IT

AND OTHER STORIES

BY

GOUVERNEUR MORRIS

AUTHOR OF "THE FOOTPRINT, AND OTHER STORIES, ""THE SPREAD EAGLE AND OTHER STORIES, " ETC. 

NEW YORKCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS1912

COPYRIGHT, 1912, BYCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

Published March, 1912

TO ELSIE

 I

 Crown the heads of better men With lilies and with morning-glories! I'm unworthy of a pen-- These are Bread-and-Butter stories. Shall I tell you how I know? Strangers wrote and told me so. 

 II

 He who only toils for fame I pronounce a silly Billy. _I_ can't dine upon a name, Or look dressy in a lily. And--oh shameful truth to utter!-- I _won't_ live on bread and butter. 

 III

 Sometimes now (and sometimes then) Meat and wine my soul requires. Satan tempted me--my pen Fills the house with open fires. I _must_ have a horse or two-- Babies, oh my Love--and you!

G. M. 

AIKEN, _February 10, 1912_. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE_It_ 1

_Two Business Women_ 31

_The Trap_ 73

_Sapphira_ 119

_The Bride's Dead_ 169

_Holding Hands_ 199

_The Claws of The Tiger_ 235

_Growing Up_ 273

_The Battle of Aiken_ 297

_An Idyl of Pelham Bay Park_ 313

_Back There in the Grass_ 337

_Asabri_ 363

IT

Prana Beach would be a part of the solid west coast if it wasn't for ahalf circle of the deadliest, double-damned, orchid-haunted blackmorass, with a solid wall of insects that bite, rising out of it. Butthe beach is good dry sand, and the wind keeps the bugs back in theswamp. Between the beach and the swamp is a strip of loam and jungle, where some niggers live and a god. 

I landed on Prana Beach because I'd heard--but it wasn't so and itdoesn't matter. Anyhow, I landed--all alone; the canoemen wouldn't comenear enough for me to land dry, at that. Said the canoe would shrivelup, like a piece of hide in a fire, if it touched that beach; saidthey'd turn white and be blown away like puffs of smoke. They nearlybacked away with my stuff; would have if I hadn't pulled a gun on them. But they made me wade out and get it myself--thirty foot of rope withknots, dynamite, fuses, primers, compass, grub for a week, and--well, abit of skin in a half-pint flask with a rubber and screw-down top. Notnice, it wasn't, wading out and back and out and back. There was oneshark, I remember, came in so close that he grounded, snout out, andmade a noise like a pig. Sun was going down, looking like a bloodymurder victim, and there wasn't going to be any twilight. It's anuncertain light that makes wading nasty. It might be salt-water soakinginto my jeans, but with that beastly red light over it, it looked likeblood. 

The canoe backed out to the--you can't call 'em a nautical name. They'veone big, square sail of crazy-quilt work--raw silk, pieces of rubberboots, rattan matting, and grass cloth, all colors, all shapes ofpatches. They point into the wind and then go sideways; and they _don't_steer with an oar that Charon discarded thousands of years ago, that'spainted crimson and raw violet; and the only thing they'd be good forwould be fancy wood-carpets. Mine, or better, ours, was made ofsatinwood, and was ballasted with scrap-iron, rotten ivory, and ebony. There, I've told you what she was like (except for the liveentomological collection aboard), and you may call her what you please. The main point is that she took the canoe aboard, and then disobeyedorders. Orders were to lie at anchor (which was a dainty thing of stone, all carved) till further orders. But she'd gotten rid of me, and sheproposed to lie farther off, and come back (maybe) when I'd finished myjob. So she pointed straight in for where I was standing amid my dudsand chattels, just as if she was going to thump herself ashore--and thenshe began to slip off sideways like a misbegotten crab, and backward, too--until what with the darkness tumbling down, and a point o' palms, Ilost sight of her. Why didn't I shout, and threaten, and jump up anddown?

Because I was alone on Prana Beach, between the sea and the swamp. Andbecause the god was beginning to get stirred up; and because now thatI'd gone through six weeks' fever and boils to get where I was, I wishedI hadn't gotten there. No, I wasn't scared. You wouldn't be if you werealone on a beach, after sundown, deserted you may say, your legs shakywith being wet, and your heart hot and mad as fire because you couldn'tdigest the things you had to put into your stomach, and if you'd heardthat the beach was the most malodorous, ghoul-haunted beach of the seas, and if just as you were saying to yourself that _you_ for one didn'tbelieve a word of it--if, I say, just then _It_ began to cut loose--backof you--way off to the left--way off to the right--why you'd have beenscared. 

It wasn't the noise it made so much as the fact that it could make anynoise at all. . . . Shut your mouth tight and hum on the letterm-mmmmmmm--that's it exactly. Only It's was ten times as loud, andvibrating. The vibrations shook me where I stood. 

With the wind right, that humming must have carried a mile out to sea;and that's how it had gotten about that there was a god loose on PranaBeach. It was an It-god, the niggers all agreed. You'll have seen 'emcarved on paddles--shanks of a man, bust of a woman, nose of asnapping-turtle, and mouth round like the letter O. But the Prana Beachone didn't show itself that first night. It hummedawhile--m-m-m-m-m--oh, for maybe a minute--stopped and beganagain--jumped a major fifth, held it till it must have been half burstfor breath, and then went down the scale an octave, hitting every notein the middle, and giving the effect of one damned soul meeting anotherout in eternity and yelling for pure joy and malice. The finish was awhoop on the low note so loud that it lifted my hair. Then the howl wascut off as sharp and neat and sudden as I've seen a Chinaman's headstruck from his body by the executioner at Canton--Big Wan--ever seenhim work? Very pretty. Got to perfection what golfers call "the followthrough. "

Yes. I sauntered into the nearest grove, whistling "Yankee Doodle, "lighted a fire, cooked supper, and turned in for the night. Not!. . . Itook to the woods all right, but on my stomach. And I curled up so tightthat my knees touched my chin. Ever try it? It's the nearest thing tohaving some one with you, when you're cold and alone. Adam must havehad a hard-shell back and a soft-shell stomach, like an armadillo--howdoes it run?--"dillowing in his armor. " Because in moments of real orimaginary danger it's the first instinct of Adam's sons to curl up, andof Eve's daughters. Ever touch a Straits Settlement Jewess on the backof the hand with a lighted cigarette?. . . 

As I'm telling you, I curled up good and tight, head and knees on thegrub sack, Colt and dynamite handy, hair standing perfectly straight up, rope round me on the ground in a circle--I had a damn-fool notion thatIt mightn't be allowed to cross knotted ropes, and I shook with chillsand nightmares and cramps. I could only lie on my left side, for theboils on my right. I couldn't keep my teeth quiet. I couldn't doanything that a Christian ought to do, with a heathen It-god strollingaround. Yes, . . . The thing came out on the beach, in full view of whereI was, but I couldn't see it, because of the pitch dark. It came out, and made noises with its feet in the sand--up and down--up anddown--scrunch--scrunch--something like a man walking, and not in ahurry. Something like it, but not exactly. The It's feet (they haveseven toes according to the nigger paddles) didn't touch the ground asoften as a man's would have done in walking the distance. There'd be onescrunch and then quite a long pause before the next. It sounded like avery, very big man, taking the very longest steps he could. But therewasn't any more mouth work. And for that I'm still offering up prayersof thanksgiving; for, if--say when it was just opposite where I lay, andnot fifty yards off--it had let off anything sudden and loud, I'd havebeen killed as dead as by a stroke of lightning. 

Well, I was just going to break, when day did. Broke so sweet, and calm, and pretty; all pink landward over the black jungle, all smooth andbaby-blue out to sea. Till the sun showed, there was a land breeze--notreally a breeze, just a stir, a cool quiet moving of spicy smells fromone place to another--nothing more than that. Then the sea breeze roseand swept the sky and ocean till they were one and the same blue, theblue that comes highest at Tiffany's; and little puffs of shore birdscame in on the breeze and began to run up and down on the beach, jabbingtheir bills into the damp sand and flapping their little wings. It waslike Eden--Eden-by-the-Sea--I wouldn't have been surprised if Eve hadcome out of the woods yawning and stretching herself. And I wouldn'thave cared--if I'd been shaved. 

I took notice of all this peacefulness and quiet, twenty grains ofquinine, some near food out of a can, and then had a good look aroundfor a good place to stop, in case I got started running. 

I fixed on a sandy knoll that had a hollow in the top of it, and onetwisted beach ebony to shade the hollow. At the five points of a starwith the knoll for centre, but at safe blasting distance, I planteddynamite, primed and short-fused. If anything chased me I hoped to havetime to spring one of these mines in passing, tumble into my hollow andcurl up, with my fingers in my ears. 

I didn't believe in heathen gods when the sea and sky were thatexclusive blue; but I had learned before I was fifteen years old thatday is invariably followed by night, and that between the two there is atime toward the latter end of which you can believe anything. It waswith that dusky period in view that I mined the approaches to my littlevilla at Eden-by-the-Sea. 

Well, after that I took the flask that had the slip of skin in it, unscrewed the top, pulled the rubber cork, and fished the skin out, witha salvage hook that I made by unbending and rebending a hair-pin. . . . Don't smile. I've always had a horror of _accidentally_ finding ahair-pin in my pocket, and so I carry one on purpose. . . . See? Not anairy, fairy Lillian, but an honest, hard-working Jane . . . Good to cleana pipe with. So I fished out the slip of skin (with the one I had then)and spread it out on my knee, and translated what was written on it, forthe thousandth time. 

Can you read that? The old-fashioned S's mix you up. It's straightmodern Italian. I don't know what the ink's made of, but the skin's thereal article--it's taken from just above the knee where a man can get athimself best. It runs this way, just like a "personal" in the _Herald_, only more so:

 Prisoner on Prana Beach will share treasure with rescuing party. Come at once. 

Isn't that just like an oil-well-in-the-South-west-Company's prospectus?"Only a little stock left; price of shares will be raised shortly tothirteen cents. "

I bit. It was knowing what kind of skin the ad. Was written on that gotme. I'd seen cured human hide before. In Paris they've got aConstitution printed on some that was peeled off an aristocrat in theRevolution, and I've seen a seaman's upper arm and back, with thetattoos, in a bottle of alcohol in a museum on Fourteenth Street, NewYork--boys under fourteen not admitted. I wasn't a day over eight when Isaw those tattoos. However. . . . 

To get that prisoner loose was the duty that I owed to humanity; toshare the treasure was the duty that I owed to myself. So I got togethersome niggers, and the fancy craft I've described (on shares with aSingapore Dutchman, who was too fat to come himself, and too muchmarried), and made a start. . . . You're bothered by my calling themniggers. Is that it? Well, the Mason and Dixon line ran plump throughmy father's house; but mother's room being in the south gable, I wasborn, as you may say, in the land of cotton, and consequently in mybright Southern lexicon the word nigger is defined as meaning anythingblack or brown. I think I said that Prana is on the west coast, and thatmay have misled you. But Africa isn't the only God-forsaken place thathas a west coast; how about Staten Island?

Malaysian houses are built mostly of reed and thatch work standing inshallow water on bamboo stalks, highly inflammable and subject toalterations by a blunt pocket-knife. So a favorite device for holding aman prisoner is a hole in the ground too deep and sheer for him to climbout of. That's why I'd brought a length of knotted rope. The dynamitewas instead of men, which we hadn't means to hire or transport, and whowouldn't have landed on that beach anyhow, unless drowned and washed up. Now dynamite wouldn't be a pleasant thing to have round your club oryour favorite restaurant; but in some parts of the world it makes thebest company. It will speak up for you on occasion louder than your bestfriend, and it gives you the feeling of being Jove with a handful ofthunderbolts. My plan was to find in what settlement there was the mostlikely prisoner, drive the inhabitants off for two or three days--oneblast would do that, I calculated (especially if preceded and followedby blowings on a pocket siren)--let my rope down into his well, lift thetreasure with him, and get away with it. 

This was a straight ahead job--except for the god. And in daylight itdidn't seem as if It could be such an awful devil of a god. But It didhave the deuce of a funny spoor, as I made haste to find out. The thinghad five toes, like a man, which was a relief. But unlike nigger feet, the thumb toe and the index weren't spread. The thumb bent sharplyinward, and mixed its pad mark with that of the index. Furthermore, though the impress of the toes was very deep (down-slanting like a manwalking on tiptoe), the heel marks were also very deep, and between toeand heel marks there were no other marks at all. In other words, thething's feet must have been arched like a croquet wicket. And It's heelswere not rounded; they were _perfectly_ round--absolute circles theywere, about the diameter of the smallest sized cans in which Capstantobacco is sold. If ever a wooden idol had stopped squatting and goneout for a stroll on a beach, it would have left just such a track. Onlyit might not have felt that it had to take such peculiarly long steps. 

My knoll being near the south end of Prana Beach (pure patriotism Iassure you), my village hunts must be to the northward. I had one goodhunt, the first day, and I got near some sort of a village, a jungleone built over a pool, as I found afterward. The reason I gave uplooking that day was because the god got between me and where I wastrying to get; burst out humming, you might say, right in my face, though I couldn't see It, and directly I had turned and was tiptoeingquietly away (I remember how the tree trunks looked like teeth in acomb, or the nearest railroad ties from the window of an express train), It set up the most passionate, vindictive, triumphant vocal fireworksever heard out of hell. It made black noises like Niagara Falls, andwhite noises higher than Pike's Peak. It made leaps, lighting on tonesas a carpenter's hammer lights on nails. It ran up and down the majorand minor diatonics, up and down the chromatic, with the speed and furyof a typhoon, and the attention to detail of Paderewski--at his best, when he makes the women faint--and with the power and volume of a churchorgan with all the stops pulled out. It shook and It trilled and Itquavered, and It gargled as if It had a barrel of glycothermoline inIt's mouth and had been exposed to diphtheria, and It finished--just asI tripped on a snake and fell--with a round bar of high C sound, thatlasted a good minute (or until I was a quarter of a mile beyond where Ihad fallen), and was the color of butter, and could have been cut with aknife. And It stopped short--biff--just as if It had been chopped off. 

That was the end of my village hunting. Let the prisoner of Prana Beachdrown in his hole when the rains come, let his treasure remain unliftedtill Gabriel blows his trumpet; but let yours truly bask in the shade ofthe beach ebony, hidden from view, and fortified by dynamite--until thesatinwood shallop should see fit to return and take him off. 

Except for a queer dream (queer because of the time and place, andbecause there seemed absolutely nothing to suggest it to the mindasleep), I put in six hours' solid sleep. In my dream I was in Lombardyin a dark loft where there were pears laid out to ripen; and we werefrightened and had to keep creepy-mouse still--because the father hadcome home sooner than was expected, and was milking his goats in thestable under the loft, and singing, which showed that he was in liquor, and not his usual affable, bland self. I could hear him plainly in mydream, tearing the heart out of that old folk-song called _LaSmortina_--"The Pale Girl":

 "T' ho la scia to e son contento Non m'in cresca niente, niente Altro giovine hogià in mente Pin belino assai di te. "

And I woke up tingling with the remembered fear (it was a mixed feeling, half fright, and half an insane desire to burst out laughing to see whatthe old man would do), and I looked over the rim of my hat, and therewalking toward me, in the baby-blue and pink of the bright dawn (but abig way off), came a straggling line of naked niggers, headed by theIt-god, Itself. 

One look told me that, one look at a great bulk of scarletness, thatwalked upright like a man. I didn't look twice, I scuttled out to mynearest mine, lighted the fuse, tumbled back into the hollow, fingers inears, face screwed up as tight as a face can be screwed, and waited. 

When it was over, and things had stopped falling, I looked out again. The tropic dawn remained as before, but the immediate landscape wassomewhat altered for the worse, and in the distance were neither niggersnor the god. It is possible that I stuck my thumbs into my armpits andwaggled my fingers. I don't remember. But it's no mean sensation to havepitted yourself against a strange god, with perfectly round heels, andto have won out. 

About noon, though, the god came back, fortified perhaps by reflection, and more certainly by a nigger who walked behind him with a spear. You've seen the donkey boys in Cairo make the donkeys trot?. . . This timeI put my trust in the Colt forty-five; and looked the god over, as hecame reluctantly nearer and nearer, singing a magic. 

Do you know the tragedian walk as taken off on the comic opera stage, the termination of each strutting, dragging step accentuated by cymbalssmashed together F-F-F? That was how the god walked. He was all inscarlet, with a long feather sticking straight up from a scarlet cap. And the magic he sang (now that you knew the sounds he made were thoseof a tenor voice, you knew that it was a glorious tenor voice) was amagic out of "Aïda. " It was the magic that what's-his-name sings when heis appointed commander-in-chief of all the Egyptian forces. Now theniggers may have thought that their god's magics were stronger than mydynamite. But the god, though very, very simple, was not so simple asthat. He was an Italian colored man, black bearded, and shaped likeCaruso, only more so, if that is possible; and he sang, because he was asinging machine, but he couldn't have talked. I'll bet on that. He wastoo plumb afraid. 

When he reached the hole that the dynamite had made in the landscape--Ishowed myself; trying to look as much like a dove of peace as possible. 

"Come on alone, " I called in Italian, "and have a bite of lunch. "

That stopped his singing, but I had to repeat. Well he had an argumentwith the nigger, that finished with all the gestures that two monkeyssimilarly situated would have made at each other, and after a time thenigger sat down, and the god came on alone, puffing and indignant. 

We talked in Dago, but I'll give the English of it, so's not to appearto be showing off. 

"Who and what in the seventh circle of hell _are_ you?" I asked. 

He seemed offended that I should not have known. But he gave his name, sure of his effect. "Signor ----" and the name sounded like that towerin Venice that fell down the other day. 

"You don't mean it!" I exclaimed joyfully. "Be seated, " and, I added, being silly with joy and relief at having my awful devil turn into asilly child--"there may be some legacy--though trifling. "

Well, he sat down, and stuck his short, immense hirsute legs out, allcomfy, and I, remembering the tracks on the beach, had a look at hisfeet. And I turned crimson with suppressed laughter. He had woodencylinders three inches high strapped to his bare heels. They made himfive feet five inches high instead of five feet two. They were just suchheels (only clumsier and made of wood instead of cork and crimsonmorocco or silk) as _Siegfried_ wears for mountain climbing, dragonfighting, or other deeds of derring-do. And with these heels to guideme, I sighed, and said:

"Signor Recent-Venetian-Tower, you have the most beautiful pure goldentenor voice that I have ever heard in my life. "

Have you ever been suddenly embraced by a pile-driver, and kissed onboth cheeks by a blacking-brush? I have. Then he held me by theshoulders at arm's length, and looked me in the eyes as if I had been along-lost son returned at last. Then he gathered a kiss in his fingertips and flung it to the heavens. Then he asked if by any chance I hadany spaghetti with me. He cried when I said that I had not; but quietly, not harassingly. And then we got down to real business, and found outabout each other. 

_He_ was the prisoner of Prana Beach. The treasure that he had to sharewith his rescuer was his voice. Two nights a week during the season, attwo thousand a night. But--There was a great big But. 

Signor What-I-said-before, his voice weakened by pneumonia, had taken along travelling holiday to rest up. But his voice, instead of comingback, grew weaker and weaker, driving him finally into a suicidalartistic frenzy, during which he put on his full suit of eveningclothes, a black pearl shirt stud, a tall silk hat, in the dead ofnight, and flung himself from the stern of a P. & O. Boat into the sea. He had no knowledge of swimming and expected to drown at once. But hewas not built for drowning. The laws of buoyancy and displacement causedhim to float upon his back, high out of the water, like an emptybarrel. Nor was the water into which he had fallen as tepid as he hadexpected. From his description, with its accompaniment of shudderingsand shiverings, the temperature must have been as low as 80° Fahrenheit, which is pretty sharp for dagoes. Anyhow, the double shock of the coldand of not drowning instantly acted on his vocal chords. Without eventrying, he said, he knew that his voice had come back. Picture the poorman's despair--overboard in the ocean, wanting to die because he hadnothing to live for, and suddenly discovering that he had everything tolive for. He asserts that he actually forgot the cold, and thought onlyof how to preserve that glorious instrument, his voice; not for himselfbut for mankind. But he could not think out a way, and he asserted thata passion of vain weeping and delirium, during which he kicked himselfwarm, was followed by a noble and godlike calm, during which, lying aseasily upon the sea as on a couch, and inspired by the thought that someear might catch the notes and die the happier for it, he lifted hisdivine voice and sang a swan song. After that he sang twenty-nineothers. And then, in the very midst of _La Bella Napoli_, with which heintended to close (fearing to strain his voice if he sang any more), hethought of sharks. 

Spurred by that thought, he claims to have kicked and beaten with hishands until he was insensible. Otherwise, he would, he said, havecontinued to float about placidly, singing swan songs at intervalsuntil, at last, thinned by starvation to the sinking point, he wouldhave floated no more. 

To shorten up. Signor You-know-what, either owing to his struggles, orto the sea breeze pressing against his stomach, came ashore on PranaBeach; was pounced upon by the niggers, stripped of his glad rags (thetopper had been lost in the shuffle), and dropped into a hole eight feetdeep, for safe-keeping. It was in this hole, buried in sand, that hefound the flask I have told you about. Well, one day, for he had a bitof talent that way, he fell to sketching on his legs, knees, upper thighand left forearm, using for ink something black that they had given himfor breakfast. That night it rained; but next morning his drawings wereas black and sharp as when he had made them; this, coupled with theflask, furnished him with an idea, a very forlorn and hopeless one, butan idea for all that. He had, however, nothing to write his C Q D on buthimself, none of which (for he held himself in trust for his Maker as acomplete whole, he explained) he intended to part with. 

It was in trying to climb out of the hole that he tore a flap of skinfrom his left thigh just above the knee, clean off, except for onethread by which it hung. In less than two days he had screwed up hiscourage to breaking that thread with a sudden jerk. He cured his bit ofhide in a novel way. Every morning he cried on it, and when the tearshad dried, leaving their minute residue of salt, he would work the rawskin with his thumb and a bit of stick he had found. Then a nigger boy, one beast of a hot day, lowered him a gourd of sea-water as a joke, andSignor What-we-agreed-on, made salt of that while the sun shone, andfinished his job of tanning. 

The next time he was given a black breakfast, he wrote his hurry-callmessage and corked it into the flask. And there only remained thesomewhat herculean task of getting that flask flung into the sea. 

You'll never believe how it got there finally. But I'll tell you for allthat. A creek flowed near the dungeon in which the famous tenor wasincarcerated. And one night of cloud-burst that creek burst itscerements, banks I mean, filled the singing man's prison in two jerks ofa lamb's tail, and floated both him and his flask out of it. He groundedas usual, but the flask must have been rushed down to the sea. For inthe sea it was found, calmly bobbing, and less than two years later. Anigger fisherman found it, and gave it to me, in exchange for aWaterbury watch. He tried to make me take his daughter instead, but Iwouldn't. 

Signor What-you-would-forget-if-I-told-you wasn't put back in hisdungeon till the rainy season was at an end. Instead he was picketed. Arope ran from his wrists, which were tied behind his back, and wasinserted through the handles (it had a pair of them like ears just abovethe trunnions) of a small bronze cannon, that had Magellan's name andthe arms of Spain engraved around the touch-hole. And thus picketed, hewas rained on, joked on, and abused until dry weather. Then, it was thefirst happiness that he had had among them, they served him one day witha new kind of fish that had begun to run in the creek. It tasted likeCarlton sole, he said. And it made him feel so good that, being quite byhimself and the morning blue and warm, he began, sitting on his littlecannon, to hum an aria. Further inspirited by his own tunefulness, herose (and of course struck an attitude) and opened his mouth and sang. 

Oh, how good it was to hear--as he put it himself--after all thosemonths of silence!

Well, the people he belonged to came running up with eyes like saucersand mouths open, and they squatted at his feet in a semicircle, andwomen came and children. They had wonder in their faces and fear. Lastcame the old chief, who was too old to walk, and was carried always in achair which two of his good-natured sons-in-law made with their hands. And the old chief, when he had listened awhile with his little baldmonkey head cocked on one side, signed to be put down. And he stood onhis feet and walked. 

And he took out a little khris and walked over to the Divo, and cut theropes that bound him, and knelt before him and kowtowed, and pressed thelate prisoner's toes with his forehead. Then--and this was terriblytouching, my informant said, and reminded him of St. Petersburg--one ofthe old chief's granddaughters, a little brown slip of a girl, slenderand shapely as a cigar, flung her arms round his neck, and hung--justhung. When they tried to get her away she kicked at them, but she neverso much as once changed the expression of her upturned face, which wasone of adoration. Well, the people hollered and made drums of theircheeks and beat on them, and the first thing Signor Recent-Disaster knewhe was being dressed in a scarlet coat that had belonged to a Britishcolonel dead this hundred years. The girl by now had had to let go andhad dropped at his feet like a ripe guava--and he was being ushered intothe largest bamboo-legged house that the place boasted, and told asplainly as round eyes, gesticulations, and moans can, that the house washis to enjoy. Then they began to give him things. First his own dresssuit, ruined by sea-water and shrinking, his formerly boiled shirt, hisred silk underwear still wearable, his black pearl stud and everystiver of gold, silver, copper, and English banknotes that had beenfound in his pockets. They gave him knives, rough silver bangles, heapsof elaborate mats, a handful of rather disappointing pearls, a scarlethead-dress with a feather that had been a famous chief's, a gun withouta lock, and, what pleased him most (must have), a bit of looking-glassbig enough to see half of his face in at a time. They allowed him tochoose his own house-keeper; and, although several beauties were knockeddown in the ensuing riot, he managed to satisfy them that hisunalterable choice rested upon the little lady who had been the mostconvincing in her recognition of his genius, and--what's theline?--"Hang there like fruit, my soul, till the tree die. "

Well, he offered to put me up, and show me how the gods keep house. Icounter-offered to keep him with me, by force of dynamite, carry himback to civilization, and go shares on his voice, as per circular. Andthis is where the big But comes in. My offer was pestilential; heshunned it. 

"You shall have my black pearl stud for your trouble, " he said. "Ibought her years ago in a pawnshop at Aix. But _me_--no. I have found myniche, and my temple. But you shall be the judge of that. "

"You don't _want_ to escape?"

His mouth curled in scorn at the very idea. 

"Try to think of how much spaghetti you could buy for a song. "

His eyes and mouth twitched. But he sighed, and shook his head. 

"Do you know, " said he, "when you demonstrated against us with yourdynamite it was instantly concluded that you were some new kind of a godcome to inhabit the beach. It was proposed that I go against you singinga charm that should drive you away. But, as you saw, I came only at thespear's point. Do you think I was afraid? I was; but not of yourgodship. I had seen your tracks, I had seen the beach rise to yourexplosive, and I knew that as one Christian gentleman I had nothing onthe lines of violence to fear from another. Your explosion was like anote, asking me when I should next call to bring fewer attendants. I_was_ afraid; I was afraid that you were not one, alone, but several, and that you would compel me to return with you to a world in which, take it for all and all, the good things, such as restaurants, artificial heat, Havana cigars, and Steinway pianos, are nullified byclimatic conditions unsuited to vocal chords, fatal jealousies amongmembers of the same artistic professions, and a public that listens butdoes not hear; or that hears and does not listen. But you shall stopwith me a few days, in my house. You shall see for yourself that amongall artists I alone enjoy an appreciation and solicitude that are betterthan gold. "

Signor Shall-we-let-it-go-at-that had not lied to me. And all he askedwas, with many apologies, that I should treat him with a certainreverence, a little as if he were a conqueror. So all the way to thevillage I walked two paces right flank rear, and wore a solemn andsubdued expression. My host approached the dwellings of his people withan exaggeration of tragi-comic stride, dragging his high-heeled feet asHenry Irving used, raising and advancing his chest to the burstingpoint, and holding his head so proudly that the perpendicular feather ofhis cap leaned backward at a sharp angle. With his scarlet soldier'scoat, all burst along the seams, and not meeting by a yard over his redsilk undershirt, with his bit of broken mirror dangling at his waistlike a lady's jewelled "vanity set, " with his china-ink black mustacheand superb beard, he presented for all the purposes of the time andplace an appearance in keeping with the magnificence of his voice and ofhis dreams. 

When we got among the houses, from which came a great peeping of shyeyes, the Signor suddenly raised his fingers to his throat and sounded ashocking b-r-rr-rrr of alarm and anxiety. Then there arose a murmur, almost pitiful it was so heartfelt, as of bees who fear an irreparabletragedy in the hive. The old chief came out of the council-house uponthe hands of his good-natured sons-in-law, and he was full of tendernessand concern. I saw my friend escorted into his own dwelling by ladieswho sighed and commiserated. But already the call for help had reachedthe tenor's slip of a wife; and she, with hands that shook, waspreparing a compress of leaves that smelt of cinnamon and cloves. I, too, showed solicitude, and timidly helped my conqueror to the heapedmats upon which he was wont to recline in the heat of the day. He hadmade himself a pair of very round terrified eyes, and he had not takenthe compress from his throat. But he spoke quietly, and as one possessedof indomitable fortitude. In Malay he told his people that it was"nothing, just a little--brrr--soreness and thickening, " and he let slipsuch a little moan as monkeys make. To me he spoke in Italian. 

"I shall have to submit to a bandage, " said he. "But there is nothingthe matter with my throat" (slight monkey moan here for benefit ofadorers), "absolutely nothing. I have invented a slight soreness so--sothat you could see for yourself . . . So that you could see foryourself. . . . If you were to count those here assembled and thoseassembled without, you would number our entire population, includingchildren and babes in arms" (a slight moan while compress is beingreadjusted over Adam's apple by gentle, tremulous brown fingers), "andamong these, my friend, are no dissenters. There is none here to standforth and say that on Tuesday night Signor And-he-pronounced-it'ssinging was lacking in those golden tones for which we used to look tohim. His voice, indeed, is but a skeleton of its former self, and shallwe say that the public must soon tire of a singer with so pronounced atendency to flat?

"Here in this climate, " he continued, "my voice by dint of constant andpainstaking care and practice has actually improved. I should not havesaid that this was possible; but a man must believe experience. . . . Andthen these dear, amiable people are one in their acclaim of me; althoughI sometimes grieve, not for myself, but for them, to think that they cannever _really_ know what they've got. . . . "

I sometimes wonder how the god of Prana Beach will be treated when hebegins to age and to lose his voice. It worries me--a little. 

The black pearl stud? Of course not, you wretched materialist. I sold itin the first good market I came to. No good ever came of materialpossessions, and always much payment of storage bills. But I have acollection of memories that I am fond of. 

Still, on second thought, and if I had the knack of setting themstraight on paper, I'd part even with them for a consideration, especially if I felt that I could reach such an appreciative audience asthat of Prana Beach, which sits upon its heels in worship and humilityand listens to the divine fireworks of Signor I-have-forgotten-too. 

TWO BUSINESS WOMEN

They engaged themselves to be married when they were so young theycouldn't tell anybody about it for fear of being laughed at; and if Imentioned their years to you, you would laugh at me. They thought theywere full-grown, but they weren't even that. When they were finallymarried they couldn't either of them have worn the clothes they gotengaged in. The day they got engaged they wore suits made of whitewoollen blankets, white knitted toques, and white knitted sashes. It wasbecause they were dressed exactly alike that they first got excitedabout each other. And Cynthia said: "You look just like a snowman. " AndG. G. --which was his strange name--said: "You look just like asnowbird. "

G. G. Was in Saranac for his health. Cynthia had come up for theholidays to skate and to skee and to coast, and to get herself engagedbefore she was full-grown to a boy who was so delicate that climate wasmore important for him than education. They met first at the rink. Andit developed that if you crossed hands with G. G. And skated with himyou skated almost as well as he did. He could teach a girl to waltz infive minutes; and he had a radiant laugh that almost moved you to tearswhen you went to bed at night and got thinking about it. Cynthia hadnever seen a boy with such a beautiful round head and such beautifulwhite teeth and such bright red cheeks. She always said that she lovedhim long before he loved her. As a matter of fact, it happened to themboth right away. As one baby, unabashed and determined, embraces astrange baby--and is embraced--so, from their first meeting in the greatcold stillness of the North Woods, their young hearts snuggled together. 

G. G. Was different from other boys. To begin with, he had been born atsea. Then he had lived abroad and learned the greatest quantity offoreign languages and songs. Then he had tried a New Englandboarding-school and had been hurt playing games he was too frail toplay. And doctors had stethoscoped him and shaken their heads over him. And after that there was much naming of names which, instead offrightening him, were magic to his ear--Arizona, California, Saranac--but, because G. G. 's father was a professional man andperfectly square and honest, there wasn't enough money to send G. G. Farfrom New York and keep him there and visit him every now and then. SoSaranac was the place chosen for him to get well in; and it seemed alittle hard, because there was almost as much love of sunshine andwarmth and flowers and music in G. G. As there was patience and courage. 

The day they went skeeing together--which was the day after they hadskated together--he told Cynthia all about himself, very simply andnaturally, as a gentleman farmer should say: "This is the dairy; this isthe blacksmith shop; this is the chicken run. " And the next day, veryearly, when they stood knee-deep in snow, armed with shot-guns andwaiting for some dogs that thought they were hounds to drive rabbits forthem to shoot at, he told her that nothing mattered so long as you werehappy and knew that you were happy, because when these two stars cameinto conjunction you were bound to get well. 

A rabbit passed. And G. G. Laid his mitten upon his lips and shook hishead; and he whispered:

"I wouldn't shoot one for anything in the world. "

And she said: "Neither would I. "

Then she said: "If you don't shoot why did you come?"

"Oh, Miss Snowbird, " he said, "don't I look why I came? Do I have to sayit?"

He looked and she looked. And their feet were getting colder everymoment and their hearts warmer. Then G. G. Laughed aloud--bright, suddenmusic in the forest. Snow, balanced to the fineness of a hair, fellfrom the bowed limbs of trees. Then there was such stillness as may bein Paradise when souls go up to the throne to be forgiven. Then, faroff, one dog that thought he was a hound began to yap and thought he wasbelling; but still G. G. Looked into the snowbird's eyes and she intohis, deeper and deeper, until neither had any secret of soul from theother. So, upon an altar cloth, two wax candles burn side by side, withclear, pure light. 

Cynthia had been well brought up, but she came of rich, impatient stock, and never until the present moment had she thought very seriously aboutGod. Now, however, when she saw the tenderness there was in G. G. 's eyesand the smile of serene joyousness that was upon his lips, sheremembered the saying that God has made man--and boys--in His image--andunderstood what it meant. 

She said: "I know why you think you've come. "

"Think?" he said. "Think!"

And then the middle ends of his eyebrows rose--all tender and quizzical;and with one mitten he clutched at his breast--just over his heart. Andhe said:

"If only I could get it out I would give it to you!"

Cynthia, too, began to look melting tender and wondrous quizzical; andshe bent her right arm forward and plucked at its sleeve as if she werelooking for something. Then, in a voice of dismay:

"Only three days ago it was still there, " she said; "and now it'sgone--I've lost it. "

"Oh!" said G. G. "You don't suspect me of having purloined--" His voicebroke. 

"We're only kids, " said Cynthia. 

"Yes, " said he; "but you're the dearest kid!"

"Since you've taken my heart, " said she, "you'll not want to give itback, will you? I think that would break it. "

"I oughtn't to have taken it!" said G. G. 

And then on his face she saw the first shadow that ever he had let hersee of doubt and of misgiving. 

"Listen!" he said. "My darling! I think that I shall get well. . . . Ithink that, once I am well, I shall be able to work very hard. I havenothing. I love you so that I think even angels don't want to do rightmore than I do. Is that anything to offer? Not very much. "

"Nobody in all the world, " said she, "will ever have the chance to offerme anything else--just because I'm a kid doesn't mean that I don't knowthe look of forever when I see it. "

"Is it really forever?" he said. "For you too?"

"For me--surely!"

"Ah, " said he, "what shall I think of to promise you?"

His face was a flash of ecstasy. 

"You don't even have to promise that you will get well, " she said. "Iknow you will try your hardest. No matter what happens--we're final--andI shall stick to you always, and nothing shall take you from me, andnobody. . . . When I am of age I shall tell my papa about us and then weshall be married to each other! And meanwhile you shall write to meevery day and I shall write to you three times every day!" Her breathcame like white smoke between her parted lips and she stood valiant andsturdy in the snow--a strong, resolute girl, built like aboy--clean-cut, crystal-pure, and steel-true. A shot sounded and therecame to them presently the pungent, acid smell of burnt powder. 

"And we shall never hurt things or kill them, " said G. G. "And every daywhen I've been good I shall kiss your feet and your hands. "

"And when I've been good, " she said, "you'll smile at me the way you'resmiling now--and it won't be necessary to die and go to Heaven to seewhat the gentlemen angels look like. "

"But, " cried G. G. , "whoever heard of going to Heaven? It comes topeople. It's here. "

"And for us, " she said, "it's come to stay. "

All the young people came to the station to see Cynthia off and G. G. Had to content himself with looking things at her. And then he went backto his room and undressed and went to bed. Because for a week he haddone all sorts of things that he shouldn't have done, just to be withCynthia--all the last day he had had fever and it had been very hard forhim to look like a joyous boy angel--he knew by experience that he wasin for a "time. " It is better that we leave him behind closed doors withhis doctors and his temperature. We may knock every morning and ask howhe is, and we shall be told that he is no better. He was even deliriousat times. And it is only worth while going into this setback of G. G'sbecause there are miracles connected with it--his daily letter toCynthia. 

Each day she had his letter--joyous, loving, clearly writ, and full offlights into silver-lined clouds and the plannings of Spanish castles. Each day G. G. Wrote his letter and each day he descended a littlefarther into the Valley of the Shadow, until at last he came to DeathGate--and then rested, a voyager undecided whether to go on or to goback. Who may know what it cost him to write his letter, sitting thereat the roadside!

His mother was with him. It was she who took the letter from his handswhen he sank back into his pillows; and they thought for a little thathe had gone from that place--for good and all. It was she who put itinto the envelope and who carried it with her own hands to thepost-office. Because G. G. Had said: "To get there, it must go by thenight's mail, Mumsey. "

G. G. 's mother didn't read the letter; but you may be sure she noteddown the name and address in her heart of hearts, and that for the girlwho seemed to mean so much to G. G. She developed upon the spot aheavenly tenderness, mixed with a heavenly jealousy. 

II

One day there came to G. G. , in convalescence--it was after his motherhad gone back to New York--a great, thick package containing photographsand a letter. I think the letter contained rouge--because it made G. G. 's cheeks so red. 

Cynthia had collected all the pictures she could find of herself in herfather's house and sent them to G. G. There were pictures of her in thelongest baby clothes and in the shortest. There were pictures posed foroccasions, pictures in fancy clothes, and a quart of kodaks. He had herthere on his knees--riding, driving, diving, skating, walking, sittingon steps, playing with dogs, laughing, looking sad, talking, dimpling, smiling. There were pictures that looked right at G. G. , no matter atwhat angle he held them. There were pictures so delicious of her thathe laughed aloud for delight. 

All the stages of her life passed before his eyes--over and over--allday long; and, instead of growing more and more tired, he grew more andmore refreshed. He made up his spotless mind to be worthy of her and tomake, for her to bear, a name of which nobody should be able to sayanything unkind. 

If G. G. Had had very little education he had made great friends withsome of the friendliest and most valuable books that had ever beenwritten. And he made up his mind, lying at full length--the livelongday--in the bright, cold air--his mittened hands plunged into deeppockets full of photographs--that, for her sake and to hasten that timewhen they might always be together, he would learn to write books, taking infinite pains. And he determined that these books should be assweet and clean and honorable as he could make them. You see, G. G. Hadbeen under the weather so much and had suffered so much all alone byhimself, with nobody to talk to, that his head was already full ofstories about make-believe places and people that were just dying to getthemselves written. So many things that are dead to most people hadalways been alive to him--leaves, flowers, fairies. He had always been abusy maker of verses, which was because melody, rhythm, and harmony hadalways been delicious to his ear. And he had had, as a little boy, asoprano voice that was as true as truth and almost as agile as a canarybird's. 

He decided, then, very deliberately--lying upon his back and healingthat traitor lung of his--to be a writer. He didn't so decide entirelybecause that was what he had always wanted to be, but for many reasons. First place, he could say things to her through prose and verse thatcould not be expressed in sculpture, music, painting, groceries, ordry-goods. Second place, where she was, there his heart was sure to be;and where the heart is, there the best work is done. And, third place, he knew that the chances were against his ever living in dusty cities orin the places of business thereof. 

"I am so young, " he wrote to her, "that I can begin at the beginning andlearn to be anything--in time to be it! And so every morning now youshall think of G. G. Out with his butterfly net, running after wingedwords. That's nonsense. I've a little pad and a big pencil, and a hotpotato in my pocket for to warm the numb fingers at. And father's got anold typewriter in his office that's to be put in order for me; andnights I shall drum upon it and print off what was written down in themorning, and study to see why it's all wrong. I think I'll never writeanything but tales about people who love each other. 'Cause a fellowwants to stick to what he knows about. . . . "

Though G. G. Was not to see Cynthia again for a whole year he didn'tfind any trouble in loving her a little more every day. To his mind'seye she was almost as vivid as if she had been standing right there infront of him. And as for her voice, that dwelt ever in his ear, likethose lovely airs which, once heard, are only put aside with death. Youmay have heard your grandmother lilting to herself, over her mending, some song of men and maidens and violets that she had listened to in hergirlhood and could never forget. 

And then, of course, everything that G. G. Did was a reminder ofCynthia. With the help of one of Doctor Trudeau's assistants, who cameevery day to see how he was getting on, he succeeded in understandingvery well what was the matter with him and under just what conditions aconsumptive lung heals and becomes whole. To live according to theletter and spirit of the doctor's advice became almost a religion withhim. 

For six hours of every day he sat on the porch of the house where he hadrooms, writing on his little pad and making friends with the keen, clean, healing air. Every night the windows of his bedroom stood wideopen, so that in the morning the water in his pitcher was a solid block. And he ate just the things he was told to--and willed himself to likemilk and sugar, and snow and cold, and short days!

In his writing he began to see progress. He was like a musical personbeginning to learn an instrument; for, just as surely as there arescales to be run upon the piano before your virtuoso can weave music, binding the gallery gods with delicious meshes of sound, so inprose-writing there must be scales run, fingerings worked out, andharmonies mastered. For in a page of _lo bello stile_ you will findtrills and arpeggios, turns, grace notes, a main theme, a sub theme, thorough-bass, counterpoint, and form. 

Music is an easier art than prose, however. It comes to men as a moredirect and concrete gift of those gods who delight in sound and theco-ordination of parts. The harmonies are more quickly grasped by thewell-tuned ear. We can imagine the boy Mozart discoursing lovely musicat the age of five; but we cannot imagine any one of such tender yearscompiling even a fifth-rate paragraph of prose. 

Those men who have mastered _lo bello stile_ in music can tell us prettyclearly how the thing is done. There be rules. But your prose masterseither cannot formulate what they have learned--or will not. 

G. G. Was very patient; and there were times when the putting togetherof words was fascinating, like the putting together of those picturepuzzles which were such a fad the other day. And such reading as he didwas all in one book--the dictionary. For hours, guided by his nice earfor sound, he applied himself to learning the derivatives and exactmeanings of new words--or he looked up old words and found that theywere new. 

As for his actual compositions, he had only the ambition to make them asworkmanlike as he could. He made little landscapes; he drew littleinteriors. He tried to get people up and down stairs in the fewest wordsthat would make the picture. And when he thought that he had scored alittle success he would count the number of words he had used anddetermine to achieve the same effect with the use of only half thatnumber. 

Well, G. G. 's lung healed again; and this time he was very careful notto overdo. He had gained nine pounds, he wrote to Cynthia--"saved them"was the way he put it; and he was determined that this new tissue, worthmore than its weight in gold, should go to bank and earn interest forhim--and compound interest. 

"Shall I get well?" he asked that great dreamer who dreamed that therewas hope for people who had never hoped before--and who has lived to seehis dream come true; and the great dreamer smiled and said:

"G. G. , if growing boys are good boys and do what they are told, andhave any luck at all--they always get well!"

Then G. G. Blushed. 

"And when I am well can I live where I please--and--and getmarried--and all that sort of thing?"

"You can live where you please, marry and have children; and if youaren't a good husband and a good father I dare say you'll live to behanged at ninety. But if I were you, G. G. , I'd stick by the Adirondacksuntil you're old enough to--know better. "

And G. G. Went back to his rooms in great glee and typewrote a storythat he had finished as well as he could, and sent it to a magazine. Andsix days later it came back to him, with a little note from the editor, who said:

"There's nothing wrong with your story except youth. If you say so we'llprint it. We like it. But, personally, and believing that I have yourbest interests at heart, I advise you to wait, to throw this story intoyour scrap basket, and to study and to labor until your mind and yourtalent are mature. For the rest, I think you are going to do some finethings. This present story isn't that--it's not fine. At the same time, it is so very good in some ways that we are willing to leave itspublication or its destruction to your discretion. "

G. G. Threw his story into the scrap basket and went to bed with abrand-new notion of editors. 

"Why, " said he to the cold darkness--and his voice was full of awe andastonishment--"they're--alive!"

III

Cynthia couldn't get at G. G. And she made up her mind that she must getat something that belonged to him--or die. She had his letter, ofcourse, and his kodaks; and these spoke the most eloquent language toher--no matter what they said or how they looked--but she wanted somehowor other to worm herself deeper into G. G. 's life. To find somebody, forinstance, who knew all about him and would enjoy talking about him bythe hour. Now there are never but two people who enjoy sitting by thehour and saying nice things about any man--and these, of course, are thewoman who bore him and the woman who loves him. Fathers like their sonswell enough--sometimes--and will sometimes talk about them and praisethem; but not always. So it seemed to Cynthia that the one and onlything worth doing, under the circumstances, was to make friends with G. G. 's mother. To that end, Cynthia donned a warm coat of pony-skin anddrove in a taxicab to G. G. 's mother's address, which she had long sincelooked up in the telephone book. 

"If she isn't alone, " said Cynthia, "I shan't know what to say or whatto do. "

And she hesitated, with her thumb hovering about the front-doorbell--as a humming-bird hovers at a flower. 

Then she said: "What does it matter? Nobody's going to eat me. " And sherang the bell. 

G. G. 's mother was at home. She was alone. She was sitting in G. G. 'sfather's library, where she always did sit when she was alone. It waswhere she kept most of her pictures of G. G. 's father and of G. G. , though she had others in her bedroom; and in her dressing-room she had adapple-gray horse of wood that G. G. Had galloped about on when he waslittle. She had a sweet face, full of courage and affection. Andeverything in her house was fresh and pretty, though there wasn'tanything that could have cost very much. G. G. 's father was a lawyer. Hewas more interested in leaving a stainless name behind him than a pot ofmoney. And, somehow, fruit doesn't tumble off your neighbor's tree andfall into your own lap--unless you climb the tree when nobody is lookingand give the tree a sound shaking. I might have said of G. G. , in thevery beginning, that he was born of poor _and_ honest parents. It wouldhave saved all this explanation. 

