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diff --git a/18709-8.txt b/18709-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..995038f --- /dev/null +++ b/18709-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,24912 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the +Yearbook of the American Short Story, by Various, Edited by Edward J. +O'Brien + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the Yearbook of the American Short Story + + +Author: Various + +Editor: Edward J. O'Brien + +Release Date: June 28, 2006 [eBook #18709] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1921 AND +THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY*** + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1921 + +AND THE + +YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY + +Edited by + +EDWARD J. O'BRIEN + +Editor of "The Best Short Stories of 1915" +"The Best Short Stories of 1916" +"The Best Short Stories of 1917" +"The Best Short Stories of 1918" +"The Best Short Stories of 1919" +"The Best Short Stories of 1920" +"The Great Modern English Stories," Etc + + + + + + + +Boston +Small, Maynard & Company +Publishers + +Copyright, 1920, by John T. Frederick, Charles J. Finger, The Dial +Publishing Company, Inc., Charles Scribner's Sons, The International +Magazine Company, Harper & Brothers, and Smart Set Company, Inc. + +Copyright, 1921, by The Boston Transcript Company. + +Copyright, 1921, by B.W. Huebsch, The Century Company, John T. +Frederick, George H. Doran Company, The Dial Publishing Company, Inc., +The Pictorial Review Company, The Curtis Publishing Company, The Crowell +Publishing Company, Harper & Brothers, Charles Scribner's Sons, The +International Magazine Company, and Smart Set Company, Inc. + +Copyright, 1921, by Boni & Liveright, Inc. + +Copyright, 1922, by Maxwell Struthers Burt, George H. Doran Co., Lincoln +Colcord, Waldo Frank, Katharine Fullerton Gerould, Doubleday, Page & +Co., Glasgow, Susan Glaspell Cook, Richard Matthews Hallet, Frances +Noyes Hart, Fannie Hurst, Manuel Komroff, Frank Luther Mott, Vincent +O'Sullivan, Wilbur Daniel Steele, Harriet Maxon Thayer, Charles Hanson +Towne, and Mary Heaton Minor. + +Copyright, 1922, by Small, Maynard & Company, Inc. + +Printed in the United States of America +Press of the Murray Printing Company +Kendall Square, Cambridge + + + + + +TO A.E. COPPARD + + + + +BY WAY OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT + + +Grateful acknowledgment for permission to include the stories and other +material in this volume is made to the following authors, editors and +publishers: + +To the Editor of _The Century Magazine_, the Editor of _The Bookman_, +the Editor of _The Dial_, the Editor of _The Pictorial Review_, the +Editor of _The Saturday Evening Post_, the Editor of _The American +Magazine_, the Editor of _Scribner's Magazine_, the Editor of _Good +Housekeeping_, the Editor of _Harper's Magazine_, the Editor of _The +Cosmopolitan_, the Editors of _The Smart Set_, The Editor of _The +Midland_, Boni & Liveright, Inc., George H. Doran Co., B.W. Huebsch, +Doubleday, Page & Co., Sherwood Anderson, Konrad Bercovici, Maxwell +Struthers Burt, Irvin S. Cobb, Lincoln Colcord, Charles J. Finger, Waldo +Frank, Katharine Fullerton Gerould, Ellen Glasgow, Susan Glaspell, +Richard Matthews Hallet, Frances Noyes Hart, Fannie Hurst, Manuel +Komroff, Frank Luther Mott, Vincent O'Sullivan, Wilbur Daniel Steele, +Harriet Maxon Thayer, Charles Hanson Towne, and Mary Heaton Vorse. + +Acknowledgments are specially due to _The Boston Evening Transcript_ for +permission to reprint the large body of material previously published in +its pages. + + +I shall be grateful to my readers for corrections, and particularly for +suggestions leading to the wider usefulness of this annual volume. In +particular, I shall welcome the receipt, from authors, editors, and +publishers, of stories printed during the period between October, 1921 +and September, 1922 inclusive, which have qualities of distinction and +yet are not printed in periodicals falling under my regular notice. Such +communications may be addressed to me at _Forest Hill, Oxfordshire, +England_. + +E.J.O. + + + + +CONTENTS[1] + + + PAGE + +INTRODUCTION. By the Editor. xii + +BROTHERS. By Sherwood Anderson. 3 + (From _The Bookman_) + +FANUTZA. By Konrad Bercovici. 13 + (From _The Dial_) + +EXPERIMENT. By Maxwell Struthers Burt. 28 + (From _The Pictorial Review_) + +DARKNESS. By Irvin S. Cobb. 52 + (From _The Saturday Evening Post_) + +AN INSTRUMENT OF THE GODS. By Lincoln Colcord. 82 + (From _The American Magazine_) + +THE LIZARD GOD. By Charles J. Finger. 109 + (From _All's Well_) + +UNDER THE DOME. By Waldo Frank. 130 + (From _The Dial_) + +FRENCH EVA. By Katharine Fullerton Gerould. 142 + (From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +THE PAST. By Ellen Glasgow. 168 + (From _Good Housekeeping_) + +HIS SMILE. By Susan Glaspell. 194 + (From _The Pictorial Review_) + +THE HARBOR MASTER. By Richard Matthews Hallet. 207 + (From _Harper's Magazine_) + +GREEN GARDENS. By Frances Noyes Hart. 240 + (From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. By Fannie Hurst. 253 + (From _The Cosmopolitan_) + +THE LITTLE MASTER OF THE SKY. By Manuel Komroff. 288 + (From _The Dial_) + +THE MAN WITH THE GOOD FACE. By Frank Luther Mott. 300 + (From _The Midland_) + +MASTER OF FALLEN YEARS. By Vincent O'Sullivan. 321 + (From _The Smart Set_) + +THE SHAME DANCE. By Wilbur Daniel Steele. 337 + (From _Harper's Magazine_) + +KINDRED. By Harriet Maxon Thayer. 362 + (From _The Midland_) + +SHELBY. By Charles Hanson Towne. 386 + (From _The Smart Set_) + +THE WALLOW OF THE SEA. By Mary Heaton Vorse. 401 + (From _Harper's Magazine_) + +THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY, +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 419 + + Addresses of American and English Magazines + Publishing Short Stories. 421 + + The Biographical Roll of Honor of American Short Stories. 424 + + The Roll of Honor of Foreign Short Stories + in American Magazines. 428 + + The Best Books of Short Stories: A Critical Summary. 430 + + Volumes of Short Stories Published in the United + States: An Index. 437 + + Volumes of Short Stories Published in England and + Ireland Only. 440 + + Volumes of Short Stories Published in France. 442 + + Articles on the Short Story: An Index. 443 + + Index of Short Stories in Books. 457 + + I. American Authors. 458 + + II. English and Irish Authors. 461 + + III. Translations. 463 + + Magazine Averages. 466 + + Index of Short Stories Published in American Magazines. 469 + + I. American Authors. 471 + + II. English and Irish Authors. 500 + + III. Translations. 505 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +I was talking the other day to Alfred Coppard, who has steered more +successfully than most English story writers away from the Scylla and +Charybdis of the modern artist. He told me that he had been reading +several new novels and volumes of short stories by contemporary American +writers with that awakened interest in the civilization we are framing +which is so noticeable among English writers during the past three +years. He asked me a remarkable question, and the answer which I gave +him suggested certain contrasts which seemed to me of basic importance +for us all. He said: "I have been reading books by Sherwood Anderson, +Waldo Frank and Ben Hecht and Konrad Bercovici and Joseph Hergesheimer, +and I can see that they are important books, but I feel that the +essential point to which all this newly awakened literary consciousness +is tending has somehow subtly eluded me. American and English writers +both use the same language, and so do Scotch and Irish writers, but I am +not puzzled when I read Scotch and Irish books as I am when I read these +new American books. Why is it?" + +I had to think for a moment, and then the obvious answer occurred to me. +I told him that I thought the reason for his moderate bewilderment was +due to the fact that the Englishman or the Scotchman or the Irishman +living at home was writing out of a background of racial memory and +established tradition which was very much all of one piece, and that all +such an artist's unspoken implications and subtleties could be easily +taken for granted by his readers, and more or less thoroughly +understood, because they were elements in harmony with a tolerably fixed +and ordered world. + +I added that this was more or less true of the American writer up to a +date roughly coinciding with that of the Chicago World's Fair in 1892. +During the thirty years more or less which have elapsed since that date, +there has been an ever widening seething maelstrom of cross currents +thrusting into more and more powerful conflict from year to year the +contributory elements brought to a new potential American culture by the +dynamic creative energies, physical and spiritual, of many races. + +My suggestion to Mr. Coppard was that gradually the Anglo-Saxon, to take +the most readily understandable instance, was beginning to absorb large +tracts of many other racial fields of memory, and to share the +experience of Scandinavian and Russian and German and Italian, of Polish +and Irish and African and Asian members of the body politic, and that +all these widening tracts of remembered racial experience interacting +upon one another under the tremendous pressure of our nervous, keen, and +eager industrial civilization had set up a new chaos in many creative +minds. I said that Mr. Anderson and the others, half consciously and +half unconsciously, were trying to create worlds out of each separate +chaos, living dangerously, as Nietzsche advised, and fusing their +conceptions at a certain calculated temperature in artistic crucibles of +their own devising. + +Mr. Coppard said that he quite saw that, but added that the particular +meaning in each case more or less escaped him. And then I ventured to +suggest that these meanings were more important for Americans at the +present stage than for Europeans, because American minds would grasp +readily at suggestions that harmonized with their own spiritual pasts, +and seize instinctive relations and congruities which had previously +escaped them in their experience, and so begin to formulate from these +books new intuitive laws. I suggested, moreover, that from the point of +view of the great artist these books were all more or less magnificent +failures which were creating, little by little, out of the shock of +conflict an ultimate harmony, out of which the great book for which we +are all waiting in America might come ten years from now, or five years, +or even tomorrow. + +To this he replied that he felt I had supplied the clue which had +baffled him, and asked me if I did not discover a chaos of a different +sort in English life and literature since the armistice. I agreed that I +did discover such a chaos, but that it seemed to me a chaos which was an +end rather than a beginning, a chaos in which the Tower of Babel had +fallen, and men had come to babble with more and more complete +dissociation of ideas, or else, on the other hand, were clinging +desperately to such literary and social traditions as had been left, +while their work froze into a new Augustanism comparable to that of the +early years of the eighteenth century. + +Next year, in conjunction with John Cournos, I shall begin in a parallel +series of volumes with the present series, to present my annual study of +the English case. Meanwhile, for the present, I deal once more with that +American chaos in which I have unbounded and ultimate faith. From now on +I should like to take as my motto almost the last paragraph written by +Walt Whitman before he died: "The Highest said: Don't let us begin so +low--isn't our range too coarse--too gross?--The Soul answer'd: No, not +when we consider what it is all for--the end involved in Time and +Space." Or, as the old Dutch flour-miller put it more briefly: "I never +bother myself what road the folks come--I only want good wheat and rye." + +To repeat what I have said in these pages in previous years, for the +benefit of the reader as yet unacquainted with my standards and +principles of selection, I shall point out that I have set myself the +task of disengaging the essential human qualities in our contemporary +fiction which, when chronicled conscientiously by our literary artists, +may fairly be called a criticism of life. I am not at all interested in +formulæ, and organized criticism at its best would be nothing more than +dead criticism, as all dogmatic interpretation of life is always dead. +What has interested me, to the exclusion of other things, is the fresh, +living current which flows through the best American work, and the +psychological and imaginative reality which American writers have +conferred upon it. + +No substance is of importance in fiction, unless it is organic +substance, that is to say, substance in which the pulse of life is +beating. Inorganic fiction has been our curse in the past, and bids fair +to remain so, unless we exercise much greater artistic discrimination +than we display at present. + +The present record covers the period from October 1920, to September +1921, inclusive. During this period, I have sought to select from the +stories published in American magazines those which have rendered life +imaginatively in organic substance and artistic form. Substance is +something achieved by the artist in every act of creation, rather than +something already present, and accordingly a fact or group of facts in a +story only attain substantial embodiment when the artist's power of +compelling imaginative persuasion transforms them into a living truth. +The first test of a short story, therefore, in any qualitative analysis +is to report upon how vitally compelling the writer makes his selected +facts or incidents. This test may be conveniently called the test of +substance. + +But a second test is necessary if the story is to take rank above other +stories. The true artist will seek to shape this living substance into +the most beautiful and satisfying form, by skilful selection and +arrangement of his materials, and by the most direct and appealing +presentation of it in portrayal and characterization. + +The short stories which I have examined in this study, as in previous +years, have fallen naturally into four groups. The first consists of +those stories which fail, in my opinion, to survive either the test of +substance or the test of form. These stories are listed in the year book +without comment or a qualifying asterisk. The second group consists of +those stories which may fairly claim that they survive either the test +of substance or the test of form. Each of these stories may claim to +possess either distinction of technique alone, or more frequently, I am +glad to say, a persuasive sense of life in them to which a reader +responds with some part of his own experience. Stories included in this +group are indicated in the yearbook index by a single asterisk prefixed +to the title. + +The third group, which is composed of stories of still greater +distinction, includes such narratives as may lay convincing claim to a +second reading, because each of them has survived both tests, the test +of substance and the test of form. Stories included in this group are +indicated in the yearbook index by two asterisks prefixed to the title. + +Finally, I have recorded the names of a small group of stories which +possess, I believe, the even finer distinction of uniting genuine +substance and artistic form in a closely woven pattern with such +sincerity that these stories may fairly claim a position in American +literature. If all of these stories by American authors were +republished, they would not occupy more space than five novels of +average length. My selection of them does not imply the critical belief +that they are great stories. A year which produced one great story would +be an exceptional one. It is simply to be taken as meaning that I have +found the equivalent of five volumes worthy of republication among all +the stories published during the period under consideration. These +stories are indicated in the yearbook index by three asterisks prefixed +to the title, and are listed in the special "Roll of Honor." In +compiling these lists I have permitted no personal preference or +prejudice to consciously influence my judgment. To the titles of certain +stories, however, in the "Rolls of Honor," an asterisk is prefixed, and +this asterisk, I must confess, reveals in some measure a personal +preference, for which, perhaps, I may be indulged. It is from this final +short list that the stories reprinted in this volume have been selected. + +It has been a point of honor with me not to republish a story by an +English author or by any foreign author. I have also made it a rule not +to include more than one story by an individual author in the volume. +The general and particular results of my study will be found explained +and carefully detailed in the supplementary part of the volume. + +In past years it has been my pleasure and honor to dedicate the best +that I have found in the American magazines as the fruit of my labors to +the American artist who, in my opinion, has made the finest imaginative +contribution to the short story during the period considered. I take +pleasure in recalling the names of Benjamin Rosenblatt, Richard Matthews +Hallet, Wilbur Daniel Steele, Arthur Johnson, Anzia Yezierska, and +Sherwood Anderson. In my opinion Sherwood Anderson has made this year +once more the most permanent contribution to the American short story, +but as last year's book is associated with his name, I am happy to +dedicate this year's offering to a new and distinguished English artist, +A.E. Coppard, to whom the future offers in my opinion a rich harvest of +achievement. + +EDWARD J. O'BRIEN. + +Forest Hill, Oxon, England, +November 23, 1921 + + + + +THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1921 + + + + +Note.--The order in which the stories in this volume are printed is not +intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors. + + + + +BROTHERS[2] + +By SHERWOOD ANDERSON + +(From _The Bookman_) + + +I am at my house in the country and it is late October. It rains. Back +of my house is a forest and in front there is a road and beyond that +open fields. The country is one of low hills, flattening suddenly into +plains. Some twenty miles away, across the flat country, lies the huge +city, Chicago. + +On this rainy day the leaves of the trees that line the road before my +window are falling like rain, the yellow, red, and golden leaves fall +straight down heavily. The rain beats them brutally down. They are +denied a last golden flash across the sky. In October leaves should be +carried away, out over the plains, in a wind. They should go dancing +away. + +Yesterday morning I arose at daybreak and went for a walk. There was a +heavy fog and I lost myself in it. I went down into the plains and +returned to the hills and everywhere the fog was as a wall before me. +Out of it trees sprang suddenly, grotesquely, as in a city street late +at night people come suddenly out of the darkness into the circle of +light under a street lamp. Above there was the light of day forcing +itself slowly into the fog. The fog moved slowly. The tops of trees +moved slowly. Under the trees the fog was dense, purple. It was like +smoke lying in the streets of a factory town. + +An old man came up to me in the fog. I know him well. The people here +call him insane. "He is a little cracked," they say. He lives alone in a +little house buried deep in the forest and has a small dog he carries +always in his arms. On many mornings I have met him walking on the road +and he has told me of men and women who were his brothers and sisters, +his cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers-in-law. The notion has possession +of him. He cannot draw close to people near at hand so he gets hold of a +name out of a newspaper and his mind plays with it. One morning he told +me he was a cousin to the man named Cox who at the time when I write is +a candidate for the presidency. On another morning he told me that +Caruso the singer had married a woman who was his sister-in-law. "She is +my wife's sister," he said, holding the little dog closely. His gray +watery eyes looked appealingly up to me. He wanted me to believe. "My +wife was a sweet slim girl," he declared. "We lived together in a big +house and in the morning walked about arm in arm. Now her sister has +married Caruso the singer. He is of my family now." As some one had told +me the old man had never been married I went away wondering. + +One morning in early September I came upon him sitting under a tree +beside a path near his house. The dog barked at me and then ran and +crept into his arms. At that time the Chicago newspapers were filled +with the story of a millionaire who had got into trouble with his wife +because of an intimacy with an actress. The old man told me the actress +was his sister. He is sixty years old and the actress whose story +appeared in the newspapers is twenty, but he spoke of their childhood +together. "You would not realize it to see us now but we were poor +then," he said. "It's true. We lived in a little house on the side of a +hill. Once when there was a storm the wind nearly swept our house away. +How the wind blew. Our father was a carpenter and he built strong houses +for other people but our own house he did not build very strongly." He +shook his head sorrowfully. "My sister the actress has got into trouble. +Our house is not built very strongly," he said as I went away along the +path. + +For a month, two months, the Chicago newspapers, that are delivered +every morning in our village, have been filled with the story of a +murder. A man there has murdered his wife and there seems no reason for +the deed. The tale runs something like this-- + +The man, who is now on trial in the courts and will no doubt be hanged, +worked in a bicycle factory where he was a foreman, and lived with his +wife and his wife's mother in an apartment in Thirty-Second Street. He +loved a girl who worked in the office of the factory where he was +employed. She came from a town in Iowa and when she first came to the +city lived with her aunt who has since died. To the foreman, a heavy +stolid-looking man with gray eyes, she seemed the most beautiful woman +in the world. Her desk was by a window at an angle of the factory, a +sort of wing of the building, and the foreman, down in the shop, had a +desk by another window. He sat at his desk making out sheets containing +the record of the work done by each man in his department. When he +looked up he could see the girl sitting at work at her desk. The notion +got into his head that she was peculiarly lovely. He did not think of +trying to draw close to her or of winning her love. He looked at her as +one might look at a star or across a country of low hills in October +when the leaves of the trees are all red and yellow gold. "She is a +pure, virginal thing," he thought vaguely. "What can she be thinking +about as she sits there by the window at work?" + +In fancy the foreman took the girl from Iowa home with him to his +apartment in Thirty-Second Street and into the presence of his wife and +his mother-in-law. All day in the shop and during the evening at home he +carried her figure about with him in his mind. As he stood by a window +in his apartment and looked out toward the Illinois Central railroad +tracks and beyond the tracks to the lake, the girl was there beside him. +Down below women walked in the street and in every woman he saw there +was something of the Iowa girl. One woman walked as she did, another +made a gesture with her hand that reminded of her. All the women he saw +except only his wife and his mother-in-law were like the girl he had +taken inside himself. + +The two women in his own house puzzled and confused him. They became +suddenly unlovely and commonplace. His wife in particular was like some +strange unlovely growth that had attached itself to his body. + +In the evening after the day at the factory he went home to his own +place and had dinner. He had always been a silent man and when he did +not talk no one minded. After dinner he, with his wife, went to a +picture show. When they came home his wife's mother sat under an +electric light reading. There were two children and his wife expected +another. They came into the apartment and sat down. The climb up two +flights of stairs had wearied his wife. She sat in a chair beside her +mother groaning with weariness. + +The mother-in-law was the soul of goodness. She took the place of a +servant in the home and got no pay. When her daughter wanted to go to a +picture show she waved her hand and smiled. "Go on," she said. "I don't +want to go. I'd rather sit here." She got a book and sat reading. The +little boy of nine awoke and cried. He wanted to sit on the po-po. The +mother-in-law attended to that. + +After the man and his wife came home the three people sat in silence for +an hour or two before bedtime. The man pretended to read a newspaper. He +looked at his hands. Although he had washed them carefully grease from +the bicycle frames left dark stains under the nails. He thought of the +Iowa girl and of her white quick hands playing over the keys of a +typewriter. He felt dirty and uncomfortable. + +The girl at the factory knew the foreman had fallen in love with her and +the thought excited her a little. Since her aunt's death she had gone to +live in a rooming house and had nothing to do in the evening. Although +the foreman meant nothing to her she could in a way use him. To her he +became a symbol. Sometimes he came into the office and stood for a +moment by the door. His large hands were covered with black grease. She +looked at him without seeing. In his place in her imagination stood a +tall slender young man. Of the foreman she saw only the gray eyes that +began to burn with a strange fire. The eyes expressed eagerness, a +humble and devout eagerness. In the presence of a man with such eyes she +felt she need not be afraid. + +She wanted a lover who would come to her with such a look in his eyes. +Occasionally, perhaps once in two weeks, she stayed a little late at the +office, pretending to have work that must be finished. Through the +window she could see the foreman, waiting. When every one had gone she +closed her desk and went into the street. At the same moment the foreman +came out at the factory door. + +They walked together along the street, a half-dozen blocks, to where she +got aboard her car. The factory was in a place called South Chicago and +as they went along evening was coming on. The streets were lined with +small unpainted frame houses and dirty-faced children ran screaming in +the dusty roadway. They crossed over a bridge. Two abandoned coal barges +lay rotting in the stream. + +He went along by her side walking heavily, striving to conceal his +hands. He had scrubbed them carefully before leaving the factory but +they seemed to him like heavy dirty pieces of waste matter hanging at +his side. Their walking together happened but a few times and during one +summer. "It's hot," he said. He never spoke to her of anything but the +weather. "It's hot," he said; "I think it may rain." + +She dreamed of the lover who would some time come, a tall fair young +man, a rich man owning houses and lands. The workingman who walked +beside her had nothing to do with her conception of love. She walked +with him, stayed at the office until the others had gone to walk +unobserved with him, because of his eyes, because of the eager thing in +his eyes that was at the same time humble, that bowed down to her. In +his presence there was no danger, could be no danger. He would never +attempt to approach too closely, to touch her with his hands. She was +safe with him. + +In his apartment in the evening the man sat under the electric light +with his wife and his mother-in-law. In the next room his two children +were asleep. In a short time his wife would have another child. He had +been with her to a picture show and presently they would get into bed +together. + +He would lie awake thinking, would hear the creaking of the springs of a +bed from where, in another room, his mother-in-law was crawling under +the sheets. Life was too intimate. He would lie awake eager, +expectant--expecting what? + +Nothing. Presently one of the children would cry. It wanted to get out +of bed and sit on the po-po. Nothing strange or unusual or lovely would +or could happen. Life was too close, intimate. Nothing that could happen +in the apartment could in any way stir him. The things his wife might +say, her occasional half-hearted outbursts of passion, the goodness of +his stout mother-in-law who did the work of a servant without pay-- + +He sat in the apartment under the electric light pretending to read a +newspaper--thinking. He looked at his hands. They were large, shapeless, +a workingman's hands. + +The figure of the girl from Iowa walked about the room. With her he went +out of the apartment and walked in silence through miles of streets. It +was not necessary to say words. He walked with her by a sea, along the +crest of a mountain. The night was clear and silent and the stars shone. +She also was a star. It was not necessary to say words. + +Her eyes were like stars and her lips were like soft hills rising out of +dim, star-lit plains. "She is unattainable, she is far off like the +stars," he thought. "She is unattainable like the stars but unlike the +stars she breathes, she lives, like myself she has being." + +One evening, some six weeks ago, the man who worked as foreman in the +bicycle factory killed his wife and he is now in the courts being tried +for murder. Every day the newspapers are filled with the story. On the +evening of the murder he had taken his wife as usual to a picture show +and they started home at nine. In Thirty-Second Street, at a corner near +their apartment building, the figure of a man darted suddenly out of an +alleyway and then darted back again. That incident may have put the +idea of killing his wife into the man's head. + +They got to the entrance to the apartment building and stepped into a +dark hallway. Then quite suddenly and apparently without thought the man +took a knife out of his pocket. "Suppose that man who darted into the +alleyway had intended to kill us," he thought. Opening the knife he +whirled about and struck his wife. He struck twice, a dozen +times--madly. There was a scream and his wife's body fell. + +The janitor had neglected to light the gas in the lower hallway. +Afterward, the foreman decided that was the reason he did it, that and +the fact that the dark slinking figure of a man darted out of an +alleyway and then darted back again. "Surely," he told himself, "I could +never have done it had the gas been lighted." + +He stood in the hallway thinking. His wife was dead and with her had +died her unborn child. There was a sound of doors opening in the +apartments above. For several minutes nothing happened. His wife and her +unborn child were dead--that was all. + +He ran upstairs thinking quickly. In the darkness on the lower stairway +he had put the knife back into his pocket and, as it turned out later, +there was no blood on his hands or on his clothes. The knife he later +washed carefully in the bathroom, when the excitement had died down a +little. He told everyone the same story. "There has been a holdup," he +explained. "A man came slinking out of an alleyway and followed me and +my wife home. He followed us into the hallway of the building and there +was no light." The janitor had neglected to light the gas. Well there +had been a struggle and in the darkness his wife had been killed. He +could not tell how it had happened. "There was no light. The janitor had +neglected to light the gas," he kept saying. + +For a day or two they did not question him specially and he had time to +get rid of the knife. He took a long walk and threw it away into the +river in South Chicago where the two abandoned coal barges lay rotting +under the bridge, the bridge he had crossed when on the summer evenings +he walked to the street car with the girl who was virginal and pure, who +was far off and unattainable, like a star and yet not like a star. + +And then he was arrested and right away he confessed--told everything. +He said he did not know why he had killed his wife and was careful to +say nothing of the girl at the office. The newspapers tried to discover +the motive for the crime. They are still trying. Some one had seen him +on the few evenings when he walked with the girl and she was dragged +into the affair and had her picture printed in the paper. That has been +annoying for her, as of course she has been able to prove she had +nothing to do with the man. + + * * * * * + +Yesterday morning a heavy fog lay over our village here at the edge of +the city and I went for a long walk in the early morning. As I returned +out of the lowlands into our hill country I met the old man whose family +has so many and such strange ramifications. For a time he walked beside +me holding the little dog in his arms. It was cold and the dog whined +and shivered. In the fog the old man's face was indistinct. It moved +slowly back and forth with the fog banks of the upper air and with the +tops of trees. He spoke of the man who has killed his wife and whose +name is being shouted in the pages of the city newspapers that come to +our village each morning. As he walked beside me he launched into a long +tale concerning a life he and his brother, who had now become a +murderer, had once lived together. "He is my brother," he said over and +over, shaking his head. He seemed afraid I would not believe. There was +a fact that must be established. "We were boys together, that man and +I," he began again. "You see we played together in a barn back of our +father's house. Our father went away to sea in a ship. That is the way +our names became confused. You understand that. We have different names +but we are brothers. We had the same father. We played together in a +barn back of our father's house. All day we lay together in the hay in +the barn and it was warm there." + +In the fog the slender body of the old man became like a little gnarled +tree. Then it became a thing suspended in air. It swung back and forth +like a body hanging on the gallows. The face beseeched me to believe the +story the lips were trying to tell. In my mind everything concerning the +relationship of men and women became confused, a muddle. The spirit of +the man who had killed his wife came into the body of the little old man +there by the roadside. It was striving to tell me the story it would +never be able to tell in the courtroom in the city, in the presence of +the judge. The whole story of mankind's loneliness, of the effort to +reach out to unattainable beauty tried to get itself expressed from the +lips of a mumbling old man, crazed with loneliness, who stood by the +side of a country road on a foggy morning holding a little dog in his +arms. + +The arms of the old man held the dog so closely that it began to whine +with pain. A sort of convulsion shook his body. The soul seemed striving +to wrench itself out of the body, to fly away through the fog down +across the plain to the city, to the singer, the politician, the +millionaire, the murderer, to its brothers, cousins, sisters, down in +the city. The intensity of the old man's desire was terrible and in +sympathy my body began to tremble. His arms tightened about the body of +the little dog so that it screamed with pain. I stepped forward and tore +the arms away and the dog fell to the ground and lay whining. No doubt +it had been injured. Perhaps ribs had been crushed. The old man stared +at the dog lying at his feet as in the hallway of the apartment building +the worker from the bicycle factory had stared at his dead wife. "We are +brothers," he said again. "We have different names but we are brothers. +Our father you understand went off to sea." + + * * * * * + +I am sitting in my house in the country and it rains. Before my eyes the +hills fall suddenly away and there are the flat plains and beyond the +plains the city. An hour ago the old man of the house in the forest went +past my door and the little dog was not with him. It may be that as we +talked in the fog he crushed the life out of his companion. It may be +that the dog like the workman's wife and her unborn child is now dead. +The leaves of the trees that line the road before my window are falling +like rain--the yellow, red, and golden leaves fall straight down, +heavily. The rain beats them brutally down. They are denied a last +golden flash across the sky. In October leaves should be carried away, +out over the plains, in a wind. They should go dancing away. + + + + +FANUTZA[3] + +By KONRAD BERCOVICI + +(From _The Dial_) + + +Light and soft, as though the wind were blowing the dust off the silver +clouds that floated overhead, the first snow was falling over the barren +lands stretching between the Danube and the Black Sea. A lowland wind, +which had already hardened and tightened the marshes, was blowing the +snow skywards. The fine silvery dust, caught between the two air +currents, danced lustily, blown hither and thither until it took hold of +folds and rifts in the frozen land and began to form rugged white ridges +that stretched in soft silvery curves to meet other growing mountains of +snow. The lowland wind, at first a mere breeze playfully teasing the +north wind, like a child that kicks the bed-sheets before falling +asleep, increased its force and swiftness, and scattered huge mountains +of snow, but the steadily rising drone of the north wind soon mastered +the situation. Like silver grain strewn by an unseen hand the snow fell +obliquely in steady streams over the land. A great calm followed. The +long Dobrudgean winter had started. In the dim steady light, in the wake +of the great calm, travelling towards the Danube from the Black Sea, the +"marea Neagra," four gipsy wagons, each drawn by four small horses, +appeared on the frozen plains. The caravan was brought to a standstill +within sight of the slowly moving river. The canvas-covered wagons +ranged themselves, broadwise, in a straight line with the wind. Between +the wagons enough space was allowed to stable the horses. Then, when +that part of the business had been done, a dozen men, in furs from head +to toe, quickly threw a canvas that roofed the temporary quarters of the +animals and gave an additional overhead protection from the snow and +wind to the dwellers of the wheeled homes. + +While the unharnessing and quartering of the horses and the stretching +of the canvas roof proceeded, a number of youngsters jumped down from +the wagons, yelling and screaming with all the power of their lusty +lungs. They threw snowballs at one another as they ran, some in search +of firewood and others, with wooden pails dangling from ends of curved +sticks over the left shoulder, in search of water for the horses and for +the cooking pots of their mothers. + +Soon afterwards, from little crooked black chimneys that pointed +downwards over the roofs of the wagons, thick black smoke told that the +fires were already started. The youngsters came back; those with the +full water pails marching erectly with legs well apart; the ones with +bundles of firewood strapped to their shoulders leaning forward on +knotted sticks so as not to fall under the heavy burden. + +When everything had been done, Marcu, the tall gray-bearded chief, +inspected the work. A few of the ropes needed tightening. He did it +himself, shaking his head in disapproval of the way in which it had been +done. Then he listened carefully to the blowing of the wind and measured +its velocity and intensity. He called to his men. When they had +surrounded him, he spoke a few words. With shovels and axes they set +energetically to work at his direction, packing a wall of snow and wood +from the ground up over the axles of the wheels all around the wagons so +as to give greater solidity to the whole and to prevent the cold wind +from blowing underneath. + +By the time the early night settled over the marshes, the camp was quiet +and dark. Even the dogs had curled up near the tired horses and had gone +to sleep. + +Early the following morning the whole thing could not be distinguished +from one of the hundreds of mountains of snow that had formed over +night. After the horses had been fed and watered, Marcu, accompanied by +his daughter, Fanutza, left the camp and went riverward, in search of +the hut of the Tartar whose flat-bottomed boat was moored on the shore. +Marcu knew every inch of the ground. He had camped there with his tribe +twenty winters in succession. He sometimes arrived before, and at other +times after, the first snow of the year. But every time he had gone to +Mehmet Ali's hut and asked the Tartar to row him across the Danube, on +the old Roumanian side, to buy there fodder for the horses and the men; +enough to last until after the river was frozen tight and could be +crossed securely with horses and wagon. He had always come alone to +Mehmet's hut, therefore, the Tartar, after greeting Marcu and offering +to do what his friend desired, inquired why the girl was beside the old +chief. + +"But this is my daughter, Fanutza, Mehmet Ali," Marcu informed. + +"Who, Fanutza? She who was born here fourteen winters ago on the plains +here?" + +"The same, the same, my friend," Marcu answered as he smilingly +appraised his daughter. + +Mehmet Ali looked at the girl in frank astonishment at her size and full +development; then he said as he took the oars from the corner of the +hut: "And I, who thought that my friend had taken a new wife to himself! +Allah, Allah! How fast these youngsters grow! And why do you take her +along to the Giaour side, to the heathen side, of the river, friend?" he +continued talking as he put heavy boots on his feet and measured Fanutza +with his eyes as he spoke. + +"For