 

"It's no use to argue, " Julia was saying as they came. "You did yourmarketing and simply and plainly left it out there because you were tooshiftless to----"

"No'm, " Mrs. Silver protested in a high voice of defensive complaint. "No'm, Miss Julia, I ain' lef no baskit on _no_ front po'che! I got jus'th'ee markit baskits in the livin' worl' an' they ev'y las' one an' allsittin' right where I kin lay my han's on 'em behime my back do'. No'm, Miss Julia, I take my solemn oaf I ain' lef no----" But here shedebouched upon the porch, and in spite of the darkness perceived herselfto be in the presence of distinguished callers. "Pahdon me, " she saidloftily, her tone altering at once, "I beg leaf to insis' I better takethishere baskit back to my kitchen an' see whut-all's insiden of it. "

With an elegant gesture she received the basket from Noble Dill and tookthe handle over her ample forearm. "Hum!" she said. "Thishere ole basketkine o' heavy, too. I wunner whut-all she _is_ got in her!" And shegroped within the basket, beneath the newspaper. 

Now, it was the breath of Kitty Silver's life to linger, when she could, in a high atmosphere; and she was a powerful gossip, exorbitantlyinterested in her young mistress's affairs and all callers. Therefore itwas beyond her not to seize upon any excuse that might detain her forany time whatever in her present surroundings. 

"Pusserve jugs, " she said. "Pusserve or pickle. Cain't tell which. "

"You can in the kitchen, " Julia said, with pointed suggestion. "Ofcourse you can't in the dark. "

But still Mrs. Silver snatched at the fleeting moment and did not go. "Tell by smellin' 'em, " she murmured, seemingly to herself. 

With ease she unscrewed the top of one of the jars; then held the openjar to her nose. "Don't smell to me exackly like no pusserves, " shesaid. "Nor yit like no pickles. Don't smell to me----" She hesitated, sniffed the jar again, and then inquired in a voice quickly grownanxious: "Whut _is_ all thishere in thishere jug? Seem like to _me_----"

But here she interrupted herself to utter a muffled exclamation, notcoherent. Instantly she added some words suitable to religiousobservances, but in a voice of passion. At the same time, with a finegesture, she hurled the jar and the basket from her, and both came incontact with the wall, not far away, with a sound of breakage. 

"Why, what----" Julia began. "Kitty Silver, are you crazy?"

But Kitty Silver was moving hurriedly toward the open front door, whereappeared, at that moment, Mr. Atwater in his most irascible state ofpeculiarity. 

He began: "What was that heathenish----"

Shouting, Mrs. Silver jostled by him, and, though she disappeared intothe house, a trail of calamitous uproar marked her passage to thekitchen. 

"What thing has happened?" Mr. Atwater demanded. "Is she----?"

His daughter interrupted him. 

"_Oh_!" was all she said, and sped by him like a bit of blownthistledown, into the house. He grasped at her as she passed him; thensuddenly he made other gestures, and, like Kitty Silver, used Jacobeanphrases. But now there were no auditors, for Noble Dill and NewlandSanders, after thoughtlessly following a mutual and natural impulse tostep over and examine the fallen basket, had both gone out to thestreet, where they lingered a while, then decided to go home. 

... Later, that evening, Florence and Herbert remembered the c'lection;so they came for it, a mistake. Discovering the fragments upon theveranda, they made the much more important mistake of entering the houseto demand an explanation, which they received immediately. It wasdelivered with so much vigour, indeed, that Florence was surprised andhurt. And yet, the most important of her dreamy wishes of the afternoonhad been fulfilled: the c'lection had been useful to Noble Dill, for Mr. Atwater had smelled the smell of an Orduma cigarette and was just on thepoint of coming out to say some harsh things, when the c'lectioninterfered. And as Florence was really responsible for its having beenin a position to interfere, so to say, she had actually in a mannerprotected her protégé and also shown some of that power of which she hadboasted when she told him that sometimes she made members of her family"step around pretty lively. "

Another of her wishes appeared to be on the way to fulfilment, too. Shehad hoped that something memorable might be done with the c'lection, andthe interview with her grandfather, her Aunt Julia, and Kitty Silverseemed to leave this beyond doubt. 

CHAPTER TEN

Now August came, that florid lazy month when mid-summer dawdles along intrailing greeneries, and the day is like some jocund pagan, all flushedand asleep, with dripping beard rosy in a wine bowl of fat vine leaves. Yet, in this languorous time there may befall a brisker night, cool andlively as an intrusive boy--a night made for dancing. On such a night ahasty thought might put it as desirable that all the world should betwenty-two years old and in love, like Noble Dill. 

Upon the white bed in his room, as he dressed, lay the flat blacksilhouettes of his short evening coat and trousers, side by side, trimfrom new pressing; and whenever he looked at them Noble felt rich, tall, distinguished, and dramatic. It is a mistake, as most literary legendsare mistakes, to assume that girls are the only people subject tobefore-the-party exhilaration. At such times a girl is often in theanxious yet determined mood of a runner before a foot race, or she maybe merely hopeful; some are merry and some are grim, but arithmeticalcalculation of some sort, whether glorious or uneasy, is busy in theireyes as they pin and pat before their mirrors. To behold romance gonelight-headed, turn to the humbler sort of man-creature undertwenty-three. Alone in his room, he may enact for you scenes of flowerygrace and most capricious gallantry, rehearsals as unconscious as thecurtsies of field daisies in a breeze. He has neither doubt norcertainty of his charm; he has no arithmetic at all, and is often sofree of calculation that he does not even pull down the shades at hiswindows. 

Unfortunately for the neighbours, and even for passers-by, since Noble'sroom had a window visible from the street, his prophetic mother hadclosed his shutters before he began to dress. Thus she deprived honestfolk of what surely must have been to them the innocent pleasure ofseeing a very young man in light but complete underwear, lifting fromhis head a Panama hat, new that day, in a series of courteoussalutations. At times, during this same stage of his toilet, they mighthave had even more entertainment:--before putting on his socks Noble"one-stepped" for several minutes, still retaining upon his head thenew hat. This was a hat of double value to him; not only was it pleasantto behold in his mirror, but it was engaged in solidifying for theevening the arrangement of his hair. 

It may be admitted that he was a little giddy, for the dance wasJulia's. Mr. Atwater had been summoned to New York on a blessed businessthat would keep him a fortnight, and his daughter, alert to the firstflash of opportunity, had almost instantly summoned musicians, florists, a caterer, and set plans before them. Coincidentally, Noble had chancedto see Mr. Atwater driving down Julia's Street that morning, atravelling bag beside him, and, immediately putting aside for the dayall business cares, hurried to the traveller's house. Thus heforestalled, for the time being, that competition which helped to makecaring for Julia so continuous a strain upon whatever organ is the seatof the anxieties. Kind Julia, busy as she was, agreed to dance the firstdance with him, and the last--those being considered of suchsignificance that he would be entitled to the perquisites of a specialcavalier; for instance, a seat beside her during the serving of thecustomary light repast. In such high fortune, no wonder he was a littlegiddy as he dressed!

The process of clothing himself was disconnected, being broken byvarious enacted fancies and interludes. Having approached the length ofone sock toward the completion of his toilet, he absently dropped theother upon the floor, and danced again; his expression and attitudesignifying that he clasped a revered partner. Releasing her from thisrespectful confinement, he offered the invisible lady a gracious arm andwalked up and down the room with a stateliness tempered to rhythm, acakewalk of strange refinement. Phrases seemed to be running in hishead, impromptus symbolic of the touching and romantic, for he spokethem half aloud hi a wistful yet uplifted manner. "Oh, years!" he said. "Oh, years so fair; oh, night so rare!" Then he added, in a deepervoice:

"For life is but a golden dream so sweetly. "

Other whimsies came forth from him as the dressing slowly continued, though one might easily be at fault in attempting to fathom what was histhought when, during the passage of his right foot through thecorresponding leg of his trousers, he exclaimed commandingly:

"Now, Jocko, for the stirrup cup!"

Jack boots and a faithful squire, probably. 

During the long and dreamy session with his neck gear he went back tothe softer _motif_:

 "Oh, years so fair; oh, night so rare! For life is but a golden dream so sweetly. "

Then, pausing abruptly to look at his coat, so smoothly folded upon thebed, he addressed it: "O noblest sample of the tailor's dext'rous art!"

This was too much courtesy, for the coat was "ready-made, " and lookednobler upon the bed than upon its owner. In fact, it was by no means adext'rous sample; but evidently Noble believed in it with a high andsatisfying faith; and he repeated his compliment to it as he put it on:

"Come, noblest sample of the tailor's art; I'll don thee!"

During these processes he had been repeatedly summoned to descend to thefamily dinner, and finally his mother came lamenting and called up fromthe front hall that "everything" was "all getting cold!"

But by this time he was on his way, and though he went back to leave hishat in his room, unwilling to confide it to the hat-rack below, hepresently made his appearance in the dining-room and took his seat atthe table. This mere sitting, however, appeared to be his wholeconception of dining; he seemed as unaware of his mother's urging foodupon him as if he had been a Noble Dill of waxwork. Several tunes helifted a fork and set it down without guiding it to its accustomeddestination. Food was far from his thoughts or desires, and if he reallyperceived its presence at all, it appeared to him as something vaguelyignoble upon the horizon. 

But he was able to partake of coffee; drank two cups feverishly, hishand visibly unsteady; and when his mother pointed out this confirmationof many prophecies that cigarettes would ruin him, he asked if anybodyhad noticed whether or not it was cloudy outdoors. At that his fatherlooked despondent, for the open windows of the dining-room revealed anevening of fragrant clarity. 

"I see, I see, " Noble returned pettishly when the fine state of thisclosely adjacent weather was pointed out to him by his old-maid sister. "It wouldn't be raining, of course. Not on a night like this. " He jumpedup. "It's time for me to go. "

Mrs. Dill laughed. "It's only a little after seven. Julia won't bethrough her own dinner yet. You mustn't----"

But with a tremulous smile, Noble shook his head and hurriedly left theroom. He went upstairs for his hat, and while there pinned a geraniumblossom upon his lapel, for it may be admitted that in boutonnières histaste was as yet unformed. 

Coming down again, he took a stick under his arm and was about to setforth when he noticed a little drift of talcum powder upon one of hispatent leather shoes. After carefully removing this accretion and addinga brighter lustre to the shoe by means of friction against the back ofhis ankle, he decided to return to his room and brush the affectedportion of his trousers. Here a new reverie arrested him; he stood withthe brush in his hand for some time; then, not having used it, hedropped it gently upon the bed, lit an Orduma cigarette, descended, andwent forth to the quiet street. 

As he walked along Julia's Street toward Julia's Party, there wassomething in his mien and look more dramatic than mere sprightliness;and when he came within sight of the ineffable house and saw its manylights shining before him, he breathed with profundity, half halting. Again he murmured:

 "Oh, years so fair; oh, night so rare! For life is but a golden dream so sweetly. "

At the gate he hesitated. Perhaps--perhaps he was a little early. Itmight be better to walk round the block. 

He executed this parade, and again hesitated at the gate. He could seeinto the brightly lighted hall, beyond the open double doors; and itcontained nothing except its usual furniture. Once more he walked roundthe block. The hall was again in the same condition. Again he went on. 

When he had been thrice round the block after that, he discovered humanbeings in the hall; they were Florence, in a gala costume, andFlorence's mother, evidently arrived to be assistants at the party, for, with the helpful advice of a coloured manservant, they were arrangingsome bunches of flowers on two hall tables. Their leisurely mannersomewhat emphasized the air of earliness that hung about the place, andNoble thought it better to continue to walk round the block. The thirdtime after that, when he completed his circuit, the musicians were justarriving, and their silhouettes, headed by that of the burdened bassfiddler, staggered against the light of the glowing doorway like afantasia of giant beetles. Noble felt that it would be better to letthem get settled, and therefore walked round the block again. 

Not far from the corner above Julia's, as he passed, a hoarse andunctuous voice, issuing out of an undistinguishable lawn, called hisname: "Noble! Noble Dill!" And when Noble paused, Julia's Uncle Josephcame waddling forth from the dimness and rested his monstrous arms uponthe top of the fence, where a street light revealed them asshirt-sleeved and equipped with a palm-leaf fan. 

"What _is_ the matter, Noble?" Mr. Atwater inquired earnestly. 

"Matter?" Noble repeated. "Matter?"

"We're kind of upset, " said Mr. Atwater. "My wife and I been justsittin' out here in our front yard, not doing any harm to anybody, andhere it's nine times we've counted you passing the place--always goingthe same way!" He spoke as with complaint, a man with a grievance. "It'skind of ghostlike, " he added. "We'd give a good deal to know what _you_make of it. "

Noble was nonplussed. "Why----" he said. "Why----"

"How do you get _back_? That's the mystery!" said Mr. Atwater. "You'realways walkin' down street and never up. You know my wife's never beentoo strong a woman, Noble, and all this isn't doing her any good. Besides, we sort of figured out that you ought really to be at Julia'sdance this evening. "

"I am, " said Noble nervously. "I mean that's where I'm going. I'm goingthere. I'm going there. "

"That's what's upsetting us so!" the fat man exclaimed. "You keep ongoing there! Just when we've decided you must _be_ there, at last, hereyou come, going there again. Well, don't let me detain you. But if youdo decide to go in, some time, Noble, I'm afraid you aren't going to beable to do much dancing. "

Noble, who had begun to walk on, halted in sudden panic. Did thissinister fear of Mr. Atwater's mean that, as an uncle, he had heardJulia was suddenly ill?

"Why won't I?" he asked quickly. "Is anything----"

"Your poor feet!" said Mr. Atwater, withdrawing. "Good-night, Noble. "

The youth went on, somewhat disturbed; it seemed to him that this uncle, though Julia's, was either going queer in the head or had chosen a pooroccasion to be facetious. Next time, probably, it would be better towalk round the block below this. But it was no longer advisable to walkround any block. When he came to the happy gateway, the tuning ofinstruments and a fanfare of voices sounded from within the house; girlsin light wraps were fluttering through the hall with young men; it was"time for the party!" And Noble went in. 

Throughout the accomplishment of the entrance he made, his outside andhis inside were directly contradictory. His inside was almostfluttering: there might have been a nest of nervous young birds in hischest; but as he went upstairs to the "gentlemen's dressing-room, " toleave his hat and stick, this flopping and scrambling within him wasnever to be guessed from his outside. His outside was unsympathetic, even stately; he greeted his fellow guests with negligent hauteur, whilehis glance seemed to say: "Only peasantry here!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The stairway was crowded as he descended; and as he looked down upon theheads and shoulders of the throng below, in Julia's hall, the thoughtcame to him that since he had the first and last dances and supperengaged with Julia, the hostess, this was almost the next thing to beingthe host. It was a pleasing thought, and a slight graciousness nowflavoured his salutations. 

At the foot of the stairs he became part of the file of young people whowere moving into one of the large rooms where Julia stood to "receive. "And then, between two heads before him, he caught a first glimpse ofher;--and all the young birds fluttering in his chest burst into song;his heart fainted, his head ballooned, his feet seemed to dangle fromhim at the ends of two strings. 

There glowed sapphire-eyed Julia; never had she been prettier. 

The group closed, shutting out the vision, and he found himself able todry his brow and get back his breath before moving forward in a coldand aristocratic attitude. Then he became incapable of any attitude--hewas before her, and she greeted him. A buzzing of the universe confusedhim: he would have stood forever, but pressure from behind pushed himon; and so, enveloped in a scented cloud, he passed into a corner. Hetried to remember what he had said to her, but could not; perhaps itwould have discouraged him to know that all he had said was, "Well!"

Now there rattled out a challenge of drums; loud music struck upon theair. Starting instantly to go to Julia, Noble's left leg first receivedthe electric impulse and crossed his laggard right; but he was no pacer, and thus stumbled upon himself and plunged. Still convulsive, he cameheadlong before her, and was the only person near who remained unawarethat his dispersal of an intervening group had the appearance of extremeunconventionality. Noble knew nothing except that this was his dancewith Her. 

Then heaven played with him. She came close and touched him exquisitely. She placed a lovely hand upon his shoulder, her other lovely cool handin one of his. The air filled with bursting stars. 

They danced. 

Noble was conscious of her within his clasping arm, but conscious of heras nothing human. The fluffy white bodice pressed by his hand seemed tobe that of some angel doll; the charming shoulder that sometimes touchedhis was made of a divine mist. Only the pretty head, close to his, wasactual; the black-sapphire eyes gave him a little blue-black glance, nowand then, and seemed to laugh. 

In truth, they did, though Julia's lips remained demure. So far as Noblewas able to comprehend what he was doing, he was floating rhythmicallyto a faint, far music; but he was almost unconscious, especially fromthe knees down. But to the eye of observers incapable of perceiving thatNoble was floating, it appeared that he was out of step most of thetime, and danced rather hoppingly. However, these mannerisms were nonovelty with him, and it cannot be denied that girls at dances usuallyhurried impulsively away to speak to somebody when they saw him coming. One such creature even went so far as to whisper to Julia now, during acollision: "How'd you get caught?"

Julia was loyal; she gave no sign of comprehension, but valiantly swungonward with Noble, bumped and bumping everywhere, in spite of the mostextraordinary and graceful dexterity on her part. 

"That's one reason she's such a terrible belle, " a damsel whispered toanother. 

"What is?"

"The way she'll be just as nice to anybody like Noble Dill as she is toanybody, " said the first. "Look at her now: she won't laugh at him abit, though everybody else is. "

"Well, I wouldn't laugh either, " said the other. "Not in Julia'sposition. I'd be too busy being afraid. "

"What of?"

"Of getting a sprained ankle!"

It is well that telepathy remains, as a science, lethargic. Speculationsets before us the prospect of a Life Beyond in which every thought iscommunicated without the intervention of speech: a state wherein allneighbours and neighbourhoods would promptly be dispersed and fewfriendships long endure, one fears. If to Noble Dill's activeconsciousness had penetrated merely the things thought about him and hisdancing, in this one short period of time before the music for thatdance stopped, he might easily have been understood if he had hurriedforth, obtained explosives, and blown up the place, himself indeedincluded. As matters providentially were in reality, when the musicstopped he stood confounded: he thought the dance had just begun. 

His mouth remained open until the necessary gestures of articulationintermittently closed it as he said: "_Oh!_ That was _divine_!"

Too-gentle Julia agreed. 

"You said I could have part of some in between the first and last, " hereminded her. "Can I have the first part of the next?"

She laughed. "I'm afraid not. The next is Mr. Clairdyce's and I really_promised_ him I wouldn't give _any_ of his away or let anybody cut in. "

"Well, then, " said Noble, frowning a little, "would you be willing forme to cut in on the third?"

"I'm afraid not. That's Newland Sanders', and I promised him the samething. "

"Well, the one after that?"

"No, that one's Mr. Clairdyce's, too. "

"It _is_?" Noble was greatly disturbed. 

"Yes. "

"Two that quick with old Baldy Clairdyce!" he exclaimed, raising hisvoice, but unaware of the fervour with which he spoke. "Two with thatold----"

"_Sh_, Noble, " she said, though she laughed. "He isn't really old; he'sjust middle-aged, and only the least bit bald, just enough to bedistinguished-looking. "

"Well, you know what _I_ think of him!" he returned with a vehemence notmoderated. "_I_ don't think he's distinguished-looking; I think he'ssimply and plainly a regular old----"

"_Sh!_" Julia warned him again. "He's standing with some people justbehind us, " she added. 

"Well, then, " said Noble, "can I cut in on the next one after that?"

She consulted a surreptitious little card. "I'm afraid you'll have towait till quite a little later on, Noble. That one is poor Mr. Ridgely's. I promised him I wouldn't----"

"Then can I cut in on the next one after that?"

"It's Mr. Clairdyce's, " said Julia--and she blushed. 

"My goodness!" said Noble. "Oh, my goodness!"

"_Sh!_ I'm afraid people----"

"Let's go out on the porch, " said Noble, whose manner had suddenlybecome desperate. "Let's go out and get some air where we can talk thisthing over. "

"I'm afraid I'd better not just now, " she returned, glancing over hershoulder. "You see, all the people aren't here yet. "

"You've got an aunt here, " said Noble, "and a sister-in-law and a littleniece: I saw 'em. They can----"

"I'm afraid I'd better stay indoors just now, " she said persuasively. "We can talk here just as well. "

"We can't!" he insisted feverishly. "We can't, Julia! I've got somethingto say, Julia. Julia, you gave me the first dance and the last dance, and of course sitting together at supper, or whatever there is, and youknow as well as I do that means it's just the same as if you weren'tgiving this party but it was somewhere else and I took you to it, andit's always understood you _never_ dance more with anybody else than theone you went with, when you go with that person to a place, becausethat's the rights of it; and other towns it's just the same way; they dothat way there, just the same as here; they do that way everywhere, because nobody else has got a right to cut in and dance more with youthan the one you go with, when you goes to a place with that one. Julia, don't you see that's the regular way it is, and the only fair way itought to be?"

"What?"

"Weren't you even _listening_?" he cried. 

"Yes, indeed, but----"

"Julia, " he said desperately, "let's go out on the porch. I want toexplain just the way I feel. Let's go out on the porch, Julia. If westay here, somebody's just bound to interrupt us any minute before I canexplain the way I----"

But the prophecy was fulfilled even before it was concluded. A group ofloudly chattering girls and their escorts of the moment bore down uponJulia, and shattered the tête-à-tête. Dislodged from Julia's side by alarge and eager girl, whom he had hated ever since she was six years oldand he five, Noble found himself staggering in a kind of suburb; for thelarge girl's disregard of him, as she shouldered in, was actuallyphysical, and too powerful for him to resist. She wished to put hercoarse arm round Julia's waist, it appeared, and the whole group burbledand clamoured: the party was _perfictly_ glorious; so was the waxedfloor; so was Julia, my _dear_, so was the music, the weather, and thedin they made!

Noble felt that his rights were being outraged. Until the next dancebegan, every moment of her time was legally his--yet all he could evensee of her was the top of her head. And the minutes were flying. 

He stood on tiptoe, thrust his head forward over the large girl's odiousshoulder, and shouted: "Julia! Let's go out on the porch!"

No one seemed to hear him. 

"Julia----"

_Boom!_ Rackety-_Boom_! The drummer walloped his drums; a saxophonesquawked, and fiddles squealed. Hereupon appeared a tall authoritativeman, at least thirty-two years old, and all swelled up with himself, asinterpreted by Noble and several other friends of Julia's--though this, according to quite a number of people (all feminine) was only anotherway of saying that he was a person of commanding presence. He wore afully developed moustache, an easy smile, clothes offensively knowing;and his hair began to show that scarcity which Julia felt gave himdistinction--a curious theory, but natural to her age. What really didgive this Clairdyce some air of distinction, however, was the calmnesswith which he walked through the group that had dislodged Noble Dill, and the assurance with which he put his arm about Julia and swept heraway in the dance. 

Noble was left alone in the middle of the floor, but not for long. Couples charged him, and he betook himself to the wall. The party, forhim, was already ruined. 

Sometimes, as he stood against the wall, there would be swirled to him, out of all the comminglements of other scents, a faint, faint hint ofheliotrope and then Julia would be borne masterfully by, her flyingskirts just touching him. And sometimes, out of the medley of all othersounds, there would reach his ear a little laugh like a run of lightlyplucked harp strings, and he would see her shining dark hair above herpartner's shoulder as they swept again near him for an instant. Andalways, though she herself might be concealed from him, he could onlytoo painfully mark where she danced: the overtopping head of the tallClairdyce was never lost to view. The face on the front part of thatdisliked head wore continuously a confident smile, which had a badeffect on Noble. It seemed to him desecration that a man with so gross asmile should be allowed to dance with Julia. And that she should smileback at her partner, and with such terrible kindness--as Noble twice sawher smile--this was like a calamity happening to her white soul withouther knowing it. If she should ever marry that man--well, it would bethe old story: May and December! Noble shuddered, and the drums, thefiddles, the bass fiddle, and the saxophone seemed to have an evilsound. 

When the music stopped he caromed hastily through the room toward Julia, but she was in a thicket of her guests when he arrived, and for severalmoments Mr. Clairdyce's broad back kept intervening--almostintentionally, it seemed. When Noble tried to place himself in aposition to attract Julia's attention, this back moved, too, and Noble'snose but pressed black cloth. And the noise everybody made was sobaffling that, in order to be heard, Julia herself was shouting. FinallyNoble contrived to squirm round the obtrusive back, and protruded hisstrained face among all the flushed and laughing ones. 

"Julia, I got to----" he began. 

But this was just at the climax of a story that three people weretelling at the same time, Julia being one of them, and he receivedlittle attention. 

"Julia, " he said hoarsely; "I got something I want to _tell_ youabout----"

He raised his voice: "Julia, come on! Let's go out on the _porch_!"

Nobody even knew that he was there. Nevertheless, the tall and solidClairdyce was conscious of him, but only, it proved, as one is consciousof something to rest upon. His elbow, a little elevated, was at theheight of Noble's shoulder, and this heavy elbow, without its owner'sdirect or active cognizance, found for itself a comfortable support. Then, as the story reached its conclusion, this old Clairdyce joined thegeneral mirth so heartily as to find himself quite overcome, and heallowed most of his weight to depend upon the supported elbow. Noblesank like feathers. 

"Here! What you doin'?" he said hotly. "I'll thank you to keep off o'me!"

Old Baldy recovered his balance without being aware what had threatenedit, while his elbow, apparently of its own volition, groped for itsformer pedestal. Noble evaded it, and pushed forward. 

"Julia, " he said. "I _got_ to say some----"

But the accursed music began again, and horn-rimmed Newland Sandersalready had his arm about her waist. They disappeared into the ruck ofdancers. 

"Well, by George!" said Noble. "By George, I'm goin' to _do_something!"

CHAPTER TWELVE

He went outdoors and smoked Orduma cigarettes, one after the other. Dances and intermissions succeeded each other but Noble had "enough of_that_, for one while!" So he muttered. 

And remembering how Julia had told him that he was killing himself withcigarettes, "All right, " he said now, as he bitterly lighted his fifthat the spark of the fourth;--"I hope I will!"

"Lot o' difference it'd make!" he said, as he lighted the eighth of aseries that must, all told, have contained nearly as much tobacco as acigar. And, leaning back against the trunk of one of the big old walnuttrees in the yard, he gazed toward the house, where the open windownearest him splashed with colour like a bright and crowded aquarium. "To_her_, anyway!" he added, with a slight remorse, remembering that hismother had frequently shown him evidences of affection. 

Yes, his mother would care, and his father and sisters would be upset, but Julia--when the friends of the family were asked to walk by for alast look, would she be one? What optimism remained to him presented asketch of Julia, in black, borne from the room in the arms of girlfriends who tried in vain to hush her; but he was unable to give thismore hopeful fragment an air of great reality. Much more probably, whenword came to her that he had smoked himself to death, she would be abride, dancing at Niagara Falls with her bald old husband--and she wouldonly laugh and pause to toss a faded rose out of the window, and then goright on dancing. But perhaps, some day, when tears had taught her thereal meaning of life with such a man----

"You--_wow_!"

Noble jumped. From the darkness of the yard beside the house there camea grievous howl, distressful to the spinal marrow, a sound of animalpain. It was repeated even more passionately, and another voice was alsoheard, one both hoarsely bass and falsetto in the articulation of asingle syllable. "_Ouch!_" There were sounds of violent scuffing, andthe bass-falsetto voice cried: "What's that you _stuck_ me with?" andanother: "Drag her! Drag her back by her feet!"

These alarms came from the almost impenetrable shadows of the smallorchard beside the house; and from the same quarter was heard therepeated contact of a heavy body, seemingly wooden or metallic, with theground; but high over this there rose a shrieking: "Help! Help! Oh, _hay_-yulp!" This voice was girlish. "Hay-_yulp_!"

Noble dashed into the orchard, and at once fell prostrate upon whatseemed a log, but proved to be a large and solidly packed ice-creamfreezer lying on its side. 

Dark forms scrambled over the fence and vanished, but as Noble got tohis feet he was joined by a dim and smallish figure in white--thoughmore light would have disclosed a pink sash girdling its middle. It wasthe figure of Miss Florence Atwater, seething with furious agitations. 