G. G. 's mother didn't make things hard for Cynthia. One glance wasenough to tell her that dropping into the little library out of the bluesky was not a pretty girl but a blessed angel--not a rich man'sdaughter but a treasure. It wasn't enough to give one hand to such amaiden. G. G. 's mother gave her two. But she didn't kiss her. She feltthings too deeply to kiss easily. 

"I've come to talk about G. G. , " said Cynthia. "I couldn't help it. Ithink he's the _dearest_ boy!"

She finished quite breathless--and if there had been any Jacqueminotroses present they might have hung their lovely heads in shame and leftthe room. 

"G. G. Has shown me pictures of you, " said his mother. "And once, whenwe thought we were going to lose him, he used his last strength to writeto you. I mailed the letter. That is a long time ago. Nearly two years. 

"And I didn't know that he'd been ill in all that time, " said Cynthia;"he never told me. "

"He would have cut off his hand sooner than make you anxious. That waswhy he _would_ write his daily letter to you. That one must have beenalmost as hard to write as cutting off a hand. "

"He writes to me every day, " said Cynthia, "and I write to him; but Ihaven't seen him for a year and I don't feel as if I could stand it muchlonger. When he gets well we're going to be married. And if he doesn'tget well pretty soon we're going to be married anyway. "

"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed G. G. 's mother. "You know that wouldn't beright!"

"I don't know, " said Cynthia; "and if anybody thinks I'm going to betricked out of the man I love by a lot of silly little germs they arevery much mistaken!"

"But, my dear, " said G. G. 's mother, "G. G. Can't support a wife--notfor a long time anyway. We have nothing to give him. And, of course, hecan't work now--and perhaps can't for years. "

"I, too, " said Cynthia--with proper pride--"have parents. Mine arerolling in money. Whenever I ask them for anything they always give itto me without question. "

"You have never asked them, " said G. G. 's mother, "for a sick, pennilessboy. "

"But I shall, " said Cynthia, "the moment G. G. 's well--and maybesooner. "

There was a little silence. 

Then G. G. 's mother leaned forward and took both of Cynthia's hands inhers. 

"I don't wonder at him, " she said--"I don't. I was ever so jealous ofyou, but I'm not any more. I think you're the _dearest_ girl!"

"Oh!" cried Cynthia. "I am so glad! But will G. G. 's father like metoo?"

"He has never yet failed, " said G. G. 's mother, "to like with his wholeheart anything that was stainless and beautiful. "

"Is he like G. G. ?"

"He has the same beautiful round head, but he has a rugged look that G. G. Will never have. He has a lion look. He might have been a terribletyrant if he hadn't happened, instead, to be a saint. "

And she showed Cynthia, side by side, pictures of the father and theboy. 

"They have such valiant eyes!" said Cynthia. 

"There is nothing base in my young men, " said G. G. 's mother. 

Then the two women got right down to business and began an interminableconversation of praise. And sometimes G. G. 's mother's eyes cried alittle while the rest of her face smiled and she prattled like a brook. And the meeting ended with a great hug, in which G. G. 's mother's tinyfeet almost parted company with the floor. 

And it was arranged that they two should fly up to Saranac and be withG. G. For a day. 

IV

It wasn't from shame that G. G. Signed another name than his own to thestories that he was making at the rate of one every two months. Hejudged calmly and dispassionately that they were "going to be prettygood some day, " and that it would never be necessary for him to live ina city. He signed his stories with an assumed name because he was fullof dramatic instinct. He wanted to be able--just the minute he waswell--to say to Cynthia:

"Let us be married!" Then she was to say: "Of course, G. G. ; but whatare we going to live on?" And G. G. Was going to say: "Ever hear ofso-and-so?"

CYNTHIA: Goodness gracious! Sakes alive! Yes; I should think I had! And, except for you, darlingest G. G. , I think he's the very greatest man inall the world!

G. G. : Goosey-Gander, know that he and I are one and the sameperson--and that we've saved seventeen hundred dollars to get marriedon!

(Tableau not to be seen by the audience. )

So far as keeping Cynthia and his father and mother in ignorance of thefledgling wings he was beginning to flap, G. G. Succeeded admirably; butit might have been better to have told them all in the beginning. 

Now G. G. 's seventeen hundred dollars was a huge myth. He was writingshort stories at the rate of six a year and he had picked out to dobusiness with one of the most dignified magazines in the world. Dignified people do not squander money. The magazine in question paid G. G. From sixty to seventy dollars apiece for his stories and was much toodignified to inform him that plenty of other magazines--very frivolousand not in the least dignified--would have been ashamed to pay so littlefor anything but the poems, which all magazines use to fill up blankspaces. So, even in his own ambitious and courageous mind, a "marriedliving" seemed a very long way off. 

He refused to be discouraged, however. His health was too good for that. The doctor pointed to him with pride as a patient who followedinstructions to the letter and was not going to die of the disease whichhad brought him to Saranac. And they wrote to G. G's father--who wasfinding life very expensive--that, if he could keep G. G. At Saranac, oralmost anywhere out of New York, for another year or two, theyguaranteed--as much as human doctors can--that G. G. Would then be assound as a bell and fit to live anywhere. 

This pronouncement was altogether too much of a good thing for Fate. AsG. G's father walked up-town from his office, Fate raised a dust in hisface which, in addition to the usual ingredients of city dust, containedat least one thoroughly compatible pair of pneumonia germs. These wentfor their honey-moon on a pleasant, warm journey up G. G's father's leftnostril and to house-keeping in his lungs. In a few hours they raised afamily of several hundred thousand bouncing baby germs; and these grewup in a few minutes and began to set up establishments of their ownright and left. 

G. G. 's father admitted that he had a "heavy cold on the chest. " It wassuch a heavy cold that he became delirious, and doctors came and sentfor nurses; and there was laid in the home of G. G. 's father thecorner-stone of a large edifice of financial disaster. 

He had never had a partner. His practice came to a dead halt. Thedoctors whom G. G. 's mother called in were, of course, the best she hadever heard of. They would have been leaders of society if their personshad been as fashionable as their prices. The corner drug store made itsmodest little profit of three or four hundred per cent on the drugswhich were telephoned for daily. The day nurse rolled up twenty-fivedollars a week and the night nurse thirty-five. The servant's wagescontinued as usual. The price of beef, eggs, vegetables, etc. , rose. Theinterest on the mortgage fell due. And it is a wonder, considering howmuch he worried, that G. G. 's father ever lived to face his obligations. 

Cynthia, meanwhile, having heard that G. G. Was surely going to getwell, was so happy that she couldn't contain the news. And she proceededto divulge it to her father. 

"Papa, " she said, "I think I ought to tell you that years ago, atSaranac--that Christmas when I went up with the Andersons--I met theman that I am going to marry. He was a boy then; but now we're bothgrown up and we feel just the same about each other. "

And she told her father G. G. 's name and that he had been very delicate, but that he was surely going to get well. Cynthia's father, who hadalways given her everything she asked for until now, was not at allenthusiastic. 

"I can't prevent your marrying any one you determine to marry, Cynthia, "he said. "Can this young man support a wife?"

"How could he!" she exclaimed--"living at Saranac and not being able towork, and not having any money to begin with! But surely, if the way_we_ live is any criterion, you could spare us some money--couldn'tyou?"

"You wish me to say that I will support a delicate son-in-law whom Ihave never seen? Consult your intelligence, Cynthia. "

"I have my allowance, " she said, her lips curling. 

"Yes, " said her father, "while you live at home and do as you're told. "

"Now, papa, don't tell me that you're going to behave like a lugubriousparent in a novel! Don't tell me that you are going to cut me off with ashilling!"

"I shan't do that, " he said gravely; "it will be without a shilling. "But he tempered this savage statement with a faint smile. 

"Papa, dear, is this quite definite? Are you talking in your right mindand do you really mean what you say?"

"Suppose you talk the matter over with your mother--she's alwaysindulged you in every way. See what she says. "

It developed that neither of Cynthia's parents was enthusiastic at theprospect of her marrying a nameless young man--she had told them hisname, but that was all she got for her pains--who hadn't a penny and whohad had consumption, and might or might not be sound again. Personallythey did not believe that consumption can be cured. It can be arrestedfor a time, they admitted, but it always comes back. Cynthia's mothereven made a physiological attack on Cynthia's understanding, with theresult that Cynthia turned indignantly pink and left the room, saying:

"If the doctor thinks it's perfectly right and proper for us to marry Idon't see the least point in listening to the opinions of excited andprejudiced amateurs. "

The ultimatum that she had from her parents was distinct, final, andpainful. 

"Marry him if you like. We will neither forgive you nor support you. "

They were perfectly calm with her--cool, affectionate, sensible, andworldly, as it is right and proper for parents to be. She told them theywere wrong-headed, old-fashioned, and unintelligent; but as long as theyhadn't made scenes and talked loud she found that she couldn't helploving them almost as much as she always had; but she loved G. G. Verymuch more. And having definitely decided to defy her family, to marry G. G. And live happily ever afterward, she consulted her check-book anddiscovered that her available munition of war was something less thanfive hundred dollars--most of it owed to her dress-maker. 

"Well, well!" she said; "she's always had plenty of money from me; shecan afford to wait. "

And Cynthia wrote to her dress-maker, who was also her friend!

 MY DEAR CELESTE: I have decided that you will have to afford to wait for your money. I have an enterprise in view which calls for all the available capital I have. Please write me a nice note and say that you don't mind a bit. Otherwise we shall stop being friends and I shall always get my clothes from somebody else. Let me know when the new models come. . . . 

V

On her way down-town Cynthia stopped to see G. G. 's mother and found thewhole household in the throes occasioned by its head's pneumonia. 

"Why haven't you let me know?" exclaimed Cynthia. "There must be somany little things that I could have done to help you. "

Though the sick man couldn't have heard them if they had shouted, thetwo women talked in whispers, with their heads very close together. 

"He's better, " said G. G. 's mother, "but yesterday they wanted me tosend for G. G. 'No, ' I said. 'You may have given him up, but I haven't. If I send for my boy it would look as if I had surrendered, ' And almostat once, if you'll believe it, he seemed to shake off something that wastrying to strangle him and took a turn for the better; and now they saythat, barring some long names, he will get well. . . . It does look, mydear, as if death had seen that there was no use facing a thoroughlydetermined woman. "

At this point, because she was very much overwrought, G. G. 's mother hada mild little attack of hysteria; and Cynthia beat her on the back andshook her and kissed her until she was over it. Then G. G. 's mother toldCynthia about her financial troubles. 

"It isn't us that matters, " she said, "but that G. G. Ought to have onemore year in a first-rate climate; and it isn't going to be possible togive it to him. They say that he's well, my dear, absolutely well; butthat now he should have a chance to build up and become strong andheavy, so that he can do a man's work in the world. As it is, we shallhave to take him home to live; and you know what New York dust andclimate can do to people who have been very, very ill and are stilldelicate and high-strung. "

"There's only one thing to do for the present, " said Cynthia--"anybodywith the least notion of business knows that--we must keep him atSaranac just as long as our credit holds out, mustn't we?--until thewoman where he boards begins to act ugly and threatens to turn him outin the snow. "

"Oh, but that would be dreadful!" said G. G. 's mother. Cynthia smiled ina superior way. 

"I don't believe, " she said, "that you understand the first thing aboutbusiness. Even my father, who is a prude about bills, says that all thebusiness of the country is done on credit. . . . Now you're not going to besilly, are you?--and make G. G. Come to New York before he has to?"

"It will have to be pretty soon, I'm afraid, " said G. G. 's mother. 

"Sooner than run such risks with any boy of mine, " said Cynthia, with ahigh color, "I'd beg, I'd borrow, I'd forge, I'd lie--I'd steal!"

"Don't I know you would!" exclaimed G. G. 's mother. "My darling girl, you've got the noblest character--it's just shining in your eyes!"

"There's another thing, " said Cynthia: "I have to go down-town now onbusiness, but you must telephone me around five o'clock and tell me howG. G. 's father is. And you must spend all your time between now and thentrying to think up something really useful that I can do to help you. And"--here Cynthia became very mysterious--"I forbid you to worry aboutmoney until I tell you to!"

Cynthia had a cousin in Wall Street; his name was Jarrocks Bell. He wastwenty years older than Cynthia and he had been fond of her ever sinceshe was born. He was a great, big, good-looking man, gruff without andtender within. Clever people, who hadn't made successful brokers, wondered how in the face of what they called his "obvious stupidity"Jarrocks Bell had managed to grow rich in Wall Street. The answer wasobvious enough to any one who knew him intimately. To begin with, hisstupidity was superficial. In the second place, he had studied bonds andstocks until he knew a great deal about them. Then, though a drinkingman, he had a head like iron and was never moved by exhilaration tomention his own or anybody else's affairs. Furthermore, he wasunscrupulously honest. He was so honest and blunt that people thoughthim brutal at times. Last and not least among the elements of hissuccess was the fact that he himself never speculated. 

When the big men found out that there was in Wall Street a broker whodidn't speculate himself, who didn't drink to excess, who was absolutelyhonest, and who never opened his mouth when it was better shut, theybegan to patronize that man's firm. In short, the moment Jarrocks Bell'squalities were discovered, Jarrocks Bell was made. So that now, inspeculative years, his profits were enormous. 

Cynthia had always been fond of her big, blunt cousin, as he of her; andin her present trouble her thoughts flew to him as straight as a homingaeroplane to the landing-stage. 

Even a respectable broker's office is a noisome, embarrassing place, andamong the clients are men whose eyes have become popped from staring atpaper-tapes and pretty girls; but Cynthia had no more fear of men than afarmer's daughter has of cows, and she flashed through Jarrocks's outeroffice--preceded by a very small boy--with her color unchanged and onlyher head a little higher than usual. 

Jarrocks must have wondered to the point of vulgar curiosity what thedeuce had brought Cynthia to see him in the busiest hour of a very busyday; but he said "Hello, Cynthia!" as naturally as if they two had beenvisiting in the same house and he had come face to face with her for thethird or fourth time that morning. 

"I suppose, " said Cynthia, "that you are dreadfully busy; but, Jarrocksdear, my affairs are so much more important to me than yours canpossibly be to you--do you mind?"

"May I smoke?"

"Of course. "

"Then I don't mind. What's your affair, Cynthia--money or the heart?"

"Both, Jarrocks. " And she told him pretty much what the reader hasalready learned. As for Jarrocks's listening, he was a perfect study ofhimself. He laughed gruffly when he ought to have cried; and whenCynthia tried to be a little humorous he looked very solemn and notunlike the big bronze Buddha of the Japanese. Inside, however, his bigheart was full of compassion and tenderness for his favorite girl in allthe world. Nobody will ever know just how fond Jarrocks was of Cynthia. It was one of those matters on which--owing, perhaps, to his being hersenior by twenty years--he had always thought it best to keep his mouthshut. 

"What's your plan?" he asked. "Where do I come in? I'll give youanything I've got. " Cynthia waived the offer; it was a little unwelcome. 

"I've got about five hundred dollars, " she said, "and I want tospeculate with it and make a lot of money, so that I can be independentof papa and mamma. "

"Lots of people, " said Jarrocks, "come to Wall Street with five hundreddollars, more or less, and they wish to be independent of papa andmamma. They end up by going to live in the Mills Hotel. "

"I know, " said Cynthia; "but this is really important. If G. G. Couldwork it would be different. "

"Tell me one thing, " said Jarrocks: "If you weren't in love with G. G. What would you think of him as a candidate for your very best friend'shand?"

Cynthia counted ten before answering. 

"Jarrocks, dear, " she said--and he turned away from the meltingness ofher lovely face--"he's so pure, he's so straight, he's so gentle and sobrave, that I don't really think I can tell you what I think of him. "

There was silence for a moment, then Jarrocks said gruffly:

"That's a clean-enough bill of health. Guess you can bring him into thefamily, Cynthia. "

Then he drummed with his thick, stubby fingers on the arm of his chair. 

"The idea, " he said at last, "is to turn five hundred dollars into afortune. You know I don't speculate. "

"But you make it easy for other people?"

He nodded. 

"If you'd come a year ago, " he said, "I'd have sent you away. Just atthe present moment your proposition isn't the darn-fool thing itsounds. "

"I knew you'd agree with me, " said Cynthia complacently. "I knew you'dput me into something that was going 'way up. "

Jarrocks snorted. 

"Prices are at about the highest level they've ever struck and money wasnever more expensive. I think we're going to see such a tumble in valuesas was never seen before. It almost tempts me to come out of my shelland take a flyer--if I lose your five hundred for you, you won't squeal, Cynthia?"

"Of course not. "

"Then I'll tell you what I think. There's nothing certain in thisbusiness, but if ever there was a chance to turn five hundred dollarsinto big money it's now. You've entered Wall Street, Cynthia, at whatlooks to me like the psychological moment. "

"That's a good omen, " said Cynthia. "I believe we shall succeed. And Ileave everything to you. "

Then she wrote him a check for all the money she had in the world. Heheld it between his thumb and forefinger while the ink dried. 

"By the way, Cynthia, " he said, "do you want the account to stand inyour own name?"

She thought a moment, then laughed and told him to put it in the name ofG. G. 's mother. "But you must report to me how things go, " she said. 

Jarrocks called a clerk and gave him an order to sell something orother. In three minutes the clerk reported that "it"--just some letterof the alphabet--had been sold at such and such a price. 

For another five minutes Jarrocks denied himself to all visitors. Thenhe called for another report on the stock which he had just caused to besold. It was selling "off a half. "

"Well, Cynthia, " said Jarrocks, "you're fifty dollars richer than whenyou came. Now I've got to tell you to go. I'll look out for yourinterests as if they were my own. "

And Jarrocks, looking rather stupid and bored, conducted Cynthia throughhis outer offices and put her into an elevator "going down. " Her facevanished and his heart continued to mumble and grumble, just the way atooth does when it is getting ready to ache. 

Cynthia had entered Wall Street at an auspicious moment. Stocks were atthat high level from which they presently tumbled to the panicquotations of nineteen-seven. And Jarrocks, whom the unsuccessfulthought so very stupid, had made a very shrewd guess as to what wasgoing to happen. 

Two weeks later he wrote Cynthia that if she could use two or threethousand dollars she could have them, without troubling her balance veryperceptibly. 

"I thought you had a chance, " he wrote. "I'm beginning to think it's asure thing! Keep a stiff upper lip and first thing you know you'll havethe laugh on mamma and papa. Give 'em my best regards. "

VI

If it is wicked to gamble Cynthia was wicked. If it is wicked to lieCynthia was wicked. If the money that comes out of Wall Street belongedoriginally to widows and orphans, why, that is the kind of money whichshe amassed for her own selfish purposes. Worst of all, on learning fromJarrocks that the Rainbow's Foot--where the pot of gold is--was almostin sight, this bad, wicked girl's sensations were those of unmixedtriumph and delight!

The panic of nineteen-seven is history now. Plenty of people who losttheir money during those exciting months can explain to you how anyfool, with the least luck, could have made buckets of it instead. 

As a snowball rolling down a hill of damp snow swells to giganticproportions, so Cynthia's five hundred dollars descended the long slopesof nineteen-seven, doubling itself at almost every turn. And when, atlast, values had so shrunk that it looked to Jarrocks as if they couldnot shrink any more, he told her that her account--which stood in thename of G. G. 's mother--was worth nearly four hundred thousand dollars. "And I think, " he said, "that, if you now buy stocks outright and holdthem as investments, your money will double again. "

So they put their heads together and Cynthia bought some Union Pacificat par and some Steel Common in the careless twenties, and otherstandard securities that were begging, almost with tears in their eyes, to be bought and cared for by somebody. She had the certificates of whatshe bought made out in the name of G. G. 's mother. And she went up-townand found G. G. 's mother alone, and said:

"Oh, my dear! If anybody ever finds out _you_ will catch it!"

G. G. 's mother knew there was a joke of some kind preparing at herexpense, but she couldn't help looking a little puzzled and anxious. 

"It's bad enough to do what you have done, " continued Cynthia; "but ontop of it to be going to lie up and down--that does seem a little tooawful!"

"What are you going to tell me?" cried G. G. 's mother. "I know you'vegot some good news up your sleeve!"

"Gambler!" cried Cynthia--"cold-blooded, reckless Wall Streetspeculator!" And the laughter that was pent up in her face burst itsbonds, accompanied by hugs and kisses. 

"Now listen!" said Cynthia, as soon as she could. "On such and such aday, you took five hundred dollars to a Wall Street broker namedJarrocks Bell--you thought that conditions were right for turning into aBear. You went short of the market. You kept it up for weeks and months. Do you know what you did? You pyramided on the way down!"

"Mercy!" exclaimed G. G. 's mother, her eyes shining with wonder andexcitement. 

"First thing you knew, " continued Cynthia, "you were worth four hundredthousand dollars!"

G. G. 's mother gave a little scream, as if she had seen a mouse. 

"And you invested it, " went on Cynthia, relenting, "so that now youstand to double your capital; and your annual income is between thirtyand forty thousand dollars!"

After this Cynthia really did some explaining, until G. G. 's motherreally understood what had really happened. It must be recorded that, atfirst, she was completely flabbergasted. 

"And you've gone and put it in my name!" she said. "But why?"

"Don't you see, " said Cynthia, "that if I came offering money to G. G. And G. G. 's father they wouldn't even sniff at it? But if you've gotit--why, they've just got to share with you. Isn't that so?"

"Y-e-e-s, " admitted G. G. 's mother; "but, my dear, I can't take it. Even if I could, they would want to know where I'd gotten it and I'dhave nothing to say. "

"Not if you're the one woman in a million that I think you are, " saidCynthia. "Tell me, isn't your husband at his wit's end to think how tomeet the bills for his illness and all and all? And wouldn't you raiseyour finger to bring all his miserable worries to an end? Just look atthe matter from a business point of view! You must tell your husband andG. G. That what has really happened to me happened to you; that you weredesperate; that you took the five hundred dollars to speculate with, andthat this is the result. "

"But that wouldn't be true, " said G. G. 's mother. 

"For mercy's sake, " said Cynthia, "what has the truth got to do with it!This isn't a matter of religion or martyrdom; it's a matter of business!How to put an end to my husband's troubles and to enable my son to marrythe girl he loves?--that's your problem; and the solution is--lie! Whomcan the money come from if not from you? Not from me certainly. You mustlie! You'd better begin in the dark, where your husband can't see yourface--because I'm afraid you don't know how very well. But after a timeit will get easy; and when you've told him the story two or threetimes--with details--you'll end by believing it yourself. . . . And, ofcourse, " she added, "you must make over half of the securities to G. G. , so that he will have enough money to support a wife. "

For two hours Cynthia wrestled with G. G. 's mother's conscience; but, when at last the struggling creature was thrown, the two women literallytook it by the hair and dragged it around the room and beat it until itwas deaf, dumb, and blind. 

And when G. G. 's father came home G. G. 's mother met him in the hallthat was darkish, and hid her face against his--and lied to him! And asshe lied the years began to fall from the shoulders of G. G. 'sfather--to the number of ten. 

VII

Cynthia was also met in a front hall--but by her father. 

"I've been looking for you, Cynthia, " he said gravely. "I want to talkto you and get your advice--no; the library is full of smoke--come inhere. "

He led her into the drawing-room, which neither of them could rememberever having sat in before. 

"I've been talking with a young gentleman, " said her father withoutfurther preliminaries, "who made himself immensely interesting to me. Tobegin with, I never saw a handsomer, more engaging specimen of youngmanhood; and, in the second place, he is the author of some stories thatI have enjoyed in the past year more than any one's except O. Henry's. He doesn't write over his own name--but that's neither here nor there. 

"He came to me for advice. Why he selected me, a total stranger, willappear presently. His family isn't well off; and, though he expects tosucceed in literature--and there's no doubt of it in my mind--he feelsthat he ought to give it up and go into something in which the financialprospects are brighter. I suggested a rich wife, but that seemed to hurthis feelings. He said it would be bad enough to marry a girl that hadmore than he had; but to marry a rich girl, when he had only the fewhundreds a year that he can make writing stories, was an intolerablethought. And that's all the more creditable to him because, from what Ican gather, he is desperately in love--and the girl is potentiallyrich. "

"But, " said Cynthia, "what have I to do with all this?"

Her father laughed. "This young fellow didn't come to me of his ownaccord. I sent for him. And I must tell you that, contrary to myexpectations, I was charmed with him. If I had had a son I should wishhim to be just like this youngster. "

Cynthia was very much puzzled. 

"He writes stories?" she said. 

"Bully stories! But he takes so much pains that his output is small. "

"Well, " said she, "what did you tell him?"

"I told him to wait. "

"That's conservative advice. "

"As a small boy, " said her father, "he was very delicate; but now he'sas sound as a bell and he looks as strong as an elk. "

Cynthia rose to her feet, trembling slightly. 

"What was the matter with him--when he was delicate?"

"Consumption. "

She became as it were taller--and vivid with beauty. 

"Where is he?"

"In the library. "

Cynthia put her hands on her father's shoulders. 

"It's all right, " she said; "his family has come into quite a lot ofmoney. He doesn't know it yet. They're going to give him enough to marryon. You still think he ought to marry--don't you?"

They kissed. 

Cynthia flew out of the room, across the hall, and into the library. 

_They_ kissed!

THE TRAP

 The animals went in two by two. Hurrah! Hurrah!

Given Bower for a last name, the boys are bound to call you "Right" or"Left. " They called me "Right" because I usually held it, one way oranother. I was shot with luck. No matter what happened, it always workedout to my advantage. All inside of six months, for instance, the matefell overboard and I got his job; the skipper got drunk after weatheringa cyclone and ran the old _Boldero_ aground in "lily-pad" weather--and Igot his. Then the owner called me in and said: "Captain Bower, what doyou know about Noah's Ark?" And I said: "Only that 'the animals went intwo by two. Hurrah! Hurrah!'" And the owner said: "But how did he feed'em--specially the meat-eaters?" And I said: "He got hold of a Hindu whohad his arm torn off by a black panther and who now looks after the sameat the Calcutta Zoo--and he put it up to him. "

"The Bible doesn't say so, " said the owner. 

"Everything the Bible says is true, " said I. "But there're heaps of truesayings, you know, that aren't in it at all. "

"Well, " says the owner, "you slip out to yon Zoo and you put it up toyon one-armed Hindu that a white Noah named Bower has been ordered tocarry pairs of all the Indian fauna from Singapore to Sydney; and youtell him to shake his black panther and 'come along with. '"

"What will you pay?" I asked. 

The owner winked his eye. "What will I promise?" said he. "I leave thatto you. "

But I wasn't bluffed. The owner always talked pagan and practisedChristian; loved his little joke. They called him "Bond" Hadley on thewater-front to remind themselves that his word was just as good. 

I settled with Yir Massir in a long confab back of the snake-house, andthat night Hadley blew me to Ivy Green's benefit at the opera-house. 

Poor little girl! There weren't fifty in the audience. She couldn't act. I mean she couldn't draw. The whole company was on the bum andstone-broke. They'd scraped out of Australia and the Sandwich Islands, but it looked as if they'd stay in Calcutta, doing good works, such asmending roads for the public, to the end of time. 

"Ivy Green is a pretty name for a girl, " said the owner. 

"And Ivy Green is a pretty girl, " I said; "and I'll bet my horned soulshe's a good girl. "

To tell the truth, I was taken with her something terrible at firstsight. I'd often seen women that I wanted, but she was the firstgirl--and the last. It's a different sort of wanting, that. It's thegood in you that wants--instead of the bad. 

Her little face was like the pansies that used to grow in mother'sdooryard; and a dooryard is the place for pansies, not a stage. When heract was over the fifty present did their best; but I knew, when she'dfinished bobbing little curtsies and smiling her pretty smile, she'dslip off to her dressing-room and cry like a baby. I couldn't stand it. There were other acts to come, but I couldn't wait. 

"If Ivy Green is a pretty name for a girl, Ivy Bower is a prettier namefor a woman, " I said. "I'm going behind. "

He looked up, angry. Then he saw that I didn't mean any harm and helooked down. He said nothing. I got behind by having the pull on certainropes in that opera-house, and I asked a comedian with a face like awalrus which was Miss Green's dressing-room. 

"Friend of hers?" he says. 

"Yes, " says I, "a friend. "

He showed me which door and I knocked. Her voice was full of worry andtears. 

"Who's there?" she said. 

"A friend, " said I. 

"Pass, friend, " said she. 

And I took it to mean "Come in, " but it didn't. Still, she wasn't sodishabilled as to matter. She was crying and rubbing off the last of herpaint. 

"Miss Green, " I said, "you've made me feel so mean and miserable that Ihad to come and tell you. My name is Bower. The boys call me 'Right'Bower, meaning that I'm lucky and straight. It was lucky for me that Icame to your benefit, and I hope to God that it will be lucky for you. "

"Yes?" she says--none too warm. 

"As for you, Miss Green, " I said, "you're up against it, aren't you? Themanager's broke. You don't know when you've touched any salary. There'sbeen no balm in your benefit. What are you going to do?"

This time she looked me over before she spoke. 

"I don't know, " she said. 

"I don't have to ask, " said I, blushing red, "if you're a good girl. It's just naturally obvious. I guess that's what put me up to buttingin. I want to help. Will you answer three questions?"

She nodded. 

"Where, " said I, "will you get breakfast to-morrow?--lunchto-morrow?--and dinner to-morrow?"

"We disband to-night, " she said, "and I don't know. "

"I suppose you know, " said I, "what happens to most white girls who getstranded in Indian cities?"

"I know, " she said, "that people get up against it so hard that theyoughtn't to be blamed for anything they do. "

"They aren't, " I said, "by--Christians; but it's ugly just the same. Now----"

"And you, " she said, flaring up, "think that, as long as it's got to be, it might as well be you! Is that your song and dance, Mr. Smarty?"

I shook my head and smiled. 

"Don't be a little goat!" I said; and that seemed to make her take to meand trust me. 

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. 

"I'll tell you, " I said; and I found that it wasn't easy. "First place, "I said, "I've got some money saved up. That will keep you on Easy Streettill I get back from Sydney. If by that time nothing's turned up thatyou want of your own free heart and will, I'll ask you to pay me backby--by changing your name. "

She didn't quite follow. 

"That, " said I, "gives you a chance to look around--gives you one smallchance in a million to light on some man you can care for and who'llcare for you and take care of you. Failing that, it would be fair enoughfor you to take me, failing a better. See?"

"You mean, " she said, "that if things don't straighten out, it would bebetter for me to become Mrs. Bower than walk the streets? Is that it?"

I nodded. 

"But I don't see your point of view, " she cried. "Just because you'resorry for a girl don't mean you want to make her your wife. "

"It isn't sorrowing, " I said. "It's wanting. It's the right kind ofwanting. It's the wanting that would rather wait than hurt you; thatwould rather do without you than hurt you. "

"And you'll trust me with all your savings and go away to Australia--andif I find some other man that I like better you'll let me off frommarrying you? Is that it?"

"That's about it, " I said. 

"And suppose, " says she, "that you don't come back, and nobody shows up, and the money goes?"

That was a new point of view. 

"Well, " said I, "we've got to take some chances in this world. "

"We have, " said she. "And now look here--I don't know how much of it'swanting and how much of it's fear--but if you'll take chances I will. "

She turned as red as a beet and looked away. 

"In words of two syllables, " said I, "what do you mean?"

"I mean, " she said--and she was still as red as a beet, but this timeshe looked me in my eyes without a flinch in hers--"that if you're deadsure you want me--are you?--if you're dead sure, why, I'll take chanceson my wanting you. I believe every word you've said to me. Is thatright?"

"Every word, " I said. "That is right. "

Then we looked at each other for a long time. 

"What a lot we'll have to tell each other, " she said, "before we'rereally acquainted. But you're sure? You're quite sure?"

"Sure that I want you? Yes, " I said; "not sure that you ought not towait and think me over. "

"You've begun, " she said, "with everything that's noble and generous. Icould never look myself in the face again if I felt called upon to beginby being mean. "

"Hadn't you better think it over?" I said. "Hadn't you?"

But she put her hands on my shoulders. 

"If an angel with wings had come with gifts, " she said, "would I havethought them over? And just because your wings don't show----"

"It isn't fair, " I mumbled. "I give you a choice between the streets andme and you feel forced to choose me. "

But she pulled my head down and gave me a quick, fierce kiss. 

"There, " said she--"was that forced? Did you force me to do that? No, "she said; "you needn't think you're the only person in the world thatwants another person. . . . If you go to Australia I don't wait here. I gotoo. If you sink by the way, I sink. And don't you go to thinking you'vemade me a one-sided bargain. . . . I can cook for you and mend for you andsave for you. And if you're sick I can nurse you. And I can black yourboots. "

"I thought, " said I, "that you were just a little girl that I wanted, but you turn out to be the whole world that I've got to have. Slip therest of your canvas on and I'll hook it up for you. Then we'll find someone to marry us--'nless you'd rather wait. "

"Wait?" said she, turning her back and standing still, which most womenhaven't sense enough to do when a man's ten thumbs are trying to hookthem up. "I've been waiting all my life for this--and you!"

"And I, " said I, splitting a thumb-nail, "would go through an eternityof hell if I knew that this was at the end of it--and you!"

"What is your church?" she asked of a sudden. 

"Same as yours, " I said, "which is----"

"Does it matter, " said she, "if God is in it? Do you pray?"

"No, " said I; "do you?"

"Always, " she said, "before I go to bed. "

"Then I will, " said I; "always--before we do. "

"Sometimes, " she said, "I've been shaken about God. Was to-night--beforeyou came. But He's made good--hasn't He?"

"He has, " I said. "And now you're hooked up. And I wish it was to do allover again. I loved doing it. "

"Did you?" said she. 

Her eyes were bright and brave like two stars. She slipped her handthrough my arm and we marched out of the opera-house. Half a dozen youngglobe-trotters were at the stage-door waiting to take a chance on MissGreen as she came out, but none of them spoke. We headed for the nearestcity directory and looked up a minister. 

II

I had married April; she cried when she thought she wasn't good enoughfor me; she smiled like the sun when I swore she was. 

I had married June; she was like an armful of roses. 

We weren't two; we were one. What alloy does gold make mixed with brass?We were that alloy. I was the brass. 

We travelled down to Singapore first-class, with one-armed Yir Massir tolook after us--down the old Hoogli with the stubs of half-burned Hindusbobbing alongside, crows sitting on 'em and tearing off strips. We ranaground on all the regular old sand-bars that are never twice in thesame place; and one dusk we saw tigers come out of the jungle to drink. We'd both travelled quite some, but you wouldn't have thought it. IvyBower and Right Bower had just run away from school for to see the world"so new and all. "

Some honey-moons a man keeps finding out things about his wife that hedon't like--little tricks of temper and temperature; but I kept findingout things about mine that I'd never even dared to hope for. I wentpretty near crazy with love of her. At first she was a child that hadhad a wicked, cruel nightmare--and I'd happened to be about to comforther when she waked and to soothe her. Then she got over her scare andbegan to play at matrimony, putting on little airs and dignities--justlike a child playing grown-up. Then all of a sudden it came to her, thattremendous love that some women have for some of us dogs of men. It wasbig as a storm, but it wasn't too big for her. Nothing that's noble andgenerous was too big for her; nor was any way of showing her love toolittle. Any little mole-hill of thoughtfulness from me waschanged--presto!--into a chain o' mountains; but she thought inmountains and made mole-hills of 'em. 

We steamed into Singapore and I showed her the old _Boldero_, that wasto be our home, laid against the Copra Wharf, waiting to be turned intoan ark. The animals weren't all collected and we had a day or two tochase about and enjoy ourselves; but she wasn't for expensive pleasures. 

"Wait, " she said, "till you're a little tired of me; but now, when we'rehappy just to be together walking in the dust, what's the use ofdisbursing?"

"If we save till I'm tired of you, " says I, "we'll be rich. "

"Rich it is, then, " said she, "for those who will need it more. "

"But, " says I, "the dictionary says that a skunk is a man thateconomizes on his honey-moon. "

"If you're bound to blow yourself, " says she, "let's trot down to theHongkong-Shanghai Bank and buy some shares in something. "

"But, " says I, "you have no engagement ring. "

"And I'm not engaged, " says she. "I'm a married woman. "

"You're a married child. "

"My husband's arm around my waist is my ring, " says she; "his heart ismy jewel. "

Even if it had been broad daylight and people looking, I'd have put herring on her at that. But it was dark, in a park of trees andbenches--just like Central Park. 

"With this ring, " says I, "I thee guard from all evil. "

"But there is no evil, " said she. "The world's all new; it's been givena fresh start. There's no evil. The apple's back on the tree ofknowledge. Eden's come back--and it's spring in Eden. "

"And among other items, " says I, "that we've invoiced for Sydney is apython thirty feet long. "

"Look!" says she. 

A girl sat against one of the stems of a banyan, and a Tommy lay on hisback with his head in her lap. She was playing with his hair. You couldjust see them for the dark. 

"'And they lived on the square like a true married pair, '" says I. 

"Can't people be naughty and good?" says she. 

"No, " says I; "good and naughty only. "

"Suppose, " says she, "you and I felt about each other the way we do, butyou were married to a rich widow in Lisbon and I was married to a wickedold Jew in Malta--would that make you Satan and me Jezebel?"

"No, " says I; "only me. Nothing could change you. " She thought a little. 

"No, " says she; "I don't think anything could. But there isn't anywicked old Jew. You know that. "

"And you know about the rich widow?"

"What about her?" This said sharp, with a tug at my arm to unwrap it. 

"She was born in Singapore, " said I, "of a silly goose by an idlethought. And two minutes later she died. "

"There's nothing that can ever hurt us--is there?--nothing that'shappened and gone before?"

Man that is born of woman ought not to have that question put up to him;but she didn't let me answer. 

"Because, if there is, " she said, "it's lucky I'm here to look afterus. "

"Could I do anything that you wouldn't forgive?"

"If you turned away from me, " she said, "I'd die--but I'd forgive. "

Next daylight she was leaning on the rail of the _Boldero_ watching theanimals come over the side and laughing to see them turn their heads tolisten to what old Yir Massir said to them in Hindustani. He spoke wordsof comfort, telling them not to be afraid; and they listened. EvenBahut, the big elephant, as the slings tightened and he swung dizzilyheavenward, cocked his moth-eaten ears to listen and refrained fromwhimpering, though the pit of his stomach was cold with fear; and heworked his toes when there was nothing under them but water. 

"The elephant is the strongest of all things, " I said, "and the mostgentle. "

Her little fingers pressed my arm, which was like marble in those days. 

"No, " said she--"the man!"

III

That voyage was good, so far as it went, but there's no use talkingabout it, because what came afterward was better. We'd no sooner backedoff the Copra Wharf and headed down the straits, leaving a trail ofsmoke and tiger smell, than Ivy went to house-keeping on the _Boldero_. There are great house-keepers, just as there are great poets and actors. It takes genius; that's all. And Ivy had that kind of genius. Yir Massirhad a Hindu saying that fitted her like a glove. He looked in upon herwork of preparing and systematizing for the cramped weeks at sea andsaid: "The little mem-sahib is a born woman. "

That's just what she is. There are born idiots and born leaders. Someare born male and some female; but a born woman is the rarest thing inthe world, the most useful and the most precious. She had never kepthouse, but there was nothing for her to learn. She worked things so thatwhenever I could come off duty she was at leisure to give all her careand thought to me. 

There was never a millionaire who had more speckless white suits than Ihad, though it's a matter almost of routine for officers to go dirty onanything but the swell liners. Holes in socks grew together under herfingers, so that you had to look close to see where they'd been. Sheeven kept a kind of dwarf hibiscus, with bright red flowers, alive andflourishing in the thick salt air; and she was always slipping into thegalley to give a new, tasty turn to the old sea-standbys. 

The crew, engineer, and stokers were all Chinks. Hadley always put histrust in them and they come cheap. We had forty coolies who berthedforward, going out on contract to work on a new government dry-dock atPaiulu. I don't mind a Chink myself, so long as he keeps his habits tohimself and doesn't over-smoke; but they're not sociable. Except for YirMassir and myself, there was no one aboard for Ivy to talk to. YirMassir's duty kept him busy with the health of the collection for theSydney Zoo, and Ivy found time to help, to advise, and to learn. Theymade as much fuss between them over the beasts as if they had beenbabies; and the donkey-engine was busy most of the day hoisting cages tothe main-deck and lowering them again, so that the beasts could have abetter look at the sea and a bit of sun and fresh air. As it was, a goodmany of the beasts and all the birds roomed on the main-deck all thetime. Sometimes Yir Massir would take out a chetah--a nasty, snarling, pin-headed piece of long-legged malice--and walk him up and down on adog-chain, same as a woman walks her King Charlie. He gave the monkeysall the liberty they could use and abuse; it was good sport to see themchase themselves and each other over the masts and upper-works. 

The most you can say of going out with a big tonnage of beasts is that, if you're healthy and have no nerves, you can just stand it. Sometimesthey'll all howl together for five or six hours at a time; sometimesthey'll all be logy and still as death, except one tiger, who can't makehis wants understood and who'll whine and rumble about them all roundthe clock. I don't know which is worse, the chorus or the solo. Andthen, of course, the smell side to the situation isn't a matter forprint. If I say that we had twenty hogsheads of disinfectants anddeodorizers along it's all you need know. Anyhow, according to YirMassir, it was the smell that killed big Bahut's mate. And she'd beenbrought up in an Indian village and ought to have been used to all thesmells, from A to Z. 

One elephant more or less doesn't matter to me, especially when it'sinsured, but Yir Massir's grief and self-reproach were appalling; andIvy felt badly too. It was as much for her sake as Yir Massir's that Iread a part of the burial service out of the prayer-book and committedthe body of "this our sister" to the deep. It may have beensacrilegious, but I don't care. It comforted Ivy some and Yir Massir aheap. And it did this to me, that I can't look at a beast now withoutthinking that--well, that there's not such an awful lot of differencebetween two legs and four, and that maybe God put Himself out just asmuch to make one as the other. 

We swung her overside by heavy tackle. What with the roll of the shipand the fact that she swung feet down, she looked alive; and the funerallooked more like a drowning than a burial. 

We had no weights to sink her; and when I gave the word to cut loose shemade a splash like a small tidal wave and then floated. 

We could see her for an hour, like a bit of a slate-colored island withwhite gulls sitting on it. 

And that night Yir Massir waited on us looking like some old crazy loonout of the Bible. He'd made himself a prickly shirt of sackcloth and hadsmeared his black head and brown face with gray ashes. Big Bahutwhimpered all night and trumpeted as if his heart were broken. 

IV

I've often noticed that when things happen it's in bunches. The tenthday south of the line we had a look at almost all the sea-events thatare made into woodcuts for the high-school geographies. For days we'dseen nothing except sapphire-blue sea, big swells rolling under a satinfinish without breaking through, and a baby-blue sky. On the morning ofthe tenth the sea was streaked with broad, oily bands, like State roads, and near and far were whales travelling south at about ten knots anhour, as if they had a long way to go. 

We saw heaps of porpoises and heaps of flying-fish; some birds; unhewntimber--a nasty lot of it--and big floats of sea-weed. We saw a whalebeing pounded to death by a killer; and in the afternoon as perfect anexample of a brand-new coral island as was ever seen. It looked like aring of white snow floating on the water, and inside the ring was acareened two-master--just the ribs and stumps left. There was awater-spout miles off to port, and there was a kind of electric jump andthrill to the baked air that made these things seem important, likeomens in ancient times. Besides, the beasts, from Bahut the elephant tolittle Assam the mongoose, put in the whole day at practising the noisesof complaint and uneasiness. Then, directly it was dark, we slipped intoa "white sea. " That's a rare sight and it has never been very wellexplained. The water looks as though it had been mixed with a quantityof milk, but when you dip it up it's just water. 

About midnight we ran out of this and Ivy and I turned in. The sky wasclear as a bell and even the beasts were quiet. I hadn't been asleepten minutes and Ivy not at all, when all at once hell broke loose. Therewas a bump that nearly drove my head through a bulkhead; though onlyhalf awake I could feel to the cold marrow of my bones that the old_Boldero_ was down by the head. The beasts knew it and the Chinks. Neversince Babel was there such pandemonium on earth or sea. By a struckmatch I saw Ivy running out of the cabin and slipping on herbath-wrapper as she went. I called to her, but she didn't answer. Ididn't want to think of anything but Ivy, but I had to let her go andthink of the ship. 

There wasn't much use in thinking. The old _Boldero_ was settling by thehead and the pumps couldn't hold up the inflood. In fifteen minutes Iknew that it was all up with us--or all down, rather--and I ordered theboats over and began to run about like a maniac, looking for Ivy andcalling to her. And why do you suppose I couldn't find her? She washiding--hiding from me!

She'd heard of captains of sinking ships sending off their wives andchildren and sweethearts and staying behind to drown out of a mistakennotion of duty. She'd got it into her head that I was that kind ofcaptain and she'd hid so that she couldn't be sent away; but it was allmy fault really. If I'd hurried her on deck the minute I did find herwe'd have been in time to leave with the boats. But I stopped forexplanations and to give her a bit of a lecture; so when we got on deckthere were the boats swarming with Chinks slipping off to windward--andthere at our feet was Yir Massir, lying in his own blood and brains, awicked, long knife in his hand and the thread outpiece of a Chink'spigtail between his teeth. 

I like to think that he'd tried to make them wait for us, but I don'tknow. Anyhow, there we were, alone on a sinking deck and all throughwith earthly affairs as I reckoned it. But Ivy reckoned differently. 

"Why are they rowing in that direction?" she says. "They won't getanywhere. "

"Why not?" says I. 

She jerked her thumb to leeward. 

"Don't you feel that it's over there?--the land?" she says. "Just overthere. "

"Why, no, bless you!" says I. "I don't have any feeling about it. . . . Nowthen, we've got to hustle around and find something that will float us. We want to get out of this before the old _Boldero_ goes and sucks usdown after. "

"There's the life-raft, " says she; "they left that. "

"Yes, " says I; "if we can get it overboard. It weighs a ton. You make upa bundle of food on the jump, Ivy, and I'll try to rig a tackle. "

When the raft was floating quietly alongside I felt better. It lookedthen as if we were to have a little more run for our money. 

We worked like a couple of furies loading on food and water, Ivylowering and I lashing fast. 

"There, " says I at last; "she won't take any more. Come along. I canhelp you down better from here. "

"We've got to let the beasts loose, " says she. 

"Why?" says I. 

"Oh, just to give 'em a chance, " she says. 

So I climbs back to where she was standing. 