everything there is only one right time, say I, Marcu," the chief +explained, in measured solemn voice. "And so now is the time for my +daughter to get married. I have chosen her a husband from amongst the +sons of my men, a husband who will become the chief when I am no longer +here to come to your hut at the beginning of every winter. She shall +marry him in the spring. I now go with her to the bazaars to buy silks +and linens which the women of my tribe will fashion into new clothes for +both. And may Allah be good to them." + +"_Allah il Allah_," Mehmet assured Marcu. "And who is he whom you have +chosen from amongst your men?" + +"I am old, Mehmet, I would otherwise have chosen a younger man for my +daughter; but because I fear that this or the following winter will be +the last one, I have chosen Stan, whose orphaned daughter is Fanutza's +own age. He is good and true and strong. Young men never make careful +chiefs." + +"That be right and wise," remarked Mehmet, who was by that time ready +for the trip. During the whole conversation the young gipsy girl had +been looking to her father when he spoke and sidewise when Mehmet +answered. + +At fourteen Fanutza was a full-grown woman. Her hair, braided in +tresses, was hanging from underneath a black fur cap she wore well over +her forehead. Her eyes were large and brown, the long eyebrows were coal +black. Her nose was straight and thin and the mouth full and red. Withal +she was of a somewhat lighter hue than her father or the rest of the +gipsy tribe. Yet there was something of a darker grain than the grain in +her people that lurked beneath her skin. And she was light on her feet. +Even trudging in the deep snow, she seemed more to float, to skim on +top, than to walk. + +Unconcerned she had listened to the conversation that had gone on +between her father and the Tartar in the hut of the boatman. She had +hardly been interested in the whole affair, yet, when Mehmet Ali +mentioned casually as soon as he was outdoors that he knew a man who +would pay twenty pieces of gold for such a wife as Fanutza was, she +became interested in the conversation. + +"I sell horses only," Marcu answered quietly. + +"Yet my friend and others from his tribe have bought wives. Remember +that beautiful Circassian girl?" the Tartar continued without raising or +lowering his voice. + +"Yes, Mehmet, we buy wives but we don't sell them." + +"Which is not fair," Mehmet reflected aloud still in the same voice. + +By that time they had reached the river shore. Mehmet, after rolling +together the oil cloth that had covered the boat, helped the gipsy chief +and his daughter to the stern. With one strong push of the oar on the +shore rock, the Tartar slid his boat a hundred feet towards the middle +of the stream. Then he seated himself, face towards his passengers, and +rowed steadily without saying a single word. The gipsy chief lit his +short pipe and looked over his friend's head, trying to distinguish the +other shore from behind the curtain of falling snow. The boat glided +slowly over the thickening waters of the Danube. A heavy snowstorm, the +heaviest of the year, lashed the river. When Mehmet had finally moored +his boat to the Roumanian side of the Danube, he turned around to the +gipsy chief and said: + +"Be back before sundown. It shall be my last crossing of the year. For +when the sun rises the waters will be frozen still. The gale blows from +the land of the Russians." + +"As you tell me, friend," answered Marcu while helping his daughter out +of the boat. + +When the two had gone a short distance Fanutza turned her head. Mehmet +Ali was leaning on an oar and looking after them. A little later, a +hundred paces further, she caught fragments of a Tartar song that +reached her ears in spite of the shrill noises of the wind. + +Marcu and his daughter entered the inn that stood a few hundred feet +from the shore. The innkeeper, an old fat greasy Greek, Chiria +Anastasidis, welcomed the gipsy chief. Not knowing the relationship +between the old man and the girl, he feared to antagonize his customer +by talking to the young woman. He pushed a white pine table near the big +stove in the middle of the room and after putting two empty glasses on +the table he inquired "White or red?" + +"Red wine, Chiria. It warms quicker. I am getting old." + +"Old!" exclaimed the Greek as he brought a small pitcher of wine. "Old! +Why, Marcu, you are as young as you were twenty years ago." + +"This is my daughter, Fanutza, Chiria, and not my wife." + +"A fine daughter you have. Your daughter, eh?" + +"Yes, and she is about to marry, too." + +After they had clinked glasses and wished one another health and long +years the innkeeper inquired: + +"All your men healthy?" + +"All. Only one-eyed Jancu died. You remember him. He was well along in +years." + +"_Bogdaproste._ Let not a younger man than he was die," answered +Anastasidis as he crossed himself. + +After Marcu had declared himself warmed back to life by the fine wine he +inquired of Anastasidis the price of oats and straw and hay. The +innkeeper's store and his warehouse contained everything from a needle +to an oxcart. The shelves were full of dry goods, socks, shirts, silks, +belts, fur caps, coats, and trousers. Overhead, hanging from the +ceiling, were heavy leather boots, shoes, saddles, harness of all kinds, +fishers' nets, and even a red painted sleigh that swung on heavy chains. +In one corner of the store blankets were piled high, while all over the +floor were bags of dry beans and peas and corn and oats. At the door +were bales of straw and hay, and outside, already half covered with +snow, iron ploughs hobnobbed with small anchors, harrows, and bundles of +scythes that leaned on the wall. + +"Oats you wanted? Oats are very high this year, Marcu." + +And the bargaining began. Fanutza sat listlessly on her chair and looked +through the window. A few minutes later, the two men called one another +thief and swindler and a hundred other names. Yet each time the bargain +was concluded on a certain article they shook hands and repeated that +they were the best friends on earth. + +"Now that we have finished with the oats, Chiria, let's hear your price +for corn? What? Three francs a hundred kilo? No. I call off the bargain +on the oats. You are the biggest thief this side of the Danube." + +"And you, you lowborn Tzigane, are the cheapest swindler on earth." + +Quarrelling and shaking hands alternately and drinking wine Marcu and +the Greek went on for hours. The gipsy chief had already bought all the +food for his men and horses and a few extra blankets and had ordered it +all carted to the moored boat where Mehmet Ali was waiting, when +Fanutza reminded her father of the silks and linen he wanted to buy. + +"I have not forgotten, daughter, I have not forgotten." Fanutza +approached the counter behind which the Greek stood ready to serve his +customers. + +"Show us some silks," she asked. + +He emptied a whole shelf on the counter. + +The old gipsy stood aside watching his daughter as she fingered the +different pieces of coloured silk, which the shopkeeper praised as he +himself touched the goods with thumb and forefinger in keen appreciation +of the quality he offered. After she had selected all the colours she +wanted and picked out the linen and neckerchiefs and ear-rings and tried +on a pair of beautiful patent leather boots that reached over the knees +and had stripes of red leather sewed on with yellow silk on the soft +vamps, Fanutza declared that she had chosen everything she wanted. The +bargaining between the Greek and the gipsy was about to start anew when +Marcu looked outdoors thoughtfully, stroked his beard and said to the +innkeeper: + +"Put away the things my daughter has selected. I shall come again, +alone, to bargain for them." + +"If my friend fears he has not enough money--" suavely intervened +Anastasidis, as he placed a friendly hand on the gipsy's arm. + +"When Marcu has no money he does not ask his women to select silk," +haughtily interrupted the gipsy. "It will be as I said it will be. I +come alone in a day if the river has frozen. In a day or a week. I come +alone." + +"Shall I, then, not take all these beautiful things along with me, now?" +asked Fanutza in a plaintive yet reproachful tone. "There is Marcia who +waits to see them. I have selected the same silk _basma_ for her. Have +you not promised me, even this morning--?" + +"A woman must learn to keep her mouth shut," shouted Marcu as he angrily +stamped his right foot on the floor. He looked at his daughter as he had +never looked at her before. Only a few hours ago she was his little +girl, a child! He was marrying her off so soon to Stan, although it was +the customary age for gipsies, against his desire, but because of his +will to see her in good hands and to give to Stan the succession to the +leadership of his tribe. + +Only a few hours ago! What had brought about the change? Was it in him +or in her? That cursed Tartar, Mehmet Ali, with his silly offer of +twenty gold pieces! He, he had done it. Marcu looked again at his +daughter. Her eyelids trembled nervously and there was a little +repressed twitch about her mouth. She returned his glance at first, but +lowered her eyes under her father's steady gaze. "Already a shameless +creature," thought the old gipsy. But he could not bear to think that +way about his little daughter, about his Fanutza. He also feared that +she could feel his thoughts. He was ashamed of what passed through his +mind. Rapidly enough in self-defense he turned against her the sharp +edge of the argument. Why had she given him all those ugly thoughts? + +"It will be as I said, Anastasidis. In a day or a week. When the river +has frozen, I come alone. And now, Fanutza, we go. Night is coming close +behind us. Come, you shall have all your silks." + +The Greek accompanied them to the door. The cart that had brought the +merchandise to the boat of the waiting Mehmet was returning. + +"The water is thickening," the driver greeted the gipsy and his +daughter. + +They found Mehmet Ali seated in the boat expecting his passengers. + +"Have you bought everything you intended?" the Tartar inquired as he +slid the oars into the hoops. + +"Everything," Marcu answered as he watched his daughter from the corner +of an eye. + +Vigorously Mehmet Ali rowed till well out into the wide river without +saying another word. His manner was so detached that the gipsy chief +thought the Tartar had already forgotten what had passed between them in +the morning. Sure enough. Why! He was an old man, Mehmet Ali. It was +possible he had been commissioned by some Dobrudgean Tartar chief to buy +him a wife. He had been refused and now he was no longer thinking about +her. He will look somewhere else, where his offer might not be scorned. +That offer of Mehmet had upset him. He had never thought of Fanutza +other than as a child. Of course he was marrying her to Stan--but it was +more like giving her a second father! + +Suddenly the old gipsy looked at the Tartar who had lifted his oars from +the water and brought the boat to an abrupt standstill. Mehmet Ali laid +the paddles across the width of the boat and looking steadily into the +eyes of Marcu, he said: + +"As I said this morning, Marcu, it is not fair that you should buy wives +from us when you like our women and not sell us yours when we like +them." + +"It is as it is," countered the gipsy savagely. + +"But it is not fair," argued Mehmet, slyly watching every movement of +his old friend. + +"If Mehmet is tired my arms are strong enough to help if he wishes," +remarked Marcu. + +"No, I am not tired, but I should like my friend to know that I think it +is not fair." + +There was a long silence during which the boat was carried downstream +although it was kept in the middle of the river by skilful little +movements of the boatman. + +Fanutza looked at the Tartar. He was about the same age as Stan was. +Only he was stronger, taller, broader, swifter. When he chanced to look +at her his small bead-like eyes bored through her like gimlets. No man +had ever looked at her that way. Stan's eyes were much like her own +father's eyes. The Tartar's face was much darker than her own. His nose +was flat and his upper lip curled too much noseward and the lower one +chinward, and his bulletlike head rose from between the shoulders. There +was no neck. No, he was not beautiful to look at. But he was so +different from Stan! So different from any of the other men she had seen +every day since she was born. Why! Stan--Stan was like her father. They +were all like him in her tribe! + +"And, as I said," Mehmet continued after a while, "as I said, it is not +fair. My friend must see that. It is not fair. So I offer you twenty +gold pieces for the girl. Is it a bargain?" + +"She is not for sale," yelled Marcu, understanding too well the meaning +of the oars out of the water. + +"No?" wondered Mehmet, "not for twenty pieces of gold? Well, then I +shall offer five more. Sure twenty-five is more than any of your people +ever paid to us for a wife. It would shame my ancestors were I to offer +more for a gipsy girl than they ever received for one of our women." + +"She is not for sale," roared the gipsy at the top of his voice. + +By that time the Tartar knew that Marcu was not armed. He knew the chief +too well not to know that a knife or a pistol would have been the answer +to his second offer and the implied insult to the race of gipsies. + +Twenty-five gold pieces! thought Fanutza. Twenty-five gold pieces +offered for her by a Tartar at a second bid. She knew what that meant. +She had been raised in the noise of continual bargaining between Tartars +and gipsies and Greeks. It meant much less than a quarter of the +ultimate sum the Tartar was willing to pay. Would Stan ever have offered +that for her? No, surely not. She looked at the Tartar and felt the +passion that radiated from him. How lukewarm Stan was! And here was a +man. Stopped the boat midstream and bargained for her, fought to possess +her. Endangered his life for her. For it was a dangerous thing to do +what he did and facing her father. Yet--she will have to marry Stan +because her father bids it. + +"I don't mean to offend you," the boatman spoke again, "but you are very +slow in deciding whether you accept my bargain or not. Night is closing +upon us." + +Marcu did not answer immediately. The boat was carried downstream very +rapidly. They were at least two miles too far down by now. Mehmet looked +at Fanutza and found such lively interest in her eyes that he was +encouraged to offer another five gold pieces for her. + +It was a proud moment for the girl. So men were willing to pay so much +for her! But her heart almost sank when her father pulled out his purse +from his pocket and said: + +"Mehmet Ali, who is my best friend, has been so good to me these twenty +years that I have thought to give him twenty gold pieces that he might +buy himself a wife to keep his hut warm during the long winter. What say +he to my friendship?" + +"That is wonderful! Only now, he is not concerned about that, but about +the fairness of his friend who does not want to sell wives to the men +whose women he buys. I offer five more gold pieces which makes +thirty-five in all. And I do that not for Marcu but for his daughter +that she may know that I will not harm her and will for ever keep her +well fed and buy her silks and jewels." + +"Silks!" It occurred to the gipsy chief to look at his daughter at that +moment. She turned her head away from his and looked at the Tartar, from +under her brows. How had he known? + +"A bargain is a bargain only when two men agree on something, says the +Koran," the gipsy chief reminded the Tartar boatman. "I don't want to +sell her." + +"So we will travel downstream for a while," answered Mehmet Ali and +crossed his arms. + +After a while the gipsy chief who had reckoned that they must be fully +five miles away from his home across the water made a new offer. + +"A woman, Mehmet Ali, is a woman. They are all alike after you have +known them. So I offer you thirty-five pieces of gold with which you can +buy for yourself any other woman you please whenever you want." + +Fanutza looked at the Tartar. Though it was getting dark she could see +the play of every muscle of his face. Hardly had her father finished +making his offer, when Mehmet, after one look at the girl, said: + +"I offer fifty gold pieces for the girl. Is it a bargain?" + +Fanutza's eyes met the eyes of her father. She looked at him +entreatingly, "Don't give in to the Tartar," her eyes spoke clearly, and +Marcu refused the offer. + +"I offer you fifty instead that you buy yourself another woman than my +daughter." + +"No," answered the Tartar, "but I offer sixty for this one, here." + +Quick as a flash Fanutza changed the encouraging glance she had thrown +to the passionate man to a pleading look towards her father. "Poor, poor +girl!" thought Marcu. "How she fears to lose me! How she fears I might +accept the money and sell her to the Tartar!" + +"A hundred gold pieces to row us across," he yelled, for the night was +closing in upon them and the boat was being carried swiftly downstream. +There was danger ahead of them. Marcu knew it. + +"A hundred gold pieces is a great sum," mused Mehmet, "a great sum! It +has taken twenty years of my life to save such a sum--yet, instead of +accepting your offer, I will give you the same sum for the woman I +want." + +"Fool, a woman is only a woman. They are all alike," roared the gipsy. + +"Not to me!" answered Mehmet Ali quietly. "I shall not say another +word." + +"Fool, fool, fool," roared the gipsy as he still tried to catch +Fanutza's eye. It was already too dark. + +"Not to me." The Tartar's words echoed in the girl's heart. "Not to me." +Twenty years he had worked to save such a great sum. And now he refused +an equal amount and was willing to pay it all for her. Would Stan have +done that? Would anybody else have done that? Why should she be +compelled to marry whom her father chose when men were willing to pay a +hundred gold pieces for her? The old women of the camp had taught her to +cook and to mend and to wash and to weave. She must know all that to be +worthy of Stan, they had told her. And here was a man who did not know +whether she knew any of these things who staked his life for her and +offered a hundred gold pieces in the bargain! Twenty years of savings. +Twenty years of work. It was not every day one met such a man. Surely, +with one strong push of his arms he could throw her father overboard. He +did not do it because he did not want to hurt her feelings. And as the +silence continued Fanutza thought her father, too, was a fine man. It +was fine of him to offer a hundred gold pieces for her liberty. That +was in itself a great thing. But did he do it only for her sake or +wasn't it because of Stan, because of himself? And as she thought again +of Mehmet's "Not to me," she remembered the fierce bitterness in her +father's voice when he had yelled, "All women are alike." That was not +true. If it were true why would Mehmet Ali want her and her only after +having seen her only once? Then, too, all men must be alike! It was not +so at all! Why! Mehmet Ali was not at all like Stan. And he offered a +hundred pieces of gold. No. Stan was of the kind who think all women are +alike. That was it. All her people were thinking all women were alike. +That was it. Surely all the men in the tribe were alike in that. All her +father had ever been to her, his kindness, his love was wiped away when +he said those few words. The last few words of Mehmet Ali, "Not to me," +were the sweetest music she had ever heard. + +Marcu waited until it was dark enough for the Tartar not to see, when +pressing significantly his daughter's foot, he said: + +"So be it as you said. Row us across." + +"It is not one minute too soon," Mehmet answered. "Only a short distance +from here, where the river splits in three forks, is a great rock. Shake +hands. Here. Now here is one oar. Pull as I count, _Bir, icki, outch, +dort_. Again, _Bir, icki, outch, dort_. Lift your oar. Pull again. +Two counts only. _Bir, icki._ So, now we row nearer to the shore. See +that light there? Row towards it. Good. Marcu, your arm is still strong +and steady and you can drive a good bargain." + +Again and again the gipsy pressed the foot of his daughter as he bent +over the oar. She should know of course that he never intended to keep +his end of the bargain. He gave in only when he saw that the Tartar +meant to wreck them all on the rocks ahead of them. Why had he, old and +experienced as he was, having dealt with those devils of Tartars for so +many years, not known better than to return to the boat after he had +heard Mehmet say, "It is not fair!" And after he had reflected on the +Tartar's words, why, after he had refused to buy all the silks and +linen on that reflection, not a very clear one at first, why had he not +told Mehmet to row across alone and deliver the fodder and food. He +could have passed the night in Anastasidis' inn and hired another boat +the following morning if the river had not frozen meanwhile! He should +have known, he who knew these passionate beasts so well. It was all the +same with them; whether they set their eyes on a horse that captured +their fancy or a woman. They were willing to kill or be killed in the +fight for what they wanted. A hundred gold pieces for a woman! Twenty +years' work for a woman! + +The two men rowed in silence, each one planning how to outwit the other +and each one knowing that the other was planning likewise. According to +Tartar ethics the bargain was a bargain. When the boat had been pulled +out of danger Mehmet hastened to fulfil his end. With one jerk he +loosened a heavy belt underneath his coat and pulled out a leather purse +which he threw to Marcu. As he did so he met Fanutza's proud eye. + +"Here. Count it. Just one hundred." + +"That's good enough," the gipsy chief answered as he put the purse in +his pocket without even looking at it. "Row, I am cold. I am anxious to +be home." + +"It will not be before daylight, chief," remarked Mehmet Ali as he bent +again over his oars and counted aloud, "_Bir, icki, Bir, icki_." +An hour later, Fanutza had fallen asleep on the bags of fodder and was +covered by the heavy fur coat of the Tartar. The two men rowed the whole +night upstream against the current in the slushy heavy waters of the +Danube. A hundred times floating pieces of ice had bent back the flat of +the oar Marcu was handling, and every time Mehmet had saved it from +breaking by a deft stroke of his own oar or by some other similar +movement. He was a waterman and knew the ways of the water as well as +Marcu himself knew the murky roads of the marshes. The gipsy could not +help but admire the powerful quick movements of the Tartar--yet--to be +forced into selling his daughter--that was another thing. + +At daylight they were within sight of Mehmet's hut on the shore. The +storm had abated. Standing up on the bags of fodder Marcu saw the black +smoke that rose from his camp. His people must be waiting on the shore. +They were a dozen men. Mehmet was one alone. He will unload the goods +first; then, when his men will be near enough, he will tell Fanutza to +run towards them. Let Mehmet come to take her if he dare! + +A violent jerk woke the gipsy girl from her sleep. She looked at the two +men but said nothing. When the boat was moored, the whole tribe of +gipsies, who had already mourned their chief yet hoped against hope and +watched the length of the shore, surrounded the two men and the woman. +There was a noisy welcome. While some of the men helped unload the boat +a boy came running with a sleigh cart. + +When all the bags were loaded on the sleigh Marcu threw the heavy purse +Mehmet had given him to the Tartar's feet and grabbed the arm of his +Fanutza. + +"Here is your money, Mehmet. I take my daughter." + +But before he knew what had happened, Fanutza shook off his grip and +picking up the purse she threw it at her father, saying: + +"Take it. Give it to Stan that he should buy with the gold another +woman. To him all women are alike. But not to Mehmet Ali. So I shall +stay with him. A bargain is a bargain. He staked his life for me." + +Marcu knew it was the end. "All women are alike," he whined to Stan as +he handed him the purse. "Take it. All women are alike," he repeated +with bitterness as he made a savage movement towards his daughter. + +"All, save the ones with blood of Chans in their veins," said Mehmet Ali +who had put himself between the girl and the whole of her tribe. And the +Tartar's words served as a reminder to Marcu that Fanutza's own mother +had been the daughter of a Tartar chief and a white woman. + + + + +EXPERIMENT[4] + +By MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT + +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + + +When she had reached that point of detachment where she could regard the +matter more or less objectively, Mrs. Ennis, recalling memories of an +interrupted but lifelong friendship, realized that Burnaby's behavior, +outrageous or justifiable or whatever you choose to call it, at all +events aberrational, was exactly what might have been expected of him, +given an occasion when his instincts for liking or disliking had been +sufficiently aroused. Moreover, there was about him always, she +remembered, this additional exceptional quality: the rare and fortunate +knowledge that socially he was independent; was not, that is, subject to +retaliation. He led too roving a life to be moved by the threat of +unpopularity; a grandfather had bequeathed him a small but unshakable +inheritance. + +As much, therefore, as any one can be in this world he was a free agent; +and the assurance of this makes a man very brave for either kindness or +unkindness, and, of course, extremely dangerous for either good or evil. +You will see, after a while, what I am driving at. Meanwhile, without +further comment, we can come directly to Mrs. Ennis, where she sat in +her drawing room, and to the night on which the incident occurred. + +Mrs. Ennis, small and blond, and in a white evening gown of satin and +silver sequins that made her look like a lovely and fashionable mermaid, +sat in her drawing room and stretched her feet out to the flames of a +gentle woodfire. It was seven o'clock of a late April night, and +through an open window to her left came, from the little park beyond the +house, a faint breeze that stirred lazily the curtains and brought to +the jonquils, scattered about in numerous metal and crystal bowls, word +of their brothers in the dusk without. The room was quiet, save for the +hissing of the logs; remote, delicately lighted, filled with the subtle +odor of books and flowers; reminiscent of the suave personalities of +those who frequented it. On the diminutive piano in one corner, a large +silver frame, holding the photograph of a man in French uniform, caught +here and there on its surface high lights from the shaded wall-lamp +above. In the shelter of white bookcases, the backs of volumes in red +and tawny and brown gave the effect of tapestry cunningly woven. Mrs. +Ennis stared at the logs and smiled. + +It was an odd smile, reflective, yet anticipatory; amused, +absent-minded, barely disturbing the lines of her beautifully modeled +red lips. Had any of Mrs. Ennis's enemies, and they were not few in +number, seen it, they would have surmised mischief afoot; had any of her +friends, and there were even more of these than enemies, been present, +they would have been on the alert for events of interest. It all +depended, you see, upon whether you considered a taste for amateur +psychology, indulged in, a wickedness or not. Mrs. Ennis herself would +not have given her favorite amusement so stately a name; she was aware +merely that she found herself possessed of a great curiosity concerning +people, particularly those of forcible and widely different +characteristics, and that she liked, whenever possible, to gather them +together, and then see what would happen. Usually something did--happen, +that is. + +With the innocence of a child playing with fire-crackers (and it wasn't +altogether innocent, either), in her rôle of the god in the machine she +had been responsible for many things; several comedies, perhaps a +tragedy or two. Ordinarily her parties were dull enough; complacent +Washington parties; diplomats, long-haired Senators from the West, +short-bearded Senators from the East, sleek young men and women, all of +whom sat about discussing grave nonsense concerning a country with which +they had utterly lost touch, if ever they had had any; but every now and +then, out of the incalculable shufflings of fate, appeared a combination +that seemed to offer more excitement. Tonight such a combination was at +hand. Mrs. Ennis was contented, in the manner of a blithe and beautiful +spider. + +Burnaby, undoubtedly, was the principal source of this contentment, for +he was a young man--he wasn't really young, but you always thought of +him as young--of infinite potentialities; Burnaby, just back from some +esoteric work in Roumania, whither he had gone after the War, and in +Washington for the night and greatly pleased to accept an invitation for +dinner; but essential as he was, Burnaby was only part of the tableau +arranged. To meet him, Mrs. Ennis had asked her best, for the time +being, friend, Mimi de Rochefort--Mary was her right name--and Mimi de +Rochefort's best, for the time being, friend, Robert Pollen. Nowadays +Pollen came when Madame de Rochefort came; one expected his presence. He +had been a habit in this respect for over six months; in fact, almost +from the time Madame de Rochefort (she was so young that to call her +Madame seemed absurdly quaint), married these five years to a Frenchman, +had set foot once more upon her native land. + +In the meeting of Pollen and Burnaby and Mary Rochefort, Mrs. Ennis +foresaw contingencies; just what these contingencies were likely to be +she did not know, but that an excellent chance for them existed she had +no doubt, even if in the end they proved to be no more than the humor to +be extracted from the reflection that a supposedly rational divinity had +spent his time creating three people so utterly unalike. + +The gilt clock on the mantelpiece chimed half-past seven. The jonquils +on the piano shone in the polished mahogany like yellow water-lilies in +a pool. Into the silence of the room penetrated, on noiseless feet, a +fresh-colored man servant. Despite such days as the present, Mrs. Ennis +had a way, irritating to her acquaintances, of obtaining faithful +attendance. Even servants seemed to be glad to wait upon her. Her +husband, dead these six years, had been unfailingly precise in all +matters save the one of drink. + +"Mr. Burnaby!" announced the man servant. + +Burnaby strode close on his heels. Mrs. Ennis had arisen and was +standing with her back to the fireplace. She had the impression that a +current of air followed the entrance of the two men. She remembered now +that she had always felt that way with Burnaby; she had always felt as +if he were bringing news of pine forests and big empty countries she had +never seen but could dimly imagine. It was very exciting. + +Burnaby paused and looked about the room doubtfully, then he chuckled +and came forward. "I haven't seen anything like this for three years," +he said. "Roumanian palaces are furnished in the very latest bad taste." + +He took Mrs. Ennis's outstretched hand and peered down at her with +narrowed eyelids. She received the further impression, an impression she +had almost forgotten in the intervening years, of height and leanness, +of dark eyes, and dark, crisp hair; a vibrant impression; something like +a chord of music struck sharply. Unconsciously she let her hand rest in +his for a moment, then she drew it away hastily. He was smiling and +talking to her. + +"Rhoda! You ought to begin to look a bit older! You're thirty-six, if +you're a day! How do you do it? You look like a wise and rather naughty +little girl." + +"Hush!" said Mrs. Ennis. "I wear my hair parted on one side like a +debutante to give me a head-start on all the knowing and subtle and +wicked people I have to put up with. While they are trying to break the +ice with an ingenue, I'm sizing them up." + +Burnaby laughed. "Well, I'm not subtle," he said. He sank down into a +big chair across the fireplace from her. "I'm only awfully glad to be +back; and I'm good and simple and amenable, and willing to do nearly +anything any good American tells me to do. I love Americans." + +"You won't for very long," Mrs. Ennis assured him dryly. "Particularly +if you stay in Washington more than a day." She was wondering how even +for a moment she had been able to forget Burnaby's vividness. + +"No," laughed Burnaby, "I suppose not. But while the mood is on me, +don't disillusion me." + +Mrs. Ennis looked across at him with a smile. "You'll meet two very +attractive people tonight, anyway," she said. + +"Oh, yes!" He leaned forward. "I had forgotten--who are they?" + +Mrs. Ennis spread her arms out along the chair. "There's Mary +Rochefort," she answered, "and there's Robert Pollen, who's supposed to +be the most alluring man alive." + +"Is it doing him any good?" + +"Well--" Mrs. Ennis looked up with a laugh. + +"You don't like him? Or perhaps you do?" + +Mrs. Ennis knit her brows in thought, her blue eyes dark with +conjecture. "I don't know," she said at length. "Sometimes I think I do, +and sometimes I think I don't. He's very good-looking in a tall, blond, +pliable way, and he can be very amusing when he wants to be. I don't +know." + +"Why not?" + +Mrs. Ennis wrinkled her nose in the manner of one who is being pushed to +explanation. + +"I am not so sure," she confided, "that I admire professional +philanderers as much as I did. Although, so long as they leave me +alone--" + +"Oh, he's that, is he?" + +Mrs. Ennis corrected herself hastily. "Oh, no," she protested. "I +shouldn't talk that way, should I? Now you'll have an initial prejudice, +and that isn't fair--only--" she hesitated "I rather wish he would +confine his talents to his own equals and not conjure young married +women at their most vulnerable period." + +"Which is?" + +"Just when," said Mrs. Ennis, "they're not sure whether they want to +fall in love again with their own husbands or not." Then she stopped +abruptly. She was surprised that she had told Burnaby these things; +even more surprised at the growing incisiveness of her voice. She was +not accustomed to taking the amatory excursions of her friends too much +to heart; she had a theory that it was none of her business, that +perhaps some day she might want charity herself. But now she found +herself perceptibly indignant. She wondered if it wasn't Burnaby's +presence that was making her so. Sitting across from her, he made her +think of directness and dependability and other traits she was +accustomed to refer to as "primitive virtues." She liked his black, +heavily ribbed evening stockings. Somehow they were like him. It made +her angry with herself and with Burnaby that she should feel this way; +be so moved by "primitive virtues." She detested puritanism greatly, and +righteously, but so much so that she frequently mistook the most +innocent fastidiousness for an unforgivable rigidity. "If they once do," +she concluded, "once do fall in love with their husbands again, they're +safe, you know, for all time." + +She looked up and drew in her breath sharply. Burnaby was sitting +forward in his chair, staring at her with the curious, far-sighted stare +she remembered was characteristic of him when his interest was suddenly +and thoroughly aroused. It was as if he were looking through the person +to whom he was talking to some horizon beyond. It was a trifle uncanny, +unless you were accustomed to the trick. + +"What's the matter?" she asked. She had the feeling that back of her +some one she could not see was standing. + +Burnaby smiled. "Nothing," he said. He sank back into his chair. "That's +an odd name--the name of this alluring fellow of yours, isn't it? What +did you say it was--Pollen?" + +"Yes. Robert Pollen. Why, do you know him?" + +"No." Burnaby shook his head. He leaned over and lit a cigarette. "You +don't mind, do you?" he asked. He raised his eyes. "So he's conjuring +this Madame de Rochefort, is he?" he concluded. + +Mrs. Ennis flushed. "I never said anything of the kind!" she protested. +"It's none of our business, anyway." + +Burnaby smiled calmly. "I quite agree with you," he said. "I imagine +that a Frenchwoman, married for a while, is much better able to conduct +her life in this respect than even the most experienced of us." + +"She isn't French," said Mrs. Ennis; "she's American. And she's only +been married five years. She's just a child--twenty-six." + +"Oh!" ejaculated Burnaby. "One of those hard-faced children! I +understand--Newport, Palm Beach, cocktails--" + +His voice was cut across by Mrs. Ennis's indignant retort. "You don't in +the least!" she said. "She's not one of those hard-faced children; she's +lovely--and I've come to the conclusion that she's pathetic. I'm +beginning to rather hate this man Pollen. Back of it all are subtleties +of personality difficult to fathom. You should know Blais Rochefort. I +imagine a woman going about things the wrong way could break her heart +on him like waves on a crystal rock. I think it has been a question of +fire meeting crystal, and, when it finds that the crystal is difficult +to warm, turning back upon itself. I said waves, didn't I? Well, I don't +care if my metaphors are mixed. It's tragic, anyhow. And the principal +tragedy is that Blais Rochefort isn't really cold--at least, I don't +think he would be if properly approached--he is merely beautifully lucid +and intelligent and exacting in a way no American understands, least of +all a petted girl who has no family and who is very rich. He expects, +you see, an equal lucidity from his wife. He's not to be won over by the +fumbling and rather selfish and pretty little tricks that are all most +of us know. But Mary, I think, would have learned if she had only held +on. Now, I'm afraid, she's losing heart. Hard-faced child!" Mrs. Ennis +grew indignant again. "Be careful my friend; even you might find her +dangerously pathetic." + +Burnaby's eyes were placidly amused. "Thanks," he observed. "You've told +me all I wanted to know." + +Mrs. Ennis waved toward the piano. "There's Blais Rochefort's +photograph," she retorted in tones of good-humored exasperation. "Go +over and look at it." + +"I will." + +Burnaby's black shoulders, bent above the photograph, were for a moment +the object of a pensive regard. Mrs. Ennis sighed. "Your presence makes +me puritanical," she observed. "I have always felt that the best way for +any one to get over Pollens was to go through with them and forget +them." + +Burnaby spoke without turning his head. + +"He's good-looking." + +"Very." + +"A real man." + +"Decidedly! Very brave and very cultivated." + +"He waxes his mustache." + +"Yes, even brave men do that occasionally." + +"I should think," said Burnaby thoughtfully, putting the photograph +down, "that he might be worth a woman's hanging on to." + +Mrs. Ennis got up, crossed over to the piano, and leaned an elbow upon +it, resting her cheek in the palm of her upturned hand and smiling at +Burnaby. + +"Don't let's be so serious," she said. "What business is it of ours?" +She turned her head away and began to play with the petals of a near-by +jonquil. "Spring is a restless time, isn't it?" + +It seemed to her that the most curious little silence followed this +speech of hers, and yet she knew that in actual time it was nothing, and +felt that it existed probably only in her own heart. She heard the clock +on the mantelpiece across the room ticking; far off, the rattle of a +taxicab. The air coming through the open window bore the damp, stirring +smell of early grass. + +"Madame De Rochefort and Mr. Pollen!" announced a voice. + +Mrs. Ennis had once said that her young friend, Mimi de Rochefort, +responded to night more brilliantly than almost any other woman she +knew. The description was apt. Possibly by day there was a pallor too +lifeless, a nose a trifle too short and arrogant, lips, possibly, too +full; but by night these discrepancies blended into something very near +perfection, and back of them as well was a delicate illumination as of +lanterns hung in trees beneath stars; an illumination due to youth, and +to very large dark eyes, and to dark, soft hair and red lips. Nor with +this beauty went any of the coolness or abrupt languor with which the +modern young hide their eagerness. + +Mary Rochefort was quite simple beneath her habitual reserve; frank and +appealing and even humorous at times, as if startled out of her usual +mood of reflective quiet by some bit of wit, slowly apprehended, too +good to be overlooked. Mrs. Ennis watched with a sidelong glance the +effect of her entrance upon Burnaby. Madame de Rochefort! How absurd! To +call this white, tall, slim child madame! She admired rather enviously +the gown of shimmering dark blue, the impeccability of adolescence. Over +the girl's white shoulder, too much displayed, Pollen peered at Burnaby +with the vague, hostile smile of the guest not yet introduced to a guest +of similar sex. + +"Late as usual!" he announced. "Mimi kept me!" His manner was subtly +domestic. + +"You're really on the stroke of the clock," said Mrs. Ennis. "Madame de +Rochefort--Mr. Burnaby--Mr. Pollen." She laughed abruptly, as if a +thought had just occurred to her. "Mr. Burnaby," she explained to the +girl, "is the last surviving specimen of the American male--he has all +the ancient national virtues. Preserved, I suppose, because he spends +most of his time in Alaska, or wherever it is. I particularly wanted you +to meet him." + +Burnaby flushed and laughed uncertainly. "I object--" he began. + +The fresh-colored man servant entered with a tray of cocktails. Madame +de Rochefort exclaimed delightedly. "I'm so glad," she