"Vile thieves!" she panted. 

"Who?" Noble asked, brushing at his knees, while Florence made somereally necessary adjustments of her own attire. "Who were they?"

"It was my own cousin, Herbert, and that nasty little Henry Rooter andtheir gang. Herbert thinks he hass to act perfectly horrable all thetime, now his voice is changing!" said Florence, her emotion not abated. "Tried to steal this whole ice-cream freezer off the back porch andsneak it over the fence and eat it! I stuck a pretty long pin in Herbertand two more of 'em, every bit as far as it would go. " And in theextremity of her indignation, she added: "The dirty robbers!"

"Did they hurt you?"

"You bet your life they didn't!" the child responded. "Tried to drag meback to the house! By the feet! I guess I gave 'em enough o' _that_!"

Then, tugging the prostrate freezer into an upright position, sheexclaimed darkly: "I expect I gave ole Mister Herbert and some of theothers of 'em just a few kicks they won't be in such a hurry to forget!"And in spite of his own gloomy condition, Noble was able, upon thinkingover matters, to spare some commiseration for Herbert and his friend, that nasty little Henry Rooter and their gang. They seemed to have beenat a disadvantage. 

"I suppose I'd better carry the freezer back to the kitchen porch, " hesaid. "Somebody may want it. "

"'Somebody'!" Florence exclaimed. "Why, there's only two of these bigfreezers, and if I hadn't happened to suspeck somep'n and be layin' forthose vile thieves, half the party wouldn't get _any_!" And as anafterthought, when Noble had pantingly restored the heavy freezer to itsplace by the kitchen door, she said: "Or else they'd had to have suchlittle saucers of it nobody would of been any way _like_ satisfied, andprob'ly all the fam'ly that's here assisting would of had to go withoutany at all. That'd 'a' been the worst of it!"

She opened the kitchen door, and to those within explained loudly whatdangers had been averted, directing that both freezers be placed indoorsunder guard; then she rejoined Noble, who was walking slowly back to thefront yard. 

"I guess it's pretty lucky you happened to be hangin' around out here, "she said. "I guess that's about the luckiest thing ever happened to me. The way it looks to me, I guess you saved my life. If you hadn't chased'em away, I wouldn't been a bit surprised if that gang would killed me!"

"Oh, no!" said Noble. "They wouldn't----"

"You don't know 'em like I do, " the romantic child assured him. "I knowthat gang pretty well, and I wouldn't been a bit surprised. I wouldn'tbeen!"

"But----"

She tossed her head, signifying recklessness. 

"Guess 'twouldn't make much difference to anybody particular, whetherthey did or not, " said this strange Florence. 

Noble regarded her with astonishment; they had reached the front yard, and paused under the trees where the darkness was mitigated by the lightfrom the shining windows. "Why, you oughtn't to talk that way, Florence, " he said. "Think of your mamma and papa and your--and yourAunt Julia. "

She tossed her head again. "Pooh! They'd all of 'em just say: 'Goodribbons to bad rubbish, ' I guess!" However, she seemed far fromdespondent about this; in fact, she was naturally pleased with herposition as a young girl saved from the power of ruffians by a rescuerwho was her Very Ideal. "I bet if I died, they wouldn't even have afuneral, " she said cheerfully. "They'd proba'ly just leave me lay. "

The curiosities of the human mind are found not in high adventure: theyare everywhere in the commonplace. Never for a moment did it strikeNoble Dill that Florence's turn to the morbid bore any resemblance tohis recent visions of his own funeral. He failed to perceive that thetwo phenomena were produced out of the same laboratory jar and wereprobably largely chemical, at that. 

"Why, Florence!" he exclaimed. "That's a dreadful way to feel. I'm sureyour--your Aunt Julia loves you. "

"Oh, well, " Florence returned lightly;--"maybe she does. I don't carewhether she does or not. " And now she made a deduction, the profundityof which his condition made him unable to perceive. "It makes lessdifference to anybody whether their aunts love 'em or not than whetherpretty near anybody else at all does. "

"But not your Aunt _Julia_" he urged. "Your Aunt _Julia_----"

"I don't care whether she does than any other aunt I got, " saidFlorence. "All of 'em's just aunts, and that's all there is to it. "

"But, Florence, your Aunt _Julia_----"

"She's nothin' in the world but my _aunt_, " Florence insisted, and heremphasis showed that she was trying hard to make him understand. "She'sjust the same as all of 'em. I don't get anything more from her than Ido from any the rest of 'em. "

Her auditor was dumfounded, but not by Florence's morals. Thecold-blooded calculation upon which her family affections seemed to befounded, this aboriginal straightforwardness of hers, passed over him. What shocked him was her appearing to see Julia as all of a piece with ageneral lot of ordinary aunts. Helplessly, he muttered again:

"But your Aunt _Julia_----"

"There she is now, " said Florence, pointing to the window nearest them. "They've stopped dancing for a while so's that ole Mister Clairdyce canget a chance to sing somep'n. Mamma told me he was goin' to. "

Dashing chords sounded from a piano invisible to Noble and hiscompanion; the windows exhibited groups of deferentially expectant youngpeople; and then a powerful barytone began a love song. From the yardthe singer could not be seen, but Julia could be: she stood in thedemurest attitude; and no one needed to behold the vocalist to know thatthe scoundrel was looking pointedly and romantically at her. 

 "Dee-urra-face that holds soswee tasmile for me, Wairyew nah tmine how darrrk the worrrl dwooed be!"

To Noble, suffering at every pore, this was less a song than abellowing; and in truth the confident Mr. Clairdyce did "let his voiceout, " for he was seldom more exhilarated than when he shook the ceiling. The volume of sound he released upon his climaxes was impressive, andthe way he slid up to them had a great effect, not indoors alone, butupon Florence, enraptured out under the trees. 

"Oh, isn't it be-_you_-tiful!" she murmured. 

Her humid eyes were fixed upon Noble, who was unconscious of the honour. Florence was susceptible to anything purporting to be music, and thissong moved her. Throughout its delivery from Mr. Clairdyce's unseenchest, her large eyes dwelt upon Noble, and it is not at all impossiblethat she was applying the tender words to him, just as the vehementClairdyce was patently addressing them to Julia. On he sang, whileNoble, staring glassily at the demure lady, made a picture of himselfleaping unexpectedly through the window, striding to the noisy barytone, striking him down, and after stamping on him several times, explaining:"There! That's for your insolence to our hostess!" But he did notactually permit himself these solaces; he only clenched and unclenchedhis fingers several times, and continued to listen. 

 "Geev a-mee yewr ra-smile, The luv va-ligh TIN yew rise, Life cooed not hold a fairrerr paradise. Geev a-mee the righ to luv va-yew all the wile, My worrlda for AIV-vorr, The sunshigh NUV vyewr-ra-smile!"

The conclusion was thunderous, and as a great noise under suchcircumstances is an automatic stimulant of enthusiasm, the applause wasthunderous too. Several girls were unable to subdue their outcries of"Charming!" and "_Won_-derf'l!"--not even after Mr. Clairdyce had begunto sing the same song as an encore. 

When this was concluded, a sigh, long and deep, was heard under thetrees. It came from Florence. Her eyes, wanly gleaming, like youngoysters in the faint light, were still fixed on Noble; and there can belittle doubt that just now there was at least one person in the world, besides his mother, who saw him in a glamour as something rare, obs, exquisite, and elegant. "I think that was the most be-_you_-tiful thingI ever heard!" she said; and then, noting a stir within the house, shebecame practical. "They're starting refreshments, " she said. "We betterhurry in, Mr. Dill, so's to get good places. Thanks to me, there'splenty to go round. "

She moved toward the house, but, observing that he did not accompanyher, paused and looked back. "Aren't you goin' to come in, Mr. Dill?"

"I guess not. Don't tell any one I'm out here. "

"I won't. But aren't you goin' to come in for----"

He shook his head. "No, I'm going to wait out here a while longer. "

"But, " she said, "it's _refreshments_!"

"I don't want any. I--I'm going to smoke some more, instead. "

She looked at him wistfully, then even more wistfully toward the house. Evidently she was of a divided mind: her feeling for Noble fought withher feeling for "refreshments. " Such a struggle could not endure forlong: a whiff of coffee conjured her nose, and a sound of clinking chinawitched her ear. "Well, " she said, "I guess I ought to have somenourishment, " and betook herself hurriedly into the house. 

Noble lit another Orduma. He would follow the line of conduct he hadmarked out for himself: he would not take his place by Julia for thesupper interval--perhaps that breach of etiquette would "show" her. Hecould see her no longer--she had moved out of range--but he imaginedher, asking everywhere: "Hasn't _any_ one seen Mr. Dill?" And he thoughtof her as biting her lip nervously, perhaps, and replying absently tosallies and quips--perhaps even having to run upstairs to her own roomto dash something sparkling from her eyes, and, maybe, to look angrilyin her glass for an instant and exclaim, "Fool!" For Julia was proud, and not used to be treated in this way. 

He felt the least bit soothed, and, lightly flicking the ash from hisOrduma with his little finger, an act indicating some measure ofrestored composure, he strolled to the other side of the house andbrought other fields of vision into view through other windows. Abruptlyhis stroll came to an end. 

There sat Julia, flushed and joyous, finishing her supper in companywith old Baldy Clairdyce, Newland Sanders, George Plum, seven or eightother young gentlemen, and some inconsidered adhering girls--thehorrible barytone sitting closest of all to Julia. Moreover, upon thatvery moment the orchestra, in the hall beyond, thought fit to pay therecent vocalist a sickening compliment, and began to play "The Sunshineof Your Smile. "

Thereupon, with Julia herself first taking up the air in a dulcetsoprano, all of the party, including the people in the other rooms, sangthe dreadful song in chorus, the beaming Clairdyce exerting suchdemoniac power as to be heard tremendously over all other voices. He hadrisen for this effort, and to Noble, below the window, everything in hismouth was visible. 

The lone listener had a bitter thought, though it was a longing, ratherthan a thought. For the first time in his life he wished that he hadadopted the profession of dentistry. 

 "Geev a-mee the righ to luv va-yew ALL the wile, My worrrlda for AIV-vorr, The sunshigh NUV vyewr-ra-smile!"

The musicians swung into dance music; old Baldy closed the exhibitionwith an operatic gesture (for which alone, if for nothing else, at leastone watcher thought the showy gentleman deserved hanging), and thisodious gesture concluded with a seizure of Julia's hand. She sprang upeagerly; he whirled her away, and the whole place fluctuated in thedance once more. 

"Well, now, " said Noble, between his teeth--"now, I _am_ goin' to dosomething!"

He turned his back upon that painful house, walked out to the frontgate, opened it, passed through, and looked southward. Not quite twoblocks away there shone the lights of a corner drug store, still open tocustom though the hour was nearing midnight. He walked straight to thedoor of this place, which stood ajar, but paused before entering, andlooked long and nervously at the middle-aged proprietor who wasunconscious of his regard, and lounged in a chair, drowsily stroking acat upon his lap. Noble walked in. 

"Good evening, " said the proprietor, rising and brushing himselflanguidly. "Cat hairs, " he said apologetically. "Sheddin', I reckon. "Then, as he went behind the counter, he inquired: "How's the party goin'off?"

"It's--it's----" Noble hesitated. "I stepped in to--to----"

The druggist opened a glass case. "Aw right, " he said, blinking, andtossed upon the counter a package of Orduma cigarettes. "Old Atwater'dhave convulsions, I reckon, " he remarked, "if he had to lay awake andlisten to all that noise. Price ain't changed, " he added, referringhumorously to the purchase he mistakenly supposed Noble wished to make. "F'teen cents, same as yesterday and the day before. "

Noble placed the sum upon the counter. "I--I was thinking----" Hegulped. 

"Huh?" said the druggist placidly, for he was too sleepy to perceive thestrangeness of his customer's manner. 

Noble lighted an Orduma with an unsteady hand, leaned upon the counter, and inquired in a voice that he strove to make casual: "Is--is the sodafountain still running this late?"

"Sure. "

"I didn't know, " said Noble. "I suppose you have more calls for sodawater than you do for--for--for real liquor?"

The druggist laughed. "Funny thing: I reckon we don't have more'n halfthe calls for real liquor than what we used to before we went dry. "

Noble breathed deeply. "I s'pose you probably sell quite a good deal ofit though, at that. By the glass, I mean--such as a glass of somethingkind of strong--like--like whiskey. That is, I sort of supposed so. Imean I thought I'd ask you about this. "

"No, " said the druggist, yawning. "It never did pay well--not on thiscorner, anyhow. Once there used to be a little money in it, but notmuch. " He roused himself somewhat. "Well, it's about twelve. Anythingyou wanted 'cept them Ordumas before I close up?"

Noble gulped again. He had grown pale. "_I_ want----" he said abruptly, then his heart seemed to fail him. "I want a glass of----" Once more hestopped and swallowed. His shoulders drooped, and he walked across tothe soda fountain. "Well, " he said, "I'll take a chocolate sundae. "

The thought of going back to Julia's party was unendurable, yet a returnwas necessary on account of his new hat, the abandonment of which he didnot for a moment consider. But about half way, as he walked slowlyalong, he noticed an old horse-block at the curbstone, and sat downthere. He could hear the music at Julia's, sometimes loud and close athand, sometimes seeming to be almost a mile away. "All right!" he said, so bitter had he grown. "Dance! Go on and _dance_!"

... When finally he reëntered Julia's gate, he shuffled up the walk, hishead drooping, and ascended the steps and crossed the veranda and thethreshold of the front door in the same manner. 

Julia stood before him. 

"Noble _Dill_!" she exclaimed. 

As for Noble, his dry throat refused its office; he felt that he mightnever be able to speak to Julia again, even if he tried. 

"Where in the world have you been all evening?" she cried. 

"Why, Jew-Julia!" he quavered. "Did you notice that I was gone?"

"Did I 'notice'!" she said. "You never came near me all evening afterthe first dance! Not even at supper!"

"You wouldn't--you didn't----" he faltered. "You wouldn't do anythingall evening except dance with that old Clairdyce and listen to himtrying to sing. "

But Julia would let no one suffer if she could help it; and she couldalways help Noble. She made her eyes mysterious and used a voice ofhoney and roses. "You don't think I'd _rather_ have danced with him, doyou, Noble?"

Immediately sparks seemed to crackle about his head. He started. 

"What?" he said. 

The scent of heliotrope enveloped him; she laughed her silverharp-strings laugh, and lifted her arms toward the dazzled young man. "It's the last dance, " she said. "Don't you want to dance it with me?"

Then to the spectators it seemed that Noble Dill went hopping upon awaxed floor and upon Julia's little slippers; he was bumped and bumpingeverywhere; but in reality he floated in Elysian ether, immeasurablydistant from earth, his hand just touching the bodice of an angelicdoll. 

Then, on his way home, a little later, with his new hat on the back ofhis head, his stick swinging from his hand, and a semi-fragrant Ordumabetween his lips, his condition was precisely as sweet as the conditionin which he had walked to the party. 

No echoes of "The Sunshine of Your Smile" cursed his memory--thatlover's little memory fresh washed in heliotrope--and when his mothercame to his door, after he got home, and asked him if he'd had "a nicetime at the party, " he said:

"Just glorious!" and believed it. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was a pretty morning, two weeks after Julia's Dance; and blue andlavender shadows, frayed with mid-summer sunshine, waggled gayly acrossthe grass beneath the trees of the tiny orchard, but trembled withtimidity as they hurried over the abnormal surfaces of Mrs. Silver asshe sat upon the steps of the "back porch. " Her right hand held insecurity one end of a leather leash; the other end of the leash wasfastened to a new collar about the neck of an odd and fascinating dog. Seated upon the brick walk at her feet, he was regarding her with agravity that seemed to discomfort her. She was unable to meet his gaze, and constantly averted her own whenever it furtively descended to his. In fact, her expression and manner were singular, denotingembarrassment, personal hatred, and a subtle bedazzlement. She could notlook at him, yet could not keep herself from looking at him. There wassomething here that arose out of the depths of natural character; it wasintrinsic in the two personalities, that is to say; and was in additionto the bitterness consequent upon a public experience, just past, whichhad been brought upon Mrs. Silver partly by the dog's appearance (inparticular the style and colour of his hair) and partly by hisunprecedented actions in her company upon the highway. 

She addressed him angrily, yet with a profound uneasiness. 

"Dog!" she said. "You ain't feelin' as skittish as whut you did, li'lwhile ago, is you? My glory! I dess would like to lay my han' to you'hide once, Mister! I take an' lam you this livin' minute if I right sho'you wouldn't take an' bite me. "

She jerked the leash vindictively, upon which the dog at once "sat up"on his haunches, put his forepaws together above his nose, in anattitude of prayer, and looked at her inscrutably from under the greatbang of hair that fell like a black chrysanthemum over his forehead. Beneath this woolly lambrequin his eyes were visible as two garnetsparks of which the coloured woman was only too nervously aware. Shegasped. 

"Look-a-here, dog, who's went an' ast you to take an' pray fer 'em?"

He remained motionless and devout. 

"My goo'niss!" she said to him. "If you goin' keep on thisaway whut you_is_ been, I'm goin' to up an' go way from here, ri' now!" Then she saida remarkable thing. "Listen here, Mister! I ain' never los' no gran'child, an' I ain' goin' 'dop' no stranger fer one, neither!"

The explanation rests upon the looks and manners of him whom sheaddressed. This dog was of a kind at the top of dog kingdoms. His sizewas neither insignificant nor great; probably his weight would have beenbetween a fourth and a third of a St. Bernard's. He had the finest headfor adroit thinking that is known among dogs; and he had an athleticbody, the forepart muffled and lost in a mass of corded black fleece, but the rest of him sharply clipped from the chest aft; and his trim, slim legs were clipped, though tufts were left at his ankles, and at thetip of his short tail, with two upon his hips, like fanciful buttons ofan imaginary jacket; for thus have such dogs been clipped to a fashionproper and comfortable for them ever since (and no doubt long before) anImperial Roman sculptor so chiselled one in bas-relief. In brief, thisdog, who caused Kitty Silver so much disquietude, as she sat upon theback steps at Mr. Atwater's, belonged to that species of which noFrenchman ever sees a specimen without smiling and murmuring:"_Caniche!_" He was that golden-hearted little clown of all the world, aFrench Poodle. 

To arrive at what underlay Mrs. Silver's declaration that she had neverlost a grandchild and had no intention of adopting a stranger in theplace of one, it should be first understood that in many respects shewas a civilized person. The quality of savagery, barbarism, orcivilization in a tribe may be tested by the relations itcharacteristically maintains with domestic animals; and tribes that eatdogs are often inferior to those inclined to ceremonial cannibalism. Likewise, the civilization, barbarism, or savagery of an individual maybe estimated by the same test, which sometimes gives us evidence ofsporadic reversions to mud. Such reversions are the stomach priests:whatever does not minister to their own bodily inwards is a "parasite. "Dogs are "parasites"; they should not live, because to fat and eat themsomehow appears uncongenial. "Kill Dogs and Feed Pigs, " they write tothe papers, and, with a Velasquez available, would burn it rather thango chilly. "Kill dogs, feed pigs, and let _me_ eat the pigs!" they cry, even under no great stress, these stern economists who have not noticedhow wasteful the Creator is proved to be if He made themselves. Theytake the strictly intestinal view of life. It is not intelligent;parasite bacilli will get them in the end. 

Mrs. Silver was not of these. True, she sometimes professed herselfaverse to all "animals, " but this meant nothing more than herunwillingness to have her work increased by their introduction into theAtwater household. No; the appearance of the dog had stirred somethingqueer and fundamental within her. All coloured people look startled thefirst time they see a French Poodle, but there is a difference. Mostcoloured men do not really worry much about being coloured, but manycoloured women do. In the expression of a coloured man, when he looks ata black and woolly French Poodle, there is something fonder and moreindulgent than there is in the expression of a coloured woman when shelooks at one. In fact, when some coloured women see a French Poodle theyhave the air of being insulted. 

Now, when Kitty Silver had first set eyes on this poodle, an hourearlier, she looked, and plainly was, dumfounded. Never in her life hadshe seen a creature so black, so incredibly black, or with hair sokinky, so incredibly kinky. Julia had not observed Mrs. Silver closelynor paused to wonder what thoughts were rousing in her mind, but badeher take the poodle forth for exercise outdoors and keep him strictlyupon the leash. Without protest, though wearing a unique expression, Kitty obeyed; she walked round the block with this mystifying dog; andduring the promenade had taken place the episode that so upset hernerves. 

She had given a little jerk to the leash, speaking sharply to the poodlein reproach for some lingering near a wonderful sidewalk smell, imperceptible to any one except himself. Instantly the creature rose andwalked beside her on his hind legs. He continued to parade in thismanner, rapidly, but nevertheless as if casually, without any apparentinconvenience; and Mrs. Silver, never having seen a dog do such a thingbefore, for more than a yard or so, and then only under the pressure ofmany inducements, was unfavourably impressed. In fact, she haddefinitely a symptom of M. Maeterlinck's awed feeling when he foundhimself left alone with the talking horses: "With _whom_ was she?"

"Look-a-here, dog!" she said breathlessly. "Who you tryin' to skeer?_You_ ain't no person!"

And then a blow fell. It came from an elderly but ever undignified womanof her own race, who paused, across the street, and stood teetering fromside to side in joyful agitation, as she watched the approach of Mrs. Silver with her woolly little companion beside her. When this smallersilhouette in ink suddenly walked upright, the observer's mouth fellopen, and there was reason to hope that it might remain so, in silence, especially as several other pedestrians had stopped to watch thepoodle's uncalled-for exhibition. But all at once the elderly rowdy sawfit to become uproarious. 

"Hoopsee!" she shouted. "Oooh, _Gran'ma_!"

 * * * * *

And so, when the poodle "sat up, " unbid, to pray, while Kitty Silverrested upon the back steps, on her return from the excursion, shefiercely informed him that she had never lost a grandchild and that shewould not adopt a stranger in place of one; her implication being thathe, a stranger, had been suggested for the position and consideredhimself eligible for it. 

He continued to pray, not relaxing a hair. 

"Listen to me, dog, " said Kitty Silver. "Is you a dog, or isn't you adog? Whut _is_ you, anyway?"

But immediately she withdrew the question. "I ain't astin' you!" sheexclaimed superstitiously. "If you isn't no dog, don't you take an' tellme whut you is: you take an' keep it to you'se'f, 'cause I don' want tolisten to it!"

For the garnet eyes beneath the great black chrysanthemum indeed seemedto hint that their owner was about to use human language in a humanvoice. Instead, however, he appeared to be content with his littleexhibition, allowed his forepaws to return to the ground, and looked ather with his head wistfully tilted to one side. This reassured her andeven somewhat won her. There stirred within her that curious sense ofrelationship evoked from the first by his suggestive appearance;fondness was being born, and an admiration that was in a way a form ofNarcissism. She addressed him in a mollified voice:

"Whut you want now? Don' tell me you' hungry, 'cause you awready done ettwo dog biskit an' big saucer milk. Whut you stick you' ole black facecrossways at _me_ fer, honey?"

But just then the dog rose to look pointedly toward the corner of thehouse. "Somebody's coming, " he meant. 

"Who you spectin', li'l dog?" Mrs. Silver inquired. 

Florence and Herbert came round the house, Herbert trifling with atennis ball and carrying a racket under his arm. Florence was peeling anorange. 

"For Heavenses' sakes!" Florence cried. "Kitty Silver, where on earth'dthis dog come from?"

"B'long you' Aunt Julia. "

"When'd she get him?"

"Dess to-day. "

"Who gave him to her?"

"She ain't sayin'. "

"You mean she won't tell?"

"She ain't sayin', " Kitty Silver repeated. "I ast her. I say, I say:'Miss Julia, ma'am, ' I say, 'Miss Julia, ma'am, who ever sen' you sech aunlandish-lookin' dog?' I say. All she say when I ast her: 'Nemmine!'she say, dess thataway. 'Nemmine!' she say. I reckon she ain't goin'tell nobody who give her this dog. "

"He's certainly a mighty queer-lookin' dog, " said Herbert. "I've seen afew like that, but I can't remember where. What kind is he, KittySilver?"

"Miss Julia tell me he a poogle dog. "

"A poodle, " Florence corrected her, and then turned to Herbert insupercilious astonishment. "A French Poodle! My goodness! I should thinkyou were old enough to know that much, anyway--goin' on fourteen yearsold!"

"Well, I did know it, " he declared. "I kind of knew it, anyhow; but Isort of forgot it for once. Do you know if he bites, Kitty Silver?"

She was noncommittal. "He ain't bit nobody yit. "

"I don't believe he'll bite, " said Florence. "I bet he likes me. Helooks like he was taking a fancy to me, Kitty Silver. What's his name?"

"Gammire. "

"What?"

"Gammire. "

"What a funny name! Are you sure, Kitty Silver?"

"Gammire whut you' Aunt Julia tole _me_, " Mrs. Silver insisted. "You kingo on in the house an' ast her; she'll tell you the same. "

"Well, anyway, I'm not afraid of him, " said Florence; and she steppedcloser to the poodle, extending her hand to caress him. Then she shoutedas the dog, at her gesture, rose to his hind legs, and, as far as theleash permitted, walked forward to meet her. She flung her arms abouthim rapturously. 

"Oh, the lovely thing!" she cried. "He walks on his hind legs! Why, he'scrazy about me!"

"Let him go, " said Herbert. "I bet he don't like you any more than hedoes anybody else. Leave go of him, and I bet he shows he likes mebetter than he does you. "

But when Florence released him, Gammire caressed them both impartially. He leaped upon one, then upon the other, and then upon Kitty Silver witha cordiality that almost unseated her. 

"Let him off the leash, " Florence cried. "He won't run away, 'cause thegates are shut. Let him loose and see what he'll do. "

Mrs. Silver snapped the catch of the leash, and Gammire departed in thelikeness of a ragged black streak. With his large and eccentric earsflapping back in the wind and his afterpart hunched in, he ran round andround the little orchard like a dog gone wild. Altogether a comedian, when he heard children shrieking with laughter, he circled the morewildly; then all upon an unexpected instant came to a dead halt, facinghis audience, his nose on the ground between his two forepaws, hishindquarters high and unstooping. And, seeing they laughed at this, too, he gave them enough of it, then came back to Kitty Silver and sat byher feet, a spiral of pink tongue hanging from a wide-open mouth roofedwith black. 

Florence resumed the peeling of her orange. 

"Who do you _think_ gave Gammire to Aunt Julia?" she asked. 

"I ain't stedyin' about it. "

"Yes, but who do you _guess_?"

"I ain't----"

"Well, but if you had to be burned to death or guess somebody, who wouldyou guess?"

"I haf to git burn' up, " said Kitty Silver. "Ev'y las' caller whut comeshere _is_ give her some doggone animal awready. Mista Sammerses, he giveher them two Berjum cats, an' ole Mister Ridgways whut los' his wife, hegive you' Aunt Julia them two canaries that tuck an' hopped out the cagean' then out the window, las' week, one day, when you' grampaw was alonein the room with 'em; an' Mista George Plummers, he give her thatAirydale dog you' grampaw tuck an' give to the milkman; an' MistaUshers, he give her them two pups whut you' grampaw tuck an' skeer offthe place soon as he laid eyes on 'em, an' thishere Mista Clairidge, hegive her that ole live allagatuh from Florida whut I foun' lookin' atme over the aidge o' my kitchen sink--ugly ole thing!--an' you' grampawtuck an' give it to the greenhouse man. Ain't none nem ge'lmun goin' tryan' give her no _mo'_ animals, I bet! So how anybody goin' guess whosen' her thishere Gammire? Nobody lef' whut ain't awready sen' her onean' had the gift spile. "

"Yes, there is, " said Florence. 

"Who?"