"It's rot!" I says. "But if you say so----"

"There's loads of time, " says she--"we're not settling so fast. Besides, even if I'm wrong about the land, they'll know. They'll show us whichway to go. Big Bahut, he knows. "

"It don't matter, " I says. "We can't work the raft any way but toleeward--not one man can't. "

"If the beasts go the other way, " says she, "one man must try and onewoman. "

"Oh, we'll try, " says I, "right enough. We'll try. "

The first beast we loosed was the python. Ivy did the loosing and Istood by with a big rifle to guard against trouble; but, bless you, there was no need. One and all, the beasts knew the old _Boldero_ wasdoomed, and one and all they cried and begged and made eyes and signs tobe turned loose. As for knowing where the nearest land was--well, ifyou'd seen the python, when he came to the surface, make a couple ofloopy turns to get his bearings and his wriggles in order, and then hikeoff to leeward in a bee-line--you'd have believed that he--well, that heknew what he was talking about. 

And the beasts, one and all, big and little, the minute they wereloosed, wanted to get overboard--even the cats; and off they went toleeward in the first flush of dawn, horned heads, cat heads, pigheads--the darnedest game of follow-my-leader that ever the skies lookeddown on. And the birds, white and colored, streaked out over the beasts. There was a kind of wonder to it all that eased the pinch of fear. Ivyclapped her hands and jumped up and down like a child when it sees thegrand entry in Buffalo Bill's show for the first time--or the last, forthat matter. 

There was some talk of taking a tow-line from around Bahut's neck to theraft; but the morning breeze was freshening and with a sail rigged theraft would swim pretty fast herself. Anyway, we couldn't fix it to getbig Bahut overboard. The best we could do was to turn him loose, openall the hatches, and trust to his finding a way out when the _Boldero_settled. 

He did, bless him! We weren't two hundred yards clear when the _Boldero_gave a kind of shudder and went down by the bows, Bahut yelling bloodymurder. Then, just when we'd given him up for lost, he shot up from thedepths, half-way out of water. After blowing his nose and getting hisbearings he came after the raft like a good old tugboat. 

We stood up, Ivy and I did, and cheered him as he caught up with us andfoamed by. 

The worst kind of remembering is remembering what you've forgotten. Igot redder and redder. It didn't seem as if I could tell Ivy; but I did. First I says, hopeful:

"Have you forgotten anything?"

She shakes her head. 

"I have, " says I. "I've left my rifle, but I've got plenty ofcartridges. I've got a box of candles, but I've forgotten to bringmatches. A nice, thoughtful husband you've got!"

V

The beasts knew. 

There was land just around the first turn of the world--land that hadwhat might be hills when you got to 'em and that was pale gray againstthe sun, with all the upper-works gilded; but it wasn't big land. Youcould see the north and south limits; and the trees on the hills couldprobably see the ocean to the east. 

They were funny trees, those; and others just like them had come downto the cove to meet us when we landed. They were a kind of pine and thebranches grew in layers, with long spaces between. Since then I've seentrees just like them, but very little, in florists' windows; only theflorists' trees have broad scarlet sashes round their waists, by way ofdecoration, maybe, or out of deference to Anthony Comstock. 

The cove had been worked out by a brook that came loafing down a turfyvalley, with trees single and in spinneys, for all the world like anEnglish park; and at the upper end of the valley, cutting the island inhalf lengthwise, as we learned later, the little wooded hills rollednorth and south, and low spurs ran out from them, so as to make thevalley a valley instead of a plain. 

There were flocks of goats in the valley, which was what made the grassso turfy, I suppose; and our own deer and antelopes were browsing nearthem, friendly as you please. Near at hand big Bahut, who had been thelast but us to land, was quietly munching the top of a broad-leafed treethat he'd pulled down; but the cats and riffraff had melted into thelandscape. So had the birds, except a pair of jungle-fowl, who'd foundseed near the cove and were picking it up as fast as they could andputting it away. 

"Well, " says I, "it's an island, sure, Ivy. The first thing to do is tofind out who lives on it, owns it, and dispenses its hospitality, andmake up to them. "

But she shook her head and said seriously:

"I've a feeling, Right, " she says--"a kind of hunch--that there's nobodyon it but us. "

I laughed at her then, but half a day's tramping proved that she wasright. I tell you women have ways of knowing things that we men haven't. The fact is, civilization slides off 'em like water off a duck; and atheart and by instinct they are people of the cave-dwelling period--oncut-and-dried terms with ghosts and spirits, all the unseen sources ofknowledge that man has grown away from. 

I had sure proofs of this in the way Ivy took to the cave we found in abunch of volcano rock that lifted sheer out of the cove and had brightflowers smiling out of all its pockets. No society lady ever entered herbrand-new marble house at Newport with half the happiness. 

Ivy was crazy about the cave and never tired of pointing out itsadvantages. She went to house-keeping without any of the utensils, askeen and eager as she'd gone to it on the poor old _Boldero_, where atleast there were pots and pans and pepper. 

We had grub to last a few weeks, a pair of blankets, the clothes westood in, and an axe. I had, besides, a heavy clasp-knife, a watch, andseven sovereigns. The first thing Ivy insisted on was a change ofclothes. 

"These we stand in, " says she, "are the only presentable things we'vegot, and Heaven only knows how long they've got to last us for best. "

"We could throw modesty to the winds, " I suggested. 

"Of course you can do as you please, " she said. "I don't care one way orthe other about the modesty; but I've got a skin that looks on the sunwith distinct aversion, and I don't propose to go through a course ofyellow blisters--and then turn black. "

"I've seen islanders weave cloth out of palm fibre--most any kind, " Isaid. "It's clumsy and airy; but if you think it would do----"

"It sounds scratchy. "

"It is, but it's good for the circulation. "

Well, we made a kind of cloth and cut it into shapes, and knotted theshapes together with more fibre; then we folded up our best and onlySunday-go-to-meeting suits and put the fibre things on; and then we wentdown to the cove to look at ourselves in the water. And Ivy laughed. 

"We're not clothed, " she said; "we're thatched; and yet--and yet--it'saccident, of course, but this skirt has got a certain hang that----"

"Whatever that skirt's got, " I said, "these pants haven't; but if you'rehappy I am. "

Well, there's worse situations than desert-islanding it with the onewoman in the world. I even know one man who claims he was cast away witha perfect stranger that he hated the sight of at first--a terriblysmall-minded, conventional woman--and still he had the time of his life. They got to like each other over a mutual taste for cribbage, which theyplayed for sea-shells, yellow with a pink edge, until the woman wentbroke and got heavily in debt to the man. He was nice about it and lether off. He says the affair must have ended in matrimony, only she tooka month to think it over; during that month they were picked up andcarried to Honolulu; then they quarrelled and never saw each otheragain. 

"Ivy, " said I one day, "we'll be picked up by a passing steamer someday, of course, but meanwhile I'd rather be here with you than any placeI can name. "

"It's Eden, " she said, "and I'd like to live like this always. But----"

"But what?"

"But people grow old, " she said, "and one dies before another. That'swhat's wrong with Eden. "

I laughed at her. 

"Old! You and I? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Ivy Bower. "

"Right Bower, " says she, "you don't understand----"

"How not understand?"

"You don't understand that Right Bower and Ivy Bower aren't the onlypeople on this island. "

She didn't turn a fiery red and bolt--the way young wives do in stories. She looked at me with steady, brave, considering eyes. 

"Don't worry, dear, " she says after a time; "everything will be allright. I know it will. "

"I know it too. " I lied. 

Know it? I was cold with fright. 

"Don't be afraid, " said she. "And--and meanwhile there's dinner to begot ready--and you can have a go at your firesticks. "

It was my ambition to get fire by friction. Now and then I got thesticks to smoke and I hoped that practice would give me the little extraspeed and cunning that makes for flame. I'd always been pretty good atgames, if a little slow to learn. 

VI

You'd think anxiety about Ivy'd have been the hardest thing to bear inthe life we were living; and so it would have been if she'd showed anyanxiety about herself. Not she. You might have thought she was lookingforward to a Christmas-box from home. If she was ever scared it waswhen I wasn't looking. No--it was the beasts that made us anxious. 

At first we'd go for long walks and make explorations up and down theisland. The beasts hid from us according to the wild nature that's inthem. You could only tell from fresh tracks in damp places that theyhadn't utterly disappeared. Now and then we saw deer and antelopes faroff; and at night, of course, there was always something doing in theway of a chorus. Beasts that gave our end of the island the go-bydaytimes paid us visits nights and sat under the windows, you may say, and sang their songs. 

It seemed natural after a time to be cooped up in a big green prisonwith a lot of loose wild things that could bite and tear you to piecesif they thought of it. We were hard to scare. What scared me first wasthis: When we got to the island it was alive with goats. Well, thesejust casually disappeared. Then, one morning, bright and early, I cameon the big python in the act of swallowing a baby antelope. It gave me ahorrid start and set me thinking. How long could the island support amenagerie? What would the meat-eaters do when they'd killed off all theeasy meat--finished up the deer and antelopes and all? Would they fightit out among themselves--big tiger eat little tiger--until only thefittest one survived? And what would that fittest one do if he got goodand hungry and began to think that I'd make a square meal for him--orIvy?

I reached two conclusions--and the cave about the same time. First, Iwouldn't tell Ivy I was scared. Second, I'd make fire by friction orotherwise--or bust. Once I got fire, I'd never let it go out. I set towork with the firesticks right off, and Ivy came and stood by and lookedon. 

"Never saw you put so much elbow-grease into anything, " she said. "What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"It's a game, " I grunted, "and these two fellows will have me beat if Idon't look lively. "

"Right Bower, " she says then, slow and deliberate, "I can see you'reupside down about something. Tell Ivy. "

"Look, " says I--"smoke! I never got it so quick before. " I spun thepointed stick between the palms of my hands harder than ever and gloatedover the wisp of smoke that came from where it was boring into the flatstick. 

"Make a bow, " says Ivy. "Loop the bowstring round the hand-piece andyou'll get more friction with less work. "

"By gorry!" says I; "you're right. I remember a picture in ageography--'Native Drilling a Conch Shell. ' Fool that I am to forget!"

"Guess you and I learned out of the same geography, " said Ivy. 

"Only I didn't learn, " said I. "I'm off to cut something tough to makethe bow. "

"Don't go far, " she says. 

"Why not?" said I--the sporty way a man does when he pretends that he'sgoing to take a night off with the boys and play poker. 

"Because, " she says smiling, "I'm afraid the beasts will get me whileyou're gone. "

"Rats!" says I. 

"Tigers!" says she. "Oh, Right, you unplumbable old idiot! Do you thinkyou can come into this cave and hide anything from me under thattransparent face of yours? The minute you came in and hemmed and hawed, and said as you had nothing to do you guessed you'd have a go with thefiresticks--I knew. What scared you?"

I surrendered and told her. 

". . . And then, " she said, "you think maybe they'll hurt--us?"

I nodded. 

"Why, it's war, " she said. "I've read enough about war to know thatthere are two safe rules to follow. First, declare war yourself whilethe other fellow's thinking about it; and then strike him before he'seven heard that you have declared it. That sounds mixed, but it's easyenough. We'll declare war on the dangerous beasts while I'm still in themonths of hop, skip, and jump. "

"A certain woman, " said I, "wouldn't let the beasts go down in the old_Boldero_, as would have been beneficial for all parties. "

"This is different, " she said. "This island's got to be a safe place fora little child to play in or Ivy Bower's got to be told the reason why. "

"You're dead right, Ivy dear, " I says, "and always was. But how? I'mcursed if I know how to kill a tiger without a rifle. . . . Let's get firefirst and put the citadel in a state of siege. Then we'll try our handat traps, snares, and pitfalls. I'm strong, but I'm cursed if I want tofall on a tiger with nothing in my hands but a knife or an axe. "

"All I care about, " said Ivy, "is to get everything settled, so thatwhen the time comes we can be comfortable and plenty domestic. "

She sat in the mouth of the cave and looked over the smooth cove to therolling ocean beyond; and she had the expression of a little girlplaying at being married with a little boy friend in the playhouse thather father had just given her for her birthday. 

I got a piece of springy wood to make a bow with, and sat by her shapingit with my knife. That night we got fire. Ivy caught some fish in thecove and we cooked them; and--thanks, O Lord!--how good they were! Wesat up very late comparing impressions, each saying how each felt whenthe smoke began to show sparks and when the tinder pieces finallycaught, and how each had felt when the broiled smell of the fish hadbegun to go abroad in the land. We told each other of all the goodthings we had eaten in our day, but how this surpassed them all. Andlater we told each other all our favorite names--boy names in case itshould be a boy and girl names in case it shouldn't. 

Then, suddenly, something being hunted by something tore by in thedark--not very far off. The sweat came off me in buckets, and I heapedwood on the fire and flung burning brands into the night, this way andthat, as far as I could fling them. Ivy said I was like Jupiter tryingto hurl thunder-bolts, after the invention of Christianity, and notrightly understanding why they wouldn't explode any more. 

VII

The pines of the island were full of pitch and a branch would burntorch-like for a long time. I kept a bundle of such handy, the shortends sharpened so's you could stick 'em round wherever the ground wassoft enough and have an effect of altar candles in a draughty church. Ifthere was occasion to leave the cave at night I'd carry one of thetorches and feel as safe as if it had been an elephant rifle. 

We made a kind of a dooryard in front of the cave's mouth, with astockade that we borrowed from Robinson Crusoe, driving pointed stakesclose-serried and hoping they'd take root and sprout; but they didn't. Between times I made finger-drawings in the sand of plans for tigertraps and pitfalls. I couldn't dig pits, but I knew of two that mighthave been made to my order, a volcano having taken the contract. Theywere deep as wells, sheer-sided; anything that fell in would stay in. Imade a wattle-work of branches and palm fibre to serve as lids for thesenature-made tiger jars. The idea was to toss dead fish out to the middleof the lids for bait; then for one of the big cats to smell the fish, step out to get it, and fall through. Once in, it would be child's workto stone him to death. 

Another trap I made was more complicated and was a scheme to drop treesheavy enough to break a camel's back or whatever touched the triggerthat kept them from falling. It was the devil's own job to make thattrap. First place, I couldn't cut a tree big enough and lift it to astrategic position; so I had to fell trees in such a way that they'd becaught half-way to the ground by other trees. Then I'd have to clearaway branches and roots so that when the trees did fall the rest of theway it would be clean, plumb, and sudden. It was a wonderful trap whenit was finished and it was the most dangerous work of art I ever saw. Ifyou touched any of a dozen triggers you stood to have a whole grove oftrees come banging down on top of you--same as if you went for a walk inthe woods and a tornado came along and blew the woods down. If the bigcats had known how frightfully dangerous that trap was they'd havejumped overboard and left the island by swimming. I made two other trapssomething like it--the best contractor in New York wouldn't haveundertaken to build one just like it at any price--and then it camearound to be the seventh day, so to speak; and, like the six-day bicyclerider, I rested. 

"Days, " is only a fashion of speaking. I was months getting my fivedeath-traps into working order. I couldn't work steadily because therewas heaps of cavework to do besides, fish to be caught, wood to be cutfor the fire, and all; and then, dozens of times, I'd suddenly getscared about Ivy and go running back to the cave to see if she was allright. I might have known better; she was always all right and muchbetter plucked than I was. 

Well, sir, my traps wouldn't work. The fish rotted on the wattle-lids ofthe pitfalls, but the beasts wouldn't try for 'em. They were gettingravenous, too--ready to attack big Bahut even; but they wouldn't stepout on those wattles and they wouldn't step under my balanced trees. They'd beat about the neighborhood of the danger and I've found many apadmark within six inches of the edge of things. I even baited with alive kid. It belonged to the Thibet goats and I had a hard time catchingit; and after it had bleated all night and done its baby best to betiger food I turned it loose and it ran off with its mammy. She, poorsoul, had gone right into the trap to be with her baby and, owing to thedirect intervention of Providence, hadn't sprung the thing. 

The next fancy bait I tried was a chetah--dead. I found him just afterhis accident, not far from the cave. He was still warm; and he wasflat--very flat, like a rug made of chetah skin. He had some shreds ofelephant-hide tangled in his claws. It looked to me as if he'd gottendesperate with hunger and had pounced on big Bahut--pshaw! the story wasin plain print: "Ouch!" says big Bahut. "A flea has bitten me. Here'swhere I play dead, " and--rolls over. Result: one neat and very flat rugmade out of chetah. 

I showed the rug to Ivy and then carried it off to the woods and spreadit in my first and fanciest trap. Then I allowed I'd have a look at thepitfalls, which I hadn't visited for a couple of days--and I was a foolto do it. I'd told Ivy where I was going to spread the chetah and thatafter that I'd come straight home. Well, the day seemed young and Ithought if I hurried I could go home the roundabout way by the pitfallsin such good time that Ivy wouldn't know the difference. Well, sir, Icame to the first pitfall--and, lo and behold! something had been andtaken the bait and got away with it without so much as putting a footthrough the wattling. I'd woven it too strong. So I thought I'd justweaken it up a little--it wouldn't take five minutes. I tried it with myfoot--very gingerly. Yes, it was too strong--much too strong. I put moreweight into that foot--and bang, smash, crash--bump! There I was at thebottom of the pit, with half the wattling on top of me. 

The depth of that hole was full twenty-five feet; the sides were assmooth as bottle-glass; dusk was turning into dark. But these thingsweren't the worst of it. I'd told Ivy that I'd do one thing--and I'dgone and done another. I'd lied to her and I'd put her in for a time ofanxiety, and then fright, that might kill her. 

VIII

I wasted what little daylight was left trying to climb out, usingnothing but hands and feet. And then I sat down and cursed myself for atriple-plated, copper-riveted, patent-applied-for fool. Nothing wouldhave been easier, given light, than to take the wattling that had falleninto the pit with me to pieces, build a pole--sort of a split-bamboofishing-rod on a big scale--shin up and go home. But to turn that trickin the dark wasn't any fun. I did it though--twice. I made the firstpole too light and it smashed when I was half-way up. A splinter jabbedinto my thigh and drew blood. That complicated matters. The smell of theblood went out of the pit and travelled around the island like asandwich man saying: "Fine supply of fresh meat about to come out ofRight Bower's pet pitfall; second on the left. "

When I'd shinned to the top of the second pole I built and crawled overthe rim of the pit--there was a tiger sitting, waiting, very patient. Icould just make him out in the starlight. He was mighty lean and lookedlike a hungry gutter-cat on a big scale. Some people are afraid to bealone in the dark. I'm not. Well, I just knelt there--I'd risen to myknees--and stared at him. And then I began to take in a long breath--Iswelled and swelled with it. It's a wonder I didn't use up all the airon the island and create a vacuum--in which case the tiger would haveblown up. I remember wondering what that big breath was going to do whenit came out. I didn't know. I had no plan. I looked at the tiger and helooked at me and whined--like a spoiled spaniel asking for sugar. Thatwas too much. I thought of Ivy, maybe needing me as she'd never neededany one before--and I looked at that stinking cat that meant to keep mefrom her. I made one jump at him--'stead of him at me--and at the sametime I let out the big breath I'd drawn in a screech that very likelywas heard in Jericho. 

The tiger just vanished like a Cheshire cat in a book I read once, and Iwas running through the night for home and Ivy. But the fire at the cavewas dying, and Ivy was gone. 

Well, of course she'd have gone to look for me. . . . It was then that Ibegan to whimper and cry. I lit a pine-torch, flung some wood on theembers, and went out to look for her--whimpering all the time. I'd toldher that I was going out to bait a certain trap and would then comestraight home. So of course she'd have gone straight to that trap--andit was there I found her. 

The torch showed her where she sat, right near the dead chetah, in thevery centre of the trap--triggers all about her--to touch one of whichspelt death; and all around the trap, in a ring--like an audience at aone-ring circus--were the meat-eaters--the tigers--the lions--theleopards--and, worst of all, the pigs. There she sat and there theysat--and no one moved--except me with the torch. 

She lifted her great eyes to me and she smiled. All the beasts looked atme and turned away their eyes from the light and blinked and shifted;and the old he-lion coughed. They wouldn't come near me because of thetorch--and they wouldn't go near Ivy because of the trap. They knew itwas a trap. They always had known it and so had Ivy. That was why shehad gone into it when so many deaths looked at her in so manyways--because she knew that in there she'd be safe. All along she'dknown that my old traps and pitfalls wouldn't catch anything; but she'dnever said so--and she'd never laughed at them or at me. I could find itin my heart to call her a perfect wife--just by that one fact of tactalone; but there are other facts--other reasons--millions of them. 

Suddenly from somewhere near Ivy there came a thin, piping sound. 

"It's your little son talking to you, " says Ivy, as calm as if she wassitting up in a four-poster. 

"My little son!" I says. That was all for a minute. Then I says:

"Are you all right?"

And she says:

"Sure I am--now that I know you are. "

I turned my torch fire-end down and it began to blaze and sputter andpresently roar. Then I steps over to the lion and he doesn't move; and Ipoints the torch at his dirty face--and lunges. 

Ever see a kitten enjoying a fit? That was what happened to him. Then Iran about, beating and poking and shouting and burning. It was likeUlysses cleaning the house of suitors and handmaids. All the beasts ran;and some of 'em ran a long way, I guess, and climbed trees. 

I stuck the torch point-end in the ground, stepped into the trap, andlifted my family out. All the time I prayed aloud, saying: "Lord onhigh, keep Right Bower from touching his blamed foot against any ofthese triggers and dropping the forest on top of all he holds in hisarms!" Ivy, she rubbed her cheek against mine to show confidence--andthen we were safe out and I picked up the torch and carried the wholekit and boodle, family, torch, happiness--much too big to tote--andbelief in God's goodness, watchfulness, and mercy, home to our cave. 

Right Bower added some uneventful details of the few days following--theship's boat that put into the island for water and took them off, andso on. Then he asked me if I'd like to meet Mrs. Bower, and I wentforward with him and was presented. 

She was deep in a steamer-chair, half covered with a somewhat gayassortment of steamer-rugs. I had noticed her before, in passing, andhad mistaken her for a child. 

Bower beamed over us for a while and then left us and we talked forhours--about Bower, the children, and the home in East Orange to whichthey were returning after a holiday at Aix; but she wouldn't talk muchabout the island. "Right, " she said, "was all the time so venturesomethat from morning till night I died of worry and anxiety. Right says theLord does just the right thing for the right people at the righttime--always. That's his creed. . . . Sometimes, " she said, "I wonderwhat's become of big Bahut. He was such a--white elephant!"

Mrs. Gordon-Colfax took me to task for spending so much of the afternoonwith Mrs. Bower. 

"Who, " said she, "was that common little person you were flirtingwith?--and why?"

"She's a Mrs. Bower, " I said. "She has a mission. "

"I could tell that, " said Mrs. Gordon-Colfax, "from the way she turnedup her eyes at you. "

"As long as she doesn't turn up her nose at me--" I began; but Mrs. Gordon-Colfax put in:

"The Lord did that for her. "

"And, " I said, "so she was saying. She said the Lord does just the rightthing for the right person at the right time. . . . Now, your nose isbeautifully Greek; but, to be honest, it turns up ever so much more thanhers does. "

"Oh, well, " said Mrs. Gordon-Colfax, "I hate common people--and I can'thelp it. Let's have a bite in the grill. "

"Sorry, " I said; "I'm dining with the Bowers. "

"You have a strong stomach, " said she. 

"I have, " I said, "but a weak heart--and they are going to strengthen itfor me. "

And there arose thenceforth a coolness between Mrs. Gordon-Colfax andme, which proves once more that the Lord does just the right thing forthe right people at the right time. 

SAPPHIRA

Mr. Hemingway had transacted a great deal of business with MissTennant's father; otherwise he must have shunned the proposition uponwhich she came to him. Indeed, wrinkling his bushy brows, he as much astold her that he was a banker and not a pawnbroker. 

Outside, the main street of Aiken, broad enough to have made five NewEngland streets, lay red and glaring in the sun. The least restlessshifting of feet by horses and mules tied to hitching-posts raisedclouds of dust, immense reddish ghosts that could not be laid. In thebank itself, ordinarily a cool retreat, smelling faintly of tobaccojuice deposited by some of its clients, the mercury was swelling towardninety. It was April Fools' day, and unless Miss Tennant was cool, nobody was. She looked cool. If the temperature had been 40° below zeroshe would have looked warm; but she would have been dressed differently. 

It was her great gift always to look the weather and the occasion; nomatter how or what she really felt. On the present occasion she wore avery simple, inexpensive muslin, flowered with faint mauve lilacs, and awide, floppy straw-hat trimmed with the same. She had driven into town, half a mile or more, without getting a speck of dust upon herself. Eventhe corners of her eyes were like those of a newly laundered baby. Shesmelled of tooth-powder (precipitated chalk and orris root), as was hercustom, and she wore no ring or ornament of any value. Indeed, suchjewels as she possessed, a graceful diamond necklace, a pearl collar, apearl pendant, and two cabochon sapphire rings, lay on the table betweenher and Mr. Hemingway. 

"I'm not asking the bank to do this for me, " she said, and she lookedextra lovely (on purpose, of course). "I'm asking you----"

Mr. Hemingway poked the cluster of jewels very gingerly with hisforefinger as if they were a lizard. 

"And, of course, " she said, "they are worth twice the money; maybe threeor four times. "

"Perhaps, " said Mr. Hemingway, "you will take offence if I suggest thatyour father----"

The muslin over her shoulders tightened the least in the world. She hadshrugged them. 

"Of course, " she said, "papa would do it; but he would insist onreasons. My reasons involve another, Mr. Hemingway, and so it would notbe honorable for me to give them. "

"And yet, " said the banker, twinkling, "your reasons would tempt me toaccommodate you with the loan you ask for far more than yourcollateral. "

"Oh, " she said, "you are a business man. I could give you reasons, andbe sure they would go no further--even if you thought them funny. But ifpapa heard them, and thought them funny, as he would, he would play thesieve. I don't want this money for myself, Mr. Hemingway. "

"They never do, " said he. 

She laughed. 

"I wish to lend it in turn, " she said, "to a person who has beenreckless, and who is in trouble, but in whom I believe. . . . But perhaps, "she went on, "the person, who is very proud, will take offence at myoffer of help. . . . In which case, Mr. Hemingway, I should return you themoney to-morrow. "

"This person--" he began, twinkling. 

"Oh, " she said, "I couldn't bear to be teased. The person is a younggentleman. Any interest that I take in him is a business interest, pureand simple. I believe that, tided over his present difficulties, he willsteady down and become a credit to his sex. Can I say more than that?"She smiled drolly. 

"Men who are a credit to their sex, " said Mr. Hemingway, "are not rare, but young gentlemen----"

"This one, " said she, "has in him the makings of a man. Just now he isdiscouraged. "

"Is he taking anything for it?" asked Mr. Hemingway with some sarcasm. 

"Buckets, " said Miss Tennant simply. 

"Was it cards?" he asked. 

"Cards, and betting--and the hopeless optimism of youth, " said she. 

"And you wish to lend him five thousand dollars, and your interest inhim is platonic?"

"Nothing so ardent, " said she demurely. "I wish him to pay his debts, togive me his word that he will neither drink nor gamble until he has paidback the debt to me, and I shall suggest that he go out to one of thosebig Western States and become a man. "

"If anybody, " said Mr. Hemingway with gallantry, "could lead a younggentleman to so sweeping a reform, it would be yourself. "

"There is no sequence of generations, " said Miss Tennant, "long enoughto eradicate a drop of Irish blood. "

Mr. Hemingway swept the jewels together and wrapped them in thetissue-paper in which she had brought them. 

"Are you going to put them in your safe--or return them to me?" sheasked plaintively. 

Mr. Hemingway affected gruffness. 

"I am thanking God fervently, ma'am, " said he, "that you didn't ask mefor more. You'll have to give me your note. By the way, are you of age?"

Her charming eyes narrowed, and she laughed at him. 

"People, " she said, "are already beginning to say, 'she will hardlymarry now. ' But it's how old we feel, Mr. Hemingway, isn't it?"

"I feel about seven, " said he, "and foolish at that. "

"And I, " said she, "will be twenty-five for the second time on my nextbirthday. "

"And, by the way, " she said, when the details of the loan had beenarranged and she had stuffed the five thousand dollars into the palm ofa wash glove, "nobody must know about this, because I shall have to saythat--my gewgaws have been stolen. "

"But that will give Aiken a black eye, " said he. 

"I'm afraid it can't be helped, Mr. Hemingway. Papa will ask point-blankwhy I never wear the pearls he gave me, and I shall have to anticipate. "

"How?" he asked. 

"Oh, " she said demurely, "to-night or to-morrow night I shall rouse thehousehold with screams, and claim that I woke and saw a man bending overmy dressing-table--a man with a beautiful white mustache and imperial. "

Mr. Hemingway's right hand flew to his mouth as if to hide thesewell-ordered appendages, and he laughed. 

"Is the truth nothing to you?" he said. 

"In a business matter pure and simple, " she said, after a moment'sreflection, "it is nothing--absolutely nothing. "

"Not being found out by one's parents is hardly a business matter, "said Mr. Hemingway. 

"Oh, " said she with a shiver, "as a little girl I went into the hands ofa receiver at least once a month----"

"A hand of iron in a velvet glove, " murmured Mr. Hemingway. 

"Oh, no, " she said, "a leather slipper in a nervous hand. . . . But how canI thank you?"

She rose, still demure and cool, but with a strong sparkling in her eyesas from a difficult matter successfully adjusted. 

"You could make the burglar a clean-shaven man, " Mr. Hemingwaysuggested. 

"I will, " she said. "I will make him look like anybody you say. "

"God forbid, " said he. "I have no enemies. But, seriously, Miss Tennant, if you possibly can, will you do without a burglary, for the good nameof Aiken?"

"I will do what I can, " she said, "but I can't make promises. "

When she had gone, one of the directors pushed open the door of Mr. Hemingway's office and tiptoed in. 

"Well, " said he, "for an old graybeard! You've been flirting fiftyminutes, you sinner. "

"I haven't, " said Mr. Hemingway, twisting his mustache and lookingroguish. "I've been discussing a little matter of business with MissTennant. "

"_What_ business?"

"Well, it wasn't any of yours, Frank, at the time, and I'm dinned if Ithink it is now. But if you must know, she came in to complain of themilk that your dairy has been supplying lately. She said it was the kindof thing you'd expect in the North, but for a Southern gentleman to putwater in anything----"

"You go to Augusta, " said the director (it is several degrees hotterthan Aiken). "Everybody knows that spoons stand up in the milk from mydairy, and as for the cream----"

In the fall from grace of David Larkin there was involved no great showof natural depravity. The difference between a young man who goes rightand a young man who goes wrong may be no more than the half of one percent. And I do not know why we show the vicious such contempt and thevirtuous such admiration. Larkin's was the case of a young man who triedto do what he was not old enough, strong enough, or wise enough to "getaway with, " as the saying is. Aiken did not corrupt him; he was corruptwhen he came, with a bank account of thirty-five hundred dollarssnatched from the lap of Dame Fortune, at a moment when she was mindingsome other small boy. Horses running up to their form, spectacularbridge hands (not well played), and bets upon every subject that can bethought of had all contributed. Then Larkin caught a cold in his nose, so that it ran all day and all night; and because the Browns had invitedhim to Aiken for a fortnight whenever he cared to come, he seized uponthe excuse of his cold and boarded the first train. He was no sooner inAiken than Dame Fortune ceased minding the other small boy, and turnedher petulant eyes upon Larkin. Forthwith he began to lose. 

Let no man who does not personally know what a run of bad luck is judgeanother. What color is a lemon? Why, it is lemon-colored, to be sure. And behold, fortune produces you a lemon black as the ace of spades. When fortune goes against you, you cannot be right. The favorite fallsdown; the great jockey uses bad judgment for the first time in his life;the foot-ball team that ought to win is overtrained; the yacht carriesaway her bowsprit; your four kings are brought face to face, after much"hiking, " with four aces; the cigarette that you try to flick into thefireplace hits the slender andiron and bounces out upon the rug; theliquor that you carried so amiably and sensibly in New York mixes withthe exciting air of the place where the young lady you are attentive tolives, and you make four asses of yourself and seven fools, and wake upwith your first torturing headache and your first humiliating apology. Americans (with the unfortunate exception of us who make a business ofit) are the greatest phrase-makers the world has ever known. Larkin'sjudgment was good; he was a modest young fellow of very decentinstincts, he was neither a born gambler nor a born drinker; but, in theAmerican phrase, "he was _in_ wrong. "

Bad luck is not a good excuse for a failure in character; but God knowshow wickedly provocative thereof it can be. The elders of the Aiken Clubdid not notice that Larkin was slipping from grace, because his slippingwas gradual; but they noticed all of a sudden, with pity, chagrin (forthey liked him), and kindly contempt, that he had fallen. Forthwith awave of reform swept over the Aiken Club, or it amounted to that. Richmen who did not care a hang about what they won or lost refused to playfor high stakes; Larkin's invitations to cocktails were very largelyrefused; no bets were made in his presence (and I must say that this wasa great cause of languishment in certain men's conversation), and theyoung man was mildly and properly snubbed. This locking of the stabledoor, however, had the misfortune to happen just after the horse hadbolted. Larkin had run through the most of his money; he did not knowhow he was to pay his bed and board at Willcox's, where he was nowstopping; his family were in no position to help him; he knew that hewas beginning to be looked on with contempt; he thought that he wasseriously in love with Miss Tennant. He could not see any way out ofanything; knew that a disgraceful crash was imminent, and for all thesetroubles he took the wrong medicine. Not the least foolish part of thiswas that it was medicine for which he would be unable to pay when theclub bill fell due. From after breakfast until late at night he kepthimself, not drunk, but stimulated. . . . And then one day the president ofthe club spoke to him very kindly--and the next day wouldn't speak tohim at all. 

The proper course would have been for Larkin to open his heart to any ofa dozen men. Any one of them would have straightened him out mentallyand financially in one moment, and forgotten about it the next. ButLarkin was too young, too foolish, and too full of false pride to makeconfessions to any one who could help him; and he was quite ignorant ofthe genuine kindness and wisdom that lurks in the average rich man, ifonce you can get his ear. 

But one night, being sure they could not be construed into an appeal forhelp, or anything but a sympathetic scolding, which he thought would beenjoyable (and because of a full moon, perhaps, and a whole chorus ofmocking-birds pouring out their souls in song, and because of an arborcovered with the yellow jasmine that smells to heaven, and a littlesweeter), he made his sorry confessions into the lovely pink hollow ofMiss Tennant's ear. 

Instead of a scolding he received sympathy and understanding; and hemisconstrued the fact that she caught his hand in hers and squeezed itvery hard; and did not know that he had misconstrued that fact until hefound that it was her cheek that he had kissed instead of her hastilyaverted lips. 

This rebuff did not prevent him from crowning the story of his younglife with further confessions. And it is on record that when Larkin cameinto the brightly lighted club there was dust upon the knees of histrousers. 

"I _am_ fond of you, David, " she had said, "and in spite of all the messyou have made of things, I believe in you; but even if I were fonderthan fondest of you, I should despise myself if I listened to you--now. "

But she did not sleep all night for thinking how she could be of real, material help to the young man, and cause him to turn into the straight, narrow path that always leads to success and sometimes to achievement. 

Every spring the Mannings, who have nothing against them except thatthey live on the wrong side of town, give a wistaria party. The Manningslive for the blossoming of the wistaria which covers their charmingporticoed house from top to toe and fills their grounds. Ever since theycan remember they have specialized in wistaria; and they are not young, and wistaria grows fast. The fine old trees that stand in the Mannings'grounds are merely lofty trellises for the vines, white and mauve, tosport upon. The Mannings' garden cost less money, perhaps, than anynotable garden in Aiken; and when in full bloom it is, perhaps, the mostbeautiful garden in the world. To appreciate wistaria, one vine with aspread of fifty feet bearing ten thousand racemes of blossoms a footlong is not enough; you must enter and disappear into a region of suchvines, and then loaf and stroll with an untroubled nose and your heart'sdesire. 

Even Larkin, when he paused under the towering entrance vines, a mauveand a white, forgot his troubles. He filled his lungs with the deliciousfragrance, and years after the consciousness of it would come upon himsuddenly. And then coming upon tea-tables standing in the open andcovered with good things, and finding, among the white flannel andmuslin guests, Miss Tennant, very obviously on the lookout for him, hiscup was full. When they had drunk very deep of orangeade, and eaten jamsandwiches followed by chicken sandwiches and walnut cake, they wentstrolling (Miss Tennant still looking completely ethereal--a creaturethat lived on the odor of flowers and kind thoughts rather than the morematerial edibles mentioned above), and then Larkin felt that his cup wasoverflowing. 

Either because the day was hot or because of the sandwiches, they foundexclusive shade and sat in it, upon a white seat that looked likemarble--at a distance. Larkin once more filled his lungs with the breathof wistaria and was for letting it out in further confessions of what hefelt to be his heart's ultimate depths. But Miss Tennant was too quickfor him. She drew five one-thousand-dollar bills from the palm of herglove and put them in his hand. 

"There, " she said. 

Larkin looked at the money and fell into a dark mood. 

"What is this for?" he said presently. 

"This is a loan, " said she, "from me to you; to be a tiding over ofpresent difficulties, a reminder of much that has been pleasant in thepast, and an earnest of future well-doing. Good luck to you, David. "

"I wish I could take it, " said the young man with a swift, slantingsmile. "And at least I can crawl upon my stomach at your feet, and pullmy forelock and heap dust upon my head. . . . God bless you!" And hereturned the bills to her. 

She smiled cheerfully but a little disdainfully. 

"Very well, then, " said she. "I tear them up. "

"Oh!" cried Larkin. "Don't make a mess of a beautiful incident. "

"Then take them. "

"No. "

"Why not?"

"Oh, you know as well as I do that a man can't borrow from a girl. "

"A man?" asked Miss Tennant simply, as if she doubted having heardcorrectly. Then, as he nodded, she turned a pair of eyes upon him thatwere at once kind, pained, and deeply thoughtful. And she began to speakin a quiet, repressed way upon the theme that he had suggested. 

"A man, " she said; "what is a man? I can answer better by telling youwhat a man is not. A man is not a creature who loafs when he ought to beat work, who loses money that he hasn't got, who drinks liquor that hecannot carry, and who upon such a noble groundwork feels justified inmaking love to a decent, self-respecting girl. That is not a _man_, David. A man would have no need of any help from me. . . . But you--you area child that has escaped from its nurse, a bird that has fallen out ofits nest before it has learned to fly, and you have done nothing butfoolish things. . . . But somehow I have learned to suspect you of a betterself, where, half-strangled with foolishnesses and extravagance, therelurks a certain contrition and a certain sweetness. . . . God knows Ishould like to see you a man. . . . "

Larkin jumped to his feet, and all of him that showed was crimson, andhe could have cried. But he felt no anger, and he kept his eyes uponhers. 

"Thank you, " he said; "may I have them?"

He stuffed the bills into his pocket. 

"I have no security, " he said. "But I will give you my word of honorneither to drink, neither to gamble, neither to loaf, nor to make loveuntil I have paid you back interest and principal. "

"Where will you go? What will you do, David?"

"West--God knows. I _will_ do something. . . . You see that I can't say anythanks, don't you? That I am almost choking, and that at any moment Imight burst into sobs?"

They were silent, and she looked into his face unconsciously while hemastered his agitation. He sat down beside her presently, his elbows onhis knees, his chin deep in his hands. 

"Is God blessing you by any chance?" he said. "Do you feel anything ofthe kind? Because I am asking Him to--so very hard. I shall ask Him to amillion times every day until I die. . . . Would it be possible for one whohas deserved nothing, but who would like it for the strengthingest, beautifulest memory. . . . "

"Quick, then, " said she, "some one's coming. "

That very night screams pierced to every corner of the Tennants' greathouse on the Whiskey Road. Those whom screams affect in one way sprangfrom bed; those whom they affect in another hid under the bedclothes. Mr. Tennant himself, a man of sharp temper and implacable courage, dashed from his room in a suit of blue-and-white pajamas, and overturneda Chippendale cabinet worth a thousand dollars; young Mr. Tennant barkedboth shins on a wood-box and dropped a loaded Colt revolver into thewell of the stair; Mrs. Tennant was longer in appearing, having tarriedto try the effect upon her nerves and color sense of three diverswrappers. The butler, an Admirable Crichton of a man, came, bearing abucket of water in case the house was on fire. Mrs. Tennant's Frenchmaid carried a case of her mistress's jewels, and seemed determined toleave. 

Miss Tennant stood in the door-way of her room. She was pale and greatlyagitated, but her eyes shone with courage and resolve. Her arched, blue-veined feet were thrust into a pair of red Turkish slippers turningup at the toes. A mandarin robe of dragoned blue brocade was flung overher night-gown. In one hand she had a golf club--a niblick. 

"Oh!" she cried, when her father was sufficiently recovered fromoverturning the cabinet to listen, "there was a man in my room. "

 Mr. Tennant } { furiously. Young Mr. } { Tennant } { sleepily. } { The butler } "A man?" { as if he thought she } { meant to say a fire. The French } { maid } { blushing crimson. 

Then, and again all together:

 Mr. Tennant-- "Which way did he go?" Young Mr. Tennant-- "Which man?" The butler-- "A white man?" The French maid (with a kind of ecstasy)-- "A man!"

"Out the window!" cried Miss Tennant. 

Her father and brother dashed downstairs and out into the grounds. Thebutler hurried to the telephone (still carrying his bucket of water) andrang Central and asked for the chief of police. Central answered, aftera long interval, that the chief of police was out of order, and rangoff. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Tennant arrived, and, having coldly recovered herjewel-case from the custody of the French maid, prepared to be told thedetails of what hadn't happened. 

"He was bending over my dressing-table, mamma, " said Miss Tennant. "Icould see him plainly in the moonlight; he had a mask, and was smoothshaven, and he wore gloves. "

"I wonder why he wore gloves, " mused Mrs. Tennant. 

"I suppose, " said Miss Tennant, "that he had heard of the Bertillonsystem, and was afraid of being tracked by his finger-marks. "

"Did he say anything?"

"Not to me, I think, " said Miss Tennant, "but he kept mumbling tohimself so I could hear: 'Slit her damn throat if she makes a move; slitit right into the backbone. ' So, of course, I didn't make a move--Ithought he was talking to a confederate whom I couldn't see. "

"Why a _confederate_?" asked Mrs. Tennant. "Oh, I see--you mean a sortof partner. "

"But there was only the one, " said Miss Tennant. "And when he had filledhis pockets and was gone by the window--I thought it was safe to scream, and I screamed. "

"Have you looked to see what he took?"

"No. But my jewels were all knocking about on the dressing-table. Isuppose he got them. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Tennant, "let's be thankful that he didn't get mine. "

"And only to think, " said Miss Tennant, "that only last night papaasked me why I had given up wearing my pearls, and was put out about it, and I promised to wear them oftener!"

"Never mind, my dear, " said her mother confidentially; "if you are sorryenough long enough your father will buy you others. He can bewonderfully generous if you keep at him. "

"Oh, " said Miss Tennant, "I feel sure that they will be recovered someday--it may not be to-morrow, or next day--but somehow--some time I feelsure that they will come back. Of course papa must offer a reward. "

"I wonder how much he will offer!"

"Oh, a good round sum. I shall suggest five thousand dollars, if he asksme. "

The next day Miss Tennant despatched the following note to Mr. Hemingway:

 DEAR, KIND MR. HEMINGWAY:

 You have heard of the great robbery and of my dreadful fright. But there is no use crying about it. It is one of those dreadful things, I suppose, that simply _have_ to happen. The burglar was smooth-shaven. How awful that this should have to happen in Aiken of all cities. In Aiken where we never have felt hitherto that it was ever necessary to lock the door. I suppose Mr. Powell's nice hardware store will do an enormous business now in patent bolts. Papa is going to offer five thousand dollars' reward for the return of my jewels, and no questions asked. Do you know, I have a feeling that you are going to be instrumental in finding the stolen goods. I have a feeling that the thief (if he has any sense at all) will negotiate through you for their return. And I am sure the thief would never have taken them if he had known how badly it would make me feel, and what a blow he was striking at the good name of Aiken. 

 I am, dear Mr. Hemingway, contritely and sincerely yours, SAPPHIRA TENNANT (formerly Dolly Tennant). 

But Mr. Hemingway refused to touch the reward, and Miss Tennant remainedin his debt for the full amount of her loan. She began at once to savewhat she could from her allowance. And she called this fund her"conscience money. "

Miss Tennant and David Larkin did not meet again until the moment of thelatter's departure from Aiken. And she was only one of a number whodrove to the station to see him off. Possibly to guard against hisimpulsive nature, she remained in her runabout during the brieffarewell. And what they said to each other might have been (and probablywas) heard by others. 

Aiken felt that it had misjudged Larkin, and he departed in high favor. He had paid what he owed, so Aiken confessed to having misjudged hisresources. He had suddenly stopped short in all evil ways, so Aikenconfessed to having misjudged his strength of character. He hadannounced that he was going out West to seek the bubble wealth in themouth of an Idaho apple valley, so Aiken cheered him on and wished himwell. And when Aiken beheld the calmness of his farewells to MissTennant, Aiken said: "And he seems to have gotten over that. "

But Larkin had done nothing of the kind, and he said to himself, as helay feverish and restless in a stuffy upper berth: "It isn't becauseshe's so beautiful or so kind; it's because she always speaks the truth. Most girls lie about everything, not in so many words, perhaps, but infact. She doesn't. She lets you know what she thinks, and where youstand . . . And I didn't stand very high. "

Despair seized him. How is it possible to go into a strange world, withonly nine hundred dollars in your pocket, and carve a fortune? "When canI pay her back? What must I do if I fail?. . . " Then came thoughts thatwere as grains of comfort. Was her lending him money philanthropy pureand simple, an act emanating from her love of mankind? Was it not ratheran act emanating from affection for a particular man? If so, thatman--misguided boy, bird tumbled out of the nest, child that had escapedfrom its nurse--was not hard to find. "I could lay my finger on him, "thought Larkin, and he did so--five fingers, somewhat grandiosely uponthe chest. A gas lamp peered at him over the curtain pole; snores shookthe imprisoned atmosphere of the car. And Larkin's thoughts flitted fromthe past and future to the present. 

A question that he now asked himself was: "Do women snore?" And: "Ifpeople cannot travel in drawing-rooms, why do they travel at all?" Thesafety of his nine hundred dollars worried him; he knelt up to look inthe inside pocket of his jacket, and bumped his head, a dull, solidbump. Pale golden stars, shaped like the enlarged pictures ofsnow-flakes, streamed across his consciousness. But the money was safe. 

Already his nostrils were irritable with cinders; he attempted to blowthem clear, and failed. He was terribly thirsty. He wished very much tosmoke. Whichever way he turned, the frogs on the uppers of his pajamasmade painful holes in him. He woke at last with two coarse blanketswrapped firmly about his head and shoulders and the rest of himhalf-naked, gritty with cinders, and as cold as a well curb. Through theventilators (tightly closed) daylight was struggling with gas-light. Thecar smelled of stale steam and man. The car wheels played a headachytune to the metre of the Phoebe-Snow-upon-the-road-of-anthraciteverses. David cursed Phoebe Snow, and determined that if ever Godvouchsafed him a honey-moon it should be upon the clean, fresh ocean. 