said. "Nowadays +one fatigues oneself before dinner by wondering whether there will be +anything to drink or not. How absurd!" The careful choice of words, the +precision of the young, worldly voice were in amusing contrast to the +youthfulness of appearance. Standing before the fireplace in her blue +gown, she resembled a tapering lily growing from the indigo shadows of a +noon orchard. + +"Rhoda'll have cocktails when there aren't any more left in the +country," said Pollen. "Trust Rhoda!" + +Mary Rochefort laughed. "I always do," she said, "with reservations." +She turned to Burnaby. "Where are you just back from?" she asked. "I +understand you are always just back from some place, or on the verge of +going." + +"Usually on the verge," answered Burnaby. He looked at her deliberately, +a smile in his dark eyes; then he looked at Pollen. + +"Where were you--the War?" + +"Yes--by way of Roumania in the end." + +"The War!" Mary Rochefort's lips became petulant. One noticed for the +first time the possibility of considerable petulance back of the shining +self-control. "How sick of it I grew--all of us living over there! I'd +like to sleep for a thousand years in a field filled with daffodils." + +"They've plenty scattered about this room," observed Pollen. "Why don't +you start now?" + +The fresh-colored man servant announced dinner. "Shall we go down?" +said Mrs. Ennis. + +They left the little drawing-room, with its jonquils and warm shadows, +and went along a short hall, and then down three steps and across a +landing to the dining-room beyond. It, like the drawing-room, was small, +white-paneled to the ceiling, with a few rich prints of Constable +landscapes on the walls, and velvet-dark sideboards and tables that +caught the light of the candles. In the center was a table of snowy +drapery and silver and red roses. + +Mrs. Ennis sank into her chair and looked about her with content. She +loved small dinners beautifully thought out, and even more she loved +them when, as on this night, they were composed of people who interested +her. She stole a glance at Burnaby. How clean and brown and alert he +was! The white table-cloth accentuated his look of fitness and muscular +control. What an amusing contrast he presented to the rather languid, +gesturing Pollen, who sat opposite him! And yet Pollen was considerable +of a man in his own way; very conquering in the affairs of life; +immensely clever in his profession of architecture. Famous, Mrs. Ennis +had heard. + +But Mrs. Ennis, despite her feminine approval of success, couldn't +imagine herself being as much interested in him--dangerously +interested--as she knew her friend Mary Rochefort to be. How odd! From +all the world to pick out a tall, blond, willowy man like Pollen! On the +verge of middle age, too! Perhaps it was this very willowiness, this +apparent placidity that made him attractive. This child, Mary Rochefort, +quite alone in the world, largely untrained, adrift, imperiously +demanding from an imperious husband something to which she had not as +yet found the key, might very naturally gravitate toward any one +presenting Pollen's appearance of security; his attitude of complacence +in the face of feminine authority. But was he complacent? Mrs. Ennis had +her doubts. He was very vain; underneath his urbanity there might be an +elastic hardness. + +There were, moreover, at times indications of a rather contemptuous +attitude toward a world less highly trained than himself. She turned to +Pollen, trying to recollect what for the last few moments he had been +saying to her. He perceived her more scrutinizing attention and faced +toward her. From under lowered eyelids he had been watching, with a +moody furtiveness, Mary Rochefort and Burnaby, who were oblivious to the +other two in the manner of people who are glad they have met. + +Mrs. Ennis found herself annoyed, her sense of good manners shocked. She +had not suspected that Pollen could be guilty of such clumsiness; she +questioned if matters had reached a point where such an attitude on his +part would be justifiable under any circumstances. At all events, her +doubts concerning his complacency had been answered. It occurred to Mrs. +Ennis that her dinner-party was composed of more inflammable material, +presented more dramatic possibilities, than even she had divined. She +embraced Pollen with her smile. + +"What have you been doing with yourself?" she asked. + +He lifted long eyebrows and smiled faintly. + +"Working very hard," he said. + +"Building behemoths for billionaires?" + +"Yes." + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"Rather drearily going about." + +She surveyed him with wicked innocence. + +"Why don't you fall in love?" she suggested. + +His expression remained unmoved. "It is so difficult," he retorted, "to +find the proper subject. A man of my experience frightens the +inexperienced: the experienced frighten me." + +"You mean--?" + +"That I have reached the age where the innocence no longer possible to +me seems the only thing worth while." + +Mrs. Ennis wrinkled her nose daintily. "Nonsense!" she observed, and +helped herself to the dish the servant was holding out to her. "What you +have said," she resumed, "is the last word of the sentimentalist. If I +thought you really meant it, I would know at once that you were very +cold and very cruel and rather silly." + +"Thanks!" + +"Oh, I'm talking more or less abstractly." + +"Well, possibly I am all of those things." + +"But you want me to be personal?" + +Pollen laughed. "Of course! Doesn't everybody want _you_ to be +personal?" + +For an instant Mrs. Ennis looked again at Burnaby and Mary Rochefort, +and a slightly rueful smile stirred in her eyes. It was amusing that +she, who detested large dinners and adored general conversation, should +at the moment be so engrossed in preventing the very type of +conversation she preferred. She returned to Pollen. What a horrid man he +really was! Unangled and amorphous, and underneath, cold! He had a way +of framing the woman to whom he was talking and then stepping back out +of the picture. One felt like a model in all manner of dress and +undress. She laughed softly. "Don't," she begged, "be so mysterious +about yourself! Tell me--" she held him with eyes of ingratiating +sapphire--"I've always been interested in finding out just what you +are, anyway." + +Far back in Pollen's own eyes of golden brown a little spark slowly +burst into flame. It was exactly as if a gnome had lighted a lantern at +the back of an unknown cave. Mrs. Ennis inwardly shuddered, but +outwardly was gay. + +How interminably men talked when once they were launched upon that +favorite topic, themselves! Pollen showed every indication of reaching a +point of intellectual intoxication where his voice would become +antiphonal. His objective self was taking turns in standing off and +admiring his subjective self. Mrs. Ennis wondered at her own kindness of +heart. Why did she permit herself to suffer so for her friends; in the +present instance, a friend who would probably--rather the contrary--by +no means thank her for her pains? She wanted to talk to Burnaby. She was +missing most of his visit. She wanted to talk to Burnaby so greatly that +the thought made her cheeks burn faintly. She began to hate Pollen. Mary +Rochefort's cool, young voice broke the spell. + +"You told me," she said accusingly, "that this man--this Mr. Burnaby, +has all the primitive virtues; he is the wickedest man I have ever met." + +"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Ennis. + +"The very wickedest!" + +Pollen's mouth twisted under his mustache. "I wouldn't have suspected +it," he observed, surveying Burnaby with ironic amusement. There was +just a hint of hidden condescension in his voice. + +Burnaby's eyes drifted past him with a look of quiet speculation in +their depths, before he smiled at Mrs. Ennis. + +"Roumania has changed you," she exclaimed. + +He chuckled. "Not in the least! I was simply trying to prove to Madame +de Rochefort that hot-bloodedness, coolly conceived, is the only +possible road to success. Like most innately moral people, she believes +just the opposite--in cool-bloodedness, hotly conceived." + +"I moral?" said Mary Rochefort, as if the thought had not occurred to +her before. + +"Why, of course," said Burnaby. "It's a question of attitude, not of +actual performance. The most moral man I ever knew was a habitual +drunkard. His life was spent between debauch and disgust. Not, of +course, that I am implying that with you--" + +"Tell us what you meant in the first place," commanded Mrs. Ennis. + +"Something," said Burnaby slowly, "totally un-American--in short, +whole-heartedness." He clasped his sinewy, brown hands on the +table-cloth. "I mean," he continued, "if, after due thought--never +forget the due thought--you believe it to be the best thing to do to +elope with another man's wife, elope; only don't look back. In the same +way, if you decide to become, after much question, an ironmonger, be an +ironmonger. Love passionately what you've chosen. In other words, life's +like fox-hunting; choose your line, choose it slowly and carefully, then +follow it 'hell-for-leather.' + +"You see, the trouble with Americans is that they are the greatest +wanters of cake after they've eaten it the world has ever seen. Our +blood isn't half as mixed as our point of view. We want to be good and +we want to be bad; we want to be a dozen utterly incompatible things all +at the same time. Of course, all human beings are that way, but other +human beings make their choices and then try to eradicate the +incompatibilities. The only whole-hearted people we possess are our +business men, and even they, once they succeed, usually spoil the +picture by astounding open scandals with chorus-girls." + +Mrs. Ennis shook her head with amused bewilderment. "Do you mean," she +asked, "that a man or woman can have only one thing in his or her life?" + +"Only one very outwardly important thing--publicly," retorted Burnaby. +"You may be a very great banker with a very great background as a +husband, but you can't be a very great banker and at the same time what +is known as a 'very great lover.' In Europe, where they arrange their +lives better, one chooses either banking or 'loving'." He smiled with +frank good humor at Pollen; the first time, Mrs. Ennis reflected, he had +done so that night. A suspicion that Burnaby was not altogether +ingenuous crossed her mind. But why wasn't he? + +"You're a man, Pollen," he said; "tell them it's true." + +Pollen, absorbed apparently in thoughts of his own stammered slightly. +"Why--why, yes," he agreed hastily. + +Mrs. Ennis sighed ruefully and looked at Burnaby with large, humorously +reproachful eyes. "You have changed," she observed, "or else you're not +saying but half of what you really think--and part of it you don't think +at all." + +"Oh, yes," laughed Burnaby, "you misunderstand me." He picked up a fork +and tapped the table-cloth with it thoughtfully; then he raised his +head. "I was thinking of a story I might tell you," he said, "but on +second thoughts I don't think I will." + +"Don't be foolish!" admonished Mrs. Ennis. "Your stories are always +interesting. First finish your dessert." + +Pollen smiled languidly. "Yes," he commented, "go on. It's interesting, +decidedly. I thought people had given up this sort of conversation long +ago." + +For the third time Burnaby turned slowly toward him, only now his eyes, +instead of resting upon the bland countenance for a fraction of a +second, surveyed it lingeringly with the detached, absent-minded stare +Mrs. Ennis remembered so well. "Perhaps I will tell it, after all," he +said, in the manner of a man who has definitely changed his mind. "Would +you like to hear it?" he asked, turning to Mary Rochefort. + +"Certainly!" she laughed. "Is it very immoral?" + +"Extremely," vouchsafed Burnaby, "from the accepted point of view." + +"Tell it in the other room," suggested Mrs. Ennis. "We'll sit before the +fire and tell ghost stories." + +There was a trace of grimness in Burnaby's answering smile. "Curiously +enough, it is a ghost story," he said. + +They had arisen to their feet; above the candles their heads and +shoulders were indistinct. For a moment Mrs. Ennis hesitated and looked +at Burnaby with a new bewilderment in her eyes. + +"If it's very immoral," interposed Pollen, "I'm certain to like it." + +Burnaby bowed to him with a curious old-fashioned courtesy. "I am sure," +he observed, "it will interest you immensely." + +Mrs. Ennis suddenly stared through the soft obscurity. "Good gracious," +she said to herself, "what is he up to?" + +In the little drawing room to which they returned, the jonquils seemed +to have received fresh vigor from their hour of loneliness; their +shining gold possessed the shadows. Mary Rochefort paused by the open +window and peered into the perfumed night. "How ridiculously young the +world gets every spring!" she said. + +Mrs. Ennis arranged herself before the fire. "Now," she said to Burnaby, +"you sit directly opposite. And you"--she indicated Pollen--"sit here. +And Mimi, you there. So!" She nodded to Burnaby. "Begin!" + +He laughed deprecatingly. "You make it portentous," he objected. "It +isn't much of a story; it's--it's really only a parable." + +"It's going to be a moral story, after all," interjected Mrs. Ennis +triumphantly. + +Burnaby chuckled and puffed at his cigarette. "Well," he said finally, +"it's about a fellow named Mackintosh." + +Pollen, drowsily smoking a cigar, suddenly stirred uneasily. + +"Who?" he asked, leaning forward. + +"Mackintosh--James Mackintosh! What are you looking for? An ash-tray? +Here's one." Burnaby passed it over. + +"Thanks!" said Pollen, relaxing. "Yes--go on!" + +Burnaby resumed his narrative calmly. "I knew him--Mackintosh, that +is--fifteen, no, it was fourteen years ago in Arizona, when I was +ranching there, and for the next three years I saw him constantly. He +had a place ten miles down the river from me. He was about four years +older than I was--a tall, slim, sandy-haired, freckled fellow, +preternaturally quiet; a trusty, if there ever was one. Unlike most +preternaturally quiet people, however, it wasn't dulness that made him +that way; he wasn't dull a bit. Stir him up on anything and you found +that he had thought about it a lot. But he never told me anything about +himself until I had known him almost two years, and then it came out +quite accidentally one night--we were on a spring round-up--when the two +of us were sitting up by the fire, smoking and staring at the desert +stars. All the rest were asleep." Burnaby paused. "Is this boring you?" +he asked. + +"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Ennis; she was watching intently Pollen's +half-averted face. + +Burnaby threw away his cigarette. "At first," he said, "it seemed to me +like the most ordinary of stories--the usual fixed idea that the +rejected lover carries around with him for a year or so until he forgets +it; the idea that the girl will regret her choice and one day kick over +the traces and hunt him up. + +"But it wasn't the ordinary story--not by a long shot. You'll see. It +seems he had fallen in love with a girl--had been in love with her for +years--before he had left the East; a very young girl, nineteen, and of +an aspiring family. The family, naturally, didn't look upon him with any +favor whatsoever; he was poor and he didn't show the slightest +inclination to engage in any of the pursuits they considered proper to +the ambitions of a worthy young man. Rather a dreamer, I imagine, until +he had found the thing he wanted to do. Not a very impressive figure in +the eyes of whitespatted fatherhood. Moreover, he himself was shy about +trying to marry a rich girl while she was still so young. + +"'She was brought up all wrong,' he said. 'What could you expect? Life +will have to teach her. She will have to get over her idea, as one gets +over the measles, that money and houses and possessions are the main +things.' But he knew she would get over it; he was sure that at the +bottom of her heart was a well of honesty and directness. 'Some day,' he +said, 'she'll be out here.' + +"Apparently the upshot of the matter was that he went to the girl and +told her--all these ideas of his; quit, came West; left the road open to +the other man. Oh, yes, there was another man, of course; one +thoroughly approved of by the family. Quaint, wasn't it? Perhaps a +little overly judicial. But then that was his way. Slow-moving and sure. +He saw the girl at dusk in the garden of her family's country place; +near a sun-dial, or some other appropriately romantic spot. She kissed +him nobly on the forehead, I suppose--the young girl gesture; and told +him she wasn't worthy of him and to forget her. + +"'Oh, no, I won't,' he said. 'Not for a minute! And in five years--or +ten--you'll come to me. You'll find out.' And then he added something +else: 'Whenever things have reached their limit,' he said, 'think of me +with all your might. Think hard! There's something in that sort of +stuff, you know, where two people love each other. Think hard!' Then he +went away." + +A log snapped and fell with a soft thud to the ashes beneath. Burnaby +was silent for a moment, staring at the fire. + +When he spoke again, it was with a slow precision as if he were trying +with extreme care to find the right words. + +"You see," he said, "he had as an added foundation for his +faith--perhaps as the main foundation for it--his knowledge of the other +man's character; the character of the man the girl married. It was"--he +spoke more hastily and, suddenly raising his head, looked at Mary +Rochefort, who, sunk back in her chair, was gazing straight ahead of +her--"an especial kind of character. I must dwell on it for a moment, +and you must mark well what I say, for on it my parable largely depends. +It was a character of the sort that to any but an odalisk means eventual +shame; to any woman of pride, you understand, eventually of necessity a +broken heart. It was a queer character, but not uncommon. Outwardly very +attractive. Mackintosh described it succinctly, shortly, as we sat there +by the fire. He spoke between his teeth--the faint wind stirring the +desert sand sounded rather like his voice." Burnaby paused again and +reached over for a cigarette and lit it deliberately. + +"He was a man," he continued, "who apparently had the faculty of making +most women love him and, in the end, the faculty of making all women +hate him. I imagine to have known him very well would have been to leave +one with a mental shudder such as follows the touching of anguilliform +material; snake-like texture. It would leave one ashamed and broken, for +fundamentally he was contemptuous of the dignity of personality, +particularly of the personalities of women. He was a collector, you +understand, a collector of beauty, and women, and incidents--amorous +incidents. He carried into his personal relationships the cold +objectiveness of the artist. But he wasn't a very great artist, or he +wouldn't have done so; he would have had the discrimination to control +the artist's greatest peril. It's a flame, this cold objectiveness, but +a flame so powerful that it must be properly shaded for intimate use. +Otherwise it kills like violet rays. Women wore out their hearts on him, +not like waves breaking on a crystal rock, but like rain breaking into a +gutter." + +"Good Lord!" murmured Mrs. Ennis involuntarily. + +Burnaby caught her exclamation. "Bad, wasn't it?" he smiled. "But +remember I am only repeating what Mackintosh told me. Well, there he was +then--Mackintosh--hard at work all day trying to build himself up a +ranch, and he was succeeding, too, and, at night, sitting on his porch, +smoking and listening to the river, and apparently expecting every +moment the girl to appear. It was rather eerie. He had such a convincing +way; he was himself so convinced. You half expected yourself to see her +come around the corner of the log house in the moonlight. There was +about it all the impression that here was something that had a touch of +the inevitability of the Greek idea of fate; something more arranged +than the usual course of human events. Meanwhile, back in the East, was +the girl, learning something about life." + +He interrupted himself. "Want a cigarette?" he said to Pollen. "Here +they are." He handed over the box. "What is it? A match? Wait a moment; +I'll strike it for you. Keep the end of the thing steady, will you? All +right." He resumed the thread of his narrative. + +"In four years she had learned a lot," he said; "she had become +apparently almost a woman. On a certain hot evening in July--about seven +o'clock, I imagine--she became one entirely; at least, for the moment, +and, at least, her sort of woman. I am not defending what she did, +remember; I am simply saying that she did it. + +"It was very hot; even now when dusk was approaching. The girl had been +feeling rather ill all day; feverish. She had not been able to get away +to her country place as yet. Into the semidarkness of the room where she +was came her husband. That night she had determined, as women will, upon +a final test. She knew where he expected to dine; she asked him if he +would dine with her. + +"'I can't,' he said. 'I'm sorry--' + +"Possibly nothing immediate would have happened had he not added an +unspeakable flourish to his portrait. He reached out his arms and drew +the girl to him and tried to kiss her condescendingly; but I suppose his +hands found her, in her clinging gown, soft to their touch. At all +events, they tightened upon her in an unmistakable way. She pulled +herself away. 'Let me pass!' she said. 'You--you--!'--she could think of +no words to suit him. You see, she understood him completely, now. He +was a collector, but a collector so despicable that he was even +unwilling to trade one article for another. He wanted to keep on his +shelves, as it were, all the accumulation of his life, and take down +from time to time whatever part of it suited his sudden fancy. + +"The girl went up to her own room, and very carefully, not knowing +precisely what she did, changed into a black street dress and removed +all marks of identification. Her eyes swam with feverishness. While she +was dressing, she bathed in hot water her arms where her husband's hands +had been. She concluded that it was not what he had done--had constantly +done--but what he was that made life unbearable. When she was through +she went downstairs, and out of the front door, and walked slowly toward +the center of the town and the railway station." + +"And is that all?" asked Mary Rochefort, after a while. + +"Oh, no," said Burnaby; "it's only the beginning. Mackintosh was in the +hills beyond his ranch, hunting horses. He was camped in a little valley +by himself. On this particular day he had been out since sun-up and did +not get back until just about dusk. He picketed the horse he had been +riding, and built a small fire, and began to cook his supper. All around +him, brooding and unreal, was the light you get in high mountain places. +The fire shone like a tiny ruby set in topaz. Mackintosh raised his head +and saw a woman coming out of the spur of aspen trees across the creek +from him. He wasn't surprised; he knew right away who it was; he knew it +was the girl. He watched her for a moment, and then he went over to her, +and took her hand, and led her to the fire. They didn't speak at all." + +"And you mean," asked Mrs. Ennis, "that she did that? That she came all +the way out to him, like that?" + +"No," retorted Burnaby, "of course not. How could she? She wasn't even +sure where he was living. At the moment she was in a hospital out of her +head. You see, I didn't know whether to believe Mackintosh or not when +he said he saw her that night, although I am sure he believed he +did--such things are beyond human proof--but what I do know is that he +came straight down from the hills, and boarded a train, and went East, +and found the girl, and, after a while, came back with her." He looked +at the fire. "They were the most completely happy people I have ever +seen," he continued. "They were so calm and determined about themselves. +Everything immaterial had been burned away. They knew they were playing +on the side of fate. And so," he concluded, "that's the end of my +parable. What do you make of it?" + +The curtains, stirred by the breeze, tip-tapped softly; in the silence +the fire hissed gently. Pollen spoke first, but with some difficulty, as +if in the long period of listening on his part his throat had become +dry. "It's very interesting," he said; "very! But what's it all about? +And you certainly don't believe it, do you?" + +"Of course I do," answered Burnaby calmly. "You should, too; it's true." + +Mary Rochefort looked up with an exclamation. "Gracious!" she said. "I +had no idea it was so late! My motor must be waiting." She got to her +feet. She looked very white and her eyes were tired; the translucent +quality of the earlier hours was gone. "I'm worn out," she explained. +"I've been going about too much. I must rest." She held her hand out to +Mrs. Ennis; over her shoulder she spoke to Pollen. "No," she said. +"Don't bother. I'll take myself home, thanks." + +"I'll see you to your car," he stammered. + +She turned to Burnaby. "Good night!" she said. Her voice was lifeless, +disinterested; her eyes met his for an instant and were withdrawn. + +"Good night," he said. + +Mrs. Ennis stood by the door for a moment before she walked slowly back +to the fireplace. From the street outside came the whirring of a motor +and the sound of Mary Rochefort's voice saying good-by to Pollen. + +Mrs. Ennis rested an arm on the mantelpiece and kicked a log +thoughtfully with a white-slippered foot; then she faced about on +Burnaby. + +"I suppose," she said, "you realize that you have spoiled my party?" + +"I?" said Burnaby. + +"Yes, you!" Her small, charming face was a study in ruefulness, and +indecision whether to be angry or not, and, one might almost have +imagined, a certain amused tenderness as well. "Don't you suppose those +people knew of whom you were talking?" + +Burnaby, peering down at her, narrowed his eyes and then opened them +very wide. "They couldn't very well have helped it," he said, "could +they? For, you see"--he paused--"the girl who came West was Mrs. +Pollen." + +Mrs. Ennis gasped in the manner of a person who is hearing too much. +"Mrs. Pollen?" + +"Yes. You knew he had been divorced, didn't you? Years ago." + +"I'd heard it, but forgotten." Mrs. Ennis clasped her jeweled hand. "And +you dared," she demanded, "to tell his story before him in that way?" + +"Why not? It was rather a complete revenge upon him of fate, wasn't it? +You see, he couldn't very well give himself away, could he? His one +chance was to keep quiet." Burnaby paused and smiled doubtfully at Mrs. +Ennis. "I hope I made his character clear enough," he said. "That, after +all, was the point of the story." + +"How did you know it was this Pollen?" she asked, "and how, anyway, +would Mary Rochefort know of whom you were talking?" + +Burnaby grinned. "I took a chance," he said. "And as to the second, I +told Madame de Rochefort at dinner--merely as a coincidence; at least, I +let her think so--that I had once known in the West a Mrs. Pollen with a +curious history. Perhaps I wouldn't have told it if Pollen hadn't been +so witty." He picked up a silver dish from the mantelpiece and examined +it carefully. + +"One oughtn't to have such a curious name if one is going to lead a +curious life, ought one?" he asked. He sighed. "You're right," he +concluded; "your friend Mary Rochefort is a child." + +Mrs. Ennis looked up at him with searching eyes. + +"Why don't you stay longer in Washington?" she asked softly. "Just now, +of course, Mary Rochefort hates you; but she won't for long--I think she +was beginning to have doubts about Pollen, anyway." + +Burnaby suddenly looked grave and disconcerted. "Oh, no!" he said, +hastily. "Oh, no! I must be off tomorrow." He laughed. "My dear Rhoda," +he said, "you have the quaintest ideas. I don't like philandering; I'm +afraid I have a crude habit of really falling in love." + +Mrs. Ennis's own eyes were veiled. "If you're going away so soon, sit +down," she said, "and stay. You needn't go--oh, for hours!" + +"I must," he answered. "I'm off so early." + +She sighed. "For years?" + +"One--perhaps two." His voice became gay and bantering again. "My dear +Rhoda," he said, "I'm extremely sorry if I really spoiled your party, +but I don't believe I did--not altogether, anyhow. Underneath, I think +you enjoyed it." He took her small hand in his; he wondered why it was +so cold and listless. + +At the door leading into the hall he paused and looked back "Oh," he +said, "there was one thing I forgot to tell you! You see, part of my +story wasn't altogether true. Mrs. Pollen--or rather, Mrs. +Mackintosh--left Mackintosh after five years or so. She's in the +movies--doing very well, I understand. She would; wouldn't she? Of +course, she was no good to begin with. But that didn't spoil the point +of my story, did it? Good-by, Rhoda, my dear." He was gone. + +Mrs. Ennis did not move until she heard the street door close; she +waited even a little longer, following the sound of Burnaby's footsteps +as they died away into the night; finally she walked over to the piano, +and, sitting down, raised her hands as if to strike the keys. Instead, +she suddenly put both her arms on the little shelf before the music-rack +and buried her head in them. The curtains tip-tapped on the window-sill; +the room was entirely quiet. + + + + +DARKNESS[5] + +By IRVIN S. COBB + +(From _The Saturday Evening Post_) + + +There was a house in this town where always by night lights burned. In +one of its rooms many lights burned; in each of the other rooms at least +one light. It stood on Clay Street, on a treeless plot among flower +beds, a small dull-looking house; and when late on dark nights all the +other houses on Clay Street were black blockings lifting from the lesser +blackness of their background, the lights in this house patterned its +windows with squares of brilliancy so that it suggested a grid set on +edge before hot flames. Once a newcomer to the town, a transient guest +at Mrs. Otterbuck's boarding house, spoke about it to old Squire Jonas, +who lived next door to where the lights blazed of nights, and the answer +he got makes a fitting enough beginning for this account. + +This stranger came along Clay Street one morning and Squire Jonas, who +was leaning over his gate contemplating the world as it passed in +review, nodded to him and remarked that it was a fine morning; and the +stranger was emboldened to stop and pass the time of day, as the saying +goes. + +"I'm here going over the books of the Bernheimer Distilling Company," he +said when they had spoken of this and that, "and you know, when a +chartered accountant gets on a job he's supposed to keep right at it +until he's done. Well, my work keeps me busy till pretty late. And the +last three nights, passing that place yonder adjoining yours, I've +noticed she was all lit up like as if for a wedding or a christening or +a party or something. But I didn't see anybody going in or coming out, +or hear anybody stirring in there, and it struck me as blamed curious. +Last night--or this morning, rather, I should say--it must have been +close on to half-past two o'clock when I passed by, and there she was, +all as quiet as the tomb and still the lights going from top to bottom. +So I got to wondering to myself. Tell me, sir, is there somebody sick +over there next door?" + +"Yes, suh," stated the squire, "I figure you might say there is somebody +sick there. He's been sick a powerful long time too. But it's not his +body that's sick; it's his soul." + +"I don't know as I get you, sir," said the other man in a puzzled sort +of way. + +"Son," stated the squire, "I reckin you've been hearin' 'em, haven't +you, singin' this here new song that's goin' 'round about, 'I'm Afraid +to Go Home in the Dark'? Well, probably the man who wrote that there +song never was down here in these parts in his life; probably he just +made the idea of it up out of his own head. But he might 'a' had the +case of my neighbor in his mind when he done so. Only his song is kind +of comical and this case here is about the most uncomic one you'd be +likely to run acrost. The man who lives here alongside of me is not only +afraid to go home in the dark but he's actually feared to stay in the +dark after he gets home. Once he killed a man and he come clear of the +killin' all right enough, but seems like he ain't never got over it; and +the sayin' in this town is that he's studied it out that ef ever he gets +in the dark, either by himself or in company, he'll see the face of that +there man he killed. So that's why, son, you've been seein' them lights +a-blazin'. I've been seein' 'em myself fur goin' on twenty year or more, +I reckin 'tis by now, and I've got used to 'em. But I ain't never got +over wonderin' whut kind of thoughts he must have over there all alone +by himself at night with everything lit up bright as day around him, +when by rights things should be dark. But I ain't ever asted him, and +whut's more, I never will. He ain't the kind you could go to him astin' +him personal questions about his own private affairs. We-all here in +town just accept him fur whut he is and sort of let him be. He's whut +you might call a town character. His name is Mr. Dudley Stackpole." + +In all respects save one, Squire Jonas, telling the inquiring stranger +the tale, had the rights of it. There were town characters aplenty he +might have described. A long-settled community with traditions behind it +and a reasonable antiquity seems to breed curious types of men and women +as a musty closet breeds mice and moths. This town of ours had its town +mysteries and its town eccentrics--its freaks, if one wished to put the +matter bluntly; and it had its champion story-teller and its champion +liar and its champion guesser of the weight of livestock on the hoof. + +There was crazy Saul Vance, the butt of cruel small boys, who deported +himself as any rational creature might so long as he walked a straight +course; but so surely as he came to where the road forked or two streets +crossed he could not decide which turning to take and for hours angled +back and forth and to and fro, now taking the short cut to regain the +path he just had quitted, now retracing his way over the long one, for +all the world like a geometric spider spinning its web. There was old +Daddy Hannah, the black root-and-yarb doctor, who could throw spells and +weave charms and invoke conjures. He wore a pair of shoes which had been +worn by a man who was hanged, and these shoes, as is well known, leave +no tracks which a dog will nose after or a witch follow, or a ha'nt. +Small boys did not gibe at Daddy Hannah, you bet you! There was Major +Burnley, who lived for years and years in the same house with the wife +with whom he had quarreled and never spoke a word to her or she to him. +But the list is overlong for calling. With us, in that day and time, +town characters abounded freely. But Mr. Dudley Stackpole was more than +a town character. He was that, it is true, but he was something else +besides; something which tabbed him a mortal set apart from his fellow +mortals. He was the town's chief figure of tragedy. + +If you had ever seen him once you could shut your eyes and see him over +again. Yet about him there was nothing impressive, nothing in his port +or his manner to catch and to hold a stranger's gaze. With him, +physically, it was quite the other way about. He was a short spare man, +very gentle in his movements, a toneless sort of man of a palish gray +cast, who always wore sad-colored clothing. He would make you think of a +man molded out of a fog; almost he was like a man made of smoke. His +mode of living might testify that a gnawing remorse abode ever with him, +but his hair had not turned white in a single night, as the heads of +those suddenly stricken by a great shock or a great grief or any greatly +upsetting and disordering emotion sometimes are reputed to turn. Neither +in his youth nor when age came to him was his hair white. But for so far +back as any now remembered it had been a dullish gray, suggesting at a +distance dead lichens. + +The color of his skin was a color to match in with the rest of him. It +was not pale, nor was it pasty. People with a taste for comparisons were +hard put to it to describe just what it was the hue of his face did +remind them of, until one day a man brought in from the woods the +abandoned nest of a brood of black hornets, still clinging to the +pendent twig from which the insect artificers had swung it. Darkies used +to collect these nests in the fall of the year when the vicious swarms +had deserted them. Their shredded parchments made ideal wadding for +muzzle-loading scatter-guns, and sufferers from asthma tore them down, +too, and burned them slowly and stood over the smoldering mass and +inhaled the fumes and the smoke which arose, because the country +wiseacres preached that no boughten stuff out of a drug store gave such +relief from asthma as this hornet's-nest treatment. But it remained for +this man to find a third use for such a thing. He brought it into the +office of Gafford's wagon yard, where some other men were sitting about +the fire, and he held it up before them and he said: + +"Who does this here hornet's nest put you fellers in mind of--this gray +color all over it, and all these here fine lines runnin' back and forth +and every which-a-way like wrinkles? Think, now--it's somebody you all +know." + +And when they had given it up as a puzzle too hard for them to guess he +said: + +"Why, ain't it got percisely the same color and the same look about it +as Mr. Dudley Stackpole's face? Why, it's a perfect imitation of him! +That's whut I said to myself all in a flash when I first seen it +bouncin' on the end of this here black birch limb out yonder in the +flats." + +"By gum, if you ain't right!" exclaimed one of the audience. "Say, come +to think about it, I wonder if spendin' all his nights with bright +lights burnin' round him is whut's give that old man that gray color +he's got, the same as this wasp's nest has got it, and all them puckery +lines round his eyes. Pore old devil, with the hags furever ridin' him! +Well, they tell me he's toler'ble well fixed in this world's goods, but +poor as I am, and him well off, I wouldn't trade places with him fur any +amount of money. I've got my peace of mind if I ain't got anything else +to speak of. Say, you'd 'a' thought in all these years a man would get +over broodin' over havin' killed another feller, and specially havin' +killed him in fair fight. Let's see, now, whut was the name of the +feller he killed that time out there at Cache Creek Crossin's? I +actually disremember. I've heard it a thousand times, too, I reckin, if +I've heard it oncet." + +For a fact, the memory of the man slain so long before only endured +because the slayer walked abroad as a living reminder of the taking off +of one who by all accounts had been of small value to mankind in his day +and generation. Save for the daily presence of the one, the very +identity even of the other might before now have been forgotten. For +this very reason, seeking to enlarge the merits of the controversy which +had led to the death of one Jesse Tatum at the hands of Dudley +Stackpole, people sometimes referred to it as the Tatum-Stackpole feud +and sought to liken it to the Faxon-Fleming feud. But that was a real +feud with fence-corner ambuscades and a sizable mortality list and +night-time assassinations and all; whereas this lesser thing, which now +briefly is to be dealt with on its merits, had been no more than a +neighborhood falling out, having but a solitary homicide for its +climatic upshot. So far as that went, it really was not so much the +death of the victim as the survival of his destroyer--and his fashion +of living afterwards--which made warp and woof for the fabric of the +tragedy. + +With the passage of time the actuating causes were somewhat blurred in +perspective. The main facts stood forth clear enough, but the underlying +details were misty and uncertain, like some half-obliterated scribble on +a badly rubbed slate upon which a more important sum has been overlaid. +One rendition had it that the firm of Stackpole Brothers sued the two +Tatums--Harve and Jess--for an account long overdue, and won judgment in +the courts, but won with it the murderous enmity of the defendant pair. +Another account would have it that a dispute over a boundary fence +marching between the Tatum homestead on Cache Creek and one of the +Stackpole farm holdings ripened into a prime quarrel by reasons of +Stackpole stubbornness on the one hand and Tatum malignity on the other. +By yet a third account the lawsuit and the line-fence matter were +confusingly twisted together to form a cause for disputation. + +Never mind that part though. The incontrovertible part was that things +came to a decisive pass on a July day in the late '80's when the two +Tatums sent word to the two Stackpoles that at or about six o'clock of +that evening they would come down the side road from their place a mile +away to Stackpole Brothers' gristmill above the big riffle in Cache +Creek prepared to fight it out man to man. The warning was explicit +enough--the Tatums would shoot on sight. The message was meant for two, +but only one brother heard it; for Jeffrey Stackpole, the senior member +of the firm, was sick abed with heart disease at the Stackpole house on +Clay Street in town, and Dudley, the junior, was running the business +and keeping bachelor's hall, as the phrase runs, in the living room of +the mill; and it was Dudley who received notice. + +Now the younger Stackpole was known for a law-abiding and a +well-disposed man, which reputation stood him in stead subsequently; but +also he was no coward. He might crave peace, but