"Noble Dill. "

"That there li'l young Mista Dills?" Kitty Silver cried. "Listen me!Thishere dog 'spensive dog. "

"I don't care; I bet Noble Dill gave him to her. "

Mrs. Silver hooted. "Go way! That there young li'l Mista Dills, he ain'nev' did show no class, no way nor no time. He be hunderd year ole b'fo'you see him in autamobile whut b'long to him. Look at a way some nemfine big rich men like Mista Clairidge an' Mista Ridgways take an' th'owthey money aroun'! New necktie ev'y time you see 'em; new straw hatright spang the firs' warm day. Ring do' bell. I say, I say: 'Walk rightin, Mista Ridgways. ' Slip me dollah bill dess like that! Mista Sammersesan' Mista Plummers, an' some nem others, they all show class. Look MistaSammerses' spectickles made turtle back; fancy turtle, too. I ast MissJulia; she tell me they fancy turtle. Gol' rim spectickles ain't in it;no ma'am! Mista Sammerses' spectickles--jes' them rims on hisspectickles alone--I bet they cos' mo'n all whut thishere young li'lMista Dills got on him from his toes up an' his skin out. I bet MistaPlummers th'ow mo' money aroun' dess fer gittin' his pants press' thanwhut Mista Dills afford to spen' to buy his'n in the firs' place! Helose his struggle, 'cause you' Aunt Julia, she out fer the big class. Thishere Gammire, he dog cos' money; he show class same you' Aunt Julia. Ain't neither one of 'em got to waste they time on nobody whut can'tshow no mo' class than thishere li'l young dish-cumbobbery Mista Dills!"

"I don't care, " Florence said stubbornly. "He could of saved up andsaved up, and if he saved up long enough he could of got enough money tobuy a dog like Gammire, because you can get money enough for anything ifyou're willing to save up long enough. Anyway, I bet he's the one gavehim to her. "

Herbert joined Kitty Silver in laughter. "Florence is always talkin'about Noble Dill, " he said. "She's sort of crazy, anyway, though. "

[Illustration: _"Herbert attempted to continue the drowning out. Hebawled, 'She made it up! It's somep'n she made up herself! She----'"_]

"It runs in the family, " Florence retorted, automatically. "I caught itfrom my cousins. Anyhow, I don't think there's a single one of any thatwants to marry Aunt Julia that's got the slightest co'parison to NobleDill. I admire him because he's so uncouth. "

"He so who?" Kitty Silver inquired. 

"Uncouth. "

"Yes'm, " said Mrs. Silver. 

"It's in the ditchanary, " Florence explained. "It means rare, elegant, exquisite, obs, unknown, and a whole lot else. "

"It does not, " Herbert interposed. "It means kind of countrified. "

"You go look in the ditchanary, " his cousin said severely. "Then, maybe, you'll know what you're talkin' about just for once. Anyhow, I _do_ likeNoble Dill, and I bet so does Aunt Julia. "

Kitty Silver shook her head. "He lose his struggle, honey! Miss Julia, she out fer the big class. She ain't stedyin' about him 'cept maybe dessto let him run her erran's. She treat 'em all mighty nice, 'cause themo' come shovin' an' pushin' each other aroun', class or no class, why, the mo' harder that big class got to work to git her--an' the mo' shegot after her the mo' keeps a-comin'. But thishere young li'l MistaDills, I kine o' got strong notion he liable not come no mo' 'tall!" Hertone had become one of reminiscent amusement, which culminated in aburst of laughter. "Whee!" she concluded. "After las' night, I reckonthishere Mista Dills better keep away from the place--yes'm!"

Florence looked thoughtful, and for the time said nothing. It wasHerbert who asked: "Why'd Noble Dill better stay away from here?"

"You' grampaw, " Mrs. Silver said, shaking her head. "You' grampaw!"

"What about grandpa?" said Herbert. "What'd he do last night?"

"'Do'? Oh, me!" Then Mrs. Silver uttered sounds like the lowing of kine, whereby she meant to indicate her inability to describe Mr. Atwater'sperformance. "Well, ma'am, " she said, in the low and husky voice ofsimulated exhaustion, "all I got to say: you' grampaw beat hisse'f! Hebeat hisse'f!"

"How d'you mean? How could he----"

"He beat hisse'f! He dess out-talk hisse'f! No, ma'am; I done hear himmany an' many an' many's the time, but las' night he beat hisse'f. "

"What about?"

"Nothin' in the wide worl' but dess thishere young li'l Noble Dills whutwe talkin' about this livin' minute. "

"What started him?"

"Whut _start_ him?" Mrs. Silver echoed with sudden loudness. "Mygoo'niss! He _b'en_ started ev' since the very firs' time he ev' layeyes on him prancin' up the front walk to call on Miss Julia. You'grampaw don' like none nem callers, but he everlas'n'ly did up an' takea true spite on thishere li'l Dills!"

"I mean, " said Herbert, "what started him last night?"

"Them cigareets, " said Kitty Silver. "Them cigareets whut thishere NobleDills smoke whiles he settin' out on the front po'che callin' on you'Aunt Julia. You' grampaw mighty funny man about smellin'! You know'swell's I do he don't even like the smell o' violet. Well, ma'am, if hecan't stan' _violet_, how in the name o' misery he goin' stan' the smellnem cigareets thishere Dills smoke? I can't hardly stan' 'em myse'f. When he light one on the front po'che, she sif' all through the house, an' come slidin' right the whole way out to my kitchen, an' _bim_! shetake me in the nose! You' grampaw awready tole Miss Julia time an' timeagain if that li'l Dills light dess one mo' on his front po'che he goin'to walk out there an' do some harm! Co'se she nev' tuck an' pay no'tention, 'cause Miss Julia, she nev' pay no 'tention to nobody; an' shelike caller have nice time--she ain' goin' tell 'em you' grampaw makesuch a fuss. 'Yes, 'deed, kine frien', ' she say, she say, when they asther: 'Miss Julia, ma'am, ' they say, 'I like please strike a match fer tolight my cigareet if you please, ma'am. ' She say: 'Light as many as youplease, kine frien', ' she say, she say. She say: 'Smell o' cigareet dessdeligh'ful li'l smell, ' she say. 'Go 'head an' smoke all you kin stan', 'she say, ''cause I want you injoy you'se'f when you pay call on me, ' shesay. Well, so thishere young li'l Dills settin' there puffin' an'blowin' his ches' out and in, an' feelin' all nice 'cause it about thefirs' time this livin' summer he catch you' Aunt Julia alone to hisse'ffer while--an' all time the house dess fillin' up, an' draf' blowin'straight at you' grampaw whur he settin' in his liberry. Ma'am, he sen'me out an' tell her come in, he got message mighty important fer tospeak to her. So she tell thishere Dills wait a minute, an' walk in theliberry. Oh, ladies!"

"What'd he say?" Herbert asked eagerly. 

"He di'n' say nothin', " Mrs. Silver replied eloquently. "He hollered. "

"What did he holler?"

"He want know di'n' he never tell her thishere Dills can't smoke no mo'cigareets on his property, an' di'n' he tell her he was'n' goin' allowhim on the place if he did? He say she got to go back on the po'che an'run thishere li'l Dills off home. He say he give her fair choice; shekin run him off, or else he go on out and chase him away hisse'f. Heclaim li'l Dills ain' got no biznuss roun' callin' nowhere 't all, 'cause he on'y make about eighteen dollars a week an' ain't wuth it. Hesay----"

She was confirmed in this report by an indignant interruption fromFlorence. "That's just what he did say, the old thing! I heard him, myself, and if you care to ask _me_, I'll be glad to inform you that Ithink grandpa's conduck was simply insulting!"

"'Deed it were!" said Mrs. Silver. "An' dess whut he claim hisse'f hemean it fer! But you tell me, please, how you hear whut you' grampawsay? He mighty noisy, but you nev' could a-hear him plumb to whur youlive. "

"I wasn't home, " said Florence. "I was over here. "

"Then you mus' 'a' made you'se'f mighty skimpish, 'cause _I_ ain't seenyou!"

"Nobody saw me. I wasn't in the house, " said Florence, "I was out infront. "

"Whurbouts 'out in front'?"

"Well, I was sitting on the ground, up against the latticework of thefront porch. "

"Whut fur?"

"Well, it was dark, " said Florence. "I just kind of wanted to see whatmight be going on. "

"An' you hear all whut you' grampaw take on about an' ev'ything?"

"I should say so! You could of heard him _lots_ farther than where Iwas. "

"Lan' o' misery!" Kitty Silver cried. "If you done hear him whur youwas, thishere li'l Dills mus' a-hear him _mighty_ plain?"

"He did. How could he help it? He heard every word, and pretty soon hecame down off the porch and stood a minute; then he went on out thegate, and I don't know whether he went home or not, because it was toodark to see. But he didn't come back. "

"Yo' right he didn'!" exclaimed Mrs. Silver. "I reckon he got fo'thought'nough fer that, anyhow! I bet he ain't nev' _goin'_ come back neither. You' grampaw say he goin' be fix fer him, if he do. "

"Yes, that was while he was standing there, " said Florence ruefully. "Heheard all that, too. "

"Miss Julia, she s'picion' he done hear somep'm 'nother, I guess, " KittySilver went on. "She shet the liberry do' right almos' on you' grampaw'snose, whiles he still a-rampin', an' she slip out on the po'che, an'take look 'roun'; then go on up to her own room. I 'uz up there, whileafter that, turn' down her bed; an' she injoyin' herse'f readin' book. She feel kine o' put out, I reckon, but she ain't stedyin' about noyoung li'l Dills. She want 'em all to have nice time an' like her, butshe goin' lose this one, an' she got plenty to spare. She show too muchclass fer to fret about no Dills. "

"I don't care, " said Florence. "I think she ought to whether she does ornot, because I bet he was feeling just awful. And I think grandpabehaved like an ole hoodlum. "

"That'll do, " Herbert admonished her sternly. "You show some respect foryour relations, if you please. "

But his loyalty to the Atwater family had a bad effect on Florence. "Oh, _will_ I?" she returned promptly. "Well, then, if you care to inquire_my_ opinion, I just politely think grandpa ought to be hanged. "

"See here----"

But Florence and Kitty Silver interrupted him simultaneously. 

"Look at _that_!" Florence cried. 

"My name!" exclaimed Kitty Silver. 

It was the strange taste of Gammire that so excited them. Florence hadpeeled her orange and divided it rather fairly into three parts, but thevehemence she exerted in speaking of her grandfather had caused her todrop one of these upon the ground. Gammire promptly ate it, "sat up" andadjusted his paws in prayer for more. 

"Now you listen me!" said Kitty Silver. "I ain't see no dog eat orangein all my days, an' I ain't see nobody else whut see dog eat orange! No, ma'am, an' I ain't nev' hear o' nobody else whut ev' see nobody whut seedog eat orange!"

Herbert decided to be less impressed. "Oh, I've heard of dogs that'd eatapples, " he said. "Yes, and watermelon and nuts and things. " As hespoke he played with the tennis ball upon his racket, and concluded bystriking the ball high into the air. Its course was not true; and itdescended far over toward the orchard, where Herbert ran to catchit--but he was not quick enough. At the moment the ball left the racketGammire abandoned his prayers: his eyes, like a careful fielder's, calculating and estimating, followed the swerve of the ball in thebreeze, and when it fell he was on the correct spot. He caught it. 

Herbert shouted. "He caught it on the _fly_! It must have been anaccident. Here----" And he struck the ball into the air again. It wenthigh--twice as high as the house--and again Gammire "judged" it;continuously shifting his position, his careful eyes never leaving thelittle white globe, until just before the last instant of its descent hewas motionless beneath it. He caught it again, and Herbert whooped. 

Gammire brought the ball to him and invited him to proceed with thegame. That there might be no mistaking his desire, Gammire "sat up" andprayed; nor did he find Herbert anything loth. Out of nine chancesGammire "muffed" the ball only twice, both times excusably, andFlorence once more flung her arms about the willing performer. 

"_Who_ do you s'pose trained this wonderful, darling doggie?" she cried. 

Mrs. Silver shook her marvelling head. "He mus' 'a' _come_ thataway, "she said. "I bet nobody 't all ain' train him; he do whut he want tohisse'f. That Gammire don' ast nobody to train him. "

"Oh, goodness!" Florence said, with sudden despondency. "It's awful!"

"Whut is?"

"To think of as lovely a dog as this having to face grandpa!"

"'Face' him!" Kitty Silver echoed forebodingly. "I reckon you' grampawdo mo'n dess 'face' him. "

"That's what I mean, " Florence explained. "I expect he's just bruteenough to drive him off. "

"Yes'm, " said Mrs. Silver. "He git madder ev'y time somebody sen' hernew pet. You' grampaw mighty nervous man, an' everlas'n'ly do hateanimals. "

"He hasn't seen Gammire, has he?"

"Don't look like it, do it?" said Kitty Silver. "Dog here yit. "

"Well, then I----" Florence paused, glancing at Herbert, for she hadjust been visited by a pleasant idea and had no wish to share it withhim. "Is Aunt Julia in the house?"

"She were, li'l while ago. "

"I want to see her about somep'n I ought to see her about, " saidFlorence. "I'll be out in a minute. "

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

She ran into the house, and found Julia seated at a slim-legged desk, writing a note. 

"Aunt Julia, it's about Gammire. "

"Gamin. "

"What?"

"His name is Gamin. "

"Kitty Silver says his name's Gammire. "

"Yes, " said Julia. "She would. His name is Gamin, though. He's a littleParisian rascal, and his name is Gamin. "

"Well, Aunt Julia, I'd rather call him Gammire. How much did he cost?"

"I don't know; he was brought to me only this morning, and I haven'tasked yet. "

"But I thought somebody gave him to you. "

"Yes; somebody did. "

"Well, I mean, " said Florence, "how much did the person that gave him toyou pay for him?"

Julia sighed. "I just explained, I haven't had a chance to ask. "

Florence looked hurt. "I don't mean you _would_ ask 'em right out. Ijust meant: Wouldn't you be liable to kind of hint around an' give 'em achance to tell you how much it was? You know perfeckly well it's the waymost the fam'ly do when they give each other somep'n pretty expensive, Christmas or birthdays, and I thought proba'ly you'd----"

"No. I shouldn't be surprised, Florence, if nobody _ever_ got to knowhow much Gamin cost. "

"Well----" Florence said, and decided to approach her purpose on a newtack. "Who was it trained him?"

"I understand that the person who gave him to me has played with him attimes during the few days he's been keeping him, but hasn't 'trained'him particularly. French Poodles almost learn their own tricks if yougive them a chance. It's natural to them; they love to be little clownsif you let them. "

"But who was this person that gave him to you?"

Julia laughed. "It's a secret, Florence--like Gamin's price. "

At this Florence looked piqued. "Well, I guess I got _some_ manners!"she exclaimed. "I know as well as you do, Aunt Julia, there's noetiquette in coming right square out and asking how much it was whensomebody goes and makes you a present. I'm certainly enough of a lady tokeep my mouth shut when it's more polite to! But I don't see what harmthere is in telling who it is that gives anybody a present. "

"No harm at all, " Julia murmured as she sealed the note she had written. Then she turned smilingly to face her niece. "Only I'm not going to. "

"Well, then, Aunt Julia"--and now Florence came to her point--"what Iwanted to know is just simply the plain and simple question: Will yougive this dog Gammire to me?"

Julia leaned forward, laughing, and suddenly clapped her hands together, close to Florence's face. "No, I won't!" she cried. "There!"

The niece frowned, lines of anxiety appearing upon her forehead. "Well, why won't you?"

"I won't do it!"

"But, Aunt Julia, I think you ought to!"

"Why ought I to?"

"Because----" said Florence. "Well, it's necessary. "

"Why?"

"Because you know as well as I do what's bound to happen to him!"

"What is?"

"Grandpa'll chase him off, " said Florence. "He'll take after him theminute he lays eyes on him, and scare him to death--and then he'll getlost, and he won't be _anybody's_ dog! I should think you'd just as liefhe'd be my dog as have him chased all over town till a street car hitshim or somep'n. "

But Julia shook her head. "That hasn't happened yet. "

"It _did_ happen with every other one you ever had, " Florence urgedplaintively. "He chased 'em every last one off the place, and they nevercame back. You know perfectly well, Aunt Julia, grandpa's just bound tohate this dog, and you know just exactly how he'll act about him. "

"No, I don't, " said Julia. "Not just _exactly_. "

"Well, anyway, you know he'll behave awful. "

"It's probable, " the aunt admitted. 

"He always does, " Florence continued. "He behaves awful about everythingI ever heard about. He----"

"I'll go pretty far with you, Florence, " Julia interposed, "but we'dbetter leave him a loophole. You know he's a constant attendant atchurch and contributes liberally to many good causes. "

"Oh, you know what I mean! I mean he always acts horrable aboutanything pleasant. Of course I know he's a _good_ man, and everything; Ijust mean the way he behaves is perfeckly disgusting. So what's the useyour not givin' me this dog? You won't have him yourself as soon asgrandpa comes home to lunch in an hour or so. "

"Oh, yes, I will!"

"Grandpa hasn't already seen him, has he?"

"No. "

"Then what makes you say----"

"He isn't coming home to lunch. He won't be home till five o'clock thisafternoon. "

"Well, then, about six you won't have any dog, and poor littleGammire'll get run over by an automobile some time this very evening!"Florence's voice became anguished in the stress of her appeal. "AuntJulia, _won't_ you give me this dog?"

Julia shook her head. 

"Won't you, _please_?"

"No, dear. "

"Aunt Julia, if it was Noble Dill gave you this dog----"

"Florence!" her aunt exclaimed. "What in the world makes you imaginesuch absurd things? Poor Mr. Dill!"

"Well, if it was, I think you ought to give Gammire to me because I_like_ Noble Dill, and I----"

But here her aunt laughed again and looked at her with some curiosity. "You still do?" she asked. "What for?"

"Well, " said Florence, swallowing, "he may be rather smallish for a man, but he's very uncouth and distingrished-looking, and I think he doesn'tget to enjoy himself much. Grandpa talks about him so torrablyand--and----" Here, such was the unexpected depth of her feeling thatshe choked, whereupon her aunt, overcome with laughter, but neverthelesssomewhat touched, sprang up and threw two pretty arms about hercharmingly. 

"You _funny_ Florence!" she cried. 

"Then will you give me Gammire?" Florence asked instantly. 

"No. We'll bring him in the house now, and you can stay for lunch. "

Florence was imperfectly consoled, but she had a thought that brightenedher a little. 

"Well, there'll be an awful time when grandpa comes home thisafternoon--but it certainly will be inter'sting!"

She proved a true prophet, at least to the extent that when Mr. Atwateropened his front gate that afternoon he was already in the presence of adeeply interested audience whose observation was unknown to him. Throughthe interstices of the lace curtains at an open window, the gaze ofJulia and Florence was concentrated upon him in a manner that might havedisquieted even so opinionated and peculiar a man as Mr. Atwater, had hebeen aware of it; and Herbert likewise watched him fixedly from anunseen outpost. Herbert had shown some recklessness, declaring loudlythat he intended to lounge in full view; but when the well-known form ofthe ancestor was actually identified, coming up the street out of thedistance, the descendant changed his mind. The good green earth ceasedto seem secure; and Herbert climbed a tree. He surrounded himself withthe deepest foliage; and beneath him some outlying foothills of KittySilver were visible, where she endeavoured to lurk in the concealment ofa lilac bush. 

Gammire was the only person in view. He sat just in the middle of thetop step of the veranda, and his air was that of an endowed and settledinstitution. What passing traffic there was interested him but vaguely, not affecting the world to which he belonged--that world being thishouse and yard, of which he felt himself now, beyond all question, theofficial dog. 

It had been a rather hard-working afternoon, for he had done everythingsuggested to him as well as a great many other things that he thought ofhimself. He had also made it clear that he had taken a fancy toeverybody, but recognized Julia to be the head of the house and of hisown universe; and though he was at the disposal of all her family andfriends, he was at her disposal first. Whithersoever she went, therewould he go also, unless she otherwise commanded. Just now she hadwithdrawn, closing the door, but he understood that she intended nopermanent exclusion. Who was this newcomer at the gate?

The newcomer came to a halt, staring intolerantly. Then he advanced, slamming the gate behind him. "Get out o' here!" he said. "You get offthe place!"

Gammire regarded him seriously, not moving, while Mr. Atwater cast aneye about the lawn, seeming to search for something, and his gaze, thusroving, was arrested by a slight movement of great areas behind a lilacbush. It appeared that the dome of some public building had covereditself with antique textiles and was endeavouring to hide there--afailure. 

"Kitty Silver!" he said. "What are you doing?"

"Suh?"

Debouching sidewise she came into fuller view, but retired a few steps. "Whut I doin' whur, Mista Atwater?"

"How'd that dog get on my front steps?"

Her face became noncommittal entirely. "Thishere dog? He just settin'there, suh. "

"How'd he get in the yard?"

"Mus' somebody up an' brung him in. "

"Who did it?"

"You mean: Who up an' brung him in, suh?"

"I mean: Who does he belong to?"

"Mus' be Miss Julia's. I reckon he is, so fur. "

"What! She knows I don't allow dogs on the place. "

"Yessuh. "

Mr. Atwater's expression became more outraged and determined. "You meanto say that somebody's trying to give her another dog after all I'vebeen through with----"

"It look that way, suh. "

"Who did it?"

"Miss Julia ain't sayin'; an' me, I don' know who done it no mo'n thelilies of the valley whut toil not neither do they spins. "

In response, Mr. Atwater was guilty of exclamations lacking in courtesy;and turning again toward Gammire, he waved his arm. "Didn't you hear metell you to get out of here?"

Gammire observed the gesture, and at once "sat up, " placing his forepawsover his nose in prayer, but Mr. Atwater was the more incensed. 

"Get out of here, you woolly black scoundrel!"

Mrs. Silver uttered a cry of injury before she perceived that she hadmistaken her employer's intention. Gammire also appeared to mistake it, for he came down upon the lawn, rose to his full height, on his "hindlegs, " and in that humanlike posture "walked" in a wide circle. He didthis with an affectation of conscientiousness thoroughly hypocritical;for he really meant to be humorous. 

"My heavens!" Mr. Atwater cried, lamenting. "Somebody's given her one ofthose things at last! I don't like _any_ kind of dog, but if there's onedam thing on earth I _won't_ stand, it's a trick poodle!"

And while the tactless Gammire went on, "walking" a circle round him, Mr. Atwater's eye furiously searched the borders of the path, the lawn, and otherwheres, for anything that might serve as missile. He had neverkicked a dog, or struck one with his hand, in his life; he had a theorythat it was always better to throw something. "Idiot poodle!" he said. 

But Gammire's tricks were not idiocy in the eyes of Mr. Atwater'sdaughter, as she watched them. They had brought to her mind the tricksof the Jongleur of Notre Dame, who had nothing to offer heaven itself, to mollify heaven's rulers, except his entertainment of juggling andnonsense; so that he sang his thin jocosities and played his poor tricksbefore the sacred figure of the Madonna; but when the pious would havestruck him down for it, she miraculously came to life just long enoughto smile on him and show that he was right to offer his absurd best. Andthus, as Julia watched the little Jongleur upon the lawn, she saw thiswas what he was doing: offering all he knew, hoping that someone mightlaugh at him, and like him. And, not curiously, after all, if everythingwere known, she found herself thinking of another foolish creature, whohad nothing in the world to offer anybody, except what came out of thewistfulness of a foolish, loving heart. Then, though her lips smiledfaintly as she thought of Noble Dill, all at once a brightness trembledalong the eyelids of the Prettiest Girl in Town, and glimmered over, amoment later, to shine upon her cheek. 

"You get out!" Mr. Atwater shouted, "D'ye hear me, you poodle?"

He found the missile, a stone of fair diameter. He hurled it violently. 

"_There_, darn you!"

The stone missed, and Gammire fled desperately after it. 

"You get over that fence!" Mr. Atwater cried. "You wait till I findanother rock and I'll----"

He began to search for another stone, but, before he could find one, Gammire returned with the first. He deposited it upon the ground at Mr. Atwater's feet. 

"There's your rock, " he said. 

Mr. Atwater looked down at him fiercely, and through the blackchrysanthemum two garnet sparks glinted waggishly. 

"Didn't you hear me tell you what I'd do if you didn't get out o' here, you darn poodle?"

Gammire "sat up, " placed his forepaws together over his nose andprayed. "There's your rock, " he said. And he added, as clearly as if heused a spoken language, "Let's get on with the game!"

Mr. Atwater turned to Kitty Silver. "Does he--does he know how to speak, or shake hands, or anything like that?" he asked. 

 * * * * *

The next morning, as the peculiar old man sat at breakfast, he said tothe lady across the table: "Look here. Who did give Gamin to us?"

Julia bit her lip; she even cast down her eyes. 

"Well, who was it?"

Her demureness still increased. "It was--Noble Dill. "

Mr. Atwater was silent; he looked down and caught a clownish garnetgleam out of a blackness neighbouring his knee. "Well, see here, " hesaid. "Why can't you--why can't you----"

"Why can't I what?"

"Why can't you sit out in the yard the next time he calls here, insteadof on the porch where it blows all through the house? It's just aspleasant to sit under the trees, isn't it?"

"Pleasanter, " said Julia. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

By the end of October, with the dispersal of foliage that has served allsummer long as a screen for whatever small privacy may exist betweenAmerican neighbours, we begin to perceive the rise of our autumn hightides of gossip. At this season of the year, in our towns of moderatesize and ambition, where apartment houses have not yet condensed and atthe same time sequestered the population, one may look over back yardbeyond back yard, both up and down the street; especially if one takesthe trouble to sit for an hour or so daily, upon the top of a high fenceat about the middle of a block. 

Of course an adult who followed such a course would be thought peculiar, no doubt he would be subject to inimical comment; but boys areconsidered so inexplicable that they have gathered for themselves manyprivileges denied their parents and elders, and a boy can do such athing as this to his full content, without anybody's thinking about itat all. So it was that Herbert Illingsworth Atwater, Jr. , sat for aconsiderable time upon such a fence, after school hours, every afternoonof the last week in October; and only one person particularly observedhim or was stimulated to any mental activity by his procedure. Even atthat, this person was affected only because she was Herbert's relative, of an age sympathetic to his and of a sex antipathetic. 

In spite of the fact that Herbert, thus seriously disporting himself onhis father's back fence, attracted only an audience of one (and shehostile at a rather distant window) his behaviour might well have beenthought piquant by anybody. After climbing to the top of the fence hewould produce from interior pockets a small memorandum-book and apencil. His expression was gravely alert, his manner more thanbusinesslike; yet nobody could have failed to comprehend that he wasenjoying himself, especially when his attitude became tenser, as itfrequently did. Then he would rise, balancing himself at adroit ease, his feet one before the other on the inner rail, below the top of theboards, and with eyes dramatically shielded beneath a scoutish palm, hewould gaze sternly in the direction of some object or movement that hadattracted his attention and then, having satisfied himself of somethingor other, he would sit and decisively enter a note in hismemorandum-book. 

He was not always alone; sometimes he was joined by a friend, male, and, though shorter than Herbert, about as old; and this companion wasinspired, it seemed, by motives precisely similar to those from whichsprang Herbert's own actions. Like Herbert he would sit upon the top ofthe high fence; like Herbert he would rise at intervals, for the betterstudy of something this side the horizon; then, also like Herbert, hewould sit again and write firmly in a little notebook. And seldom in thehistory of the world have any such sessions been invested by theparticipants with so intentional an appearance of importance. 

That was what most irritated their lone observer at the somewhat distantupstairs back window. The important importance of Herbert and his friendwas so extreme as to be all too plainly visible across four interveningbroad back yards; in fact, there was sometimes reason to suspect thatthe two performers were aware of their audience and even of her goadedcondition; and that they deliberately increased the outrageousness oftheir importance on her account. And upon the Saturday of that week, when the notebook writers were upon the fence the greater part of theafternoon, Florence's fascinated indignation became vocal. 

"Vile Things!" she said. 

Her mother, sewing beside another window of the room, looked upinquiringly. 

"What are, Florence?"

"Cousin Herbert and that nasty little Henry Rooter. "

"Are you watching them again?" her mother asked. 

"Yes, I am, " said Florence; and added tartly, "Not because I care to, but merely to amuse myself at their expense. "

Mrs. Atwater murmured, "Couldn't you find some other way to amuseyourself, Florence?"