There had been wistaria in Aiken. There was snow in New York. There wasa hurricane in Chicago. But in the smoker bound West there was a fineold gentleman in a blue-serge suit and white spats who took a fancy toDavid, just when David had about come to the conclusion that nothing inthe world looked friendly except suicide. 

If David had learned nothing else from Miss Tennant, he had learned tospeak the truth. "Any employer that I am ever to have, " he resolved, "shall know all that there is to be known about me. I shall not try tocreate the usual impression of a young man seeking his fortune in theWest purely for amusement. " And so, when the preliminaries ofsmoking-room acquaintance had been made--the cigar offered and refused, and one's reasons for or against smoking plainly stated--David wasoffered (and accepted) the opportunity to tell the story of his life. 

David shook his head at a brilliantly labelled cigar eight inches long. 

"I love to smoke, " he said, "but I've promised not to. "

"Better habit than liquor, " suggested the old gentleman in the whitespats. 

"I've promised not to drink. "

"Men who don't smoke and who don't drink, " said the old gentleman, "usually spend their time running after the girls. My name is UriahGrey. "

"Mine is David Larkin, " said David, and he smiled cheerfully, "and I'vepromised not to make love. "

"What--never?" exclaimed Mr. Grey. 

"Not until I have a right to, " said David. 

Mr. Grey drew three brightly bound volumes from between his leg and thearm of his chair, and intimated that he was about to make them a subjectof remark. 

"I love stories, " he said, "and in the hope of a story I paid a dollarand a half for each of three novels. This one tells you how to preparerotten meat for the market. This one tells you when and where to findyour neighbor's wife without being caught. And in this one a noble youngChicagoan describes the life of society persons in the effete East. "

"Whom he does not know from Adam, " said David. 

"Whom he does not distinguish from Adam, " corrected Mr. Grey. "But I wasthinking that I am disappointed in my appetite for stories, and thatjust now you made a most enticing beginning as--'I, Roger Slyweather ofSlyweather Hall, Blankshire, England, having at the age of twenty-two orthereabouts made solemn promise neither to smoke nor to drink, nor tomake love, did set forth upon a blustering day in April. . . . '"

"Oh, " said David, "if it's my story you want, I don't mind a bit. Itwill chasten me to tell it, and you can stop me the minute you arebored. "

And then, slip by slip and bet by bet, he told his story, withholdingonly the sex of that dear friend who had loaned him the five thousanddollars, and to whom he had bound himself by promises. 

"Well, " said Mr. Grey, when David had finished, "I don't know yourholding-out powers, Larkin, but you do certainly speak the truth withoutmincing. "

"That, " said David, "is a promise I have made to myself in admiration ofand emulation of my friend. But I have had my little lesson, and I shallkeep the other promises until I have made good. "

"And then?" Mr. Grey beamed. 

"Then, " said David, "I shall smoke and I shall make love. "

"But no liquor. "

David laughed. 

"I have a secret clause in my pledge, " said he; "it is not to touchliquor except on the personal invitation of my future father-in-law, whoever he may be. " But he had Dolly Tennant's father in his mind, andthe joke seemed good to him. 

"Well, " said Mr. Grey, "I don't know as I'd go into apple-growing. Youhaven't got enough capital. "

"But, " said David, "I intend to begin at the bottom and work up. "

"When I was a youngster, " said Mr. Grey, "I began at the bottom of anapple tree and worked my way to the top. There I found a wasp's nest. Then I fell and broke both arms. That was a lesson to me. Don't go upfor your pile, my boy. Go down. Go down into the beautiful earth, andtake out the precious metals. "

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed David; "you're _the_ Mr. Grey of Denver. "

"I have a car hitched on to this train, " said the magnate; "I'd be veryglad of your company at dinner--seven-thirty. It's not every young manthat I'd invite. But seeing that you're under bond not to make loveuntil you've made good, I can see no objection to introducing you to mygranddaughter. "

"Grandpa, " said Miss Violet Grey, who was sixteen, spoiled, andexquisite, "make that poor boy stop off at Denver, and do something forhim. "

"Since when, " said her grandfather, "have you been so down on apples, miss?"

"Oh, " said she with an approving shudder, "all good women fearthem--like so much poison. "

"But, " said Mr. Grey (Mr. "Iron Grey, " some called him), "if I take thisyoung fellow up, it won't be to put him down in a drawing-room, but in ahole a thousand feet deep, or thereabouts. "

"And when he comes out, " said she, "I shall have returned from beingfinished in Europe. "

"Don't know what there is so attractive about these young Easternne'er-do-weels, " said the old gentleman, "but this one has got a certainsomething. . . . "

"It's his inimitable truthfulness, " said she. 

"Not to me, " said her grandfather, "so much as the way he says _w_instead of _r_ and at the same time gives the impression of having themakings of a man in him. . . . "

"Oh, " she said, "make him, grandpa, do!"

"And if I make him?" The old gentleman smiled provokingly. 

"Why, " said she, "then I'll break him. "

"Or, " said her grandfather, who was used to her sudden fancies andsubsequent disenchantments, "or else you'll shake him. "

Then he pulled her ears for her and sent her to bed. 

In one matter David was, from the beginning of his new career, firmlyresolved. He would in no case write Miss Tennant of his hopes and fears. If he was to be promoted she was not to hear of it until after the fact;and she should not be troubled with the sordid details of hissavings-bank account. As to fears, very great at first, these dwindled, became atrophied, and were consumed in the fire of work from the momentwhen that work changed from a daily nuisance to a daily miracle, at oncethe exercise and the reward of intelligence. His work, really light atfirst, seemed stupendous to him because he did not understand it. Ashis understanding grew, he was given heavier work, and behold! it seemedmore light. He discovered that great books had been written upon everyphase of bringing forth metal from the great mother earth; and hesnatched from long days of toil time for more toil, and burned his lampinto the night, so that he might add theory to practice. 

I should like to say that David's swift upward career owed thanksentirely to his own good habits, newly discovered gifts for miningengineering, and industry; but a strict regard for the truth prevents. Upon his own resources and talents he must have succeeded in the end;but his success was the swifter for the interest, and presentlyaffection, that Uriah Grey himself contributed toward it. In short, David's chances came to him as soon as he was strong enough to handlethem, and were even created on purpose for him; whereas, if he had hadno one behind him, he must have had to wait interminably for them. Butthe main point, of course, is that, as soon as he began to understandwhat was required of him, he began to make good. 

His field work ended about the time that Miss Violet Grey returned fromEurope "completely finished and done up, " as she put it herself, and hebecame a fixture of growing importance in Mr. Grey's main offices inDenver and a thrill in Denver society. His baby _w_'s instead of rolling_r_'s thrilled the ladies; his good habits coupled with his manlinessand success thrilled the men. 

"He doesn't drink, " said one. 

"He doesn't smoke, " said another. 

"He doesn't bet, " said a third. 

"He can look the saints in the face, " said a fourth; and a fifth, looking up, thumped upon a bell that would summon a waiter, and withemphasis said:

"And we _like_ to have him around!"

Among the youngest and most enthusiastic men it even became the habit tocopy David in certain things. He was responsible for a small wave ofreform in Denver, as he had once been in Aiken; but for the oppositecause. Little dialogues like the following might frequently be heard inthe clubs:

"Have a drink, Billy?"

"Thanks; I don't drink. "

"Cigar, Sam?"

"Thanks (with a moan); don't smoke. "

"Betcherfivedollars, Ned. "

"Sorry, old man; I don't bet. "

Or, in a lowered voice:

"Say, let's drop round to----"

"I've (chillingly) cut out all that sort of thing. "

Platonic friendships became the rage. David himself, as leader, maintained a dozen such, chiefest of which was with the newly finishedMiss Grey. At first her very soul revolted against a friendship of thissort. She was lovely, and she knew it; with lovely clothes she madeherself even lovelier, and she knew this, too. She was young, and sherejoiced in it. And she had always been a spoiled darling, and shewished to be made much of, to cause a dozen hearts to beat in the breastwhere but one beat before, to be followed, waited on, adored, bowed downto, and worshipped. She wished yellow-flowering jealousy to sprout inDavid's heart instead of the calm and loyal friendliness to which alonethe soil seemed adapted. She knew that he often wrote letters to a MissTennant; and she would have liked very much to have this Miss Tennant inher power, and to have scalped her there and then. 

This was only at first, when she merely fancied David rather more thanother young men. But a time came when her fancy was stronger for himthan that; and then it seemed to her that even his platonic friendshipwas worth more than all the great passions of history rolled into one. Then from the character of that spoiled young lady were wiped cleanaway, as the sponge wipes marks from a slate, vanity, whims, temper, tantrums, thoughtlessness, and arrogance, and in their places appearedthe opposites. She sought out hard spots in people's lives and made themsoft; sympathy and gentleness radiated from her; thoughtfulness andsteadfastness. 

Her grandfather, who had been reading Ibsen, remarked to himself: "Itmay be artistically and dramatically inexcusable for the ingénuesuddenly to become the heroine--but _I_ like it. As to the cause----"and the old gentleman rested in his deep chair till far into the night, twiddling his thumbs and thinking long thoughts. Finally, frowning andtroubled, he rose and went off to his bed. 

"Is it, " thought he, "because he gave his word not to make love until hehad made good--or is it because he really doesn't give a damn about poorlittle Vi? If it's the first reason, why he's absolved from thatpromise, because he has made good, and every day he's making better. Butif it's the second reason, why then this world is a wicked, drearyplace. Poor little Vi--poor little Vi . . . Only two things in the wholeuniverse that she can't get--the moon, and David--the moon, andDavid----"

About noon the next day, David requested speech with his chief. 

"Well?" said Uriah. The old man looked worn and feeble. He had had asorrowful night. 

"I haven't had a vacation in a year, " said David. "Will you give methree weeks, sir?"

"Want to go back East and pay off your obligations?"

David nodded. 

"I have the money and interest in hand, " said he. 

Mr. Grey smiled. 

"I suppose you'll come back smoking like a chimney, drinking like afish, betting like a book-maker, and keeping a whole chorus inpicture-hats. "

"I think I'll not even smoke, " said David. "About a month ago the lasttraces of hankering left me, and I feel like a free man at last. "

"But you'll be making love right and left, " said Mr. Grey cheerfully, but with a shrewd eye upon the young man's expression of face. 

David looked grave and troubled. He appeared to be turning overdifficult matters in his mind. Then he smiled gayly. 

"At least I shall be free to make love if I want to. "

"Nonsense, " said Mr. Grey. "People don't make love because they want to. They do it because they have to. "

Again David looked troubled, and a little sad, perhaps. 

"True, " said he. And he walked meditatively back to his own desk, tookup a pen, meditated for a long time, and then wrote:

 Best friend that any man ever had in the world! I shall be in Aiken on the twenty-fifth, bringing with me that which I owe, and can pay, and deeply conscious of that deeper debt that I owe, but never can hope to pay. But I will do what I can. I will not now take back the promises I gave, unless you wish; I will not do anything that you do not wish. And if all the service and devotion that is in me for the rest of time seem worth having to you, they are yours. But you know that. 

 DAVID. 

This, looking white, tired, and austere, he reread, folded, enveloped, stamped, sealed, and addressed to Miss Tennant. 

Neither the hand which Miss Tennant laid on his, nor the cigarette whichshe lighted for him, completely mollified Mr. Billy McAllen. He was nolonger young enough to dance with pleasure to a maiden's whims. Theexperience of dancing from New York to Newport and back, and over thedeep ocean and back, and up and down Europe and back with the late Mrs. McAllen--now Mrs. Jimmie Greenleaf--had sufficed. He would walk to thealtar any day with Miss Tennant, but he would not dance. 

"You have so many secrets with yourself, " he complained, "and I'm sovery reasonable. "

"True, Billy, " said Miss Tennant. "But if I put up with your secrets, you should put up with mine. "

"I have none, " said he, "unless you are rudely referring to the factthat I gave my wife such grounds for divorce as every gentleman must beprepared to give to a lady who has tired of him. I might have contracteda pleasant liaison; but I didn't. I merely drove up and down Piccadillywith a notorious woman until the courts were sufficiently scandalized. You know that. "

"But is it nothing, " she said, "to have me feel this way toward you?"And she leaned and rested her lovely cheek against his. 

"At least, Dolly, " said he, more gently, "announce our engagement, andmarry me inside of six months. I've been patient for eighteen. It wouldhave been easy if you had given a good reason. . . . "

"My reason, " said she, "will be in Aiken to-morrow. "

"You speak with such assurance, " said he, smiling, "that I feel sureyour reason is not travelling by the Southern. And you'll tell me thereason to-morrow?"

She shook her head. 

"Not to-morrow, Billy--now. "

He made no comment, fearing that she might seize upon any as a pretextfor putting him off. But he slipped an arm around her waist. 

"Tighter if you like, " she said. "I don't mind. My reason, Billy, is ayoung man. Don't let your arm slacken that way. I don't see any one oranything beyond you in any direction in this world. You know that. There is nothing in the expression 'a young man' to turn you suddenlycold toward me. Don't be a goose. . . . Not so tight. " They laughedhappily. "I will even tell you his name, " she resumed--"David Larkin;and I was a little gone on him, and he was over ears with me. Youweren't in Aiken the year he was. Well, he misbehaved somethingdreadful, Billy; betted himself into a deep, deep hole, and tried tofloat himself out. I took him in hand, loaned him money, and took hissolemn word that he would not even make love until he had paid me back. There was no real understanding between us, only----"

"Only?" McAllen was troubled. 

"Only I think he couldn't have changed suddenly from a little fool intoa man if _he_ hadn't felt that there was an understanding. And hisletters, one every week, confirm that; though he's very careful, becauseof his promise, not to make love in them. . . . You see, he's been workinghis head off--there's no way out of it, Billy--for me. . . . If you hadn'tcrossed my humble path I think I should have possessed enough sentimentfor David to have been--the reward. "

"But there _was_ no understanding. "

"No. Not in so many words. But at the last talk we had together he washumble and pathetic and rather manly, and I did a very foolish thing. "

"What?"

"Oh, " she said with a blush, "I sat still. "

"Let me blot it out, " said McAllen, drawing her very close. 

"But I can only remember up to seven, " said she, "and I am afraid thatnothing can blot them out as far as David is concerned. He will cometo-morrow as sure that I have been faithful to him as that he has beenfaithful to me. . . . It's all very dreadful. . . . He will pay me back themoney, and the interest; and then I shall give him back the promisesthat he gave, and then he will make love to me. . . . "

She sighed, and said that the thought of the pickle she had got herselfinto made her temples ache. McAllen kissed them for her. 

"But why, " he said, "when you got to care for me, didn't you let thisyoung man learn gradually in your letters to him that--that it was alloff?"

"I was afraid, don't you see, " said she, "that if the incentive wassuddenly taken away from him--he might go to pieces. And I was fond ofhim, and I am proud to think that he has made good for my sake, and theletters. . . . Oh, Billy, it's a dreadful mess. My letters to him have beenrather warm, I am afraid. "

"Damn!" said McAllen. 

"Damn!" said Miss Tennant. 

"If he would have gone to pieces before this, " said McAllen, "why notnow?--after you tell him, I mean. "

"Why not?" said she dismally. "But if he does, Billy, I can only bedreadfully sorry. I'm certainly not going to wreck our happiness just tokeep him on the war-path. "

"But you'll not be weak, Dolly?"

"How!--weak?"

"He'll be very sad and miserable--you won't be carried away? You won't, upon the impulse of the moment, feel that it is your duty to go onsaving him?. . . If that should happen, Dolly, _I_ should go to pieces. "

"Must I tell him, " she said, "that I never really cared? He will thinkme such a--a liar. And I'm not a liar, Billy, am I? I'm just unlucky. "

"I don't believe, " said he tenderly, "that you ever told a story in yourwhole sweet life. "

"Oh, " she cried, "I _do_ love you when you say things like that tome. . . . Let's not talk about horrid things any more, and mistakes, andbugbears. . . . If we're going to show up at the golf club tea. . . . It'sMrs. Carrol's to-day and we promised her to come. "

"Oh, " said McAllen, "we need not start for ten minutes. . . . When will youmarry me?"

"In May, " she said. 

"_Good_ girl, " said he. 

"Billy, " she said presently, "it was _all_ the first Mrs. Billy'sfault--wasn't it?"

"No, dear, " said he, "it wasn't. It's never all of anybody's fault. Doyou care?"

"No. "

"Are you afraid?"

"No. "

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. "

"How much?"

"So much, " and she made the gesture that a baby makes when you ask, "Howbig's the baby?"

"What's your name?"

"Dolly. "

"Whose girl are you?"

"I'm Billy McAllen's girl. "

"All of you?"

She grew very serious in a moment. 

"All of me, Billy--all that is straight in me, all that is crooked, allthat is white, all that is black. . . . "

But he would not be serious. 

"How about this hand? Is that mine?"

"Yours. "

He kissed it. 

"This cheek?"

"Yours. "

"And this?"

"Yours. "

"These eyes?"

"Both yours. "

He closed them, first one, then the other. 

Then a kind of trembling seized him, so that it was evident in hisspeech. 

"This mouth, Dolly?"

"Mumm. "

And so, as the romantic school has it, "the long day dragged slowly on. "

David may have thought it pure chance that he should find Dolly Tennantalone. But it was not. She had given the matter not a little strategyand arrangement. Why, however, in view of her relations with McAllen, she should have made herself as attractive as possible to the eye is forother women to say. 

It was to be April in a few days, and March was going out like a fierydragon. The long, broad shadow of the terrace awning helped to darkenthe Tennants' drawing-room, and Venetian blinds, half-drawn, made a kindof cool dusk, in which it came natural to speak in a lowered voice, andto move quietly, as if some one were sick in the house. Miss Tennant satvery low, with her hands clasped over her knees; a brocade and Irishlace work-bag spilled its contents at her feet. She wore a twig of teaolive in her dress so that the whole room smelled of ripe peaches. Shehad never looked lovelier or more desirable. 

"David!" she exclaimed. Her tone at once expressed delight at seeinghim, and was an apology for remaining languidly seated. And she lookedhim over in a critical, maternal way. 

"If you hadn't sent in your name, " she said, "I should never have knownyou. You stand taller and broader, David. You filled the door-way. Butyou're not really much bigger, now that I look at you. It's yourcharacter that has grown. . . . I'm _so_ proud of you. "

David was very pale. It may have been from his long journey. But he atleast did not know, because he said that he didn't when she asked him. 

"And now, " she said, "you must tell me all that you haven't written. "

"Not quite yet, " said David. "There is first a little matter ofbusiness. . . . "

"Oh--" she protested. 

But David counted out his debt to her methodically, with the accruedinterest. 

"Put it in my work-bag, " she said. 

"Did you ever expect to see it again?"

"Yes, David. "

"Thank you, " he said. 

"But I, " she said, "I, too, have things of yours to return. "

"Of mine?" He lifted his eyebrows expectantly. 

She waved a hand, white and clean as a cherry blossom, toward aclaw-footed table on which stood decanters, ice, soda, cigarettes, cigars, and matches. 

"Your collateral, " she said. 

"Oh, " said David. "But I have decided not to be a backslider. "

"I know, " she said. "But in business--as a matter of form. "

"Oh, " said David, "if it's a matter of form, it must be complied with. "

He stepped to the table, smiling charmingly, and poured from the nearestdecanter into a glass, added ice and soda, and lifting the mixturetouched it to his lips, and murmured, "To you. "

Then he put a cigarette in his mouth, and, after drawing the one breaththat served to light it, flicked it, with perfect accuracy, half acrossthe room and into the fireplace. 

Still smiling, he walked slowly toward Miss Tennant, who was reallyexcited to know what he would do next. 

"Betcher two cents it snows to-morrow, " said he. 

"Done with you, David, " she took him up merrily. And after that apainful silence came over them. David set his jaws. 

"I gave you one more promise, " he said. "Is that, too, returned?"

"Of course, " she said, "all the promises you gave are herewithreturned. "

"Then I may make love?" he asked very gently. 

She did not answer for some moments, and then, steeling herself, for shethought that she must hurt him:

"Yes, David, " she said slowly, "you may--as a matter of form. "

"Only in that way?"

"In that way only, David--to me. "

"I thought--I thought, " said the young man in confusion. 

"I made you think so, " she said generously. "Let all of the punishment, that can, be heaped on me . . . David. . . . " There was a deep appeal in hervoice as for mercy and forgiveness. 

"Then, " said he, "you never did care--at all. "

But even at this juncture Miss Tennant could not speak the truth. 

"Never, David--never at all--at least not in _that_ way, " she said. "IfI let you think so it was because I thought it would help you to bestrong and to succeed. . . . God knows I think I was wrong to let you thinkso. . . . "

But she broke off suddenly a stream of extenuation that was welling inher mind; for David did not look like a man about to be cut off in theheyday of his youth by despair. 

She had the tenderest heart; and in a moment the truth blossomedtherein--a truth that brought her pleasure, bewilderment, and was notunmixed with mortification. 

"The man, " she said gently, "has found him another girl!"

The man bowed his head and blushed. 

"But I have kept my promise, Dolly. "

"Of course you have, you poor, dear, long-suffering soul. Oh, David, when I think what I have been taking for granted I am humiliated, andashamed--but I am glad, too. I cannot tell you how glad. "

A pair of white gloves, still showing the shape of her hands, lay in thechair where Miss Tennant had tossed them. David brought her one of thesegloves. 

"Put it on, " he said. 

When she had done so, he took her gloved hand in his and kissed it. 

"As a matter of form, " he said. 

She laughed easily, though the blush of humiliation had not yet left hercheeks. 

"Tell me, " she said, "what you would have done, David, if--if I _did_care. "

"God punish me, " he said gravely, "oh, best friend that ever a man hadin the world, if I should not then have made you a good husband. "

Not long after McAllen was with her. 

"Well?" he said. 

"Well, " said she, "there was a train that he could catch. And I supposehe caught it. "

"How did he--er, behave?"

"Considering the circumstances, " said she, "he behaved very well. "

"Is he hard hit?"

She considered a while; but the strict truth was not in that young lady. 

"I think, " she said, "that you may say that he is hard hit--very hardhit. "

"Poor soul, " said Billy tenderly. 

"Oh, Billy!" she exclaimed, "I feel so false and so old. "

"Old!" he cried. "You! You at twenty-five say that to me at----"

"It isn't as if I was _just_ twenty-five, Billy, " and she burst outlaughing. "The terrible part of it is that I'm still twenty-five. "

But he only smiled and smiled. She seemed like a little child to him, all innocence, and inexperience, and candor. 

Then as her laughter merged into tears he knelt and caught her in hisarms. 

"Dolly--Dolly!" he said in a choking voice. "What is your name?"

"Dolly. " The tears came slowly. 

"Whose girl are you?"

"I'm Billy McAllen's girl. " The tears ceased. 

"All of you?"

"All of me. . . . Oh, Billy--love me always--only love me. . . . "

And for these two the afternoon dragged slowly on, and very much asusual. 

"You are two days ahead of schedule, David. I'm glad to see you. "

Though Uriah Grey's smile was bland and simple, beneath it lay acomplicated maze of speculation; and the old man endeavored to read inthe young man's face the answers to those questions which so greatlyconcerned him. Uriah Grey's eyesight was famous for two things: for itsmiraculous, almost chemical ability to detect the metals in ore and thegold in men. He sighed; but not so that David could hear. The magnatedetected happiness where less than two weeks before he had read doubt, hesitation, and a kind of dumb misery. 

"You have had a pleasant holiday?"

"A happy one, Mr. Grey. " David's eyes twinkled and sparkled. 

"Tell me about it. "

"Well, sir, I paid my debts and got back my collateral. "

"Well, sir?"

"I tasted whiskey, " said David. "I lighted a cigarette, I registered abet of two cents upon the weather, and I made love. "

Uriah Grey with difficulty suppressed a moan. 

"Did you!" he said dully. 

"Yes, " said David. "I kissed the glove upon a lady's hand. " He laughed. "It smelled of gasoline, " he said. 

Mr. Grey grunted. 

"And what are your plans?"

"What!" cried David offendedly. "Are you through with me?"

"No, my boy--no. "

David hesitated. 

"Mr. Grey, " he began, and paused. 

"Well, sir?"

"It is now lawful for me to make love, " said David; "but I should do sowith a better grace if I had your permission and approval. "

Mr. Grey was puzzled. 

"What have I to do with it?"

"You have a granddaughter. . . . "

"What!" thundered the old man. "You want to make love to mygranddaughter!"

"Yes, " said David boldly, "and I wonder what you are going to say. "

"I have only one word to say--Hurry!"

"David!"

Spools of silk rattled from her lap to the floor. She was frankly andchildishly delighted to see him again, and she hurried to him and gavehim both her hands. But he looked so happy that her heart misgave herfor a moment, and then she read his eyes aright, just as long since hemust have read the confession in hers. At this juncture in their livesthere could not have been detected in either of them the least show ofhesitation or embarrassment. It was as if two travellers in the desert, dying of thirst, should meet, and each conceive in hallucination thatthe other was a spring of sweet water. 

Presently David was looking into the lovely face that he held betweenhis hands. He had by this time squeezed her shoulders, patted her back, kissed her feet, her dress, her hands, her eyes, and pawed her hair. They were both very short of breath. 

"Violet, " he gasped, "what is your name?"

"Violet. "

"Whose girl are you?"

"I'm David Larkin's girl. "

"All of you?"

"All--all--all----"

It was the beginning of another of those long, tedious afternoons. Butto the young people concerned it seemed that never until then had suchwords as they spoke to each other been spoken, or such feelings ofalmost insupportable tenderness and adoration been experienced. 

Yet back there in Aiken, Sapphira was experiencing the same feelings, and thinking the same thoughts about them; and so was Billy McAllen. Andwhen you think that he had already been divorced once, and thatSapphira, as she herself (for once truthfully) confessed, was stilltwenty-five, it gives you as high an opinion of the little bare god--ashe deserves. 

THE BRIDE'S DEAD

I

Only Farallone's face was untroubled. His big, bold eyes held a kind ofgrim humor, and he rolled them unblinkingly from the groom to the bride, and back again. His duck trousers, drenched and stained with sea-water, clung to the great muscles of his legs, particles of damp sand glistenedupon his naked feet, and the hairless bronze of his chest and columnarthroat glowed through the openings of his torn and buttonless shirt. Except for the life and vitality that literally sparkled from him, hewas more like a statue of a shipwrecked sailor than the real articleitself. Yet he had not the proper attributes of a shipwrecked sailor. There was neither despair upon his countenance nor hunger; instead akind of enjoyment, and the expression of one who has been set free. Indeed, he must have secured a kind of liberty, for after the years ofserving one master and another, he had, in our recent struggle with thesea, but served himself. His was the mind and his the hand that hadbrought us at length to that desert coast. He it was that had extendedto us the ghost of a chance. He who so recently had been but one offorty in the groom's luxurious employ; a polisher of brass, aholy-stoner of decks, a wage-earning paragon who was not permitted tothink, was now a thinker and a strategist, a wage-taker from no man, andthe obvious master of us three. 

The bride slept on the sand where Farallone had laid her. Her stainedand draggled clothes were beginning to dry and her hair to blaze in thepulsing rays of the sun. Her breath came and went with the long-drawnplacidity of deep sleep. One shoe had been torn from her by the surf, and through a tear in her left stocking blinked a pink and tiny toe. Herface lay upon her arm and was hidden by it, and by her blazing hair. Inthe loose-jointed abandon of exhaustion and sleep she had the effect ofa flower that has wilted; the color and the fabric were still lovely, but the robust erectness and crispness were gone. The groom, almostunmanned and wholly forlorn, sat beside her in a kind of huddledattitude, as if he was very cold. He had drawn his knees close to hischest, and held them in that position with thin, clasped fingers. Hishair, which he wore rather long, was in a wild tangle, and his neateye-glasses with their black cord looked absurdly out of keeping withhis general dishevelment. The groom, never strong or robust, looked asif he had shrunk. The bride, too, looked as if she had shrunk, and Icertainly felt as if I had. But, however strong the contrast between usthree small humans and the vast stretches of empty ocean and desertcoast, there was no diminution about Farallone, but the contrary. I havenever seen the presence of a man loom so strongly and so large. He satupon his rock with a kind of vastness, so bold and strong he seemed, soutterly unperturbed. 

Suddenly the groom, a kind of querulous shiver in his voice, spoke. 

"The brandy, Farallone, the brandy. "

The big sailor rolled his bold eyes from the groom to the bride, butreturned no answer. 

The groom's voice rose to a note of vexation. 

"I said I wanted the brandy, " he said. 

Farallone's voice was large and free like a fresh breeze. 

"I heard you, " said he. 

"Well, " snapped the groom, "get it. "

"Get it yourself, " said Farallone quickly, and he fell to whistling in amajor key. 

The groom, born and accustomed to command, was on his feet shaking withfury. 

"You damned insolent loafer--" he shouted. 

"Cut it out--cut it out, " said the big sailor, "you'll wake her. "

The groom's voice sank to an angry whisper. 

"Are you going to do what I tell you or not?"

"Not, " said Farallone. 

"I'll"--the groom's voice loudened--his eye sought an ally in mine. ButI turned my face away and pretended that I had not seen or heard. Therehad been born in my breast suddenly a cold unreasoning fear of Faralloneand of what he might do to us weaklings. I heard no more words and, venturing a look, saw that the groom was seating himself once more bythe bride. 

"If you sit on the other side of her, " said Farallone, "you'll keep thesun off her head. "

He turned his bold eyes on me and winked one of them. And I was so takenby surprise that I winked back and could have kicked myself for doingso. 

II

Farallone helped the bride to her feet. "That's right, " he said with akind of nursely playfulness, and he turned to the groom. 

"Because I told you to help yourself, " he said, "doesn't mean that I'mnot going to do the lion's share of everything. I am. I'm fit. You andthe writer man aren't. But you must do just a little more than you'reable, and that's all we'll ask of you. Everybody works this voyageexcept the woman. "

"I can work, " said the bride. 

"Rot!" said Farallone. "We'll ask you to walk ahead, like a kind ofnorth star. Only we'll tell you which way to turn. Do you see thatsugar-loaf? You head for that. Vamoose! We'll overhaul you. "

The bride moved upon the desert alone, her face toward an easterly hillthat had given Farallone his figure of the sugar-loaf. She had no longerthe effect of a wilted flower, but walked with quick, considered steps. What the groom carried and what I carried is of little moment. Our packsunited would not have made the half of the lumbersome weight thatFarallone swung upon his giant shoulders. 

"Follow the woman, " said he, and we began to march upon theshoe-and-stocking track of the bride. Farallone, rolling like a ship (Ihad many a look at him over my shoulder) brought up the rear. From timeto time he flung forward a phrase to us in explanation of his rebelliousattitude. 

"I take command because I'm fit; you're not. I give the orders because Ican get 'em obeyed; you can't. " And, again: "You don't know east fromwest; I do. "

All the morning he kept firing disagreeable and very personal remarks atus. His proposition that we were not in any way fit for anything heenlarged upon and illustrated. He flung the groom's unemployed ancestryat him; he likened the groom to Rome at the time of the fall, which heattributed to luxury; he informed me that only men who were unable towork, or in any way help themselves, wrote books. "The woman's worth thetwo of you, " he said. "Her people were workers. See it in her stride. She could milk a cow if she had one. If anything happens to me she'llgive the orders. Mark my words. She's got a head on her shoulders, shehas. "

The bride halted suddenly in her tracks and, turning, faced the groom. 

"Are you going to allow this man's insolence to run on forever?" shesaid. 

The groom frowned at her and shook his head covertly. 

"Pooh, " said the bride, and I think I heard her call him "_mychampion_, " in a bitter whisper. She walked straight back to Faralloneand looked him fearlessly in the face. 

"The bigger a man is, Mr. Farallone, " she said, "and the stronger, themore he ought to mind his manners. We are grateful to you for all youhave done, but if you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head, then thesooner we part company the better. "

For a full minute the fearless eyes snapped at Farallone, then, suddenlyabashed, softened, and turned away. 

"There mustn't be any more mutiny, " said Farallone. "But you've gotsand, you have. I could love a woman like you. How did you come to hitchyour wagon to little Nicodemus there? He's no star. You deserved a man. You've got sand, and when your poor feet go back on you, as they will inthis swill (here he kicked the burning sand), I'll carry you. But if youhadn't spoken up so pert, I wouldn't. Now you walk ahead and pretendyou're Christopher Columbus De Soto Peary leading a flock of sheep tothe Fountain of Eternal Youth. . . . Bear to the left of the sage-brush, there's a tarantula under it. . . . "

We went forward a few steps, when suddenly I heard Farallone's voice inmy ear. "Isn't she splendid?" he said, and at the same time he thumpedme so violently between the shoulders that I stumbled and fell. For amoment all fear of the man left me on the wings of rage, and I was forattacking him with my fists. But something in his steady eye brought meto my senses. 

"Why did you do that?" I meant to speak sharply, but I think I whined. 

"Because, " said Farallone, "when the woman spoke up to me you began tobrindle and act lion-like and bold. For a minute you lookeddangerous--for a little feller. So I patted your back, in a friendlyway--as a kind of reminder--a feeble reminder. "

We had dropped behind the others. The groom had caught up with thebride, and from his nervous, irritable gestures I gathered that the poorsoul was trying to explain and to ingratiate himself. But she walked on, steadily averted, you might say, her head very high, her shoulders drawnback. The groom, his eyes intent upon her averted face, kept stumblingwith his feet. 

"Just look, " said Farallone in a friendly voice. "Those whom God hathjoined together. What did the press say of it?"

"I don't remember, " I said. 

"You lie, " said Farallone. "The press called it an ideal match. My God!"he cried--and so loudly that the bride and the groom must haveheard--"think of being a woman like that and getting hitched to a littlebit of a fuss with a few fine feathers"; and with a kind of sing-song hebegan to misquote and extemporize:

 "Just for a handful of silver she left me, Just for a yacht and a mansion of stone, Just for a little fool nest of fine feathers She wed Nicodemus and left me alone. "

"But she'd never seen me, " he went on, and mused for a moment. "Havingseen me--do you guess what she's saying to herself? She's saying: 'ThankGod I'm not too old to begin life over again, ' or thinking it. Look athim! Even you wouldn't have been such a joke. I've a mind to kick thelife out of him. One little kick with bare toes. Life? There's no lifein him--nothing but a jenny-wren. "

The groom, who must have heard at least the half of Farallone's speech, stopped suddenly and waited for us to come up. His face was red andwhite--blotchy with rage and vindictiveness. When we were within tenfeet of him he suddenly drew a revolver and fired it point-blank atFarallone. He had no time for a second shot. Farallone caught his wristand shook it till the revolver spun through the air and fell at adistance. Then Farallone seated himself and, drawing the groom acrosshis knee, spanked him. Since the beginning of the world children havebeen punished by spankings, and the event is memorable, if at all, as asomething rather comical and domestic. But to see a grown man spankedfor the crime of attempted murder is horrible. Farallone's fury got thebetter of him, and the blows resounded in the desert. I grappled hisarm, and the recoil of it flung me head over heels. When Farallone hadfinished, the groom could not stand. He rolled in the sands, moaning andhiding his face. 

The bride was white as paper; but she had no eye for the groom. 

"Did he miss you?" she said. 

"No, " said Farallone, "he hit me--Nicodemus hit me. "

"Where?" said the bride. 

"In the arm. "

Indeed, the left sleeve of Farallone's shirt was glittering with blood. 

"I will bandage it for you, " she said, "if you will tell me how. "

Farallone ripped open the sleeve of his shirt. 

"What shall I bandage it with?" asked the bride. 

"Anything, " said Farallone. 

The bride turned her back on us, stooped, and we heard a sound oftearing. When she had bandaged Farallone's wound (it was in the fleshand the bullet had been extracted by its own impetus) she looked himgravely in the face. 

"What's the use of goading him?" she said gently. 

"Look, " said Farallone. 

The groom was reaching for the fallen revolver. 

"Drop it, " bellowed Farallone. 

The groom's hand, which had been on the point of grasping the revolver'sstock, jerked away. The bride walked to the revolver and picked it up. She handed it to Farallone. 

"Now, " she said, "that all the power is with you, you will not go onabusing it. "

"_You_ carry it, " said Farallone, "and any time _you_ think I ought tobe shot, why, you just shoot me. I won't say a word. "

"Do you mean it?" said the bride. 

"I cross my heart, " said Farallone. 

"I sha'n't forget, " said the bride. She took the revolver and dropped itinto the pocket of her jacket. 

"Vamoose!" said Farallone. And we resumed our march. 

III

The line between the desert and the blossoming hills was as distinctlydrawn as that between a lake and its shore. The sage-brush, closermassed than any through which we had yet passed, seemed to have gathereditself for a serried assault upon the lovely verdure beyond. Outposts ofthe sage-brush, its unsung heroes, perhaps, showed here and there amongferns and wild roses--leafless, gaunt, and dead; one knotted specimeneven had planted its banner of desolation in the shade of a wild lilacand there died. A twittering of birds gladdened our dusty ears, and fromafar there came a splashing of water. Our feet, burned by the desertsands, torn by yucca and cactus, trod now upon a cool and deliciousmoss, above which nodded the delicate blossoms of the shooting-star, swung at the ends of strong and delicate stems. In the shadows thechocolate lilies and trilliums dully glinted, and flag flowers troopedin the sunlight. The resinous paradisiacal smell of tarweed andbay-tree refreshed us, and the wonder of life was a something strongand tangible like bread and wine. 

The wine of it rushed in particular to Farallone's head; his brainbecame flooded with it; his feet cavorted upon the moss; his bellowedsinging awoke the echoes, and the whole heavenly choir of the birdsanswered him. 

"You, Nicodemus, " he cried gayly, "thought that man was given a nose tobe a tripod for his eye-glasses--but now--oh, smell--smell!"

His great bulk under its mighty pack tripped lightly, dancingly at thebride's elbow. Now his agile fingers nipped some tiny, scarceperceivable flower to delight her eye, and now his great hand scooped upwhole sheaves of strong-growing columbine, and flung them where her feetmust tread. He made her see great beauties and minute, and whatever hada look of smelling sweet he crushed in his hands for her to smell. 

He was no longer that limb of Satan, that sardonic bully of the desertdays, but a gay wood-god intent upon the gentle ways of wooing. At firstthe bride turned away her senses from his offerings to eye and nostril;for a time she made shift to turn aside from the flowers that he castfor her feet to tread. But after a time, like one in a trance, she beganto yield up her indifference and aloofness. The magic of the riotousspring began to intoxicate her. I saw her turn to the sailor and smilea gracious smile. And after awhile she began to talk with him. 

We came at length to a bright stream, from whose guilelesssuperabundance Farallone, with a bent pin and a speck of red cloth, jerked a string of gaudy rainbow-trout. He made a fire and began tobroil them; the bride searched the vicinal woods for dried branches tofeed the fire. The groom knelt by the brook and washed the dust from hisface and ears, snuffing the cool water into his dusty nose and blowingit out. 

And I lay in the shade and wondered by what courses the brook found itsway to what sea or lake; whether it touched in its wanderings only thevirginal wilderness, or flowed at length among the habitations of men. 

Farallone, of a sudden, jerked up his head from the broiling andanswered my unspoken questions. 

"A man, " he said, "who followed this brook could come in a few days tothe river Maria Cleofas, and following that, to the town of that name, in a matter of ten days more. I tell you, " he went on, "because some daysome of you may be going that voyage; no ill-found voyageeither--spring-water and trout all the way to the river; and all therest of the way river-water and trout; and at this season birds' eggs inthe reeds and a turtlelike terrapin, and Brodeia roots and wild onion, and young sassafras--a child could do it. Eat that. . . . " he tossed mewith his fingers a split, sputtering, piping hot trout. . . . 

We spent the rest of that day and the night following by the stream. Farallone was in a riotous good-humor, and the fear of him grew less inus until we felt at ease and could take an unmixed pleasure in theloafing. 

Early the next morning he was astir, and began to prepare himself forfurther marching, but for the rest of us he said there would be one daymore of rest. 

"Who knows, " he said, "but this is Sunday?"

"Where are you going?" asked the bride politely. 

"Me?" said Farallone, and he laughed. "I'm going house-hunting--not fora house, of course, but for a site. It's not so easy to pick out justthe place where you want to spend the balance of your days. Theneighborhood's easy, but the exact spot's hard. " He spoke now directlyto the bride, and as if her opinion was law to him. "There must be sunand shade, mustn't there? Spring-water?--running water? A hill handy totake the view from? An easterly slope to be out of the trades? A bigtree or two. . . . I'll find 'em all before dark. I'll be back by dark orat late moonrise, and you rest yourselves, because to-morrow or the nextday we go at house-raising. "

Had he left us then and there, I think that we would have waited forhim. He had us, so to speak, abjectly under his thumbs. His word hadcome to be our law, since it was but child's play for him to enforce it. But it so happened that he now took a step which was to call into lifeand action that last vestige of manhood and independence that flickeredin the groom and me. For suddenly, and not till after a moment ofconsideration, he took a step toward the bride, caught her around thewaist, crushed her to his breast, and kissed her on the mouth. 

But she must have bitten him, for the tender passion changed in him toan unmanly fury. 

"You damned cat!" he cried; and he struck her heavily upon the face withhis open palm. Not once only, but twice, three, four times, till shefell at his feet. 

By that the groom and I, poor, helpless atoms, had made shift to grapplewith him. I heard his giant laugh. I had one glimpse of the groom's facerushing at mine--and then it was as if showers of stars fell about me. What little strength I had was loosened from my joints, and more thanhalf-senseless I fell full length upon my back. Farallone had foiled ourattack by the simple method of catching us by the hair and knocking ourheads together. 

I could hear his great mocking laugh resounding through the forest. 

"Let him go, " I heard the groom moan. 

The bride laughed. It was a very curious laugh. I could not make it out. There seemed to be no anger in it, and yet how, I wondered, could therebe anything else?

IV

When distance had blotted from our ears the sound of Farallone'slaughter, and when we had humbled ourselves to the bride for allowingher to be maltreated, I told the groom what Farallone had said about aman who should follow the stream by which we were encamped. 

"See, " I said, "we have a whole day's start of him. Even he can't makethat up. We must go at once, and there mustn't be any letting up till weget somewhere. "

The groom was all for running away, and the bride, silent and white, acquiesced with a nod. We made three light packs, and started--_bolted_is the better word. 

For a mile or more, so thick was the underwood, we walked in the bed ofthe stream; now freely, where it was smooth-spread sand, and now whereit narrowed and deepened among rocks, scramblingly and with many asplashing stumble. The bride met her various mishaps with a kind ofsilent disdain; she made no complaints, not even comments. She made methink of a sleep-walker. There was a set, far-off, cold expression uponher usually gentle and vivacious face, and once or twice it occurred tome that she went with us unwillingly. But when I remembered thehumiliation that Farallone had put upon her and the blows that he hadstruck her, I could not well credit the recurrent doubt of herwillingness. The groom, on the other hand, recovered his long-lostspirits with immeasurable rapidity. He talked gayly and bravely, and youwould have said that he was a man who had never had occasion to beashamed of himself. He went ahead, the bride following next, and he keptgiving a constant string of advices and imperatives. "That stone'sloose"; "keep to the left, there's a hole. " "Splash--dash--damn, lookout for that one. " Branches that hung low across our course he bent andheld back until the bride had passed. Now he turned and smiled in herface, and now he offered her the helping hand. But she met hiscourtesies, and the whole punctilious fabric of his behavior, with theutmost absence and nonchalance. He had, it seemed, been too long incontempt to recover soon his former position of husband and beloved. Forlong days she had contemplated his naked soul, limited, weak, incapable. He had shown a certain capacity for sudden, explosive temper, but notfor courage of any kind, or force. Nor had he played the gentleman inhis helplessness. Nor had I. We had not in us the stuff of heroes; atfirst sight of instruments of torture we were of those who would confessto anything, abjure, swear falsely, beg for mercy, change our so-calledreligions--anything. The bride had learned to despise us from the bottomof her heart. She despised us still. And I would have staked my lastdollar, or, better, my hopes of escaping from Farallone, that as man andwife she and the groom would never live together again. I felt terriblysorry for the groom. He had, as had I, been utterly inefficient, helpless, babyish, and cowardly--yet the odds against us had seemedoverwhelming. But now as we journeyed down the river, and the distancebetween us and Farallone grew more, I kept thinking of men whom I hadknown; men physically weaker than the groom and I, who, had Faralloneoffered to bully them, would have fought him and endured his torturetill they died. In my immediate past, then, there was nothing of which Iwas not burningly ashamed, and in the not-too-distant future I hoped toseparate from the bride and the groom, and never see them or hear ofthem in this world again. At that, I had a real affection for the bride, a real admiration. On the yacht, before trouble showed me up, we hadbid fair to become fast and enduring friends. But that was all over--abud, nipped by the frost of conduct and circumstance, or ever the fruitcould so much as set. For many days now I had avoided her eye; I hadavoided addressing her; I had exerted my ingenuity to keep out of hersight. It is a terrible thing for a man to be thrown daily into thesociety of a woman who has found him out, and who despises him, mind, soul, marrow, and bone. 

The stream broke at length from the forest and, swelled by a sizabletributary, flowed broad and deep into a rolling, park-like landscape. Grass spread over the country's undulations and looked in the distancelike well-kept lawns; and at wide intervals splendidly grown live-oakslent an effect of calculated planting. Here our flight, for our muscleswere hardened to walking, became easy and swift. I think there werehours when we must have covered our four miles, and even on long, upwardslopes we must have made better than three. There is in swift walking, when the muscles are hard, the wind long, and the atmosphereexhilarating, a buoyant rhythm that more, perhaps, than merited success, or valorous conduct, smoothes out the creases in a man's soul. And soquick is a man to recover from his own baseness, and to ape outwardlyhis transient inner feelings, that I found myself presently, walkingwith a high head and a mind full of martial thoughts. 

All that day, except for a short halt at noon, we followed the riveracross the great natural park; now paralleling its convolutions, and nowcutting diagonals. Late in the afternoon we came to the end of the parkland. A more or less precipitous formation of glistening quartz markedits boundary, and into a fissure of this the stream, now a small river, plunged with accelerated speed. The going became difficult. The walls ofthe fissure through which the river rushed were smooth and water-worn, impossible to ascend; and between the brink of the river and the base ofthe walls were congestions of boulders, jammed drift-wood, and tangledalder bushes. There were times when we had to crawl upon our hands andknees, under one log and over the next. To add to our difficultiesdarkness was swiftly falling, and we were glad, indeed, when the wall ofthe fissure leaned at length so far from the perpendicular that we wereable to scramble up it. We found ourselves upon a levelish little meadowof grass. In the centre of it there grew a monstrous and giganticlive-oak, between two of whose roots there glittered a spring. On allsides of the meadow, except on that toward the river, weresuperimpending cliffs of quartz. Along the base of these was a densegrowth of bushes. 