he would not flee from +trouble moving toward him. He would not advance a step to meet it, +neither would he give back a step to avoid it. If it occurred to him to +hurry in to the county seat and have his enemies put under bonds to +keep the peace he pushed the thought from him. This, in those days, was +not the popular course for one threatened with violence by another; nor, +generally speaking, was it regarded exactly as the manly one to follow. +So he bided that day where he was. Moreover, it was not of record that +he told any one at all of what impended. He knew little of the use of +firearms, but there was a loaded pistol in the cash drawer of the mill +office. He put it in a pocket of his coat and through the afternoon he +waited, outwardly quiet and composed, for the appointed hour when +single-handed he would defend his honor and his brother's against the +unequal odds of a brace of bullies, both of them quick on the trigger, +both smart and clever in the handling of weapons. + +But if Stackpole told no one, some one else told some one. Probably the +messenger of the Tatums talked. He currently was reputed to have a leaky +tongue to go with his jimberjaws; a born trouble maker, doubtless, else +he would not have loaned his service to such employment in the first +place. Up and down the road ran the report that before night there would +be a clash at the Stackpole mill. Peg-Leg Foster, who ran the general +store below the bridge and within sight of the big riffle, saw fit to +shut up shop early and go to town for the evening. Perhaps he did not +want to be a witness, or possibly he desired to be out of the way of +stray lead flying about. So the only known witness to what happened, +other than the parties engaged in it, was a negro woman. She, at least, +was one who had not heard the rumor which since early forenoon had been +spreading through the sparsely settled neighborhood. When six o'clock +came she was grubbing out a sorghum patch in front of her cabin just +north of where the creek cut under the Blandsville gravel pike. + +One gets a picture of the scene: The thin and deficient shadows +stretching themselves across the parched bottom lands as the sun slid +down behind the trees of Eden's swamp lot; the heat waves of a +blistering hot day still dancing their devil's dance down the road like +wriggling circumflexes to accent a false promise of coolness off there +in the distance; the ominous emptiness of the landscape; the brooding +quiet, cut through only by the frogs and the dry flies tuning up for +their evening concert; the bandannaed negress wrangling at the weeds +with her hoe blade inside the rail fence; and, half sheltered within the +lintels of the office doorway of his mill, Dudley Stackpole, a slim, +still figure, watching up the crossroad for the coming of his +adversaries. + +But the adversaries did not come from up the road as they had advertised +they would. That declaration on their part had been a trick and device, +cockered up in the hope of taking the foe by surprise and from the rear. +In a canvas-covered wagon--moving wagons, we used to call them in Red +Gravel County--they left their house half an hour or so before the time +set by them for the meeting, and they cut through by a wood lane which +met the pike south of Foster's store; and then very slowly they rode up +the pike toward the mill, being minded to attack from behind, with the +added advantage of unexpectedness on their side. + +Chance, though, spoiled their strategy and made these terms of primitive +dueling more equal. Mark how: The woman in the sorghum patch saw it +happen. She saw the wagon pass her and saw it brought to standstill just +beyond where she was; saw Jess Tatum slide stealthily down from under +the overhanging hood of the wagon and, sheltered behind it, draw a +revolver and cock it, all the while peeping out, searching the front and +the nearer side of the gristmill with his eager eyes. She saw Harve +Tatum, the elder brother, set the wheel chock and wrap the lines about +the sheathed whipstock, and then as he swung off the seat catch a boot +heel on the rim of the wagon box and fall to the road with a jar which +knocked him cold, for he was a gross and heavy man and struck squarely +on his head. With popped eyes she saw Jess throw up his pistol and fire +once from his ambush behind the wagon, and then--the startled team +having snatched the wagon from before him--saw him advance into the open +toward the mill, shooting again as he advanced. + +All now in the same breath and in a jumble of shock and terror she saw +Dudley Stackpole emerge into full sight, and standing clear a pace from +his doorway return the fire; saw the thudding frantic hoofs of the nigh +horse spurn Harve Tatum's body aside--the kick broke his right leg, it +turned out--saw Jess Tatum suddenly halt and stagger back as though +jerked by an unseen hand; saw him drop his weapon and straighten again, +and with both hands clutched to his throat run forward, head thrown back +and feet drumming; heard him give one strange bubbling, strangled +scream--it was the blood in his throat made this outcry sound thus--and +saw him fall on his face, twitching and wriggling, not thirty feet from +where Dudley Stackpole stood, his pistol upraised and ready for more +firing. + +As to how many shots, all told, were fired the woman never could say +with certainty. There might have been four or five or six, or even +seven, she thought. After the opening shot they rang together in almost +a continuous volley, she said. Three empty chambers in Tatum's gun and +two in Stackpole's seemed conclusive evidence to the sheriff and the +coroner that night and to the coroner's jurors next day that five shots +had been fired. + +On one point, though, for all her fright, the woman was positive, and to +this she stuck in the face of questions and cross-questions. After Tatum +stopped as though jolted to a standstill, and dropped his weapon, +Stackpole flung the barrel of his revolver upward and did not again +offer to fire, either as his disarmed and stricken enemy advanced upon +him or after he had fallen. As she put it, he stood there like a man +frozen stiff. + +Having seen and heard this much, the witness, now all possible peril for +her was passed, suddenly became mad with fear. She ran into her cabin +and scrouged behind the headboard of a bed. When at length she +timorously withdrew from hiding and came trembling forth, already +persons out of the neighborhood, drawn by the sounds of the fusillade, +were hurrying up. They seemed to spring, as it were, out of the ground. +Into the mill these newcomers carried the two Tatums, Jess being +stone-dead and Harve still senseless, with a leg dangling where the +bones were snapped below the knee, and a great cut in his scalp; and +they laid the two of them side by side on the floor in the gritty dust +of the meal tailings and the flour grindings. This done, some ran to +harness and hitch and to go to fetch doctors and law officers, spreading +the news as they went; and some stayed on to work over Harve Tatum and +to give such comfort as they might to Dudley Stackpole, he sitting dumb +in his little, cluttered office awaiting the coming of constable or +sheriff or deputy so that he might surrender himself into custody. + +While they waited and while they worked to bring Harve Tatum back to his +senses, the men marveled at two amazing things. The first wonder was +that Jess Tatum, finished marksman as he was, and the main instigator +and central figure of sundry violent encounters in the past, should have +failed to hit the mark at which he fired with his first shot or with his +second or with his third; and the second, a still greater wonder, was +that Dudley Stackpole, who perhaps never in his life had had for a +target a living thing, should have sped a bullet so squarely into the +heart of his victim at twenty yards or more. The first phenomenon might +perhaps be explained, they agreed, on the hypothesis that the mishap to +his brother, coming at the very moment of the fight's beginning, +unnerved Jess and threw him out of stride, so to speak. But the second +was not in anywise to be explained excepting on the theory of sheer +chance. The fact remained that it was so, and the fact remained that it +was strange. + +By form of law Dudley Stackpole spent two days under arrest; but this +was a form, a legal fiction only. Actually he was at liberty from the +time he reached the courthouse that night, riding in the sheriff's buggy +with the sheriff and carrying poised on his knees a lighted lantern. +Afterwards it was to be recalled that when, alongside the sheriff, he +came out of his mill technically a prisoner he carried in his hand this +lantern, all trimmed of wick and burning, and that he held fast to it +through the six-mile ride to town. Afterwards, too, the circumstance was +to be coupled with multiplying circumstances to establish a state of +facts; but at the moment, in the excited state of mind of those present, +it passed unremarked and almost unnoticed. And he still held it in his +hand when, having been released under nominal bond and attended by +certain sympathizing friends, he walked across town from the county +building to his home in Clay Street. That fact, too, was subsequently +remembered and added to other details to make a finished sum of +deductive reasoning. + +Already it was a foregone conclusion that the finding at the coroner's +inquest, to be held the next day, would absolve him; foregone, also, +that no prosecutor would press for his arraignment on charges and that +no grand jury would indict. So, soon all the evidence in hand was +conclusively on his side. He had been forced into a fight not of his own +choosing; an effort, which had failed, had been made to take him +unfairly from behind; he had fired in self-defense after having first +been fired upon; save for a quirk of fate operating in his favor, he +should have faced odds of two deadly antagonists instead of facing one. +What else then than his prompt and honorable discharge? And to top all, +the popular verdict was that the killing off of Jess Tatum was so much +good riddance of so much sorry rubbish; a pity, though, Harve had +escaped his just deserts. + +Helpless for the time being, and in the estimation of his fellows even +more thoroughly discredited than he had been before, Harve Tatum here +vanishes out of our recital. So, too, does Jeffrey Stackpole, heretofore +mentioned once by name, for within a week he was dead of the same heart +attack which had kept him out of the affair at Cache Creek. The rest of +the narrative largely appertains to the one conspicuous survivor, this +Dudley Stackpole already described. + +Tradition ever afterwards had it that on the night of the killing he +slept--if he slept at all--in the full-lighted room of a house which was +all aglare with lights from cellar to roof line. From its every opening +the house blazed as for a celebration. At the first, so the tale of it +ran, people were of two different minds to account for this. This one +rather thought Stackpole feared punitive reprisals under cover of night +by vengeful kinsmen of the Tatums, they being, root and branch, sprout +and limb, a belligerent and an ill-conditioned breed. That one suggested +that maybe he took this method of letting all and sundry know he felt no +regret for having gunned the life out of a dangerous brawler; that +perhaps thereby he sought to advertise his satisfaction at the outcome +of that day's affair. But this latter theory was not to be credited. For +so sensitive and so well-disposed a man as Dudley Stackpole to joy in +his own deadly act, however justifiable in the sight of law and man that +act might have been--why, the bare notion of it was preposterous! The +repute and the prior conduct of the man robbed the suggestion of all +plausibility. And then soon, when night after night the lights still +flared in his house, and when on top of this evidence accumulated to +confirm a belief already crystallizing in the public mind, the town came +to sense the truth, which was that Mr. Dudley Stackpole now feared the +dark as a timid child might fear it. It was not authentically chronicled +that he confessed his fears to any living creature. But his fellow +townsmen knew the state of his mind as though he had shouted of it from +the housetops. They had heard, most of them, of such cases before. They +agreed among themselves that he shunned darkness because he feared that +out of that darkness might return the vision of his deed, bloodied and +shocking and hideous. And they were right. He did so fear, and he feared +mightily, constantly and unendingly. + +That fear, along with the behavior which became from that night +thenceforward part and parcel of him, made Dudley Stackpole as one set +over and put apart from his fellows. Neither by daytime nor by +night-time was he thereafter to know darkness. Never again was he to see +the twilight fall or face the blackness which comes before the dawning +or take his rest in the cloaking, kindly void and nothingness of the +midnight. Before the dusk of evening came, in midafternoon sometimes, of +stormy and briefened winter days, or in the full radiance of the sun's +sinking in the summertime, he was within doors lighting the lights which +would keep the darkness beyond his portals and hold at bay a gathering +gloom into which from window or door he would not look and dared not +look. + +There were trees about his house, cottonwoods and sycamores and one +noble elm branching like a lyre. He chopped them all down and had the +roots grubbed out. The vines which covered his porch were shorn away. To +these things many were witnesses. What transformations he worked within +the walls were largely known by hearsay through the medium of Aunt +Kassie, the old negress who served him as cook and chambermaid and was +his only house servant. To half-fearsome, half-fascinated audiences of +her own color, whose members in time communicated what she told to their +white employers, she related how with his own hands, bringing a crude +carpentry into play, her master ripped out certain dark closets and +abolished a secluded and gloomy recess beneath a hall staircase, and how +privily he called in men who strung his ceilings with electric lights, +although already the building was piped for gas; and how, for final +touches, he placed in various parts of his bedroom tallow dips and oil +lamps to be lit before twilight and to burn all night, so that though +the gas sometime should fail and the electric bulbs blink out there +still would be abundant lighting about him. His became the house which +harbored no single shadow save only the shadow of morbid dread which +lived within its owner's bosom. An orthodox haunted house should by +rights be deserted and dark. This house, haunted if ever one was, +differed from the orthodox conception. It was tenanted and it shone with +lights. + +The man's abiding obsession--if we may call his besetment thus--changed +in practically all essential regards the manners and the practices of +his daily life. After the shooting he never returned to his mill. He +could not bring himself to endure the ordeal of revisiting the scene of +the killing. So the mill stood empty and silent, just as he left it that +night when he rode to town with the sheriff, until after his brother's +death; and then with all possible dispatch he sold it, its fixtures, +contents and goodwill, for what the property would fetch at quick sale, +and he gave up business. He had sufficient to stay him in his needs. The +Stackpoles had the name of being a canny and a provident family, living +quietly and saving of their substance. The homestead where he lived, +which his father before him had built, was free of debt. He had funds +in the bank and money out at interest. He had not been one to make close +friends. Now those who had counted themselves his friends became rather +his distant acquaintances, among whom he neither received nor bestowed +confidences. + +In the broader hours of daylight his ways were such as any man of +reserved and diffident ways, having no fixed employment, might follow in +a smallish community. He sat upon his porch and read in books. He worked +in his flower beds. With flowers he had a cunning touch, almost like a +woman's. He loved them, and they responded to his love and bloomed and +bore for him. He walked downtown to the business district, always alone, +a shy and unimpressive figure, and sat brooding and aloof in one of the +tilted-back cane chairs under the portico of the old Richland House, +facing the river. He took long solitary walks on side streets and +byways; but it was noted that, reaching the outer outskirts, he +invariably turned back. In all those dragging years it is doubtful if +once he set foot past the corporate limits into the open country. Dun +hued, unobtrusive, withdrawn, he aged slowly, almost imperceptibly. Men +and women of his own generation used to say that save for the wrinkles +ever multiplying in close cross-hatchings about his puckered eyes, and +save for the enhancing of that dead gray pallor--the wasp's-nest +overcasting of his skin--he still looked to them exactly as he had +looked when he was a much younger man. + +It was not so much the appearance or the customary demeanor of the +recluse that made strangers turn about to stare at him as he passed, and +that made them remember how he looked when he was gone from their sight. +The one was commonplace enough--I mean his appearance--and his conduct, +unless one knew the underlying motives, was merely that of an +unobtrusive, rather melancholy seeming gentleman of quiet tastes and +habits. It was the feeling and the sense of a dismal exhalation from +him, an unhealthy and unnatural mental effluvium that served so +indelibly to fix the bodily image of him in the brainpans of casual and +uninformed passers-by. The brand of Cain was not on his brow. By every +local standard of human morality it did not belong there. But built up +of morbid elements within his own conscience, it looked out from his +eyes and breathed out from his person. + +So year by year, until the tally of the years rolled up to more than +thirty, he went his lone unhappy way. He was in the life of the town, to +an extent, but not of it. Always, though it was the daylit life of the +town which knew him. Excepting once only. Of this exceptional instance a +story was so often repeated that in time it became permanently embalmed +in the unwritten history of the place. + +On a summer's afternoon, sultry and close, the heavens suddenly went all +black, and quick gusts smote the earth with threats of a great +windstorm. The sun vanished magically; a close thick gloaming fell out +of the clouds. It was as though nightfall had descended hours before its +ordained time. At the city power house the city electrician turned on +the street lights. As the first great fat drops of rain fell, splashing +in the dust like veritable clots, citizens scurrying indoors and +citizens seeing to flapping awnings and slamming window blinds halted +where they were to peer through the murk at the sight of Mr. Dudley +Stackpole fleeing to the shelter of home like a man hunted by a terrible +pursuer. But with all his desperate need for haste he ran no +straightaway course. The manner of his flight was what gave added +strangeness to the spectacle of him. He would dart headlong, on a sharp +oblique from the right-hand corner of a street intersection to a point +midway of the block--or square, to give it its local name--then go +slanting back again to the right-hand corner of the next street +crossing, so that his path was in the pattern of one acutely slanted +zigzag after another. He was keeping, as well as he could within the +circles of radiance thrown out by the municipal arc lights as he made +for his house, there in his bedchamber to fortify himself about, like +one beset and besieged, with the ample and protecting rays of all the +methods of artificial illumination at his command--with incandescent +bulbs thrown on by switches, with the flare of lighted gas jets, with +the tallow dip's slim digit of flame, and with the kerosene wick's +three-finger breadth of greasy brilliance. As he fumbled, in a very +panic and spasm of fear, with the latchets of his front gate Squire +Jonas' wife heard him screaming to Aunt Kassie, his servant, to turn on +the lights--all of them. + +That once was all, though--the only time he found the dark taking him +unawares and threatening to envelop him in thirty years and more than +thirty. Then a time came when in a hospital in Oklahoma an elderly man +named A. Hamilton Bledsoe lay on his deathbed and on the day before he +died told the physician who attended him and the clergyman who had +called to pray for him that he had a confession to make. He desired that +it be taken down by a stenographer just as he uttered it, and +transcribed; then he would sign it as his solemn dying declaration, and +when he had died they were to send the signed copy back to the town from +whence he had in the year 1889 moved West, and there it was to be +published broadcast. All of which, in due course of time and in +accordance with the signatory's wishes, was done. + +With the beginning of the statement as it appeared in the _Daily Evening +News_, as with Editor Tompkins' introductory paragraphs preceding it, we +need have no interest. That which really matters began two-thirds of the +way down the first column and ran as follows: + +"How I came to know there was likely to be trouble that evening at the +big-riffle crossing was this way"--it is the dying Bledsoe, of course, +who is being quoted. "The man they sent to the mill with the message did +a lot of loose talking on his way back after he gave in the message, and +in this roundabout way the word got to me at my house on the Eden's +Swamp road soon after dinnertime. Now I had always got along fine with +both of the Stackpoles, and had only friendly feelings toward them; but +maybe there's some people still alive back there in that county who can +remember what the reason was why I should naturally hate and despise +both the Tatums, and especially this Jess Tatum, him being if anything +the more low-down one of the two, although the youngest. At this late +day I don't aim to drag the name of any one else into this, especially a +woman's name, and her now dead and gone and in her grave; but I will +just say that if ever a man had a just cause for craving to see Jess +Tatum stretched out in his blood it was me. At the same time I will +state that it was not good judgment for a man who expected to go on +living to start out after one of the Tatums without he kept on till he +had cleaned up the both of them, and maybe some of their cousins as +well. I will not admit that I acted cowardly, but will state that I used +my best judgment. + +"Therefore and accordingly, no sooner did I hear the news about the dare +which the Tatums had sent to the Stackpoles than I said to myself that +it looked like here was my fitting chance to even up my grudge with Jess +Tatum and yet at the same time not run the prospect of being known to be +mixed up in the matter and maybe getting arrested, or waylaid afterwards +by members of the Tatum family or things of such a nature. Likewise I +figured that with a general amount of shooting going on, as seemed +likely to be the case, one shot more or less would not be noticed, +especially as I aimed to keep out of sight at all times and do my work +from under safe cover, which it all of it turned out practically exactly +as I had expected. So I took a rifle which I owned and which I was a +good shot with and I privately went down through the bottoms and came +out on the creek bank in the deep cut right behind Stackpole Brothers' +gristmill. I should say offhand this was then about three o'clock in the +evening. I was ahead of time, but I wished to be there and get +everything fixed up the way I had mapped it out in my mind, without +being hurried or rushed. + +"The back door of the mill was not locked, and I got in without being +seen, and I went upstairs to the loft over the mill and I went to a +window just above the front door, which was where they hoisted up grain +when brought in wagons, and I propped the wooden shutter of the window +open a little ways. But I only propped it open about two or three +inches; just enough for me to see out of it up the road good. And I made +me a kind of pallet out of meal sacks and I laid down there and I +waited. I knew the mill had shut down for the week, and I didn't figure +on any of the hands being round the mill or anybody finding out I was +up there. So I waited, not hearing anybody stirring about downstairs at +all, until just about three minutes past six, when all of a sudden came +the first shot. + +"What threw me off was expecting the Tatums to come afoot from up the +road, but when they did come it was in a wagon from down the main +Blandsville pike clear round in the other direction. So at this first +shot I swung and peeped out and I seen Harve Tatum down in the dust +seemingly right under the wheels of his wagon, and I seen Jess Tatum +jump out from behind the wagon and shoot, and I seen Dudley Stackpole +come out of the mill door right directly under me and start shooting +back at him. There was no sign of his brother Jeffrey. I did not know +then that Jeffrey was home sick in bed. + +"Being thrown off the way I had been, it took me maybe one or two +seconds to draw myself around and get the barrel of my rifle swung round +to where I wanted it, and while I was doing this the shooting was going +on. All in a flash it had come to me that it would be fairer than ever +for me to take part in this thing, because in the first place the Tatums +would be two against one if Harve should get back upon his feet and get +into the fight; and in the second place Dudley Stackpole didn't know the +first thing about shooting a pistol. Why, all in that same second, while +I was righting myself and getting the bead onto Jess Tatum's breast, I +seen his first shot--Stackpole's I mean--kick up the dust not twenty +feet in front of him and less than halfway to where Tatum was. I was as +cool as I am now, and I seen this quite plain. + +"So with that, just as Stackpole fired wild again, I let Jess Tatum have +it right through the chest, and as I did so I knew from the way he acted +that he was done and through. He let loose of his pistol and acted like +he was going to fall, and then he sort of rallied up and did a strange +thing. He ran straight on ahead toward the mill, with his neck craned +back and him running on tiptoe; and he ran this way quite a little ways +before he dropped flat, face down. Somebody else, seeing him do that, +might have thought he had the idea to tear into Dudley Stackpole with +his bare hands, but I had done enough shooting at wild game in my time +to know that he was acting like a partridge sometimes does, or a wild +duck when it is shot through the heart or in the head; only in such a +case a bird flies straight up in the air. Towering is what you call it +when done by a partridge. I do not know what you would call it when done +by a man. + +"So then I closed the window shutter and I waited for quite a little +while to make sure everything was all right for me, and then I hid my +rifle under the meal sacks, where it stayed until I got it privately two +days later; and then I slipped downstairs and went out by the back door +and came round in front, running and breathing hard as though I had just +heard the shooting whilst up in the swamp. By that time there were +several others had arrived, and there was also a negro woman crying +round and carrying on and saying she seen Jess Tatum fire the first shot +and seen Dudley Stackpole shoot back and seen Tatum fall. But she could +not say for sure how many shots there were fired in all. So I saw that +everything was all right so far as I was concerned, and that nobody, not +even Stackpole, suspicioned but that he himself had killed Jess Tatum; +and as I knew he would have no trouble with the law to amount to +anything on account of it, I felt that there was no need for me to +worry, and I did not--not worry then nor later. But for some time past I +had been figuring on moving out here on account of this new country +opening up. So I hurried up things, and inside of a week I had sold out +my place and had shipped my household plunder on ahead; and I moved out +here with my family, which they have all died off since, leaving only +me. And now I am about to die, and so I wish to make this statement +before I do so. + +"But if they had thought to cut into Jess Tatum's body after he was +dead, or to probe for the bullet in him, they would have known that it +was not Dudley Stackpole who really shot him, but somebody else; and +then I suppose suspicion might have fell upon me, although I doubt it. +Because they would have found that the bullet which killed him was fired +out of a forty-five-seventy shell, and Dudley Stackpole had done all of +the shooting he done with a thirty-eight caliber pistol, which would +throw a different-size bullet. But they never thought to do so." + +Question by the physician, Doctor Davis: "You mean to say that no +autopsy was performed upon the body of the deceased?" + +Answer by Bledsoe: "If you mean by performing an autopsy that they +probed into him or cut in to find the bullet I will answer no, sir, they +did not. They did not seem to think to do so, because it seemed to +everybody such a plain open-and-shut case that Dudley Stackpole had +killed him." + +Question by the Reverend Mr. Hewlitt: "I take it that you are making +this confession of your own free will and in order to clear the name of +an innocent party from blame and to purge your own soul?" + +Answer: "In reply to that I will say yes and no. If Dudley Stackpole is +still alive, which I doubt, he is by now getting to be an old man; but +if alive yet I would like for him to know that he did not fire the shot +which killed Jess Tatum on that occasion. He was not a bloodthirsty man, +and doubtless the matter may have preyed upon his mind. So on the bare +chance of him being still alive is why I make this dying statement to +you gentlemen in the presence of witnesses. But I am not ashamed, and +never was, at having done what I did do. I killed Jess Tatum with my own +hands, and I have never regretted it. I would not regard killing him as +a crime any more than you gentlemen here would regard it as a crime +killing a rattlesnake or a moccasin snake. Only, until now, I did not +think it advisable for me to admit it; which, on Dudley Stackpole's +account solely, is the only reason why I am now making this statement." + +And so on and so forth for the better part of a second column, with a +brief summary in Editor Tompkins' best style--which was a very dramatic +and moving style indeed--of the circumstances, as recalled by old +residents, of the ancient tragedy, and a short sketch of the deceased +Bledsoe, the facts regarding him being drawn from the same veracious +sources; and at the end of the article was a somewhat guarded but +altogether sympathetic reference to the distressful recollections borne +for so long and so patiently by an esteemed townsman, with a concluding +paragraph to the effect that though the gentleman in question had +declined to make a public statement touching on the remarkable +disclosures now added thus strangely as a final chapter to the annals of +an event long since occurred, the writer felt no hesitancy in saying +that appreciating, as they must, the motives which prompted him to +silence, his fellow citizens would one and all join the editor of the +_Daily Evening News_ in congratulating him upon the lifting of this +cloud from his life. + +"I only wish I had the language to express the way that old man looked +when I showed him the galley proofs of Bledsoe's confession," said +Editor Tompkins to a little interested group gathered in his sanctum +after the paper was on the streets that evening. "If I had such a power +I'd have this Frenchman Balzac clear off the boards when it came to +describing things. Gentlemen, let me tell you--I've been in this +business all my life, and I've seen lots of things, but I never saw +anything that was the beat of this thing. + +"Just as soon as this statement came to me in the mails this morning +from that place out in Oklahoma I rushed it into type, and I had a set +of galley proofs pulled and I stuck 'em in my pocket and I put out for +the Stackpole place out on Clay Street. I didn't want to trust either of +the reporters with this job. They're both good, smart, likely boys; but, +at that, they're only boys, and I didn't know how they'd go at this +thing; and, anyway, it looked like it was my job. + +"He was sitting on his porch reading, just a little old gray shell of a +man, all hunched up, and I walked up to him and I says: 'You'll pardon +me, Mr. Stackpole, but I've come to ask you a question and then to show +you something. Did you,' I says, 'ever know a man named A. Hamilton +Bledsoe?' + +"He sort of winced. He got up and made as if to go into the house +without answering me. I suppose it'd been so long since he had anybody +calling on him he hardly knew how to act. And then that question coming +out of a clear sky, as you might say, and rousing up bitter +memories--not probably that his bitter memories needed any rousing, +being always with him, anyway--may have jolted him pretty hard. But if +he aimed to go inside he changed his mind when he got to the door. He +turned round and came back. + +"'Yes,' he says, as though the words were being dragged out of him +against his will, 'I did once know a man of that name. He was commonly +called Ham Bledsoe. He lived near where'--he checked himself up, +here--'he lived,' he says, 'in this county at one time. I knew him +then.' + +"'That being so,' I says, 'I judge the proper thing to do is to ask you +to read these galley proofs,' and I handed them over and he read them +through without a word. Without a word, mind you, and yet if he'd spoken +a volume he couldn't have told me any clearer what was passing through +his mind when he came to the main facts than the way he did tell me just +by the look that came into his face. Gentlemen, when you sit and watch a +man sixty-odd years old being born again; when you see hope and life +come back to him all in a minute; when you see his soul being remade in +a flash, you'll find you can't describe it afterwards, but you're never +going to forget it. And another thing you'll find is that there is +nothing for you to say to him, nothing that you can say, nor nothing +that you want to say. + +"I did manage, when he was through, to ask him whether or not he wished +to make a statement. That was all from me, mind you, and yet I'd gone +out there with the idea in my head of getting material for a long newsy +piece out of him--what we call in this business heart-interest stuff. +All he said, though, as he handed me back the slips was, 'No, sir; but I +thank you--from the bottom of my heart I thank you.' And then he shook +hands with me--shook hands with me like a man who's forgotten almost how +'twas done--and he walked in his house and shut the door behind him, and +I came on away feeling exactly as though I had seen a funeral turned +into a resurrection." + +Editor Tompkins thought he had that day written the final chapter, but +he hadn't. The final chapter he was to write the next day, following +hard upon a denouement, which to Mr. Tompkins, he with his own eyes +having seen what he had seen, was so profound a puzzle that ever +thereafter he mentally catalogued it under one of his favorite +headlining phrases: "Deplorable Affair Shrouded in Mystery." + +Let us go back a few hours. For a fact, Mr. Tompkins had been witness to +a spirit's resurrection. It was as he had borne testimony--a life had +been reborn before his eyes. Even so, he, the sole spectator to and +chronicler of the glory of it, could not know the depth and the sweep +and the swing of the great heartening swell of joyous relief which +uplifted Dudley Stackpole at the reading of the dead Bledsoe's words. +None save Dudley Stackpole himself was ever to have a true appreciation +of the utter sweetness of that cleansing flood, nor he for long. + +As he closed his door upon the editor, plans, aspirations, ambitions +already were flowing to his brain, borne there upon that ground swell of +sudden happiness. Into the back spaces of his mind long-buried desires +went riding like chips upon a torrent. The substance of his patiently +endured self-martyrdom was lifted all in a second, and with it the +shadow of it. He would be thenceforth as other men, living as they +lived, taking, as they did, an active share and hand in communal life. +He was getting old. The good news had come late but not too late. That +day would mark the total disappearance of the morbid lonely recluse and +the rejuvenation of the normal-thinking, normal-habited citizen. That +very day he would make a beginning of the new order of things. + +And that very day he did; at least he tried. He put on his hat and he +took his cane in his hand and as he started down the street he sought to +put smartness and springiness into his gait. If the attempt was a sorry +failure, he, for one, did not appreciate the completeness of the +failure. He meant, anyhow, that his step no longer should be purposeless +and mechanical; that his walk should hereafter have intent in it. And as +he came down the porch steps he looked about him, but dully, with sick +and uninforming eyes, but with a livened interest in all familiar homely +things. + +Coming to his gate he saw, near at hand, Squire Jonas, now a gnarled but +still sprightly octogenarian, leaning upon a fence post surveying the +universe at large, as was the squire's daily custom. He called out a +good morning and waved his stick in greeting toward the squire with a +gesture which he endeavored to make natural. His aging muscles, staled +by thirty-odd years of lack of practice at such tricks, merely made it +jerky and forced. Still, the friendly design was there, plainly to be +divined; and the neighborly tone of his voice. But the squire, +ordinarily the most courteous of persons, and certainly one of the most +talkative, did not return the salutation. Astonishment congealed his +faculties, tied his tongue and paralyzed his biceps. He stared dumbly a +moment, and then, having regained coherent powers, he jammed his +brown-varnished straw hat firmly upon his ancient poll and went +scrambling up his gravel walk as fast as two rheumatic underpinnings +would take him, and on into his house like a man bearing incredible and +unbelievable tidings. + +Mr. Stackpole opened his gate and passed out and started down the +sidewalk. Midway of the next square he overtook a man he knew--an +elderly watchmaker, a Swiss by birth, who worked at Nagel's jewelry +store. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of times he had passed this man upon +the street. Always before he had passed him with averted eyes and a +stiff nod of recognition. Now, coming up behind the other, Mr. Stackpole +bade him a cheerful good day. At the sound of the words the Swiss spun +on his heel, then gulped audibly and backed away, flinching almost as +though a blow had been aimed at him. He muttered some meaningless +something, confusedly; he stared at Mr. Stackpole with widened eyes like +one who beholds an apparition in the broad of the day; he stepped on his +own feet and got in his own way as he shrank to the outer edge of the +narrow pavement. Mr. Stackpole was minded to fall into step alongside +the Swiss, but the latter would not have it so. He stumbled along for a +few yards, mute and plainly terribly embarrassed at finding himself in +this unexpected company, and then with a muttered sound which might be +interpreted as an apology or an explanation, or as a token of profound +surprise on his part, or as combination of them all, he turned abruptly +off into a grassed side lane which ran up into the old Enders orchard +and ended nowhere at all in particular. Once his back was turned to Mr. +Stackpole, he blessed himself fervently. On his face was the look of one +who would fend off what is evil and supernatural. + +Mr. Stackpole continued on his way. On a vacant lot at Franklin and Clay +Streets four small boys were playing one-eyed-cat. Switching his cane at +the weed tops with strokes which he strove to make casual, he stopped to +watch them, a half smile of approbation on his face. Pose and expression +showed that he desired their approval for his approval of their skill. +They stopped, too, when they saw him--stopped short. With one accord +they ceased their play, staring at him. Nervously the batsman withdrew +to the farther side of the common, dragging his bat behind him. The +three others followed, casting furtive looks backward over their +shoulders. Under a tree at the back of the lot they conferred together, +all the while shooting quick diffident glances toward where he stood. It +was plain something had put a blight upon their spirits; also, even at +this distance, they radiated a sort of inarticulate suspicion--a +suspicion of which plainly he was the object. + +For long years Mr. Stackpole's faculties for observation of the motives +and actions of his fellows had been sheathed. Still, disuse had not +altogether dulled them. Constant introspection had not destroyed his +gift for speculation. It was rusted, but still workable. He had read +aright Squire Jonas' stupefaction, the watchmaker's ludicrous alarm. He +now read aright the chill which the very sight of his altered +mien--cheerful and sprightly where they had expected grim aloofness--had +thrown upon the spirits of the ball players. Well, he could understand +it all. The alteration in him, coming without prior warning, had +startled them, frightened them, really. Well, that might have been +expected. The way had not been paved properly for the transformation. It +would be different when the _Daily Evening News_ came out. He would go +back home--he would wait. When they had read what was in the paper +people would not avoid him or flee from him. They would be coming into +his house to wish him well, to reëstablish old relations with him. Why, +it would be almost like holding a reception. He would be to those of his +own age as a friend of their youth, returning after a long absence to +his people, with the dour stranger who had lived in his house while he +was away now driven out and gone forever. + +He turned about and he went back home and he waited. But for a while +nothing happened, except that in the middle of the afternoon Aunt Kassie +unaccountably disappeared. She was gone when he left his seat on the +front porch and went back to the kitchen to give her some instruction +touching on supper. At dinnertime, entering his dining room, he had +without conscious intent whistled the bars of an old air, and at that +she had dropped a plate of hot egg bread and vanished into the pantry, +leaving the spilt fragments upon the floor. Nor had she returned. He had +made his meal unattended. Now, while he looked for her, she was hurrying +down the alley, bound for the home of her preacher. She felt the need of +his holy counsels and the reading of scriptural passages. She was used +to queerness in her master, but if he were going crazy all of a sudden, +why that would be a different matter altogether. So presently she was +confiding to her spiritual adviser. + +Mr. Stackpole returned to the porch and sat down again and waited for +what was to be. Through the heat of the waning afternoon Clay Street was +almost deserted; but toward sunset the thickening tides of pedestrian +travel began flowing by his house as men returned homeward from work. He +had a bowing acquaintance with most of those who passed. + +Two or three elderly men and women among them he had known fairly well +in years past. But no single one of those who came along turned in at +his gate to offer him the congratulation he so eagerly desired; no +single one, at sight of him, all poised and expectant, paused to call +out kindly words across the palings of his fence. Yet they must have +heard the news. He knew that they had heard it--all of them--knew it by +the stares they cast toward the house front as they went by. There was +more, though, in the staring than a quickened interest or a sharpened +curiosity. + +Was he wrong, or was there also a sort of subtle resentment in it? Was +there a sense vaguely conveyed that even these old acquaintances of his +felt almost personally aggrieved that a town character should have +ceased thus abruptly to be a town character--that they somehow felt a +subtle injustice had been done to public opinion, an affront offered to +civic tradition, through this unexpected sloughing off by him of the +rôle he for so long had worn? + +He was not wrong. There was an essence of a floating, formless +resentment there. Over the invisible tendons of mental telepathy it came +to him, registering emphatically. + +As he shrank back in his chair he summoned his philosophy to give him +balm and consolation for his disappointment. It would take time, of +course, for people to grow accustomed to the change in him--that was +only natural. In a few days, now, when the shock of the sensation had +worn off, things would be different. They would forgive him for breaking +a sort of unuttered communal law, but one hallowed, as it were, by rote +and custom. He vaguely comprehended that there might be such a law for +his case--a canon of procedure which, unnatural in itself, had come with +the passage of the passing years to be quite naturally accepted. + +Well, perhaps the man who broke such a law, even though it were +originally of his own fashioning, must abide the consequences. Even so, +though, things must be different when the minds of people had +readjusted. This he told himself over and over again, seeking in its +steady repetition salve for his hurt, overwrought feelings. + +And his nights--surely they would be different! Therein, after all, lay +the roots of the peace and the surcease which henceforth would be his +portion. At thought of this prospect, now imminent, he uplifted his soul +in a silent pæan of thanksgiving. + +Having no one in whom he ever had confided, it followed naturally that +no one else knew what torture he had suffered through all the nights of +all those years stretching behind him in so terribly long a perspective. +No one else knew how he had craved for the darkness which all the time +he had both feared and shunned. No one else knew how miserable a +travesty on sleep his sleep had been, first reading until a heavy +physical weariness came, then lying in his bed through the latter hours +of the night, fitfully dozing, often rousing, while from either side of +his bed, from the ceiling above, from the headboard behind him, and from +the footboard, strong lights played full and flary upon his twitching, +aching eyelids; and finally, towards dawn, with every nerve behind his +eyes taut with pain and strain, awakening unrefreshed to consciousness +of that nimbus of unrelieved false glare which encircled him, and the +stench of melted tallow and the stale reek of burned kerosene foul in +his nose. That, now, had been the hardest of all to endure. Endured +unceasingly, it had been because of his dread of a thing infinitely +worse--the agonized, twisted, dying face of Jess Tatum leaping at him +out of shadows. But now, thank God, that ghost of his own conjuring, +that wraith never seen but always feared, was laid to rest forever. +Never again would conscience put him, soul and body, upon the rack. This +night he would sleep--sleep as little children do in the all-enveloping, +friendly, comforting dark. + +Scarcely could he wait till a proper bedtime hour came. He forgot that +he had had no supper; forgot in that delectable anticipation the +disillusionizing experiences of the day. Mechanically he had, as dusk +came on, turned on the lights throughout the house, and force of habit +still operating, he left them all on when at eleven o'clock he quitted +the brilliantly illuminated porch and went to his bedroom on the second +floor. He undressed and he put on him his night wear, becoming a +grotesque shrunken figure, what with his meager naked legs and his ashen +eager face and thin dust-colored throat rising above the collarless +neckband of the garment. He blew out the flame of the oil lamp which +burned on a reading stand at the left side of his bed and extinguished +the two candles which stood on a table at the right side. + +Then he got in the bed and stretched out his arms, one aloft, the other +behind him, finding with the fingers of this hand the turncock of the +gas burner which swung low from the ceiling at the end of a goose-necked +iron pipe, finding with the fingers of that hand the wall switch which +controlled the battery of electric lights round about, and with a +long-drawn sigh of happy deliverance he turned off both gas and +electricity simultaneously and sank his head toward the pillow. + +The pæaned sigh turned to a shriek of mortal terror. Quaking in every +limb, crying out in a continuous frenzy of fright, he was up again on +his knees seeking with quivering hands for the switch; pawing about then +for matches with which to relight the gas. For the blackness--that +blackness to which he had been stranger for more than half his life--had +come upon him as an enemy smothering him, muffling his head in its +terrible black folds, stopping his nostrils with its black fingers, +gripping his windpipe with black cords, so that his breathing stopped. + +That blackness for which he had craved with an unappeasable hopeless +craving through thirty years and more was become a horror and a devil. +He had driven it from him. When he bade it return it returned not as a +friend and a comforter but as a mocking fiend. + +For months and years past he had realized that his optic nerves, +punished and preyed upon by constant and unwholesome brilliancy, were +nearing the point of collapse, and that all the other nerves in his +body, frayed and fretted, too, were all askew and jangled. Cognizant of +this he still could see no hope of relief, since his fears were greater +than his reasoning powers or his strength of will. With the fear lifted +and eternally dissipated in a breath, he had thought to find solace and +soothing and restoration in the darkness. But now the darkness, for +which his soul in its longing and his body in its stress had cried out +unceasingly and vainly, was denied him too. He could face neither the +one thing nor the other. + +Squatted there in the huddle of the bed coverings, he reasoned it all +out, and presently he found the answer. And the answer was this: Nature +for a while forgets and forgives offenses against her, but there comes +a time when Nature ceases to forgive the mistreatment of the body and +the mind, and sends then her law of atonement, to be visited upon the +transgressor with interest compounded a hundredfold. The user of +narcotics knows it; the drunkard knows it; and this poor self-crucified +victim of his own imagination--he knew it too. The hint of it had that +day been reflected in the attitude of his neighbors, for they merely had +obeyed, without conscious realization or analysis on their part, a law +of the natural scheme of things. The direct proof of it was, by this +night-time thing, revealed and made yet plainer. He stood convicted, a +chronic violator of the immutable rule. And he knew, likewise, there was +but one way out of the coil--and took it, there in his bedroom, vividly +ringed about by the obscene and indecent circle of his lights which kept +away the blessed, cursed darkness while the suicide's soul was passing. + + + + +AN INSTRUMENT OF THE GODS[6] + +By LINCOLN COLCORD + +(From _The American Magazine_) + + +"You think the Chinese are prosaic," said Nichols from the darkness of +his corner. "I've listened to you closely. You fellows have been +discussing only superficialities. At heart, you and the Oriental are the +same. The Chinese are romantic, I tell you; they are heroic. Yes, +really. Let me tell you a tale." + +Suddenly he laughed. "You won't be convinced. But strip my friend Lee Fu +Chang naked, forget about that long silken coat of his; dress him in a +cowboy's suit and locate him on the Western plains, and the game he +played with Captain Wilbur won't seem so inappropriate. You merely won't +expect a mandarin Chinaman to play it. You'll feel that China is too +civilized for what he did. + +"Some of you fellows must remember the notorious case of Captain Wilbur +and the 'Speedwell;' but I'll briefly refresh your memories: He was a +well-known shipmaster of the palmy days, and his vessel was one of the +finest clippers ever launched on the shores of New England. But she was +growing old; and Wilbur had suffered serious financial reverses, though +the fact wasn't generally known. + +"To make a long story short, he put the 'Speedwell' ashore in Ombay +Pass, on a voyage from Singapore to New York, and abandoned her as she +lay. Within a month after sailing, he was back again in Singapore with +his ship's company in three long boats and a tale of a lost vessel. No +hint of scandal was raised against the affair. The insurance companies +stood the gaff, the business was closed up without a hitch, and the name +of the 'Speedwell' passed simultaneously from the 'Maritime Register' +and from the books of her owners in America. + +"Wilbur went immediately to Batavia, and there hired a schooner and crew +with the proceeds of his personal holdings in the vessel. He sailed for +Ombay Pass; after a period of magnificent sailorizing and superhuman +effort he floated the ship and patched her so that she would stay +afloat. When he appeared off Batavia roadstead with the 'Speedwell' +under topgallant-sails, it was the sensation of the port; and when it +transpired what he intended to do with her, the news flew like wildfire +about the China Sea. For he proposed to hold the ship as salvage; and +nothing, apparently, could be done about it. He found men willing to +advance him credit, bought off his Lascar crew, took the 'Speedwell' to +Hong Kong and put her in dry dock, and soon was ready for business with +a fine ship of his own. + +"I was off on a trading voyage while these events were taking place. I +heard them first from Lee Fu Chang. + +"'An extraordinary incident!' exclaimed Lee Fu in conclusion. 'I am +deeply interested. It is a crowning stroke that he has not seen fit to +change the name of the vessel. All is as it was before, when the +well-known and reputable Captain Wilbur commanded his fine ship, the +"Speedwell," on voyages to the East.' + +"'Does the crowd have anything to do with him?' I asked. + +"'None of his old associates speak in passing. He goes about like a man +afflicted with a pestilence. Apparently, he is not disturbed by this +treatment. He makes no protest, offers no excuse, takes no notice; in +the face of outrageous insult he maintains an air of dignity and +reserve, like a man conscious of inner rectitude.' + +"'Did you talk with him, Lee Fu?' + +"'Oh, yes. In fact, I cultivated his acquaintance. It relieved, as it +were, the daily monotony of virtue. Do not think that he is a simple +man. His heart in this matter is unfathomable, and well worth sounding.' + +"'By Jove, I believe you liked him!' + +"'No, not that.' Lee Fu folded his hands within the long sleeves of his +embroidered coat and laid them across his stomach in a characteristic +attitude of meditation. 'No, quite the opposite. I abhorred him. He +feels no remorse; he goes his way in peace from the betrayal of a sacred +trust. He is an arch-criminal.' + +"'Aren't you laying it on a little thick?' I laughed. + +"Lee Fu smiled quietly, giving me a glance that was a mere flicker of +the eyelids. 'Captain, let me tell you, murder is brave and honorable +compared to this. Consider what he did: Trained to the sea and ships, +after a lifetime of service to his traditions, he suddenly forsakes them +utterly. It is blasphemy which he has committed; blasphemy against the +gods who guide and sustain us, and without whose aid we cannot live. So +I abhor him--and am fascinated. If you will believe me, Captain, I have +not in all my talk with him received a single flash of illumination; no, +not one! There is no clue to his design. He speaks of his ship as others +do; he is a big, red-faced man with frank glances and open speech. I +swear to you, his heart is untroubled. And that is horrible.' + +"I was a little amused at my friend's moral fervor. 'Perhaps he's +innocent,' I said. + +"'You forget that he holds the vessel,' Lee Fu reminded me. 'To one of +your race, if no blood flows, then it is not so bad. But bear in mind +that a strong man within your circle has murdered the spirit--and wait +until the actual blood flows.' + +"'What do you mean. Lee Fu?' + +"'I mean that Captain Wilbur will bear watching. In the meantime, do not +fail to study him when opportunity offers. Thus we learn of heaven and +hell.' + +"A few years went by, while the case of Captain Wilbur and the +'Speedwell' was in its initial stages of being forgotten. Nothing +succeeds like success; the man was growing rich, and there were many to +whom the possession of a fine vessel covered a multitude of sins. Some +of his old friends were willing after a while to let bygones be bygones. +Little by little, one began to see him again on the quarter-deck of an +evening, among the fleet captains. When, in time, it became unwise to +start the story against him for fear of misconstruction of the motive, +it was evident that he'd won his nefarious match against society. + +"I'd met him a number of times during this interval. Indeed, he +compelled attention. That perfect urbanity, that air of unfailing +dignity and confidence, that aura of a commanding personality, of an +able shipmaster among his brethren, of a man whose position in the world +was secure beyond peradventure; these could spring only from a quiet +conscience or from a heart perfectly attuned to villainy. So unconscious +was his poise that one often doubted the evidence of memory, and found +one's self going back over the record, only to fetch up point-blank +against the incontestable fact that he had stolen his ship and had +betrayed his profession. + +"'It is a triumph, a feat of character!' Lee Fu used to say, as we +compared notes on the case from time to time. 'I think that he has not +been guilty of a single minor error. His correctness is diabolical. It +presages disaster, like too much fair weather in the typhoon season. +Mark my word, Captain, when the major error comes it will be a great +tragedy.' + +"'Must there be an error?' I asked, falling into the mood of Lee Fu's +exaggerated concern. 'He has carried it off so far with the greatest +ease.' + +"'Yes, with the greatest ease,' Lee Fu repeated thoughtfully. 'Yet I +wonder if he has been properly put to the test. See how the world +protects him! But he is not invulnerable. Life will yet challenge +him--it must be. Can a man escape the gods? I wonder. That is why I +concern myself with him--to know his destiny.' + +"'You admit, then, that he may be merely a stupid fool?' I chaffed. + +"'Not stupid,' said Lee Fu. 'Yet, on the other hand, not superior to +life. Such faultless power of will is in itself no mean share of +ability. He is, as you might say, self-centered--most accurately +self-centered. But the challenge of the gods displaces the center of +all. He will be like a top that is done spinning. A little breath may +topple him. Wait and see.' + +"Voyage followed voyage; and one time, when I had come in from Bangkok +and was on my way to Lee Fu's office I passed Captain Wilbur on the +opposite side of Queen's Road. It flashed across my mind that I hadn't +observed the 'Speedwell' in harbor. + +"'The fact is, the successful Captain Wilbur has retired from active +service on the sea,' Lee Fu explained with a quizzical smile, when I put +the question. 'He is now a ship owner alone, and has favored Hong Kong +above all other ports as the seat of his retirement. He resides in a +fine house on Graham Terrace, and has chairmen in white livery edged +with crimson. Captain Nichols, you should steal a ship.' + +"'Who goes in the "Speedwell"?' + +"'An old friend of ours, one Captain Turner,' said Lee Fu slowly, +without looking in my direction. + +"'Not Will Turner?' + +"'The same.' + +"I pursed up my mouth in a silent whistle. Will Turner in the +'Speedwell!' Poor old chap, he must have lost another ship. Hard luck +seemed to pursue him, gave him no rest on land or sea. A capable sailor +and an honest man, yet life had afforded him nothing but a succession of +black eyes and heavy falls. Death and sorrow, too; he had buried a wife +and child, swept off by cholera, in the Bay of Bengal. Turner and I had +landed together in the China Sea; I knew his heart, his history, some of +his secrets, and liked him tremendously for the man he was. + +"Watching Lee Fu in silence, I thought of the relationship between Will +Turner and this extraordinary Chinaman. I won't go into the story, but +there were overwhelming reasons why they should think well of each +other; why Lee Fu should respect and honor Turner, and why Turner should +hold Lee Fu as his best friend. + +"'I did not know of the plan until he had accepted,' Lee Fu was saying. +'I did everything in my power to dissuade him.' + +"'Didn't Wilbur do the right thing?' + +"'Oh, yes. But it is unthinkable, Captain, that he should command the +"Speedwell." The jealous gods have not yet shown their hand.' + +"'Nonsense, Lee Fu!' I exclaimed, a little irritated. 'Since the thing +is done, hadn't we better try to be practical?' + +"'Exactly,' said Lee Fu. 'Let us be practical. Captain, is it impossible +for the Caucasian to reason from cause to effect? There seems to be no +logic in your design; which explains many curious facts of history. I +have merely insisted that a man who would do one thing would do another, +and that, sooner or later, life would present to him another thing to +do.' + +"'But I've known too many men to escape what you call destiny,' I argued +peevishly. + +"'Have you?' inquired Lee Fu. + +"That year I went into the Malay Archipelago for an extended cruise, was +gone seven months among the islands, and reached Hong Kong just ahead of +a bad blow. Typhoon signals were flying from the Peak as I came in; the +sky to the eastward had lowered and darkened like a shutter, and the +breeze had begun to whip in vicious gusts across the harbor. I carried +important communications for Lee Fu, so went ashore at once. The outer +office was full of gathering gloom, although it was still early +afternoon. Sing Toy immediately took in my name; and soon I was ushered +into the familiar room, where my friend sat beside a shaded lamp, facing +a teakwood desk inlaid with ivory, and invariably bare, save for a +priceless Ming vase and an ornament of old green bronze. + +"'I am glad to see you, Captain,' he said dispassionately. 'Sit down. I +have bad news.' + +"'Yes?' I queried, more than a little alarmed. + +"Folding his hands across his stomach and slightly bowing his head, he +gazed at me with a level upturned glance that, without betraying +expression, carried by its very immobility a hint of deep emotion. 'It +is as I told you,' he said at last. 'Now, perhaps, you will believe.' + +"'For heaven's sake, what are you talking about?' I demanded. + +"'We had another typhoon this season, a very early one. It was this +typhoon into whose face our late friend Captain Turner took his ship, +the "Speedwell," sailing from Hong Kong for New York some four months +ago. Three days after sailing, he met the typhoon and was blown upon a +lee shore two hundred miles along the China coast. In this predicament, +he cut away his masts and came to anchor. But his ship would not float, +and accordingly sunk at the anchors.' + +"'Sunk at her anchors!' I exclaimed. 'How could that be? A tight ship +never did such a thing.' + +"'Nevertheless, she sunk in the midst of the gale, and all on board +perished. Afterwards the news was reported from shore, and the hull was +discovered in ten fathoms of water. There has been talk of trying to +save the ship; and Captain Wilbur himself, in a diver's suit, has +inspected the wreck. Surely, he should know if it is possible to salve +her! He says no, and it is reported that the insurance companies are in +agreement with him.' Lee Fu's voice dropped to a rasping tone. 'The +lives, of course, he cannot save.' + +"I sat for some moments gazing at the green bronze dragon on the desk, +stunned by what I had heard. Turner gone? Even between us, who had seen +each other seldom in late years, there had been a bond. Weren't we known +as the two Eastern wanderers? + +"'That is not all,' said Lee Fu suddenly. 'What more?' I asked. + +"'Listen, Captain, and pay close attention. Some weeks after the loss of +the "Speedwell," it came to my ears that a man had a tale worth hearing. +He was brought; he proved to be a common coolie who had been employed in +the loading of the "Speedwell." This coolie had been gambling during the +dinner hour, and had lost the small sum that he should have taken home +as the result of several days' labor. Likewise, he feared his wife, and +particularly her mother, who was a shrew. In a moment of desperation, as +the lighter was preparing to leave for the night, he escaped and +secreted himself in the hold of the vessel. + +"'He had long been asleep that night when he was suddenly awakened by a +sound on the ladder leading from the upper deck. It was a sound of +careful steps, mingled with a faint metallic rattling. A moment later a +foot descended on the floor of the between-decks, and lantern was +cautiously lighted. The coolie retreated quickly into the lower hold, +and from his post among the bales of merchandise was able to see all +that went on.' + +"Again Lee Fu paused, as if lingering over the scene. 'It seems that +this late and secret comer into the hold of the "Speedwell" was none +other than her owner, Captain Wilbur,' he slowly resumed. 'The coolie +knew him by face, and had seen him come on board that afternoon. +Afterwards, through my inquiries, I learned that Captain Turner had +spent that night on shore. It was Captain Wilbur's custom, it seems, +frequently to sleep on board his ship when she lay in port. Have you +ever been in the lower hold of the "Speedwell," Captain Nichols?' + +"'No, I haven't.' + +"'But you recall her famous ports?' + +"'Yes, indeed.' The incident at once came back to me in detail. The +'Speedwell' once had carried a cargo of ironwood from Singapore for a +temple up the Yangtse-kiang. In order to load the immense timbers, she +had been obliged to cut bow ports of extraordinary size, fifty inches in +depth, they were, and nearly seven feet in width, according to my +recollection. + +"'It has been my privilege,' said Lee Fu, 'to examine carefully the +forepeak of this vessel. I had chartered her one time, and felt alarmed +for her safety until I had seen the interior fastenings of these great +windows that looked out into the deep sea. But my alarm was groundless. +There was a most ingenious device for strengthening the bows where they +had been weakened by the cutting of the ports. Four or five timbers had, +of course, been severed; but these were reproduced on the port itself, +and the whole was fashioned like a massive door. It lifted upward on +immense wrought-iron hinges; when it was lowered in place gigantic bars +of iron, fitted into brackets on the adjoining timbers, stretched across +its face to hold it against the impact of the waves. Thus the port, when +tightly caulked from without, became again an integral part of the hull; +I was told that there had never keen a trace of leakage from her bows. +And, most remarkable of all, I was told, when it became necessary to +open these ports for use, the task could easily be accomplished by two +or three men and a stout watch-tackle. This I am now prepared to +believe. + +"'But, to resume the account of the coolie,' Lee Fu went on with +exasperating deliberation. 'This is what he saw: Our friend Captain +Wilbur descended into the lower hold and forward to the forepeak, where +there was little cargo. There he worked with great effort for several +hours. He had equipped himself with a short crowbar, and carried a light +tackle wrapped beneath his coat. The tackle he loosened and hung to a +hook above the middle of the port; it was merely for the purpose of +lowering the iron crossbars so that they would make no noise. Had one +fallen--' + +"'Good God, Lee Fu, what are you trying to tell me?' + +"'Merely an incident of the night. So, with the crowbar, Captain Wilbur +pried loose the iron braces, slinging them in his tackle and dropping +them softly one by one into the ship's bottom. It was a heavy task; the +coolie said that sweat poured from the big man like rain. Last of all he +covered the bars with dunnage, and rolled against the bow several bulky +bales of matting to conceal the work. Captain, when the "Speedwell" +sailed from Hong Kong in command of our honored friend, one of her great +bow ports below the water hung on its hinges without internal +fastenings, and held in place only by the tightness of the caulking. The +first heavy weather--' + +"'Can this be possible?' I said through clenched teeth. + +"'Oh, yes, so easily possible that it happened,' answered Lee Fu. + +"'But why should he do such a thing? Had he anything against Turner?' + +"'Captain, you do not understand. He merely was tired of the vessel; and +freights are becoming very poor. He wanted his insurance. He had no +thought of disaster so he now assures himself; what he had in mind was +for the ship to sink discreetly in pleasant weather. Yet he was willing +enough to run the chance of wholesale murder.' + +"I got up and began pacing the floor; the damnable affair had made me +sick at heart, and a little sick at the stomach. + +"'Thus the gods have struck,' said Lee Fu behind me, in that changeless +voice that for a moment seemed to concentrate the echo of the ages. +'There is blood at last, Captain--twenty-seven lives, and among them one +dear to us--enough even to convince one of your race that a crime has +been committed. But I was mistaken in much that I foresaw. The criminal, +it seems, is destined not to suffer. He has escaped the gods.' + +"Can't you bring him to a reckoning? Isn't there some way--' + +"Lee Fu shook his head. 'No, Captain, he is amply protected. What could +I accomplish in your courts with this fantastic tale, and for witnesses +a coolie and a sampan man?' + +"I continued to pace the floor, thinking dark thoughts. There was a way, +of course, between man and man; but such things are no longer done in +the heart of civilization, except in sudden passion or jealousy. + +"Pacing rapidly, and oblivious to everything but the four walls of the +room, I nearly ran into Sing Toy coming in with a message from the outer +office. He whispered a word in Lee Fu's ear. + +"'Ah!' exclaimed Lee Fu sharply. I started, whirled around. His voice +had lost the level, passive tone; it had taken on the timbre of action. + +"'Send him in,' he said in Chinese to Sing Toy. + +"'Who is it?' I asked breathlessly. + +"'The man we have been speaking of.' + +"'Wilbur? What the devil does he want?' + +"'Nothing,' answered Lee Fu, speaking swiftly. 'He merely came to make a +call. So he thinks; but I think otherwise. Beware of word or glance. +This chanced by arrangement. We are on the threshold of the gods.' + +"Lee Fu remained standing as Captain Wilbur entered the room. His +hurried admonition still rang in my ears: 'Keep silence--beware of word +or glance!' But I couldn't have spoken intelligibly just then. To beware +of glances was a different matter. I stood as if rooted to the floor, +gazing point-blank at Wilbur with a stare that must have made him wonder +as to my sanity. + +"'Good afternoon, Captain Wilbur,' said Lee Fu blandly. 'I think you are +acquainted with Captain Nichols, of the bark "Omega"?' + +"'Oh, how-do, Nichols,' said Wilbur, advancing down the room. 'I've +missed you around town for a good while. Glad you're back. I suppose you +had the usual assortment of adventures?' + +"I drew back to escape shaking his hand. + +"'No,' I answered, 'nothing like the adventure that awaited me here.' + +"He settled himself in a chair, directly in range of the light, smiled, +and lifted his eyebrows. 'So? Well, I can believe you. This office, you +know, is the heart of all adventure.' He bowed toward Lee Fu, who had +resumed his seat. + +"'You honor me, Captain,' replied the Chinaman. 'Yet it is only life +which may be called the heart of adventure--life, with its amazing +secrets that one by one transpire into the day, and with its enormous +burden of evil that weighs us down like slaves.' + +"Wilbur laughed. 'Yes, that's it, no doubt. Good, too, Lee Fu, plenty of +good. Don't be pessimistic. But I suppose you're right, in a way; the +evil always does manage to be more romantic.' + +"'Much more romantic,' said Lee Fu. 'And the secrets are more romantic +still. Consider, for instance, the case of a dark secret, which by +chance has already become known. How infinitely romantic! Though the man +feels secure, yet inevitably it will be disclosed. When, and how? Such a +case would be well worth watching--as the great writer had in mind when +he wrote, "Murder will out."' + +"The winged words made no impression on their mark. Wilbur met Lee Fu's +glance frankly, innocently, with interest. By Jove, he was wonderful! +The damned rascal hadn't a nerve in his body. + +"I examined him closely. Above a trimmed brown beard his cheeks showed +the ruddy color of health and energy; his eyes were steady; his mouth +was strong and clean; a head of fine gray hair surmounted a high +forehead; the whole aspect of his countenance was pleasing and +dignified. Sitting at ease, dressed neatly in blue serge, with an arm +thrown over the chair back and one ankle resting on the other knee, he +presented a fine figure. + +"He gave a hearty laugh. 'For the Lord's sake, come out of the gloom!' +he cried. 'I drop in for a chat, and find a couple of blue devils up to +their ears in the sins of humanity. Nichols over there has hardly opened +his mouth.' + +"'It is the mood of the approaching storm,' interposed Lee Fu quietly. + +"A fiercer squall than the last shook the building; it passed in a +moment as if dropping us in mid-air. Wilbur was the first to speak. +'Yes, it's going to be a hummer, isn't it? A bad night to be on the +water, gentlemen. I wouldn't care to be threshing around outside, now, +as poor old Turner was such a short while ago.' + +"I could have struck him across the mouth for his callousness. + +"Lee Fu's voice fell like oil on a breaking sea. 'All signs point to +another severe typhoon. It happened, Captain, that we were discussing +the loss of the "Speedwell" when you came in.' + +"'Too bad--too bad,' said Wilbur slowly, with a shake of the head. 'You +were away, Nichols, weren't you? It was a bad week here, I can tell you, +after the news came in. I shall never forget it. Well, we take our +chances.' + +"'Some of us do, and some of us don't,' I snapped. + +"'That's just the way I feel about it,' he said simply. 'It came home +hard to me.' My jaw fairly dropped as I listened. Was it possible that +he liked to talk about the affair? + +"'We were wondering,' observed Lee Fu, 'why it was that the "Speedwell" +did not remain afloat. What is your opinion, Captain Wilbur?' + +"'It isn't a matter of opinion,' Wilbur answered. 'Haven't I seen you +since the inspection? Why, the starboard bow port is stove in. I've +always been afraid of those big bow ports. When I heard the peculiar +circumstances, I knew in my heart what had happened.' + +"'Did you?' inquired Lee Fu, with a slight hardening of the voice. +'Captain, have you collected your insurance?' + +"Wilbur frowned and glanced up sharply, very properly offended. The next +moment he had decided to pass it off as an instance of alien manners. +'I've just cleaned up today,' he replied brusquely. 'Had my last +settlement with Lloyd's this morning--and did a silly thing, if you'll +believe me. They had a package of large denomination bank notes, crisp, +wonderful looking fellows; I took a sudden fancy and asked for my money +in this form. To tell the truth, I've got it on me now; must get to the +bank, too, before it closes.' + +"'What is the amount of the bank notes which you have in your +possession?' asked Lee Fu in a level tone that carried its own insult. + +"Wilbur showed his astonishment. 'Amount? Well, if you want all the +details, I've got about forty thousand dollars in my pocket.' + +"Lee Fu turned and shot at me a blank stare full of meaning; it might +have been a look of caution, or a glance of triumph. I knew that I was +expected to understand something, to glimpse some pregnant purpose; but +for the life of me I couldn't catch on. + +"'I, also, knew in my heart what had happened,' said Lee Fu slowly, +staring at Wilbur with a steady gaze. As he looked, he reached out with +his right hand and opened the top drawer of the desk. Suddenly he stood +up. The hand held a revolver, pointed at Wilbur's breast. + +"'If you move from your chair, Captain, I will shoot you dead, and your +end will never be known,' he said rapidly. 'It is time we came to an +understanding for the day wanes.' + +"Wilbur uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and looked at Lee Fu +narrowly. 'What's the joke?' he asked. + +"'A joke that will be clear as time goes on--like one you played with +bow ports on my friend. Captain, we are going on a journey. Will you +join us, Captain Nichols, or will you remain on shore?' + +"The question was perfunctory; Lee Fu knew well enough that my decision +was in his hands. I stood up--for until now I had been chained to my +chair by the amazing turn of the moment. + +"'Bow ports?' Wilbur was saying. 'Put that gun down! What in hell do you +mean?' He started to rise. + +"'Sit down!' commanded Lee Fu. 'I mean that I will shoot. This is not +play.' Wilbur sank back, angry and confused. + +"'Are you crazy, Lee Fu?' he demanded. 'What's the meaning of this, +Nichols? Do you intend to rob me? Have both of you gone mad?' + +"'Is it possible that you do not comprehend that I share your secret?' +asked Lee Fu sternly. 'You were observed, Captain, that night in the +forepeak of the "Speedwell;" and those details, also, are known to me. +It is needless to dissemble.' + +"'That night in the forepeak?--Lee Fu, for God's sake, what are you +talking about?' + +"'Ah!' exclaimed Lee Fu with evident satisfaction. 'You are worthy of +the occasion, Captain. That is well. It will be most interesting.' + +"He slapped his left palm sharply on the desk; Sing Toy appeared at the +door as if by a mechanical arrangement. 'Bring oilskin coats and hats +for three,' Lee Fu commanded. 'Also, send in haste to my cruising +sampan, with orders to prepare for an immediate trip. Have water and +food provided for a week. We come within the half hour and sail without +delay.' + +"'Master!' protested Sing Toy. 'Master, the typhoon!' + +"'I know, fool,' answered Lee Fu. 'I am neither deaf nor blind. Have I +not ordered oilskin coats? Do as I have said.' + +"He sat down, resting the gun on the corner of the desk, and resumed the +bland tone of conversation. 'I am sorry, gentlemen, that the rain has +already come; but there is water also below, as Captain Wilbur should be +aware. Yes, it was destined from the first to be a wet journey. Yet it +will still be possible to breathe; and not so bad as solid water on all +sides, where, after a grim struggle, one lies at rest, neither caring +nor remembering--Captain Wilbur, listen to me. We go from this office to +my sampan, which lies moored at the bulkhead not far away. During the +walk, you will precede us. I will hold my revolver in my hand--and I am +an excellent shot. If you attempt to escape, or to communicate with any +passer-by, you will immediately be dead. Do not think that I would fear +the consequences; we will pass through Chinese streets, where action of +mine would not be questioned.' + +"'Damn you!' Wilbur burst out. 'What silly nonsense are you up to? +Nichols, will you permit this? Where are you going to take me?' + +"'Never mind,' replied Lee Fu. 'As for Captain Nichols, he, also, is at +my mercy. Ah, here are the raincoats. Put one on, Captain Wilbur; you +will need it sorely before your return. Now we must hurry. I would be +clear of the harbor before darkness entirely falls.' + +"Issuing from the doorway, the gale caught us with a swirl that carried +us around the corner and down a side street. 'To the right!' Lee Fu +shouted. Wilbur, lurching ahead, obeyed sullenly. We came about and made +for the water front through the fringe of the Chinese quarter, the most +remarkable trio, perhaps, that had ever threaded those familiar +thoroughfares. + +"Overhead, the sky had settled low on the slope of the Peak. We +floundered on, enveloped in a gray gloom like that of an eclipse. When +we reached the water front the face of the bay had undergone a sinister +change, its yellow-green waters lashed into sickly foam and shrouded by +an unnatural gleaming darkness. A distant moaning sound ran through the +upper air, vague yet distinctly audible. The center of the typhoon was +headed in our direction. + +"As we staggered along the quay, my thoughts worked rapidly. I saw the +plan now, and recognized the dangerous nature of the undertaking on +which we'd embarked. It was to be a game of bluff, in which we would +have to risk our lives if the other held his ground. + +"I edged toward Lee Fu. 'Will you go on the water?' I asked in his ear. + +"He nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Wilbur ahead. + +"'But it can't be done,' I told him. 'A boat won't live.' + +"'There is always a definite alternative,' he replied abruptly. + +"'Yes--that we sink.' + +"'Exactly.' + +"All at once, in a flash of enlightenment, the greatness of the occasion +came to me. By Jove! He had taken the matter in his own hands; he had +stepped in when the gods had failed. But he had observed the divine +proprieties; had seen that if he presumed to act for the gods he must +throw his own life, as well, into the balance. He must run every risk. +It was for them, after all, to make the final choice. He was only +forcing action on the gods. + +"I gazed at him in wonder. He advanced stiffly against the storm, +walking like an automaton. Beneath the close pulled rim of a black +sou'wester his smooth oval countenance looked ridiculously vacant, like +the face of a placid moon. He was the only calm object on earth, sea or +sky; against the lashing rain, the dancing boats, the scudding clouds, +the hurried shadows of appearing and vanishing men, he stood out +plainly, a different essence, a higher spirit, the embodiment of mind +and will. + +"And how was it with Wilbur, off there in the lead? He, too, walked +stiffly, wrapped in thought. Once he turned, as if to come back and +speak to us; then whirled with a violent movement of decision and +plunged on into the rain. He knew, now, what it was all about, if not +what to expect. He knew that his crime had been discovered. Yet he had +made no break; in no particular had he given himself away. What had he +decided? What had he been about to say? Would he confess, when he faced +death on the water; or would he be confident enough to believe that he +could beat the game? + +"Observing his broad back, his commanding figure, that looked thoroughly +at home in its oilskin coat and leaning against the storm, it came to me +that he would put up a desperate defense before he succumbed. He, too, +was a strong man, and no part of a coward; he, too, in a different way, +was a superior being, the embodiment of mind and will. + +"Then, for a moment, my own spirit went slump with the realization of +what lay before us, and a great weakness overcame me. I edged again +toward Lee Fu. + +"'My God, what if the man really is innocent?' I cried. 