"I don't call this amusement, " the inconsistent girl responded, notwithout chagrin. "Think I'd spend all my days starin' at HerbertIllingsworth Atwater, Junior, and that nasty little Henry Rooter, andcall it _amusement_?"

"Then why do you do it?"

"Why do I do _what_, mamma?" Florence inquired, as in despair of Mrs. Atwater's ever learning to put things clearly. 

"Why do you 'spend all your days' watching them? You don't seem able tokeep away from the window, and it appears to make you irritable. Ishould think if they wouldn't let you play with them you'd be tooproud----"

"Oh, good heavens, mamma!"

"Don't use such expressions, Florence, please. "

"Well, " said Florence, "I got to use _some_ expression when you accuseme of wantin' to 'play' with those two vile things! My goodness mercy, mamma, I don't want to 'play' with 'em! I'm more than four years old, Iguess; though you don't ever seem willing to give me credit for it. Idon't haf to 'play' all the time, mamma: and anyway, Herbert and thatnasty little Henry Rooter aren't playing, either. "

"Aren't they?" Mrs. Atwater inquired. "I thought the other day you saidyou wanted them to let you play with them at being a newspaper reporteror editor or something like that, and they were rude and told you to goaway. Wasn't that it?"

Florence sighed. "No, mamma, it cert'nly wasn't. "

"They weren't rude to you?"

"Yes, they cert'nly were!"

"Well, then----"

"Mamma, _can't_ you understand?" Florence turned from the window tobeseech Mrs. Atwater's concentration upon the matter. "It isn't'_playing_'! I didn't want to 'play' being a reporter; _they_ ain't'playing'----"

"_Aren't_ playing, Florence. "

"Yes'm. They're not. Herbert's got a real printing-press; Uncle Josephgave it to him. It's a _real_ one, mamma, can't you understand?"

"I'll try, " said Mrs. Atwater. "You mustn't get so excited about it, Florence. "

"I'm not!" Florence returned vehemently. "I guess it'd take more thanthose two vile things and their old printing-press to get _me_ excited!_I_ don't care what they do; it's far less than nothing to me! All _I_wish is they'd fall off the fence and break their vile ole necks!"

With this manifestation of impersonal calmness, she turned again to thewindow; but her mother protested. "Do quit watching those foolish boys;you mustn't let them upset you so by their playing. "

Florence moaned. "They don't 'upset' me, mamma! They have no effects onme by the slightest degree! And I _told_ you, mamma, they're not'playing'. "

"Then what are they doing?"

"Well, they're having a newspaper. They got the printing-press and anoffice in Herbert's stable, and everything. They got somebody to give'em some ole banisters and a railing from a house that was torn downsomewheres, and then they got it stuck up in the stable loft, so it runsacross with a kind of a gate in the middle of these banisters, and onone side is the printing-press and a desk from that nasty little HenryRooter's mother's attic; and a table and some chairs, and a map on thewall; and that's their newspaper office. They go out and look for what'sthe news, and write it down in lead pencil; and then they go up to theiroffice and write it in ink; and then they print it for their newspaper. "

"But what do they do on the fence?"

"That's where they go to watch what the news is, " Florence explainedmorosely. "They think they're so grand, sittin' up there, pokin' around!They go other places, too; and they ask people. That's all they said _I_could be!" Here the lady's bitterness became strongly intensified. "Theysaid maybe I could be one o' the ones they asked if I knew anything, sometimes, if they happened to think of it! I just respectf'ly told 'emI'd decline to wipe my oldest shoes on 'em to save their lives!"

Mrs. Atwater sighed. "You mustn't use such expressions, Florence. "

"I don't see why not, " the daughter promptly objected. "They're a lotmore refined than the expressions they used on me!"

"Then I'm very glad you didn't play with them. "

But at this, Florence once more gave way to filial despair. "Mamma, youjust _can't_ see through anything! I've said anyhow fifty times theyain't--aren't--playing! They're getting up a _real_ newspaper, and havepeople _buy_ it and everything. They been all over this part of town andgot every aunt and uncle they have besides their own fathers andmothers, and some people in the neighbourhood, and Kitty Silver and twoor three other coloured people besides. They're going to chargetwenty-five cents a year, collect-in-advance because they want the moneyfirst; and even papa gave 'em a quarter last night; he told me so. "

"How often do they intend to publish their paper, Florence?" Mrs. Atwater inquired absently, having resumed her sewing. 

"Every week; and they're goin' to have the first one a week fromto-day. "

"What do they call it?"

"The North End Daily Oriole. It's the silliest name I ever heard for anewspaper; and I told 'em so. I told 'em what _I_ thought of it, Iguess!"

"Was that the reason?" Mrs. Atwater asked. 

"Was it what reason, mamma?"

"Was it the reason they wouldn't let you be a reporter with them?"

"Poot!" Florence exclaimed airily. "_I_ didn't want anything to do withtheir ole paper. But anyway I didn't make fun o' their callin' it 'TheNorth End Daily Oriole' till after they said I couldn't be in it. _Then_I did, you bet!"

"Florence, don't say----"

"Mamma, I got to say somep'n! Well, I told 'em I wouldn't be in theirole paper if they begged me on their bented knees; and I said if theybegged me a thousand years I wouldn't be in any paper with such a crazyname and I wouldn't tell 'em any news if I knew the President of theUnited States had the scarlet fever! I just politely informed 'em theycould say what they liked, if they was dying _I_ declined so much aswipe the oldest shoes I got on 'em!"

"But why _wouldn't_ they let you be on the paper?" her mother insisted. 

Upon this Florence became analytical. "Just so's they could act soimportant. " And she added, as a consequence, "They ought to bearrested!"

Mrs. Atwater murmured absently, but forbore to press her inquiry; andFlorence was silent, in a brooding mood. The journalists upon the fencehad disappeared from view, during her conversation with her mother; andpresently she sighed, and quietly left the room. She went to her ownapartment, where, at a small and rather battered little white desk, after a period of earnest reverie, she took up a pen, wet the point inpurple ink, and without great effort or any critical delayings, produceda poem. 

It was in a sense an original poem, though like the greater number ofall literary projections, it was so strongly inspirational that thesource of its inspiration might easily become manifest to a cold-bloodedreader. Nevertheless, to the poetess herself, as she explained later ingood faith, the words just seemed to _come to_ her;--doubtless witheither genius or some form of miracle implied; for sources ofinspiration are seldom recognized by inspired writers themselves. Shehad not long ago been party to a musical Sunday afternoon at herGreat-Uncle Joseph's house, where Mr. Clairdyce sang some of his songsagain and again, and her poem may have begun to coagulate within herthen. 

 THE ORGANEST

 BY FLORENCE ATWATER

 The organest was seated at his organ in a church, In some beautiful woods of maple and birch, He was very weary while he played upon the keys, But he was a great organest and always played with ease, When the soul is weary, And the wind is dreary, I would like to be an organest seated all day at the organ, Whether my name might be Fairchild or Morgan, I would play music like a vast amen, The way it sounds in a church of men. 

Florence read her poem seven or eight times, the deepening pleasure ofher expression being evidence that repetition failed to denature thiswork, but on the contrary, enhanced an appreciative surprise at itssingular merit. Finally she folded the sheet of paper with a delicatecarefulness unusual to her, and placed it in her skirt pocket; then shewent downstairs and out into the back yard. Her next action wasstraightforward and anything but prudish; she climbed the high woodenfences, one after the other, until she came to a pause at the top ofthat whereon the two journalists had lately made themselves so odiouslyimpressive. 

Before her, if she had but taken note of them, were a lesson in historyand the markings of a profound transition in human evolution. Beside theold frame stable was a little brick garage, obviously put to the dailyuse intended by its designer. Quite as obviously the stable wasobsolete; anybody would have known from its outside that there was nohorse within it. There, visible, was the end of the pastoral age. 

All this was lost upon Florence. She sat upon the fence, her gazeunfavourably though wistfully fixed upon a sign of no special aestheticmerit above the stable door. 

 THE NORTH END DAILY ORIOLE ATWATER & ROOTER OWNERS & PROPREITORS SUBSCRIBE NOW 25 CENTS

The inconsistency of the word "daily" did not trouble Florence;moreover, she had found no fault with "Oriole" until the Owners &Propreitors had explained to her in the plainest terms known to theirvocabularies that she was excluded from the enterprise. Then, indeed, she had been reciprocally explicit in regard not only to them andcertain personal characteristics of theirs, which she pointed out asfundamental, but in regard to any newspaper which should deliberatelycall itself an "Oriole. " The partners remained superior in manner, though unable to conceal a natural resentment; they had adopted "Oriole"not out of a sentiment for the city of Baltimore, nor, indeed, onaccount of any ornithologic interest of theirs, but as a relic left overfrom an abandoned club or secret society, which they had previouslycontemplated forming, its members to be called "The Orioles" for noreason whatever. The two friends had talked of this plan at manymeetings throughout the summer, and when Mr. Joseph Atwater made hisgreat-nephew the unexpected present of a printing-press, and a newspaperconsequently took the place of the club, Herbert and Henry stillentertained an affection for their former scheme and decided toperpetuate the name. They were the more sensitive to attack upon it byan ignorant outsider and girl like Florence, and her chance ofingratiating herself with them, if that could be now her intention, wasnot a promising one. 

She descended from the fence with pronounced inelegance, and, approaching the old double doors of the "carriage-house, " which wereopen, paused to listen. Sounds from above assured her that the editorswere editing--or at least that they could be found at their place ofbusiness. Therefore, she ascended the cobwebby stairway, emerged from itinto the former hay loft, and thus made her appearance in theprinting-room of _The North End Daily Oriole_. 

Herbert, frowning with the burden of composition, sat at a table beyondthe official railing, and his partner was engaged at the press, earnestly setting type. This latter person (whom Florence so seldomnamed otherwise than as "that nasty little Henry Rooter") was of a pure, smooth, fair-haired appearance, and strangely clean for his age andoccupation. His profile was of a symmetry he had not yet himself begunto appreciate; his dress was scrupulous and modish; and though he wasshort, nothing outward about him confirmed the more sinister ofFlorence's two adjectives. Nevertheless, her poor opinion of him wasplain in her expression as she made her present intrusion upon hisworking hours. He seemed to reciprocate. 

"Listen! Didn't I and Herbert tell you to keep out o' here?" he said. "Look at her, Herbert! She's back again!"

"You get out o' here, Florence, " said Herbert, abandoning his task witha look of pain. "How often we got to tell you we don't want you aroundhere when we're in our office like this?"

"For Heaven's sake!" Henry Rooter thought fit to add. "Can't you quitrunnin' up and down our office stairs once in a while, long enough forus to get our newspaper work done? Can't you give us a little _peace_?"

The pinkiness of Florence's altering complexion was justified; she hadnot been within a thousand miles of their old office for four days. Withsome heat she stated this to be the fact, adding, "And I only came thenbecause I knew somebody ought to see that this stable isn't ruined. It'smy own uncle and aunt's stable, I guess, isn't it? Answer me that, ifyou'll kindly please to do so!"

"It's my father and mother's stable, " Herbert asserted. "Haven't I got aright to say who's allowed in my own father and mother's stable?"

"You have not, " the prompt Florence replied. "It's my own uncle andaunt's stable, and I got as much right here as anybody. "

"You have not!" Henry Rooter protested hotly. "This isn't either yourole aunt and uncle's stable. "

"_It isn't_?"

"No, it is not! This isn't anybody's stable. It's my and Herbert'sNewspaper Building, and I guess you haven't got the face to stand thereand claim you got a right to go in a Newspaper Building and say you gota right there when everybody tells you to stay outside of it, I guess!"

"Oh, haven't I?"

"No, you 'haven't--I'!" Mr. Rooter maintained bitterly. "You just walkdown town and go in any Newspaper Buildings down there and tell 'em yougot a right to stay there all day long when they tell you to get out o'there! Just try it! That's all I ask!"

Florence uttered a cry of derision. "And pray, whoever told you I wasbound to do everything you ask me to, Mister Henry Rooter?" And sheconcluded by reverting to that hostile impulse, so ancient, which, indespair of touching an antagonist effectively, reflects upon hisancestors. "If you got anything you want to ask, you go ask yourgrandmother!"

"Here!" Herbert sprang to his feet. "You try and behave like a lady!"

"Who'll make me?" she inquired. 

"You got to behave like a lady as long as you're in our NewspaperBuilding, anyway, " Herbert said ominously. "If you expect to come uphere after you been told five dozen times to keep out----"

"For Heaven's sakes!" his partner interposed. "When we goin' to get ournewspaper _work_ done? She's _your_ cousin; I should think you could gether out!"

"Well, I'm goin' to, ain't I?" Herbert protested plaintively. "I expectto get her out, don't I?"

"Oh, do you?" Miss Atwater inquired, with severe mockery. "Pray, howwould you expect to accomplish it, pray?"

Herbert looked desperate, but was unable to form a reply consistent witha few new rules of etiquette and gallantry that he had begun to observeduring the past year or so. "Now, see here, Florence, " he said. "You'reold enough to know when people tell you to keep out of a place, why, itmeans they want you to stay away from there. "

Florence remained cold to this reasoning. "Oh, Poot!" she said. 

"Now, look here!" her cousin remonstrated, and went on with hisargument. "We got our newspaper work to do, and you ought to have senseenough to know newspaper work like this newspaper work we got on _our_hands here isn't--well, it ain't any child's play. "

His partner appeared to approve of the expression, for he noddedseverely and then used it himself. "No, you _bet_ it isn't any child'splay!" he said. 

"No, sir, " Herbert continued. "This newspaper work we got on our handshere isn't any child's play. "

"No, sir, " Henry Rooter again agreed. "Newspaper work like this isn'tany child's play at _all_!"

"It isn't any child's play, Florence, " said Herbert. "It ain't anychild's play at all, Florence. If it was just child's play or somethinglike that, why, it wouldn't matter so much your always pokin' up here, and----"

"Well, " his partner interrupted judicially;--"we wouldn't want heraround, even if it _was_ child's play. "

"No, we wouldn't; that's so, " Herbert agreed. "We wouldn't want youaround, anyhow, Florence. " Here his tone became more plaintive. "So, formercy's sakes can't you go on home and give us a little rest? What youwant, anyhow?"

"Well, I guess it's about time you was askin' me that, " she said, notunreasonably. "If you'd asked me that in the first place, instead ofactin' like you'd never been taught anything, and was only fit toassociate with hoodlums, perhaps my time is of _some_ value, myself!"

Here the lack of rhetorical cohesion was largely counteracted by thestrong expressiveness of her tone and manner, which made clear herposition as a person of worth, dealing with the lowest of her inferiors. She went on, not pausing:

"I thought being as I was related to you, and all the family andeverybody else is goin' to haf to read your ole newspaper, anyway it'dbe a good thing if what was printed in it wasn't _all_ a disgrace to thefamily, because the name of our family's got mixed up with thisnewspaper;--so here!"

Thus speaking, she took the poem from her pocket and with dignity heldit forth to her cousin. 

"What's that?" Herbert inquired, not moving a hand. He was but anamateur, yet already enough of an editor to be suspicious. 

"It's a poem, " Florence said. "I don't know whether I exackly ought tohave it in your ole newspaper or not, but on account of the family'ssake I guess I better. Here, take it. "

Herbert at once withdrew a few steps, placing his hands behind him. "Listen here, " he said;--"you think we got time to read a lot o' nothin'in your ole hand-writin' that nobody can read anyhow, and then go andtoil and moil to print it on our printin'-press? I guess we got workenough printin' what we write for our newspaper our own selves! Mygoodness, Florence, I _told_ you this isn't any child's play!"

For the moment, Florence appeared to be somewhat baffled. "Well, " shesaid. "Well, you better put this poem in your ole newspaper if you wantto have anyhow one thing in it that won't make everybody sick that readsit. "

"_I_ won't do it!" Herbert said decisively. 

"What you take us for?" his partner added. 

"All right, then, " Florence responded. "I'll go and tell Uncle Josephand he'll take this printing-press back. "

"He will not take it back. I already did tell him how you kept pokin'around, tryin' to _run_ everything, and how we just worried our livesout tryin' to keep you away. He said he bet it was a hard job; that'swhat Uncle Joseph said! So go on, tell him anything you want to. Youdon't get your ole poem in _our_ newspaper!"

"Not if she lived to be two hunderd years old!" Henry Rooter added. Then he had an afterthought. "Not unless she pays for it. "

"How do you mean?" Herbert asked, puzzled by this codicil. 

Now Henry's brow had become corrugated with no little professionalimpressiveness. "You know what we were talkin' about this morning?" hesaid. "How the right way to run our newspaper, we ought to have someadvertisements in it and everything? Well, we want money, don't we? Wecould put this poem in our newspaper like an advertisement;--that is, ifFlorence has got any money, we could. "

Herbert frowned. "If her ole poem isn't too long I guess we could. Here, let's see it, Florence. " And, taking the sheet of paper in his hand, hestudied the dimensions of the poem, without paining himself to read it. "Well, I guess, maybe we can do it, " he said. "How much ought we tocharge her?"

This question sent Henry Rooter into a state of calculation, whileFlorence observed him with veiled anxiety; but after a time he lookedup, his brow showing continued strain. "Do you keep a bank, Florence--for nickels and dimes and maybe quarters, you know?" heinquired. 

It was her cousin who impulsively replied for her. "No, she don't, " hesaid. 

"Not since I was about seven years old!" And Florence added sharply, though with dignity: "Do you still make mud pies in your back yard, pray?"

"Now, see here!" Henry objected. "Try and be a lady anyway for a fewminutes, can't you? I got to figure out how much we got to charge youfor your ole poem, don't I?"

"Well, then, " Florence returned, "you better ask _me_ somep'n aboutthat, hadn't you?"

"Well, " said Henry Rooter, "have you got any money at home?"

"No, I haven't. "

"Have you got any money with you?"

"Yes, I have. "

"How much is it?"

"I won't tell you. "

Henry frowned. "I guess we ought to make her pay about two dollars and ahalf, " he said, turning to his partner. 

Herbert became deferential; it seemed to him that he had formed abusiness association with a genius, and for a moment he was dazzled;then he remembered Florence's financial capacities, always well knownto him, and he looked depressed. Florence, herself, looked indignant. 

"Two dollars and a half!" she cried. "Why, I could buy this whole placefor two dollars and a half, printing-press, railing, and all--yes, andyou thrown in, Mister Henry Rooter!"

"See here, Florence, " Henry said earnestly. "Haven't you got two dollarsand a half?"

"Of course she hasn't!" his partner assured him. "She never had twodollars and a half in her life!"

"Well, then, " said Henry gloomily, "what we goin' to do about it? Howmuch _you_ think we ought to charge her?"

Herbert's expression became noncommittal. "Just let me think a minute, "he said, and with his hand to his brow he stepped behind theunsuspicious Florence. 

"I got to think, " he murmured; then with the straightforwardness of hisage, he suddenly seized his damsel cousin from the rear and held her ina tight but far from affectionate embrace, pinioning her arms. Sheshrieked, "Murder!" and "Let me go!" and "Help! Hay-yulp!"

"Look in her pocket, " Herbert shouted. "She keeps her money in her skirtpocket when she's got any. It's on the left side of her. Don't let herkick you! Look out!"

"I got it!" said the dexterous Henry, retreating and exhibiting coins. "It's one dime and two nickels--twenty cents. Has she got any morepockets?"

"No, I haven't!" Florence fiercely informed him, as Herbert releasedher. "And I guess you better hand that money back if you don't want tobe arrested for stealing!"

But Henry was unmoved. "Twenty cents, " he said calculatingly. "Well, allright; it isn't much, but you can have your poem in our newspaper fortwenty cents, Florence. If you don't want to pay that much, why, takeyour ole twenty cents and go on away. "

"Yes, " said Herbert. "That's as cheap as we'll do it, Florence. Take itor leave it. "

"Take it or leave it, " Henry Rooter agreed. "That's the way to talk toher; take it or leave it, Florence. If you don't take it you got toleave it. "

Florence was indignant, but she decided to take it. "All right, " shesaid coldly. "I wouldn't pay another cent if I died for it. "

"Well, you haven't got another cent, so that's all right, " Mr. Rooterremarked; and he honourably extended an open palm toward his partner. "Here, Herbert; you can have the dime, or the two nickels, whichever yourather. It makes no difference to me; I'd as soon have one as theother. "

Herbert took the two nickels, and turned to Florence. "See here, Florence, " he said, in a tone of strong complaint. "This business is alldone and paid for now. What you want to hang around here any _more_for?"

"Yes, Florence, " his partner faithfully seconded him, at once. "Wehaven't got any more time to waste around here to-day, and so what youwant to stand around in the way and everything for? You ought to knowyourself we don't want you. "

"I'm not in the way, " said Florence hotly. "Whose way am I in?"

"Well, anyhow, if you don't go, " Herbert informed her, "we'll carry youdownstairs and lock you out. "

"I'd just like to see you!" she returned, her eyes flashing. "Just youdare to lay a finger on me again!" And she added, "Anyway, if you did, those ole doors haven't got any lock on 'em: I'll come right back in andwalk right straight up the stairs again!"

Herbert advanced toward her. "Now you pay attention, to me, " he said. "You've paid for your ole poem, and we got to have some peace aroundhere. I'm goin' straight over to your mother and ask her to come and getyou. "

Florence gave up. "What difference would _that_ make, MisterTaddletale?" she inquired mockingly. "_I_ wouldn't be here when shecame, would I? I'll thank you to notice there's some value to my time, myself; and I'll just politely ask you to excuse me, pray!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

With a proud air she crushingly departed, returning to her own home farfrom dissatisfied with what she had accomplished. Moreover, she began toexpand with the realization of a new importance; and she was gratifiedwith the effect upon her parents, at dinner that evening, when sheinformed them that she had written a poem, which was to be published inthe prospective first number of _The North End Daily Oriole_. 

"Written a _poem_?" said her father. "Well, I declare! Why, that'sremarkable, Florence!"

"I'm glad the boys were nice about it, " said her mother. "I should havefeared they couldn't appreciate it, after being so cross to you aboutletting you have anything to do with the printing-press. They must havethought it was a very good poem. "

"Where is the poem, Florence?" Mr. Atwater asked. "Let's read it and seewhat our little girl can do when she really tries. "

Unfortunately Florence had not a copy, and when she informed her fatherof this fact, he professed himself greatly disappointed as well as eagerfor the first appearance of _The Oriole_, that he might felicitatehimself upon the evidence of his daughter's heretofore unsuspectedtalent. Florence was herself anxious for the newspaper's début, and shemade her anxiety so clear to Atwater & Rooter, Owners & Propreitors, every afternoon after school, during the following week, that byThursday further argument and repartee on their part were felt to beindeed futile; and in order to have a little peace around there, theycarried her downstairs. At least, they defined their action as"carrying, " and, having deposited her in the yard, they were obliged tostand guard at the doors, which they closed and contrived to holdagainst her until her strength was worn out for that day. 

Florence consoled herself. During the week she dropped in on all themembers of "the family"--her grandfather, uncles and aunts and cousins, her great-aunts and great-uncles--and in each instance, after noprotracted formal preliminaries, lightly remarked that she wrote poetrynow; her first to appear in the forthcoming _Oriole_. And whenGreat-Aunt Carrie said, "Why, Florence, you're wonderful! I couldn'twrite a poem to save my life. I never _could_ see how they do it, "Florence laughed, made a deprecatory little side motion with her head, and responded, "Why, Aunt Carrie, that's nothing! It just kind of comesto you. "

This also served as her explanation when some of her school friendsexpressed their admiration, after being told the news in confidence;though to one of the teachers she said, smiling ruefully, as inremembrance of midnight oil, "It _does_ take work, of course!"

 * * * * *

When opportunity offered, upon the street, she joined people she knew(or even rather distant acquaintances) to walk with them a little wayand lead the conversation to the subject of poetry, including her owncontribution to that art. Altogether, if Florence was not in a fair wayto become a poetic celebrity it was not her own fault but entirely thatof _The North End Daily Oriole_, which was to make its appearance onSaturday, but failed to do so on account of too much enthusiasm on thepart of Atwater & Rooter in manipulating the printing-press. It broke, had to be repaired; and Florence, her nerves upset by the accident, demanded her money back. This was impossible, and the postponementproved to be but an episode; moreover, it gave her time to let morepeople know of the treat that was coming. 

Among these was Noble Dill. Until the Friday following herdisappointment she had found no opportunity to acquaint her Very Idealwith the news; and but for an encounter partly due to chance, he mightnot have heard of it. A sentimental enrichment of colour in her cheekswas the result of her catching sight of him, as she was on the point ofopening and entering her own front door, that afternoon, on her returnfrom school. He was passing the house, walking somewhat dreamily. 

Florence stepped into the sheltering vestibule, peeping round it withearnest eyes to watch him as he went by; obviously he had taken no noteof her. Satisfied of this, she waited until he was at a little distance, then ran lightly down to the gate, hurried after him and joined him. 

"Why, Mr. Dill!" she exclaimed, in her mother's most polished manner. "How supprising to see _you_! I presume as we both happen to be walkingthe same direction we might just's well keep together. "

"Surprising to see me?" Noble said vaguely. "I haven't been awayanywhere in particular, Florence. " Then, at a thought, he brightened. "I'm glad to see you, Florence. Do you know if any of your family orrelatives have heard when your Aunt Julia is coming home?"

"Aunt Julia? She's out of town, " said Florence. "She's visitingdifferent people she used to know when she was away at school. "

"Yes, I know, " Mr. Dill returned. "But she's been gone six weeks. "

"Oh, I don't believe it's that long, " Florence said casually; then withmore earnestness: "Mr. Dill, I was goin' to ask you somep'n--it's kindof a funny question for _me_ to ask, but----"

"Yes, she has, " Noble interrupted, not aware that his remark was aninterruption. "Oh, yes, she has!" he said. "It was six weeksday-before-yesterday afternoon. I saw your father downtown this morning, and he said he didn't know that any of the family had heard just whenshe was coming home. I thought maybe some of your relatives had a letterfrom her by this afternoon's mail, perhaps. "

"I guess not, " said Florence. "Mr. Dill, there was a question I thoughtI'd ask you. It's kind of a funny question for _me_----"

"Are you _sure_ nobody's heard from your Aunt Julia to-day?" Nobleinsisted. 

"I guess they haven't. Mr. Dill, I was goin' to ask you----"

"It's strange, " he murmured, "I don't see how people can enjoy visitsthat long. I should think they'd get anxious about what might happen athome. "

"Oh, grandpa's all right; he says he kind of likes to have the housenice and quiet to himself; and anyway Aunt Julia enjoys visiting, "Florence assured him. "Aunt Fanny saw a newspaper from one the placeswhere Aunt Julia's visiting her school room-mate. It had her picture init and called her 'the famous Northern Beauty'; it was down Southsomewhere. Well, Mr. Dill, I was just sayin' I believe I'd ask you----"

But a sectional rancour seemed all at once to affect the young man. "Oh, yes. I heard about that, " he said. "Your Aunt Fanny lent my mother thenewspaper. Those people in _that_ part of the country--well----" Hepaused, remembering that it was only Florence he addressed; and hewithheld from utterance his opinion that the Civil War ought to befought all over again. "Your father said your grandfather hadn't heardfrom her for several days, and even then she hadn't said when she wascoming home. "

"No, I expect she didn't, " said Florence. "Mr. Dill, I was goin' to askyou somep'n--it's kind of a queer kind of question for _me_ to ask, Iguess----" She paused. However, he did not interrupt her, seemingpreoccupied with gloom; whereupon Florence permitted herself adeprecatory laugh, and continued, "It might be you'd answer yes, or itmight be you'd answer no; but anyway I was goin' to ask you--it's kindof a funny question for _me_ to ask, I expect--but do you like poetry?"

"What?"

"Well, as things have turned out lately I guess it's kind of a funnyquestion, Mr. Dill, but do you like poetry?"