"We'll rest here, " said the groom. "What a place. It's a naturalfortress. Only one way into it. " He stood looking down at the noisyriver and considering the steep slope we had just climbed. "See thisboulder?" he said. "It's wobbly. If that damned longshoreman tries toget us here, all we've got to do is to choose the psychological momentand push it over on him. "

The groom looked quite bellicose and daring. Suddenly he flung hisfragment of a cap high into the air and at the very top of his lungscried: "Liberty!"

The echoes answered him, and the glorious, abused word was tossed fromcliff to cliff, across the river and back, and presently died away. 

At that, from the very branches of the great oak that stood in thecentre of the meadow there burst a titanic clap of laughter, andFarallone, literally bursting with merriment, dropped lightly into ourmidst. 

I can only speak for myself. I was frightened--I say it deliberately andtruthfully--_almost_ into a fit. And for fully five minutes I could notcommand either of my legs. The groom, I believe, screamed. The bridebecame whiter than paper--then suddenly the color rushed into hercheeks, and she laughed. She laughed until she had to sit down, untilthe tears literally gushed from her eyes. It was not hystericseither--could it have been amusement? After a while, and many prolongedgasps and relapses, she stopped. 

"This, " said Farallone, "is my building site. Do you like it?"

"Oh, oh, " said the bride, "I think it's the m--most am--ma--musing siteI ever saw, " and she went into another uncontrollable burst of laughter. 

"Oh--oh, " she said at length, and her shining eyes were turned from thegroom to me, and back and forth between us, "if you _could_ have seenyour faces!"

V

It seemed strange to us, an alteration in the logical and natural, butneither the groom nor I received corporal punishment for our attempt atescape. Farallone had read our minds like an open book; he had, as itwere, put us up to the escapade in order to have the pure joy ofthwarting us. That we should have been drawn to his exact waiting-placelike needles to the magnet had a smack of the supernatural, but was inreality a simple and explicable happening. For if we had not ascended tothe little meadow, Farallone, alertly watching, would have descendedfrom it, and surprised us at some further point. That we should havecaught no glimpse of his great bulk anywhere ahead of us in the day-longstretch of open, park-like country was also easily explained. ForFarallone had made the most of the journey in the stream itself, drifting with a log. 

And although, as I have said, we were not to receive corporalpunishment, Farallone visited his power upon us in other ways. He wouldnot at first admit that we had intended to escape, but kept praising usfor having followed him so loyally and devotedly, for saving him thetrouble of a return journey, and for thinking to bring along the bulk ofour worldly possessions. Tiring at length of this, he switched to theopposite point of view. He goaded us nearly to madness with hiscriticisms of our inefficiency, and he mocked repeatedly the groom'sill-timed cry of Liberty. 

"Liberty!" he said, "you never knew, you never will know, what thatis--you miserable little pin-head. Liberty is for great natures. 

 'Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage. '

But the woman shall know what liberty is. If she had wanted to leave methere was nothing to stop her. Do you think she'd have followed theriver, leaving a broad trail? Do you think she'd have walked right intothis meadow--unless she hadn't cared? Not she. Did you ask her advice, you self-sufficiencies? Not you. You were the men-folk, you thought, andyou were to have the ordering of everything. You make me sick, the pairof you. . . . "

He kept us awake until far into the night with his jibes and hislaughter. 

"Well, " he said lastly, "good-night, girls. I'm about sick of you, andin the morning we part company. . . . "

At the break of dawn he waked us from heavy sleep--me with a cuff, thegroom with a kick, the bride with a feline touch upon the hair. 

"And now, " said he, "be off. "

He caught the bride by the shoulder. 

"Not _you_, " he said. 

"I am to stay?" she asked, as if to settle some trivial and unimportantpoint. 

"Do you ask?" said he; "Was man meant to live alone? This will be enoughhome for us. " And he turned to the groom. "Get, " he said savagely. 

"Mr. Farallone, " said the bride--she was very white, but calm, apparently, and collected--"you have had your joke. Let us go now, orbetter, come with us. We will forget our former differences, and youwill never regret your future kindnesses. "

"Don't you _want_ to stay?" exclaimed Farallone in a tone ofastonishment. 

"If I did, " said the bride gently, "I could not, and I would not. "

"What's to stop you?" asked Farallone. 

"My place is with my husband, " said the bride, "whom I have sworn tolove, and to honor, and to obey. "

"Woman, " said Farallone, "do you love him, do you honor him?"

She pondered a moment, then held her head high. 

"I do, " she said. 

"God bless you, " cried the groom. 

"Rats, " said Farallone, and he laughed bitterly. "But you'll get overit, " he went on. "Let's have no more words. " He turned to the groom andto me. 

"Will you climb down the cliff or shall I throw you?"

"Let us all go, " said the bride, and she caught at his trembling arm, "and I will bless you, and wish you all good things--and kiss yougood-by. "

"If you go, " said Farallone, and his great voice trembled, "I die. Youare everything. You know that. Would I have hit you if I hadn't lovedyou so--poor little cheek!" His voice became a kind of mumble. 

"Let us go, " said the bride, "if you love me. "

"Not _you_, " said Farallone, "while I live. I would not be such a fool. Don't you know that in a little while you'll be glad?"

"Is that your final word?" said the bride. 

"It must be, " said Farallone. "Are you not a gift to me from God?"

"I think you must be mad, " said the bride. 

"I am unalterable, " said Farallone, "as God made me--I _am_. And youare mine to take. "

"Do you remember, " said the bride, "what you said when you gave me therevolver? You said that if ever I thought it best to shoot you--youwould let me do it. "

"I remember, " said Farallone, and he smiled. 

"That was just talk, of course?" said the bride. 

"It was not, " said Farallone; "shoot me. "

"Let us go, " said the bride. Her voice faltered. 

"Not you, " said Farallone, "while I live. "

His voice, low and gentle, had in it a kind of far-off sadness. Heturned his eyes from the bride and looked the rising sun in the face. Heturned back to her and smiled. 

"You haven't the heart to shoot me, " he said. "My darling. "

"Let us go. "

"_Let--you--go!_" He laughed. "_Send--away--my--mate!_"

His eyes clouded and became vacant. He blinked them rapidly and raisedhis hand to his brow. It seemed to me that in that instant, suddenlycome and suddenly gone, I perceived a look of insanity in his face. Thebride, too, perhaps, saw something of the kind, for like a flash she hadthe revolver out and cocked it. 

"Splendid, " cried Farallone, and his eyes blazed with a tremendous loveand admiration. "This is something like, " he cried. "Two forces face toface--a man and a bullet--love behind them both. Ah, you do loveme--don't you?"

"Let us go, " said the bride. Her voice shook violently. 

"Not you, " said Farallone, "while I live. "

He took a step toward her, his eyes dancing and smiling. "Do you know, "he said, "I don't know if you'll do it or not. By my soul, I don't know. This is living, this is. This is gambling. I'll do nothing violent, " hesaid, "until my hands are touching you. I'll move toward you slowly oneslow step at a time--with my arms open--like this--you'll have plenty ofchance to shoot me--we'll see if you'll do it. "

"We shall see, " said the bride. 

They faced each other motionless. Then Farallone, his eyes glorious withexcitement and passion, his arms open, moved toward her one slow, deliberate step. 

"Wait, " he cried suddenly. "This is too good for _them_. " He jerked histhumb toward the groom and me. "This is a sight for gods--not jackasses. Go down to the river, " he said to us. "If you hear a shot come back. Ifyou hear a scream--then as you value your miserable hides--get!"

We did not move. 

The bride, her voice tense and high-pitched, turned to us. 

"Do as you're told, " she cried, "or I shall ask this man to throw youover the cliff. " She stamped her foot. 

"And this man, " said Farallone, "will do as he's told. "

There was nothing for it. We left them alone in the meadow and descendedthe cliff to the river. And there we stood for what seemed the ages ofages, listening and trembling. 

A faint, far-off detonation, followed swiftly by louder and fainterechoes, broke suddenly upon the rushing noises of the river. Wecommenced feverishly to scramble back up the cliff. Half-way to the topwe heard another shot, a second later a third, and after a longerinterval, as if to put a quietus upon some final show of life--a fourth. 

A nebulous drift of smoke hung above the meadow. 

Farallone lay upon his face at the bride's feet. The groom sprang to herside and threw a trembling arm about her. 

"Come away, " he cried, "come away. "

But the bride freed herself gently from his encircling arm, and her eyesstill bent upon Farallone----

"Not till I have buried my dead, " she said. 

HOLDING HANDS

At first nobody knew him; then the Hotchkisses knew him, and then itseemed as if everybody had always known him. He had run the gauntlet ofgossip and come through without a scratch. He was first noticed sittingin the warm corner made by Willcox's annex and the covered passage thatleads to the main building. Pairs or trios of people, bareheaded, theirtennis clothes (it was a tennis year) mostly covered from view by clumsycoonskin coats, passing Willcox's in dilapidated runabouts drawn byuncurried horses, a nigger boy sitting in the back of each, his thinlegs dangling, had glimpses of him through the driveway gap in the tallAmor privet hedge that is between Willcox's and the road. These pairs ortrios having seen would break in upon whatever else they may have beensaying to make such remarks as: "He can't be, or he wouldn't be atWillcox's"; or, contradictorily: "He must be, or he'd do somethingbesides sit in the sun"; or, "Don't they always have to drink lots ofmilk?" or, "Anyway, they're quite positive that it's not catching"; or, "Poor boy, what nice hair he's got. "

With the old-timers the new-comer, whose case was otherwise sodoubtful, had one thing in common: a coonskin coat. It was handsome ofits kind, unusually long, voluminous, and black. The upturned collarcame above his ears, and in the opening his face showed thin and white, and his eyes, always intent upon the book in his lap, had a look ofbeing closed. Two things distinguished him from other men: his greatlength of limb and the color and close-cropped, almost moulded, effectof his hair. It was the color of old Domingo mahogany, and showed offthe contour of his fine round head with excellent effect. 

The suspicion that this interesting young man was a consumptive was setaside by Willcox himself. He told Mrs. Bainbridge, who asked (on accountof her little children who, et cetera, et cetera), that Mr. Masters wasrecuperating from a very stubborn attack of typhoid. But was Mr. Willcoxquite sure? Yes, Mr. Willcox had to be sure of just such things. So Mrs. Bainbridge drove out to Miss Langrais' tea at the golf club, and passedon the glad tidings with an addition of circumstantial detail. MisterMasters (people found that it was quite good fun to say this, withassorted intonations) had been sick for many months at--she thought--theNew York Hospital. Sometimes his temperature had touched a hundred andfifteen degrees and sometimes he had not had any temperature at all. There was quite a romance involved, "his trained nurse, my dear, not oneof the ordinary creatures, but a born lady in impoverishedcircumstances, " et cetera, et cetera. And later, when even MisterMasters himself had contradicted these brightly colored statements, Mrs. Bainbridge continued to believe them. Even among wealthy and idle womenshe was remarkable for the number of impossible things she could believebefore breakfast, and after. But she never made these things seem evenhalf plausible to others, and so she wasn't dangerous. 

Mister Masters never remembered to have passed so lonely and dreary aFebruary. The sunny South was a medicine that had been prescribed andthat had to be swallowed. Aiken on the label had looked inviting enough, but he found the contents of the bottle distasteful in the extreme. "TheSouth is sunny, " he wrote to his mother, "but oh, my great jumpinggrandmother, how seldom! And it's cold, mummy, like being beaten withwhips. And it rains--well, if it rained cats and dogs a fellow wouldn'tmind. Maybe they'd speak to him, but it rains solid cold water, and ithits the windows the way waves hit the port-holes at sea; and the onlything that stops the rain is a wind that comes all the way from Alaskafor the purpose. In protected corners the sun has a certain warmth. Butthe other morning the waiter put my milk on the wrong side of my chair, in the shade, namely, and when I went to drink it it was frozen solid. You were right about the people here all being kind; they are all thesame kind. I know them all now--by sight; but not by name, except, ofcourse, some who are stopping at Willcox's. We have had three icestorms--_'Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen blühen?_' I am getting to_kennst_ it very well. But Willcox, who keeps a record of such things, says that this is the coldest winter Aiken has known since last winter!

"But in spite of all this there is a truth that must be spoken. I feel athousand times better and stronger than when I came. And yesterday, exercising in the privacy of my room, I discovered that there are oncemore calves upon my legs. This is truth, too. I have no one to talk tobut your letters. So don't stint me. Stint me with money if you can(here I defy you), but for the love of Heaven keep me posted. If youwill promise to write every day I will tell you the name of theprettiest girl in Aiken. She goes by eight times every day, and shelooks my way out of the corner of her eye. And I pretend to be readingand try very hard to look handsome and interesting. . . . Mother! . . . Justnow I rested my hand on the arm of my chair and the wood felt hot to thetouch! It's high noon and the sun's been on it since eight o'clock, butstill it seems very wonderful. Willcox says that the winter ispractically over; but I begged him not to hurry. . . . "

Such was the usual trend of his letters. But that one dated March 7began with the following astonishing statement:

"I love Aiken . . . " and went on to explain why. 

But Mister Masters was not allowed to love Aiken until he had comethrough the whole gauntlet of gossip. It had first been suggested thathe was a consumptive and a menace ("though of course one feels terriblysorry for them, my dear"). This had been disproved. Then it was spreadabout that he belonged to a wealthy family of Masters from the upperWest Side ("very well in their way, no doubt, and the backbone of thecountry, my dear, but one doesn't seem to get on with them, and Ishouldn't think they'd come to Aiken of all places"). But a gentlemanwho knew the West Side Masters, root and branch, shook his head to this, and went so far as to say, "Not much, he isn't"; and went further andshuddered. Then it got about that Mister Masters was poor (and that madepeople suspicious of him). Then it got about that he was rich (and thatmade them even more so). Then that he wrote for a living (and that wasnearly as bad as to say that he cheated at cards--or at least it was thekind of thing that _they_ didn't do). And then, finally, the real truthabout him, or something like it, got out; and the hatchet of suspicionwas buried, and there was peace in Aiken. In that Aiken of whose peacethe judge, referring to a pock-marked mulatto girl, had thundered thatit should not be disturbed for any woman--"no--not even were she Helenof Troy. "

This was the truth that got out about Mister Masters. He was a nephew ofthe late Bishop Masters. His mother, on whom he was dependent, was veryrich; she had once been prominent in society. He was thirty, and wasgood at games. He did not work at anything. 

So he was something that Aiken could understand and appreciate: a youngman who was well-born, who didn't have to work--and who didn't _want_to. 

But old Mrs. Hotchkiss did not know of these things when, one bright dayin passing Willcox's (she was on one good foot, one rheumatic foot, anda long black cane with a gold handle), she noticed the young man paleand rather sad-looking in his fur coat and steamer-rug, his eyes on hisbook, and stopped abruptly and spoke to him through the gap in thehedge. 

"I hope you'll forgive an old woman for scraping an acquaintance, " shepiped in her brisk, cheerful voice, "but I want to know if you'regetting better, and I thought the best way to find out was to stop andask. "

Mister Masters's steamer-rug fell from about his long legs and his facebecame rosy, for he was very shy. 

"Indeed I am, " he said, "ever so much. And thank you for asking. "

"I'm tired, " said the old lady, "of seeing you always sitting byyourself, dead tired of it. I shall come for you this afternoon at fourin my carriage, and take you for a drive. . . . "

"It was abrupt, " Mister Masters wrote to his mother, "but it was kind. When I had done blushing and scraping with my feet and pulling myforelock, we had the nicest little talk. And she remembered you in theold days at Lenox, and said why hadn't I told her before. And then sheasked if I liked Aiken, and, seeing how the land lay, I lied and said Iloved it. And she said that that was her nice, sensible young fellow, orwords to that effect. And then she asked me why, and I said because ithas such a fine climate; and then she laughed in my face, and said thatI was without reverence for her age--not a man--a scalawag. 

"And do you know, Mrs. Hotchkiss is like one of those magic keys infairy stories? All doors open to her. Between you and me I have beenthinking Aiken's floating population snobbish, purse-proud, andgenerally absurd. And instead, the place seems to exist so that kindnessand hospitality may not fail on earth. Of course I'm not up to genuinesprees, such as dining out and sitting up till half-past ten or eleven. But I can go to luncheons, and watch other people play tennis, and pokeabout gardens with old ladies, and guess when particular flowers will beout, and learn the names of birds and of hostile bushes that prick andof friendly bushes that don't. 

"All the cold weather has gone to glory; and it's really spring becausethe roosters crow all night. Mrs. Hotchkiss says it's because they areroosters and immoral. But I think they're crowing because they'vesurvived the winter. I am. . . . "

Aiken took a great fancy to Mister Masters. First because Aiken wasgiving him a good time; and second because he was really good companywhen you got him well cornered and his habitual fright had worn off. Hewas the shyest, most frightened six-footer in the memory of Aiken. Ifyou spoke to him suddenly he blushed, and if you prepared him by firstclearing your throat he blushed just the same. And he had a crooked, embarrassed smile that was a delight to see. 

But gradually he became almost at ease with nearly everybody; and in theshyest, gentlest way enjoyed himself hugely. But the prettiest girl inAiken had very hard work with him. 

As a stag fights when brought to bay, so Mister Masters when driven intoa corner could talk as well and as freely as the next man; but on hisown initiative there was, as we Americans say, "nothing doing. " Whetheror not the prettiest girl in Aiken ever rolled off a log is unknown;but such an act would have been no more difficult for her than to cornerMister Masters. The man courted cornering, especially by her. But giventhe desired situation, neither could make anything of it. MisterMasters's tongue became forthwith as helpless as a man tied hand andfoot and gagged. He had nothing with which to pay for the delight ofbeing cornered but his rosiest, steadiest blush and his crookedest andmost embarrassed smile. But he retained a certain activity of mind andwithin himself was positively voluble with what he would say if he onlycould. 

I don't mean that the pair sat or stood or walked in absolute silence. Indeed, little Miss Blythe could never be silent for a long period norpermit it in others, but I mean that with the lines and the machinery ofa North Atlantic liner, their craft of propinquity made about as muchprogress as a scow. Nevertheless, though neither was really aware ofthis, each kept saying things, that cannot be put into words, to theother; otherwise the very first cornering of Mister Masters by littleMiss Blythe must have been the last. But even as it was way back at thebeginning of things, and always will be, Beauty spoke to Handsome andHandsome up and spoke back. 

"No, " said little Miss Blythe, upon being sharply cross-questioned byMrs. Hotchkiss, "he practically never does say anything. "

Mrs. Hotchkiss dug a little round hole in the sand with her long blackcane, and made an insulting face at little Miss Blythe. 

"Some men, " said she, "can't say 'Boo' to a goose. "

If other countries produce girls like little Miss Blythe, I have nevermet a specimen; and I feel very sure that foreign young ladies do notbecome personages at the age of seventeen. When she met Mister Mastersshe had been a personage for six years, and it was time for her to yieldher high place to another; to marry, to bear children, and to prove thatall the little matters for which she was celebrated were merely passingphases and glitterings of a character which fundamentally was composedof simple and noble traits. 

Little Miss Blythe had many brothers and sisters; no money, as we reckonmoney; and only such prospects as she herself might choose frominnumerable offers. She was little; her figure looked best in athleticclothes (low neck didn't do well with her, because her face was tannedso brown) and she was strong and quick as a pony. All the year round shekept herself in the pink of condition ("overkept herself" some said)dancing, walking, running, swimming, playing all games and eating tomatch. She had a beautiful, clean-cut face, not delicate and to behidden and coaxed by veils and soft things, but a face that lookedbeautiful above a severe Eton collar, and at any distance. She had thebright, wide eyes of a collected athlete, unbelievably blue, and thewhites of them were only matched for whiteness by her teeth (the deeptan of her skin heightened this effect, perhaps); and it was said by oneadmirer that if she were to be in a dark room and were to press thebutton of a kodak and to smile at one and the same instant, there wouldbe a picture taken. 

She had friends in almost every country-clubbed city in America. Whenever, and almost wherever, a horse show was held she was there toshow the horses of some magnate or other to the best advantage. Betweentimes she won tennis tournaments and swimming matches, or tried her handat hunting or polo (these things in secret because her father hadforbidden them), and the people who continually pressed hospitality uponher said that they were repaid a thousand-fold. In the first place, itwas a distinction to have her. "Who are the Ebers?" "Why, don't youknow? They are the people Miss Blythe is stopping with. "

She was always good-natured; she never kept anybody waiting; and shemust have known five thousand people well enough to call them by theirfirst names. But what really distinguished her most from other youngwomen was that her success in inspiring others with admiration andaffection was not confined to men; she had the same effect upon allwomen, old and young, and all children. 

Foolish people said that she had no heart, merely because no one had asyet touched it. Wise people said that when she did fall in love sparkswould fly. Hitherto her friendships with men, whatever the men inquestion may have wished, had existed upon a basis of good-naturedbanter and prowess in games. Men were absolutely necessary to MissBlythe to play games with, because women who could "give her a game"were rare as ivory-billed woodpeckers. It was even thought by some, asan instance, that little Miss Blythe could beat the famous Miss MaySutton once out of three times at lawn-tennis. But Miss Sutton, with thegood-natured and indomitable aggression of her genius, set thissupposition at rest. Little Miss Blythe could not beat Miss Sutton onceout of three or three hundred times. But for all that, little MissBlythe was a splendid player and a master of strokes and strategy. 

Nothing would have astonished her world more than to learn that littleMiss Blythe had a secret, darkly hidden quality of which she wasdreadfully ashamed. At heart she was nothing if not sentimental andromantic. And often when she was thought to be sleeping the dreamlesssleep of the trained athlete who stores up energy for the morrow'scontest, she was sitting at the windows in her night-gown, looking atthe moon (in hers) and weaving all sorts of absurd adventures aboutherself and her particular fancy of the moment. 

It would be a surprise and pleasure to some men, a tragedy perhaps toothers, if they should learn that little Miss Blythe had fancied themall at different times, almost to the boiling point, and that in her owndeeply concealed imagination Jim had rescued her from pirates and Jackfrom a burning hotel, or that just as her family were selling her to arich widower, John had appeared on his favorite hunter and carried heroff. The truth is that little Miss Blythe had engaged in a hundred loveaffairs concerning which no one but herself was the wiser. 

And at twenty-three it was high time for her to marry and settle down. First because she couldn't go on playing games and showing horsesforever, and second because she wanted to. But with whom she wanted tomarry and settle down she could not for the life of her have said. Sometimes she thought that it would be with Mr. Blagdon. He _was_ richand he _was_ a widower; but wherever she went he managed to go, and hehad some of the finest horses in the world, and he wouldn't take no foran answer. Sometimes she said to the moon:

"I'll give myself a year, and if at the end of that time I don't likeanybody better than Bob, why. . . . " Or, in a different mood, "I'm tired ofeverything I do; if he happens to ask me to-morrow I'll say yes. " Or, "I've ridden his horses, and broken his golf clubs, and borrowed hisguns (and he won't lend them to anybody else), and I suppose I've got topay him back. " Or, "I really _do_ like him a lot, " or "I really don'tlike him at all. "

Then there came into this young woman's life Mister Masters. And heblushed his blush and smiled his crooked smile and looked at her whenshe wasn't looking at him (and she knew that he was looking) and wasunable to say as much as "Boo" to her; and in the hidden springs of hernature that which she had always longed for happened, and became, andwas. And one night she said to the moon: "I know it isn't proper for meto be so attentive to him, and I know everybody is talking about it, but--" and she rested her beautiful brown chin on her shapely, strong, brown hands, and a tear like a diamond stood in each of her unbelievablyblue eyes, and she looked at the moon, and said: "But it's Harry Mastersor--_bust_!"

Mr. Bob Blagdon, the rich widower, had been content to play a waitinggame; for he knew very well that beneath her good-nature little MissBlythe had a proud temper and was to be won rather by the man who shouldmake himself indispensable to her than by him who should be foreverpestering her with speaking and pleading his cause. She is an honestgirl, he told himself, and without thinking of consequences she isalways putting herself under obligations to me. Let her ride downlover's lane with young Blank or young Dash, she will not be able toforget that she is on my favorite mare. In his soul he felt a certainproprietorship in little Miss Blythe; but to this his ruddy, dark-mustached face and slow-moving eyes were a screen. 

Mr. Blagdon had always gone after what he wanted in a kind of slow, indifferent way that begot confidence in himself and in the beholder;and (in the case of Miss Blythe) a kind of panic in the object sought. She liked him because she was used to him, and because he could andwould talk sense upon subjects which interested her. But she was afraidof him because she knew that he expected her to marry him some day, andbecause she knew that other people, including her own family, expectedthis of her. Sometimes she felt ready to take unto herself all thehorses and country places and automobiles and yachts, and in a lifelived regardless of expense to bury and forget her better self. But moreoften, like a fly caught in a spider's web, she wished by one desperateeffort (even should it cost her a wing, to carry out the figure) to freeherself once and forever from the entanglement. 

It was pleasant enough in the web. The strands were soft and silky;they held rather by persuasion than by force. And had it not been forthe spider she could have lived out her life in the web without any verydesperate regrets. But it was never quite possible to forget the spider;and that in his own time he would approach slowly and deliberately, sureof himself and of little Miss Fly. . . . 

But, after all, the spider in the case was not such a terrible fellow. Just because a man wants a girl that doesn't want him, and means to haveher, he hasn't necessarily earned a hard name. Such a man as often asnot becomes one-half of a very happy marriage. And Mr. Bob Blagdon wasconsidered an exceptionally good fellow. In his heart, though I havenever heard him say so openly, I think he actually looked down on peoplewho gambled and drank to excess, and who were uneducated and hadacquired (whatever they may have been born with) perfectly empty heads. I think that he had a sound and sensible virtue; one ear for one side ofan argument, and one for the other. 

There is no reason to doubt that he was a good husband to his firstwife, and wished to replace her with little Miss Blythe, not to supplanther. To his three young children he was more of a grandfather than afather; though strong-willed and even stubborn, he was unable half thetime to say no to them. And I have seen him going on all-fours with theyoungest child perched on his back kicking him in the ribs and urginghim to canter. So if he intended by the strength of his will and of hisriches to compel little Miss Blythe to marry (and to be happy with him;he thought he could manage that, too), it is only one blot on a decentand upright character. And it is unjust to have called him spider. 

But when Mister Masters entered (so timidly to the eye, but really somasterfully) into little Miss Blythe's life, she could no longertolerate the idea of marrying Mr. Blagdon. All in a twinkle she knewthat horses and yachts and great riches could never make up to her forthe loss of a long, bashful youth with a crooked smile. You can't bereally happy if you are shivering with cold; you can't be really happyif you are dripping with heat. And she knew that without Mister Mastersshe must always be one thing or the other--too cold or too hot, neverquite comfortable. 

Her own mind was made up from the first; even to going through anynumber of awful scenes with Blagdon. But as time passed and herattentions (I shall have to call it that) to Mister Masters made novisible progress, there were times when she was obliged to think thatshe would never marry anybody at all. But in her heart she knew thatMasters was attracted by her, and to this strand of knowledge she clungso as not to be drowned in a sea of despair. 

Her position was one of extreme difficulty and delicacy. SometimesMister Masters came near her of his own accord, and remained in bashfulsilence; but more often she was obliged to have recourse to "accidents"in order to bring about propinquity. And even when propinquity had beenestablished there was never any progress made that could be favorablynoted. Behind her back, for instance, when she was playing tennis and hewas looking on, he was quite bold in his admiration of her. And whereasmost people's eyes when they are watching tennis follow the flight ofthe ball, Mister Masters's faithful eyes never left the person of hisfavorite player. 

One reason for his awful bashfulness and silence was that certainpeople, who seemed to know, had told him in the very beginning that itwas only a question of time before little Miss Blythe would become Mrs. Bob Blagdon. "She's always been fond of him, " they said, "and of coursehe can give her everything worth having. " So when he was with her hefelt as if he was with an engaged girl, and his real feelings not beingproper to express in any way under such circumstances, and his naturebeing single and without deceit, he was put in a quandary that defiedsolution. 

But what was hidden from Mister Masters was presently obvious to Mr. Blagdon and to others. So the spider, sleepily watching the automaticenmeshment of the fly, may spring into alert and formidable action atseeing a powerful beetle blunder into the web and threaten by hisstupid, aimless struggles to set the fly at liberty and to destroy thewhole fabric spun with care and toil. 

To a man in love there is no redder danger signal than a sight of theobject of his affections standing or sitting contentedly with anotherman and neither of them saying as much as "Boo" to the other. He may, with more equanimity, regard and countenance a genuine flirtation, fullof laughter and eye-making. The first time Mr. Blagdon saw them togetherhe thought; the second time he felt; the third time he came forwardgraciously smiling. The web might be in danger from the beetle; the flyat the point of kicking up her heels and flying gayly away; but it maybe in the power of the spider to spin enough fresh threads on the spurof the moment to rebind the fly, and even to make prisoner the doughtybeetle. 

"Don't you ride, Mister Masters?" said Mr. Blagdon. 

"Of course, " said the shy one, blushing. "But I'm not to do anythingviolent before June. "

"Sorry, " said Mr. Blagdon, "because I've a string of ponies that areeating their heads off. I'd be delighted to mount you. "

But Mister Masters smiled with unusual crookedness and stammered histhanks and his regrets. And so that thread came to nothing. 

The spider attempted three more threads; but little Miss Blythe lookedserenely up. 

"I never saw such a fellow as you, Bob, " said she, "for putting otherpeople under obligations. When I think of the weight of my personal onesI shudder. " She smiled innocently and looked up into his face. "Whenpeople can't pay their debts they have to go through bankruptcy, don'tthey? And then their debts all have to be forgiven. "

Mr. Blagdon felt as if an icy cold hand had been suddenly laid upon themost sensitive part of his back; but his expression underwent no change. His slow eyes continued to look into the beautiful, brightly coloredface that was turned up to him. 

"Very honorable bankrupts, " said he carelessly, "always pay what theycan on the dollar. "

Presently he strolled away, easy and nonchalant; but inwardly he carrieda load of dread and he saw clearly that he must learn where he stoodwith little Miss Blythe, or not know the feeling of easiness from oneday to the next. Better, he thought, to be the recipient of a painfuland undeserved ultimatum, than to breakfast, lunch, and dine withuncertainty. 

The next day, there being some dozens of people almost in earshot, Mr. Blagdon had an opportunity to speak to little Miss Blythe. Under thecircumstances, the last thing she expected was a declaration; they werein full view of everybody; anybody might stroll up and interrupt. Sowhat Mr. Blagdon had to say came to her with something the effect ofsudden thunder from a clear sky. 

"Phyllis, " said he, "you have been looking about you since you wereseventeen. Will I do?"

"Oh, Bob!" she protested. 

"I have tried to do, " said he, not without a fine ring of manliness. "Have I made good?"

She smiled bravely and looked as nonchalant as possible; but her heartwas beating heavily. 

"I've liked being good friends--_so_ much, " she said. "Don't spoil it. "

"I tell her, " said he, "that in all the world there is only the onegirl--only the one. And she says--Don't spoil it. '"

"Bob----"

"I will _make_ you happy, " he said. . . . "Has it never entered your dearhead that some time you must give me an answer?"

She nodded her dear head, for she was very honest. 

"I suppose so, " she said. 

"Well, " said he. 

"In my mind, " she said, "I have never been able to give you the sameanswer twice. . . . "

"A decision is expected from us, " said he. "People are growing tired ofour long backing and filling. "

"People! Do they matter?"

"They matter a great deal. And you know it. "

"Yes. I suppose they do. Let me off for now, Bob. People are looking atus. . . . "

"I want an answer. "

But she would not be coerced. 

"You shall have one, but not now. I'm not sure what it will be. "

"If you can't be sure now, can you ever be sure?"

"Yes. Give me two weeks. I shall think about nothing else. "

"Thank you, " he said. "Two weeks. . . . That will be full moon. . . . I shallask all Aiken to a picnic in the woods, weather permitting . . . And--andif your answer is to be my happiness, why, you shall come up to me, andsay, 'Bob--drive me home, will you?'"

"And if it's the other answer, Bob?"

He smiled in his usual bantering way. 

"If it's the other, Phyllis--why--you--you can walk home. "

She laughed joyously, and he laughed, just as if nothing but what waslight and amusing was in question between them. 

Along the Whiskey Road nearly the whole floating population of Aikenmoved on horseback or on wheels. Every fourth or fifth runabout carrieda lantern; but the presence in the long, wide-gapped procession ofother vehicles or equestrians was denoted only by the sounds of voices. Half a dozen family squabbles, half a dozen flirtations (which wouldresult in family squabbles), and half a dozen genuine romances weremoving through the sweet-smelling dark to Mr. Bob Blagdon's picnic inRed Oak Hollow. Only three of the guests knew where Red Oak Hollow was, and two of these were sure that they could only find it by daylight; butthe third, a noted hunter and pigeon shot, rode at the head of theprocession, and pretended (he was forty-five with the heart of a child)that he was Buffalo Bill leading a lost wagon-train to water. And thoughnobody could see him for the darkness, he played his part with minuteattention to detail, listening, pulling up short, scowling to right andleft, wetting a finger and holding it up to see from which direction theair was moving. He was so intent upon bringing his convoy safely througha hostile country that the sounds of laughter or of people in onerunabout calling gayly to people in another were a genuine annoyance tohim. 

Mr. Bob Blagdon had preceded his guests by half an hour, and was alreadyat the scene of the picnic. Fate, or perhaps the weather bureau atWashington, had favored him with just the conditions he would havewished for. The night was hot without heaviness; in the forenoon ofthat day there had been a shower, just wet enough to keep the surfacesof roads from rising in dust. It was now clear and bestarred, andperhaps a shade less dark than when he had started. Furthermore, it wasso still that candles burned without flickering. He surveyed hispreparations with satisfaction. And because he was fastidious inentertainment this meant a great deal. 

A table thirty feet long, and low to the ground so that people sittingon rugs or cushions could eat from it with comfort, stood beneath thegiant red oak that gave a name to the hollow. The white damask withwhich it was laid and the silver and cut glass gleamed in the light ofdozens of candles. The flowers were Maréchal Niel roses in a long bankof molten gold. 

Except for the lanterns at the serving tables, dimly to be seen througha dense hedgelike growth of Kalmia latifolia, there were no other lightsin the hollow; so that the dinner-table had the effect of standing in acave; for where the gleam of the candles ended, the surrounding darknessappeared solid like a wall. 

It might have been a secret meeting of smugglers or pirates, theGeorgian silver on the table representing years of daring theft; itseemed as if blood must have been spilled for the wonderful glass andlinen and porcelain. Even those guests most hardened in luxury andextravagance looked twice at Mr. Bob Blagdon's picnic preparationsbefore they could find words with which to compliment him upon them; andthe less experienced were beside themselves with enthusiasm and delight. But Mr. Bob Blagdon was wondering what little Miss Blythe would thinkand say, and he thought it unkind of her, under the circumstances, to bethe last to arrive. Unkind, because her doing so was either a good omenor an evil one, and he could not make up his mind which. 

The guests were not homogeneously dressed. Some of the men were indinner clothes; some were in full evening dress; some wore dinner coatsabove riding breeches and boots; some had come bareheaded, some withhats which they did not propose to remove. Half the women were in lowneck and short sleeves; one with short curly hair was breeched andbooted like a man; others wore what I suppose may be called theatregowns; and a few who were pretty enough to stand it wore clothes suitedto the hazards of a picnic in the woods. 

Mr. Blagdon's servants wore his racing colors, blue and silver, knee-breeches, black silk stockings, pumps with silver buckles, andpowdered hair. They were men picked for their height, wooden faces, andwell-turned calves. They moved and behaved as if utterly untouched anduninterested in their unusual and romantic surroundings; they were likejinns summoned for the occasion by the rubbing of a magic lamp. 

At the last moment, when to have been any later would have been eitherrude or accidental, little Miss Blythe's voice was heard calling fromthe darkness and asking which of two roads she should take. Half a dozenmen rushed off to guide her, and presently she came blinking into thecircle of light, followed by Mister Masters, who smiled his crookedestsmile and stumbled on a root so that he was cruelly embarrassed. 

Little Miss Blythe blinked at the lights and looked very beautiful. Shewas all in white and wore no hat. She had a red rose at her throat. Shewas grave for her--and silent. 

The truth was that she had during the last ten minutes made up her mindto ask Mr. Bob Blagdon to drive her home when the picnic should be over. She had asked Mister Masters to drive out with her; and how much thathad delighted him nobody knew (alas!) except Mister Masters himself. Shehad during the last few weeks given him every opportunity which hersomewhat unconventional soul could sanction. In a hundred ways she hadshowed him that she liked him immensely; and well--if he liked her inthe same way, he would have managed to show it, in spite of his shyness. The drive out had been a failure. They had gotten no further inconversation than the beauty and the sweet smells of the night. Andfinally, but God alone knows with what reluctance, she had given him upas a bad job. 

The long table with its dozens of candles looked like a huge altar, andshe was Iphigenia come to the sacrifice. She had never heard ofIphigenia, but that doesn't matter. At Mister Masters, now seated nearthe other end of the table, she lifted shy eyes; but he was looking athis plate and crumbling a piece of bread. It was like saying good-by. She was silent for a moment; then, smiling with a kind of recklessgayety, she lifted her glass of champagne and turned to the host. 

"To you!" she said. 

Delight swelled in the breast of Mr. Bob Blagdon. He raised his hand, and from a neighboring thicket there rose abruptly the music of banjosand guitars and the loud, sweet singing of negroes. 

Aiken will always remember that dinner in the woods for its beauty andfor its gayety. Two or three men, funny by gift and habit, were at theirvery best; and fortune adapted the wits of others to the occasion. Sothat the most unexpected persons became humorous for once in theirlives, and said things worth remembering. People gather together for oneof three reasons: to make laws, to break them, or to laugh. The firstsort of gathering is nearly always funny, and if the last isn't, whythen, to be sure, it is a failure. Mr. Bob Blagdon's picnic was anuproarious success. Now and then somebody's whole soul seemed to gointo a laugh, in which others could not help joining, untiluncontrollable snorts resounded in the hollow and eyes became blindedwith tears. 

And then suddenly, toward dessert, laughter died away and nothing was tobe heard but such exclamations as: "For Heaven's sake, look at themoon!" "Did you ever see anything like it?"

Mr. Blagdon had paid money to the owner of Red Oak Hollow for permissionto remove certain trees and thickets that would otherwise haveobstructed his guests' view of the moonrise. At the end of the vistathus obtained the upper rim of the moon now appeared, as in a frame. And, watching in silence, Mr. Blagdon's guests saw the amazing luminaryemerge, as it were, from the earth like a bright and blameless soul fromthe grave, and sail clear, presently, and upward into untroubled space;a glory, serene, smiling, and unanswerable. 

No one remembered to have seen the moon so large or so bright. Atomizedsilver poured like tides of light into the surrounding woods; and at thesame time heavenly odors of flowers began to move hither and thither, tochange places, to return, and pass, like disembodied spirits engaged insome tranquil and celestial dance. 

And it became cooler, so that women called for light wraps and men tiedsweaters round their necks by the arms. Then at a long distance fromthe dinner-table a bonfire began to flicker, and then grow bright andred. And it was discovered that rugs and cushions had been placed (nottoo near the fire) for people to sit on while they drank their coffeeand liquors, and that there were logs to lean against, and boxes ofcigars and cigarettes where they could most easily be reached. 

It was only a question now of how long the guests would care to stay. Asa gathering the picnic was over. Some did not use the rugs and cushionsthat had been provided for them, but strolled away into the woods. Anumber of slightly intoxicated gentlemen felt it their duty to gatherabout their host and entertain him. Two married couples brought candlesfrom the dinner-table and began a best two out of three at bridge. Sometimes two men and one woman would sit together with their backsagainst a log; but always after a few minutes one of the men would goaway "to get something" and would not return. 

It was not wholly by accident that Mister Masters found himself alonewith little Miss Blythe. Emboldened by the gayety of the dinner, andthen by the wonder of the moon, he had had the courage to hurry to herside; and though there his courage had failed utterly, his action hadbeen such as to deter others from joining her. So, for there was nothingelse to do, they found a thick rug and sat upon it, and leaned theirbacks against a log. 

Little Miss Blythe had not yet asked Mr. Blagdon to drive her home. Though she had made up her mind to do so, it would only be at the lastpossible moment of the twelfth hour. It was now that eleventh hour inwhich heroines are rescued by bold lovers. But Mister Masters was nobolder than a mouse. And the moon sailed higher and higher in theheavens. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" said little Miss Blythe. 

"Wonderful!"

"Just smell it!"

"Umm. "

Her sad, rather frightened eyes wandered over to the noisy group ofwhich Mr. Bob Blagdon was the grave and silent centre. He knew thatlittle Miss Blythe would keep her promise. He believed in his heart thather decision would be favorable to him; but he was watching her whereshe sat with Masters and knew that his belief in what she would decidewas not strong enough to make him altogether happy. 

"_And_ he was old enough to be her father!" repeated the gentleman inthe Scotch deer-stalker who had been gossiping. Mr. Blagdon smiled, butthe words hurt--"old enough to be her father. " "My God, " he thought, "_I_ am old enough--just!" But then he comforted himself with "Why not?It's how old a man feels, not how old he is. "

Then his eyes caught little Miss Blythe's, but she turned hers instantlyaway. 

"This will be the end of the season, " she said. 

Mister Masters assented. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked. 

"Do you see old Mr. Black over there?" she said. "He's pretending not towatch us, but he's watching us like a lynx. . . . Did you ever start apiece of news?"

"Never, " said Mister Masters. 

"It would be rather fun, " said little Miss Blythe. "For instance, if weheld hands for a moment Mr. Black would see it, and five minutes latereverybody would know about it. "

Mister Masters screwed his courage up to the sticking point, and tookher hand in his. Both looked toward Mr. Black as if inviting him tonotice them. Mr. Black was seen almost instantly to whisper to thenearest gentleman. 

"There, " said little Miss Blythe, and was for withdrawing her hand. ButMasters's fingers tightened upon it, and she could feel the pulsesbeating in their tips. She knew that people were looking, but she feltbrazen, unabashed, and happy. Mister Masters's grip tightened; it said:"My master has a dozen hearts, and they are all beating--for _you_. " Toreturn that pressure was not an act of little Miss Blythe's will. Shecould not help herself. Her hand said to Masters: "With the heart--withthe soul. " Then she was frightened and ashamed, and had a rush of colorto the face. 

"Let go, " she whispered. 

But Masters leaned toward her, and though he was trembling with fear andawe and wonder, he found a certain courage and his voice was wonderfullygentle and tender, and he smiled and he whispered: "Boo!"

Only then did he set her hand free. For one reason there was no need nowof so slight a bondage; for another, Mr. Bob Blagdon was approachingthem, a little pale but smiling. He held out his hand to little MissBlythe, and she took it. 

"Phyllis, " said he, "I know your face so well that there is no need forme to ask, and for you--to deny. " He smiled upon her gently, though itcost him an effort. "I wanted her for myself, " he turned to Masters withcharming frankness, "but even an old man's selfish desires are not proofagainst the eloquence of youth, and I find a certain happiness in sayingfrom the bottom of my heart--bless you, my children. . . . "

The two young people stood before him with bowed heads. 

"I am going to send you the silver and glass from the table, " said he, "for a wedding present to remind you of my picnic. . . . " He looked upwardat the moon. "If I could, " said he, "I would give you that. "

Then the three stood in silence and looked upward at the moon. 

THE CLAWS OF THE TIGER

What her given name was in the old country has never reached me; butwhen her family had learned a little English, and had begun to affectthe manners and characteristics of their more Americanizedacquaintances, they called her Daisy. She was the only daughter; her agewas less than that of two brothers, and she was older than three. Thefamily consisted of these six, Mr. And Mrs. Obloski, the parents, Grandfather Pinnievitch, and Great-grandmother Brenda--a woman so old, so shrunken, so bearded, and so eager to live that her like was not tobe found in the city. 

Upon settling in America two chief problems seemed to confront thefamily: to make a living and to educate the five boys. The first problemwas solved for a time by The Organization. Obloski was told by aninterpreter that he would be taken care of if he and his father-in-lawvoted as directed and as often as is decent under a wise and paternalsystem of government. To Obloski, who had about as much idea what thefranchise stands for as The Organization had, this seemed an agreeablearrangement. Work was found for him, at a wage. He worked with immensevigor, for the wage seemed good. Soon, however, he perceived that olderAmericans (of his own nationality) were laughing at him. Then he did notwork so hard; but the wage, froth of the city treasury, came to him justthe same. He ceased working, and pottered. Still he received pay. Heceased pottering. He joined a saloon. And he became the right-hand manof a right-hand man of a right-hand man who was a right-hand man of avery important man who was--left-handed. 

The two older boys were at school in a school; the three others were atschool in the street. Mrs. Obloski was occupied with a seventh child, whose sex was not yet determined. Grandfather Pinnievitch was learningto smoke three cigars for five cents; and Great-grandmother Brenda satin the sun, stroking her beard and clinging to life. Nose and chinalmost obstructed the direct passage to Mrs. Brenda's mouth. She lookedas if she had gone far in an attempt to smell her own chin, and wouldsoon succeed. 

But for Daisy there was neither school, nor play in the street, norsitting in the sun. She cooked, and she washed the dishes, and she didthe mending, and she made the beds, and she slept in one of the bedswith her three younger brothers. In spite of the great wage so easilywon the Obloskis were very poor, for New York. All would be well whenthe two older boys had finished school and begun to vote. They werethirteen and fourteen, but the school records had them as fifteen andsixteen, for the interpreter had explained to their father that a mancannot vote until he is twenty-one. 

Daisy was twelve, but she had room in her heart for all her family, andfor a doll besides. This was of rags; and on the way from Castle Gardento the tenement she had found it, neglected, forsaken--starving, perhaps--in a gutter. In its single garment, in its woollen hair, andupon its maculate body the doll carried, perhaps, the germs of typhoid, of pneumonia, of tetanus, and of consumption; but all night it lay inthe arms of its little mother, and was not permitted to harm her orhers. 

The Obloskis, with the exception of Mrs. Brenda, were a handsomefamily--the grandfather, indeed, was an old beauty in his way, withstreaming white hair and beard, and eyes that reminded you of locomotiveheadlights seen far off down a dark tunnel; but their good features weremarred by an expression of hardness, of greed, of unsatisfied desire. And Mr. Obloski's face was beginning to bloat with drink. It was onlynatural that Daisy, upon whom all the work was put, should have been toobusy to look hard or greedy. She had no time to brood upon life or tothink upon unattainable things. She had only time to cook, time to washthe dishes, to mend the clothes, to make the beds, and to play themother to her little brothers and to her doll. And so, and naturally, asthe skin upon her little hands thickened and grew rough and red, theexpression in her great eyes became more and more luminous, translucent, and joyous. 