'He hasn't +turned a hair.' + +"Lee Fu gave me a flash of the moon face beneath the sou'wester, 'Have +no fear, my friend,' he reassured me. 'I am completely satisfied, in +regions where the soul dwells.' + +"When we reached the sampan, lying under a weather shore beneath the +bulkhead, we found a scene of consternation. Lee Fu's orders had +arrived, and had been executed; yet the men couldn't believe that he +actually meant to sail. Gathered in a panic-stricken group on the fore +deck of the sampan, they chattered like a flock of magpies; as they +caught sight of us, they swarmed across the bulkhead and fell at Lee +Fu's feet, begging for mercy. + +"'Up, dogs!' he cried. 'There is no danger. I shall steer, and it is +necessary that we go. If any would remain, let them depart now, with no +tale to tell. Let those who stay prepare at once for sea.' + +"I found Wilbur beside me. 'What's this madness, Nichols?' he demanded +for the third and last time. + +"'I know no more about it than you do,' I answered shortly. 'He has told +his crew to prepare for sea. If he goes, we all go.' + +"A moment later we stood on the quarter-deck of the cruising sampan. Lee +Fu took his station at the great tiller. The wind lulled, as the trough +of a squall passed over; he gave a few sharp orders. Moorings were cast +off, a pinch of sail was lifted forward. The big craft found her freedom +with a lurch and a stagger; then pulled herself together and left the +land with a steady rush, skimming dead before the wind across the smooth +upper reach of the harbor and quickly losing herself in the murk and +spray that hung off Kowloon Point. Lee Fu somehow managed to avoid the +fleet at anchor off Wanchi; straight down the length of the bay he +struck, and in an incredibly short time we had left the harbor behind +and were whirling through the narrow gut of Lymoon Pass before a +terrific squall, bound for the open sea. + +"I watched Captain Wilbur. He stood carelessly at the rail during our +race down the harbor, scanning the boat and the water with an air of +confidence and unconcern. A sneer curled his lip; he had made up his +mind to see the nonsense through. The sailor in him had quickly +recognized that the craft would stand the weather in smooth water; he +probably expected any minute that Lee Fu would call it quits and put +into some sheltered cove. + +"But when we shot through Lymoon Pass, I saw him turn and scrutinize the +Chinaman closely. Darkness was falling behind the murk, the real night +now; and ahead of us lay a widening reach among the islands that opened +abruptly on the main body of the China Sea. We were rapidly leaving the +protection of Victoria Island. Soon we would be unable to see our way. +Ten miles outside a high sea was running. And with every blast of wind +that held in the same quarter, the center of the typhoon was bearing +down on us with unerring aim. + +"These things were as patent to Wilbur as to any of us. In fact, his +knowledge was his undoing; had he been less of a sailor, or had he been +entirely ignorant of sea matters, he could have resigned himself to the +situation on the assumption that Lee Fu never would put himself in +actual danger. Perhaps Lee Fu had foreseen this when he chose the sea as +the medium of justice; perhaps he had glimpsed the profound and subtle +truth that Wilbur couldn't properly be broken save in his native +environment. He knew the sea, had trifled with it; then let him face the +sea. + +"The time came, just before we lost the loom of the land, when Wilbur +could stand it no longer; as a sailor, used to responsibility and +command, he had to speak his mind. + +"He dropped aft beside Lee Fu, and put his hand to his mouth. 'You're +running to your death!' he shouted. 'You've already lost Pootoy. If you +can't haul up and make the lee of the Lema Islands--' + +"'I intend to pass nowhere near them,' answered Lee Fu, keeping his eyes +on the yawning bow of the sampan. + +"'There's nothing to the eastward--no shelter.' + +"'Of that I am aware.' + +"'Do you know what that means?' Wilbur pointed above the stern rail into +the face of the storm. + +"'I think we will get the center, Captain, by tomorrow noon.' + +"Wilbur made a move as if to grasp the tiller. 'Haul up, you fool!' + +"A stray gleam in the gathering darkness caught the barrel of the +revolver, as Lee Fu steered for a moment with one hand. + +"'Beware, Captain! You are the fool; would you broach us to, and end it +now? One thing alone will send me to seek the last shelter; and for that +thing I think you are not ready.' + +"'What?' + +"'To say that you sunk the "Speedwell."' + +"Wilbur gathered his strength as if to strike; his face was distorted +with passion. + +"'You lie, you yellow hound!' + +"'Exactly--Captain, be careful--come no nearer! Also, leave me alone. If +you value your life, you will keep silence and stay a little forward. +Go, quickly! Here I could shoot you with the greatest impunity.'" + +Nichols paused. "Maybe some of you fellows haven't seen Lee Fu's +cruising sampan," he remarked. "In reality, she's more of a junk than a +sampan, a sizable craft of over a hundred tons, and the best product of +the Chinese shipyard. Lee Fu had her built for trips along the coast, +and many of his own ideas, born of an expert knowledge of ships of every +nationality entered into her construction. The result is distinctly a +Chinese creation, a craft that seems to reflect his personality, that +responds to his touch and works with him. She's higher in the bows than +an ordinary junk, and lower in the stern; a broad, shallow hull that +needs a centerboard on the wind. Of course she's completely decked over +for heavy weather. In charge of any of us, perhaps, she would be +unmanageable; but in his hands, I can assure you, she's a sea boat of +remarkable attainments. + +"I had seen him handle her under difficult conditions, but never in such +a pass as this. How he did it was inconceivable to me. The last I saw of +him that night he had called two men to help him at the tiller; and, so +far, he had kept the craft before the wind. + +"For many hours I was surrounded by pitch blackness and the storm. I +clung to a single stanchion, hardly changing my position during the +night, drenched by rain and spray, seeing nothing, hearing no word. The +gale roared above us with that peculiar tearing sound that accompanies +the body of a typhoon; a sound suggestive of unearthly anger and +violence, as if elemental forces were ripping up the envelope of the +universe. The wind gained steadily in volume; it picked up the sea in +steep ridges of solid water that flung us like a chip from crest to +crest, or caught us, burst above us and swallowed us whole, as if we had +suddenly sunk in a deep well. Every moment I expected would be our last. +Yet, as time wore on, I felt through the sampan's frantic floundering a +hand of guidance, a touch of mastery. Lee Fu steered, and she was still +in his control. A night to turn the hair gray, to shatter the mind. + +"But we came through, and saw the dawn. A pale watery light little by +little crept into the east, disclosing a scene of terror beyond +description. The face of the sea was livid with flying yellow foam; the +torn sky hung closely over it like the fringe of a mighty waterfall. In +the midst of this churning cauldron our little craft seemed momently on +the point of disappearing, engulfed by the wrath of the elements. + +"In the lull of the storm my glance encountered Wilbur; for a long while +I'd forgotten him entirely. He hung to the rail a little farther +forward, gazing across the maelstrom with a fixed, exhausted expression. +His face was haggard; the strain of the night had marked him with a +ruthless hand. As I watched him, his eye turned slowly in my direction; +he gave me an anxious look, then crawled along the rail to a place by my +side. + +"'Nichols, we're lost!' I heard him cry in my ear. The voice was almost +plaintive; it suddenly made me angry, revived a few sparks of my own +courage. + +"'What of it?' I cried harshly. 'Turner was lost.' + +"'You believe that, too?' + +"I looked at him point-blank; his eyes shifted; he couldn't face me now. +'Yes, I do,' I told him. 'Why don't you own up, before--?' + +"He moved away hastily, as if offended to the heart. But the strong man +had gone, the air of perfect confidence had disappeared; he was +shattered and spent--but not yet broken. Pride is more tenacious than +courage; and men with hearts of water will continue to function through +self-esteem. + +"Looking above his head, where the sky and the sea met in a blanket of +flying spume, I caught sight for an instant of something that resembled +the vague form of a headland. Watching closely, I soon saw it +again--unmistakably the shadow of land to port, well forward, of the +beam. Land! That meant that the wind had shifted to the southward, that +we were being blown against the shore. + +"I worked my way cautiously aft, where Lee Fu stood like a man of iron +at the tiller, lashed to the heavy cross-rail that must have been +constructed for such occasions. He saw me coming, leaned toward me. + +"'Land!' I shouted, pointing on the port bow. + +"He nodded vigorously, to show me that he'd already seen it. +'Recognize--' The rest of the answer was blown away by the wind. + +"By pantomime, I called his attention to the shift of the storm. Again +he nodded--then ducked his head in Wilbur's direction, and shouted +something that I couldn't quite follow. 'Change our tactics--we must +change our tactics--' was what I understood him to say. + +"He beckoned me to come closer; grasping the cross-rail, I swung down +beside him. + +"'I know our position,' he cried in my ear. 'Have no alarm, my friend. +There are two large islands, and a third, small like a button. Watch +closely the button, while I steer. When it touches the high headland, +give me the news instantly.' + +"He had hauled the junk a trifle to port, and with every opportunity was +edging toward the land. The tall headland that I'd first sighted grew +plainer with every moment; soon I made out the island like a button and +saw it closing rapidly on the land behind. + +"'Now!' I shouted to Lee Fu, when the two had touched. + +"He swung the sampan a couple of points to starboard, discovering close +beneath our bows the tip of another reef that stretched toward the land +diagonally across the path of the wind. In a moment we were almost +abreast this point of reef; a hundred yards away, its spray lashed our +decks as the low-lying black rocks caught the broken wash of the storm. +Another swing of the great tiller, and we had hauled up in the lee of +the reef--in quiet water at last, but with the gale still screaming +overhead like a defeated demon. + +"It was like nothing but a return from hell. The wind held us in a solid +blast; but to feel the deck grow quiet, to be able to speak, to +hear--and then, to see the land close aboard. By Jove, we were saved! + +"A voice spoke gruffly beside us. 'By God, I hope you're satisfied!' We +turned to see Wilbur at the head of the cross-rail. A twitching face +belied the nonchalance that he'd attempted to throw into the words. + +"'I don't know how we lived!' he snarled. 'What in the name of God made +you try it? Nothing but luck--and now the typhoon's leaving us. We can +wait here till the blow dies down.' + +"'Is that all, Captain, that you have to say?' inquired Lee Fu, his +attention riveted on the course. + +"Wilbur clutched the rail as if he would tear it from its fastenings. 'A +damned sight more, you blackguard; but I'll save it for the +authorities!' + +"'You feel no thanks for your escape--and there is nothing on your +mind?' + +"'Nothing but sleep--why should there be? Let's wind up this farce and +get to anchor somewhere; I'm fagged out.' + +"'No, we are going on,' said Lee Fu calmly, making no move to come into +the wind. 'No time for rest, Captain; the journey is not done.' + +"'Going on?' He turned fiercely, and for a moment he and Lee Fu gazed +deep into each other's eyes in a grapple that gave no quarter. + +"'Yes, Captain!' cried Lee Fu sharply. 'We have not yet reached the spot +where the "Speedwell" met her doom. Now go! I cannot waste time in +talk.' + +"Since this experience, I've many times examined the charts of the +region," Nichols went on. "But they don't begin to show it all. Beyond +the middle island stretched a larger island, distant some five miles +from the other; and between them lay the most intricate, extraordinary +and terrible nest of reefs ever devised by the mind of the Maker and the +hand of geologic change. + +"The outlying fringe of reefs that had broken first approach ended at +the middle island; beyond that to windward lay clear water, and the nest +of reefs that I've mentioned received the full force of the wind and +sea. Five miles of water stretched in mad confusion, a solid whiteness +of spouting foam that seemed to hold a hideous illumination. Beyond the +point of the middle island the long wind-swept rollers burst in tall +columns of spray that shut off the view like a curtain as we drew near, +where the rocks began in an unbroken wall. + +"It was directly against this wall that Lee Fu was driving the sampan. +The first lift of the outside swell had already caught us. I held my +breath, as moment by moment we cut down the margin of safety. No use to +interfere; perhaps he knew what he was doing; perhaps he actually had +gone mad under the terrific strain. As he steered, he seemed to be +watching intently for landmarks. Was it possible that he still knew his +bearings, that there was a way through? + +"Wilbur, at Lee Fu's command, had left us without a word. He stood at +the rail, supporting himself by main strength, facing the frightful line +of the approaching reefs; and on his back was written the desperate +struggle he was having. It bent and twisted, sagging with sudden +irresolution, writhing with stubborn obduracy, straightening and shaking +itself at times in a wave of firmness and confidence, only to quail once +more before the sight that met his eyes. He couldn't believe that Lee Fu +would hold the course. 'Only another moment!' he kept crying to himself. +'Hold on a little longer!' Yet his will had been sapped by the long +hours of the night and the terror of the dawn; and courage, which with +him had rested only on the sands of ostentation, had crumbled long ago. + +"I turned away, overcome by a sickening sensation; I couldn't look +longer. Lee Fu waited tensely, peering ahead and to windward with +lightning glances. A wave caught us, flung us forward. Suddenly I heard +him cry out at my side in exultation as he bore down on the tiller. The +cry was echoed from forward by a loud scream that shot like an arrow +through the thunder. Wilbur had sunk beside the rail. The sampan fell +off, carried high on the wave. + +"Then, in a moment like the coming of death, we plunged into the reef. I +have no knowledge of what took place--and there are no words to tell the +story. Solid water swamped us; the thunder of the surf stopped the mind. +But we didn't touch, there was a way through, we had crossed the outer +margin of the reef. We ran the terrible gauntlet of the reef, surrounded +on every hand by towering breakers, lost in the appalling roar of the +elements. Without warning, we were flung between a pair of jagged ledges +and launched bodily on the surface of a concealed lagoon. + +"A low rocky island lay in the center of the nest of reefs, with a +stretch of open water to leeward of it, all completely hidden from view +until that moment. The open water ran for perhaps a couple of miles; +beyond it the surf began again in another unbroken line. It would take +us ten minutes to cross the lagoon. + +"'Bring Captain Wilbur,' said Lee Fu. + +"I crept forward, where Wilbur lay beside the rail, his arm around a +stanchion. He was moaning to himself as if he'd been injured. I kicked +him roughly; he lifted an ashen face. + +"'Come aft--you're wanted,' I cried. + +"He followed like a dog. Lee Fu, at the tiller, beckoned us to stand +beside him; I pulled Wilbur up by the slack of his coat, and pinned him +against the cross-rail. + +"'This is the end,' said Lee Fu, speaking in loud jerks, as he steered +across the lagoon. 'There is no way out, except by the way we came. That +way is closed. Here we can find shelter until the storm passes, if you +will speak. If not, we shall go on. By this time. Captain, you know me +to be a man of my word.' + +"'You yellow devil!' + +"'Beyond these reefs, Captain, lies the wreck of your ship the +"Speedwell." There my friend met death at your hands. You have had full +time to consider. Will you join him, or return to Hong Kong? A word will +save you. And remember that the moments are passing very swiftly.' + +"With a last flicker of obstinate pride, Wilbur pulled himself together +and whirled on us. 'It's a damnable lie!' + +"'Very well, Captain. Go forward once more, and reserve your final +explanation for the gods.' + +"The flicker of pride persisted; Wilbur staggered off, holding by the +rail. I waited beside Lee Fu. Thus we stood, watching the approach of +the lagoon's leeward margin. Had Lee Fu spoken truthfully; was there no +way out? I couldn't be certain; all I knew was that the wall of spouting +surf was at our bows, that the jaws of death seemed opening again. + +"Suddenly Wilbur's head snapped back; he flung up his arms in a gesture +of finality, shaking clenched fists into the sky. He was at the point of +surrender. The torture had reached his vitals. He floundered aft. + +"'What is it I must say?' he cried hoarsely, in a voice that by its very +abasement had taken on a certain dignity. + +"'Say that you sunk the "Speedwell."' + +"His face was shocking; a strong man breaking isn't a pleasant object. +In a flash I realized how awful had been this struggle of the wills. He +came to the decision as we watched, lost his last grip. + +"'Of course I did it! You knew it all along! I had no intention--You +madman! For God's sake, haul up, before you're in the breakers!' + +"'Show me your insurance money.' + +"Wilbur dug frantically in an inside pocket, produced a packet of bank +notes, held them in a hand that trembled violently as the gale fluttered +the crisp leaves. + +"'Throw them overboard.' + +"For the fraction of a second he hesitated; then all resolution went out +in his eyes like a dying flame. He extended his arm and loosed the +notes; they were gone down the wind before our eyes could follow them. + +"In the same instant Lee Fu flung down the great tiller. The sampan came +into the wind with a shock that threw us to the deck. Close under our +lee quarter lay the breakers, less than a couple of hundred yards away. +Lee Fu made frantic signals forward, where the crew were watching us in +utter terror. I felt the centerboard drop; a patch of sail rose on the +main. The boat answered, gathered headway, drove forward-- + +"Wilbur lay as he had fallen and made no move. + +"Two nights later, under a clear starry sky, we slipped through Lymoon +Pass on the tail of the land breeze. It fell flat calm before we reached +Wanchi; the long sweeps were shipped, and the chattering crew, who'd +never expected to see Hong Kong again, fell to work willingly. At length +we rounded to against the bulkhead and settled into our berth, as if +back from a late pleasure trip down the bay. + +"A little forward, Wilbur rose to his feet. He hadn't spoken or touched +food since that tragic hour under the reefs two nights before. Without a +glance in our direction, he made for the side and stepped ashore. There +was a bright light behind him; his form stood out plainly. It had lost +the lines of vigor and alertness; it was the figure of a different and +older man. + +"A moment later he had lurched away, vanishing in the darkness of a side +street. Three days later, we heard that he had taken the boat for +Singapore. He hasn't been seen or heard of since that day. + +"When he had gone, that night at the bulkhead, Lee Fu reached out a hand +to help me to my feet. 'Thank you, Captain,' he said. 'For my part, it +has been supremely interesting. For your part, I hope that you have been +repaid?' + +"'It's enough to be alive, just now,' I answered. 'I want a chart, Lee +Fu. I want to see what you did. How you did it is quite beyond my +comprehension.' + +"'Oh, that? It was not much. The gods were always with us, as you must +have observed. And I know that place pretty well.' + +"'Evidently. Did the "Speedwell" fetch up among those reefs, or to +leeward of them?' + +"'The "Speedwell?" Captain, you did not believe my little pleasantry! We +were nowhere near the wreck of the "Speedwell," as Captain Wilbur should +have known had he retained his mind.' + +"I smiled feebly. 'I didn't know it. Tell me another thing, Lee Fu. Were +you bluffing, there at the last, or wasn't there really a hole through +the reef?' + +"'So far as I am aware, Captain, there was no passage,' answered my +imperturbable friend. 'I believe we were heading for the rocks when we +came into the wind.' + +"'Would you have piled us up?' + +"'That is merely a hypothetical question. I knew that I would not be +forced to do it. I was only afraid that, in the final anguish, Captain +Wilbur would lose his sense of seamanship, and so would wait too long. +That, I confess, would have been unfortunate. Otherwise, there was no +doubt or especial danger.' + +"'I'm glad to know it!' I exclaimed, with a shudder of recollection. 'It +wasn't apparent at the time.' + +"'No, perhaps not; time was very swift. In fact, he did wait too long. +He was more willful than I had anticipated.' + +"I gazed across the harbor, reviewing the experience. 'What did you have +in mind,' I asked, 'before the typhoon shifted? Did you expect to catch +the center?' + +"'I had no plan; it is dangerous to plan. There was a task to be begun; +the determination of its direction and result lay with the gods. It was +plain that I had been called upon to act; but beyond that I neither saw +nor cared to see.' + +"I could believe him only because I'd witnessed his incredible calm. He +waved a hand toward the city. 'Come, my friend, let us sleep,' he said. +'We have earned our rest. Learn from this never to plan, and always to +beware of overconfidence. It is by straining to look into the future +that men exhaust themselves for present duty; and it is by making their +little plans that men bring down the wrath of the gods. We are their +instruments, molding in faith and humility our various destinies. +Perhaps you thought me unfeeling, but I was only happy. There constantly +were too many propitious signs.'" + + + + +THE LIZARD GOD[7] + +By CHARLES J. FINGER + +(From _All's Well_) + + +It is not pleasant to have one's convictions disturbed, and that is why +I wish I had never seen that man Rounds. He seems to have crossed my +path only to shake my self-confidence. The little conversation we had +has left me dissatisfied. I look upon my collection with less interest +than I did. I am not as pleased with the result of my investigations as +they appear in my monograph on "The Saurian Family of Equatorial +America." Doubtless the mood that now possesses me will pass away, and I +shall recover my equanimity. His story would have upset most men. Worse +still was his unpleasant habit of interjecting strange opinions. Judge +for yourself. + +It was when passing through the Reptile room on my way to the study that +I first saw him. I took him to be a mere common working man passing away +an idle hour; one of the ordinary Museum visitors. Two hours later, I +noticed that he was closely examining the lizard cases. Then later, he +seemed interested in my collection of prints illustrating the living +world of the ante-diluvian period. It was then that I approached him, +and, finding him apparently intelligent, with, as it seemed, a bent +towards lizards, and further, discovering that he had traveled in Peru +and Colombia, took him to the study. + +The man had some unusual habits. He was absolutely lacking in that sense +of respect, as I may term it, usually accorded to one in my position. +One who is a professor and curator becomes accustomed to a certain +amount of, well, diffidence in laymen. The attitude is entirely natural. +It is a tribute. But Rounds was not that way. He was perfectly at ease. +He had an air of quiet self-possession. He refused the chair I +indicated, the chair set for visitors and students, and instead, walked +to the window and threw up the lower sash, taking a seat on the sill, +with one foot resting on the floor and the other swinging. Thus, he +looked as though he were prepared to leap, or to jump or run. He gave me +the impression of being on the alert. Without asking permission, he +filled and lit his pipe, taking his tobacco from a queerly made pouch, +and using but one hand in the process. + +"What I was looking for," he said, "is a kind of lizard. Yet it is not a +lizard. It is too hard and thin in the body to be that. It runs on its +hind legs. It is white. Its bite is poisonous. It lives in the +equatorial districts of Colombia." + +"Have you seen one?" I asked. + +"No," was the reply. Then after a moment he asked, "Why?" + +"Because there is no such living creature," I said. + +"How do you know?" he said abruptly. + +"The lizard group is thoroughly classified," I said. "There is nothing +answering to that description. In the first place--" + +"Does that make it non-existent? Your classification of what you know?" +he interrupted. + +"I have made a study of the Saurians," I said. + +"No you haven't," he said. "You have read what other men have written +and that is not the same thing." + +"Really," I began, but he broke in. + +"I mean to say that you have never been in any new equatorial country," +he said. "Your manner shows that. You are too quiet. Too easy. Too +sedentary. You would have been killed because of your lack of +vigilance." + +That is, as nearly as I can repeat and remember, the opening of the +conversation. There was an air of challenge about the man that I found +unpleasant. Of course I admitted the fact that I was not an explorer +myself, and that mine was the humbler if more tedious task of collecting +and arranging data. At that he said that in his opinion, organized +expeditions were little more than pleasure jaunts taken at the public +expense. His viewpoint was most extraordinary. + +"Such an expedition," he said, "must fail in its main purpose because +its very unwieldiness destroys or disperses the very things it was +organized to study. It cannot penetrate the wilds; it cannot get into +the dry lands. The very needs of the men and horses and dogs prevent +that. It must keep to beaten tracks and in touch with the edge of +civilization. The members of such an expedition are mere killers on a +large scale, and to kill or to hunt a thing is to not know it at all. +Further, the men in such expeditions are not hunters even. They are +destroyers who destroy while keeping themselves in safety. They have +their beaters. Their paid natives. Humbug! That's the only word to +describe that kind of thing. Staged effects they have. Then they come +back here to pose as heroes before a crowd of gaping city clerks." + +I mentioned the remarkable results obtained by the Peary and Roosevelt +expeditions and pointed to the fact that the specimens brought back and +properly set up by efficient taxidermists, did, in fact, give the common +people some notion of the wonders of animal life. + +"Nothing of the kind," he said. "Look at that boa-constrictor you have +out there. It is stuffed and in a glass case. Don't you know that in its +natural surroundings you yourself would come mighty near stepping on one +without seeing it? You would. If you had that thing set up as it should +be, these museum visitors of yours would pass the case believing it was +a mere collection of foliage. They wouldn't see the snake itself. See +what I mean? Set up as they are in real life they'd come near being +invisible." + +The man walked up and down the study floor for half a minute or so, then +paused at the desk and said: + +"Don't let us get to entertaining one another though. But remember this, +you only get knowledge at a cost. I mean to say that the man that would +know something, can only get the knowledge at first hand. The people who +wander around this junk shop that you call a museum, go out as empty +headed as they came in. Consider. Say a Fiji islander came here and took +back with him from the United States an electric light bulb, a stuffed +possum, an old hat, a stalactite from the Mammoth cave, a sackful of +pecan nuts, a pair of handcuffs, half a dozen photographs and a dozen +packing cases full of things gathered from here and there, and then set +the whole junk pile up under a roof in the Fiji Islands, what would his +fellow Fijians know from that of the social life of this country. Eh? +Tell me that?" + +"You exaggerate," I protested. "You take an extreme point of view." + +"I don't," he said. + +His contradictions would have made me angry, perhaps, were they not made +in such a quiet tone of voice. + +"Take anything from its natural surroundings," he went on, "and it is +meaningless. The dull-eyed men and women that wander through this Museum +of yours are just killing time. There's no education in that kind of +thing. Besides, what they see are dead things, anyway, and you can't +study human nature in a morgue." + +He resumed his seat on the window sill, then took from an inner pocket a +leather wallet, and drew from that a photograph which he tossed across +so that it fell on the desk before me. I examined it carefully. It had +been badly developed and badly printed, and what was worse, roughly +handled. But still, one could distinguish certain features. + +It pictured the interior of a building. It was roofless, and above the +rear wall was what I recognized as tropical vegetation, mainly by its +wild luxuriance. In the center of the rear wall was what seemed to be a +giant stone lizard, standing on its hind legs. The one foreleg that +showed was disproportionately short. The body, too, was more attenuated +than that of any lizard. The thing was headless and the statue, idol or +whatever it was, stood on a pedestal, and before that again, seemed to +be a slab of stone. Then my attention was caught by the head of the +thing, which was to be seen in a corner. It was shaped roughly +triangular. The jaws were broad at the base and the thing had, even in +the photograph, something of the same repulsive appearance as the head +of a vampire bat. + +"It is the result of the imagination of some Indian," I said. "No +post-diluvian Saurian ever existed of that size." + +"Good God, man, you jump to conclusions," he said. "This is only a +representation of the thing itself. Made in heroic size, so to say. But +see here!" + +He leaned over my shoulder and pointed to a kind of border that ran +along the base of the pedestal. Examining closely, I made out a series +of lizards running on their hind legs. + +"They," he explained, "are cut into the stone. It is a sort of red +sandstone. They are a little bigger than the thing itself as it is +living. But look at this." + +The particular spot to which he pointed was blurred and dirty, as though +many fingers had pointed to it and I took the magnifying glass for +closer inspection. Even then I only saw dimly as something that bore a +resemblance to the carved figures. + +"That," he said, "is as near as ever I came to seeing one of the little +devils. I think it was one of them though I am not sure. I caught sight +of it flashing across like a swiftly blown leaf. We took the picture by +flashlight you see, so I'm not sure. Somerfield, of course, was too busy +attending to his camera. He saw nothing." + +"We might have another picture made," I said. "It would be interesting." + +"D'ye think I'd be able to carry plunder around traveling as I was +then?" he asked. "You see, I went down there for the Company I'm working +for. I was looking out for rubber and hard woods. I'd worked from +Buenaventura. From Buenaventura down to the Rio Caqueta and then +followed that stream up to the water head, and then down the Codajaz. If +you look at the map, you'll see it's no easy trip. No chance to pack +much. All I wanted to carry was information. And there was only +Somerfield along." + +"But Somerfield--he, as I take it, was the photographer, was he not? Did +he not take care of the negatives? It would not have been much for him +to take care of." + +"Well you see, he did take care of his negatives. But circumstances were +different at the time. He had laid them away somewhere. After I killed +him, I just brought away the camera and that was all." + +Positively, I gasped at the audacity of the man. He said the words "I +killed him," so quietly, in so matter of fact a way, that for the moment +I was breathless. Like most other men, I had never sat face to face with +one who had taken the life of another. Even soldiers, though they, we +suppose, kill men, do it in a machine-like way. The killing is +impersonal. The soldier handles the machine and it is the machine that +kills. The individual soldier does not know whether he kills or not. +That is why we are able to make much of the soldier, perhaps, I have +thought since, though it never appeared to me in that light before I met +Rounds. Actually, we are repelled at the thought of a man who kills +another deliberately. If it were not so, as Rounds pointed out, we would +make a hero of the public executioner. He should be as heroic a figure +as a general. But as I tell you, at the moment, when Rounds said, "when +I killed him," I was shocked. I had never before realized how violence +was a thing apart from my life. I had looked at the representation of +murder on the stage. I had read novels with murder as the mainspring. I +had seen shootings and stabbings in moving pictures. Yet, not until that +moment had I any suspicion that violence was so rare a thing and that +most of our lives are far, far removed from it. Actually, I have never +struck a man, nor has any man ever lifted his hand against me in anger. + +It was, therefore, a startling thing to hear Rounds confess to having +killed a fellow man. It was awesome. And yet, let me say, that at once I +was possessed of a great desire to learn all about it, and down in my +heart I feared that he would decide he had said something that he should +not have said, and would either deny his statement or modify it in some +way. I wanted to hear all the details. I was hugely interested. Was it +morbidity? Then I came to myself after what was a shock, and awoke to +the fact that he was talking in his quiet, even way. + +"But those Tlingas held the belief, and that was all there was to it," +he was saying. + +I came to attention and said, "Of course. It is natural," for I feared +to have him know that I was inattentive even for that short space, and +waited for elucidations. + +"It seems," he went on, "that the tribe was dying out. Helm, who first +told me something of it at Buenaventura, was one of those scientists who +have to invent a new theory for every new thing they were told of. He +said it was either because of eating too much meat, or not enough. I +forget which. There had been a falling off in the birth rate. The +Tocalinian who had lived with them, and who joined us at the headwaters +of the Codajaz, maintained that there had been too much inbreeding. So +there was some arrangement by means of which they invited immigrants, as +it were. Men from other neighboring tribes were encouraged to join the +Tlingas. And they did. The Tlingas had a fat land and welcomed the +immigrants. The immigrants on their part expected to have an easy time." + +"That would make for racial improvement," I hazarded. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"The best from other lands would tend to improve their race. That was my +idea when I spoke," I said. + +He laughed quietly. "Something of the same idea that you foster here," +he said. "I've laughed at that many's the time. America is this, that +and the other; its people are inventive, intelligent, original, free, +independent and all the rest of it because it is a result of the best +blood of other lands. Eh? Lord, man, how you fool yourself! Can't you +see that you would have a far better case if you deplored the fact that +we are a result of the worse? All the fugitives, the poor, the +ill-educated, the unfortunate, the ne'er-do-wells have been swarming +here from Europe for two centuries. Can't you see that no man who could +fight successfully against odds in his own country would emigrate? Can't +you see that? If you said that we are a people that will allow any +active minority to put anything over on us, because we are the result of +generations of poor-spirited fugitives who couldn't fight for their +personal freedom, you would be nearer the mark." + +His argument of course was absurd, and at the moment I had no answer +ready, though since I have thought of the thing I should have said. As +Rounds talked, he grew quieter in his tone. He moved from his place on +the window sill and sat on the corner of my desk. I had forgotten my +uneasiness at being in the presence of one who had taken his fellow's +life. He went on: + +"When there's a falling birth rate, things change. There are manners and +customs evolved that would seem strange to you. There come laws and +religions, all made to match current requirements. Celibacy and +sterility become a crime. Virginity becomes a disgrace, a something to +be ridiculed." + +"It seems impossible," I said. + +"No," he said. "You have that in part. You ridicule what you call old +maids, don't you?" + +Again I was too slow with my reply. If I ever meet him again, I shall +show him the fallacy of many of his arguments. + +"Men with most children had the most to say. The childless were +penalized, were punished. The sterile were put to death. There grew up a +religion and a priesthood, ceremonials, sacrifices and rituals. And they +had their god, in the shape of this lizard thing. Of course, like most +other gods, it was more of a malevolent creature than anything else. +Gods generally are if you will consider a little. I don't care what +creed or religion gets the upper hand, it's Fear that becomes the power. +Look around and see if I'm not right. + +"Well, Somerfield and I walked into that kind of thing. Now like me, he +had worked for the Exploration Company a good few years and had been to +all kinds of places prospecting. Torres Straits, the Gold Coast, +Madagascar, Patagonia. We prospectors have to get around in queer +corners and the life's a dull one. All monotony. But Somerfield had +queer notions. He worked at the job because he could make more money +than at anything else and that gave him a chance to keep his family in +Ohio in comfort. He was mighty fond of his family. Besides, the job gave +him more time with the wife and kids than the average man gets. When he +was at home, he was at home three months on end at times. That's better +than the ordinary man. A man in a city, for example, leaves home early +and gets home late, and then he's too grouchy what with the close air +and one thing and another to find the children anything but an infernal +nuisance. Now a man away from his home for a long spell on end really +enjoys the company when he does get home, and they enjoy his company, +too. Then, too, he does not get to messing into the affairs of the +family. He's not the Lord Almighty and Supreme Court Judge all the time. +Besides that, the wife and children get a kind of independence. + +"Now this being so, Somerfield was what he was. He had ideas about +religion. He was full of the notion that things are arranged so that if +you live up to a certain code, you'll get a reward. 'Do right, and +you'll come out right,' was one of his sayings. 