Noble's expression took on a coldness; for the word brought to his minda thought of Newland Sanders. "Do I like poetry?" said Noble. "No, Idon't. "

Florence was momentarily discouraged; but at her age people usuallypossess an invaluable faculty, which they lose later in life; and it isa pity that they do lose it. At thirteen--especially the earlier monthsof thirteen--they are still able to set aside and dismiss from theirminds almost any facts, no matter how audibly those facts have asked forrecognition. Children superbly allow themselves to become deaf, so tospeak, to undesirable circumstances; most frequently, of course, toundesirable circumstances in the way of parental direction; so thatfathers, mothers, nurses, or governesses, not comprehending that thismental deafness is for the time being entirely genuine, are liable tohoarseness both of throat and temper. Thirteen is an age when the fadingof this gift or talent, one of the most beautiful of childhood, beginsto impair its helpfulness under the mistaken stress of discipline; butFlorence retained something of it. In a moment or two Noble Dill'sdisaffection toward poetry was altogether as if it did not exist. 

She coughed, inclined her head a little to one side, in her mother'smanner of politeness to callers, and, repeating her deprecatory laugh, remarked: "Well, of course it's kind of a funny question for _me_ toask, of course. "

"What is, Florence?" Noble inquired absently. 

"Well--what I was saying was that 'course it's sort of queer _me_ askin'if you liked poetry, of course, on account of my _writing_ poetry theway I do now. "

She looked up at him with a bright readiness to respond modestly towhatever exclamation his wonder should dictate; but Noble's attentionhad straggled again. 

"Has she written your mother lately?" he asked. 

Florence's expression denoted a mental condition slightly disturbed. "No, " she said. "It's goin' to be printed in _The North End DailyOriole_. "

"What?"

"My poem. It's about a vast amen--anyhow, that's proba'ly the best thingin it, I guess--and they're goin' to have it out to-morrow, or elsethey'll have to settle with _me_; that's one thing certain! I'll bringone over to your house and leave it at the door for you, Mr. Dill. "

Noble had but a confused notion of what she thus generously promised. However, he said, "Thank you, " and nodded vaguely. 

"Of course, I don't know as it's so awful good, " Florence admittedinsincerely. "The family all seem to think it's something pretty much;but I don't know if it is or not. _Really_, I don't!"

"No, " said Noble, still confused. "I suppose not. "

"I'm half way through another one I think myself'll be a good dealbetter. I'm not goin' as fast with it as I did with the other one, and Iexpect it'll be quite a ways ahead of this one. " She again employed thedeprecatory little laugh. "I don't know how I do it, myself. The familyall think it's sort of funny I don't know how I do it, myself; butthat's the way it is. They all say if they could do it they're surethey'd know how they did it; but I guess they're wrong. I presume if youcan do it, why, it just _comes_ to you. Don't you presume that's the wayit is, Mr. Dill?"

"I--guess so. " They had reached his gate, and he stopped. "You're surenone of your family have heard anything to-day?" he asked anxiously. 

"From Aunt Julia? I don't think they have. "

He sighed, and opened the gate. "Well, good evening, Florence. "

"Good evening. " Her eyes followed him wistfully as he passed within theenclosure; then she turned and walked quickly toward her own home; butat the corner of the next fence she called back over her shoulder, "I'llleave it with your mother for you, if you're not home when I bring it. "

"What?" he shouted, from his front door. 

"I'll leave it with your _mother_. "

"Leave what?"

"The _poem_!"

"Oh!" said Noble. "Thanks!"

But when his mother handed him a copy of the first issue of _The NorthEnd Daily Oriole_, the next day, when he came home to lunch, he read itwithout edification; there was nothing about Julia in it. 

 THE NORTH END DAILY ORIOLE

 Atwater & Rooter Owners & Propreitors

 SUBSCRIBE NOW 25 Cents Per Year

 Subscriptions shloud be brought to the East etrance of Atwater & Rooter Newspaper Building every afternoon 4. 30 to 6. 25 cents. 

 =======================================

 NEWS OF THE CITY

 ----------

 The Candidates for mayor at the election are Mr P. N. Gordon and John T Milo. The contest is very great between these candidates. 

 Holcombs chickens get in MR. Joseph Atwater's yard a god deal lately. He says chickens are out of place in a city of this size. 

 Minnie the cook of Mr. F. L. Smith's residisence goes downtown every Thrusday afts about three her regular day for it. 

 A new ditch is being dug accross the MR. Henry D. Vance backyrad. ;Tis about dug but nobody is working there now. Patty Fairchild received the highest mark in declamation of the 7A at Sumner School last Friday. 

 Balf's grorcey wagon ran over a cat of the Mr. Rayfort family. Geo. The driver of the wagom stated he had not but was willing to take it away and burg it somewheres Geo. Stated regret and claimed nothing but an accident which could not be helped and not his team that did the damage. 

 MissColfield teacher of the 7A atSumner School was reproted on the sink list. We hope she will soon be well. 

 There were several deaths in the city this week. 

 Mr. Fairchild father of Patty Fairchild was on the sick list several days and did not go to his office but is out now. 

 Been Kriso the cHauffeur of the Mr. R. G. Atwater family washes their car on Monday. In using the hose he turned water over the fence accidently and hit Lonnie the washWOman in back of MRS. Bruffs who called him some low names. Ben told her if he had have been a man he wrould strike her but soon the distrubance was at an end. There is a good deal more of other news which will be printed in our next NO. 

 Advertisements & Poems 20 Cents Each Up. 

 JOSEPH K. ATWATER & CO. 127 South Iowa St, Steam Pumps. 

 THE Organstep BY Florence Atwater

 The Organstep was seated at his organ in a In some beautifil words of vagle and brir But he was a gReat organstep and always When the soil is weary And the mind is drearq I would play music like a vast amen The way it sounds in a church of new Subscribe NOW 25 cents Adv & Poetry 20 cents up. Atwater & Rooter News Paper Building 25 cents per YEAR

Such was the first issue, complete, of _The North End Daily Oriole_. What had happened to the poem was due partly to Atwater & Rooter'snatural lack of experience in a new and exacting trade; partly to theirenviable unconsciousness of any necessity for proof-reading; andsomewhat to their haste in getting through the final and leastinteresting stage of their undertaking; for of course so far as theprinters were concerned, the poem was mere hack work anti-climax. 

And as they later declared, under fire, anybody that could make out morethan three words in five of Florence's ole handwriting was welcome to doit. Besides, what did it matter if a little bit was left out at the endof one or two of the lines? They couldn't be expected to run the linesout over their margin, could they? And they never knew anything crazierthan makin' all this fuss, because: Well, what if some of it wasn'tprinted just exactly right, who in the world was goin' to notice it, andwhat was the difference of just a few words different in that ole poem, anyhow?

For by the time these explanations (so to call them) took place, Florence was indeed makin' a fuss. Her emotion, at first, had beenhappily stimulated at sight of "BY Florence Atwater. " A singulartenderness had risen in her--a tremulous sense as of something almostsacred coming at last into its own; and she hurried to distribute, gratis, among relatives and friends, several copies of the _Oriole_, paying for them, too (though not without injurious argument), at therate of two cents a copy. But upon returning to her own home, she becamecalm enough (for a moment or so) to look over the poem with attention todetails. She returned hastily to the Newspaper Building, but would havebeen wiser to remain away, since all subscribers had received theircopies by the time she got there; and under the circumstances littlereparation was practicable. 

She ended her oration--or professed to end it--by declaring that shewould never have another poem in their ole vile newspaper as long as shelived. 

"You're right about that!" Henry Rooter agreed heartily. "We wouldn't_let_ another one in it. Not for fifty dollars! Just look at all thetrouble we took, moiling and toiling, to get your ole poem printed asnice as we could, so it wouldn't ruin our newspaper, and then you comeover here and go on like this, and all this and that, why, I wouldn't gothrough it again for a _hunderd_ dollars! We're makin' good moneyanyhow, with our newspaper, Florence Atwater. You needn't think wedepend on _you_ for our living!"

"That's so, " his partner declared. "We knew you wouldn't be satisfied, anyway, Florence. Didn't we, Henry?"

"I should say we did!"

"Yes, sir!" said Herbert. "Right when we were havin' the worst timetryin' to print it and make out some o' the words, I said right then wewere just throwing away our time. I said, 'What's the use? That olegirl's bound to raise Cain anyhow, so what's the use wastin' a whole lotof our good time and brains like this, just to suit _her_? Whatever wedo, she's certain to come over and insult us. ' Isn't that what I said, Henry?"

"Yes, it is; and I said then you were right, and you _are_ right!"

"Cert'nly I am, " said Herbert. "Didn't I tell you she'd be just the waysome the family say she is? A good many of 'em say she'd find fault withthe undertaker at her own funeral. That's just exactly what I said!"

"Oh, you did?" Florence burlesqued a polite interest. "How _vir_ryconsiderate of you! Then, perhaps you'll try to be a gentleman enoughfor one simple moment to allow me to tell you my last remarks on thissubject. I've said enough----"

"Oh, _have_ you?" Herbert interrupted with violent sarcasm. "Oh, no! Saynot so! Florence, say not so!"

At this, Henry Rooter loudly shouted with applausive hilarity; whereuponHerbert, rather surprised at his own effectiveness, naturally repeatedhis waggery. 

"Say not so, Florence! Say not so! Say not so!"

"I'll tell you one thing!" his lady cousin cried, thoroughly infuriated. "I wish to make just one last simple remark that I would care to soilmyself with in _your_ respects, Mister Herbert Illingsworth Atwater andMister Henry Rooter!"

"Oh, say not so, Florence!" they both entreated. "Say not so! Say notso!"

"I'll just simply state the simple truth, " Florence announced. "In thefirst place, you're goin' to live to see the day when you'll come andbeg me on your bented knees to have me put poems or anything I want toin your ole newspaper, but I'll just _laugh_ at you! '_Indeed_?' I'llsay! 'So you come beggin' around _me_, do you? Ha, ha!' I'll say! 'Iguess it's a little too late for that! Why, I wouldn't----'"

"Oh, say not so, Florence! Say not so!"

"'_Me_ to allow you to have one of my poems?' I'll say, 'Much less than_that_!' I'll say, 'because even if I was wearing the oldest shoes I gotin the world I wouldn't take the trouble to----'"

Her conclusion was drowned out. "Oh, _Florence_, say not so! Say not so, Florence! Say not so!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The hateful entreaty still murmured in her resentful ears, that night, as she fell asleep; and she passed into the beginnings of a dream withher lips slightly dimpling the surface of her pillow in belatedrepartee. And upon waking, though it was Sunday, her first words, halfslumbrous in the silence of the morning, were, "Vile Things!" Herfaculties became more alert during the preparation of a toilet that wasto serve not only for breakfast, but with the addition of gloves, a hat, and a blue-velvet coat, for Church and Sunday-school as well; and sheplanned a hundred vengeances. That is to say, her mind did not occupyitself with plots possible to make real; but rather it dabbled amongthose fragmentary visions that love to overlap and displace one anotherupon the changeful retina of the mind's eye. 

In all of these pictures, wherein prevailingly she seemed to be somesort of deathly powerful Queen of Poetry, the postures assumed by thefigures of Messrs. Atwater and Rooter (both in an extremity of rags)were miserably suppliant. So she soothed herself a little--but not long. Herbert, in the next pew, in church, and Henry in the next beyond that, were perfect compositions in smugness. They were cold, contented, aristocratic; and had an imperturbable understanding between themselves(even then perceptible to the sensitive Florence) that she was anuisance now capably disposed of by their beautiful discovery of "Saynot so!" Florence's feelings were unbecoming to the place and occasion. 

But at four o'clock, that afternoon, she was assuaged into a mildercondition by the arrival, according to an agreement made inSunday-school, of the popular Miss Patty Fairchild. 

Patty was thirteen and a half; an exquisite person with gold-dustedhair, eyes of singing blue, and an alluring air of sweetself-consciousness. Henry Rooter and Herbert Illingsworth Atwater, Jr. , out gathering news, saw her entering Florence's gate, and immediatelyforgot that they were reporters. They became silent, gradually movingtoward the house of their newspaper's sole poetess. 

Florence and Patty occupied themselves indoors for half an hour; thenwent out in the yard to study a mole's tunnel that had interestedFlorence recently. They followed it across the lawn at the south side ofthe house, discussing the habits of moles and other matters of zoölogy;and finally lost the track near the fence, which was here the "sidefence" and higher than their heads. Patty looked through a knot-hole tosee if the tunnel was visible in the next yard, but, without reportingupon her observations, she turned, as if carelessly, and leaned backagainst the fence, covering the knot-hole. 

"Florence, " she said, in a tone softer than she had been usingheretofore;--"Florence, do you know what I think?"

"No. Could you see any more tracks over there?"

"Florence, " said Patty;--"I was just going to tell you something, onlymaybe I better not. "

"Why not?" Florence inquired. "Go on and tell me. "

"No, " said Patty gently. "You might think it was silly. "

"No, I won't. "

"Yes, you _might_. "

"I promise I won't. "

"Well, then--oh, Florence I'm _sure_ you'll think it's silly!"

"I _promised_ I wouldn't. "

"Well--I don't think I better say it. "

"Go on, " Florence urged. "Patty, you _got_ to. "

"Well, then, if I got to, " said Patty. "What I was going to say, Florence: Don't you think your cousin Herbert and Henry Rooter have gotthe nicest eyes of any boy in town?"

"_Who_?" Florence was astounded. 

"I do, " Patty said in her charming voice. "I think Herbert and Henry'vegot the nicest eyes of any boy in town. "

"You do?" Florence cried incredulously. 

"Yes, I really do, Florence. I think Herbert Atwater and Henry Rooterhave got the nicest eyes of any boy in town. "

"Well, I never heard anything like _this_ before!" Florence declared. 

"But _don't_ you think they've got the nicest eyes of any boy in town?"Patty insisted, appealingly. 

"I think, " said Florence, "their eyes are just horrable!"

"What?"

"_Herbert's_ eyes, " continued Florence, ardently, "are the very worstlookin' ole squinty eyes I ever saw, and that nasty little Henry_Rooter's_ eyes----"

But Patty had suddenly become fidgety; she hurried away from the fence. "Come over here, Florence, " she said. "Let's go over to the other sideof the yard and talk. "

It was time for her to take some such action. Messrs. Atwater andRooter, seated quietly together upon a box on the other side of thefence (though with their backs to the knot-hole), were beginning to showsigns of inward disturbance. Already flushed with the unexpectedineffabilities overheard, their complexions had grown even pinker uponFlorence's open-hearted expressions of opinion. Slowly they turned theirheads to look at the fence, upon the other side of which stood themaligner of their eyes. Not that they cared what _that_ ole girlthought--but she oughtn't to be allowed to go around talking like thisand perhaps prejudicing everybody that had a kind word to say for them. 

"Come on over here, Florence, " called Patty huskily, from the other sideof the yard. "Let's talk over here. "

Florence was puzzled, but consented. "What you want to talk over herefor?" she asked as she came near her friend. 

"Oh, I don't know, " said Patty. "Let's go out in the front yard. "

She led the way round the house, and a moment later uttered a cry ofsurprise as the firm of Atwater & Rooter, passing along the pavement, hesitated at the gate. Their celebrated eyes showed doubt for a moment, then a brazenness: Herbert and Henry decided to come in. 

"Isn't this the funniest thing?" cried Patty. "After what I just saidawhile ago--_you_ know, Florence. Don't you dare to tell 'em!"

"I cert'nly won't!" her hostess promised, and, turning inhospitably tothe two callers, "What on earth you want around here?" she inquired. 

Herbert chivalrously took upon himself the duty of response. "Look here;this is my own aunt and uncle's yard, isn't it? I guess if I want tocome in it I got a perfect right to. "

"I should say so, " his partner said warmly. 

"Why, of course!" the cordial Patty agreed. "We can play some niceSunday games, or something. Let's sit on the porch steps and think whatto do. "

"_I_ just as soon, " said Henry Rooter. "_I_ got nothin' p'ticular todo. "

"I haven't either, " said Herbert. 

Thereupon, Patty sat between them on the steps. 

"This is _per-feckly_ grand!" she cried. "Come on, Florence, aren't yougoing to sit down with all the rest of us?"

"Well, pray kindly excuse _me_!" said Miss Atwater; and she added thatshe would neither sit on the same steps with Herbert Atwater and HenryRooter, nor, even if they entreated her with accompanying genuflections, would she have anything else whatever to do with them. She concludedwith a reference to the oldest pair of shoes she might ever come topossess; and withdrew to the railing of the veranda at a point farthestfrom the steps; and, seated there, swinging one foot rhythmically, shesang hymns in a tone at once plaintive and inimical. 

It was not lost upon her, however, that her withdrawal had little effectupon her guests. They chattered gaily, and Patty devised, or remembered, harmless little games that could be played by a few people as well as bymany; and the three participants were so congenial and noisy and made somerry, that before long Florence was unable to avoid the impressionthat whether she liked it or not she was giving quite a party. 

At times the noted eyes of Atwater & Rooter were gentled o'er with thesoft cast of enchantment, especially when Patty felt called upon toreprove the two with little coquetries of slaps and pushes. Noted forher sprightliness, she was never sprightlier; her pretty laughter tootedcontinuously, and the gentlemen accompanied it with doting sounds sorepulsive to Florence that without being actively conscious of what shedid, she embodied the phrase, "perfeckly sickening, " in the hymn she wascrooning, and repeated it over and over to the air of "Rock of Ages. "

"Now I tell you what let's play, " the versatile Patty proposed, afterexhausting the pleasures of "Geography, " "Ghosts" and other tests ofintellect. "Let's play 'Truth. ' We'll each take a piece o' paper and apencil, and then each of us asks the other one some question, and we hafto write down the answer and sign your name and fold it up so nobody cansee it except the one that asked the question, and we haf to keep it asecret and never tell as long as we live. "

"All right, " said Henry Rooter. "I'll be the one to ask you a question, Patty. "

"No, " Herbert said promptly. "I ought to be the one to ask Patty. "

"Why ought you?" Henry demanded. "Why ought you?"

"Listen!" Patty cried, "_I_ know the way we'll do. I'll ask each of youa question--we haf to whisper it--and each one of you'll ask me one, andthen we'll write it. That'll be simply grand!" She clapped her hands;then checked herself. "Oh, I guess we can't either. We haven't got anypaper and pencils unless----" Here she seemed to recall her hostess. "Oh, Florrie, dear! Run in the house and get us some paper and pencils. "

Florence gave no sign other than to increase the volume of her voice asshe sang: "Perf'ly sick'ning, clef' for me, let me _perf'_lysick-kin-_ning_!"

"We got plenty, " said Herbert; whereupon he and Henry produced pencilsand their professional note-books, and supplied their fair friend andthemselves with material for "Truth. " "Come on, Patty, whisper mewhatever you want to. "

"No; I ought to have her whisper _me_, first, " Henry Rooter objected. "I'll write the answer to _any_ question; I don't care what it's about. "

"Well, it's got to be the _truth_, you know, " Patty warned them. "Weall haf to write down just exackly the truth on our word of honour andsign our name. Promise?"

They promised earnestly. 

"All right, " said Patty. "Now I'll whisper Henry a question first, andthen you can whisper yours to me first, Herbert. "

This seemed to fill all needs happily, and the whispering and writingbegan, and continued with a coziness little to the taste of the piouslysinging Florence. She altered all previous opinions of her friend Patty, and when the latter finally closed the session on the steps, andannounced that she must go home, the hostess declined to accompany herinto the house to help her find where she had left her hat and wrap. 

"I haven't the _least_ idea where I took 'em off!" Patty declared in theairiest manner. "If you won't come with me, Florrie, s'pose you justcall in the front door and tell your mother to get 'em for me. "

"Oh, they're _somewhere_ in there, " Florence said coldly, not ceasing toswing her foot, and not turning her head. "You can find 'em by yourself, I presume, or if you can't I'll have our maid throw 'em out in the yardor somep'n to-morrow. "

"Well, _thank_ you!" Miss Fairchild rejoined, as she entered the house. 

The two boys stood waiting, having in mind to go with Patty as far asher own gate. "That's a _pretty_ way to speak to company!" Herbertaddressed his cousin with heavily marked severity. "Next time you doanything like that I'll march straight in the house and inform yourmother of the fact. "

Florence still swung her foot and looked dreamily away. She sang, to theair of "Rock of Ages":

"Henry Rooter, Herbert, too--they make me sick, they make me sick, that's what they do. "

However, they were only too well prepared with their annihilatingresponse. 

"Oh, say not so! Florence, say not so! _Florence!_ Say not so!"

They even sent this same odious refrain back to her from the street, asthey departed with their lovely companion; and, so tenuous is feminineloyalty sometimes, under these stresses, Miss Fairchild mingled hersweet, tantalizing young soprano with their changing and cacklingfalsetto. 

"Say not so, Florence! Oh, say not so! Say not so!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

They went satirically down the street, their chumminess with one anotherbountifully increased by their common derision of the outsider on theporch; and even at a distance they still contrived to make themselvesintolerable; looking back over their shoulders, at intervals, withsay-not-so expressions on their faces. Even when these faces were farenough away to be but yellowish oval planes, their say-not-soexpressions were still bitingly eloquent. 

Now a northern breeze chilled the air, as the hateful three becameindistinguishable in the haze of autumn dusk, whereupon Florence stoppedswinging her foot, left the railing, and went morosely into the house. And here it was her fortune to make two discoveries vital to her presentcareer; the first arising out of a conversation between her father andmother in the library, where a gossipy fire of soft coal encouraged thisproper Sunday afternoon entertainment for man and wife. 

"Sit down and rest, Florence, " said her mother. "I'm afraid you play toohard when Patty and the boys are here. Do sit down quietly and restyourself a little while. " And as Florence obeyed, Mrs. Atwater turned toher husband, resuming: "Well, that's what _I_ said. I told Aunt Carrie Ithought the same way about it that _you_ did. Of course nobody _ever_knows what Julia's going to do next, and nobody needs to be surprised atanything she does do. Ever since she came home from school, aboutfour-fifths of all the young men in town have been wild about her--andso's every old bachelor, for the matter of that!"

"Yes, " Mr. Atwater added. "And every old widower, too. "

His wife warmly accepted the amendment. "And every old widower, too, "she said, nodding. "Rather! And of course Julia's just done exactly asshe pleased about everything, and naturally she's going to do as shepleases about _this_. "

"Well, of course it's her own affair, Mollie, " Mr. Atwater said mildly. "She couldn't be expected to consult the whole Atwater family connectionbefore she----"

"Oh, no, " she agreed. "I don't say she could. Still, it _is_ ratherupsetting, coming so suddenly like this, when not one of the family hasever seen him--never even heard his very name before. "

[Illustration: _"'Well, men ... I don't want to see any loafin' aroundhere, men. I expect I'll have a pretty good newspaper this week. '"_]

"Well, that part of it isn't especially strange, Mollie. He was born andbrought up in a town three hundred miles from here. I don't see just howwe _could_ have heard his name unless he visited here or got into thepapers in some way. "

Mrs. Atwater seemed unwilling to yield a mysterious point. She rockeddecorously in her rocking-chair, shook her head, and after setting herlips rigidly, opened them to insist that she could never change hermind: Julia had acted very abruptly. "Why couldn't she have let her poorfather know at least a _few_ days before she did?"

Mr. Atwater sighed. "Why, she explains in her letter that she only knewit, herself, an hour before she wrote. "

"Her poor father!" his wife repeated commiseratingly. 

"Why, Mollie, I don't see how father's especially to be pitied. "

"Don't you?" said Mrs. Atwater. "That old man, to have to live in thatbig house all alone, except a few negro servants?"

"Why, no! About half the houses in the neighbourhood, up and down thestreet, are fully occupied by close relatives of his: I doubt if he'llbe really as lonely as he'd like to be. And he's often said he'd give agreat deal if Julia had been a plain, unpopular girl. I'm strongly ofthe opinion, myself, that he'll be pleased about this. Of course it mayupset him a little at first. "

"Yes; I think it will!" Mrs. Atwater shook her head forebodingly. "Andhe isn't the only one it's going to upset. "

"No, he isn't, " her husband admitted seriously. "That's always been thetrouble with Julia; she never could bear to seem disappointing; and so, of course, I suppose every one of 'em has a special idea that he'sreally about the top of the list with her. "

"Every last one of 'em is positive of it, " said Mrs. Atwater. "That wasJulia's way with 'em!"

"Yes, Julia's always been much too kind-hearted for other people'sgood. " Thus Mr. Atwater summed up Julia; and he was her brother. Additionally, since he was the older, he had known her since her birth. 

"If you ask _me_, " said his wife, "I'll really be surprised if it allgoes through without a suicide. "

"Oh, not quite suicide, perhaps, " Mr. Atwater protested. "I'm glad it'sa fairly dry town though. "

She failed to fathom his simple meaning. "Why?"

"Well, some of 'em might feel _that_ desperate at least, " he explained. "Prohibition's a safeguard for the disappointed in love. "

This phrase and a previous one stirred Florence, who had been sittingquietly, according to request, and "resting", but not resting hercuriosity. "_Who's_ disappointed in love, papa?" she inquired with anexplosive eagerness that slightly startled her preoccupied parents. "What _is_ all this about Aunt Julia, and grandpa goin' to live alone, and people committing suicide and prohibition and everything? What _is_all this, mamma?"

"Nothing, Florence. "

"Nothing! That's what you always say about the very most inter'stingthings that happen in the whole family! What _is_ all this, papa?"

"It's nothing that would be interesting to little girls, Florence. Merely some family matters. "

"My goodness!" Florence exclaimed. "I'm not a 'little girl' any more, papa! You're _always_ forgetting my age! And if it's a family matter Ibelong to the family, I guess, about as much as anybody else, don't I?Grandpa himself isn't any _more_ one of the family than I am, I don'tcare _how_ old he is!"

This was undeniable, and her father laughed. "It's really nothing you'dcare about one way or the other, " he said. 

"Well, I'd care about it if it's a secret, " Florence insisted. "If it'sa secret I'd want to know it, whatever it's about. "

"Oh, it isn't a secret, particularly, I suppose. At least, it's not tobe made public for a time; it's only to be known in the family. "

"Well, didn't I just _prove_ I'm as much one o' the family as----"

"Never mind, " her father said soothingly. "I don't suppose there's anyharm in your knowing it--if you won't go telling everybody. Your AuntJulia has just written us that she's engaged. "

Mrs. Atwater uttered an exclamation, but she was too late to check him. 

"I'm afraid you oughtn't to have told Florence. She _isn't_ just themost discreet----"

"Pshaw!" he laughed. "She certainly is 'one of the family', however, andJulia wrote that all of the family might be told. You'll not speak of itoutside the family, will you, Florence?"

But Florence was not yet able to speak of it, even inside the family; sosurprising, sometimes, are parents' theories of what will not interesttheir children. She sat staring, her mouth open, and in the uncertainillumination of the room these symptoms of her emotional condition wentunobserved. 

"I say, you won't speak of Julia's engagement outside the family, willyou, Florence?"

"Papa!" she gasped. "Did Aunt Julia write she was _engaged_?"

"Yes. "

"To get _married_?"

"It would seem so. "

"To _who_?"

"'To whom, ' Florence, " her mother suggested primly. 

"Mamma!" the daughter cried. "Who's Aunt Julia engaged to get marriedto? Noble Dill?"

"Good gracious, _no_!" Mrs. Atwater exclaimed. "What an absurd idea!It's to a young man in the place she's visiting--a stranger to all ofus. Julia only met him a few weeks ago. " Here she forgot Florence, andturned again to her husband, wearing her former expression ofexperienced foreboding. 

"It's just as I said. It's exactly like Julia to do such a recklessthing!"

"But as we don't know anything at all about the young man, " heremonstrated, "how do you know it's reckless?"

"How do you know he's young?" Mrs. Atwater retorted crisply. "All in theworld she said about him was that he's a lawyer. He may be a widower, for all we know, or divorced, with seven or eight children. "

"Oh, no, Mollie!"

"Why, he _might_!" she insisted. "For all we know, he may be a widowerfor the third or fourth _time_, or divorced, with any _number_ ofchildren! If such a person proposed to Julia, you know yourself she'dhate to be disappointing!"