Even to a class of people whose standards of beauty differ, perhaps, from ours, she promised to be very beautiful. She was abrown-and-crimson beauty, with ocean-blue eyes and teeth dazzling white, like the snow on mountains when the sun shines. And though she was onlytwelve, her name, underlined, was in the note-book of many an ambitiousyoung man. I knew a young man who was a missionary in that quarter ofthe city (indeed, it was through him that this story reached me), anearnest, Christian, upstanding, and, I am afraid, futile young man, who, for a while, thought he had fallen in love with her, and talked ofhaving his aunt adopt her, sending her to school, ladyizing her. He hada very pretty little romance mapped out. She would develop into anornament to any society, he said. Her beauty--he snapped hisfingers--had nothing to do with his infatuation. She had a soul, a greatsoul. This it was that had so moved him. "You should see her, " he said, "with her kid brother, and the whole family shooting-match. I know;lots of little girls have the instinct of mothering things--but it'smore in her case, it amounts to genius--and she's so clever, and soquick, and in spite of all the wicked hard work they put upon her shesings a little, and laughs a little, and mothers them all the time--theselfish beasts!"

My friend's pipe-dreams came to nothing. He drifted out of missionizing, through a sudden hobby for chemistry, into orchids; sickened of havingthem turn black just when they ought to have bloomed; ran for Congressand was defeated; decided that the country was going to the dogs, wentto live in England, and is now spending his time in a vigorous and, I amafraid, vain attempt to get himself elected to a first-class Londonclub. He is quite a charming man--and quite unnecessary. I mention allthis, being myself enough of a pipe-dreamer to think that, if he had notbeen frightened out of his ideas about Daisy, life might have dealt morehandsomely with them both. 

As Obloski became more useful to the great organization that owned himhe received proportionately larger pay; but as he drank proportionatelymore, his family remained in much its usual straits. Presently Obloskifell off in utility, allowing choice newly landed men of his nationalityto miss the polls. Then strange things happened. The great man (who wasleft-handed) spoke an order mingled with the awful names of gods. Thencertain shares, underwritten by his right-hand man, clamored forpromised cash. A blue pallor appeared in the cheeks of the right-handman, and he spoke an order, so that a contract for leaving the pavementof a certain city street exactly as it was went elsewhere. The defraudedcontractor swore very bitterly, and reduced the salary of his right-handman. This one caused a raid of police to ascend into the disorderlyhouse of his. This one in turn punished his right-hand man; untilfinally the lowest of all in the scale, save only Mr. Obloski, remarkedto the latter, pressing for his wage, that money was "heap scarce. " AndMr. Obloski, upon opening his envelope, discovered that it contained butthe half of that to which he had accustomed his appetite. Than Obloskithere was none lower. Therefore, to pass on the shiver of pain that haddescended to him from the throne, he worked upon his feelings with rawwhiskey, then went home to his family and broke its workings to bits. Daisy should go sit in an employment agency until she was employed andearning money. The youngest boy and the next youngest should sellnewspapers upon the street. Mrs. Obloski should stop mourning for thebaby which she had rolled into a better world three years before, and dothe housework. The better to fit her for this, for she was lazy and notstrong, he kicked her in the ribs until she fainted, and removedthereby any possibility of her making good the loss for which herproneness to luxurious rolling had been directly responsible. 

So Daisy, who was now nearly sixteen, went to sit with other young womenin a row: some were older than she, one or two younger; but no one ofthe others was lovely to look at or had a joyous face. 

II

After about an hour's waiting in an atmosphere of sour garmentsdisguised by cheap perfumery, employment came to Daisy in the stout formof a middle aged, showily dressed woman, decisive in speech, and rich, apparently, who desired a waitress. 

"I want something cheap and green, " she explained to the manager. "Iform 'em then to suit myself. " Her eyes, small, quick, and decided, flashed along the row of candidates, and selected Daisy without so muchas one glance at the next girl beyond. "There's my article, Mrs. Goldsmith, " she said. 

Mrs. Goldsmith shook her head and whispered something. 

The wealthy lady frowned. "Seventy-five?" she said. "That's ridiculous. "

"My Gott!" exclaimed Mrs. Goldsmith. "Ain't she fresh? Loog at her. Ain't she a fresh, sweet liddle-thing?"

"Well, she looks fresh enough, " said the lady, "but I don't go on looks. But I'll soon find out if what you say is true. And then I'll pay youseventy-five. Meanwhile"--as Mrs. Goldsmith began to protest--"there'snothing in it--nothing in it. "

"But I haf your bromice--to pay up. "

The lady bowed grandly. 

"You are sugh an old customer--" Thus Mrs. Goldsmith explained herweakness in yielding. 

Daisy, carrying her few possessions in a newspaper bundle, walkedlightly at the side of her new employer. 

"My name is Mrs. Holt, Daisy, " said the lady. "And I think we'll hitthings off, if you always try to do just what I tell you. "

Daisy was in high spirits. It was wonderful to have found work so easilyand so soon. She was to receive three dollars a week. She could notunderstand her good fortune. Again and again Mrs. Holt's hard eyesflicked over the joyous, brightly colored young face. Less often anexpression not altogether hard accompanied such surveys. For althoughMrs. Holt knew that she had found a pearl among swine, her feelings ofelation were not altogether free from a curious and most unaccustomedtinge of regret. 

"But I must get you a better dress than that, " she said. "I want myhelp to look cared for and smart. I don't mean you're not neat and cleanlooking; but maybe you've something newer and nicer in your bundle?"

"Oh, yes, " said Daisy. "I have my Sunday dress. That is almost new. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Holt, "I'll have a look at it. This is where I live. "

She opened the front door with a latch-key; and to Daisy it seemed as ifparadise had been opened--from the carved walnut rack, upon whichentering angels might hang their hats and coats, to the carpet upon thestair and the curtains of purple plush that, slightly parted, disclosedglimpses of an inner and more sumptuous paradise upon the right--a grandcrayon of Mrs. Holt herself, life-size, upon an easel of bamboo; chairsand sofas with tremendously stuffed seats and backs and arms, atapestry-work fire-screen--a purple puppy against a pink-and-yellowground. 

"I'll take you up to your room right off, " said Mrs. Holt, "and you canshow me your other dress, and I'll tell you if it's nice enough. "

So up they went three flights. But it was in no garret that Daisy was tosleep. Mrs. Holt conducted her into a large, high-ceilinged, old-fashioned room. To be sure, it was ill lighted and illventilated--giving on a court; but its furniture, from themarble-topped wash-stand to the great double bed, was very grand andoverpowering. Daisy could only gape with wonder and delight. To callsuch a room her own, to earn three dollars a week--with a golden promiseof more later on if she proved a good girl--it was all very much toowonderful to be true. 

"Now, Daisy, let me see your Sunday dress--open the bundle on the bedthere. "

Daisy, obedient and swift (but blushing, for she knew that her dresswould look very humble in such surroundings), untied the string andopened the parcel. But it was not the Sunday dress that caught Mrs. Holt's eye. She spoke in the voice of one the most of whose breath hassuddenly been snatched away. 

"And what, " she exclaimed, "for mercy sake, is _that_?"

"That, " said Daisy, already in an anguish lest it be taken from her, "ismy doll. "

Mrs. Holt took the doll in her hands and turned it over and back. Shelooked at it, her head bent, for quite a long time. Then, all of asudden, she made a curious sound in the back of her throat that soundedlike a cross between a choke and a sob. Then she spoke swiftly--and likeone ashamed:

"You won't suit me, girlie--I can see that. Wrap up those things again, and--No, you mustn't go back to Goldsmith's--she's a bad woman--youwouldn't understand. Can't you go back home? No?. . . They need what youcan earn. . . . Here, you go to Hauptman's employment agency and tell him Isent you. No. . . . You're too blazing innocent. I'll go with you. I've gotsome influence. I'll see to it that he gets a job for you from some onewho--who'll let you alone. "

"But, " said Daisy, gone quite white with disappointment, "I would havetried so hard to please you, Mrs. Holt. I----"

"You don't know what you're saying, child, " exclaimed Mrs. Holt. "I--Idon't need you. I've got trouble here. " She touched what appeared to bean ample bosom. "One-half's the real thing and one-half's just padding. I'm not long for this world, and you've cost me a pretty penny, my dear;but it's all right. I don't need _you_!"

So Mrs. Holt took Daisy to Hauptman's agency. And he, standing in fearof Mrs. Holt, found employment for her as waitress in a Polishrestaurant. Here the work was cruel and hard, and the managementthunderous and savage; but the dangers of the place were not machinemade, and Daisy could sleep at home. 

III

Daisy had not been at work in the restaurant many weeks before theproprietor perceived that business was increasing. The four tables towhich Daisy attended were nearly always full, and the other waitresseswere beginning to show symptoms of jealousy and nerves. More dishes weresmashed; more orders went wrong; and Daisy, a smooth, quick, eagerworker, was frequently delayed and thrown out of her stride, so tospeak, by malicious stratagems and tricks. But Linnevitch, theproprietor, had a clear mind and an excellent knowledge of human nature. He got rid of his cash-girl, and put Daisy in her place; and this inface of the fact that Daisy had had the scantiest practice with figuresand was at first dismally slow in the making of change. But Linnevitchbore with her, and encouraged her. If now and then she made too muchchange, he forgave her. He had only to look at the full tables toforget. For every nickel that she lost for him, she brought a newcustomer. And soon, too, she became at ease with money, and sure of hersubtraction. Linnevitch advanced her sufficient funds to buy a neatblack dress; he insisted that she wear a white turnover collar and whitecuffs. The plain severity of this costume set off the bright coloringof her face and hair to wonderful advantage. In the dingy, ill-lightedrestaurant she was like that serene, golden, glowing light thatRembrandt alone has known how to place among shadows. And her temper wasso sweet, and her disposition so childlike and gentle, that one by onethe waitresses who hated her for her popularity and her quick successforgave her and began to like her. They discussed her a great deal amongthemselves, and wondered what would become of her. Something good, theyprophesied; for under all the guilelessness and simplicity she was able. And you had to look but once into those eyes to know that she wasstring-straight. Among the waitresses was no very potent or instructedimagination. They could not formulate the steps upon which Daisy shouldrise, nor name the happy height to which she should ascend. They knewthat she was exceptional; no common pottery like themselves, but of thatfine clay of which even porcelain is made. It was common talk among themthat Linnevitch was in love with her; and, recalling what had been theevent in the case of the Barnhelm girl, and of Lotta Gorski, they knewthat Linnevitch sometimes put pleasure ahead of business. Yet it wastheir common belief that the more he pined after Daisy the less she hadto fear from him. 

A new look had come into the man's protruding eyes. Either prosperity orDaisy, or both, had changed him for the better. The place no longerechoed with thunderous assaults upon slight faults. The words, "If youwill, please, Helena"; "Well, well, pick it up, " fell now from his lips, or the even more reassuring and courteous, "Never mind; I say, nevermind. "

Meanwhile, if her position and work in the restaurant were pleasantenough, Daisy's evenings and nights at home were hard to bear. Hermother, sick, bitter, and made to work against her will, had no tolerantwords for her. Grandfather Pinnievitch, deprived of even pipe tobacco byhis bibulous son-in-law, whined and complained by the hour. Old Mrs. Brenda declared that she was being starved to death, and she reviledwhomever came near her. The oldest boy had left school in disgrace, together with a classmate of the opposite sex, whom he abandoned shortlyat a profit. The family had turned him off at first; had then seen thathe had in spite of this an air of prosperity; invited him to live athome once more, and were told that he was done with them. His firstventure in the business of pandering had been a success; a company, always on the lookout for bright young men, offered him good pay, workintricate but interesting, and that protection without which crime wouldnot be profitable. 

Yes, in the secure shadow of The Organization's secret dark wings, therewas room even for this obscure young Pole, fatherless, now, andmotherless. For The Organization stands at the gates of the youngRepublic to welcome in the unfortunate of all nations, to find work forthem, and security. Let your bent be what it will, if only you willserve the master, young immigrant, you may safely follow that bent tothe uttermost dregs in which it ends. Whatever you wish to be, that youmay become, provided only that your ambition is sordid, criminal, andunchaste. 

Mr. Obloski was now an incorrigible drunkard. He could no longer berelied on to cast even his own vote once, should the occasion for votingarise. So The Great Organization spat Obloski aside. He threatenedcertain reprisals and tale-bearings. He was promptly arrested for atheft which not only he had not committed, but which had never beencommitted at all. The Organization spared itself the expense of actuallyputting him in jail; but he had felt the power of the claws. He wouldthreaten no more. 

To support the family on Daisy's earnings and the younger boys'newspaper sellings, and at the same time to keep drunk from morning tonight, taxed his talents to the utmost. There were times when he had togive blows instead of bread. But he did his best, and was as patient andlong-suffering as possible with those who sapped his income and kept himdown. 

One night, in a peculiarly speculative mood, he addressed his businessinstincts to Daisy. "Fourteen dollars a month!" he said. "And there aregirls without half your looks--right here in this city--that earn asmuch in a night. What good are you?"

I cannot say that Daisy was so innocent as not to gather his meaning. She sat and looked at him, a terrible pathos in her great eyes, and saidnothing. 

"Well, " said her father, "what good are you?"

"No good, " said Daisy gently. 

That night she hugged her old doll to her breast and wept bitterly, butvery quietly, so as not to waken her brothers. The next morning, veryearly, she made a parcel of her belongings, and carried it with her tothe restaurant. The glass door with its dingy gilt lettering was beingunlocked for the day by Mr. Linnevitch. He was surprised to see her afull half-hour before opening time. 

"Mr. Linnevitch, " said Daisy, "things are so that I can't stay at homeany more. I will send them the money, but I have to find another placeto live. "

"We got a little room, " he said; "you can have if Mrs. Linnevitch saysso. I was going to give you more pay. We give you that roominstead--eh?"

Mrs. Linnevitch gave her consent. She was a dreary, weary woman ofAmerican birth. When she was alone with her husband she never upbraidedhim for his infidelities, or referred to them. But later, on thisparticular day, having a chance to speak, she said:

"I hope you ain't going to bother this one, Linne?"

He patted his wife's bony back and shook his head. "The better as I knowthat girl, Minnie, " he said, "the sorrier I am for what I used to bedoing sometimes. You and her is going to have a square deal. "

"I bin up to put her room straight, " said Mrs. Linnevitch. "She's got adoll. "

She delivered this for what it was worth, in an uninterested, emotionless voice. 

"I tell you what she ought to have got, " said her husband. "She ought tohave got now a good husband, and some live dolls--eh?"

IV

New customers were not uncommon in the restaurant, but the young man whodropped in for noon dinner upon the following Friday was of a plumagegayer than any to which the waitresses and habitués of the place wereaccustomed. To Daisy, sitting at her high cashier's desk, like a youngqueen enthroned, he seemed to have something of the nature of a princefrom a far country. She watched him eat. She saw in his cuffs the glintof gold; she noted with what elegance he held his little fingers alooffrom his hands. She noted the polish and cleanliness of his nails, theshortness of his recent hair-cut, the great breadth of his shoulders(they were his coat's shoulders, but she did not know this), thenarrowness of his waist, the interesting pallor of his face. 

Not until the restaurant was well filled did any one have the audacityto sit at the stranger's table. His elegance and refinement were as abarrier between him and all that was rude and coarse. If he glancedabout the place, taking notes in his turn of this and that, it wascovertly and quietly and without offence. His eyes passed across Daisy'swithout resting or any show of interest. Once or twice he spoke quietlyto the girl who waited on him, his eyebrows slightly raised, as if hewere finding fault but without anger. For the first time in her lifeDaisy had a sensation of jealousy; but in the pale nostalgic form, rather than the yellow corrosive. 

Though the interesting stranger had been one of the earliest arrivals, he ate slowly, busied himself with important-looking papers out of hiscoat-pockets, and was the last to go. He paid his bill, and if he lookedat Daisy while she made change it was in an absent-minded, uninterestedway. 

She had an access of boldness. "I hope you liked your dinner, " she said. 

"I?" The young man came out of the clouds. "Oh, yes. Very nice. " Hethanked her as courteously for his change as if his receiving any at allwas purely a matter for her discretion to decide, wished her goodafternoon, and went out. 

The waitresses were gathered about the one who had served the stranger. It seemed that he had made her a present of a dime. It was vaguely knownthat up-town, in more favored restaurants, a system of tippingprevailed; but in Linnevitch's this was the first instance in a longhistory. The stranger's stock, as they say, went up by leaps and bounds. Then, on removing the cloth from the table at which he had dined, therewas discovered a heart-shaped locket that resembled gold. The girls werefor opening it, and at least one ill-kept thumb-nail was painfullybroken over backward in the attempt. Daisy joined the group. She wasauthoritative for the first time in her life. 

"He wouldn't like us to open it, " she said. 

A dispute arose, presently a clamor; Linnevitch came in. There was asilence. 

Linnevitch examined the locket. "Trible-plate, " he said judicially. "Maybe there's a name and address inside. " As the locket opened for hisstrong thumb-nail, Daisy gave out a little sound as of pain. Linnevitchstood looking into the locket, smiling. 

"Only hair, " he said presently, and closed the thing with a snap, "Putthat in the cash-drawer, " he said, "until it is called for. "

Daisy turned the key on the locket and wondered what color the hairwas. The stranger, of course, had a sweetheart, and of course the hairwas hers. Was it brown, chestnut, red, blond, black? Beneath each ofthese colors in turn she imagined a face. 

Long before the first habitués had arrived for supper Daisy was at herplace. All the afternoon her imagination had been so fed, and hercuriosity thereby so aroused, that she was prepared, in the face of whatshe knew at heart was proper, to open the locket and see, at least, thecolor of the magic hair. But she still hesitated, and for a long time. Finally, however, overmastered, she drew out the cash-drawer a littleway and managed, without taking it out, to open the locket. The lock ofhair which it contained was white as snow. 

Daisy rested, chin on hands, looking into space. She had almost alwaysbeen happy in a negative way, or, better, contented. Now she waspositively happy. But she could not have explained why. She had closedthe locket gently and tenderly, revering the white hairs and the filialpiety that had enshrined them in gold ("triple-plated gold, at that!"). And when presently the stranger entered to recover his property, Daisyfelt as if she had always known him, and that there was nothing to knowof him but good. 

He was greatly and gravely concerned for his loss, but when Daisy, without speaking, opened the cash-drawer and handed him his property, he gave her a brilliant smile of gratitude. 

"One of the girls found it under your table, " she said. 

"Is she here now?" he asked. "But never mind; you'll thank her for me, won't you? And--" A hand that seemed wonderfully ready for financialemergencies slipped into a trousers pocket and pulled from a great rollof various denominations a dollar bill. "Thank her and give her that, "he said. Then, and thus belittling the transaction, "I have to be inthis part of the city quite often on business, " he said, "and I don'tmind saying that I like to take my meals among honest people. You cantell the boss that I intend to patronize this place. "

He turned to go, but the fact that she had been included as being one ofhonest people troubled Daisy. 

"Excuse me, " she said. He turned back. "It was wrong for me to do it, "she said, blushing deeply, and looking him full in the face with hergreat, honest eyes. "I opened your locket. And looked in. "

"Did you?" said the young man. He did not seem to mind in the least. "Ido, often. That lock of hair, " he said, rather solemn now, and a littlesad, perhaps, "was my mother's. "

He now allowed his eyes to rest on Daisy's beautiful face for, perhaps, the first time. 

"In a city like this, " he said, "there's always temptations to dowrong, but I think having this" (he touched his breast pocket where thelocket was) "helps me to do what mother would have liked me to. "

He brushed the corner of one eye with the back of his hand. Perhapsthere was a tear in it. Perhaps a cinder. 

V

It came to be known in the restaurant that the stranger's name wasBarstow, and very soon he had ceased to be a stranger. His business inthat quarter of the city, whatever it may have been, was at firstintermittent; he would take, perhaps, three meals in a week atLinnevitch's; latterly he often came twice in one day. Always orderlyand quiet, Barstow gradually, however, established pleasant and evenjoking terms with the waitresses. But with Daisy he never joked. Hecalled the other girls by their first names, as became a socialsuperior, but Daisy was always Miss Obloski to him. With Linnevitchalone he made no headway. Linnevitch maintained a pointedly surly andrepellent attitude, as if he really wished to turn away a profitablepatronage. And Barstow learned to leave the proprietor severely alone. 

One night, after Barstow had received his change, he remained for a fewminutes talking with Daisy. "What do you find to do with yourselfevenings, Miss Obloski?" he asked. 

"I generally sit with Mr. And Mrs. Linnevitch and sew, " she answered. 

"That's not a very exciting life for a young lady. Don't you ever takein a show, or go to a dance?"

She shook her head. 

"Don't you like to dance?"

"I know I'd like it, " she said with enthusiasm; "but I never had achance to try. "

"You haven't!" exclaimed Barstow. "What a shame! Some night, if youlike, I'll take you to an academy--a nice quiet one, mostly forbeginners--where they give lessons. If you'd like, I'll teach youmyself. "

Delight showed in Daisy's face. 

"Good!" said Barstow. "It's a go. How about to-n--" He broke off short. Linnevitch, very surly and very big, was within hearing, although hisattention appeared elsewhere. 

"Some time soon, then, " said Barstow in a lower voice, and aloud, "Well, good-night, Miss Obloski. "

Her eyes were upon the glass door and the darkness beyond into whichBarstow had disappeared. She was returned to earth by Linnevitch's voiceclose to her ear. It was gentle and understanding. 

"You like dot feller--eh?"

Daisy blushed very crimson, but her great eyes were steadfast andwithout guile. "I like him very much, Mr. Linnevitch. "

"Not too much--eh?"

Daisy did not answer. She did not know the answer. 

"Liddle girl, " said Linnevitch kindly, "you don't know noddings. Whatwas he saying to you, just now?"

"He said some evening he'd take me to an academy and learn me dancing, "said Daisy. 

"He said dot, did he?" said Linnevitch. "I say don't have nodding to dowith them academies. You ask Mrs. Linnevitch to tell you somestories--eh?"

"But he didn't mean a regular dance-hall, " said Daisy. "He said a placefor beginners. "

"For beginners!" said Linnevitch with infinite sarcasm. And then with areally tender paternalism, "If I am your father, I beat you sometimesfor a liddle fool--eh?"

Mrs. Linnevitch was more explicit. "I've knowed hundreds of girls thatwas taught to dance, " she said. "First they go to the hall, and thenthey go to hell. "

Daisy defended her favorite character. "Any man, " she said, "thatcarries a lock of his mother's white hair with him to help keep himstraight is good enough for me, I guess. "

"How do you know it is not hair of some old man's beard to fool you? Orsome goat--eh? How do you know it make him keep straight--eh?"

Linnevitch began to mimic the quiet voice and elegant manner of Barstow:"Good-morning, Miss Obloski, I have just given one dollar to a poorcribble. . . . Oh, how do you do to-day, Miss Obloski? My mouth is full ofbutter, but it don't seem to melt. . . . Oh, Miss Obloski, I am ready tofaint with disgust. I have just seen a man drink one stein of beer. I ama temptation this evening--let me just look in dot locket and savemyself. "

Daisy was not amused. She was even angry with Linnevitch, but too gentleto show it. Presently she said good-night and went to bed. 

"_Now_, " said Mrs. Linnevitch, "she'll go with that young feller sure. The way you mocked him made her mad. I've got eyes in my head. Whatevershe used to think, now she thinks he's a live saint. "

"I wonder, now?" said Linnevitch. A few minutes' wondering must havebrought him into agreement with his wife, for presently he toiled upthree flights of stairs and knocked at Daisy's door. 

"Daisy, " he said. 

"What is it, Mr. Linnevitch?" If her voice had not been tearful it wouldhave been cold. 

The man winced. "Mebbe that young feller is O. K. , " he said. "I havecome just to say that. Mebbe he is. But you just let me look him up aliddle bit--eh?"

He did not catch her answer. 

"You promise me that--eh? Mrs. Linnevitch and me, we want to do what isright and best. We don't want our liddle Daisy to make no mistakes. "

He had no answer but the sounds that go with tears. He knew by this thathis mockings and insinuations had been forgiven. 

"Good-night, liddle girl, " he said. "Sleep tight. " His own voice broke. "I be your popper--eh?" he said. 

To Barstow's surprise and disappointment, when he named a time for herfirst lesson in dancing Daisy refused to go. 

"Mrs. Linnevitch thinks I better not be going out nights, Mr. Barstow, "she said. "But thank you ever so much, all the same. "

"Well, " said Barstow, "I'm disappointed. But that's nothing, if you'renot. "

Daisy blushed. "But I am, " she said. 

"Then, " said he, "never mind what _they_ say. Come on!"

Daisy shook her head. "I promised. "

"Look here, Miss Obloski, what's wrong? Let's be honest, whatever elsewe are. Is it because they _know_ something against me, because they_think_ they do, or because they _know_ that they don't?"

"It's that, " said Daisy. "Mr. Linnevitch don't want me to be going outwith any one he don't know about. "

Barstow was obviously relieved. "Thank you, " he said. "That's all squarenow. It isn't Mrs. Linnevitch; it's the boss. It isn't going out ingeneral; it's going out with me!"

Then he surprised her. "The boss is absolutely right, " he said. "I'm forhim, and, Miss Obloski, I won't ask you to trust me until I've proved toLinnevitch that I'm a proper guardian----"

"It's only Mr. Linnevitch, " said Daisy, smiling very sweetly. "It's notme. _I_ trust you. " Her eyes were like two serene stars. 

Barstow leaned closer and spoke lower. "Miss Obloski, " he said, "Daisy"--and he lingered on the name--"there's only one thing you couldsay that I'd rather hear. "

Daisy wanted to ask what that was. But there was no natural coquetry inthe girl. She did not dare. 

She did not see him again for three whole days; but she fed upon hislast words to her until she was ready, and even eager, to say that otherthing which alone he would rather hear than that she trusted him. 

Between breakfast and dinner on the fourth day a tremendous great man, thick in the chest and stomach, wearing a frock coat and a glossy silkhat, entered the restaurant. The man's face, a miracle of close shaving, had the same descending look of heaviness as his body. But it was astrong, commanding face in spite of the pouched eyes and the droopingflesh about the jaws and chin. Daisy, busy with her book-keeping, lookedup and smiled, with her strong instinct for friendliness. 

The gentleman removed his hat. Most of his head was bald. "You'll beMiss Obloski, " he said. "The top o' the mornin' to you, miss. My boy hasoften spoken of you. I call him my boy bekase he's been like a son tome--like a son. Is Linnevitch in? Never mind, I know the way. "

He opened, without knocking upon it, the door which led from therestaurant into the Linnevitches' parlor. Evidently a great man. And howbeautifully and touchingly he had spoken of Barstow! Daisy returned toher addition. Two and three are six and seven are twelve and four arenineteen. Then she frowned and tried again. 

The great man was a long time closeted with Linnevitch. She could heartheir voices, now loud and angry, now subdued. But she could not gatherwhat they were talking about. 

At length the two emerged from the parlor--Linnevitch flushed, red, sullen, and browbeaten; the stranger grandly at ease, an unlighted cigarin his mouth. He took off his hat to Daisy, bent his brows upon her withan admiring glance, and passed out into the sunlight. 

"Who was it?" said Daisy. 

"That, " said Linnevitch, "is Cullinan, the boss--Bull Cullinan. Once hewas a policeman, and now he is a millionaire. "

There was a curious mixture of contempt, of fear, and of adulation inLinnevitch's voice. 

"He is come here, " he said, "to tell me about that young feller. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Daisy. "Mr. Barstow?"

Linnevitch did not meet her eye. "I am wrong, " he said, "and that youngfeller is O. K. "

When Daisy came back from her first dancing lesson, Mr. And Mrs. Linnevitch were sitting up for her. Her gayety and high spirits seemedto move the couple, especially Linnevitch, deeply. He insisted that sheeat some crackers and drink a glass of milk. He was wonderfully gentle, almost tender, in his manner; but whenever she looked at him he lookedaway. 

VI

It was as if heaven had opened before Daisy. The blood in her veinsmoved to the rhythm of dance music; her vision was being fed upon colorand light. And, for she was still a child, she was taken great wondersto behold: dogs that rode upon bicycles, men who played upon fiftyinstruments, clowns that caused whole theatres to roar with laughter, ladies that dove from dizzy heights, bears that drank beer, Apollos thatseemed to have been born turning wonderful somersaults. And always ather side was her man, her well-beloved, to explain and to protect. Hewas careful of her, careful as a man is careful who carries a glass ofwater filled to overflowing without losing a drop. And if little bylittle he explained what he called "life" to her, it was with delicacy, with gravity--even, as it seemed, with sorrow. 

His kisses filled her at first with a wonderful tenderness; at last withdesire, so that her eyes narrowed and she breathed quickly. At thispoint in their relations Barstow put off his pleading, cajoling manner, and began, little by little, to play the master. In the matter of dressand deportment he issued orders now instead of suggestions; and she onlyworshipped him the more. 

When he knew in his heart that she could refuse him nothing he proposedmarriage. Or rather, he issued a mandate. He had led her to a seat aftera romping dance. She was highly flushed with the exercise and thecontact, a little in disarray, breathing fast, a wonderful look ofexaltation and promise in her face. He was white, as always, methodic, and cool--the man who arranges, who makes light of difficulties, whogives orders; the man who has money in his pocket. 

"Kid, " he whispered, "when the restaurant closes to-morrow night I amgoing to take you to see a friend of mine--an alderman. "

She smiled brightly, lips parted in expectation. She knew by experiencethat he would presently tell her why. 

"You're to quit Linnevitch for good, " he said. "So have your thingsready. "

Although the place was so crowded that whirling couples occasionallybumped into their knees or stumbled over their feet, Barstow took herhand with the naïve and easy manner of those East Siders whom heaffected to despise. 

"You didn't guess we were going to be married so soon, did you?" hesaid. 

She pressed his hand. Her eyes were round with wonder. 

"At first, " he went on, "we'll look about before we go tohouse-keeping. I've taken nice rooms for us--a parlor and bedroom suite. Then we can take our time looking until we find just the righthouse-keeping flat. "

"Oh, " she said, "are you sure you want me?"

He teased her. He said, "Oh, I don't know" and "I wouldn't wonder, " andpursed up his lips in scorn; but at the same time he regarded her out ofthe corners of roguish eyes. "Say, kid, " he said presently--and hisgravity betokened the importance of the matter--"Cullinan's dead for it. He's going to be a witness, and afterward he's going to blow us tosupper--just us two. How's that?"

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "that's fine!"

The next morning Daisy told Mr. And Mrs. Linnevitch that she was to bemarried as soon as the restaurant closed. But they had schooledthemselves by now to expect this event, and said very little. Linnevitch, however, was very quiet all day. Every now and then anexpression little short of murderous came into his face, to be followedby a vacant, dazed look, and this in turn by sudden uncontrollablestarts of horror. At these times he might have stood for "Judasbeginning to realize what he has done. "

Barstow, carrying Daisy's parcel, went out first. He was always tactful. Daisy flung herself into Mrs. Linnevitch's arms. The undemonstrativewoman shed tears and kissed her. Linnevitch could not speak. And whenDaisy had gone at last, the couple stood and looked at the floor betweenthem. So I have seen a father and mother stand and look into the coffinof their only child. 

If the reader's suspicions have been aroused, let me set them at rest. The marriage was genuine. It was performed in good faith by a genuinealderman. The groom and the great Mr. Cullinan even went so far as todisport genuine and generous white boutonnières. Daisy cried a little;the words that she had to say seemed so wonderful to her, a newrevelation, as it were, of the kingdom and glory of love. But when shewas promising to cleave to Barstow in sickness and peril till deathparted them, her heart beat with a great, valiant fierceness. So theheart of the female tiger beats in tenderness for her young. 

Barstow was excited and nervous, as became a groom. Even the great Mr. Cullinan shook a little under the paternal jocoseness with which he cameforward to kiss the bride. 

There was a supper waiting in the parlor of the rooms which Barstow hadhired: cold meats, salad, fruit, and a bottle of champagne. While thegentlemen divested themselves of their hats and overcoats, Daisy carriedher parcel into the bedroom and opened it on the bureau. Then she tookoff her hat and tidied her hair. She hardly recognized the face thatlooked out of the mirror. She had never, before that moment, realizedthat she was beautiful, that she had something to give to the man sheloved that was worth giving. Her eyes fell upon her old doll, thecompanion of so many years. She laughed a happy little laugh. She hadgrown up. The doll was only a doll now. But she kissed it, because sheloved it still. And she put it carefully away in a drawer, lest thesight of a childishness offend the lord and master. 

As she passed the great double bed, with its two snow-white pillows, herknees weakened. It was like a hint to perform a neglected duty. Sheknelt, and prayed God to let her make Barstow happy forever and ever. Then, beautiful and abashed, she joined the gentlemen. 

As she seated herself with dignity, as became a good housewife presidingat her own table, the two gentlemen lifted their glasses of champagne. There was a full glass beside Daisy's plate. Her fingers closed lightlyabout the stem; but she looked to Barstow for orders. "Ought I?" shesaid. 

"Sure, " said he, "a little champagne--won't hurt you. "

No, Daisy; only what was in the champagne. She had her little moment ofexhilaration, of self-delighting ease and vivacity--then dizziness, then awful nausea, and awful fear, and oblivion. 

The great Mr. Cullinan--Bull Cullinan--caught her as she was falling. Heregarded the bridegroom with eyes in which there was no expressionwhatever. 

"Get out!" he said. 

And then he was alone with her, and safe, in the dark shadow of thewings. 

GROWING UP

The children were all down in the salt-marsh playing atmarriage-by-capture. It was a very good play. You ran just as fast afterthe ugly girls as the pretty ones, and you didn't have to abide by theresult. One little girl got so excited that she fell into the river, andit was Andramark who pulled her out, and beat her on the back till shestopped choking. It may be well to remember that she was named TasselTop, a figure taken from the Indian-corn ear when it is in silk. 

Andramark was the name of the boy. He was the seventh son of SquirrelEyes, and all his six brothers were dead, because they had been born inhard times, or had fallen out of trees, or had been drowned. To grow upin an Indian village, especially when it is travelling, is verydifficult. Sometimes a boy's mother has to work so hard that she runsplumb out of milk; and sometimes he gets playing too roughly with theother boys, and gets wounded, and blood-poisoning sets in; or he finds adead fish and cooks it and eats it, and ptomaine poisoning sets in; orhe catches too much cold on a full stomach, or too much malaria on anempty one. Or he tries to win glory by stealing a bear cub when itsmother isn't looking, or a neighboring tribe drops in between days foran unfriendly visit, and some big painted devil knocks him over the headand takes his scalp home to his own little boy to play with. 

Contrariwise, if he does manage to grow up and reach man's estate he'sgot something to brag of. Only he doesn't do it; because the first thingthat people learn who have to live very intimately together is that boreand boaster are synonymous terms. So he never brags of what he hasaccomplished in the way of deeds and experiences until he is married. And then only in the privacy of his own lodge, when that big hickorystick which he keeps for the purpose assures him of the beloved one'sbest ears and most flattering attention. 

Andramark's father was worse than dead. He had been tried in thecouncil-lodge by the elders, and had been found guilty of somethingwhich need not be gone into here, and driven forth into the wildernesswhich surrounded the summer village to shift for himself. By the samejudgment the culprit's wife, Squirrel Eyes, was pronounced a widow. Mostwomen in her position would have been ambitious to marry again, butSquirrel Eyes's only ambition was to raise her seventh son to be thepride and support of her old age. She had had quite enough of marriage, she would have thanked you. 

So, when Andramark was thirteen years old, and very swift and husky forhis age, Squirrel Eyes went to the Wisest Medicine-man, and begged himto take her boy in hand and make a man of him. 

"Woman, " the Wisest Medicine-man had said, "fifteen is the very greenestage at which boys are made men, but seeing that you are a widow, andwithout support, it may be that something can be done. We will look intothe matter. "

That was why Owl Eyes, the Wisest Medicine-man, invited two of hiscronies to sit with him on the bluff overlooking the salt-marsh andwatch the children playing at marriage-by-capture. 

Those old men were among the best judges of sports and form living. Theycould remember three generations of hunters and fighters. They had allthe records for jumping, swimming under water, spear-throwing, axe-throwing, and bow-shooting at their tongues' ends. And they knew thepedigree for many, many generations of every child at that momentplaying in the meadow, and into just what sort of man or woman thatchild should grow, with good luck and proper training. 

Owl Eyes did not call his two cronies' attention to Andramark. If therewas any precocity in the lad it would show of itself, and nothing wouldescape their black, jewel-like, inscrutable eyes. When Tassel Top fellinto the river the aged pair laughed heartily, and when Andramark, without changing his stride, followed her in and fished her out, one ofthem said, "That's a quick boy, " and the other said, "Why hasn't thatgirl been taught to swim?" Owl Eyes said, "That's a big boy for onlythirteen--that Andramark. "

In the next event Andramark from scratch ran through a field--some ofthe boys were older and taller than himself--and captured yet anotherwife, who, because she expected and longed to be caught by some otherboy, promptly boxed--the air where his ears had been. Andramark, smiling, caught both her hands in one of his, tripped her over a neatlyplaced foot, threw her, face down, and seated himself quietly on thesmall of her back and rubbed her nose in the mud. 

The other children, laughing and shouting, rushed to the rescue. Simultaneously Andramark, also laughing, was on his feet, running anddodging. Twice he passed through the whole mob of his pursuers without, so it seemed to the aged watchers on the bluff, being touched. Then, having won some ten yards clear of them, he wheeled about and stood withfolded arms. A great lad foremost in the pursuit reached for him, wascaught instead by the outstretched hand and jerked forward on his face. Some of the children laughed so hard that they had to stop running. Others redoubled their efforts to close with the once more darting, dodging, and squirming Andramark, who, however, threading through themfor the third and last time in the most mocking and insulting manner, headed straight for the bluff a little to the right of where his eldersand betters were seated with their legs hanging over, leaped at adangling wild grape-vine, squirmed to the top, turned, and prepared todefend his position against any one insolent enough to assail it. 

The children, crowded at the base of the little bluff, looked up. Andramark looked down. With one hand and the tip of his nose he made theinsulting gesture which is older than antiquity. 

Meanwhile, Owl Eyes had left his front-row seat, and not even a wavingof the grasses showed that he was crawling upon Andramark from behind. 

Owl Eyes's idea was to push the boy over the bluff as a lesson to himnever to concentrate himself too much on one thing at a time. But justat the crucial moment Andramark leaped to one side, and it was acompletely flabbergasted old gentleman who descended through the air inhis stead upon a scattering flock of children. Owl Eyes, still agile ateighty, gathered himself into a ball, jerked violently with his headand arms, and managed to land on his feet. But he was very much shaken, and nobody laughed. He turned and looked up at Andramark, and Andramarklooked down. 

"I couldn't help it, " said Andramark. "I knew you were there all thetime. "

Owl Eyes's two cronies grinned behind their hands. 

"Come down, " said Owl Eyes sternly. 

Andramark leaped and landed lightly, and stood with folded arms andlooked straight into the eyes of the Wisest Medicine-man. Everybody madesure that there was going to be one heap big beating, and there were notwanting those who would have volunteered to fetch a stick, even from agreat distance. But Owl Eyes was not called the Wisest Medicine-man fornothing. His first thought had been, "I will beat the life out of thisboy. " But then (it was a strict rule that he always followed) he recitedto himself the first three stanzas of the Rain-Maker's song, and had anew and wiser thought. This he spoke aloud. 

"Boy, " he said, "beginning to-morrow I myself shall take you in hand andmake a man of you. You will be at the medicine-lodge at noon. Meanwhilego to your mother's lodge and tell her from me to give you a soundbeating. "

The children marvelled, the boys envied, and Andramark, his head veryhigh, his heart thumping, passed among them and went home to his motherand repeated what the Wisest Medicine-man had said. 

"And you are to give me a sound beating, mother, " said Andramark, "because after to-day they will begin making a man of me, and when I ama man it will be the other way around, and I shall have to beat you. "

His back was bare, and he bent forward so that his mother could beathim. And she took down from the lodge-pole a heavy whip of raw buckskin. It was not so heavy as her heart. 

Then she raised the whip and said:

"A blow for the carrying, " and she struck; "a blow for the bearing, " andshe struck; "a blow for the milking, " and she struck; "a blow for liesspoken, " and she did _not_ strike; "a blow for food stolen, " and she did_not_ strike. 

And she went through the whole litany of the beating ceremonial andstruck such blows as the law demanded, and spared those she honestlycould spare, and when in doubt she quibbled--struck, but struck lightly. 

When the beating was over they sat down facing each other and talked. And Squirrel Eyes said: "What must be, must. The next few days will soonbe over. "

And Andramark shuddered (he was alone with his mother) and said, "If Ishow that they hurt me they will never let me be a man. "

And Squirrel Eyes did her best to comfort him and put courage in hisheart, just as modern mothers do for sons who are about to have a toothpulled or a tonsil taken out. 

The next day at noon sharp Andramark stood before the entrance of themedicine-lodge with his arms folded; and all his boy and girl friendswatched him from a distance. And all the boys envied him, and all thegirls wished that they were boys. Andramark stood very still, almostwithout swaying, for the better part of an hour. His body was nicelygreased, and he resembled a wet terra-cotta statue. A few mosquitoeswere fattening themselves on him, and a bite in the small of his backitched so that he wanted very much to squirm and wriggle. But that wouldhave been almost as bad an offence against ceremonial as complaining ofhunger during the fast or shedding tears under the torture. 

Andramark had never seen the inside of the medicine-lodge; but it waswell known to be very dark, and to contain skulls and thigh-bones offamous enemies, and devil-masks, and horns and rattles and otherdisturbing and ghostly properties. Of what would happen to him when hehad passed between the flaps of the lodge and was alone with themedicine-men he did not know. But he reasoned that if they reallywanted to make a man of him they would not really try to kill him ormaim him. And he was strong in the determination, no matter what shouldhappen, to show neither surprise, fear, nor pain. 

A quiet voice spoke suddenly, just within the flaps of the lodge:

"Who is standing without?"

"The boy Andramark. "

"What do you wish of us?"

"To be made a man. "

"Then say farewell to your companions of childhood. "

Andramark turned toward the boys and girls who were watching him. Theirfaces swam a little before his eyes, and he felt a big lump comingslowly up in his throat. He raised his right arm to its full length, palm forward, and said:

"Farewell, O children; I shall never play with you any more. "

Then the children set up a great howl of lamentation, which was all partof the ceremonial, and Andramark turned and found that the flaps of thelodge had been drawn aside, and that within there was thick darkness andthe sound of men breathing. 

"Come in, Andramark. "

The flaps of the lodge fell together behind him. Fingers touched hisshoulder and guided him in the dark, and then a voice told him to sitdown. His quick eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, recognized oneafter another the eleven medicine-men of his tribe. They were seatedcross-legged in a semicircle, and one of them was thumbing tobacco intothe bowl of a poppy-red pipe. Some of the medicine-men had rattles handyin their laps, others devil-horns. They were all smiling and lookingkindly at the little boy who sat all alone by himself facing them. Thenold Owl Eyes, who was the central medicine-man of the eleven, spoke. 

"In this lodge, " he said, "no harm will befall you. But lest the womenand children grow to think lightly of manhood there will be from time totime much din and devil-noises. "

At that the eleven medicine-men began to rock their bodies and groanlike lost souls (they groaned louder and louder, with a kind of awfulrhythm), and to shake the devil-rattles, which were dried gourds, brightly painted, and containing teeth of famous enemies, and one of themedicine-men tossed a devil-horn to Andramark, and the boy put it to hislips and blew for all he was worth. It was quite obvious that themedicine-men were just having fun, not with him, but with all the womenand children of the village who were outside listening--at a safedistance, of course--and imagining that the medicine-lodge was at thatmoment a scene of the most awful visitations and terrors. And all thatafternoon, at intervals, the ghastly uproar was repeated, untilAndramark's lips were chapped with blowing the devil-horn and hisinsides felt very shaky. But between times the business of themedicine-men with Andramark was very serious, and they talked to himlike so many fathers, and he listened with both ears and pulled at thepoppy-red medicine-pipe whenever it was passed to him. 

They lectured him upon anatomy and hygiene; upon tribal laws andintertribal laws; and always they explained "why" as well as they could, and if they didn't know "why" they said it must be right because it'salways been done that way. Sometimes they said things that made him feelvery self-conscious and uncomfortable. And sometimes they became sointeresting that it was the other way round. 

"The gulf, " said Owl Eyes, "between the race of men and the races ofwomen and children is knowledge. For, whereas many squaws and littlechildren possess courage, knowledge is kept from them, even as thefirst-run shad of the spring. The duty of the child is to acquirestrength and skill, of the woman to bear children, to labor in thecorn-field, and to keep the lodge. But the duty of man is to hunt, andto fight, and to make medicine, to know, and to keep knowledge tohimself. Hence the saying that whatever man betrays the secrets of thecouncil-lodge to a squaw is a squaw himself. Hitherto, Andramark, youhave been a talkative child, but henceforth you will watch your tongueas a warrior watches the prisoner that he is bringing to his village fortorture. When a man ceases to be a mystery to the women and children heceases to be a man. Do not tell them what has passed in themedicine-lodge, but let it appear that you could discourse of ghostlymysteries and devilish visitations and other dread wonders--if youwould; so that even to the mother that bore you you will be henceforwardand forever a thing apart, a thing above, a thing beyond. "

And the old medicine-man who sat on Owl Eyes's left cleared his throatand said:

"When a man's wife is in torment, it is as well for him to nod his headand let her believe that she does not know what suffering is. "

Another said:

"Should a man's child ask what the moon is made of, let that man answerthat it is made of foolish questions, but at the same time let himsmile, as much as to say that he could give the truthful answer--if hewould. "

Another said:

"When you lie to women and children, lie foolishly, so that they mayknow that you are making sport of them and may be ashamed. In this way aman may keep the whole of his knowledge to himself, like a basket ofcorn hidden in a place of his own secret choosing. "

Still another pulled one flap of the lodge a little so that a ray oflight entered. He held his hand in the ray and said:

"The palm of my hand is in darkness, the back is in light. It is thesame with all acts and happenings--there is a bright side and a darkside. Never be so foolish as to look on the dark side of things; theremay be somewhat there worth discovering, but it is in vain to lookbecause it cannot be seen. "

And Owl Eyes said:

"It will be well now to rest ourselves from seriousness with more dinand devil-noises. And after that we shall lead the man-boy Andramark tothe Lodge of Nettles, there to sit alone for a space and to turn over inhis mind all that we have said to him. "

"One thing more. " This from a very little medicine-man who had done verylittle talking. "When you run the gauntlet of the women and childrenfrom the Hot Lodge to the river, watch neither their eyes nor theirwhips; watch only their feet, lest you be tripped and thrown at the verythreshold of manhood. "

Nettles, thistles, and last year's burdocks and sandspurs strewed thefloor of the lodge to which Andramark was now taken. And he was toldthat he must not thrust these to one side and make himself comfortableupon the bare ground. He might sit, or stand, or lie down; he might walkabout; but he mustn't think of going to sleep, or, indeed, of anythingbut the knowledge and mysteries which had been revealed to him in themedicine-lodge. 