'The wages of sin is +death,' was another. Point out to him that virtue got paid in the same +coin, and he'd argue. No use. In a way he was like a man who wouldn't +walk under a ladder or spill salt. You know. + +"Naturally, for him things were awkward at the Tlinga village. We stayed +there quite a while, I should say. He lived in his own shack, cooking +for himself and all that. He was full of ideas of duty to his wife and +so on. I fell in with the local customs and took up with a sweetheart, +and handled things so well that there was one of their ceremonials +pretty soon in which I was central figure. Ista, it seems, made a public +announcement. That would be natural enough with a tribe so concerned +about the family birth rate. But it made me sorter mad to hear the +natives everlastingly accusing Somerfield of being an undesirable. But +they never let up trying to educate him and make him a Tlinga citizen. +They were patient and persistent enough. On the other hand, I was looked +on as a model young man, and received into the best society. + +"About the time we were ready to strike west, Ista, that was my girl, +told me that there would have to be a new ceremonial. She took my going +in good part, for there was nothing more I could do. They were sensible +enough to know that man was only an instrument in the great game as they +understood it. Ista had led me out to a quiet place to put me next. I +remember that vividly because of a little thing that happened that +doesn't mean anything. I often wonder why resultless things sometimes +stick in the mind. We were sitting at the base of a tall tree and there +was a certain bush close by with bright red berries when they were +unripe. They look good to eat. But when they ripened, they grew fat and +juicy, the size of a grape, and of a liverish color. I thought that one +of them had fallen on my left forearm and went to flick it off. Instead +of being that, the thing burst into a blood splotch as soon as I hit it. +That was the first time I had been bitten by one of those bugs. They are +about the size of a sheep tick when empty, but they get on you and suck +and suck, till they are full of your blood and size of a grape. Queer +things, but ugly. Ista laughed as you would laugh if you saw a nigger +afraid of a harmless snake. It's queer that it should be considered a +joke when one fears something that another does not. + +"But that has nothing to do with the story. What has, is that Ista +wanted to tell me about the ceremonial. She did not believe in it at +all. Privately, she was a kind of atheist among her people, but kept her +opinions to herself. You must not think that because you see, hear or +read of savage rites, that all the savages believe in those things. No +sir. There is as much disbelief amongst them as with us. Perhaps more. +They think things out. I might say that in a way they think more than +the average civilized man. You see, a civilized child thinks for itself +up until it is six or seven or so, and then the schools get hold of it, +and from then on, it's tradition and believing what it's told to +believe. That goes on through school life. Then at work, the man who +would dare to vary on his own account is not wanted. So independent +thought is not possible there. Work finished, it's the evening paper and +editorial opinions. So really, man does not get much of a chance to +think straight at any time. I guess if he did, the whole scheme would +fall to pieces. That's why I say civilized man does not only not think, +but perhaps can't think. His brains are not trained to it. Give the +average man something with real, straight, original, first-hand thought +in it, and he's simply unable to tackle it. His brain has not been +cultivated. He wilts mentally. It's like putting the work of a man on a +boy. Catch what I mean? Now a savage gets more of a chance. It was that +way with Ista. She had thought out things for herself and had her own +beliefs, but they were not the beliefs the Tlingas were supposed to +hold. But after all she did not tell me much besides her own disbeliefs. +When you think of it, no one can tell another much. What you know you +have to discover alone. All she told me was what was going to be done, +and that was about as disappointing as the information you might get +about what would take place in initiation in a secret society. Some was +lost in transmission. + +"Well, at last the ceremonial started up with a great banging of drums +and all that. It was a great scene, let me tell you, with the tumbled +vegetation, glaringly colored as if a scene painter had gone crazy. +There were the flashing birds--blood-colored and orange scarlet and +yellow, gold and green. Butterflies, too,--great gaudy things that +looked like moving flowers. And the noise and chatterings and whistlings +in the trees of birds and insects. There were flowers and fruits, and +eatings and speech-makings. As far as I could gather, the chief speakers +were congratulating the hearers upon their luck in belonging to the +Tlingas, which was the greatest tribe on earth and the favorite of Naol, +the lizard god. We capered round the tribal pole, I capering with the +rest of them of course. Somerfield took a picture of it. Then there was +a procession of prospective mothers with Ista among them. Rotten, I +thought it. Don't imagine female beauty, by the way, as some of the +writers on savage life would have you imagine it. Nothing of the kind. +White, black or yellow, I never saw a stark woman that looked beautiful +yet. That's all bunk. Muscular and strong, yes. That's a kind of beauty +in its way. True as God, I believe that one of the causes of unhappy +marriages among white folk is that the lads are fed upon false notions +about womanly beauty, and when they get the reality they think that +they've captured a lemon. + +"Presently the crowd quieted down and the men were set around in a +semicircle with me and Somerfield at the end. Then a red-eyed old hag +tottered out and began cursing Somerfield. She spat in his face and +called him all outrageous names that came to her vindictive tongue. +Luckily it was that he had been put next, and so, forewarned, was able +to grin and bear it. But Lord, how she did tongue-lash him. Then she +took a flat piece of wood, shaped like a laurel leaf, which was fastened +to a thin strip of hide, and showed him that. It was a kind of charm, +and on it was cut one of the running lizards. She wanted him to rub it +on his forehead. Of course with his notions of religion he wouldn't do +it. That's natural. When she passed it to me, I did what she wanted +done. I never was particular that way. Symbols mean nothing anyway and +if fools are in the majority, it's no use stirring up trouble. It's +playing a lie of course, but then that's the part of wisdom it seems to +me, sometimes. It's in a line with protective coloring. You remember +what I said about the proper mounting of your specimens don't you? Well, +it's like that. That's why persecutions have never stamped out opinions +nor prohibitions appetites. The wisest keep their counsel and go on as +usual. The martyrs are the weak fools. But let's see. Where was I? Oh, +yes. The old woman and the piece of wood. + +"She began running from this one to that, kind of working herself up +into a frenzy. Then she started to chant some old nonsense. There was a +rhythm to it. She sang: + + 'Nao calls for the useless.' + +"Then the rest of them would shout + + 'Nao calls. Nao calls.' + +"There was a terrible lot of it. The main purport was that this Nao was +the ruling devil or god of the place. It called for the sacrifice of the +useless. Many men were needed so that the one should be born who would +lead the Tlingas to victory. That was the tone of it, and at the end of +every line she sang, the crowd joined in with the refrain. + + 'Nao calls. Nao calls.' + +"Of course they became worked up. She handled them pretty much the same +as a skillful speaker does things at a political meeting or an +evangelist at a revival. The same spirit was there. Instead of a flag, +there was the tribal pole. There was the old gag of their nation or +tribe being the chosen one. I don't care where you go, there is always +the same thing. Every tribe and nation is cock-sure that theirs is the +best. They have the bravest and the wisest men and the best women. But I +kept nudging Somerfield. It was hard on him. He was the Judas and the +traitor and all that. 'Damn-fool superstition,' he muttered to me time +and again. But of course he was a bit nervous, and so was I. Being in +the minority is awkward. The human brain simply isn't strong enough to +encounter organized opposition. It wears. You spend too much energy +being on the defensive. + +"After a time, when the song was done, the old hag seemed pretty well +played out. Then she passed the piece of wood I told you of to a big +buck, and he started to whirling it round and round. He was a skillful +chap at the trick, and in a little had it whirling and screaming. Then +presently some of the birds fell to noise making just as you will hear +canaries sing when some one whistles, or women talk when a piano +commences to play. I saw something of the same down in Torres Straits. +They call it the Twanyirika there. In the Malay Peninsula they use +something of the kind to scare the elephants out of the plantations. +They've got it on the Gold Coast as well. It's called the Oro there. +Really it's all over the world. I've seen Scotch herd boys use something +like it to scare the cattle, and Mexican sheep herders in Texas to make +the sheep run together when they scatter too far. Of course there's +really nothing to be scared of, but when it comes near you, you feel +inclined to duck. To me, it was the feeling that the flat piece of wood +would fly off and hit me. You always duck when you hear a whizzing. +Still, the priests or medicine men trade on the head-ducking tendency. +So, somehow, in the course of time, it gets so that those that listen +have to bow down. Oh, yes! You say it's ridiculous and fanciful and all +that sort of thing. I know. I have heard others say the same. It's only +a noise and nothing to be scared of. But then, when you come to think of +it, most men are scared of noise. They're like animals in that respect. +What is a curse but a noise? Yet most men are secretly afraid of +curses. They're uneasy under them. Yet they know it's only noise. Then +look at thunderings from the pulpit. Look at excommunications. Look at +denunciations. All noises to be sure. But there's the threat of force +behind some of them. The blow may come and again it may not. + +"As I said, every one bowed down and of course so did I, on general +principles. Somerfield didn't and the old buck whirled that bull-roarer +over him ever so long, and the red-eyed hag cursed and spat at him, but +he never budged. That sort of conduct is damned foolishness according to +my notion. But then, you see, in a kind of a way he was backing his +prejudices against theirs and prejudices are pretty solid things when +you consider. Still, he took a hell of a chance. + +"On the trail next day, for we left the following morning, I argued with +him about that, but he couldn't be budged. He said he stood for truth +and all that kind of thing. I put it to him that he would expect any +foreigner to conform to his national customs. He'd expect a Turk to give +up his polygamy, I said, no matter what heart-breakings it cost some of +the family. But he had a kink in his thinking, holding that his people +had the whole, solid, unchanging truth. Of course, the argument came +down with a crash then, for it worked around to a question of what is +truth. There you are. There was the limit. So we quit. As I tell you, +the human brain is not constituted to do much thinking. It's been +crippled by lack of use. We are mentally stunted in growth. I remember +that I began to say something about the possibility of there being +several gods, meaning that some time or other men with imagination had +defied some natural thing, but it came to me that I was talking +nonsense, so I quit. Yet I know right well that many tribes have made +gods of things of which they were afraid. But it's small profit to +theorize. + +"It was near sundown when we came to that building shown in that +photograph. The vegetation was so thick thereabouts that the temple, for +I suppose it was that, appeared before us suddenly. One moment we were +crawling like insects between the trunks of great jungle trees that shot +upwards seventy feet or more without a branch, as if they were racing +for dear life skyward, and then everything fell away and there was the +old building. It startled the both of us. We got the sensation that you +get when you see a really good play. You forget your bodily presence and +you are only a bundle of nerves. You walk or sit or stand, but without +any effort or knowledge that you are doing it. We had been talking, and +the sight of that building, so unexpected, startled us into silence. It +would any one. Believe me, your imperturbable man with perfect, cool, +self-possession does not exist. Man's a jumpy thing, given to nerves. +You may deny it and talk about the unexcitability of the American +citizen and all that bunk, but let me tell you that your journalists and +moving picture producers and preachers and politicians have caught on to +the fact that man is jumpy, and they trade on their discovery, believe +me. They've got man on the hop every which way and keep him going. + +"There had been a gateway there once, but for some reason or other it +had become blocked with a rank vegetation. The old gap was chocked full +with a thorny, flower-bearing bush so thick that a cat could not have +passed through. Somerfield switched on one of his theories as soon as he +got over his first surprise. Worshipers, he held, had brought flowers +there and the seeds that had dropped had sprouted. It looked reasonable. + +"Above the lintel was carved one of those running lizards. That you +noticed early. You can't see that in the picture because we took that +from the edge of a broken wall. You see, all the walls stood except that +to the left of this doorway and that had partly fallen and what was left +was chin high. We saw at a glance that the people who had built that +temple were handy with tools. The stones of the wall were quite big--two +feet or more square, and fitted closely. There was no mortar to hold +them but the ends had been made with alternate grooves and projections +that fitted well. The stone was a kind of red sandstone. But I told you +that before. + +"When we looked over the broken wall and saw that stone lizard, we had +another shock. I don't care how you school yourself, there's a scare in +every man. That's what annoys me, to see men posing and letting +themselves be written up and speechified over as fearless. Fearless +General this and Admiral that. Our fearless boys in the trenches. It +sickens me. Why the whole race has been fed up on fear for ages. +Fearlessness is impossible. Hell-fire, boogermen, devils, witches, the +wrath of God--it's all been fear. Things that we know nothing of and +have no proof of have been added to things that we do know of that will +hurt, and, on top of that there has been the everlasting 'cuidado' lest +you say a word that will run foul of current opinion--so what wonder +that man is scary? It's a wonder that he's sane. + +"After we took that picture we debated for the first time where we +should camp that night. A new scare possessed us. In the end, we decided +to camp inside the temple because of the greater security afforded by +the walls. The truth is that some half fear of a giant lizard had gotten +hold of us. So, as it was the lizard that scared us, we decided to stay +in the lizard temple. Man's built that way. He likes to keep close to +the thing that he fears. I heard a man who was a banker once say that he +always mistrusted the man who would not take a vacation. As I take it, +his idea was that the man who knew some danger was nigh, wanted to be +around where he could catch the first intimation of a crash. But then, +too, besides that, there is a sense of comfort in being within walls, +especially with a floor paved as this one was. Besides, it was a change +from the trees with their wild-tangled vines and their snake-like +lianas. So we decided on the temple. + +"That night I was a long time getting to sleep. The memory of the old +hag and the bull-roarer was in my mind. I kept thinking of Ista, too. It +was a warmer night than usual, and, after the moon dropped, pitchy dark. +I slept stripped as I generally do, with a light blanket across my legs +so that I could find it if needed without waking up. + +"I awoke presently, feeling something run lightly and swiftly across my +face. I thought it was a spider. It seemed to run in a zig-zag. Then +feeling nothing more I set it down to fancy and dropped off to sleep +again, face turned towards that idol. Later, I felt the same kind of +thing run across my neck. I knew it was no fancy then, and my scare +vanished because here was something to do. So I waited with my right +hand poised to grab. I waited a long time, too, but I have lots of +patience. Presently it ran down my body starting at my left shoulder and +I brought down my hand at a venture, claw fashion, and caught the thing +on the blanket. I felt the blanket raise and then fall again, just a +little, of course, as I lifted my hand with the thing in it, and by that +knew that it had claws. Yet bet I held tight. It seemed to be hard and +smooth. It was a wiry, wriggling thing, somewhat like a lizard. But it +was much more vigorous than any lizard. I tried to crush it, but could +not. As to thickness, it seemed to be about the diameter of one of those +lead pencils. It was like this I had it." + +Rounds picked up a couple of lead pencils from the desk and took my hand +in his. He told me to close my fist and then placed one pencil +lengthwise so that an end of it was between my first and second finger +and the rubber-tipped end lay across my wrist. The other pencil he +thrust crosswise so that the pointed end stuck out between the second +and third finger and the blunt end between the index finger and thumb. + +"There you have it," he said. "That's how I held the little devil. Now +grip hard and try to crush the pencils and you'll have something of the +same sensation as I had. Holding it thus, I could feel its head jerking +this way and that, violently, and its tail, long and lithe, lashing at +my wrist. The little claws were trying to tear, but they were evidently +softish. I could hear, or thought I could, the snap of its little jaws. +It was about the nastiest sensation that I ever experienced. I don't +know why I thought that it was venomous, but I did. I tried to smash the +thing in my hand--tried again and again, and I have a good grip--but +might just as well have tried to crush a piece of wire. There was no +give to it. It tried to wriggle backwards but I had it under its jaws. +So there we were: it wriggling, writhing and lashing and me laying there +holding it at arms length. I felt the sweat start on me and the hair at +the nap of my neck raise up, and I did some quick and complicated +thinking. Of course, I dared not throw it away, but I got to my feet and +as I did so, tried to bend its head backwards against the stone floor. +But the head slipped sideways. I called on Somerfield for a light then, +and he struck one hurriedly and it went out immediately. All that I saw +was that the thing was white and had a triangular shaped head. + +"Somehow I ran against Somerfield before he got another match struck and +he swore at me, saying that I had cut him. I knew that I had touched him +with my outstretched hand that held the beast. I drew back my hand a +little and remembered afterwards that I then felt a slight, elastic +resistance as if the thing that I held had caught on to something, as it +had before to my blanket. Afterwards I found that the thing had gotten +Somerfield's neck. As he struck another match, I saw the low place in +the wall and flung the thing away with a quick jerk. You know the kind +of a motion you'd make getting rid of some unseen noxious thing like +that. That's how I never really saw the beast and can only conjecture +what it was like from the feel of it. + +"On Somerfield's neck, just below the angle of the jaw, was a clean-cut +little oval place about half an inch in length. It did not bleed much, +but it seemed to pain him a lot. He maintained that the thing was some +kind of rodent. Anyway we put a little chewed tobacco on the place and, +after awhile, tried to sleep again. We didn't do much good at it, +neither of us. He was tossing and grumbling like a man with the +toothache. + +"Next morning the bitten place had swollen up to the size of an apple +and was a greenish yellow color. He was feeling sick and a bit feverish, +so I made him comfortable after looking around to see whether there was +anything to harm him in the courtyard, and went to hunt water. I +remember that I gave the head of the idol a kick with the flat of my +foot for spite, as I passed it. Like a kid, that was, wasn't it? Now I +was running back and forth all the morning with the canteen, for he +drank a terrible quantity. His eyes grew bright, too, and his skin +flushed. Towards noon, he began to talk wild, imagining that he was at +home. Then I judged it best to let him stay there in the temple where +he was, so to speak, corraled. Coming back shortly after from one +water-hunting trip, I heard singing, and, looking over the wall, saw him +sitting on the slab in front of the idol. He must have fancied that he +had his kids before him for he was beating time with his hands and +snapping his fingers and thumbs and singing: + + 'London bridge is fallen down, + Fallen down, fallen down.' + +"It was rotten to hear that out there, but I was halfway glad to see him +that way, knowing that he wasn't miserable. After a little, he quit +babbling and took more water; emptied the canteen, in fact, so back I +had to start for more. + +"Returning, I found things changed. He was going around, crouched like a +hunting Indian, peering here and there, behind the idol then across to +the head as if seeking some one. He had the _facon_ in his hand. 'Rounds +stabbed me,' he was saying. 'It was Rounds, damn him, that killed me.' +Over and over again he said that. He was talking to invisible people, +creatures of his mad brain. One would have thought, if one had not seen, +that the temple court was crowded with spectators. Then he rose to his +feet and, with the knife held close to his breast, began walking round +and round as if seeking an outlet. He passed me once, he on one side of +the wall and I on the other, and he looked me square in the eye, but +never saw me. So round and round he went with long strides, knees bent +and heels never touching the ground. He eyes were fixed and staring and +his teeth clenched. Now and then he made long, slashing stabs in the air +with the _facon_. + +"Suddenly he saw me, and there was a change. The blood lust was in his +eyes. He was standing on the slab in front of the idol, then made a +great leap and started for the broken wall where I was. I saw then that +the lump on his neck had swollen to the size of a big goitre. His whole +body was a-quiver. There was an animal-like celerity in his movements +that made me shudder. Then I knew that I dared not let him get on the +same side of the wall as me. But he leaped at the gap from a distance +that I would have thought no human could compass, and hung on to the +wall with one arm over. He snarled like an animal. Then I smashed him +over the head with the canteen, gripping the strap with my right hand. +He fell back with the force of the blow, but immediately came at the gap +again, then changed his mind and went to tearing around the chamber with +great leaps. He was a panther newly caged. He sprang on to the head of +the idol and from that to the pedestal, and then to the slab in front of +it. Then he went across and across the floor, sometimes screaming and +yelling, and then again moaning and groaning. One side of his face was +all bloody where I had smashed it with the canteen. Seeing him so, a +thing not human, but with all the furtive quickness of an animal and its +strength, too, I felt sorry no more. I hated him with a wild hate. He +was dangerous to me and I had to conquer him. That's fundamental. So I +stood, gripping the strap of the canteen, watching, waiting. He came at +me again, striding and leaping. That time he got one leg over with both +hands gripping the top stones. The _facon_ he dropped on my side of the +wall, but I had no time to stoop for it just then. There were other +things to do. He was getting over. It took some frantic beating with the +canteen and he seemed to recover from the blows quicker than I could get +the swing to strike again. But I beat him down at last, though I saw +that he had lots more life in him than I, with that devil of madness +filling him. So, when I saw him stumble, then recover and begin that +running again, I picked up the knife and leaped over the wall to settle +the matter once and for all. It was an ugly thing to do, but it had to +be done and done quickly. At the root of things it's life against life." + +Rounds ceased and fell to filling his pipe. I waited for him to +recommence, but he made as if to leave, but paused a moment at my desk +to pick up and examine a piece of malachite. I felt it incumbent upon me +to say something to relieve the tension that I felt. + +"I understand," said I. "It was a horrible necessity. It is a terrible +thing to have to kill a fellow creature." + +"That wasn't a fellow creature," he said. "What I killed was not the +partner I knew. Don't you understand?" + +"Yes, I understand," I replied. Then I asked, "Did you bury him?" + +"Bury him? What for? How?" Rounds seemed indignant. "How could I bury +him in a stone-paved court? How could I lift a dead man over a wall chin +high?" + +"Of course. Of course," I said. "I had forgotten that. But to us who +lead quiet lives, it seems terrible to leave a dead man unburied." + +"Do you feel that way about that mummy you have out there?" he asked, +indicating the museum with his thumb. "If not, why not? But if you want +the story to the bitter end, I dragged him to the only clean spot in the +place, which was that slab in front of the idol. There I left him, or +it. But things take odd turns. By the time I got back to the Tlinga +village, they knew all about it and the priests used the affair to their +own advantage. Mine was incidental. Yet I did reap some benefit. +According to the priests, I had accepted the whole blessed lizard +theory, or religion or whatever it was, and had sacrificed the +unbeliever to the lizard god. Ista helped things along, I suspect, for +with me as a former mate, there was some fame for her. Anyway, they met +and hailed me as a hero and brought tribute to me. Gold dust. I wanted +them to quit their damned foolishness and tried to explain, but it was +no use. You can't teach a mob to have sense. Well, adios. But remember +this: Don't be too cocksure." + + + + +UNDER THE DOME[8] + +By WALDO FRANK + +(From _the Dial_) + + +They were two figures under the grey of the Dome--two straight faint +figures of black; they were a man and woman with heads bowed, +straight--under the surge of the Dome. + + +I + +Friday night, when always he broke away in order to pray in the _Schul_, +and when she sat in the shop and had to speak with the customers who +came, these praying hours of Friday night. _Shabbas_ morning at least he +did not go also.--My heart tells me it is wrong. Lord, forgive me for +Esther and for my little girl. Lord, you know it is for them I do not go +to _Schul_ on _Shabbas_ morning.--But by God, you will keep the store +those two hours Friday! Do you hear? By God, what else have I ever asked +you for? Don't you sit around, do nothing all the day, and aren't +Flora's clothes a filth? and hardly if you'll cook our meals. But this +you will do: this you will do! Friday nights. Lord, why is there no +light in Esther? What have I done, Lord? what have I not done? + +She sat in a chair, always, near the side wall: her eyes lay burning +against the cold glare of the gas. + +Above her shoulder on the wall was a large sheet of fashions: women with +wasp waists, smirking, rolling: stiff men, all clothes, with little +heads. Under the table--where Meyer sits with his big feet so much to +look at--Flora played, a soiled bundle, with a ball of yarn and a huge +gleaming scizzors.--No one perhaps comes, and then I do not mind sitting +and keeping the store. I saw a dead horse in the street.--A dead horse, +two days dead, rotting and stiff. Against the grey of the living street, +a livid dead horse: a hot stink was his cold death against the street's +clean-ness. There are two little boys, wrapped in blue coat, blue +muffler, leather caps. They stand above the gaunt head of the horse and +sneer at him. His flank rises red and huge. His legs are four strokes +away from life. He is dead. The naughty boys pick up bricks. They stand, +very close, above the head of the horse. They hurl down a brick. It +strikes the horse's skull, falls sharp away. They hurl down a brick. It +cuts the swollen nostril, falls soft away. The horse does not mind, the +horse does not hurt. He is dead. + +--Go away, you two! Throwing stones at a dead horse! Go away, I say! How +would you like--When one is dead, stones strike one's skull and fall +sharp away, one is moveless. When one is dead, stones strike the soft of +one's throat and fall soft away, one is hurtless. When one is dead one +does not hurt. + +She sat and turned her eyes away from her child. Flora had smear on her +face; her hands were grimed with the floor. One of her stockings was +down: her little white knee was going to scrape on the floor, be black +before it was bloody. So--A long shining table under a cold gas spurt. A +store with clothes and a stove: no place for herself. A row of suits, +all pressed and stiff with Meyer's diligence. A pile of suits, writhed +with the wear of men, soiled, crumpled with traffic of streets, with +bending of bodies in toil, in eating, in loving perhaps. Grimed living +suits. Meyer takes an iron and it steams and it presses hard, it sucks +up the grime. It sucks out the life from the suit. The suit is stiff and +dead, now, ready to go once more over the body of a man and suck to +itself his life. + +The automatic bell clangs. There in the open door was a dark tall +woman--customer. + +Esther stood, too. She felt she was shorter and less tidy: more +beautiful though. + +Two women across the tailor-shop, seeing each other. + +"I came for my husband's--for Mr. Breddan's dress suit. Mr. Lanich told +him it would be ready at seven?" + +Esther Lanich moved, Sophie Breddan stood. Between slow dark curve, +swift dark stroke of these two women, under a tailor's table the burn of +a dirty child, mumbling intent with scizzors between her soiled frail +legs, at play with loose hair. + +"Is this the one?" + +The curve and the stroke came near across the table. + +"Yes." + +Eyes met.--She is tidy and fresh, less beautiful, though, than I. She +has no child. She has a flat with Sun and a swell husband who wears a +swallow-tail and takes her out to parties. She has a diamond ring, her +corsets are sweet. She has things to put into her time like candies into +her mouth, like loved kisses into my mouth. She is all new with her +smooth skin going below the collar of her suit. + +--She has a child, and she lets her play dirty with scizzors under a +tailor table. "How much is it?"--After a decent bedtime. + +--Does she think I care about this? "Oh, no hurry. Better come in and +pay my--Mr. Lanich. Any time." + +The clang of the bell. + +Esther is seated. Her grey tilted eyes seem sudden to stand upon the +farther wall of her husband's shop, and to look upon her. Her eyes speak +soft warm words that touch her hair, touch her lips, lie like caressing +fingers upon the soft cloth that lies upon her breast. + +--Less beautiful than I, though. My flesh is soft and sweat, it is the +colour of cream. What for? My hair is like an autumn tree gleaming with +sun. I can let it fall through the high channel of my breast against my +stomach that does not bulge but lies soft and low like a cushion of +silk. What for? My eyes see beauty. What for? O there is no God. If +there is God, what for?--He will come back and work. He will eat and +work. He is kind and good. What for? When he is excited with love, +doesn't he make an ugly noise with his nose? What else does he make with +his love?--Another like Flora? God forbid. What for? + +She did not pull down the wide yellow shade, though it was night. The +street was a ribbon of velvet blackness laid beside the hurting and +sharp brightness of the store. The yellow light was hard like grains of +sand under the quick of her nails. She was afraid of the street. She was +hurt in the store. But the brightness clamped her. She did not move.--O +let no more customers come! "Keep quiet, Flora." I can not move.--She +was clamped. + +But the store moved, moved. + +There was a black wheel with a gleaming axle--the Sun--that sent light +dimming down its spokes as it spun. From the rim of the wheel where it +was black, bright dust flung away as it spun. The store was a speck of +bright dust. It flung straight. It moved along the velvet path of the +street, touching, not merging with its night. It moved, it moved, she +sat still in its moving. The store caught up with Meyer. He entered the +store. He was there. He was there, scooped up from the path of the +street by the store. Now her work was over. He was there. The store was +a still store, fixed in a dirty house. Its brightness the spurt of two +jets of gas. He was back from _Schul_.--That is all. + +A man with blond hair, flat feet that shuffled, small tender hands. A +man with a mouth gentle, slow; with eyes timid to see. "Come dear: that +is no place."--Why she lets the child play with my shears! + +Tender hands pull Flora from beneath the table. Flora comes blinking, +unprotesting. Where her father's hands leave off from her, she stays. +She sinks back to the floor. She looks at her little fists from which +the scizzors are gone. She misses hard gleaming steel. She opens and +shuts her fists and looks at them: she cries. But she does not +move.--Her mother does not move.--Her father does not move. He squats on +the table. His head sways with his thoughts. He knows that Flora will +stop--what can he do?--in perhaps half an hour. It is a weak cry. Grows +weaker. He is used to it. There is work. + +He sews. 'A woman of valour who can find? For her price is far above +rubies'--She will stay here, stay here silent. Flora should be in bed. +Who to put his child in bed? Hard gas-light on her beloved hair? A +wither, a wilt--'She is like the merchant ships; she bringeth her food +from afar'--He sews and rips.--What, Lord, have I left undone? I love my +Esther.--He sews.--I love my little girl. Lord, I fear the Lord--'She +looketh well to the ways of the household, and eateth not the bread of +idleness.'--Lighten me, Lord, give me light. There is my daughter +crying, who should sleep: and my wife sitting, who will not, who will +never without me go home. She is afraid. She says she is afraid. She is +sullen and silent. She is so fair and sweet against my heart. Lord! why +did her hands that held my head speak a lie? and her silent lips that +she let press upon my mouth, why were they lies? Lord, I cannot +understand. Lord, I pray. I must sew bread for Esther and for my child. +I go to _Schul_ at least once each _Shabbas_, Lord--Do I not fill the +deep ten Penitential Days from _Rosh Ha Shonoh_ to _Yom Ha Kippurim_ +with seeking out of heart?--He sews, he rips. The weeping of his child +is done. Long stitches, here. She has found a chair's leg to play with. +Her moist fingers clasp at the shrill wood. The wooden chair and her +soft flesh wrestle. Esther sits still. He sews. + + 'Her children arise, and call her blessed; + Her husband also, and he praiseth her; + --Many daughters have done valiantly, + But thou excellest them all.-- + Grace is deceitful and beauty is vain; + But a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. + Give her of the fruit of her hands; + And let her works praise her in the gates.' + + +II + +In the door and the clang again of the bell, a boy with them. A boy they +knew--son of their neighbours--big for his years and heavy, with fat +lips, eyes clouded, hair black and low over his clouded eyes. Esther +alone saw, as he lurched in, one foot dragging always slightly. + +He went for little Flora with no greeting for them: familiarly as he +knew he would find her, had come so, often.--He loves her. The man who +squats on the table and sews smiles on the boy who loves and plays with +his child. + +"Hello, kid," voice of a thick throat, "look--what I got for you here." + +Flora lets the chair of her late love lurch against her back, strike her +forward. She does not care. She watches two hands--grey-caked over +red--unwrap from paper a dazzle of colours, place it to her eyes on the +floor, pull with a string: it has little wheels, it moves! + +"Quackle-duck," he announces. + +Flora spreads out her hands, sinks on her rump, feels its green head +that bobs with purple bill, feels its yellow tail. + +"Quackle-duck--yours," says the boy. + +She takes the string from his hand. With shoulder and stomach she swings +her arm backward and pulls. The duck spurts, bobbing its green long head +against her leg. + +She plays. The boy on his knees with soiled thick drawers showing +between his stockings and his pants plays with her.-- + +Meyer Lanich did not cease from work, nor his woman from silence. His +face was warm in pleasure, watching his child who had a toy and a +playmate.--I am all warm and full of love for Herbert Rabinowich: +perhaps some day I can show him, or do something for his father. Now +there was no way but to go on working, and smile so the pins in his +mouth did not prick. + +The eyes of Esther drew a line from these two children back to the birth +of the one that was hers. She dwelt in a world about the bright small +room like the night: in a world that roared and wailed, that reeled with +despair of her hope. + +She had borne this dirty child all clean beneath her heart. Her belly +was sweet and white, it had borne her: her breasts were high and proud, +they had emptied, they had come to sag for this dirty child on the +floor--face and red lips on a floor that any shoes might step. + +Had she not borne a Glory through the world, bearing this stir of +perfect flesh? Had she not borne a song through the harsh city? Had she +not borne another mite of pain, another fleck of dirt upon the city's +shame-heaps? + +She lies in her bed burned in sweet pain. Pain wrings her body, wrings +her soul like the word of the Lord within lips of Deborah. Her bed with +white sheets, her bed with its pool of blood is an altar where she lays +forth her Glory which she has walking carried like a song through the +harsh city.--What have I mothered but dirt?-- + +A transfigured world she knows she will soon see. Yes: it is a flat of +little light--and the bugs seep in from the other flats no matter how +one cleans--it is a man of small grace, it is a world of few windows. +But her child will be borne to smite life open wide. Her child shall +leap above its father and its mother as the sun above forlorn +fields.--She arose from her bed. She held her child in her arms. She +walked through the reeling block with feet aflame. She entered the +shop.--There--squatting with feet so wide to see--her man: his needle +pressed by the selfsame finger. The world was not changed for her child. +Behold her child changing--let her sit for ever upon her seat of +tears--let her lay like fire to her breast this endless vision of her +child changing unto the world.-- + + --I have no voice, I have no eyes. I am a woman who has + lain with the world. + The world's voice upon my lips gave my mouth gladness. + The world's arms about my flanks gave my flesh glory. + I was big with gladness and glory. + Joyful I lost in love of my vision my eyes, in love of my + song my voice. + I have borne another misery into the world.-- + +Meyer Lanich moves, putting away the trousers he has patched.--O Lord, +why must I sew so many hours in order to reap my pain? Why must I work +so long, heap the hard wither of so many hours upon my child who can not +sleep till I do, in order that all of us may be unhappy? + + * * * * * + +The clang and the door open. The mother of the boy. + +"Oh, here you are! Excuse me, friends. I was worrying over +Herbert.--Well, how goes it?" + +She smiled and stepped into the room: saw them all. + +"All well, Mrs. Rabinowich," said Meyer. "We are so glad when your +Herbert comes to play with Florchen." + +Mrs. Rabinowich turns the love of her face upon the children who do not +attend her. A grey long face, bitterly pock-marked, in a glow of love. + +"Look what your Herbert brought her," Meyer sews and smiles. "A toy. He +shouldn't, now. Such a thing costs money." + +Mrs. Rabinowich puts an anxious finger to her lips. + +"Don't," she whispers. "If he wants to, he should. It is lovely that he +wants to. There's money enough for such lovely wants.--Well, darling. +Won't you come home to bed?" + +Herbert does not attend. + +His mother sighed--a sigh of great appeasement and of content.--This is +my son! She turned to where Esther sat with brooding eyes. Her face was +serious now, grey ever, warm with a grey sorrow. Her lips moved: they +knew not what to say. + +"How are you, Esther?" + +"Oh, I am well, Mrs. Rabinowich. Thank you." A voice resonant and deep, +a voice mellowed by long keeping in the breast of a woman. + +"Why don't you come round, some time, Esther? You know, I should always +be so glad to see you." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Rabinowich." + +"You know--we're just next door," the older woman smiled. "You got time, +I think. More time than I." + +"Oh, she got time all right!" The sharp words flash from the soft mouth +of Meyer, who sews and seems in no way one with the sharp words of his +mouth. Esther does not look. She takes the words as if like stones they +had fallen in her lap. She smiles away. She is still. And Lotte +Rabinowich is still, looking at her with a deep wonder, shaking her +head, unappeased in her search. + +She turns at last to her boy: relieved. + +"Come Herbert, now. Now we really got to go." + +She takes his hand that he lets limply rise. She pulls him gently. + +"Good night, dear ones.--Do come, some time, Esther--yes?" + +"Thank you, Mrs. Rabinowich." + +Meyer says: "Let the boy come when he wants. We love to have him." + +His mother smiles.--Of course: who would not love to have him? Good +heart, fine boy, dear child. "It's long past bedtime. Naughty!" She +kisses him. + +Herbert, a little like a horse, swings away his heavy head. + +They are gone in the bell's jangle. + + * * * * * + +"What a good boy: what a big-hearted boy!" Meyer said aloud. "I like the +boy. He will be strong and a success, you see." + +Her words, "I saw him lift the skirt of Flora and peep up," she could +not utter. She was silent, seeing the dull boy with the dirty mind, and +his mother and Meyer through love thinking him good. What she saw in her +silence hurt her. + +Her hurt flowed out in fear. She saw her child: a great fear came on +Esther.--Flora is small and white, the world is full of men with thick +lips, hairy hands, of men who will lift her skirt and kiss her, of men +who will press their hairiness against her whiteness. + +--There is a Magic, Love, whereby this shame is sweet. Where is it? A +world of men with hair and lips against her whiteness. Where is the +magic against them? Esther was very afraid. She hated her daughter. + + +III + +Meyer Lanich came down from his table and drew down the wide yellow +shade and shut out the night. No more stray customers to enter. He +turned the key of the door. He had his back to the door, seeing his work +and his child who now sat vacant upon the floor and grimed her eyes with +her fists too sleepy to hunt play--seeing his wife. He sought to see +this woman who was his wife. To this end came his words, old words, old +words he had tried often, often failed with, words that would come again +since they were the words of his seeking to find the woman his wife. + +"Esther," he said, "it is nine o'clock and I have much work to do--a +couple of hours of work.