Her husband laughed. "I don't think she'd go so far as to actuallyaccept 'such a person' and write home to announce her engagement to thefamily. I suppose most of her swains here have been in the habit ofproposing to her just as frequently as she was unable to prevent themfrom going that far; and while I don't think she's been as discouragingwith them as she might have been, she's never really accepted any of'em. She's never been engaged before. "

"No, " Mrs. Atwater admitted. "Not to this extent! She's never quiteannounced it to the family before, that is. "

"Yes; I'd hate to have Julia's job when she comes back!" Julia's brotheradmitted ruefully. 

"What job?"

"Breaking it to her admirers. "

"Oh, _she_ isn't going to do that!"

"She'll have to, now, " he said. "She'll either have to write the news to'em, or else tell 'em, face to face, when she comes home. "

"She won't do either. "

"Why, how could she get out of it?"

His wife smiled pityingly. "She hasn't set a time for coming home, hasshe? Don't you know enough of Julia's ways to see she'll never in theworld stand up to the music? She writes that all the family can be told, because she knows the news will leak out, here and there, in confidence, little by little, so by the time she gets home they'll all have beenthrough their first spasms, and after that she hopes they'll just sendher some forgiving flowers and greet her with manly hand-clasps--and getready to usher at the wedding!"

"Well, " said Mr. Atwater, "I'm afraid you're right. It does seem ratherlike Julia to stay away till the first of the worst is over. I'm reallysorry for some of 'em. I suppose it _will_ get whispered about, andthey'll hear it; and there are some of the poor things that might takeit pretty hard. "

"'Take it pretty hard!'" his wife echoed loudly. "There's _one_ of 'em, at least, who'll just merely lose his reason!"

"Which one?"

"Noble Dill. "

At this, the slender form of Florence underwent a spasmodic seizure inher chair, but as the fit was short and also noiseless, it passedwithout being noticed. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Atwater thoughtfully. "I suppose he will. "

"He certainly will!" Mrs. Atwater declared. "Noble's mother told me lastweek that he'd got so he was just as liable to drop a fountain-pen inhis coffee as a lump of sugar; and when any one speaks to him he eitherdoesn't know it, or else jumps. When he says anything, himself, she saysthey can scarcely ever make out what he's talking about. He was tryingenough before Julia went away; but since she's been gone Mrs. Dill sayshe's like nothing in her experience. She says he doesn't inherit it;Mr. Dill wasn't anything like this about her. "

Mr. Atwater smiled faintly. "Mrs. Dill wasn't anything like Julia. "

"No, " said his wife. "She was quite a sensible girl. I'd hate to be inher place now, though, when she tells Noble about _this_. "

"How can Mrs. Dill tell him, since she doesn't know it herself?"

"Well--perhaps she ought to know it, so that she _could_ tell him. _Somebody_ ought to tell him, and it ought to be done with the greatesttact. It ought to be broken to him with the most delicate care andsympathy, or the consequences----"

"Nobody could foretell the consequences, " her husband interrupted:--"nomatter how tactfully it's broken to Noble. "

"No, " she said, "I suppose that's true. I think the poor thing's likelyto lose his reason unless it _is_ done tactfully, though. "

"Do you think we really ought to tell Mrs. Dill, Mollie? I mean, seriously: Do you?"

For some moments she considered his question, then replied, "No. It'spossible we'd be following a Christian course in doing it; but stillwe're rather bound not to speak of it outside the family, and when itdoes get outside the family I think we'd better not be the onesresponsible--especially since it might easily be traced to us. I thinkit's usually better to keep out of things when there's any doubt. "

"Yes, " he said, meditating. "I never knew any harm to come of people'ssticking to their own affairs. "

But as he and his wife became silent for a time, musing in thefirelight, their daughter's special convictions were far from coincidingwith theirs, although she, likewise, was silent--a singularity theyshould have observed. So far were they from a true comprehension of her, they were unaware that she had more than a casual, young-cousinlyinterest in Julia Atwater's engagement and in those possibleconsequences to Noble Dill just sketched with some intentionalexaggeration. They did not even notice her expression when Mr. Atwatersnapped on the light, in order to read; and she went quietly out of thelibrary and up the stairs to her own room. 

 * * * * *

On the floor, near her bed, where Patty Fairchild had left her coat andhat, Florence made another discovery. Two small, folded slips of paperlay there, dropped by Miss Fairchild when she put on her coat in thedarkening room. They were the replies to Patty's whispered questions inthe game on the steps--the pledged Truth, written by Henry Rooter andHerbert Atwater on their sacred words and honours. The infatuated pairhad either overestimated Patty's caution, or else each had thought shewould so prize his little missive that she would treasure it in a tendersafety, perhaps pinned upon her blouse (at the first opportunity) overher heart. It is positively safe to say that neither of the twoveracities would ever have been set upon paper had Herbert and Henry anyforeshadowing that Patty might be careless; and the partners would havebeen seized with the utmost horror could they have conceived thepossibility of their trustful messages ever falling into the hands ofthe relentless creature who now, without an instant's honourablehesitation, unfolded and read them. 

"_Yes if I got to tell the truth I know I have got pretty eyes_, "Herbert had unfortunately written. "I _am glad you think so too Pattybecause your eyes are too Herbert Illingsworth Atwater, Jr. _"

And Mr. Henry Rooter had likewise ruined himself in a coincidentalmanner:

"_Well Patty my eyes are pretty but suppose I would like to trade withyours because you have beautiful eyes also, sure as my name is HenryRooter. _"

Florence stood close to the pink-shaded electric drop-light over hersmall white dressing-table, reading again and again these patheticallyhonest little confidences. Her eyelids were withdrawn to anunprecedented retirement, so remarkably she stared; while her mouthseemed to prepare itself for the attempted reception of a bulk beyondits capacity. And these plastic tokens, so immoderate as to beordinarily the consequence of nothing short of horror, were overlaid byothers, subtler and more gleaming, which wrought the true significanceof the contortion--a joy that was dumfounding. 

Her thoughts were first of Fortune's kindness in selecting her for afavour so miraculously dovetailing into the precise need of her life;then she considered Henry and Herbert, each at this hour probablybrushing his hair in preparation for the Sunday evening meal, and bothtouchingly unconscious of the calamity now befalling them; but whateventually engrossed her mind was a thought about Wallie Torbin. 

This Master Torbin, fourteen years of age, was in all the town the boymost dreaded by his fellow-boys, and also by girls, including many ofboth sexes who knew him only by sight--and hearing. He had no physicalendowment or attainment worth mention; but boys who could "whip him withone hand" became sycophants in his presence; the terror he inspired wasmoral. He had a special over-development of a faculty exercised clumsilyenough by most human beings, especially in their youth; in other words, he had a genius--not, however, a genius having to do with anythinggenerally recognized as art or science. True, if he had been a violinistprodigy or mathematical prodigy, he would have had some respect from hisfellows--about equal to that he might have received if he were giftedwith some pleasant deformity, such as six toes on a foot--but he wouldnever have enjoyed such deadly prestige as had actually come to be his. In brief, then, Wallie Torbin had a genius for mockery. 

Almost from his babyhood he had been a child of one purpose: to increaseby burlesques the sufferings of unfortunate friends. If one of themwept, Wallie incessantly pursued him, yelping in horrid mimicry; if onewere chastised he could not appear out-of-doors for days except toencounter Wallie and a complete rehearsal of the recent agony. "Quit, Papa! _Pah_-puh, quee-yet! I'll _never_ do it again, Pah-puh! Oh, _lemme_ alone, Pah-_puh_!"

As he grew older, his insatiate curiosity enabled him to exposeunnumbered weaknesses, indiscretions, and social misfortunes on the partof acquaintances and schoolmates; and to every exposure his noise andenergy gave a hideous publicity: the more his victim sought privacy themore persistently he was followed by Wallie, vociferous and attended byhilarious spectators. But above all other things, what most stimulatedthe demoniac boy to prodigies of satire was a tender episode or anysymptom connected with the dawn of love. Florence herself had sufferedat intervals throughout her eleventh summer because Wallie discoveredthat Georgie Beck had sent her a valentine; and the humorist's many, many squealings of that valentine's affectionate quatrain finally lefther unable to decide which she hated the more, Wallie or Georgie. Thatwas the worst of Wallie: he never "let up"; and in Florence's circlethere was no more sobering threat than, "I'll tell Wallie Torbin!" Asfor Henry Rooter and Herbert Illingsworth Atwater, Jr. , they would assoon have had a Head-hunter on their trail as Wallie Torbin in thepossession of anything that could incriminate them in an implication oflove--or an acknowledgment (in their own handwriting!) of their ownbeauty. 

The fabric of civilized life is interwoven with blackmail: even some ofthe noblest people do favours for other people who are depended upon notto tell somebody something that the noblest people have done. Blackmailis born into us all, and our nurses teach us more blackmail bythreatening to tell our parents if we won't do this and that--and ourparents threaten to tell the doctor--and so we learn! Blackmail is partof the daily life of a child. Displeased, his first resort to get hisway with other children is a threat to "tell, " but by-and-by hisexperience discovers the mutual benefit of honour among blackmailers. Therefore, at eight it is no longer the ticket to threaten to tell theteacher; and, a little later, threatening to tell any adult at all isconsidered something of a breakdown in morals. Notoriously, the code ismore liable to infraction by people of the physically weaker sex, forthe very reason, of course, that their inferiority of muscle sofrequently compels such a sin, if they are to have their way. But forFlorence there was now no such temptation. Looking to the demolition ofAtwater & Rooter, an exposure before adults of the results of "Truth"would have been an effect of the sickliest pallor compared to what mightbe accomplished by a careful use of the catastrophic Wallie Torbin. 

 * * * * *

On Sunday evening it was her privileged custom to go to the house of fatold Great-Uncle Joseph and remain until nine o'clock, in chattycompanionship with Uncle Joseph and Aunt Carrie, his wife, and a fewother relatives (including Herbert) who were in the habit of dropping inthere, on Sunday evenings. In summer, lemonade and cake were frequentlyprovided; in the autumn, one still found cake, and perhaps a pitcher ofclear new cider: apples were a certainty. 

This evening was glorious: there were apples and cider and cake, withwalnuts, perfectly cracked, and a large open-hearted box of candy; forUncle Joseph and Aunt Carrie had foreseen the coming of several moreAtwaters than usual, to talk over the new affairs of their beautifulrelative, Julia. Seldom have any relative's new affairs been morethoroughly talked over than were Julia's that evening; though all thetime by means of symbols, since it was thought wiser that Herbert andFlorence should not yet be told of Julia's engagement; and Florence'sparents were not present to confess their indiscretion. Julia wasreferred to as "the traveller"; other makeshifts were employed with themost knowing caution, and all the while Florence merely ate inscrutably. The more sincere Herbert was placid; the foods absorbing his attention. 

"Well, all I say is, the traveller better enjoy herself on her travels, "said Aunt Fanny, finally, as the subject appeared to be wearing towardexhaustion. "She certainly is in for it when the voyaging is over andshe arrives in the port she sailed from, and has to show her papers. Iagree with the rest of you: she'll have a great deal to answer for, andmost of all about the shortest one. My own opinion is that the shortestone is going to burst like a balloon. "

"The shortest one, " as the demure Florence had understood from thefirst, was none other than her Very Ideal. Now she looked up from thestool where she sat with her back against a pilaster of the mantelpiece. "Uncle Joseph, " she said;--"I was just thinking. What is a person'sreason?"

The fat gentleman, rosy with firelight and cider, finished his fifthglass before responding. "Well, there _are_ persons I never could findany reason for at all. 'A person's reason'? What do you mean, 'aperson's reason, ' Florence?"

"I mean: like when somebody says, 'They'll lose their reason, '" sheexplained. "Has everybody got a reason, and if they have, what is it, and how do they lose it, and what would they do then?"

"Oh! I see!" he said. "You needn't worry. I suppose since you heard ityou've been hunting all over yourself for your reason and looking to seeif there was one hanging out of anybody else, somewhere. No; it'ssomething you can't see, ordinarily, Florence. Losing your reason isjust another way of saying, 'going crazy'!"

"Oh!" she murmured, and appeared to be disturbed. 

At this, Herbert thought proper to offer a witticism for the pleasure ofthe company. 

"_You_ know, Florence, " he said, "it only means acting like _you_ mostalways do. " He applauded himself with a burst of changing laughterranging from a bullfrog croak to a collapsing soprano; then he added:"Espeshually when you come around my and Henry's Newspaper Building! Youcert'nly 'lose your reason' every time you come around _that_ oleplace!"

"Well, course I haf to act like the people that's already there, "Florence retorted, not sharply, but in a musing tone that should havewarned him. It was not her wont to use a quiet voice for repartee. Thinking her humble, he laughed the more raucously. 

"Oh, Florence!" he besought her. "Say not so! Say not so!"

"Children, children!" Uncle Joseph remonstrated. 

Herbert changed his tone; he became seriously plaintive. "Well, she doesact that way, Uncle Joseph! When she comes around there you'd think wewere runnin' a lunatic asylum, the way she takes on. She hollers andbellers and squalls and squawks. The least little teeny thing she don'tlike about the way we run our paper, she comes flappin' over there andgoes to screechin' around you could hear her out at the Poor HouseFarm!"

"Now, now, Herbert, " his Aunt Fanny interposed. "Poor little Florenceisn't saying anything impolite to you--not right now, at any rate. Whydon't you be a little sweet to her just for once?"

Her unfortunate expression revolted all the manliness in Herbert'sbosom. "Be a little _sweet_ to her?" he echoed with poignantincredulity, and then in candour made plain how poorly Aunt Fannyinspired him. "I just exackly as soon be a little sweet to analligator, " he said. 

"Oh, oh!" said Aunt Carrie. 

"I would!" Herbert insisted. "Or a mosquito. I'd rather, to _either_ of'em, 'cause anyway they don't make so much noise. Why, you just ought to_hear_ her, " he went on, growing more and more severe. "You ought tojust come around our Newspaper Building any afternoon you please, afterschool, when Henry and I are tryin' to do our work in anyway _some_peace. Why, she just squawks and squalls and squ----"

"It must be terrible, " Uncle Joseph interrupted. "What do you do allthat for, Florence, every afternoon?"

"Just for exercise, " she answered dreamily; and her placidity the moreexasperated her journalist cousin. 

"She does it because she thinks _she_ ought to be runnin' our ownnewspaper, my and Henry's; that's why she does it! She thinks she knowsmore about how to run newspapers than anybody alive; but there's onething she's goin' to find out; and that is, she don't get anything_more_ to do with my and Henry's newspaper. We wouldn't have anothersingle one of her ole poems in it, no matter how much she offered topay us! Uncle Joseph, I think you ought to _tell_ her she's got nobusiness around my and Henry's Newspaper Building. "

"But, Herbert, " Aunt Fanny suggested;--"you might let Florence have alittle share in it of some sort. Then everything would be all right. "

"It would?" he said. "It _woo_-wud? Oh, my goodness, Aunt Fanny, I guessyou'd like to see our newspaper just utterably ruined! Why, we wouldn'tlet that girl have any more to do with it than we would some horse!"

"Oh, oh!" both Aunt Fanny and Aunt Carrie exclaimed, shocked. 

"We wouldn't, " Herbert insisted. "A horse would know any amount more howto run a newspaper than she does. Soon as we got our printing-press, wesaid right then that we made up our minds Florence Atwater wasn't evergoin' to have a single thing to do with our newspaper. If you let herhave anything to do with anything she wants to run the whole thing. Butshe might just as well learn to stay away from our Newspaper Building, because after we got her out yesterday we fixed a way so's she'll neverget in _there_ again!"

Florence looked at him demurely. "Are you sure, Herbert?" she inquired. 

"Just you try it!" he advised her, and he laughed tauntingly. "Just comearound to-morrow and try it; that's all I ask!"

"I cert'nly intend to, " she responded with dignity. "I may have a slightsupprise for you. "

"Oh, _Florence_, say not so! Say not so, Florence! Say not so!"

At this, she looked full upon him, and already she had something in thenature of a surprise for him; for so powerful was the still balefulnessof her glance that he was slightly startled. "I might say not so, " shesaid. "I might, if I was speaking of what pretty eyes you say yourselfyou know you have, Herbert. "

It staggered him. "What--what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothin', " she replied airily. 

Herbert began to be mistrustful of the solid earth: somewhere there wasa fearful threat to his equipoise. "What you talkin' about?" he saidwith an effort to speak scornfully; but his sensitive voice almostfailed him. 

"Oh, nothin', " said Florence. "Just about what pretty eyes you know youhave, and Patty's being pretty, too, and so you're glad she thinksyours are pretty, the way _you_ do--and everything!"

Herbert visibly gulped. He believed that Patty had betrayed him; hadbetrayed the sworn confidence of "Truth!"

"That's all I was talkin' about, " Florence added. "Just about how youknew you had such pretty eyes. Say not so, Herbert! Say not so!"

"Look here!" he said. "When'd you see Patty again between this afternoonand when you came over here?"

"What makes you think I saw her?"

"Did you telephone her?"

"What makes you think so?"

Once more Herbert gulped. "Well, I guess you're ready to believeanything anybody tells you, " he said, with palsied bravado. "You don'tbelieve everything Patty Fairchild says, do you?"

"Why, Herbert! Doesn't she always tell the _truth_?"

"Her? Why, half the time, " poor Herbert babbled, "you can't tell whethershe's just makin' up what she says or not. If you've gone and believedeverything that ole girl told you, you haven't got even what littlesense I used to think you had!" So base we are under strain, sometimes--so base when our good name is threatened with the truth ofus! "I wouldn't believe anything she said, " he added, in a sickishvoice, "if she told me fifty times and crossed her heart!"

"Wouldn't you if she said you _wrote down_ how pretty you knew your eyeswere, Herbert? Wouldn't you if it was on paper in your own handwriting?"

"What's this about Herbert having 'pretty eyes'?" Uncle Joe inquired, again bringing general attention to the young cousins; and Herbertshuddered. This fat uncle had an unpleasant reputation as a joker. 

The nephew desperately fell back upon the hopeless device of attemptingto drown out his opponent's voice as she began to reply. He becamevociferous with scornful laughter, badly cracked. "Florence got mad!" heshouted, mingling the purported information with hoots and cacklings. "She got mad because I and Henry played some games with Patty andwouldn't let her play! She's tryin' to make up stories on us to geteven. She made it up! It's all made up! She----"

"No, no, " Mr. Atwater interrupted. "Let Florence tell us. Florence, what was it about Herbert's knowing he had 'pretty eyes'?"

Herbert attempted to continue the drowning out. He bawled. "She made it_up_! It's somep'n she made up her_self_! She----"

"Herbert, " said Uncle Joseph;--"if you don't keep quiet, I'll take backthe printing-press. "

Herbert substituted a gulp for the continuation of his noise. 

"Now, Florence, " said Uncle Joseph, "tell us what you were saying abouthow Herbert knows he has such 'pretty eyes'. "

Then it seemed to Herbert that a miracle befell. Florence looked up, smiling modestly. "Oh, it wasn't anything, Uncle Joseph, " she said. "Iwas Just trying to tease Herbert any way I could think of. "

"Oh, was that all?" A hopeful light faded out of Uncle Joseph's largeand inexpressive face. "I thought perhaps you'd detected him in someindiscretion. "

Florence laughed, "I was just teasin' him. It wasn't anything, UncleJoseph. "

Hereupon, Herbert resumed a confused breathing. Dazed, he remaineduneasy, profoundly so: and gratitude was no part of his emotion. Hewell understood that in conflicts such as these Florence was neversusceptible to impulses of compassion; in fact, if there was warfarebetween them, experience had taught him to be wariest when she seemedkindest. He moved away from her, and went into another room where hiscondition was one of increasing mental discomfort, though he looked overthe pictures in his great-uncle's copy of "Paradise Lost. " Theseillustrations, by M. Gustave Doré, failed to aid in reassuring histroubled mind. 

When Florence left the house, he impulsively accompanied her, maintaining a nervous silence as they walked the short distance betweenUncle Joseph's front gate and her own. There, however, he spoke. 

"Look here! You don't haf to go and believe everything that ole girltold you, do you?"

"No, " said Florence heartily. "I don't haf to. "

"Well, look here, " he urged, helpless but to repeat. "You don't haf tobelieve whatever it was she went and told you, do you?"

"What was it you think she told me, Herbert?"

"All that guff--you know. Well, whatever it was you _said_ she toldyou. "

"I didn't, " said Florence. "I didn't say she told me anything at all. "

"Well, she did, didn't she?"

"Why, no, " Florence replied, lightly. "She didn't say anything to _me_. Only I'm glad to have your _opinion_ of her, how she's such astory-teller and all--if I ever want to tell her, and everything!"

But Herbert had greater alarms than this, and the greater obscured thelesser. "Look here, " he said, "if she didn't tell you, how'd you know itthen?"

"How'd I know what?"

"That--that big story about my ever writin' I knew I had"--he gulpedagain--"pretty eyes. "

"Oh, about _that_!" Florence said, and swung the gate shut between them. "Well, I guess it's too late to tell you to-night, Herbert; but maybe ifyou and that nasty little Henry Rooter do every single thing I tell youto, and do it just _exackly_ like I tell you from this time on, whymaybe--I only say 'maybe'--well, maybe I'll tell you some day when Ifeel like it. "

She ran up the path and up the veranda steps, but paused before openingthe front door, and called back to the waiting Herbert:

"The only person I'd ever _think_ of tellin' about it before I tell youwould be a boy I know. " She coughed, and added as by an afterthought, "He'd just love to know all about it; I know he would. So, when I tellanybody about it I'll only tell just you and this other boy. "

"What other boy?" Herbert demanded. 

And her reply, thrilling through the darkness, left him demoralized withhorror. 

"Wallie Torbin!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next afternoon, about four o'clock, Herbert stood gloomily at themain entrance of Atwater & Rooter's Newspaper Building awaiting hispartner. The other entrances were not only nailed fast but massivelybarricaded; and this one (consisting of the ancient carriage-housedoors, opening upon a driveway through the yard) had recently been madeeffective for exclusion. A long and heavy plank leaned against the wall, near by, ready to be set in hook-shaped iron supports fastened to theinner sides of the doors; and when the doors were closed, with thisgreat plank in place, a person inside the building might seem entitledto count upon the enjoyment of privacy, except in case of earthquake, tornado, or fire. In fact, the size of the plank and the substantialquality of the iron fastenings could be looked upon, from a certainviewpoint, as a real compliment to the energy and persistence ofFlorence Atwater. 

Herbert had been in no complimentary frame of mind, however, when hedevised the obstructions, nor was he now in such a frame of mind. He waspessimistic in regard to his future, and also embarrassed inanticipation of some explanations it would be necessary to make to hispartner. He strongly hoped that Henry's regular after-school appearanceat the Newspaper Building would precede Florence's, because theseexplanations required both deliberation and tact, and he was convincedthat it would be almost impossible to make them at all if Florence gotthere first. 

He understood that he was unfortunately within her power; and he sawthat it would be dangerous to place in operation for her exclusion fromthe Building this new mechanism contrived with such hopeful care, and ata cost of two dollars and twenty-five cents taken from the _Oriole's_treasury. What he wished Henry to believe was that for some good reason, which Herbert had not yet been able to invent, it would be better toshow Florence a little politeness. He had a desperate hope that he mightfind some diplomatic way to prevail on Henry to be as subservient toFlorence as she had seemed to demand, and he was determined to touch anyextremity of unveracity, rather than permit the details of his answerin "Truth" to come to his partner's knowledge. Henry Rooter was notWallie Torbin; but in possession of material such as this he couldeasily make himself intolerable. 

Therefore, it was in a flurried state of mind that Herbert waited; andwhen his friend appeared, over the fence, his perturbation was notdecreased. He even failed to notice the unusual gravity of Henry'smanner. 

"Hello, Henry! I thought I wouldn't start in working till you got here. I didn't want to haf to come all the way downstairs again to open thedoor and hi'st our good ole plank up again. "

"I see, " said Henry, glancing nervously at their good ole plank. "Well, I guess Florence'll never get in _this_ good ole door--that is, shewon't if we don't let her, or something. "

This final clause would have astonished Herbert if he had been lesspreoccupied with his troubles. "You bet she won't!" he saidmechanically. "She couldn't ever get in here again--if the _family_didn't go intafering around and give me the dickens and everything, because they think--they _say_ they do, anyhow--they say theythink--they think----"

He paused, disguising a little choke as a cough of scorn for thefamily's thinking. 

"What did you say your family think?" Henry asked absently. 

"Well, they say we ought to let her have a share in our newspaper. "Again he paused, afraid to continue lest his hypocrisy appear sobare-faced as to invite suspicion. "Well, maybe we _ought_, " he saidfinally, his eyes guiltily upon his toe, which slowly scuffed theground. "I don't say we ought, and I don't say we oughtn't. "

He expected at the least a sharp protest from his partner, who, on thecontrary, surprised him. "Well, that's the way _I_ look at it, " Henrysaid. "I don't say we ought and I don't say we oughtn't. "

And he, likewise, stared at the toe of a shoe that scuffed the ground. Herbert felt a little better; this particular subdivision of hisdifficulties seemed to be working out with unexpected ease. 

"I don't say we will and I don't say we won't, " Henry added. "That's theway I look at it. My father and mother are always talkin' to me: how Igot to be polite and everything, and I guess maybe it's time I began topay some 'tention to what they say. You don't have your father andmother for always, you know, Herbert. "

Herbert's mood at once chimed with this unprecedented filialmelancholy. "No, you don't, Henry. That's what I often think about, myself. No, sir, a fellow doesn't have his father and mother to advisehim our whole life, and you ought to do a good deal what they say whilethey're still alive. "

"That's what I say, " Henry agreed gloomily; and then, without anyalteration of his tone, or of the dejected thoughtfulness of hisattitude, he changed the subject in a way that painfully startled hiscompanion. "Have you seen Wallie Torbin to-day, Herbert?"

"What!"

"Have you seen Wallie Torbin to-day?"

Herbert swallowed. "Why, what makes--what makes you ask me that, Henry?"he said. 

"Oh, nothin'. " Henry still kept his eyes upon his gloomily scuffing toe. "I just wondered, because I didn't happen to see him in school thisafternoon when I happened to look in the door of the Eight-A when it wasopen. I didn't want to know on account of anything particular. I justhappened to say that about him because I didn't have anything else tothink about just then, so I just happened to think about him, the way youdo when you haven't got anything much on your mind and might get tothinkin' about you can't tell what. That's all the way it was; I justhappened to kind of wonder if he was around anywhere maybe. "

Henry's tone was obviously, even elaborately, sincere; and Herbert wasreassured. "Well, I didn't see him, " he responded. "Maybe he's sick. "

"No, he isn't, " his friend said. "Florence said she saw him chasin' hisdog down the street about noon. "

At this Herbert's uneasiness was uncomfortably renewed. "_Florence_ did?Where'd you see Florence?"

Mr. Rooter swallowed. "A little while ago, " he said, and againswallowed. "On the way home from school. "

"Look--look here!" Herbert was flurried to the point of panic. "Henry--did Florence--did she go and tell you--did she tell you----?"

"_I_ didn't hardly notice what she was talkin' about, " Henry saiddoggedly. "She didn't have anything to say that _I'd_ ever care twocents about. She came up behind me and walked along with me a ways, butI got too many things on my mind to hardly pay the least attention toanything _she_ ever talks about. She's a girl what I think about herthe less people pay any 'tention to what she says the better off theyare. "

"That's the way with me, Henry, " his partner assured him earnestly. "Inever pay any notice to what _she_ says. The way I figure it out about_her_, Henry, everybody'd be a good deal better off if nobody ever paidthe least notice to anything she says. I never even notice what shesays, myself. "

"I don't either, " said Henry. "All _I_ think about is what my father andmother say, because I'm not goin' to have their advice all the rest o'my life, after they're dead. If they want me to be polite, why, I'll doit and that's all there is about it. "

"It's the same way with me, Henry. If she comes flappin' around hereblattin' and blubbin' how she's goin' to have somep'n to do with ournewspaper, why, the only reason _I'd_ ever let her would be because my_family_ say I ought to show more politeness to her than up to now. Iwouldn't do it on any other account, Henry. "

"Neither would I. That's just the same way _I_ look at it, Herbert. If Iever begin to treat her any better, she's got my father and mother tothank, not me. That's the only reason _I'd_ be willing to say we betterleave the plank down and let her in, if she comes around here like she'sliable to. "

"Well, " said Herbert. "_I'm_ willing. I don't want to get in troublewith the family. "

And they mounted the stairs to their editorial, reportorial, andprinting rooms; and began to work in a manner not only preoccupied butapprehensive. At intervals they would give each other a furtive glance, and then seem to reflect upon their fathers' and mothers' wishes and thetroublous state of the times. Florence did not keep them waiting long, however. 