All that night, all the next day, and all the next night he meditated. For the first six hours he meditated on knowledge, mystery, and thewhole duty of man, just as he had been told to do. And he only stoppedonce to listen to a flute-player who had stolen into the forest back ofthe lodge and was trying to tell some young squaw how much he loved herand how lonely he was without her. The flute had only four notes and oneof them was out of order; but Andramark had been brought up on that sortof music and it sounded very beautiful to him. Still, he only listenedwith one ear, Indian fashion. The other was busy taking in all the othernoises of the night and the village. Somebody passed by the Lodge ofNettles, walking very slowly and softly. "A man, " thought Andramark, "would not make any noise at all. A child would be in bed. "

The slow, soft steps were nearing the forest back of the lodge, quickening a little. Contrariwise, the flute was being played more andmore slowly. Each of its three good notes was a stab at the feelings, and so, for that matter, was the note that had gone wrong. An owlhooted. Andramark smiled. If he had been born enough hundreds of yearslater he might have said, "You can't fool me!"

The flute-playing stopped abruptly. Andramark forgot all about thenettles and sat down. Then he stood up. 

He meditated on war and women, just as he had been told to do. Then, because he was thirsty, he meditated upon suffering. And he finished thenight meditating--upon an empty stomach. 

Light filtered under the skirts of the lodge. He heard the early womengoing to their work in the fields. The young leaves were on the oaks, and it was corn-planting time. Even very old corn, however, tastes verygood prepared in any number of different ways. Andramark agreed withhimself that when he gave himself in marriage it would be to a woman whowas a thoroughly good cook. But quite raw food is acceptable at times. It is pleasant to crack quail eggs between the teeth, or to rip the roeout of a fresh-caught shad with your forefinger and just let it melt inyour mouth. 

The light brightened. It was a fine day. It grew warm in the lodge, hot, intolerably hot. The skins of which it was made exhaled a smoky, meatysmell. Andramark was tempted to see if he couldn't suck a littlenourishment out of them. A shadow lapped the skirts of the lodge andcrawled upward. It became cool, cold. The boy, almost naked, began toshiver and shake. He swung his arms as cab-drivers do, and tried veryhard to meditate upon the art of being a man. 

During the second night one of his former companions crept up to thelodge and spoke to him under its skirts. "Sst! Heh! What does it feellike to be a man?"--chuckled and withdrew. 

Andramark said to himself the Indian for "I'll lay for that boy. " He wasvery angry. He had been gratuitously insulted in the midst of his newdignities. 

Suddenly the flaps of the lodge were opened and some one leaned in andset something upon the floor. Andramark did not move. His nostrilsdilated, and he said to himself, "Venison--broiled to the second. "

In the morning he saw that there was not only venison, but a bowl ofwater, and a soft bearskin upon which he might stretch himself andsleep. His lips curled with a great scorn. And he remained standing andaloof from the temptations. And meditated upon the privileges of being aman. 

About noon he began to have visitors. At first they were vague, darkspots that hopped and ziddied in the overheated air. But these became, with careful looking, all sorts of devils and evil spirits, and beaststhe like of which were not in the experience of any living man. Therewere creatures made like men, only that they were covered with long, silky hair and had cry-baby faces and long tails. And there was a vague, yellowish beast, very terrible, something like a huge cat, only that ithad curling tusks like a very big wild pig. And there were other thingsthat looked like men, only that they were quite white, as if they hadbeen most awfully frightened. And suddenly Andramark imagined that hewas hanging to a tree, but not by his hands or his feet, and the limb towhich he was hanging broke, and, after falling for two or three days, helanded on his feet among burs and nettles that were spread over thefloor of a lodge. 

The child had slept standing up, and had evolved from hissubconsciousness, as children will, beasts and conditions that hadexisted when the whole human race was a frightened cry-baby in itscradle. He had never heard of a monkey or a sabre-tooth tiger; but hehad managed to see a sort of vision of them both, and had dreamed thathe was a monkey hanging by his tail. 

He was very faint and sick when the medicine-men came for him. But itdid not show in his face, and he walked firmly among them to the greatTorture Lodge, his head very high and the ghost of a smile hoveringabout his mouth. 

It was a grim business that waited him in the Torture Lodge. He wasstrung up by his thumbs to a peg high up the great lodge pole, and drawntaut by thongs from his big toes to another peg in the base of the pole, and then, without any unnecessary delays, for every step in theproceeding was according to a ceremonial that was almost as old assuffering, they gave him, what with blunt flint-knives and lightedslivers of pitch-pine, a very good working idea of hell. They told him, without words, which are the very tenderest and most nervous places inall the human anatomy, and showed him how simple it is to give a littleboy all the sensations of major operations without actually removing hisarms and legs. And they talked to him. They told him that because hecame of a somewhat timorous family they were letting him off veryeasily; that they weren't really hurting him, because it was evidentfrom the look of him that at the first hint of real pain he would screamand cry. And then suddenly, just when the child was passing through theultimate border-land of endurance, they cut him down, and praised him, and said that he had behaved splendidly, and had taken to torture as ayoung duck takes to water. And poor little Andramark found that underthe circumstances kindness was the very hardest thing of all to bear. One after another great lumps rushed up his throat, and he began totremble and totter and struggle with the corners of his mouth. 

Old Owl Eyes, who had tortured plenty of brave boys in his day, wasready for this phase. He caught up a great bowl of ice-cold spring-waterand emptied it with all his strength against Andramark's bloody back. The shock of that sudden icy blow brought the boy's runaway nerves backinto hand. He shook himself, drew a long breath, and, without a quiveranywhere, smiled. 

And the old men were as glad as he was that the very necessary trial bytorture was at an end. And, blowing triumphantly upon devil-horns andshaking devil-rattles, they carried him the whole length of the villageto the base of the hill where the Hot Lodge was. 

This was a little cave, in the mouth of which was a spring, said to bevery full of Big Medicine. The entrance to the cave was closed by aheavy arras of bearskins, three or four thick, and the ground in frontwas thickly strewn with round and flat stones cracked and blackened byfire. From the cave to the fifteen-foot bluff overhanging a deep pool ofthe river the ground was level, and worn in a smooth band eight or tenfeet wide as by the trampling of many feet. 

Andramark, stark naked and still bleeding in many places, satcross-legged in the cave, at the very rim of the medicine-spring. Hishead hung forward on his chest. All his muscles were soft and relaxed. After a while the hangings of the cave entrance were drawn a little toone side and a stone plumped into the spring with a savage hiss;another followed--another--and another and another. Steam began to risefrom the surface of the spring, little bubbles darted up from the bottomand burst. More hot stones were thrown into the water. Steam, soft andcaressing, filled the cave. The temperature rose by leaps and bounds. The roots of Andramark's hair began to tickle--the tickling becameunendurable, and ceased suddenly as the sweat burst from every pore ofhis body. His eyes closed; in his heart it was as if love-music werebeing played upon a flute. He was no longer conscious of hunger orthirst. He yielded, body and soul, to the sensuous miracle of the steam, and slept. 

He was awakened by many shrill voices that laughed and dared him to comeout. 

"It's only one big beating, " he said, rose, stepped over the spring, pushed through the bearskins, and stood gleaming and steaming in thefading light. 

The gantlet that he was to run extended from the cave to the bluffoverhanging the river. He looked the length of the double row ofgrinning women and children--the active agents in what was to come. Backof the women and children were warriors and old men, their faces relaxedinto holiday expressions. Toward the river end of the gauntlet werestationed the youngest, the most vigorous, the most fun-loving of thewomen, and the larger boys, with only a negligible sprinkling of reallylittle children. Every woman and child in the two rows was armed with asavage-looking whip of willow, hickory, or even green brier, and thestill more savage intention of using these whips to the utmost extent oftheir speed and accuracy in striking. 

Upon a signal Andramark darted forward and was lost in a whistlingsmother. It was as if an untrimmed hedge had suddenly gone mad. Andramark made the best of a bad business, guarded his face and the topof his head with his arms, ran swiftly, but not too swiftly, and kepthis eyes out for feet that were thrust forward to trip him. 

A dozen feet ahead he saw a pair of little moccasins that were familiarto him. As he passed them he looked into their owner's face, andwondered why, of all the little girls in the village, Tassel Top alonedid not use her whip on him. 

At last, half blinded, lurching as he ran, he came to the edge of thebluff, and dived, almost without a splash, into the deep, fresh water. The cold of it stung his overheated, bleeding body like a swarm of wildbees, and it is possible that when he reached the Canoe Beach the waterin his eyes was not all fresh. Here, however, smiling chiefs andwarriors surrounded the stoic, and welcomed him to their number withkind words and grunts of approval. And then, because he that had beenbut a moment before a naked child was now a naked man, and no fitspectacle for women and children, they formed a bright-colored movingscreen about him and conducted him to the great council-lodge. Therethey eased his wounds with pleasant greases, and dressed him in softestbuckskin, and gave him just as much food as it was safe for him toeat--a couple of quail eggs and a little dish of corn and freshwatermussels baked. 

And after that they sent him home armed with a big stick. And there washis mother, squatting on the floor of their lodge, with her back baredin readiness for a good beating. But Andramark closed the lodge-flaps, and dropped his big stick, and began to blubber and sob. And his motherleaped up and caught him in her arms; and then--once a mother, alwaystactful--she began to howl and yell, just as if she were actuallyreceiving the ceremonial beating which was her due. And the neighborspricked up their ears and chuckled, and said the Indian for "SquirrelEyes is getting what was coming to her. "

Maybe Andramark didn't sleep that night, and maybe he did. And all thedreams that he dreamed were pleasant, and he got the best of everybodyin them, and he woke next morning to a pleasant smell of broiling shad, and lay on his back blinking and yawning, and wondering why of all thelittle girls in the village Tassel Top alone had not used her whip onhim. 

THE BATTLE OF AIKEN

At the Palmetto Golf Club one bright, warm day in January they held atournament which came to be known as the Battle of Aiken. Colonel Bogey, however, was not in command. 

Each contestant's caddie was provided with a stick cleft at one end andpointed at the other. In the cleft was stuck a square of whitecard-board on which was printed the contestant's name, Colonel Bogey'srecord for the course, the contestant's handicap, and the sum of thesetwo. Thus:

 A. B. Smith 78 + 9 = 87

And the winner was to be he who travelled farthest around the links inthe number of strokes allotted to him. 

Old Major Jennings did not understand, and Jimmy Traquair, theprofessional, explained. 

"Do you know what the bogey for the course is?" said he. "It'sseventy-eight. Do you know what your handicap is? It's twenty. "

Old Major Jennings winced slightly. His handicap had never seemed quiteadequate to him. 

"Well?" he said. 

"Well, " said Jimmie, who ever tempered his speech to his hearer'sunderstanding, "what's twenty added to seventy-eight?"

"Eighty-eight--ninety-eight, " said old Major Jennings (but notconceitedly). 

"Right, " said Jimmie. "Well, you start at the first tee and playninety-eight strokes. Where the ball lies after the ninety-eighth, youplant the card with your name on it. And that's all. "

"Suppose after my ninety-eighth stroke that my ball lies in the pond?"said old Major Jennings with a certain timid conviction. The pond holeis only the twelfth, and Jimmie wanted to laugh, but did not. 

"If that happens, " he said, "you'll have to report it, I'm afraid, tothe Green Committee. Who are you going around with?"

"I haven't got anybody to go around with, " said the major. "I didn'tknow there was going to be a tournament till it was too late to ask anyone to play with me. "

This conversation took place in the new shop, a place all windows, sunshine, labels, varnishes, vises, files, grips, and clubs of exquisiteworkmanship. At one of the benches a grave-eyed young negro, aproned andconcentrated, was enamelling the head of a driver with shellac. Suddencannon fire would not have shaken his hand. In one corner a rosy ladwith curly yellow hair dangled his legs from the height of apacking-case and chewed gum. He had been born with a golden spoon in hismouth, and was learning golf from the inside. Sometimes he winked withone eye. But these silent comments were hidden from the major. 

"I don't care about the tournament, " said the latter, his loose liptrembling slightly. "I'll just practice a little. "

"Don't be in a hurry, sir, " said Jimmie sympathetically; "GeneralBullwigg hasn't any one to go around with either. And if you don'tmind----"

"Bullwigg, " said the major vaguely; "I used to know a Bullwigg. "

"He's a very fine gentleman indeed, sir, " said Jimmie. "Same handicap asyourself, sir, and if you don't mind----"

"Where is he from?" asked the major. 

"I don't know, sir. Mr. Bowers extended the privileges of the club tohim. He's stopping at the Park in the Pines. "

"Oh!" said the major, and then with a certain dignity and resolution:"If Mr. Bowers knows him, and if _he_ doesn't mind, I'm sure I don't. Ishe here?"

"He's waiting at the first tee, " said Jimmie, and he averted his face. 

At the first tee old Major Jennings found a portly, red-faced gentleman, with fierce, bushy eyebrows, who seemed prepared to play golf under anycondition of circumstance and weather. He had two caddies. One carried amonstrous bag, which, in addition to twice the usual number of clubs, contained a crook-handled walking-stick and a crook-handled umbrella;the other carried over his right arm a greatcoat, in case the June-likeweather should turn cold, and over his left a mackintosh, in case rainshould fall from the cloudless, azure heavens. The gentleman himself wasswinging a wooden club, with pudgy vehemence, at an imaginary ball. Uponhis countenance was that expression of fortitude which wins battles andchampionships. Old Major Jennings approached timidly. He was very shy. In the distance he saw two of his intimate friends finishing out thefirst hole. Except for himself and the well-prepared stranger they hadbeen the last pair to start, and the old major's pale blue eyes clung tothem as those of a shipwrecked mariner may cling to ships upon thehorizon. Then he pulled himself together and said:

"General Bullwigg, I presume. "

"The very man, " said the general, and the two gentlemen lifted theirplaid golfing caps and bowed to each other. Owing to extreme diffidence, Major Jennings did not volunteer his own name; owing to the fact that heseldom thought of anything but himself, General Bullwigg did not ask it. 

Major Jennings was impatient to be off, but it was General Bullwigg'shonor, and he could not compel that gentleman to drive until he wasquite ready. General Bullwigg apostrophized the weather and the links. He spoke at some length of "_My_ game, " "_My_ swing, " "_My_ wristmotion, " "_My_ notion of getting out of a bunker. " He told an anecdotewhich reminded him of another. He touched briefly upon the manufactureof balls, the principle of imparting pure back-spin; the best seed forNorthern greens, the best sand for Southern. And then, by way of addinginsult to injury, he stepped up to his ball and, with due considerationfor his age and stomach, drove it far and straight. 

"Fine shot, sir, " was Major Jennings's comment. 

"I've seen better, sir, " said General Bullwigg. "But I won't take itover. "

Major Jennings teed up his ball, and addressed it, and waggled, andshifted his feet, and had just received that sudden inner knowledge thatthe time was come to strike, when General Bullwigg interrupted him. 

"My first visit to Aiken, " said he, "was in the 60's. But that was novisit of pleasure. No, sir. Along the brow of this hill upon which weare standing was an earthwork. In the pines yonder, back of the firstgreen, was a battery. In those days we did not fight it out with thepacific putter, but with bullets and bayonets. "

"Were you in the battle of Aiken?" asked the major, so quietly as tomake the question sound purely perfunctory. 

General Bullwigg laughed, as strong men laugh, from the stomach, andwith a sweeping gesture of his left hand appeared to dismiss a hundredflatterers. 

"I have heard men say, " said he, "that I _was_ the battle of Aiken. "

With an involuntary shudder Major Jennings hastily addressed his ball, swung jerkily, and topped it feebly down the hill. Then, smiling asickly smile, he said:

"We're off. "

"Get a good one?" asked General Bullwigg. "I wasn't looking. "

"Not a very good one, " said Major Jennings, inwardly writhing, "butstraight--perfectly straight. A little on top. "

They sagged down the hill, the major in a pained silence, the generaldescribing, with sweeping gestures, the positions of the various troopsamong the surrounding hills at the beginning of the battle of Aiken. 

"In those days, " he went on, "I was second lieutenant in the gallantTwenty-ninth; but it often happens that a young man has an old head onhis shoulders, and as one after the other of my superiorofficers--superior in rank--bit the dust---- That ball is badly cupped. You will hardly get it away with a brassy; if I were you I should playmy niblick. Well out, sir! A fine recovery! On this very spot I saw abomb burst. The air was filled with arms and legs. It seemed as if theywould never come down. I shall play my brassy spoon, Purnell, the onewith the yellow head. I see you don't carry a spoon. Most invaluableclub. There are days when I can do anything with a spoon. I used to ownone of which I often said that it could do anything but talk. "

Major Jennings shuddered as if he were very cold; while General Bullwiggswung his spoon and made another fine shot. He had a perfect four forthe first hole, to Major Jennings's imperfect and doddering seven. 

"The enemy, " said General Bullwigg, "had a breastwork of pine logs allalong this line. I remember the general said to me: 'Bullwigg, ' he said, 'to get them out of that timber is like getting rats out of the walls ofa house. ' And I said: 'General----'"

"It's your honor, " the major interrupted mildly. 

But General Bullwigg would not drive until he had brought his anecdoteto a self-laudatory end. And his ball was not half through its coursebefore he had begun another. The major, compelled to listen, againfoozled, and a dull red began to mantle his whole face. And in hispeaceful and affable heart there waxed a sullen, feverish rage againsthis companion. 

The battle of Aiken was on. 

Sing, O chaste and reluctant Muse, the battle of Aiken! Only don't singit! State it, as is the fashion of our glorious times, in humble andperishable prose. Fling grammar of which nothing is now known to thedemnition bow-wows, and state how in the beginning General Bullwigg hadan advantage of many strokes, not wasted, over his self-effacingcompanion. State how, because of the general's incessant chatter, thegentle and gallant major foozled shot after shot; how once his ball hidin a jasmine bower, once behind the stem of a tree, and once in a sortof cavern over which the broom straw waved. But omit not, O truthful andecstatic one, to mention that dull rage which grew from small beginningsin the major's breast until it became furious and all-consuming, like aprairie fire. At this stage your narrative becomes heroic, and it mightbe in order for you, O capable and delectable one, to switch from humblestating to loud singing. Only don't do it. State on. State how the rageinto which he had fallen served to lend precision to the major's eye, steel to his wrist, rhythm to his tempo, and fiery ambition to hisgentle and retiring soul. He is filled with memories of daring: of otherbattles in other days. He remembers what times he sought the bubblereputation in the cannon's mouth, and spiked the aforementioned cannon'stouch-hole into the bargain. And he remembers the greater war that hefought single-handed for a number of years against the demon rum. 

State, too, exquisite Parnassian, and keep stating, how that GeneralBullwigg did incessantly talk, prattle, jabber, joke, boast, praisehimself, stand in the wrong place, and rehearse the noble deeds that hehimself had performed in the first battle of Aiken. And state how themajor answered him less and less frequently, but more and more loudlyand curtly--but I see that you are exhausted, and, thanking you kindly, I shall resume the narrative myself. 

They came to the pond hole, which was the twelfth; the general, stillupon his interminable reminiscences of his own military glory, stood upto drive, and was visited by his first real disaster. He swung--and helooked up. His ball, beaten downward into the hard clay tee, leapedforward with a sound as of a stone breaking in two and dove swiftly intothe centre of the pond. The major spoke never a word. For the first timeduring the long dreary round his risibles were tickled and he wanted tolaugh. Instead he concentrated all his faculties upon his ball and madea fine drive. 

Not so the general with his second attempt. Again he found water, andfell into a panic at the sudden losing of so many invaluable strokes(not to mention two brand-new balls at seventy-five cents each). 

It was at the pond hole that the major's luck began to ameliorate. Forthe first time in his life he made it in three--a long approach close tothe green; a short mashie shot that trickled into the very cup. And itwas at the pond hole that the general, who had hitherto played far abovehis ordinary form, began to go to pieces. He was a little dashed inspirit, but not in eloquence. 

Going to the long fourteenth, they found the first evidence of those whohad gone before. In the very midst of the fair green they saw, shiningafar, like a white tombstone, stuck in its cleft stick, the card of thefirst competitor to use up the whole of his allotted strokes. Theypaused a moment to read:

 Sacred to the Memory of W. H. Lands 78 + 6 = 84 Who Sliced Himself to Pieces

Forty yards beyond, another obituary confronted them:

 In Loving Memory of J. C. Nappin 78 + 10 = 88 Died of a Broken Mashie And of Such is the Kingdom of Heaven

"Ha!" said General Bullwigg. "He little realizes that here where he haspinned his little joke in the lap of mother earth I have seen the deadmen lie as thick as kindlings in a wood-yard. Sir, across this very fairgreen there were no less than three desperate charges, unremembered andunsung, of which I may say without boasting that Magna Pars Fui. But forthe desperation of our last charge the battle must have been lost----"

 Damn the memory of E. Hewett 78 + 10 = 88 Couldn't Put

 Here Lies G. Norris 78 + 10 = 88 A Fool and His Money Are Soon Parted

The little tombstones came thick and fast now. The fairway to theseventeenth, most excellent of all four-shot holes, was dotted withthem, and it actually began to look as if General Bullwigg or MajorJennings (they were now on even terms) might be the winner. 

It was that psychological moment when of all things a contestant mostdesires silence. Major Jennings was determined to triumph over hisboastful companion. And he was full of courage and resolve. They hadreached the seventeenth green in the same number of strokes from thefirst tee. That is to say, each had used up ninety-five of his allottedninety-eight. Neither holed his approach put, and the match, so far asthey two were concerned, resolved itself into a driving contest. IfGeneral Bullwigg drove the farther with his one remaining stroke hewould beat the major, and vice versa. As for the other competitors, there was but one who had reached the eighteenth tee, and he, as histombstone showed, had played his last stroke neither far nor well. 

For the major the suspense was terrible. He had never won a tournament. He had never had so golden an opportunity to down a boaster. But it wasGeneral Bullwigg's honor, and it occurred to him that the time was riperfor talk than play. 

"You may think that I am nervous, " he said. "But I am not. During oneperiod of the battle of Aiken the firing between ourselves on this spotand the enemy intrenched where the club-house now stands, and spreadingright and left in a half-moon, was fast and furious. Once they chargedup to our guns; but we drove them back, and after that charge yonderfair green was one infernal shambles of dead and dying. Among thewounded was one of the enemy's general officers; he whipped and thrashedand squirmed like a newly landed fish and screamed for water. It wasterrible; it was unendurable. Next to me in the trench was a youngfellow named--named Jennings----"

"Jennings?" said the major breathlessly. "And what did he do?"

"He, " said General Bullwigg. "Nothing. He said, however, and he wascareful not to show his head above the top of the trench: 'I can't standthis, ' he said; 'somebody's got to bring that poor fellow in. ' As forme, I only needed the suggestion. I jumped out of the trench and ranforward, exposing myself to the fire of both armies. When, however, Ireached the general officer, and my purpose was plain, the firing ceasedupon both sides, and the enemy stood up and cheered me. "

General Bullwigg teed his ball and drove it far. 

Major Jennings bit his lip; it was hardly within his ability to hit solong a ball. 

"This--er--Jennings, " said he, "seems to have been a coward. "

General Bullwigg shrugged his shoulders. 

"Have I got it straight?" asked Major Jennings. "It was you who broughtin the general officer, and not--er--this--er--Jennings who did it?"

"I thought I had made it clear, " said General Bullwigg stiffly. And herepeated the anecdote from the beginning. Major Jennings's comment wassimply this:

"So _that_ was the way of it, was it?"

A deep crimson suffused him. He looked as if he were going to burst. Heteed his ball. He trembled. He addressed. He swung back, and then withall the rage, indignation, and accuracy of which he wascapable--forward. It was the longest drive he had ever made. His balllay a good yard beyond the General's. He had beaten all competitors, butthat was nothing. He had beaten his companion, and that was worth moreto him than all the wealth of Ormuzd and of Ind. He had won the secondbattle of Aiken. 

In silence he took his tombstone from his caddie's hand, in silencewrote upon it, in silence planted it where his ball had stopped. GeneralBullwigg bent himself stiffly to see what the fortunate winner hadwritten. And this was what he read:

 Sacred to the Memory of E. O. Jennings 78 + 20 = 98 Late Major in the Gallant 29th, Talked to Death by a Liar

As for the gallant major (still far from mollified), he turned his backupon a foe for the first time in his life and made off--almost running. 

AN IDYL OF PELHAM BAY PARK

"It's real country out there, " Fannie Davis had said. "Buttercups anddaisies. Come on, Lila! I won't go if you won't. "

This sudden demonstration of friendship was too much for Lila. Sheforgot that she had no stylish dress for the occasion, or that hermother could not very well spare her for a whole day, and she promisedto be ready at nine o'clock on the following Sunday morning. 

"Fannie Davis, " she explained to her mother, "has asked me to go out toPelham Bay Park with her Sunday. And finally I said I would. I feelsometimes as if I'd blow up if I didn't get a breath of fresh air afterall this hot spell. "

She set her pretty mouth defiantly. She expected an argument. But hemother only shrugged her shoulders and said, "We could make your blue dress look real nice with a few trimmings. "

They discussed ways and means until long after the younger children werein bed and asleep. 

By Saturday night the dress was ready, and Lila had turned her week'swages back into the coffers of the department store where she worked inexchange for a pair of near-silk brown stockings and a pair of stylishoxford ties of patent leather. 

"You look like a show-girl, " was Fannie's enthusiastic comment. "Iwouldn't have believed it of you. Why, Lila, you're a regular littlepeach!"

Lila became crimson with joy. 

They boarded the subway for Simpson Street. The atmosphere was hot andrancid. The two girls found standing-room only. Whenever the expresscurved they were thrown violently from one side of the car to the other. A young man who stood near them made a point on these occasions oflaying a hand on Lila's waist to steady her. She didn't know whether itwas proper to be angry or grateful. 

"Don't pay any attention to him, " said Fannie; "he's just trying to befresh, and he doesn't know how. "

She said it loud enough for the young man to hear. Lila was very muchfrightened. 

They left the subway at Simpson Street and boarded a jammed trolley-carfor Westchester. Fannie paid all the fares. 

"It's my treat, " she said; "I'm flush. Gee, ain't it hot! I wish we'dbrought our bathing-suits. "

Much to Lila's relief the young man who had annoyed her was no longervisible. Fannie talked all the way to Westchester in so loud a voicethat nearly everybody in the car could hear her. Lila was shocked andawed by her friend's showiness and indifference. 

From Westchester they were to walk the two hot miles to the park. Already Lila's new shoes had blistered her feet. But she did not mentionthis. It was her own fault. She had deliberately bought shoes that werehalf a size too small. 

In the main street of Westchester they prinked, smoothing each other'srumpled dresses and straightening each other's peach-basket hats. 

"Lila, " said Fannie, "everybody's looking at you. I say you're _too_pretty. Lucky for me I've got my young man where I want him, or elseyou'd take him away from me. "

"I would not!" exclaimed Lila, "and it's you they're looking at. "

Fannie was delighted. "_Do_ I look nice?" she wheedled. 

"You look sweet!"

As a matter of fact, Fannie looked bold and handsome. Her clothes weretoo expensive for her station in life. Her mother suspected how she cameby them, but was so afraid of actually knowing that she never broughtthe point to an issue; only sighed in secret and tried not to see orunderstand. 

Now and then motors passed through the crowds straggling to the park, and in exchange for gratuitous insults from small boys and girls leftbehind them long trails of thick dust and the choking smell of burntgasoline. In the sun the mercury was at one hundred and twenty degrees. 

"There's a hog for you, " exclaimed Fannie. She indicated a stout man inshirt-sleeves. He had his coat over one arm, his collar and necktieprotruding from the breast pocket. His wife, a meagre woman, panted athis side. She carried two heavy children, one of them not yet born. 

Half the people carried paper parcels or little suitcases made of strawin which were bathing-suits and sandwiches. It would be low tide, butbetween floating islands of swill and sewage there would be water, salt, wet, and cool. 

"My mother, " said Fannie, "doesn't like me to come to these placesalone. It's a real nice crowd uses Pelham Park, but there's always asprinkling of freshies. "

"Is that why you invited me?" said Lila gayly. Inwardly she flatteredherself to think that she had been asked for herself alone. But Fannie'sanswer had in it something of a slap in the face. 

"Well, " said this one, "mother forbade me to come alone. But I do wantto get better acquainted with you. Honest. "

They rested for a while sitting on a stone wall in the shade of a tree. 

"My mother, " said Fannie grandly, "thinks everybody's rotten, includingme. My God!" she went on angrily, "do me and you work six days of theweek only to be bossed about on the seventh? I tell you I won't stand itmuch longer. I'm going to cut loose. Nothing but work, work, work, andscold, scold, scold. "

"If I had all the pretty things you've got, " said Lila gently, "I don'tbelieve I'd complain. "

Fannie blushed. "It's hard work and skimping does it, " she said. "Everthink of marrying, kid?"

Lila admitted that she had. 

"Got a beau?"

Lila blushed and shook her head. 

"You have, too. Own up. What's he like?"

Lila continued to deny and protest. But she enjoyed being teased uponsuch a subject. 

"Well, if you haven't, " said Fannie at last, "I have. It's a deadsecret, kid. I wouldn't tell a soul but you. He's got heaps of money, and he's been after me--to marry him--for nearly a year. "

"Do you like him?"

"I'm just crazy about him. "

"Then why don't you marry him?"

"Well, " Fannie temporized, "you never want to be in a rush about thesethings. "

Fannie sighed, and was silent. She might have married the young man inquestion if she had played her cards better. And she knew it, now thatit was too late, and there could not be a new deal. He had wanted her, even at the price of marriage. He was still fond of her. And he was verygenerous with his money. She met him whenever she could. He would bewaiting for her now at the entrance to the park. 

"He's got a motor-boat, " she explained to Lila, "that he wants to showme. She's a cabin launch, almost new. You won't mind?"

"Mind? Are you going out for a sail with him, and leave me?"

"Well, the truth is, " said Fannie, "I've just about made up my mind tosay yes, and of course if there was a third party around he couldn'tbring the matter up, could he? We wouldn't be out long. "

"Don't mind me, " said Lila. Inwardly she was terribly hurt anddisappointed. "I'll just sit in the shade and wish you joy. "

"I wouldn't play it so low down on you, " said Fannie, "only my wholefuture's mixed up in it. We'll be back in lots of time to eat. "

Lila walked with them to the end of the pier at the bathing-beach. Thewater was full of people and rubbish. The former seemed to be enjoyingthemselves immensely and for the most part innocently, though now andthen some young girl would shriek aloud in a sort of delighted terror asher best young man, swimming under water, tugged suddenly at herbathing-skirt or pinched the calf of her leg. 

Lila watched Fannie and her young man embark in a tiny rowboat and rowout to a clumsy cabin catboat from which the mast had been removed andin whose cockpit a low-power, loud-popping motor had been installed. Theyoung man started the motor, and presently his clumsy craft was draggingherself, like a crippled duck, down Pelham Bay toward the more openwater of Long Island Sound. 

Lila felt herself abandoned. She would have gone straight home but forthe long walk to Westchester and the fact that she had no car fare. Shecould have cried. The heat on the end of the dock and the glare from thewater were intolerable. She was already faint with hunger, and her shoespinched her so that she could hardly walk without whimpering. It seemedto her that she had never seen so many people at once. And in all thecrowds she hadn't a single friend or acquaintance. Several men, seeingthat she was without male escort, tried to get to know her, but gave up, discouraged by her shy, frightened face. She was pretty, yes. But adoll. No sport in her. Such was their mental attitude. 

"She might have left me the sandwiches, " thought Lila. "Suppose themotor breaks down!"

Which was just what it was going to do--'way out there in the sound. Italways did sooner or later when Fannie was on board. She seemed to havebeen born with an influence for evil over men and gas-engines. 

At the other side of green lawns on which were a running-track, swings, trapezes, parallel bars, and a ball-field, were woods. The shade, fromwhere she was, looked black and cold. She walked slowly and timidlytoward it. She could cool herself and return in time to meet Fannie. Butshe returned sooner than she had expected. 

She found a smooth stone in the woods and sat down. After the sun therewas a certain coolness. She fanned herself with some leaves. They werepoison-ivy, but she did not know that. The perspiration dried on herface. There were curious whining, humming sounds in the woods. She beganto scratch her ankles and wrists. Her ankles especially tickled anditched to the point of anguish. She was the delightful centre ofinterest to a swarm of hungry mosquitoes. She leaped to her feet andfought them wildly with her branch of poison-ivy. Then she started torun and almost stepped on a man who was lying face up in the underwood, peacefully snoring. She screamed faintly and hurried on. Some of thebolder mosquitoes followed her into the sunlight, but it was too hoteven for them, and one by one they dropped behind and returned to thewoods. The drunken man continued his comfortable sleep. The mosquitoesdid not trouble him. It is unknown why. 

Lila returned to the end of the dock and saw far off a white speck thatmay or may not have been the motor-boat in which Fannie had gone for a"sail. "

If there hadn't been so many people about Lila must have sat down andcried. The warmth of affection which she had felt that morning forFannie had changed into hatred. Three times she returned to the end ofthe dock. 

All over the park were groups of people eating sandwiches andhard-boiled eggs. They shouted and joked. Under certain circumstances, not the least of sports is eating. Lila was so angry and hungry andabused that she forgot her sore feet. She couldn't stay still. She musthave walked--coming and going--a good many miles in all. 

At last, exhausted as she had never been even after a day at thedepartment store during the Christmas rush, she found a deep nichebetween two rough rocks on the beach, over which the tide was now gentlyrising, and sank into it. The rocks and the sand between them gave outcoolness; the sun shone on her head and shoulders, but with less thanits meridianal fury. She could look down Pelham Bay and see most of thewaters between Fort Schuyler and City Island. Boats of all sorts anddescriptions came and went. But there was no sign of that in whichFannie had embarked. 

Lila fell asleep. It became quiet in the park. The people were draggingthemselves wearily home, dishevelled, dirty, sour with sweat. The sunwent down, copper-red and sullen. The trunks of trees showed ebony blackagainst it, swarms of infinitesimal gnats rose from the beaches, andmade life hideous to the stragglers still in the park. 

Lila was awakened by the tide wetting her feet. She rose on stiff, aching legs. There was a kink in her back; one arm, against which shehad rested heavily, was asleep. 

"Fannie, " Lila thought with a kind of falling despair, "must have comeback, looked for me, given me up, and gone home. "

In the midst of Pelham Bay a fire twinkled, burning low. It looked likea camp-fire deserted and dying in the centre of a great open plain. Lilagave it no more than a somnambulant look. It told her nothing: no storyof sudden frenzied terror, of inextinguishable, unescapable flames, ofyoung people in the midst of health and the vain and wicked pursuit ofhappiness, half-burned to death, half-drowned. It told her no story ofguilt providentially punished, or accidentally. 

She had slept through all the shouting and screaming. The boats that hadattempted rescue had withdrawn; there remained only the hull of aconverted catboat, gasoline-soaked, burnt to the water's edge, acinder--still smouldering. 

Somewhere under the placid waters, gathering speed in the tidalcurrents, slowing down and swinging in the eddies, was all that remainedof Fannie Davis, food for crabs, eels, dogfish, lobsters, and all thethousand and one scavengers of Atlantic bays, blackened shreds ofgarments still clinging to her. 

II

Next to Pelham Bay Park toward the south is a handsome private property. On the low boundary wall of this, facing the road and directly under aragged cherry-tree, Lila seated herself. She was "all in. " She must waituntil a vehicle of some sort passed and beg for a lift. She washalf-starved; her feet could no longer carry her. A motor thrilled by athigh speed, a fiery, stinking dragon in the night. Mosquitoes tormentedher. She had no strength with which to oppose them. The hand in whichshe had held the poison-ivy was beginning to itch and swell. 

A second motor approached slowly and came to a halt. A young man gotout, opened one of the headlights, struck a match, and lighted it. Thenhe lighted the other. The low stone wall on which Lila sat and Lilaherself were embraced by the ring of illumination. It must have beenobvious to any one but a fool that Lila was out of place in hersurroundings; her peach-basket hat, the oxford ties of which she hadbeen so proud, told a story of city breeding. Her face, innocent andchildlike, was very touching. 

The young man shut off his motor, so that there was a sudden silence. "Want a lift somewhere?" he asked cheerfully. 

Lila could not remember when she had been too young to be warned againstthe advances of strange men. "They give you a high old time, and thenthey expect to be paid for it, " had been so dinned into her that if shehad given the young man a sharp "No" for an answer it would have beenalmost instinctive. Training and admonition rose strong within her. Shefelt that she was going to refuse help. The thought was intolerable. Wherefore, instead of answering, she burst into tears. 

A moment later the young man was sitting by her side, and she waspouring her tale of a day gone wrong into amused but sympathetic ears. 

His voice and choice of words belonged to a world into which she hadnever looked. She could not help trusting him and believing that he wasgood--even when he put his arm around her and let her finish her cry onhis shoulder. 

"And your friend left you--and you've got no car fare, and you've hadnothing to eat, and you can't walk any more because your shoes are tootight. And you live----?"

She told him. 

"I could take you right home to your mother, " he said, "but I won't. That would be a good ending to a day gone wrong, but not the best. Come. "

He supported her to his motor, a high-power runabout, and helped her in. Never before had she sat in such reclining comfort. It was better thansitting up in bed. 

"We'll send your mother a telegram from New Rochelle so that she won'tworry, " he said. "Just you let yourself go and try to enjoy everything. Fortunately I know of a shoe store in New Rochelle. It won't be open;but the proprietor has rooms above the store, and he'll be glad to makea sale even if it is Sunday. The first principle to be observed in apleasant outing is a pair of comfortable feet. "

"But I have no money, " protested Lila. 

"I have, " said the young man; "too much, some people think. "

Lila had been taught that if she accepted presents from young men sheput herself more or less in their power. 

They whirled noiselessly across Pelham Bridge. Lila had given up in thematter of accepting a present of shoes. In so doing she feared that shehad committed herself definitely to the paths that lead to destruction. And when, having tried in vain to get a table at two inns between NewRochelle and Larchmont, the young man said that he would take her to hisown home to dinner, she felt sure of it. But she was too tired to care, and in the padded seat, and the new easy shoes, too blissfullycomfortable. They had sent her mother a telegram. The young man hadcomposed it. He had told the mother not to worry. "I'm dining out andwon't be home till late. "

"We won't say how late, " he had explained with an ingenuous smile, "because we don't know, do we?"

They had gone to a drug store, and the clerk had bound a soothingdressing on Lila's poisoned hand. 

They turned from the main road into a long avenue over which trees metin a continuous arch. The place was all a-twinkle with fireflies. Box, roses, and honeysuckle filled the air with delicious odors--then strong, pungent, bracing as wine, the smell of salt-marshes, and coldness offthe water. On a point of land among trees many lights glowed. 

"That's my place, " said the young man. 

"We'll have dinner on the terrace--deep water comes right up to it. There's no wind to-night. The candles won't even flicker. "

As if the stopping of the automobile had been a signal, the front doorswung quietly open and a Chinese butler in white linen appeared againsta background of soft coloring and subdued lights. 

As Lila entered the house her knees shook a little. She felt that shewas definitely committing herself to what she must always regret. Shewas a fly walking deliberately into a spider's parlor. That the youngman hitherto had behaved most circumspectly, she dared not count in hisfavor. Was it not always so in the beginning? He seemed like a jolly, kindly boy. She had the impulse to scream and to run out of the house, to hide in the shrubbery, to throw herself into the water. Her heartbeat like that of a trapped bird. She heard the front door close behindher. 

"I think you'd be more comfy, " said the young man, "if you took off yourhat, don't you? Dinner'll be ready in about ten minutes. Fong will showyou where to go. "

She followed the Chinaman up a flight of broad low steps. Their feetmade no sound on the thick carpeting. He held open the door of abedroom. It was all white and delicate and blue. Through a door at thefarther end she had a glimpse of white porcelain and shining nickel. 

Her first act when the Chinaman had gone was to lock the door by whichshe had entered. Then she looked from each of the windows in turn. Theterrace was beneath her, brick with a balustrade of white, with whiteurns. The young man, bareheaded, paced the terrace like a sentinel. Hewas smoking a cigarette. 

To the left was a round table, set for two. She could see that thechairs were of white wicker, with deep, soft cushions. In the centre ofthe table was a bowl of red roses. Four candles burned upright inmassive silver candlesticks. 

She took off her hat mechanically, washed her face and the hand that hadnot been bandaged, and "did" her hair. She looked wonderfully pretty inthe big mirror over the dressing-table. The heavy ivory brushes lookedenormous in her delicate hands. Her eyes were great and round like thoseof a startled deer. 

She heard his voice calling to her from the terrace: "Hello, up there!Got everything you want? Dinner's ready when you are. "

She hesitated a long time with her hand on the door-key. But what was alocked door in an isolated house to a bad man? She drew a deep breath, turned the key, waited a little longer, and then, as a person steps intoa very cold bath, pushed the door open and went out. 

He was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. She went down slowly, her hand on the rail. She had no idea that she was making an exquisitepicture. She knew only that she was frightened. 

"It's turned cool, " said the young man. He caught up a light scarf ofChinese embroidery and laid it lightly about her shoulders. She lookedhim for the first time squarely in the face. She saw chiefly a pair ofrather small, deep-set blue eyes; at the outer corners weremultitudinous little wrinkles, dug by smiling. The eyes were clear as achild's, full of compassionate laughter. 

A feeling of perfect security came over her. She thanked Heaven that shehad not made a ridiculous scene. The chimes of a tall clock broke thesilence with music. 

He offered her his arm, and she laid her fingers on it. 

"I think we are served, " he said, and led her to the terrace. He wassolicitous about placing cushions to the best advantage for her. He tookone from his own chair, and, on one knee, put it under her feet. Hesmiled at her across the bowl of roses. 

"How old are you?" he said. "You look like a man's kid sister. "

She told him that she was seventeen and that she had worked for twoyears in a department store. 

"My father was a farmer, " she said, "but he lost one arm, and couldn'tmake it pay. So we had to come to the city. "

"Is your father living?"

"Yes. But he says he is dead. He can't find any work to do. Motherworks like a horse, though, and so does Bert, and so do I. The othersare at school. "

"Do you like your work?"

"Only for what it brings in. "

"What does it bring in?"

"Six dollars a week. "

The young man smiled. "Never mind, " he said; "eat your soup. "

It did her good, that soup. It was strong and very hot. It put heartinto her. When she had finished, he laughed gleefully. 

"It's all very well to talk about rice-powder, and cucumber-cream, andbeauty-sleeps, but all you needed to make you look perfectly lovely wasa cup of soup. That scarf's becoming to you, too. "

She blushed happily. She had lost all fear of him. 

"What are you pinching yourself for?" he asked. 

"To see if I'm awake. "

"You are, " he said, "wide awake. Take my word for it, and I hope you'rehaving a good time. "

The Chinaman poured something light and sparkling into her glass from abottle dressed in a napkin. Misgivings returned to her. She had heard ofgirls being drugged. 

"You don't have to drink it, " said the young man. "I had some servedbecause dinner doesn't look like dinner without champagne. Still, afterthe thoroughly unhappy day you've put in, I think a mouthful or twowould do you good. "

She lifted the glass of champagne, smiled, drank, and choked. He laughedat her merrily. 

All through dinner he kept lighting cigarettes and throwing them away. Between times he ate with great relish and heartiness. 

Lila was in heaven. All her doubts and fears had vanished. She feltthoroughly at home, as if she had always been used to service and linenand silver and courtesy. 

They had coffee, and then they strolled about in the moonlight, whilethe young man smoked a very long cigar. 

He looked at his watch, and sighed. "Well, Miss, " he said, "if we're toget you safe home to your mother!"

"I won't be a minute, " she said. 

"You know the way?"

She ran upstairs, and, having put on her hat, decided that it lookedcheap and vulgar, and took it off again. 

He wrapped her in a soft white polo-coat for the long run to New York. She looked back at the lights of his house. Would she ever see themagain, or smell the salt and the box and the roses?

By the time they had reached the Zoological Gardens at Fordham she hadfallen blissfully asleep. He ran the car with considerate slowness, andlooked at her very often. She waked as they crossed the river. Her eyesshrank from the piled serried buildings of Manhattan. The air was nolonger clean and delicious to the lungs. 

"Have I been asleep?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, " she cried, "how could I! How could I! I've missed some of it. Andit never happened before, and it will never happen again. "

"Not in the same way, perhaps, " he said gravely. "But how do you know? Ithink you are one girl in ten million, and to you all things arepossible. "

"How many men in ten million are like you?" she asked. 

"Men are all pretty much alike, " he said. "They have good impulses andbad. "

In the stark darkness between the outer and the inner door of thetenement in which she lived, there was an awkward, troubled silence. Hewished very much to kiss her, but had made up his mind that he wouldnot. She thought that he might, and had made up her mind that if heattempted to she would resist. She was not in the least afraid of himany more, but of herself. 

He kissed her, and she did not resist. 

"Good-night, " he said, and then with a half-laugh, "Which is yourbell?"

She found it and rang it. Presently there was a rusty click, and theinner door opened an inch or so. Neither of them spoke for a fullminute. Then she, her face aflame in the darkness:

"When you came I was only a little fool who'd bought a pair of shoesthat were too tight for her. I didn't _know_ anything. I'm wise now. Iknow that I'm dreaming, and that if I wake up before the dream is endedI shall die. "

She tried to laugh gayly and could not. 

"I've made things harder for you instead of easier, " he said. "I'mterribly sorry. I meant well. "

"Oh, it isn't that, " she said. "Thank you a thousand thousand times. Andgood-night. "

"Wait, " he said. "Will you play with me again some time? How aboutSaturday?"

"No, " she said. "It wouldn't be fair--to me. Good-night. "

She passed through the inner door and up the narrow creaking stair tothe dark tenement in which she lived; she could hear the restlessbreathing of her sleeping family. 

"Oh, my God!" she thought, "if it weren't for _them_!"

As for the young man, having lighted a long cigar, he entered his carand drove off, muttering to himself:

"Damnation! Why does a girl like that _have_ a family!"

He never saw her again, nor was he ever haunted by the thought that hehad perhaps spoiled her whole life as thoroughly as if he had takenadvantage of her ignorance and her innocence. 

BACK THERE IN THE GRASS

It was spring in the South Seas when, for the first time, I went ashoreat Batengo, which is the Polynesian village, and the only one on the biggrass island of the same name. There is a cable station just up thebeach from the village, and a good-natured young chap named Graves hadcharge of it. He was an upstanding, clean-cut fellow, as the fact thathe had been among the islands for three years without falling into anyof their ways proved. The interior of the corrugated iron house in whichhe lived, for instance, was bachelor from A to Z. And if that wasn't asufficient alibi, my pointer dog, Don, who dislikes anything Polynesianor Melanesian, took to him at once. And they established a rompingfriendship. He gave us lunch on the porch, and because he had not seen awhite man for two months, or a liver-and-white dog for two years, hetold us the entire story of his young life, with reminiscences of earlychildhood and plans for the future thrown in. 