She might have been easier to bear had her manner of arrival been lessassured. She romped up the stairs, came skipping across the old floor, swinging her hat by a ribbon, flung open the gate in the sacred railing, and, flouncing into the principal chair, immodestly placed her feet onthe table in front of that chair. Additionally, such was her livelyhumour, she affected to light and smoke the stub of a lead pencil. "Well, men, " she said heartily, "I don't want to see any loafin' aroundhere, men. I expect I'll have a pretty good newspaper this week; yes, sir, a pretty good newspaper, and I guess you men got to jump around agood deal to do everything I think of, or else maybe I guess I'll haveto turn you off. I don't want to haf to do that, men. "

The blackmailed partners made no reply, on account of an inability thatwas perfect for the moment. They stared at her helplessly, though notkindly; for in their expressions the conflict between desire and policywas almost staringly vivid. And such was their preoccupation, each withthe bitterness of his own case, that neither wondered at the other'sstrange complaisance. 

Florence made it clear to them that henceforth she was the editor of_The North End Daily Oriole_. (She said she had decided not to changethe name. ) She informed them that they were to be her printers; she didnot care to get all inky and nasty herself, she said. She would, however, do all the writing for her newspaper, and had with her a newpoem. Also, she would furnish all the news and it would be printed justas she wrote it, and printed _nicely_, too, or else----She left thesentence unfinished. 

Thus did this cool hand take possession of an established industry, andin much the same fashion did she continue to manage it. There wereunsuppressible protests; there was covert anguish; there was even astrike--but it was a short one. When the printers remained away fromtheir late Newspaper Building, on Wednesday afternoon, Florence had aninterview with Herbert after dinner at his own door. He explained coldlythat Henry and he had grown tired of the printing-press and had decidedto put in all their spare time building a theatre in Henry's attic; butFlorence gave him to understand that the theatre could not be; shepreferred the _Oriole_. 

Henry and Herbert had both stopped "speaking" to Patty Fairchild, foreach believed her treacherous to himself; but Florence now informedHerbert that far from depending on mere hearsay, she had in her ownpossession the confession of his knowledge that he had ocular beauty;that she had discovered the paper where Patty had lost it; and that itwas now in a secure place, and in an envelope, upon the outside of whichwas already written, "For Wallie Torbin. Kindness of Florence A. "

Herbert surrendered. 

So did Henry Rooter, a little later that evening, after a telephonedconversation with the slave-driver. 

Therefore, the two miserable printers were back in their places the nextafternoon. They told each other that the theatre they had planned wasn'tso much after all; and anyhow your father and mother didn't last allyour life, and it was better to do what they wanted, and be polite whilethey were alive. 

And on Saturday the new _Oriole_, now in every jot and item the inspiredorgan of feminism, made its undeniably sensational appearance. 

A copy, neatly folded, was placed in the hand of Noble Dill, as he setforth for his place of business, after lunching at home with his mother. Florence was the person who placed it there; she came hurriedly fromsomewhere in the neighbourhood, out of what yard or alley he did notnotice, and slipped the little oblong sheet into his lax fingers. 

"There!" she said breathlessly. "There's a good deal about you in itthis week, Mr. Dill, and I guess--I guess----"

"What, Florence?"

"I guess maybe you'll----" She looked up at him shyly; then, with nomore to say, turned and ran back in the direction whence she had come. Noble walked on, not at once examining her little gift, but carrying itabsently in fingers still lax at the end of a dangling arm. There was nolife in him for anything. Julia was away. 

Away! And yet the dazzling creature looked at him from sky, from earth, from air; looked at him with the most poignant kindness, yet alwaysshook her head! She had answered his first letter by a kind little note, his second by a kinder and littler one, and his third, fourth, fifth, and sixth by no note at all; but by the kindest message (through one ofher aunts) that she was thinking about him a great deal. And even thiswas three weeks ago. Since then from Julia--nothing at all!

But yesterday something a little stimulating had happened. On thestreet, downtown, he had come face to face, momentarily, with Julia'sfather; and for the first time in Noble's life Mr. Atwater nodded to himpleasantly. Noble went on his way, elated. Was there not somethingalmost fatherly in this strange greeting?

An event so singular might be interpreted in the happiest way: What hadJulia written her father, to change him so toward Noble? And Noble wasstill dreamily interpreting as he walked down the street with _The NorthEnd Daily Oriole_ idle in an idle hand. 

He found a use for that hand presently, and, having sighed, lifted it topress it upon his brow, but did not complete the gesture. As his handcame within the scope of his gaze, levelled on the unfathomabledistance, he observed that the fingers held a sheet of printed paper;and he remembered Florence. Instead of pressing his brow he unfolded thejournal she had thrust upon him. As he began to read, his eye waslustreless, his gait slack and dreary; but soon his whole demeanourchanged, it cannot be said for the better. 

 THE NORTH END DAILY ORIOLE

 Atwater & Co. , Owners & Propietors Subscribe NOW 25 cents Per. Year. Sub- scriptions should be brought to the East Main Entrance of Atwater & Co. , News- paper Building every afternoon 430 to VI 25 Cents

 POEMS

 My Soul by Florence Atwater

 When my heart is dreary Then my soul is weary As a bird with a broken wing Who never again will sing Like the sound of a vast amen That comes from a church of men. 

 When my soul is dreary It could never be cheery But I think of myideal And everything seems real Like the sound of the bright church bells peal. 

 Poems by Florence Atwater will be in the paper each and every Sat. 

 Advertisements 45c. Each Up

 Joseph K. Atwater Co. 127 South Iowa St. Steam Pumps

 The News of the City

 Miss Florence Atwater of tHis City received a mark of 94 in History Examination at the concusion of the school Term last June. 

 Blue hair ribbons are in style again. 

 Miss Patty Fairchild of this City has not been doing as well in Declamation lately as formerly. 

 MR. Noble Dill of this City is seldom seen on the streets of the City without smoking a cigarette. 

 Miss Julia Atwater of this City is out of the City. 

 The MR. Rayfort family of this City have been presentde with the present of a new Cat by Geo. The man employeD by Balf & CO. This cat is perfectly baeutiful and still quit young. 

 Miss Julia Atwater of this City is visiting friends in the Soth. The family have had many letters from her that are read by each and all of the famild. 

 Mr. Noble Dill of this City is in business with his Father. 

 There was quite a wind storm Thursday doing damage to shade trees in many parts of our beautiful City. 

 From Letters to the family Miss Julia Atwater of this City is enjoying her visit in the south a greadeal. 

 Miss Patty Fairchild of the 7 A of this City, will probably not pass in ARithmetiC--unless great improvement takes place before Examination. 

 Miss Julia Atwater of this City wrote a letter to the family stating while visiting in the SOuth she has made an engagement to be married to MR. Crum of that City. The family do not know who this MR. Crum is but It is said he is a widower though he has been diVorced with a great many children. 

 The new ditch of the MR. Henry D. Vance, backyard of this City is about through now as little remain to be done and it is thought the beighborhood will son look better. Subscribe NOW 25c. Per Year Adv. 45c. Up. Atwater & Co. Newspaper Building 25 Cents Per Years. 

It may be assumed that the last of the news items was wasted upon NobleDill and that he never knew of the neighbourhood improvement believed tobe imminent as a result of the final touches to the ditch of the Mr. Henry D. Vance backyard. 

CHAPTER TWENTY

Throughout that afternoon adult members of the Atwater family connectionmade futile efforts to secure all the copies of the week's edition of_The North End Daily Oriole_. It could not be done. 

It was a trying time for "the family. " Great Aunt Carrie said that shehad the "worst afternoon of any of 'em, " because young Newland Sanderscame to her house at two and did not leave until five; all the timecounting over, one by one, the hours he'd spent with Julia since she wasseventeen and turned out, unfortunately, to be a Beauty. Newland had notrestrained himself, Aunt Carrie said, and long before he left she wishedJulia had never been born--and as for Herbert Illingsworth Atwater, Junior, the only thing to do with him was to send him to some strictMilitary School. 

Florence's father telephoned to her mother from downtown at three, andsaid that Mr. George Plum and the ardent vocalist, Clairdyce, had justleft his office. They had not called in company, however, butcoincidentally; and each had a copy of _The North End Daily Oriole_, already somewhat worn with folding and unfolding. Mr. Clairdyce'scondition was one of desperate calm, Florence's father said, but Mr. Plum's agitation left him rather unpresentable for the street, though hehad finally gone forth with his hair just as he had rumpled it, and withhis hat in his hand. They wished the truth, they said: Was it true orwas it not true? Mr. Atwater had told them that he feared Julia wasindeed engaged, though he knew nothing of her fiancé's previous marriageor marriages, or of the number of his children. They had responded thatthey cared nothing about that. This man Crum's record was a matter ofindifference to them, they said. All they wanted to know was whetherJulia was engaged or not--and she was!

"The odd thing to _me_, " Mr. Atwater continued to his wife, "is where onearth Herbert could have got his story about this Crum's being awidower, and divorced, and with all those children. Do you know ifJulia's written any of the family about these things and they haven'ttold the rest of us?"

"No, " said Mrs. Atwater. "I'm sure she hasn't. Every letter she'swritten to any of us has passed all through the family, and I know I'veseen every one of 'em. She's never said anything about him at all, except that he was a lawyer. I'm sure _I_ can't imagine where Herbertgot his awful information; I never thought he was the kind of boy tojust make up such things out of whole cloth. "

Florence, sitting quietly in a chair near by, with a copy of "Sesame andLilies" in her lap, listened to her mother's side of this conversationwith an expression of impersonal interest; and if she could haverealized how completely her parents had forgotten (naturally enough) thedetails of their first rambling discussion of Julia's engagement, shemight really have felt as little alarm as she showed. 

"Well, " said Mr. Atwater, "I'm glad _our_ branch of the family isn'tresponsible. That's a comfort, anyhow, especially as people are readingcopies of Herbert's dreadful paper all up and down the town, my clerksays. He tells me that over at the Unity Trust Company, where youngMurdock Hawes is cashier, they only got hold of one copy, but typewroteit and multigraphed it, and some of 'em have already learned it by heartto recite to poor young Hawes. He's the one who sent Julia the threefivepound boxes of chocolates from New York all at the same time, youremember. "

"Yes, " Mrs. Atwater sighed. "Poor thing!"

"Florence is out among the family, I suppose?" he inquired. 

"No; she's right here. She's just started to read Ruskin this afternoon. She says she's going to begin and read all of him straight through. That's very nice, don't you think?"

He seemed to muse before replying. 

"I think that's very nice, at her age especially, " Mrs. Atwater urged. "Don't you?"

"Ye-es! Oh, yes! At least I suppose so. Ah--you don't think--of courseshe hasn't had anything at all to do with this?"

"Well, I don't _see_ how she could. You know Aunt Fanny told us howHerbert declared before them all, only last Sunday night, that Florenceshould never have one thing to do with his printing-press, and said theywouldn't even let her come near it. "

"Yes, that's a fact. I'm glad Herbert made it so clear that she can't beimplicated. I suppose the family are all pretty well down on UncleJoseph?"

"Uncle Joseph is being greatly blamed, " said Mrs. Atwater primly. "Hereally ought to have known better than to put such an instrument as aprinting-press into the hands of an irresponsible boy of that age. Ofcourse it simply encouraged him to print all kinds of things. We none ofus think Uncle Joseph ever dreamed that Herbert would publish, anythingexactly like _this_, and of course Uncle Joseph says himself he neverdreamed such a thing; he's said so time and time and time again, allafternoon. But of course he's greatly blamed. "

"I suppose there've been quite a good many of 'em over there blaminghim?" her husband inquired. 

"Yes--until he telephoned to a garage and hired a car and went for adrive. He said he had plenty of money with him and didn't know when he'dbe back. "

"Serves him right, " said Mr. Atwater. "Does anybody know where Herbertis?"

"Not yet!"

"Well----" and he returned to a former theme. "I _am_ glad we aren'timplicated. Florence is right there with you, you say?"

"Yes, " Mrs. Atwater replied. "She's right here, reading. You aren'tworried about her, are you?" she added. 

"Oh, no; I'm sure it's all right. I only thought----"

"Only thought what?"

"Well, it _did_ strike me as curious, " said Mr. Atwater; "especiallyafter Aunt Fanny's telling us how Herbert declared Florence could neverhave a single thing to do with his paper again----"

"Well, what?"

"Well, here's her poem right at the top of it, and a _very_ friendlyitem about her history mark of last June. It doesn't seem like Herbertto be so complimentary to Florence, all of a sudden. Just struck me asrather curious; that's all. "

"Why, yes, " said Mrs. Atwater, "it does seem a little odd, when youthink of it. "

"Have you _asked_ Florence if she had anything to do with getting outthis week's _Oriole_?"

"Why, no; it never occurred to me, especially after what Aunt Fanny toldus, " said Mrs. Atwater. "I'll ask her now. "

But she was obliged to postpone putting the intended question. "Sesameand Lilies" lay sweetly upon the seat of the chair that Florence hadoccupied; but Florence herself had gone somewhere else. 

She had gone for a long, long ramble; and pedestrians who encounteredher, and happened to notice her expression, were interested; and as theywent on their way several of them interrupted the course of theirmeditations to say to themselves that she was the most thoughtfullooking young girl they had ever seen. There was a touch of wistfulnessabout her, too; as of one whose benevolence must renounce all hope ofcomprehension and reward. 

Now, among those who observed her unusual expression was a gentleman ofgreat dimensions disposed in a closed automobile that went labouringamong mudholes in an unpaved outskirt of the town. He rapped upon theglass before him, to get the driver's attention, and a moment later thecar drew up beside Florence, as she stood in a deep reverie at theintersection of two roads. 

Uncle Joseph opened the door and took his cigar from his mouth. "Get in, Florence, " he said. "I'll take you for a ride. " She started violently;whereupon he restored the cigar to his mouth, puffed upon it, breathingheavily the while as was his wont, and added, "I'm not going home. I'mout for a nice long ride. Get in. "

"I was takin' a walk, " she said dubiously. "I haf to take a whole lot ofexercise, and I ought to walk and walk and walk. I guess I ought tokeep on walkin'. "

"Get in, " he said. "I'm out riding. I don't know _when_ I'll get home!"

Florence stepped in, Uncle Joseph closed the door, and the car slowlybumped onward. 

"You know where Herbert is?" Uncle Joseph inquired. 

"No, " said Florence, in a gentle voice. 

"I do, " he said. "Herbert and your friend Henry Rooter came to our housewith one of the last copies of the _Oriole_ they were distributing tosubscribers; and after I read it I kind of foresaw that the fellerresponsible for their owning a printing-press was going to be in somesort of family trouble or other. I had quite a talk with 'em and theyhinted they hadn't had much to do with this number of the paper, exceptthe mechanical end of it; but they wouldn't come out right full withwhat they meant. They seemed to have some good reason for protecting athird party, and said quite a good deal about their fathers and mothersbeing but mortal and so on; so Henry and Herbert thought they oughtn'tto expose this third party--whoever she may happen to be. Well, Ithought they better not stay too long, because I was compromised enoughalready, without being seen in their company; and I gave 'em somethingto help 'em out with at the movies. You can stay at movies an awful longtime, and if you've got money enough to go to several of 'em, why, you're fixed for pretty near as long as you please. A body ought to beable to live a couple o' months at the movies for nine or ten dollars, Ishould think. "

He was silent for a time, then asked, "I don't suppose your papa andmamma will be worrying about you, will they, Florence?"

"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "Not in the least! There was nothin' at allfor me to do at our house this afternoon. "

"That's good, " he said, "because before we go back I was thinking someof driving around by way of Texas. "

Florence looked at him trustfully and said nothing. It seemed to herthat he suspected something; she was not sure; but his conversation wasa little peculiar, though not in the least sinister. Indeed she was ableto make out that he had more the air of an accomplice than of aprosecutor or a detective. Nevertheless, she was convinced that far, farthe best course for her to pursue, during the next few days, would beone of steadfast reserve. And such a course was congenial to her mood, which was subdued, not to say apprehensive; though she was sure herrecent conduct, if viewed sympathetically, would be found at leastChristian. The trouble was that probably it would not be viewedsympathetically. No one would understand how carefully and tactfully shehad prepared the items of the _Oriole_ to lead suavely up to the news ofAunt Julia's engagement and break it to Noble Dill in a manner thatwould save his reason. 

Therefore, on account of this probable lack of comprehension on the partof the family and public, it seemed to her that the only wise and goodcourse to follow would be to claim nothing for herself, but to allowHerbert and Henry to remain undisturbed in full credit for publishingthe _Oriole_. This involved a disappointment, it is true; nevertheless, she decided to bear it. 

She had looked forward to surprising "the family" delightfully. As theyfluttered in exclamation about her, she had expected to say, "Oh, the_poem_ isn't so much, I guess--I wrote it quite a few days ago and I'mwriting a couple new ones now--but I did take quite a lot o' time andtrouble with the rest of the paper, because I had to write every singleword of it, or else let Henry and Herbert try to, and 'course they'djust of ruined it. Oh, it isn't so much to talk about, I guess; it justsort of _comes_ to me to do things that way. "

Thirteen attempts to exercise a great philanthropy, and every grownperson in sight, with the possible exception of Great-Uncle Joseph, goesinto wholly unanticipated fits of horror. Cause and effect have nohonest relation: Fate operates without justice or even rationalsequence; life and the universe appear to be governed, not in order andwith system, but by Chance, becoming sinister at any moment withoutreason. 

And while Florence, thus a pessimist, sat beside fat Uncle Joseph duringtheir long, long drive, relatives of hers were indeed going into fits;at least, so Florence would have described their gestures andincoherences of comment. Moreover, after the movies, straight into sucha fitful scene did the luckless Herbert walk when urged homeward bythoughts of food, at about six that evening. Henry Rooter had stronglyadvised him against entering the house. 

"You better not, " he said earnestly. "_Honest_, you better not, Herbert!"

"Well, we got apple dumplings for dinner, " Herbert said, his toneshowing the strain of mental uncertainty. "Eliza told me this morning wewere goin' to have 'em. I kind of hate to go in, but I guess I better, Henry. "

"_You_ won't see any apple dumplings, " Henry predicted. 

"Well, I believe I better try it, Henry. "

"You better come home with me. My father and mother'll be perfectlywilling to have you. "

"I know that, " said Herbert. "But I guess I better go in and try it, anyhow, Henry. I didn't have anything to do with what's in the _Oriole_. It's every last word ole Florence's doing. I haven't got any more rightto be picked on for that than a child. "

"Yes, " Henry admitted. "But if you go and tell 'em so, I bet she'd geteven with you some way that would probably get _me_ in trouble, too, before we get through with the job. _I_ wouldn't tell 'em if I was you, Herbert!"

"Well, I wasn't intending to, " Herbert responded gloomily; and thethought of each, unknown to the other, was the same, consisting of asymbolic likeness of Wallie Torbin at his worst. "I _ought_ to tell onFlorence; by rights I ought, " said Herbert; "but I've decided I won't. There's no tellin' what she wouldn't do. Not that she could do anythingto _me_, particyourly----"

"Nor me, either, " his friend interposed hurriedly. "I don't worry aboutanything like that! Still, if I was you I wouldn't tell. She's only agirl, we got to remember. "

"Yes, " said Herbert. "That's the way _I_ look at it, Henry; and the wayI look at it is just simply this: long as she _is_ a girl, why, simplylet her go. You can't tell what she'd do, and so what's the use to goand tell on a girl?"

"That's the way _I_ look at it, " Henry agreed. "What's the use? If I wasin your place, I'd act just the same way you do. "

"Well, " said Herbert, "I guess I better go on in the house, Henry. It'sa good while after dark. "

"You're makin' a big mistake!" Henry Rooter called after him. "_You_won't see any apple dumplings, I bet a hunderd dollars! You better comeon home with me. "

Herbert no more than half opened his front door before he perceived thathis friend's advice had been excellent. So clearly Herbert perceivedthis, that he impulsively decided not to open the door any farther, buton the contrary to close it and retire; and he would have done so, hadhis mother not reached forth and detained him. She was, in fact, justinside that door, standing in the hall with one of his great-aunts, oneof his aunts, two aunts-by-marriage, and an elderly unmarried cousin, who were all just on the point of leaving. However, they changed theirminds and decided to remain, now that Herbert was among them. 

The captive's father joined them, a few minutes later, but it hadalready become clear to Herbert that _The North End Daily Oriole_ was inone sense a thing of the past, though in another sense this former ownerand proprietor was certain that he would never hear the last of it. However, on account of the life of blackmail and slavery now led by themembers of the old régime, the _Oriole's_ extinction was far lesspainful to Herbert than his father supposed; and the latter wasted agreat deal of severity, insisting that the printing-press should bereturned that very night to Uncle Joseph. Herbert's heartiestretrospective wish was that the ole printing-press had been returned toUncle Joseph long ago. 

"If you can find him to give it to!" Aunt Harriet suggested. "Nobody_knows_ where he goes when he gets the way he did this afternoon when wewere discussing it with him! I only hope he'll be back to-night!"

"He can't stay away forever, " Aunt Fanny remarked. "That garage ischarging him five dollars an hour for the automobile he's in, and surelyeven Joseph will decide there's a limit to wildness _some_ time!"

"I don't care when he comes back, " Herbert's father declared grimly. "Whenever he does he's got to take that printing-press back--and Herbertwill be let out of the house long enough to carry it over. His mother orI will go with him. "

Herbert bore much more than this. He had seated himself on the thirdstep of the stairway, and maintained as much dogged silence as he could. Once, however, they got a yelp of anguish out of him. It was when CousinVirginia said: "Oh, Herbert, Herbert! How could you make up thatterrible falsehood about Mr. Crum? And, _think_ of it; right on the samepage with your cousin Florence's pure little poem!"

Herbert uttered sounds incoherent but loud, and expressive of a supremephysical revulsion. The shocked audience readily understood that heliked neither Cousin Virginia's chiding nor Cousin Florence's purelittle poem. 

"Shame!" said his father. 

Herbert controlled himself. It could be seen that his spirit was broken, when Aunt Fanny mourned, shaking her head at him, smiling ruefully:

"Oh, if boys could only be girls!"

Herbert just looked at her. 

"The worst thing, " said his father;--"that is, if there's any part of itthat's worse than another--the worst thing about it all is this rumourabout Noble Dill. "

"What about that poor thing?" Aunt Harriet asked. "We haven't heard. "

"Why, I walked up from downtown with old man Dill, " said Mr. Atwater, "and the Dill family are all very much worried. It seems that Noblestarted downtown after lunch, as usual, and pretty soon he came back tothe house and he had a copy of this awful paper that little Florence hadgiven him, and----"

"_Who_ gave it to him?" Aunt Fanny asked. "_Who_?"

"Little Florence. "

"Why, that's curious, " Cousin Virginia murmured. "I must telephone andask her mother about that. "

The brooding Herbert looked up, and there was a gleam in his dogged eye;but he said nothing. 

"Go on, " Aunt Harriet urged. "What did Noble do?"

"Why, his mother said he just went up to his room and changed his shoesand necktie----"

"I thought so, " Aunt Fanny whispered. "Crazy!"

"And then, " Mr. Atwater continued, "he left the house and she supposedhe'd gone down to the office; but she was uneasy, and telephoned hisfather. Noble hadn't come. He didn't come all afternoon, and he didn'tgo back to the house; and they telephoned around to every place he_could_ go that they know of, and they couldn't find him or hearanything about him at all--not anywhere. " Mr. Atwater coughed, andpaused. 

"But what, " Aunt Harriet cried;--"_what_ do they think's become of him?"

"Old man Dill said they were all pretty anxious, " said Mr. Atwater. "They're afraid Noble has--they're afraid he's disappeared. "

Aunt Fanny screamed. 

Then, in perfect accord, they all turned to look at Herbert, who roseand would have retired upstairs had he been permitted. 

As that perturbing evening wore on, word gradually reached the mostoutlying members of the Atwater family connection that Noble Dill wasmissing. Ordinarily, this bit of news would have caused them no severeanxiety. Noble's person and intellect were socommonplace--"insignificant" was the term usually preferred in his owncircle--that he was considered to be as nearly negligible as it ischaritable to consider a fellow-being. True, there was one thing thatset him apart; he was found worthy of a superlative when he fell in lovewith Julia; and of course this distinction caused him to become betterknown and more talked about than he had been in his earlier youth. 

However, the eccentricities of a person in such an extremity of love areseldom valued except as comedy, and even then with no warmth of heartfor the comedian, but rather with an incredulous disdain; so it is safeto say that under other circumstances, Noble might have been missing, indeed, and few of the Atwaters would have missed him. But as mattersstood they worried a great deal about him, fearing that a rash act onhis part might reflect notoriety upon themselves on account of theirbeautiful relative--and _The North End Daily Oriole_. And when nineo'clock came and Mrs. Dill reported to Herbert's father, over thetelephone, that nothing had yet been heard of her son, the pressure ofthose who were blaming the _Oriole_ more than they blamed Julia becameso wearing that Herbert decided he would rather spend the remaining daysof his life running away from Wallie Torbin than put in any more of sucha dog's evening as he _was_ putting in. Thus he defined it. 

He made a confession; that is to say, it was a proclamation. Heproclaimed his innocence. He began history with a description of eventsdistinctly subsequent to Sunday pastimes with Patty Fairchild, andexplained how he and Henry had felt that their parents would not alwaysbe with them, and as their parents wished them to be polite, they hadresolved to be polite to Florence. Proceeding, he related in detail herwhole journalistic exploit. 

Of the matter in hand he told the perfect and absolute truth--and wasimmediately refuted, confuted, and demonstrated to be a false witness byAunt Fanny, Aunt Carrie, and Cousin Virginia, who had all heard himvehemently declare, no longer ago than the preceding Sunday evening, that he and his partner had taken secure measures to prevent Florencefrom ever again setting foot within the Newspaper Building. In addition, he was quite showered with definitions; and these, though so various, all sought to phrase but the one subject: his conduct in seeking to dragFlorence into the mire, when she was absent and could not defendherself. Poor Florence would answer later in the evening, he was toldseverely; and though her cause was thus championed against the slander, it is true that some of her defenders felt stirrings of curiosity inregard to Florence. In fact, there was getting to be something almostlike a cloud upon her reputation. There were several things for her toexplain;--among them, her taking it upon herself to see that Noblereceived a copy of the _Oriole_, and also her sudden departure from homeand rather odd protraction of absence therefrom. It was not thought shewas in good company. Uncle Joseph had telephoned from a suburb that theywere dining at a farmhouse and would thence descend to the generalregion of the movies. 

"_Nobody_ knows what that man'll do, when he decides to!" Aunt Carriesaid nervously. "Letting the poor child stay up so late! She ought to bein bed this minute, even if it is Saturday night! Or else she ought tobe here to listen to her own bad little cousin trying to put histerrible responsibility on her shoulders. "

One item of this description of himself the badgered Herbert could notbear in silence, although he had just declared that since the truth wasso ill-respected among his persecutors he would open his mouth no moreuntil the day of his death. He passed over "bad, " but furiously statedhis height in feet, inches, and fractions of inches. 

Aunt Fanny shook her head in mourning. "That may be, Herbert, " she saidgently. "But you must try to realize it can't bring poor young Mr. Dillback to his family. "

Again Herbert just looked at her. He had no indifference more profoundthan that upon which her strained conception of the relation betweencause and effect seemed to touch;--from his point of view, to be missingshould be the lightest of calamities. It is true that he was concernedwith the restoration of Noble Dill to the rest of the Dills so far assuch an event might affect his own incomparable misfortunes, but nototherwise. He regarded Noble and Noble's disappearance merely as unfairdamage to himself, and he continued to look at this sorrowing great-auntof his until his thoughts made his strange gaze appear to her sohardened that she shook her head and looked away. 