The future was very simple. There was a girl coming out to him from theStates by the next steamer but one; the captain of that steamer wouldjoin them together in holy wedlock, and after that the Lord wouldprovide. 

"My dear fellow, " he said, "you think I'm asking her to share a verylonely sort of life, but if you could imagine all the--the affection andgentleness, and thoughtfulness that I've got stored up to pour out ather feet for the rest of our lives, you wouldn't be a bit afraid for herhappiness. If a man spends his whole time and imagination thinking upways to make a girl happy and occupied, he can think up a whole lot. . . . I'd like ever so much to show her to you. "

He led the way to his bedroom, and stood in silent rapture before alarge photograph that leaned against the wall over his dressing-table. 

She didn't look to me like the sort of girl a cable agent would happento marry. She looked like a swell--the real thing--beautiful and simpleand unaffected. 

"Yes, " he said, "isn't she?"

I hadn't spoken a word. Now I said:

"It's easy to see why you aren't lonely with that wonderful girl to lookat. Is she really coming out by the next steamer but one? It's hard tobelieve because she's so much too good to be true. "

"Yes, " he said, "isn't she?"

"The usual cable agent, " I said, "keeps from going mad by having a dogor a cat or some pet or other to talk to. But I can understand aphotograph like this being all-sufficient to any man--even if he hadnever seen the original. Allow me to shake hands with you. "

Then I got him away from the girl, because my time was short and Iwanted to find out about some things that were important to _me_. 

"You haven't asked me my business in these parts, " I said, "but I'lltell you. I'm collecting grasses for the Bronx Botanical Garden. "

"Then, by Jove!" said Graves, "you have certainly come to the rightplace. There used to be a tree on this island, but the last man who sawit died in 1789--Grass! The place is all grass: there are fifty kindsright around my house here. "

"I've noticed only eighteen, " I said, "but that isn't the point. Thepoint is: when do the Batengo Island grasses begin to go to seed?" And Ismiled. 

"You think you've got me stumped, don't you?" he said. "That a merecable agent wouldn't notice such things. Well, that grass there, " and hepointed--"beach nut we call it--is the first to ripen seed, and, as faras I know, it does it just six weeks from now. "

"Are you just making things up to impress me?"

"No, sir, I am not. I know to the minute. You see, I'm a victim ofhay-fever. "

"In that case, " I said, "expect me back about the time your nose beginsto run. "

"Really?" And his whole face lighted up. "I'm delighted. Only sixweeks. Why, then, if you'll stay round for only five or six weeks _more_you'll be here for the wedding. "

"I'll make it if I possibly can, " I said. "I want to see if that girl'sreally true. "

"Anything I can do to help you while you're gone? I've got loads ofspare time----"

"If you knew anything about grasses----"

"I don't. But I'll blow back into the interior and look around. I'vebeen meaning to right along, just for fun. But I can never get any of_them_ to go with me. "

"The natives?"

"Yes. Poor lot. They're committing race suicide as fast as they can. There are more wooden gods than people in Batengo village, and thesuperstition's so thick you could cut it with a knife. All the manlyvirtues have perished. . . . Aloiu!"

The boy who did Graves's chores for him came lazily out of the house. 

"Aloiu, " said Graves, "just run back into the island to the top of thathill--see?--that one over there--and fetch a handful of grass for thisgentleman. He'll give you five dollars for it. "

Aloiu grinned sheepishly and shook his head. 

"Fifty dollars?"

Aloiu shook his head with even more firmness, and I whistled. Fiftydollars would have made him the Rockefeller-Carnegie-Morgan of thoseparts. 

"All right, coward, " said Graves cheerfully. "Run away and play with theother children. . . . Now, isn't that curious? Neither love, money, norinsult will drag one of them a mile from the beach. They say that if yougo 'back there in the grass' something awful will happen to you. "

"As what?" I asked. 

"The last man to try it, " said Graves, "in the memory of the oldestinhabitant was a woman. When they found her she was all black andswollen--at least that's what they say. Something had bitten her justabove the ankle. "

"Nonsense, " I said, "there are no snakes in the whole Batengo group. "

"They didn't say it was a snake, " said Graves. "They said the marks ofthe bite were like those that would be made by the teeth of a verylittle--child. "

Graves rose and stretched himself. 

"What's the use of arguing with people that tell yarns like that! Allthe same, if you're bent on making expeditions back into the grass, you'll make 'em alone, unless the cable breaks and I'm free to make 'emwith you. "

Five weeks later I was once more coasting along the wavering hills ofBatengo Island, with a sharp eye out for a first sight of the cablestation and Graves. Five weeks with no company but Kanakas and apointer dog makes one white man pretty keen for the society of another. Furthermore, at our one meeting I had taken a great shine to Graves andto the charming young lady who was to brave a life in the South Seas forhis sake. If I was eager to get ashore, Don was more so. I had ashot-gun across my knees with which to salute the cable station, and thesight of that weapon, coupled with toothsome memories of a recent bighunt down on Forked Peak, had set the dog quivering from stem to stern, to crouching, wagging his tail till it disappeared, and beating suddentattoos upon the deck with his forepaws. And when at last we rounded onthe cable station and I let off both barrels, he began to bark and raceabout the schooner like a thing possessed. 

The salute brought Graves out of his house. He stood on the porch wavinga handkerchief, and I called to him through a megaphone; hoped that hewas well, said how glad I was to see him, and asked him to meet me inBatengo village. 

Even at that distance I detected a something irresolute in his manner;and a few minutes later when he had fetched a hat out of the house, locked the door, and headed toward the village, he looked more like asoldier marching to battle than a man walking half a mile to greet afriend. 

"That's funny, " I said to Don. "He's coming to meet us in spite of thefact that he'd much rather not. Oh, well!"

I left the schooner while she was still under way, and reached the beachbefore Graves came up. There were too many strange brown men to suitDon, and he kept very close to my legs. When Graves arrived the nativesfell away from him as if he had been a leper. He wore a sort of sicklysmile, and when he spoke the dog stiffened his legs and growledmenacingly. 

"Don!" I exclaimed sternly, and the dog cowered, but the spines alonghis back bristled and he kept a menacing eye upon Graves. The man's facelooked drawn and rather angry. The frank boyishness was clean out of it. He had been strained by something or other to the breaking-point--somuch was evident. 

"My dear fellow, " I said, "what the devil is the matter?"

Graves looked to right and left, and the islanders shrank still fartheraway from him. 

"You can see for yourself, " he said curtly. "I'm taboo. " And then, witha little break in his voice: "Even your dog feels it. Don, good boy!Come here, sir!"

Don growled quietly. 

"You see!"

"Don, " I said sharply, "this man is my friend and yours. Pat him, Graves. "

Graves reached forward and patted Don's head and talked to himsoothingly. 

But although Don did not growl or menace, he shivered under the caressand was unhappy. 

"So you're taboo!" I said cheerfully. "That's the result of anything, from stringing pink and yellow shells on the same string to murderingyour uncle's grandmother-in-law. Which have _you_ done?"

"I've been back there in the grass, " he said, "and because--becausenothing happened to me I'm taboo. "

"Is that all?"

"As far as they know--yes. "

"Well!" said I, "my business will take me back there for days at a time, so I'll be taboo, too. Then there'll be two of us. Did you find anycurious grasses for me?"

"I don't know about grasses, " he said, "but I found something verycurious that I want to show you and ask your advice about. Are you goingto share my house?"

"I think I'll keep head-quarters on the schooner, " I said, "but ifyou'll put me up now and then for a meal or for the night----"

"I'll put you up for lunch right now, " he said, "if you'll come. I'm myown cook and bottle-washer since the taboo, but I must say the changeisn't for the worse so far as food goes. "

He was looking and speaking more cheerfully. 

"May I bring Don?"

He hesitated. 

"Why--yes--of course. "

"If you'd rather not?"

"No, bring him. I want to make friends again if I can. "

So we started for Graves's house, Don very close at my heels. 

"Graves, " I said, "surely a taboo by a lot of fool islanders hasn'tupset you. There's something on your mind. Bad news?"

"Oh, no, " he said. "She's coming. It's other things. I'll tell you byand by--everything. Don't mind me. I'm all right. Listen to the wind inthe grass. That sound day and night is enough to put a man off hisfeed. "

"You say you found something very curious back there in the grass?"

"I found, among other things, a stone monolith. It's fallen down, butit's almost as big as the Flatiron Building in New York. It's ancient asdays--all carved--it's a sort of woman, I think. But we'll go back oneday and have a look at it. Then, of course, I saw all the differentkinds of grasses in the world--they'd interest you more--but I'm such apunk botanist that I gave up trying to tell 'em apart. I like theflowers best--there's millions of 'em--down among the grass. . . . I tellyou, old man, this island is the greatest curiosity-shop in the wholeworld. "

He unlocked the door of his house and stood aside for me to go in first. 

"Shut up, Don!"

The dog growled savagely, but I banged him with my open hand across thesnout, and he quieted down and followed into the house, all tense andwatchful. 

On the shelf where Graves kept his books, with its legs hanging over, was what I took to be an idol of some light brownish wood--saysandalwood, with a touch of pink. But it was the most lifelike andastounding piece of carving I ever saw in the islands or out of them. Itwas about a foot high, and represented a Polynesian woman in the primeof life, say, fifteen or sixteen years old, only the features were finerand cleaner carved. It was a nude, in an attitude of easy repose--thelegs hanging, the toes dangling--the hands resting, palms downward, onthe blotter, the trunk relaxed. The eyes, which were a kind of steelyblue, seemed to have been made, depth upon depth, of some wonderfultranslucent enamel, and to make his work still more realistic the artisthad planted the statuette's eyebrows, eyelashes, and scalp with realhair, very soft and silky, brown on the head and black for the lashesand eyebrows. The thing was so lifelike that it frightened me. And whenDon began to growl like distant thunder I didn't blame him. But I leanedover and caught him by the collar, because it was evident that he wantedto get at that statuette and destroy it. 

When I looked up the statuette's eyes had moved. They were turneddownward upon the dog, with cool curiosity and indifference. A kind ofshudder went through me. And then, lo and behold, the statuette's tinybrown breasts rose and fell slowly, and a long breath came out of itsnostrils. 

I backed violently into Graves, dragging Don with me and half-chokinghim. "My God Almighty!" I said. "It's alive!"

"Isn't she!" said he. "I caught her back there in the grass--the littleminx. And when I heard your signal I put her up there to keep her out ofmischief. It's too high for her to jump--and she's very sore about it. "

"You found her in the grass, " I said. "For God's sake!--are there moreof them?"

"Thick as quail, " said he, "but it's hard to get a sight of 'em. But_you_ were overcome by curiosity, weren't you, old girl? You came out tohave a look at the big white giant and he caught you with his thumb andforefinger by the scruff of the neck--so you couldn't bite him--and hereyou are. "

The womankin's lips parted and I saw a flash of white teeth. She lookedup into Graves's face and the steely eyes softened. It was evident thatshe was very fond of him. 

"Rum sort of a pet, " said Graves. "What?"

"Rum?" I said. "It's horrible--it isn't decent--it--it ought to betaboo. Don's got it sized up right. He--he wants to kill it. "

"Please don't keep calling her It, " said Graves. "She wouldn't likeit--if she understood. " Then he whispered words that were Greek to me, and the womankin laughed aloud. Her laugh was sweet and tinkly, like theupper notes of a spinet. 

"You can speak her language?"

"A few words--Tog ma Lao?"

"Na!"

"Aba Ton sug ato. "

"Nan Tane dom ud lon anea!"

It sounded like that--only all whispered and very soft. It sounded alittle like the wind in the grass. 

"She says she isn't afraid of the dog, " said Graves, "and that he'dbetter let her alone. "

"I almost hope he won't, " said I. "Come outside. I don't like her. Ithink I've got a touch of the horrors. "

Graves remained behind a moment to lift the womankin down from theshelf, and when he rejoined me I had made up my mind to talk to him likea father. 

"Graves, " I said, "although that creature in there is only a foot high, it isn't a pig or a monkey, it's a woman, and you're guilty of what'sconsidered a pretty ugly crime at home--abduction. You've stolen thiswoman away from kith and kin, and the least you can do is to carry herback where you found her and turn her loose. Let me ask you onething--what would Miss Chester think?"

"Oh, that doesn't worry me, " said Graves. "But I _am_ worried--worriedsick. It's early--shall we talk now, or wait till after lunch?"

"Now, " I said. 

"Well, " said he, "you left me pretty well enthused on the subject ofbotany--so I went back there twice to look up grasses for you. Thesecond time I went I got to a deep sort of valley where the grass iswaist-high--that, by the way, is where the big monolith is--and thatplace was alive with things that were frightened and ran. I could seethe directions they took by the way the grass tops acted. There werelots of loose stones about and I began to throw 'em to see if I couldknock one of the things over. Suddenly all at once I saw a pair ofbright little eyes peering out of a bunch of grass--I let fly at them, and something gave a sort of moan and thrashed about in the grass--andthen lay still. I went to look, and found that I'd stunned--_her_. Shecame to and tried to bite me, but I had her by the scruff of the neckand she couldn't. Further, she was sick with being hit in the chest withthe stone, and first thing I knew she keeled over in the palm of my handin a dead faint. I couldn't find any water or anything--and I didn'twant her to die--so I brought her home. She was sick for a week--and Itook care of her--as I would a sick pup--and she began to get well andwant to play and romp and poke into everything. She'd get the lowerdrawer of my desk open and hide in it--or crawl into a rubber boot andplay house. And she got to be right good company--same as any petdoes--a cat or a dog--or a monkey--and naturally, she being so small, Icouldn't think of her as anything but a sort of little beast that I'dcaught and tamed. . . . You see how it all happened, don't you? Might havehappened to anybody. "

"Why, yes, " I said. "If she didn't give a man the horrors right at thestart--I can understand making a sort of pet of her--but, man, there'sonly one thing to do. Be persuaded. Take her back where you found her, and turn her loose. "

"Well and good, " said Graves. "I tried that, and next morning I foundher at my door, sobbing--horrible, dry sobs--no tears. . . . You've saidone thing that's full of sense: she isn't a pig--or a monkey--she's awoman. "

"You don't mean to say, " said I, "that that mite of a thing is in lovewith you?"

"I don't know what else you'd call it. "

"Graves, " I said, "Miss Chester arrives by the next steamer. In themeanwhile something has got to be done. "

"What?" said he hopelessly. 

"I don't know, " I said. "Let me think. "

The dog Don laid his head heavily on my knee, as if he wished to offer asolution of the difficulty. 

A week before Miss Chester's steamer was due the situation had notchanged. Graves's pet was as much a fixture of Graves's house as thefront door. And a man was never confronted with a more serious problem. Twice he carried her back into the grass and deserted her, and each timeshe returned and was found sobbing--horrible, dry sobs--on the porch. And a number of times we took her, or Graves did, in the pocket of hisjacket, upon systematic searches for her people. Doubtless she couldhave helped us to find them, but she wouldn't. She was very sullen onthese expeditions and frightened. When Graves tried to put her down shewould cling to him, and it took real force to pry her loose. 

In the open she could run like a rat; and in open country it would havebeen impossible to desert her; she would have followed at Graves's heelsas fast as he could move them. But forcing through the thick grasstired her after a few hundred yards, and she would gradually dropfarther and farther behind--sobbing. There was a pathetic side to it. 

She hated me; and made no bones about it; but there was an armed trucebetween us. She feared my influence over Graves, and I feared her--well, just as some people fear rats or snakes. Things utterly out of thenormal always do worry me, and Bo, which was the name Graves had learnedfor her, was, so far as I know, unique in human experience. Inappearance she was like an unusually good-looking island girl observedthrough the wrong end of an opera-glass, but in habit and action she wasdifferent. She would catch flies and little grasshoppers and eat themall alive and kicking, and if you teased her more than she liked herears would flatten the way a cat's do, and she would hiss like asnapping-turtle, and show her teeth. 

But one got accustomed to her. Even poor Don learned that it was not hisduty to punish her with one bound and a snap. But he would never let hertouch him, believing that in her case discretion was the better part ofvalor. If she approached him he withdrew, always with dignity, butequally with determination. He knew in his heart that something abouther was horribly wrong and against nature. I knew it, too, and I thinkGraves began to suspect it. 

Well, a day came when Graves, who had been up since dawn, saw the smokeof a steamer along the horizon, and began to fire off his revolver sothat I, too, might wake and participate in his joy. I made tea and wentashore. 

"It's _her_ steamer, " he said. 

"Yes, " said I, "and we've got to decide something. "

"About Bo?"

"Suppose I take her off your hands--for a week or so--till you and MissChester have settled down and put your house in order. Then MissChester--Mrs. Graves, that is--can decide what is to be done. I admitthat I'd rather wash my hands of the business--but I'm the only whiteman available, and I propose to stand by my race. Don't say a word toBo--just bring her out to the schooner and leave her. "

In the upshot Graves accepted my offer, and while Bo, fairly bristlingwith excitement and curiosity, was exploring the farther corners of mycabin, we slipped out and locked the door on her. The minute she knewwhat had happened she began to tear around and raise Cain. It sounded alittle like a cat having a fit. 

Graves was white and unhappy. "Let's get away quick, " he said; "I feellike a skunk. "

But Miss Chester was everything that her photograph said about her, andmore too, so that the trick he had played Bo was very soon a negligibleweight on Graves's mind. 

If the wedding was quick and business-like, it was also jolly andromantic. The oldest passenger gave the bride away. All the crew cameaft and sang "The Voice That Breathed O'er E-den That EarliestWedding-Day"--to the tune called "Blairgowrie. " They had worked it up insecret for a surprise. And the bride's dove-brown eyes got a littleteary. I was best man. The captain read the service, and chokedoccasionally. As for Graves--I had never thought him handsome--well, with his brown face and white linen suit, he made me think, and I'm sureI don't know why, of St. Michael--that time he overcame Lucifer. Thecaptain blew us to breakfast, with champagne and a cake, and then thehappy pair went ashore in a boat full of the bride's trousseau, and thecrew manned the bulwarks and gave three cheers, and then something liketwenty-seven more, and last thing of all the brass cannon was fired, andthe little square flags that spell G-o-o-d L-u-c-k were run up on thesignal halyards. 

As for me, I went back to my schooner feeling blue and lonely. I knewlittle about women and less about love. It didn't seem quite fair. Foronce I hated my profession--seed-gatherer to a body of scientificgentlemen whom I had never seen. Well, there's nothing so good for theblues as putting things in order. 

I cleaned my rifle and revolver. I wrote up my note-book. I developedsome plates; I studied a brand-new book on South Sea grasses that hadbeen sent out to me, and I found some mistakes. I went ashore with Don, and had a long walk on the beach--in the opposite direction fromGraves's house, of course--and I sent Don into the water after sticks, and he seemed to enjoy it, and so I stripped and went in with him. ThenI dried in the sun, and had a match with my hands to see which couldfind the tiniest shell. Toward dusk we returned to the schooner and haddinner, and after that I went into my cabin to see how Bo was gettingon. 

She flew at me like a cat, and if I hadn't jerked my foot back she musthave bitten me. As it was, her teeth tore a piece out of my trousers. I'm afraid I kicked her. Anyway, I heard her land with a crash in a farcorner. I struck a match and lighted candles--they are cooler thanlamps--very warily--one eye on Bo. She had retreated under a chair andlooked out--very sullen and angry. I sat down and began to talk to her. "It's no use, " I said, "you're trying to bite and scratch, becauseyou're only as big as a minute. So come out here and make friends. Idon't like you and you don't like me; but we're going to be throwntogether for quite some time, so we'd better make the best of it. Youcome out here and behave pretty and I'll give you a bit of gingersnap. "

The last word was intelligible to her, and she came a little way outfrom under the chair. I had a bit of gingersnap in my pocket, left overfrom treating Don, and I tossed it on the floor midway between us. Shedarted forward and ate it with quick bites. 

Well, then, she looked up, and her eyes asked--just as plain as day:"Why are things thus? Why have I come to live with you? I don't likeyou. I want to go back to Graves. "

I couldn't explain very well, and just shook my head and then went ontrying to make friends--it was no use. She hated me, and after a time Igot bored. I threw a pillow on the floor for her to sleep on, and lefther. Well, the minute the door was shut and locked she began to sob. Youcould hear her for quite a distance, and I couldn't stand it. So I wentback--and talked to her as nicely and soothingly as I could. But shewouldn't even look at me--just lay face down--heaving and sobbing. 

Now I don't like little creatures that snap--so when I picked her up itwas by the scruff of the neck. She had to face me then, and I saw thatin spite of all the sobbing her eyes were perfectly dry. That struck meas curious. I examined them through a pocket magnifying-glass, anddiscovered that they had no tear-ducts. Of course she couldn't cry. Perhaps I squeezed the back of her neck harder than I meant to--anyway, her lips began to draw back and her teeth to show. 

It was exactly at that second that I recalled the legend Graves had toldme about the island woman being found dead, and all black and swollen, back there in the grass, with teeth marks on her that looked as if theyhad been made by a very little child. 

I forced Bo's mouth wide open and looked in. Then I reached for a candleand held it steadily between her face and mine. She struggled furiouslyso that I had to put down the candle and catch her legs together in myfree hand. But I had seen enough. I felt wet and cold all over. For ifthe swollen glands at the base of the deeply grooved canines meantanything, that which I held between my hands was not a woman--but asnake. 

I put her in a wooden box that had contained soap and nailed slats overthe top. And, personally, I was quite willing to put scrap-iron in thebox with her and fling it overboard. But I did not feel quite justifiedwithout consulting Graves. 

As an extra precaution in case of accidents, I overhauled mymedicine-chest and made up a little package for the breast pocket--alancet, a rubber bandage, and a pill-box full of permanganate crystals. I had still much collecting to do, "back there in the grass, " and I didnot propose to step on any of Bo's cousins or her sisters or heraunts--without having some of the elementary first-aids to thesnake-bitten handy. 

It was a lovely starry night, and I determined to sleep on deck. Beforeturning in I went to have a look at Bo. Having nailed her in a boxsecurely, as I thought, I must have left my cabin door ajar. Anyhow shewas gone. She must have braced her back against one side of the box, herfeet against the other, and burst it open. I had most certainlyunderestimated her strength and resources. 

The crew, warned of peril, searched the whole schooner over, slowly andmethodically, lighted by lanterns. We could not find her. Well, swimmingcomes natural to snakes. 

I went ashore as quickly as I could get a boat manned and rowed. I tookDon on a leash, a shot-gun loaded, and both pockets of my jacket full ofcartridges. We ran swiftly along the beach, Don and I, and then turnedinto the grass to make a short cut for Graves's house. All of a suddenDon began to tremble with eagerness and nuzzle and sniff among the rootsof the grass. He was "making game. "

"Good Don, " I said, "good boy--hunt her up! Find her!"

The moon had risen. I saw two figures standing in the porch of Graves'shouse. I was about to call to them and warn Graves that Bo was loose anddangerous--when a scream--shrill and frightful--rang in my ears. I sawGraves turn to his bride and catch her in his arms. 

When I came up she had collected her senses and was behaving splendidly. While Graves fetched a lantern and water she sat down on the porch, herback against the house, and undid her garter, so that I could pull thestocking off her bitten foot. Her instep, into which Bo's venomous teethhad sunk, was already swollen and discolored. I slashed the teeth-marksthis way and that with my lancet. And Mrs. Graves kept saying: "Allright--all right--don't mind me--do what's best. "

Don's leash had wedged between two of the porch planks, and all the timewe were working over Mrs. Graves he whined and struggled to get loose. 

"Graves, " I said, when we had done what we could, "if your wife beginsto seem faint, give her brandy--just a very little--at a time--and--Ithink we were in time--and for God's sake don't ever let her know _why_she was bitten--or by _what_----"

Then I turned and freed Don and took off his leash. 

The moonlight was now very white and brilliant. In the sandy path thatled from Graves's porch I saw the print of feet--shaped just like humanfeet--less than an inch long. I made Don smell them, and said:

"Hunt close, boy! Hunt close!"

Thus hunting, we moved slowly through the grass toward the interior ofthe island. The scent grew hotter--suddenly Don began to move morestiffly--as if he had the rheumatism--his eyes straight ahead sawsomething that I could not see--the tip of his tail vibratedfuriously--he sank lower and lower--his legs worked more and morestiffly--his head was thrust forward to the full stretch of his necktoward a thick clump of grass. In the act of taking a wary step he cameto a dead halt--his right forepaw just clear of the ground. The tip ofhis tail stopped vibrating. The tail itself stood straight out behindhim and became rigid like a bar of iron. I never saw a stancher point. 

"Steady, boy!"

I pushed forward the safety of my shot-gun and stood at attention. 

"How is she?"

"Seems to be pulling through. I heard you fire both barrels. What luck?"

ASABRI

Asabri, head of the great banking house of Asabri Brothers in Rome, hadbeen a great sportsman in his youth. But by middle-age he had grown alittle tired, you may say; so that whereas formerly he had depended uponhis own exertions for pleasure and exhilaration, he looked now withfavor upon automobiles, motor-boats, and saddle-horses. 

Almost every afternoon he rode alone in the Campagna, covering greatdistances on his stanch Irish mare, Biddy. She was the handsomest horsein Rome; her master was the handsomest man. He looked like some oldRoman consul going out to govern and civilize. Peasants whom he passedtouched their hats to him automatically. His face in repose was a sortof command. 

One day as he rode out of Rome he saw that fog was gathering; and heresolved, for there was an inexhaustible well of boyishness within him, to get lost in it. He had no engagement for that night; his family hadalready left Rome for their villa on Lake Como. Nobody would worry abouthim except Luigi, his valet. And as for this one, Asabri said tohimself: "He is a spoiled child of fortune; let him worry for once. "

He did not believe in fever; he believed in a good digestion and goodhabits. He knew every inch of the Campagna, or thought he did; and heknew that under the magic of fog the most familiar parts of it becameunfamiliar and strange. He had lost himself upon it once or twicebefore, to his great pleasure and exhilaration. He had felt like somedaring explorer in an unknown country. He thought that perhaps he mightbe forced to spend the night in some peasant's home smelling of cheeseand goats. He would reward his hosts in the morning beyond the dreams oftheir undoubted avarice. There would be a beautiful daughter with agolden voice: he would see to it that she became a famous singer. Hewould give the father a piece of fertile land with an ample house uponit. Every day the happy family would go down on their knees and pray forhis soul. He knew of nothing more delicious than to surprise unexpectingand deserving people with stable benefactions. And besides, if only forthe sake of his boyhood, he loved dearly the smell of cheese and goats. 

A goat had been his foster-mother; it was to her that he attributed hissplendid constitution and activity, which had filled in the spacesbetween his financial successes with pleasure. As he trotted on into thefog he tried to recall having knowingly done harm to somebody or other;and because he could not, his face of a Roman emperor took on a greatlook of peace. 

"Biddy, " he said after a time, in English (she was an Irish horse, andEnglish was the nearest he could get to her native language), "this isno common Roman mist; it's a genuine fog that has been sucked up Tiberfrom the salt sea. You can smell salt and fish. We shall be lost, possibly for a long time. There will be no hot mash for you to-night. You will eat what goats eat and be very grateful. Perhaps you will meetsome rural donkey during our adventures, and I must ask you to use thepoor little beast's rustic ignorance with the greatest tact andforbearance. You will tell her tales of cities and travels; but do notlie to excess, or appear condescending, lest you find her rude wits amatch for your own and are ashamed. "

Asabri did not spend the night in a peasant's hut. Biddy did not meetany country donkey to swap yarns with. But inasmuch as the pair lostthemselves thoroughly, it must be admitted that some of the banker'swishes came true. 

He had not counted on two things. At dinner-time he was hungry; atsupper-time he was ravenous. And he no longer thought of losing himselfon purpose, but made all the efforts in his power to get back to Rome. 

"Good Heavens, " he muttered, "we ought to have stumbled on something bythis time. "

Biddy might have answered: "I've done some stumbling, thank you, andthanks to you. " But she didn't. Instead, she lifted her head and ears, looked to the left, snorted, and shied. She shied very carefully, however, because she did not know what she might shy into; and Asabrilaughed. 

There was a glimmering point of light off to the left, and he urgedBiddy toward it. He saw presently that it was a fire built against aruined and unfamiliar tomb. 

The fire was cooking something in a kettle. There was a smell of garlic. Three young men sat cross-legged, watching the fire and the kettle. Against the tomb leaned three long guns, very old and dangerous. 

"Brigands!" smiled Asabri, and he hailed them:

"Ho there! Wake up! I am a squadron of police attacking you from therear. "

He rode unarmed into their midst and slid unconcernedly from his saddleto the ground. 

"Put up your weapons, brothers, " he said; "I was joking. It seems that Iam in danger, not you. "

The young men, upon whom "brigand" was written in no uncertain signs, were very much embarrassed. One of them smiled nervously and showed agreat many very white teeth. 

"Lucky for us, " he said, "that you weren't what you said you were. "

"Yes, " said Asabri; "I should have potted the lot of you with onevolley and reported at head-quarters that it had been necessary, owingto the stubborn resistance which you offered. "

The three young men smiled sheepishly. 

"I see that you are familiar with the ways of the police, " said one ofthem. 

"May I sit with you?" Asabri asked. "Thanks. "

He sat in silence for a moment; and the three young men examined withgreat respect the man's splendid round head, and his face of a Romanemperor. 

"Whose tomb is this?" he asked them. 

"It is ours, " said the one who had first smiled. "It used to hallow theremains of Attulius Cimber. "

"Oho!" said Asabri. "Attulius Cimber, a direct ancestor of my friend andassociate Sullandenti. And tell me how far is it to Rome?"

"A long way. You could not find the half of it to-night. "

"Brothers, " said Asabri, "has business been good? I ask for a reason. "

"The reason, sir?"

"Why, " said he, "I thought, if I should not be considered grasping, toask you for a mouthful of soup. "

Confusion seized the brigands. They protested that they were ungratefuldogs to keep the noble guest upon the tenterhooks of hunger. They calledupon God to smite them down for inhospitable ne'er-do-weels. They pliedhim with soup, with black bread; they roasted strips of goat's flesh forhim; and from the hollow of the tomb they fetched bottles of red wine instraw jackets. 

Presently Asabri sighed, and offered them cigarettes from a gold case. 

"For what I have received, " said he, "may a courteous and thoughtful Godmake me truly thankful. . . . I wish that I could offer you, in return foryour hospitality, something more substantial than cigarettes. The case?If it were any case but that one! A present from my wife. "

He drew from its pocket a gold repeater upon which his initials weretraced in brilliants. 

"Midnight. Listen!"

He pressed a spring, and the exquisite chimes of the watch spoke in thestillness like the bells of a fairy church. 

"And this, " he said, "was a present from my mother, who is dead. "

The three brigands crossed themselves, and expressed the regrets whichgood-breeding required of them. The one that had been the last to helphimself to a cigarette now returned the case to Asabri, with a bow and amumbling of thanks. 

"What a jolly life you lead, " exclaimed the banker. "Tell me, you havehad some good hauls lately? What?"

The oldest of the three, a dark, taciturn youth, answered, "Thegentleman is a great joker. "

"Believe me, " said Asabri, "it is from habit--not from the heart. When Irode out from Rome to-day, it was with the intention never to return. When I came upon you and saw your long guns and suspected yourprofession in life, I said: 'Good! Perhaps these young men will murderme for my watch and cigarette case and the loose silver in my breechespocket, and save me a world of trouble----'"

The three brigands protested that nothing had ever been farther fromtheir thoughts. 

"Instead of which, " he went on, "you have fed me and put heart in me. Ishall return to Rome in the morning and face whatever music my owninfatuated foolishness has set going. Do you understand anything offinance?"

The taciturn brigand grinned sheepishly. 

He said that he had had one once; but that the priest had touched itwith a holy relic and it had gone away. "It was on the back of my neck, "he said. 

Asabri laughed. 

"I should have said banking, " said he, "stocks and bonds. "

The brigands admitted that they knew nothing of these things. Asabrisighed. 

"Two months ago, " he said, "I was a rich man. To-day I have nothing. Ina few days it will be known that I have nothing; and then, myfriends--the deluge. Such is finance. From great beginnings, lameendings. And yet the converse may be true. I have seen great endingscome of small beginnings. Even now there is a chance for a man with alittle capital. . . . "

He raised his eyes and hands to heaven. 

"Oh, " he cried, "if I could touch even five thousand lire I couldretrieve my own fortunes and make the fortunes of whomsoever advanced methe money. "

The sullen brigand had been doing a sum on his fingers. 

"How so, excellency?" he asked. 

"Oh, " said Asabri, "it is very simple! I should buy certain stocks, which owing to certain conditions are very cheap, and I should sell themvery dear. You have heard of America?"

They smiled and nodded eagerly. 

"Of Wall Street?"

They looked blank. 

"Doubtless, " said the banker, "you have been taught by your priests tobelieve that the great church of St. Peter, in Rome, is the actualcentre of the universe. Is it not so?"

They assented, not without wonder, since the fact was well known. 

"Recent geographers, " said Asabri, "unwilling to take any statement forgranted, have, after prolonged and scientific investigation, discoveredthat this idea is hocus pocus. The centre of the universe is in theUnited States, in the city of New York, in Wall Street. The number inthe street, to be precise, is fifty-nine. From fifty-nine Wall Street, the word goes out to the extremities of the world: 'Let prices be low. 'Or: 'Let them be high. ' And so they become, according to the word. Butunless I can find five thousand lire with which to take advantage ofthis fact, why to-morrow----"

"To-morrow?" asked the brigand who had been first to smile. 

"Two months ago, " said Asabri, "I was perhaps the most envied man inItaly. To-morrow I shall be laughed at. " He shrugged his powerfulshoulders. 

"But if five thousand lire could be found?"

It was the sullen brigand who spoke, and his companions eyed him withsome misgiving. 

"In that case, " said Asabri, "I should rehabilitate my fortune and thatof the man, or men, who came to my assistance. "

"Suppose, " said the sullen one, "that I were in a position to offer youthe loan of five thousand lire, or four thousand eight hundred andninety-two, to be exact, what surety should I receive that my fortunesand those of my associates would be mended thereby?"

"My word, " said Asabri simply, and he turned his face of a Roman emperorand looked the sullen brigand directly in the eye. 

"Words, " said this one, although his eyes fell before the steadiness ofthe banker's, "are of all kinds and conditions, according to whoso givesthem. "

Asabri smiled, and sure of his notoriety: "I am Asabri, " said he. 

They examined him anew with a great awe. The youngest said:

"And _you_ have fallen upon evil days! I should have been lessastonished if some one were to tell me that the late pope had receivedemployment in hell. "

"Beppo, " said the sullen brigand, "whatever the state of his fortunes, the word of Asabri is sufficient. Go into the tomb of Attulius and fetchout the money. "

The money--silver, copper, and notes of small denominations--was in adirty leather bag. 

"Will you count it, sir?"

With the palms of his hands Asabri answered that he would not. Inwardly, it was as if he had been made of smiles; but he showed them a sterncountenance when he said:

"One thing! Before I touch this money, is there blood on it?"

"High hands only, " said the sullen brigand; but the youngest protested. 

"Indeed, yes, " he said, "there is blood upon it. Look, see, and behold!"

He bared a breast on which the skin was fine and satiny like a woman's, and they saw in the firelight the cicatrice of a newly healed wound. 

"A few drops of mine, " he said proudly. "May they bring the money luck. "

"One thing more, " said Asabri; "I have said that I will mend yourfortunes. What sum apiece would make you comfortable for the rest ofyour days and teach you to see the evil in your present manner of life?"

"If the money were to be doubled, " said the sullen brigand, "then eachof us could have what he most desires. "

"And what is that?" asked the banker. 

"For me, " said the sullen brigand, "there is a certain piece of landupon which are grapes, figs, and olives. "

The second brigand said: "I am a waterman by birth and by longing. If Icould purchase a certain barge upon which I have long had an eye, Ishould do well and honestly in the world, and happily. "

"And you? What do you want?" Asabri smiled paternally in the face ofthe youngest brigand. 

This one showed his beautiful teeth a moment, and drew the rags togetherover his scarred breast. 

"I am nineteen years of age, " he said, and his eyes glistened. "There isa girl, sir, in my village. Her eyes are like velvet; her skin is smoothas custard. She is very beautiful. If I could go to her father with acertain sum of money, he would not ask where I had gotten it--that iswhy I have robbed on the highway. He would merely stretch forth hishands and roll his fat eyes heavenward, and say: 'Bless you, mychildren. '"

"But the girl, " said Asabri. 

"It is wonderful, " said the youngest brigand, "how she loves me. Andwhen I told her that I was going upon the road to earn the moneysnecessary for our happiness, she said that she would climb down from herwindow at night and come with me. But, " he concluded unctuously, "Ipointed out to her that from sin springs nothing but unhappiness. "

"We formed a fellowship, we three, " said the second brigand, "and sworean oath: to take from the world so much as would make us happy, and nomore. "

"My friends, " said Asabri, "there are worse brigands than yourselvesliving in palaces. "

The fog had lifted, and it was beginning to grow light. Asabri gatheredup the heavy bag of money and prepared to depart. 

"How long, " said the sullen brigand, "with all respect, before your ownfortunes will be mended, sir, and ours?"

"You are quite sure you know nothing of stocks?"

"Nothing, excellency. "

"Then listen. They shall be mended to-day. To-morrow come to mybank----"

"Oh, sir, we dare not show our faces in Rome. "

"Very well, then; to-morrow at ten sharp I shall leave Rome in amotor-car. Watch for me along the Appian Way. "

He shook them by their brown, grimy hands, mounted the impatient Biddy, and was gone--blissfully smiling. 

Upon reaching Rome he rode to his palace and assured Luigi the valetthat all was well. Then he bathed, changed, breakfasted, napped, anddrove to the hospital of Our Lady in Emergencies. He saw the superiorand gave her the leather bag containing the brigands' savings. 

"For my sins, " he said. "I have told lies half the night. "

Then he drove to his great banking house and sent for the cashier. 

"Make me up, " said he, "three portable parcels of fifty thousand lireeach. "

The next day at ten he left Rome in a black and beauteous motor-car, and drove slowly along the Appian Way. He had left his mechanic behind, and was prepared to renew his tires and his youth. Packed away, he hadluncheon and champagne enough for four; and he had not forgotten tobring along the three parcels of money. 

The three brigands stepped into the Appian Way from behind a mass offallen masonry. They had found the means to shave cleanly, and perhapsto wash. They were adorned with what were evidently their very bestclothes. The youngest, whose ambition was the girl he loved, even wore anecktie. 

Asabri brought the motor to a swift, oily, and polished halt. 

"Well met, " he said, "since all is well. If you, " he smiled into theface of the sullen brigand, "will be so good as to sit beside me!. . . Theothers shall sit in behind. . . . We shall go first, " he continued, whenall were comfortably seated, "to have a look at that little piece ofland on which grow figs, olives, and grapes. We shall buy it, and breakour fast in the shade of the oldest fig tree. It is going to be a hotday. "

"It is below Rome, and far, " said the sullen brigand; "but since thebarge upon which my friend has set his heart belongs to a near neighbor, we shall be killing two birds with one stone. But with all deference, excellency, have you really retrieved your fortunes?"

"And yours, " said Asabri. "Indeed, I am to-day as rich as ever I was, with the exception"--his eyes twinkled behind his goggles--"of about ahundred and fifty thousand lire. "

The sullen brigand whistled; and although the roads were rough, theyproceeded, thanks to the shock-absorbers on Asabri's car, in completecomfort, at a great pace. 

In the village nearest to the property upon which the sullen brigand hadcast his eye, they picked up a notary through whom to effect thepurchase. 

The little farm was rather stony, but sweet to the eye as a bouquet offlowers, with the deep greens of the figs and grapes and the silverygreens of the olives. Furthermore, there were roses in the door-yard, and the young and childless widow to whom the homestead belonged stoodamong the roses. She was brown and scarlet, and her eyes were black andmerry. 

Yes, yes, she agreed, she would sell! There was a mortgage on the place. She intended to pay that off and have a little over. True, the placepaid. But, Good Lord, she lived all alone, and she didn't enjoy that!

They invited the pretty widow to luncheon, and she helped them spreadthe cloth under a fig tree that had thrown shade for five hundredyears. Asabri passed the champagne, and they all became very merrytogether. Indeed, the sullen brigand became so merry and happy that heno longer addressed Asabri respectfully as "excellency, " but gratefullyand affectionately as "my father. "

This one became more and more delighted with the term, until finally hesaid:

"It is true, that in a sense I am this young man's father, since Ibelieve that if I were to advise him to do a certain thing he would doit. "

"That is God's truth, " cried the sullen brigand; "if he advised me toadvance single-handed against the hosts of hell, I should do so. "

"My son, " said Asabri, "our fair guest affirms that upon this beautifullittle farm she has had everything that she could wish exceptcompanionship. Are you not afraid that you, in your turn, will heresuffer from loneliness?" He turned to the pretty widow. "I wish, " saidhe, "to address myself to you in behalf of this young man. "

The others became very silent. The notary lifted his glass to his lips. The widow blushed. Said she:

"I like his looks well enough; but I know nothing about him. "

"I can tell you this, " said Asabri, "that he has been a man of exemplaryhonesty since--yesterday, and that under the seat of my automobile hehas, in a leather bag, a fortune of fifty thousand lire. "

The three brigands gasped. 

"He is determined, in any case, " the banker continued, "to purchase yourlittle farm; but it seems to me that it would be a beautiful end to astory that has not been without a certain aroma of romance if you, myfair guest, were, so to speak, to throw yourself into the bargain. Thinkit over. The mortgage lifted, a handsome husband, and plenty of money inthe bank. . . . Think it over. And in any case--the pleasure of a glass ofwine with you!"

They touched glasses. Across the golden bubbling, smiles leapt. 

"Let us, " said the second brigand, "leave the pair in question to talkthe matter over, while the rest of us go and attend to the purchase ofmy barge. "

"Well thought, " said Asabri. "My children, we shall be gone about anhour. See if, in that time, you cannot grow fond of each other. Perhaps, if you took the bag of money into the house and pretended that italready belonged to both of you, and counted it over, something might beaccomplished. "

The youngest brigand caught the sullen one by the sleeve and whisperedin his ear. 

"If you want her, let her count the money. If you don't, count ityourself. "

The second brigand turned to Asabri. "Excellency, " he whispered, "youare as much my father as his. "

"True, " said Asabri, "what of it?"

"Nothing! Only, the man who owns the barge which I desire to purchasehas a very beautiful daughter. "

Asabri laughed so that for a moment he could not bend over to crank hiscar. And he cried aloud:

"France, France, I thank thee for thy champagne! And I thank thee, OItaly, for thy merry hearts and thy suggestive climate!. . . My son, ifthe bargeman's daughter is to be had for the asking, she is yours. Butwe must tell the father that until recently you have been a very naughtyfellow. "

They remained with the second brigand long enough to see him exchange akiss of betrothal with the bargeman's daughter, while the bargemanbusied himself counting the money; and then they returned to see how thesullen brigand and the pretty widow were getting on. 

The sullen brigand was cutting dead-wood out of a fig tree with a saw. His face was supremely happy. The widow stood beneath and directed him. 

"Closer to the tree, stupid, " she said, "else the wound will not healproperly. "

The youngest brigand laid a hand that trembled upon Asabri's arm. 

"Oh, my father, " he said, "these doves are already cooing! And it isvery far to the place where I would be. "

But Asabri went first to the fig tree, and he said to the widow:

"Is all well?"

"Yes, " she said, "we have agreed to differ for the rest of our lives. Itseems that this stupid fellow needs somebody to look after him. And itseems to be God's will that that somebody should be I. "

"Bless you then, my children, " said Asabri; "and farewell! I shall cometo the wedding. "

They returned the notary to his little home in the village; and the feeswhich he was to receive for the documents which he was to draw up madehim so happy that he flung his arms about his wife, who was rather aprim person, and fell to kissing her with the most boisterous good will. 

It was dusk when they reached the village in which the sweetheart of theyoungest brigand lived. Asabri thought that he had never seen a girlmore exquisite. 

"And we have loved each other, " said the youngest brigand, his arm abouther firm, round waist, "since we were children. . . . I think I am dying, Iam so happy. "

"Shall you buy a farm, a barge, a business?" asked the banker. 

"Whatever is decided, " said the girl, "it will be a paradise. "

Her old father came out of the house. 

"I have counted the money. It is correct. "

Then he rolled his fat eyes heavenward, just as the youngest brigand hadprophesied, and said: "Bless you, my children!"

"I must be going, " said Asabri; "but there is one thing. "

Four dark luminous eyes looked into his. 

"You have not kissed, " said Asabri; "let it be now, so that I mayremember. "

Without embarrassment, the young brigand and his sweetheart folded theirarms closely about each other, and kissed each other, once, slowly, withinfinite tenderness. 

"I am nineteen, " said the youngest brigand; then, and he lookedheavenward: "God help us to forget the years that have been wasted!"

Asabri drove toward Rome, his headlights piercing the darkness. Thechampagne was no longer in his blood. He was in a calm, judicial mood. 

"To think, " he said to himself, "that for a mere matter of a hundred andfifty thousand lire, a rich old man can be young again for a day ortwo!"

It was nearly one o'clock when he reached his palace in Rome. Luigi, the valet, was sitting up for him, as usual. 

"This is the second time in three days, " said Luigi, "that you have beenout all night. . . . A telegram, " he threatened, "would bring the mistressback to Rome. "

"Forgive me, old friend, " said Asabri, and he leaned on Luigi'sshoulder; "but I have fallen in love. . . . "

"What!" screamed the valet. "At your age?"

"It is quite true, " said Asabri, a little sadly, "that at my age a manmost easily falls in love--with life. "

"You shall go to bed at once, " said Luigi sternly. "I shall prepare ahot lemonade, and you shall take five grains of quinine. . . . You aredamp. . . . The mist from the Campagna. . . . "

Asabri yawned in the ancient servitor's face. 

"Luigi, " he said, "I think I shall buy you a farm and a wife; or a bargeand a wife. . . . "

"You do, do you?" said Luigi. "And I think you'll take your quinine likea Trojan, or I'll know the reason why. "

"Everybody regards me as rather an important person, " complained Asabri, "except you. "

"You were seven years old, " said Luigi, "when I came to serve you. Ihave aged. But you haven't. You didn't know enough then to come in whenit rained, as the Americans say. You don't now. I would not speak ofthis to others. But to you--yes--for your own good. "

Asabri smiled blissfully. 

"In all the world, " he said, "there is only one thing for a man to fear, that he will learn to take the world seriously; in other words, that hewill grow up. . . . You may bring the hot lemonade and the quinine whenthey are ready. "

And then he blew his nose of a Roman emperor; for he had indeedcontracted a slight cold.