"Poor young Mr. Dill!" she said. "If someone could only have been withhim and kept talking to him until he got used to the idea a little!"

Cousin Virginia nodded comprehendingly. "Yes, it might have tided himover, " she said. "He wasn't handsome, nor impressive, of course, noranything like that, but he always spoke so nicely to people on thestreet. I'm sure he never harmed even a kitten, poor soul!"

"I'm sure he never did, " Herbert's mother agreed gently. "Not even akitten. I do wonder where he is now. "

But Aunt Fanny uttered a little cry of protest. "I'm afraid we mayhear!" she said. "Any moment!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

These sympathetic women had unanimously set their expectation in soromantically pessimistic a groove that the most tragic news of Noblewould have surprised them little. But if the truth of his whereaboutscould have been made known to them, as they sat thus together at whatwas developing virtually into his wake, with Herbert as a compulsoryparticipant, they would have turned the session into a riot ofamazement. Noble was in the very last place (they would have said, whencalmer) where anybody in the world could have even madly dreamed oflooking for him! They would have been right about it. No one could haveexpected to find Noble to-night inside the old, four-square brick houseof H. I. Atwater, Senior, chief of the Atwaters and father of too gentleJulia. Moreover, Mr. Atwater himself was not at present in the house; hehad closed and locked it the day before, giving the servants a week'svacation and telling them not to return till he sent for them; and hehad then gone out of town to look over a hominy-mill he thought ofbuying. And yet, as the wake went on, there was a light in the house, and under that light sat Noble Dill. 

Returning home, after Florence had placed the shattering paper withinhis hand, Noble had changed his shoes and his tie. He was but amechanism; he had no motive. The shoes he put on were no better thanthose he took off; the fresh tie was no lovelier than the one he hadworn; nor had it even the lucidity to be a purple one, as the banner ofgrief. No; his action was, if so viewed, "crazy, " as Aunt Fanny hadcalled it. Agitation first took this form; that was all. Love and changeof dress are so closely allied; and in happier days, when Noble had comehome from work and would see Julia in the evening, he usually changedhis clothes. No doubt there is some faint tracery here, probably tooindistinct to repay contemplation. 

When he left the house he walked rapidly downtown, and toward the end ofthis one-mile journey he ran; but as he was then approaching the railwaystation, no one thought him eccentric. He was, however, for when heentered the station he went to a bench and sat looking upward for morethan ten minutes before he rose, went to a ticket window and asked fora time-table. 

"What road?" the clerk inquired. 

"All points South, " said Noble. 

He placed the time-table, still folded, in his pocket, rested an elbowon the brass apron of the window, and would have given himself up toreflections, though urged to move away. Several people, wishing to buytickets, had formed a line behind him; they perceived that Noble hadnothing more to say to the clerk, and the latter encouraged theirprotests, even going so far as to inquire: "For heaven's sakes, can'tyou let these folk buy their tickets?" And since Noble still did notmove: "My gosh, haven't you got no _feet_?"

"Feet? Oh, yes, " said Noble gently. "I'm going away. " And went back tohis seat. 

Afterwhile, he sought to study his time-table. Ordinarily, his mind wasone of those able to decipher and comprehend railway time-tables; he hadfew gifts, but this was one of them. It failed him now; so he wanderedback to the ticket-window, and, after urgent coaching, eventually tookhis place at the end instead of at the head of the line that waitedthere. In his turn he came again to the window, and departed from itafter a conversation with the clerk that left the latter in accord withAunt Fanny Atwater's commiserating adjective, though the clerk's ownpity was expressed in argot. "The poor nut!" he explained to his nextclient. "Wants to buy a ticket on a train that don't pull out until tenthirty-five to-night; and me fillin' it all out, stampin' it andeverything, what for? Turned out all his pockets and couldn't comewithin eight dollars o' the price! Where you want to go?"

Noble went back to his bench and sat there for a long time, though therewas no time, long or short, for him. He was not yet consciouslysuffering; nor was he thinking at all. True, he had a dim, persistentimpulse to action--or why should he be at the station?--but for theclearest expression of his condition it is necessary to borrow aculinary symbol; he was jelling. But the state of shock was slowlydispersing, while a perception of approaching anguish as slowlyincreased. He was beginning to swallow nothing at intervals and theintervals were growing shorter. 

Dusk was misting down, outdoors, when with dragging steps he came out ofthe station. He looked hazily up and down the street, where thecorner-lamps and shop-windows now were lighted; and, after drearyhesitation, he went in search of a pawn-shop, and found one. The old manwho operated it must have been a philanthropist, for Noble was sofortunate as to secure a loan of nine dollars upon his watch. Surprisedat this, he returned to the station, and went back to the same oldbench. 

It was fully occupied, and he stood for some time looking with vaguereproach at the large family of coloured people who had taken it. He hada feeling that he lived there and that these coloured people weretrespassers; but upon becoming aware that part of an orange was beingrubbed over his left shoe by the youngest of the children, he groanedabruptly and found another bench. 

A little after six o'clock a clanging and commotion in the train-shedoutside, attending the arrival of a "through express, " stirred him fromhis torpor, and he walked heavily across the room to the sameticket-window he had twice blocked; but there was no queue attached toit now. He rested his elbow upon the apron and his chin upon his hand, while the clerk waited until he should state his wishes. This was a newclerk, who had just relieved the other. 

"Well! Well!" he said at last. 

"I'll take it now, " Noble responded. 

"What'll you take now?"

"That ticket. "

"What ticket?"

"The same one I wanted before, " Noble sighed. 

The clerk gave him a piercing look, glanced out of the window and sawthat there were no other clients, then went to a desk at the farther endof his compartment, and took up some clerical work he had in hand. 

Noble leaned upon the apron of the window, waiting; and if he thoughtanything, he thought the man was serving him. 

The high, vaulted room became resonant with voices and the blurredechoes of mingling footsteps on the marble floor, as passengers from theexpress hurried anxiously to the street, or more gaily straggledthrough, shouting with friends who came to greet them; and among thesemoving groups there walked a youthful fine lady noticeably enlivening tothe dullest eye. She was preceded by a brisk porter who carried twotravelling-bags of a rich sort, as well as a sack of implements for thegame of golf; and she was warm in dark furs, against which the vastyclump of violets she wore showed dewy gleamings of blue. 

At sight of Noble Dill, more than pensive at the ticket-window, shehesitated, then stopped and observed him. That she should observeanybody was in a way a coincidence, for, as it happened, she was herselfthe most observed person in all the place. She was veiled in two veils, but she had been seen in the train without these, and some of herfellow-travellers, though strangers to her, were walking near her in ahypocritical way, hoping still not to lose sight of her, even veiled. And although the shroudings permitted the most meagre information of herfeatures, what they did reveal was harmfully piquant; moreover, therewas a sweetness of figure, a disturbing grace; while nothing coulddisguise her air of wearing that many violets casually as a dailyperquisite and matter of course. 

[Illustration: _"He stared at her. His elbow sagged away from thewindow; the whole person of Noble Dill seemed near collapse. "_]

So this observed lady stopped and observed Noble, who in return observedher not at all, being but semi-conscious. Looked upon thoughtfully, itis a coincidence that we breathe; certainly it is a mighty coincidencethat we speak to one another and comprehend; for these are true marvels. But what petty interlacings of human action so pique our sense ofthe theatrical that we call them coincidences and are astonished! ThatJulia should arrive during Noble's long process of buying a ticket to goto her was stranger than that she stopped to look at him, though stillnot comparable in strangeness to the fact that either of them, or anyliving creature, stood upon the whirling earth;--yet when Noble Dillcomprehended what was happening he was amazed. 

She spoke to him. 

"Noble!" she said. 

He stared at her. His elbow sagged away from the window; the wholeperson of Noble Dill seemed near collapse. He shook; he had no voice. 

"I just this minute got off the train, " she said. "Are you going awaysomewhere?"

"No, " he whispered; then obtained command of a huskiness somewhatgreater in volume. "I'm just standing here. "

"I told the porter to get me a taxicab, " she said. "If you're going homefor dinner I'll drop you at your house. "

"I--I'm--I----" His articulation encountered unsurmountabledifficulties, but Julia had been with him through many such trialsaforetime. She said briskly, "I'm awfully hungry and I want to gethome. Come on--if you like?"

He walked waveringly at her side through the station, and followed herinto the dim interior of the cab, which became fragrant of violets--anemanation at once ineffable and poisonous. 

"I'm so glad I happened to run across you, " she said, as they began tovibrate tremulously in unison with the fierce little engine that drewthem. "I want to hear all the news. Nobody knows I'm home. I didn'twrite or telegraph to a soul; and I'll be a complete surprise to fatherand everybody--I don't know how pleasant a one! _You_ didn't seem sofrightfully glad to see me, Noble!"

"Am I?" he whispered. "I mean--I mean--I mean: Didn't I?"

"No!" she laughed. "You looked--you looked shocked! It couldn't havebeen because I'm ill or anything, because I'm not; and if I were youcouldn't have told it through these two veils. Possibly I'd better takeyour expression as a compliment. " She paused, then asked hesitatingly, "Shall I?"

This was the style for which the Atwaters held Julia responsible; butthey were mistaken: she was never able to control it. Now she wentcheerily on: "Perhaps not, as you don't answer. I shouldn't be so bold!Do you suppose anybody at all will be glad to see me?"

"I--I----" He seemed to hope that words would come in their own goodtime. 

"Noble!" she cried. "Don't be so glum!" And she touched his arm with hermuff, a fluffy contact causing within him a short convulsion, naturallyinvisible. "Noble, aren't you going to tell me what's all the news?"

"There's--some, " he managed to inform her. "Some--some news. "

"What is it?"

"It's--it's----"

"Never mind, " she said soothingly. "Get your breath; I can wait. I hopenothing's wrong in your family, Noble. "

"No. Oh, no. "

"It isn't just my turning up unexpectedly that's upset you so, ofcourse, " she dared to say. "Naturally, I know better than to think sucha thing as that. "

"Oh, Julia!" he said. "Oh, Julia!"

"What is it, Noble?"

"Noth-ing, " he murmured, disjointing the word. 

"How odd you happened to be there at the station, " she said, "just whenmy train came in! You're sure you weren't going away anywhere?"

"No; oh, no. "

She was thoughtful, then laughed confidentially. "You're the only personin town that knows I'm home, Noble. "

"I'm glad, " he said humbly. 

She laughed again. "I came all of a sudden--on an impulse. It's a littleidiotic. I'll tell you all about it, Noble. You see, ten or twelve daysago I wrote the family a more or less indiscreet letter. That is, I toldthem something I wanted them to be discreet about, and, of course, whenI got to thinking it over, I knew they wouldn't. You see, I wrote themsomething I wanted them to keep a secret, but the more I thought aboutit, the more I saw I'd better hurry back. Yesterday it got into my headthat I'd better jump on the next train for home!"

She paused, then added, "So I did! About ten or twelve days is as longas anybody has a right to expect the Atwater family connection to keepthe deadliest kind of a secret, isn't it?" And as he did not respond, she explained, modestly, "Of course, it wasn't a very deadly secret; itwas really about something of only the least importance. "

The jar of this understatement restored Noble's voice to a sudden andstartling loudness. "'Only the least importance'!" he shouted. "With aman named Crum!"

"What!" she cried

"Crum!" Noble insisted. "That's exactly what it said his name was!"

"_What_ said his name was?"

"_The North End Daily Oriole!_"

"What in heaven's name is that?"

"It's the children's paper, Herbert's and Florence's: your own niece andnephew, Julia! You don't mean you deny it, do you, Julia?"

She was in great confusion: "Do I deny what?"

"That his name's Crum!" Noble said passionately. "That his name's Crumand that he's a widower and he's been divorced and's got nobody knowshow many children!"

Julia sought to collect herself. "I don't know what you're talkingabout, " she said. "If you mean that I happened to meet a very charmingman while I was away, and that his name happened to be Crum, I don'tknow why I should go to the trouble of denying it. But if Mr. Crum hashad the experiences you say he has, it is certainly news to me! I thinksomeone told me he was only twenty-six years old. He looked ratheryounger. "

"You 'think someone told' you!" Noble groaned. "Oh, Julia! And here itis, all down in black and white, in my pocket!"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. " Julia's tonewas cold, and she drew herself up haughtily, though the gesture wasineffective in the darkness of that quivering interior. The quiveringstopped just then, however, as the taxicab came to a rather abrupt haltbefore her house. 

"Will you come in with me a moment, please?" Julia said as she got out. "There are some things I want to ask you--and I'm sure my father hasn'tcome home from downtown yet. There's no light in the front part of thehouse. "

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

There was no light in any other part of the house, they discovered, after abandoning the front door bell for an excursion to the rear. "That's disheartening to a hungry person, " Julia remarked: and thenremembered that she had a key to the front door in her purse. She openedthe door, and lighted the hall chandelier while Noble brought in herbags from the steps where the taxicab driver had left them. 

"There's nobody home at all, " Julia said thoughtfully. "Not even Gamin. "

"No. Nobody, " her sad companion agreed, shaking his head. "Nobody atall, Julia. Nobody at all. " Rousing himself, he went back for the golftools, and with a lingering gentleness set them in a corner. Then, dumbly, he turned to go. 

"Wait, please, " said Julia. "I want to ask you a few things--especiallyabout what you've got 'all down in black and white' in your pocket. Willyou shut the front door, if you please, and go into the library andturn on the lights and wait there while I look over the house and see ifI can find why it's all closed up like this?"

Noble went into the library and found the control of the lights. Shecame hurrying in after him. 

"It's chilly. The furnace seems to be off, " she said. "I'll----" Butinstead of declaring her intentions, she enacted them; taking a matchfrom a little white porcelain trough on the mantelpiece and striking iton the heel of her glittering shoe. Then she knelt before the grate andset the flame to paper beneath the kindling-wood and coal. "You mustn'tfreeze, " she said, with a thoughtful kindness that killed him; and asshe went out of the room he died again;--for she looked back over hershoulder. 

She had pushed up her veils and this was his first sight of thatdisastrous face in long empty weeks and weeks. Now he realized that allhis aching reveries upon its contours had shown but pallid likenesses;for here was the worst thing about Julia's looks;--even her mostextravagant suitor, in absence, could not dream an image of her socharming as he found herself when he saw her again. Thus, seeing Juliaagain was always a discovery. And this glance over her shoulder as sheleft a room--not a honeyed glance but rather inscrutable, yet implyingthat she thought of the occupant, and might continue to think of himwhile gone from him--this was one of those ways of hers that experiencecould never drill out of her. 

"I'm Robinson Crusoe, Noble, " she said, when she came back. "I suppose Imight as well take off my furs, though. " But first she unfastened thegreat bouquet she wore and tossed it upon a table. Noble was standingclose to the table, and he moved away from it hurriedly--a revulsionthat she failed to notice. She went on to explain, as she dropped hercloak and stole upon a chair: "Papa's gone away for at least a week. He's taken his ulster. It doesn't make any difference what the weatheris, but when he's going away for a week or longer, he always takes itwith him, except in summer. If he's only going to be gone two or threedays he takes his short overcoat. And unless I'm here when he leavestown he always gives the servants a holiday till he gets back; sothey've gone and even taken Gamin with 'em, and I'm all alone in thehouse. I can't get even Kitty Silver back until to-morrow, and then I'llprobably have to hunt from house to house among her relatives. Papa leftyesterday, because the numbers on his desk calender are pulled off upto to-day, and that's the first thing he does when he comes down forbreakfast. So here I am, Robinson Crusoe for to-night at least. "

"I suppose, " said Noble huskily, "I suppose you'll go to some of youraunts or brothers or cousins or something. "

"No, " she said. "My trunk may come up from the station almost any time, and if I close the house they'll take it back. "

"You needn't bother about that, Julia. I'll look after it. "

"How?"

"I could sit on the porch till it comes, " he said. "I'd tell 'em youwanted 'em to leave it. " He hesitated, painfully. "I--if you want tolock up the house I--I could wait out on the porch with your trunk, tosee that it was safe, until you come back to-morrow morning. "

She looked full at him, and he plaintively endured the examination. 

"_Noble!_" Undoubtedly she had a moment's shame that any creature shouldcome to such a pass for her sake. "What crazy nonsense!" she said; andsat upon a stool before the crackling fire. "Do sit down, Noble--unlessyour dinner will be waiting for you at home?"

"No, " he murmured. "They never wait for me. Don't you want me to lookafter your trunk?"

"Not by sitting all night with it on the porch!" she said. "I'm going tostay here myself. I'm not going out; I don't want to see any of thefamily to-night. "

"I thought you said you were hungry?"

"I am; but there's enough in the pantry. I looked. "

"Well, if you don't want to see any of 'em, " he suggested, "and theyknow your father's away and think the house is empty, they're liable tonotice the lights and come in, and then you'd have to see 'em. "

"No, you can't see the lights of this room from the street, and I litthe lamp at the other end of the hall. The light near the front door, "Julia added, "I put out. "

"You did?"

"I can't see any of 'em to-night, " she said resolutely. "Besides, I wantto find out what you meant by what you said in the taxicab before I doanything else. "

"What I meant in the taxicab?" he echoed. "Oh, Julia! Julia!"

She frowned, first at the fire, then, turning her head, at Noble. "Youseem to feel reproachful about something, " she observed. 

"No, I don't. I don't feel reproachful, Julia. I don't know what I feel, but I don't feel reproachful. "

She smiled faintly. "Don't you? Well, there's something perhaps you dofeel, and that's hungry. Will you stay to dinner with me--if I go andget it?"

"What?"

"You can have dinner with me--if you want to? You can stay till teno'clock--if you want to? Wait!" she said, and jumped up and ran out ofthe room. 

Half an hour later she came back and called softly to him from thedoorway; and he followed her to the dining-room. 

"It isn't much of a dinner, Noble, " she said, a little tremulously, being for once (though strictly as a cook) genuinely apologetic;--butthe scrambled eggs, cold lamb, salad, and coffee were quite as "much ofa dinner" as Noble wanted. To him everything on that table was hallowed, yet excruciating. 

"Let's eat first and talk afterward, " Julia proposed; but what shemeant by "talk" evidently did not exclude interchange of informationregarding weather and the health of acquaintances, for she spoke freelyupon these subjects, while Noble murmured in response and swallowed alittle of the sacred food, but more often swallowed nothing. Bitterestof all was his thought of what this unexampled seclusion with Juliacould have meant to him, were those poisonous violets not at herwaist--for she had put them on again--and were there no Crum in theSouth. Without these fatal obstructions, the present moment would havebeen to him a bit of what he often thought of as "dream life"; but allits sweetness was a hurt. 

"_Now_ we'll talk!" said Julia, when she had brought him back to thelibrary fire again, and they were seated before it. "Don't you want tosmoke?" He shook his head dismally, having no heart for what sheproposed. "Well, then, " she said briskly, but a little ruefully, "let'sget to the bottom of things. Just what did you mean you had 'in blackand white' in your pocket?"

Slowly Noble drew forth the historic copy of _The North End DailyOriole_; and with face averted, placed it in her extended hand. 

"What in the world!" she exclaimed, unfolding it; and then as its titleand statement of ownership came into view, "Oh, yes! I see. Aunt Carriewrote me that Uncle Joseph had given Herbert a printing-press. I supposeHerbert's the editor?"

"And that Rooter boy, " Noble said sadly. "I think maybe your littleniece Florence has something to do with it, too. "

"'Something' to do with it? She usually has _all_ to do with anythingshe gets hold of! But what's it got to do with me?"

"You'll see!" he prophesied accurately. 

She began to read, laughing at some of the items as she went along; thensuddenly she became rigid, holding the small journal before her in atransfixed hand. 

"Oh!" she cried. "_Oh!_"

"That's--that's what--I meant, " Noble explained. 

Julia's eyes grew dangerous. "The little fiends!" she cried. "Oh, really, this is a long-suffering family, but it's time these outrageswere stopped!"

She jumped up. "Isn't it frightful?" she demanded of Noble. 

"Yes, it is, " he said, with a dismal fervour. "Nobody knows that betterthan I do, Julia!"

"I mean _this_!" she cried, extending the _Oriole_ toward him with avigorous gesture. "I mean this dreadful story about poor Mr. Crum!"

"But it's true, " he said. 

"Noble Dill!"

"Julia?"

"Do you dare to say you believed it?"

He sprang up. "It isn't true?"

"Not one word of it! I told you Mr. Crum is only twenty-six. He hasn'tbeen out of college more than three or four years, and it's the mostterrible slander to say he's ever been married at all!"

Noble dropped back into his chair of misery. "I thought you meant itwasn't true. "

"I've just told you there isn't one _word_ of tr----"

"But you're--engaged, " Noble gulped. "You're engaged to him, Julia!"

She appeared not to hear this. "I suppose it _can_ be lived down, " shesaid. "To think of Uncle Joseph putting such a thing into the hands ofthose awful children!"

"But, Julia, you're eng----"

"Noble!" she said sharply. 

"Well, you _are_ eng----"

Julia drew herself up. "Different people mean different things by thatword, " she said with severity, like an annoyed school-teacher. "Thereare any number of shades of meaning to words; and if I used the word youmention, in writing home to the family, I may have used a certain shadeand they may have thought I intended another. "

"But, Julia----"

"Mr. Crum is a charming young man, " she continued with the sameprimness. "I liked him very much indeed. I liked him very, very much. Iliked him very, _very_----"

"I understand, " he interrupted. "Don't say it any more, Julia. "

"No; you don't understand! At _first_ I liked him very much--in fact, Istill do, of course--I'm sure he's one of the best and most attractiveyoung men in the world. I think he's a man any girl ought to be happywith, if he were only to be considered by himself. I don't deny that. Iliked him very much indeed, and I don't deny that for several days afterhe--after he proposed to me--I don't deny I thought something serious_might_ come of it. But at that time, Noble, I hadn't--hadn't reallythought of what it meant to give up living here at home, with all thefamily and everything--and friends--friends like you, Noble. I hadn'tthought what it would mean to me to give all this up. And besides, therewas something very important. At the time I wrote that letter mentioningpoor Mr. Crum to the family, Noble, I hadn't--I hadn't----" She paused, visibly in some distress. "I hadn't----"

"You hadn't what?" he cried. 

"I hadn't met his mother!"

Noble leaped to his feet. "Julia! You aren't--you aren't engaged?"

"I am not, " she answered decisively. "If I ever was--in the slightest--Icertainly am not now. "

Poor Noble was transfigured. He struggled; making half-formed gestures, speaking half-made words. A rapture glowed upon him. 

"Julia--Julia----" He choked. "Julia, promise me something. Will youpromise me something? Julia, promise to promise me something. "

"I will, " she said quickly. "What do you want me to do?"

Then he saw that it was his time to speak; that this was the moment forhim to dare everything and ask for the utmost he could hope from her. 

"Give me your word!" he said, still radiantly struggling. "Give me yourword--your word--your word and your sacred promise, Julia--that you'llnever be engaged to anybody at all!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

At six minutes after four o'clock on the second afternoon followingJulia's return, Noble Dill closed his own gate behind him and set forthupon the four-minute walk that would bring him to Julia's. He wore a bitof scarlet geranium in the buttonhole of his new light overcoat; heflourished a new walking-stick and new grey gloves. As for hisexpression, he might have been a bridegroom. 

Passing the mouth of an alley, as he swung along the street, he wasaware of a commotion, of missiles hurled and voices clashed. In thisalley there was a discord: passion and mockery were here inimicallyintermingled. 

Casting _a_ glance that way, Noble could see but one person; a boy offourteen who looked through a crack in a board fence, steadfastlykeeping an eye to this aperture and as continuously calling through it, holding his head to a level for this purpose, but at the same timedancing--and dancing tauntingly, it was conveyed--with the other partsof his body. His voice was now sweet, now piercing, and again far toodulcet with the overkindness of burlesque; and if, as it seemed, he wasunburdening his spleen, his spleen was a powerful one and gorged. Heappeared to be in a torment of tormenting; and his success was proved bythe pounding of bricks, parts of bricks and rocks of size upon the otherside of the fence, as close to the crack as might be. 

"Oh, dolling!" he wailed, his tone poisonously amorous. "Oh, dollingHenery! Oo's dot de mos' booful eyes in a dray bid nasty world. Henery!Oh, _has_ I dot booful eyes, dolling Pattywatty? Yes, I _has_! I _has_dot pretty eyes!" His voice rose unbearably. "_Oh_, what prettiest eyesI dot! Me and Herbie Atwater! _Oh_, my booful eyes! Oh, my _booful_----"

But even as he reached this apex, the head, shoulders, and arms ofHerbert Atwater rose momentarily above the fence across the alley, behind the tormentor. Herbert's expression was implacably resentful, andso was the gesture with which he hurled an object at the comedianpreoccupied with the opposite fence. This object, upon reaching itsgoal, as it did more with a splash than a thud, was revealed as atomato, presumably in a useless state. The taunter screamed inastonishment, and after looking vainly for an assailant, begannecessarily to remove his coat. 

Noble, passing on, thought he recognized the boy as one of the Torbinfamily, but he was not sure, and he had no idea that the episode was inany possible manner to be connected with his own recent history. Howblindly we walk our ways! As Noble flourished down the street, thereappeared a wan face at a prison window; and the large eyes looked outupon him wistfully. But Noble went on, as unwitting that he had to dowith this prison as that he had to do with Master Torbin's tomato. 

The face at the window was not like Charlotte Corday's, nor was thewindow barred, though the prisoner knew a little solace in wondering ifshe did not suggest that famous picture. For all purposes, except duringschool hours, the room was certainly a cell; and the term ofimprisonment was set at three days. Uncle Joseph had been unable toremain at the movies forever: people do have to go home eventually, especially when accompanied by thirteen-year-old great-nieces. Florencehad finally to face the question awaiting her; and it would have beenbetter for her had she used less imagination in her replies. 

Yet she was not wholly despondent as her eyes followed the disappearingfigure of Noble Dill. His wholesome sprightliness was visible at anydistance; and who would not take a little pride in having been even themistaken instrument of saving so gay a young man from the loss of hisreason? No; Florence was not cast down. Day-after-to-morrow she wouldtaste Freedom again, and her profoundest regret was that after all herAunt Julia was not to be married. Florence had made definite plans forthe wedding, especially for the principal figure at the ceremony. Thisfigure, as Florence saw things, would have been that of the "FlowerGirl, " naturally a niece of the bride; but she was able to dismiss thebright dream with some philosophy. And to console her for everything, had she not a star in her soul? Had she not discovered that she couldwrite poetry whenever she felt like it?

Noble passed from her sight, but nevertheless continued his radiantprogress down Julia's Street. Life stretched before him, serene, ineffably fragrant, unending. He saw it as a flower-strewn sequence ofcalls upon Julia, walks with Julia, talks with Julia by the libraryfire. Old Mr. Atwater was to be away four days longer, and Julia, thatgreat-hearted bride-not-to-be, had given him her promise. 

Blushing, indeed divinely, she had promised him upon her sacred word, never so long as she lived, to be engaged to anybody at all. 

 THE END

 * * * * *

 BOOKS BY BOOTH TARKINGTON

 ALICE ADAMS BEASLEY'S CHRISTMAS PARTY BEAUTY AND THE JACOBIN CHERRY CONQUEST OF CANAAN GENTLE JULIA HARLEQUIN AND COLUMBINE HIS OWN PEOPLE IN THE ARENA MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE PENROD PENROD AND SAM RAMSEY MILHOLLAND SEVENTEEN THE BEAUTIFUL LADY THE FLIRT THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA THE GIBSON UPRIGHT THE GUEST OF QUESNAY THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS THE MAN FROM HOME THE TURMOIL THE TWO VANREVELS

 * * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

1. Punctuation normalized to contemporary standards. 

2. List of "Books by Booth Tarkington" originally before frontispiece moved to end of text.