--"--I could work faster alone, it will be +midnight so with this pain for ever in my eyes. "Esther won't you go +home and put Florchen to bed?" + +She looked at him with her full lovely eyes. Why since he saw them +lovely could he not see them loving? He had said these words before, so +often before. She looked at him. + +"Esther," he said, "it is bad for a baby of four to be up so late. It is +bad for her to sit around on the floor under the gas--smelling the gas +and the gasoline and the steam of the clothes. Can't you consider +Flora?" + +"I am afraid." + +"What is there to be afraid of? Can't you see? Why aren't you afraid of +what will happen to Flora? Eh--that don't frighten you, does it? She's a +baby. If my Mother could see--" + +"Meyer, I can't. Meyer, I can't. You know that I can't." + +He waved his hands. She was stiff. They came no nearer one to the other. +About them each, two poles, swirled thoughts and feeling--a world that +did not touch the other. + +He clambered back to his work. The room was hot. The gaslight burned. +Against his temples it beat harsh air, harsh light, the acrid smells of +his work--against her temples. + +Esther sat. The words of her man seeking the woman she was had not found +for him but had stirred her. Her breast moved fast, but all else of her +was stiff. Stiff, all she moved like a thick river drawn against its +flow, drawn mounting to its head.--I cannot go home alone, to the empty +hall alone, into the black rooms alone. Against their black the flicker +of a match that may go out, the dare of a gas-light that is all white +and shrieking with its fear of the black world it is in. She could not +go home alone.--For, Esther, in your loneliness you will find your life. +I am afraid of my life. + +She was caught, she was trapped.--I am miserable. Let me only not +move.--Since to move was to break against walls of a trap. Here in the +heart of movelessness a little space. Let her not stir where the walls +and the roof of the black small trap will smite her! + + +IV + +The room moves up the dimension of time. Hour and hour and hour. Bearing +its freight toward sleep. Thick hot room, torn by the burr of two +lights, choked by the strain of two bound souls, moving along the night. +Writhing in dream. Singing.-- + + --My flesh sings for silk and rich jewels; + My flesh cries for the mouth of a king. + My hair, why is it not a canopy of love, + Why does it not cover sweet secrets of love? + My hair cries to be laid upon white linen. + I have brought misery into the world.-- + I have lived with a small man and my dreams have shrunk him, + Who in my dreams enlarged the glory of princes. + He looks upon me with soft eyes, and my flesh is hard against them. + He beats upon me with warm heart, and my breasts do not rise up for + him. + They are soft and forgetful of his beating heart. + My breasts dream far when he is near to them-- + They droop, they die. + His hands are a tearful prayer upon my body-- + I sit: there is no way between my man and my dream, + There is no way between my life and life, + There is no way between my love and my child. + I lie: and my eyes are shut. I sleep: and they open. + A world of mountains + Plunges against my sleep.-- + +--Lord, Lord: this is my daughter before me, her cheeks that have not +bloomed are wilting. Preserve her, Lord. This is my wife before me, her +love that has not lived is dead.--Time is a barren field that has no +end. I see no horizon. My feet walk endlessly, I see no horizon.--I am +faithful, Lord.-- + + * * * * * + +The tailor-shop is black. It has moved up three hours into midnight. It +is black. + +Esther and Meyer walk the grey street. In the arms of the man sleeps +Flora. His arm aches. He dares not change her to his other arm. Lest she +wake. + +He has undressed her. Gentle hands of a man. He holds her little body, +naked, near his eyes. Her face and her hands, her feet and her knees are +soiled. The rest of her body is white--very white--no bloom upon her +body. He kisses her black hair. + +He lays her away beneath her coverlet. + +There is his wife before him. She is straight. Her naked body rises, +column of white flame, from her dun skirt. Esther--his love--she is in a +case of fire. Within her breasts as within hard jewels move the liquids +of love. Within her body, as within a case, lies her soul, pent, which +should pour forth its warmth upon them. + +He embraces her. + +"Esther.--Esther--" He can say no more. + +His lips are at her throat. Can he not break her open? + +She sways back, yielding. Her eyes swerve up. They catch the cradle of +her child. + +--Another child--another agony of glory--another misery to the world? + +She is stiff in the unbroken case of a vast wound all about her. + +So they lie down in bed. So they sleep. + + * * * * * + +She has cooked their breakfast. + +They walk, a man and a woman, down the steep street to work. A child +between them, holding the hand of a man. + +They are grey, they are sullen. They are caught up in the sullen strife +of their relentless life. There is no let to them. Time is a barren +field with no horizon. + + + + +FRENCH EVA[9] + +By KATHARINE FULLERTON GEROULD + +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + + +The real _dramatis personæ_ are three (for Schneider was only a +sign-post pointing): Follet, the remittance-man, Stires, and French Eva. +Perhaps I should include Ching Po--but I hate to. I was the man with his +hands in his pockets who saw the thing steadily and saw it whole--to +filch a windy phrase. I liked Stires, who had no social standing, even +on Naapu, and disliked Follet, who had all the standing there was. +Follet dined with magnates; and, believe me, the magnates of Naapu were +a multicolored lot. A man might have been made by copra or by pearls--or +by blackbirding. We were a plutocracy; which means that so long as a man +had the house and the drinks, you asked no questions. The same rule +holds--allowing for their dizzier sense of figures--in New York and +Chicago. On the whole, I think we were more sensible. There is certainly +more difference between good food and bad than between five millions and +fifty (which, I take it, is a figure that buys immunity over here). I +don't think any man's hospitality would have ranked him permanently on +Naapu if his dinners had been uneatable. Though perhaps--to be +frank--drinks counted more than food as a measuring-rod of aristocracy. + +Well, Follet trained with the people who received consignments of +champagne and good whiskey. And Stires did not. Anyhow, Stires was a +temperance man: he took only one or two drinks a day, and seldom went +beyond a modest gin-fizz. With the remarkable native punch, compounded +secretly and by unknown ways, but purchasable, and much esteemed by the +knowing, he never would have anything to do. Stires looked like a cowboy +and was, in truth, a melancholy New Englander with a corner-grocery +outlook on life, and a nasal utterance that made you think of a barrel +of apples and a corn-cob pipe. He was a ship-chandler in a small--a very +small--way. Follet lived at the ramshackle hotel, owned by the ancient +Dubois and managed, from roof to kitchen-midden, by Ching Po. French Eva +dwelt alone in a thatched cottage built upon poles, and sold eggs and +chickens and fish. The poultry she raised herself; for the fish, she was +a middleman between fishermen and householders. As she owned a +gramophone and one silk dress, it was clear that her business prospered. +Even Ching Po bought eggs of her, though there was a nameless, +uninterpreted hostility between them. + +Let me give you, at once, the few facts I could gather about French Eva. +There were rumors a-plenty, but most of them sifted down to a little +residual malice. I confined my questionings to the respectable +inhabitants of Naapu; they were a very small circle. At last, I got some +sort of "line" on French Eva. + +None within our ken fathered or mothered her. Old Dubois knew most about +her, but old Dubois, a semi-paralyzed colossus, "doped" most of the +time, kept his thick lips closed. "An excellent girl" was all that any +one could wring from him. As she had begun life on Naapu by being _dame +de comptoir_ for him, he had some right to his judgment. She had +eventually preferred independence, and had forsaken him; and if he still +had no quarrel with her, that speaks loudly for her many virtues. +Whether Dubois had sent for her originally, no one knew. His memory was +clouded by opium, and you could get little out of him. Besides, by the +time I arrived on Naapu, French Eva belonged to the landscape and to +history. She was generally supposed to be pure French, and her accent +supported the theory, though she was in a small way a linguist. Her +English was as good as any one's--on Naapu, where we were by no means +academic. She could speak the native tongue after a fashion, and her +bêche-de-mer was at least fluent. + +I had heard of the lady before I ever saw her, and had wondered why +Naapu chose to distinguish a female fish-vender--even if she had begun +with old Dubois. As soon as I clapped eyes on her, I perceived her +distinction, her "difference"--the reason for the frequent "Mam'selle." +She was, at first glimpse, unusual. To begin with, never was so white a +face matched with hair and brows and eyes so black. In the ordinary +pursuit of her business she wore her hair half loose, half braided, down +her back; and it fell to her knees like a heavy crape veil. A bad +simile, you will say; but there are no words to express the unrelieved +blackness of her hair. There were no lights in it; no "reflets," to use +the French phrase. It might have been "treated" with ink. When, on rare +occasions--not often, for the weight of it, as she freely explained, +made her head ache--she put it up in coils, it was like a great mourning +bonnet under which her white face seemed to shrink away. Her eyes were +nearly as black as her hair. Her figure was very lovely, whether in +forming the loose native garment or laced into her silk dress. + +You will say that I have painted for you a person who could not, by any +possibility, be beautiful; and yet French Eva was beautiful. You got +used to that dull curtain of her hair; it made Madame Maür's lustrous +raven locks look oily. It came to seem, after a time, all that hair +should be. Her features were nearly perfect from our finicking European +point of view, and she grew in grace even while I, a newcomer, watched; +for the effect of the tropic sun upon her skin was curious and lovely: +it neither blotched nor reddened nor tanned her, but rather gilded her +pallor, touching it with the faintest brown in the world. I must, in the +interests of truth, mention one more fact. Mam'selle Eva was the sort of +woman who has a direct effect on the opposite sex. Charm hardly +expresses it; magnetism, rather, though that is a poor word. A man +simply wanted to be near her. She intrigued you, she drew you on, she +assailed your consciousness in indefinable ways--all without the sweep +of an eyelash or the pout of a lip. French Eva was a good girl, and went +her devious ways with reticent feet. But she was not in "society," for +she lived alone in a thatched hut, and attended native festivals, and +swore--when necessary--at the crews of trading barques. I am not sure +that she did not, of all tongues possible to her, prefer bêche-de-mer; +which is not, at its most innocent, an elegant language. She had no +enemies except Ching Po--for reasons unknown; and she paid her +occasional respects to any and all religions that Naapu boasted. When +there was a row, she was always, of course, on the European side; though +she would stretch a point now and then in favor of the native +constabulary. + +So much for French Eva--who was by no means so important in the Naapu +scheme of things as my long description may imply. She had her eminently +respectable, her perfectly recognized niche, and we all bought eggs and +fish of her when we could. She was a curious figure, to be sure; but you +must remember that on Naapu every one, nearly, was unaverage, if not +abnormal. Even the agents and officials were apt to be the least +promising of their kind--or they would have been somewhere else. It was +a beautiful refuge for utter bounders and men who, though not bounders, +had a very low limit of achievement. The jetsam of officialdom was +washed up on that lonely, lovely shore. The magnates of Naapu were not +to be trusted. Naapu was a rich island, the richest of its group; and, +being off the main lines of traffic, was an excellent field for the +unscrupulous. Tourists did not bother us, for tourists do not like +eighty-ton schooners; maps did not particularly insist upon us; we were +well known in places where it was profitable to know us, and not much +talked about anywhere. Our copra was of the best; there were pearls to +be had in certain waters if you could bribe or fight your way to them; +and large groups of natives occasionally disappeared over night from one +of the surrounding islands. Naapu was, you might say, the clasp of a +necklace. How could we be expected to know what went on in the rest of +the string--with one leaky patrol-boat to ride those seas? Sometimes +there were fights down by the docks; strangers got arrested and were +mysteriously pardoned out; there were always a good many people in the +landscape who had had too much square-face. We were very far away from +everything, and in spite of all these drawbacks we were happy, because +the climate was, most of the year, unexceptionable. When you recall what +most civilized climates are like, "unexceptionable," that cold and +formal word, may well take your breath away. Lest any one should suspect +me of blackbirding or gin-selling, I will say at once that I had come to +Naapu by accident and that I stayed because, for reasons that I will not +go into here, I liked it. I lived in a tiny bungalow with an ex-ship's +cook whom I called Joe, and several thousand cockroaches. I had hired +Joe to cook for me, but his chief duty soon became to keep the +cockroaches out of my bedroom. As a matter of fact, I usually dined at +Dubois's hotel or at some private house. + +Why so idle a person as I should have looked down--as I did, from the +first--on Follet, I cannot explain. The money I lived on was certainly +not of my own making. But, strictly speaking, I could have gone home if +I had chosen, and I more than suspected that Follet could not have. +Follet was not enamoured of Naapu, and talked grandiloquently of +Melbourne and Batavia and Hong-Kong. He continued, however, to be a +resident of the island, and none of his projects of removal to a better +place ever went beyond mere frothy talk. He lived at Dubois's, but spent +much of his time with the aforesaid magnates. He had an incorruptible +manner; some grace that had been bred in him early never forsook him, +and the ladies of Naapu liked him. Even good Madame Maür, who squinted, +squinted more painfully at Follet than at any one else. But his idleness +was beginning to tell on him; occasionally he had moody fits, and there +were times when he broke out and ran amuck among beach-combers and tipsy +natives along the water-front. More than once, Ching Po sought him out +and fetched him home. + +My first intimation of trouble came from Stires. I had nothing to do +with this particular Yankee in the way of business, but I lingered +occasionally by his door in the cool of the afternoon, just to feed my +eyes on his brawn and my ears on his homely and pleasant nasality. +Stires's eyes were that disconcerting gray-blue which seems to prevail +among men who have lived much in the desert or on the open sea. You find +it in Arizona; and in the navies of all the northern countries. It added +to his cowboy look. I knew nothing about Stires--remember that on Naapu +we never asked a man questions about himself--but I liked him. He sat +about on heaps of indescribable junk--things that go into the bowels of +ships--and talked freely. And because Follet and I were both in what +Naapu would have called its best circles, I never talked about Follet, +though I liked him no better than Stires did. I say it began with +Stires; but it began really with Schneider, introduced by Stires into +our leisurely conversation. This is Schneider's only importance: namely, +that, mixing himself up in French Eva's context, he made other men speak +of her. + +The less said about Schneider, the better; which means always that there +is a great deal to say. In this case, there was perhaps less to say than +to surmise. He did not give himself away--to us. Schneider had turned up +on a trading schooner from Melbourne, was stopping at the hotel in one +of the best rooms, and had a general interest in the potentialities of +Naapu. I say potentialities advisedly, for he was not directly +concerned, so far as I know, with any existing business there. He +frequented everybody, and asked questions in the meticulous German way. +He wandered all over the island--islands, I should say, for once or +twice I saw him banging off in a creaky motor-boat to the other jewels +of the necklace. Guesses as to his real business were free and frequent. +He was a pearl-smuggler; the agent of a Queensland planter; a fugitive +from justice; a mad scientist; a servant of the Imperial German +Government. No one presumed to certitude--which was in itself a tribute +to German efficiency. Schneider was blond and brush-haired and +thick-lipped; he was unpleasant from the crown of his ill-shaped head to +the soles of his ill-shaped shoes; but, though lacking in every charm, +he was not sinister. He had seen curious places and amusing things, and +could cap most adventures with something relevant; but his type and +temperament prevented him from being a "good mixer," and he was not +popular. + +Stires, however, had his own grievance, and his judgment of Schneider +went deep. He did not mind the shape of Schneider's skull, or the hint +of goose-step in Schneider's gait; but he minded, very much, the kind of +interest that Schneider took in French Eva. He told me that, straight, +emphasizing his statements with a rusty spanner, which he wielded in a +curious, classical way, like a trident. According to him, Schneider was +bothering the life out of the girl. "Always asking her to dress up and +come over to chow with him at the hotel." And the spanner went down as +if Neptune were rebuking the seas. + +"Does she go?" + +"No." + +"Well, then--can't you leave the lady to discourage him in her own way?" + +"She won't go to the ho-tel, because she hates Ching Po. But she walks +out with him Sunday afternoons. He gives her gimcracks." + +"Then she likes him?" + +"There's no telling. She's a real lady." And the discouraged Stires +beat, with his spanner, a refrain to his involuntary epigram. + +"She can take care of herself, can't she?" I had watched her deal with a +drunken Solomon Islander, and did not see how Schneider could be a match +for her. + +"I don't know." Stires's lazy drawl challenged the sunset. + +"Anything I can do?" I asked as I rose. + +"Unless you go in and cut him out," he meditated with a grin. + +"But I'm not in love with her," I protested. + +"You might take her to church." + +But I refused. Philandering was not my forte, and church, in any case, +was the last thing I should venture to propose. + +"Why don't you go in yourself?" + +Stires scratched his head. The trident trailed upon the ground. "It's +serious or nothing with me, I guess. And she's got something against me. +I don't know what. Thinks I don't blarney the Kanakas enough, perhaps. +Then there's Follet." + +"Oh, is he in it?" I forgot to go. + +"He's more in it than I am, and I'm darned if I know what she's up to +with the three of us. I'm playing 'possum, till I find out." + +"If you can stand Follet butting in, why can't you stand Schneider? +Safety in numbers, you know." + +"Well, Mr. Follet belongs here. I can have it out with him any time. +He'll have to play the game. But if I know Schneider, there's no wedding +bells in his. And Mam'selle Eva hasn't, as you might say, got a +chaperon." + +The spectacle of "Mam'selle Eva," as I had last seen her, perspiring, +loosely girdled, buying a catch of fish at a fair price from three +mercenary natives adorned with shark's-tooth necklaces, rose before me. + +"Man alive, you don't have to chaperon _her_," I cried. "She's on to +everything." + +The sun-and-wind-whipt eyes flashed at me. The spanner trembled a +little. + +"Don't misunderstand me," I insisted. "But it stands to reason that, +here on Naapu, she's learned a good many things they don't teach in +little red schoolhouses. I have a great respect for her, and, between +you and me, I shouldn't wonder if she had sized Schneider up already." + +The eyes were appeased. "Maybe, maybe," he grunted. "But lies come easy +to him, I guess. Miss Eva wouldn't be the first he'd fooled." + +"Do you know anything about him?" + +"Not a thing, except what sticks out all over him. For a man's eyes, +that is. You never can tell what a woman will see." + +I left him poking in the dust with his spanner. + +I dined that night at Lockerbie's. There was no Mrs. Lockerbie, and it +was a man's party. Follet was there, of course, and Schneider, too, his +teeth and his clothes whiter than the rest of ours. I was surprised to +see Schneider, for Lockerbie had suspected the Teuton of designs on his +very privately and not too authentically owned lagoon. Lockerbie did a +fair business in pearls; no great beauties or values among them, but a +good marketable cheap product. But no one held out very long against any +one on Naapu. + +Schneider was drunk before he ever got to Lockerbie's that night. It was +part of the Naapu ritual not to drink just before you reached your +host's house, and that ritual, it soon became evident, Schneider had not +observed. I saw Lockerbie scowl, and Follet wince, and some of the +others stare. I could not help being amused, for I knew that no one +would object to his being in that condition an hour later. The only +point was that he should not have arrived like that. If Schneider had +had anything resembling a skin, he would have felt about as comfortable +as Mother Eve at a woman's club. Lockerbie's scowl was no joke; and +Follet had a way of wriggling his backbone gracefully.--It was up to me +to save Schneider, and I did. The honor of Naapu was nothing to me; and +by dint of almost embracing him, I made myself a kind of absorbent for +his worst breaks. It was not a pleasant hour for me before the rest +began to loosen up. + +In my eagerness to prevent Lockerbie from insulting his guest, I drank +nothing, myself, after the first cocktail. So it came to pass that by +the time I could safely leave Schneider to the others, I found myself +unwontedly incarnating the spirit of criticism. + +They were a motley crowd, coalesced for the moment into a vinous +solidarity. Follet spat his words out very sweetly; his poisonous grace +grew on him in his cups. Lockerbie, warmed by wine, was as simple--and +charming--as a wart-hog. Old Maskell, who had seen wind-jammer days and +ways and come very close, I suspected, to piracy, always prayed at least +once. Pasquier, the successful merchant who imported finery for the +ladies of Naapu, rolled out socialistic platitudes--he was always +flanked, at the end of the feast, by two empty chairs. Little Morlot +began the endless tale of his conquests in more civilized lands: all +patchouli and hair-oil. Anything served as a cue for all of them to dive +into the welter of their own preoccupations. Just because they knew each +other and Naapu so well, they seemed free to wander at will in the +secret recesses of their predilections and their memories. I felt like +Circe--or perhaps Ulysses; save that I had none of that wise man's +wisdom. + +The reward of my abstinence, I found, was to be the seeing home of +Schneider. It would have come more naturally to Follet, who also lived +at Dubois's, but Follet was fairly snarling at Schneider. French Eva's +name had been mentioned. On my word, as I saw Follet curving his spinal +column, and Schneider lighting up his face with his perfect teeth, I +thought with an immense admiration of the unpolished and loose-hung +Stires amid the eternal smell of tar and dust. It was a mere discussion +of her hair, incoherent and pointless enough. No scandal, even from +Schneider. There had been some sense, of a dirty sort, in his talk to +me; but more wine had scattered his wits. + +I took Schneider home, protesting to myself that I would never be so +caught again. He lurched rather stiffly along, needing my help only when +we crossed the unpaved roads in the darkness. Follet went ahead, and I +gave him a good start. When we reached the hotel, Ching Po surged up out +of the black veranda and crooked his arm for Schneider to lean upon. +They passed into the building, silently, like old friends. + +A stupid indisposition housed me for a little after Lockerbie's feast. I +resented the discomfort of temporary illness, but rather liked being +alone, and told Joe to refuse me to callers--even the Maürs, who were +more like friends and neighbors than any one else in the place. My own +affairs should not obtrude on this tale at all; and I will not go into +them more than to say that I came to the end of my dosing and emerged +upon the world after three days. The foolish thought came to me that I +would have a look at French Eva's hair, of which little Morlot had +spoken in such gallant hiccoughs. + +The lady was not upon her veranda, nor yet in her poultry-yard, as I +paced past her dwelling. I had got nearly by, when I heard myself +addressed from the unglazed window. + +"Monsieur!" + +I strolled back, wondering if at last I should be invited to hear the +gramophone--her chiefest treasure. The mass of hair spread out of the +crude opening in the bamboo wall, for all the world like Rapunzel's. I +faced a great curtain of black. Then hands appeared and made a rift in +it, and a face showed in the loose black frame. + +"Monsieur, what is the German for 'cochon'?" + +My German is scanty, and I reflected. "'Schweinhund' will do, I think," +I answered after consideration. + +"A thousand thanks." The face disappeared, and the hair was pulled after +it. + +I waited. I could hear nothing distinctly, but in a moment Schneider +came running quickly and stiffly down the creaky ladder from the door. +He saw me--of that I am sure--but I did not blame him for not greeting +one who had doubtless been giving aid and comfort to the enemy. I +squatted on the low railing of French Eva's compound, but she herself +was not forthcoming. After ten minutes I heard a commotion in the +poultry yard, and found her at the back among her chickens. Her hair was +piled up into an amazing structure: it looked as if some one had placed +the great pyramid on top of the sphinx. + +"Do you need my further services?" + +She smiled. "Not in the least. But I like to speak to animals, when +possible, in their own language. It saves time." By way of illustration, +she clucked to a group of hens. She turned her back to me, and I was +dismissed from her barefoot presence. + +Stires was my logical goal after that, and I found him busy with the +second mate of a tramp just in from Papua and bound for the Carolines. +After the man had gone, I informed Stires of the episode. For a man who +had damned Schneider up and down for making presents to a lady, Stires +reacted disappointingly. + +"He got his, eh?" was all he said. + +"Evidently. You don't seem to be much affected." + +"So long as she's shipped him, that's all right," he drawled. + +"I can't make out what your interest in the matter is," I suggested. + +"Sure you can't," Stires began to whistle creakily, and took up some +nameless object to repair. + +"How long is Schneider staying round these parts?" + +"Not long, I guess. I heard he was leaving on the Sydney packet next +week." + +"So you're only up against Follet?" I pressed him. + +"I ain't up against anybody. Miss Eva'll settle her own affairs." + +"Excuse me." And I made the gesture of withdrawing. + +"Don't get het up under the collar," he protested. "Only I never did +like this discussing ladies. She don't cotton to me for some reason. I'm +free to say I admire her very much. I guess that's all." + +"Nothing I can do for you, then?" + +Stires lighted a pipe. "If you're so set on helping me, you might watch +over Ching Po a little." + +"What is he up to?" + +"Don't know. But it ain't like him to be sitting round idle when there's +harm to be done. He's got something up his sleeve--and a Chink's +sleeve's big enough to hold a good-sized crime," he finished, with a +grim essay of humor. + +"Are these mere suspicions on your part, or do you know that something's +up?" + +"Most things happen on Naapu before there's been any time for +suspicion," he rejoined, squinting at his pipe, which had stopped +drawing. "These folks lie low and sing little songs, and just as you're +dropping off there's a knife somewhere.--Have you heard anything about +the doings up yonder?" He indicated the mountain that rose, sharply cut +and chasmed, back of the town. + +"Trouble with the natives? No." + +"This is the time o' year when the heathen begin to feel their oats. +Miss Eva, she's interested in their superstitions. They don't usually +come to anything--just a little more work for the police if they get +drunk and run amuck. The constabulary is mostly off on the spree. They +have gods of wood and stone up in the caves yonder, you know. But it's +always a kind of uneasy feel to things till they settle down again." + +I leaned against a coil of rope and pursued the subject. "But none of +the people you and I are interested in are concerned with native orgies. +We are all what you might call agnostics." + +"Speak for yourself, sir. I'm a Methodist. 'Tain't that they mix +themselves up in the doings. But--well, you haven't lived through the +merry month of May on Naapu. I tell you, this blessed island ain't big +enough to hold all that froth without everybody feeling it. Just because +folks don't know what's going on up yonder it kind of relaxes 'em. I +don't say the Kanakas do anything they shouldn't, except get drunk, and +joy-ride down waterfalls, and keep up an infernal tom-toming. But it +sort of gets on your nerves. And I wouldn't call Naapu straitlaced, +either. Everybody seems to feel called on to liquor up, this time o' +year. If it isn't one pretext it's another. Things folks have been kind +of hesitating over, in the name of morals, they start out and perform, +regardless. The authorities, they get worried because a Kanaka's spree +lands him, like as not, in a blackbirder. Mighty queer craft hang round +at this season. There ain't supposed to be anything doing in these +blessed islands that ain't aboveboard, but 'tisn't as though the place +was run by Americans." + +"And I am to watch Ching Po? Where does he come in?" + +"I wish't I knew. He makes money out of it somehow. Dope, I suppose. Old +man Dubois ain't his only customer, by a long shot." + +"Ching Po isn't likely to go near French Eva, is he? They don't speak, +I've noticed." + +"No, they don't. But that Chink's little ways are apt to be indirect. +She's afraid of him--afraid of the dust under her feet, as you might +say." + +Stires puffed meditatively at his pipe. Then a piratical-looking +customer intervened, and I left. + +Leisurely, all this, and not significant to the unpeeled eye. And then, +within twenty-four hours of the time when I had left Stires, things +began to happen. It was as if a tableau had suddenly decided to become a +"movie." All those fixed types began to dash about and register the most +inconvenient emotions. Let me set down a few facts diary fashion. + +To begin with, when I got up the next morning, Joe had disappeared. No +sign of breakfast, no smell of coffee. It was late for breakfast at +Dubois's, and I started out to get my own. There were no eggs, and I +sauntered over to French Eva's to purchase a few. The town looked queer +to me as I walked its grassy streets. Only when I turned into the lane +that led to French Eva's did I realize why. It was swept clean of +natives. There weren't any. Not a stevedore, not a fisherman, not a +brown fruit-vender did I see. + +French Eva greeted me impatiently. She was not doing business, +evidently, for she wore her silk dress and white canvas shoes. Also, a +hat. Her face was whiter than ever, and, just offhand, I should have +said that something had shaken her. She would not let me in, but made me +wait while she fetched the eggs. I took them away in a little basket of +plaited palm-fronds, and walked through the compound as nonchalantly as +I could, pretending that I had not seen what I knew I had seen--Ching +Po's face within, a foot or two behind the window opening. It startled +me so much that I resolved to keep away from Stires: I wished to digest +the phenomenon quite alone. + +At ten o'clock, my breakfast over, I opened my door to a knock, and +Follet's bloodshot eyes raked me eagerly. He came in with a rush, as if +my hit-or-miss bungalow were sanctuary. I fancied he wanted a drink, but +I did not offer him one. He sat down heavily--for all his +lightness--like a man out of breath. I saw a pistol-butt sticking out of +his pocket and narrowed my eyes upon him. Follet seldom looked me up in +my own house, though we met frequently enough in all sorts of other +places. It was full five minutes before he came to the point. Meanwhile +I remarked on Joe's defection. + +"Yes," he said, "the exodus has begun." + +"Is there really anything in that?" + +"What?" he asked sharply. + +"Well--the exodus." + +"Oh, yes. They do have some sort of shindy--not interesting to any one +but a folk-lorist. Chiefly an excuse, I fancy, for drinking too much. +Schneider says he's going to investigate. I rather wish they'd do him +in." + +"What have you got against him--except that he's an unpleasant person?" + +By this roundabout way Follet had reached his point. "He's been trying +to flirt with my lady-love." + +"French Eva?" + +"The same." His jauntiness was oppressive, dominated as it was by those +perturbed and hungry eyes. + +"Oh--" I meditated. But presently I decided. "Then why do you let Ching +Po intrude upon her in her own house?" + +"Ching Po?" He quivered all over as if about to spring up from his +chair, but he did not actually rise. It was just a supple, snake-like +play of his body--most unpleasant. + +"I saw him there an hour ago--when I fetched my eggs. My cook's off, you +see." + +Still that play of muscles underneath the skin, for a moment or two. +Then he relaxed, and his eyes grew dull. Follet was not, I fancy, what +the insurance men call a good risk. + +"She can take care of herself, I expect," he said. They all seemed surer +of that than gentlemen in love are wont to be. + +"She and Ching Po don't hit it off very well, I've noticed." + +"No, they don't." He admitted it easily, as if he knew all about it. + +"I wonder why." I had meant to keep my hands off the whole thing, but I +could not escape the tension in the Naapu air. Those gods of wood and +stone were not without power--of infection, at the least. + +"Better not ask." He bit off the words and reached for a cigarette. + +"Does any one know?" + +"An old inhabitant can guess. But why she should be afraid of him--even +the old inhabitant doesn't know. There's Dubois; but you might as well +shriek at a corpse as ask Dubois anything." + +"You don't think that I'd better go over and make sure that Ching Po +isn't annoying her?" + +Follet's lips drew back over his teeth in his peculiar smile. "If I had +thought he could annoy her, I'd have been over there myself a short time +ago. If he really annoyed French Eva any day, he'd be nothing but a neat +pattern of perforations, and he knows it." + +"Then what has the oldest inhabitant guessed as to the cause of the +quarrel?" I persisted. Since I was in it--well, I hate talk that runs in +circles. + +"She hasn't honored me with her confidence. But, for a guess, I should +say that in the happy time now past he had perhaps asked her to marry +him. And--Naapu isn't Europe, but, you know, even here a lady might +resent that." + +"But why does she let him into her house?" + +"That I can't tell you. But I can almost imagine being afraid of Ching +Po myself." + +"Why don't you settle it up, one way or the other?" I _was_ a newcomer, +you see. + +Follet laughed and took another cigarette. "We do very well as we are, I +think. And I expect to go to Auckland next year." His voice trailed off +fatuously in a cloud of smoke, and I knew then just why I disliked him. +The fibre was rotten. You couldn't even hang yourself with it. + +I was destined to keep open house that day. Before Follet's last +smoke-puff had quite slid through the open window, Madame Maür, who was +perpetually in mourning, literally darkened my doorway. Seeing Follet +she became nervous--he did affect women, as I have said. What with her +squint and her smile, she made a spectacle of herself before she panted +out her staccato statement. Doctor Maür was away with a patient on the +other side of the island; and French Eva had been wringing her hands +unintelligibly on the Maürs' porch. She--Madame Maür--couldn't make out +what the girl wanted. + +Now, this was nothing to break in on me for; and Madame Maür, in spite +of her squint and her smile, was both sensible and good--broke, +moreover, to the ridiculous coincidences and unfathomable dramas of +Naapu. Why hadn't she treated the girl for hysterics? But I gathered +presently that there was one element in it that she couldn't bear. That +element, it appeared, was Ching Po, perfectly motionless in the public +road--no trespasser, therefore--watching. She had got Eva into the house +to have her hysterics out in a darkened room. But Ching Po never +stirred. Madame Maür thought he never would stir. She couldn't order him +off the public thoroughfare, and there was no traffic for him to block. +He was irreproachable and intolerable. After half an hour of it, she had +run out across her back garden to ask my help. He must go away or she, +too, would have hysterics. And Madame Maür covered the squint with a +black-edged handkerchief. If he would walk about, or whistle, or mop his +yellow face, she wouldn't mind. But she was sure he hadn't so much as +blinked, all that time. If a man could die standing up, she should think +he was dead. She wished he were. If he stayed there all day--as he had a +perfect right to do--she, Madame Maür, would have to be sent home to a +_maison de santé_.--And she began to make guttural noises. As Félicité +Maür had seen, in her time, things that no self-respecting _maison de +santé_ would stand for, I began to believe that I should have to do +something. I rose reluctantly. I was about fed up with Ching Po, myself. + +I helped Madame Maür out of her chair, and fetched my hat. Then I looked +for Follet, to apologize for leaving him. I had neither seen nor heard +him move, but he was waiting for us on the porch. He could be as +noiseless on occasion as Ching Po. + +"You'd better not come into this," I suggested; for there was no staying +power, I felt, in Follet. + +He seemed to shiver all over with irritation. "Oh, damn his yellow soul, +I'll marry her!" He spat it out--with no sweetness, this time. + +Madame Maür swung round to him like a needle to the pole. "You may save +yourself the _corvée_. She won't have you. Not if any of the things she +has been sobbing out are true. She loves the other man--down by the +docks. _Your_ compatriot." She indicated me. Her French was clear and +clicking, with a slight provincial accent. + +"Oh--" He breathed it out at great length, exhaling. Yet it sounded like +a hiss. "Stires, eh?" And he looked at me. + +I had been thinking, as we stood on the steps. "How am I to move Ching +Po off?" I asked irritably. It had suddenly struck me that, inspired by +Madame Maür, we were embarking on sheer idiocy. + +"I'll move him," replied Follet with a curious intonation. + +At that instant my eye lighted again on the pistol. "Not with that." I +jerked my chin ever so slightly in the direction of his pocket. + +"Oh, take it if you want it. Come on." He thrust the weapon into my +innocent hand and began to pull at my bougainvillea vine as if it were +in his way. Some of the splendid petals fluttered about Madame Maür's +head. + +We reached the Maürs' front porch by a circuitous route--through the +back garden and the house itself--and paused to admire the view. Yes, we +looked for Ching Po as if we were tourists and he were Niagara. + +"He hasn't moved yet." This was Madame Maür's triumphant whimper. +Inarticulate noises somewhere near indicated that French Eva was still +in sanctuary. + +Follet grunted. Then he unleashed his supple body and was half way to +the gate in a single arrow flight. I followed, carrying the pistol still +in my hand. My involuntary haste must have made me seem to brandish it. +I heard a perfectly civilized scream from Madame Maür, receding into the +background--which shows that I was, myself, acquiring full speed ahead. +By the time Follet reached the gate, Ching Po moved. I saw Follet +gaining on him, and then saw no more of them; for my feet acting on some +inspiration of their own which never had time to reach my brain, took a +short cut to the water front. I raced past French Eva's empty house, +pounding my way through the gentle heat of May, to Stires's +establishment. I hoped to cut them off. But Ching Po must have had a +like inspiration, for when I was almost within sight of my goal--fifty +rods ahead--the Chinaman emerged from a side lane between me and it. He +was running like the wind. Follet was nowhere to be seen. Ching Po and I +were the only mites on earth's surface. The whole population, +apparently, had piously gone up the mountain in order to let us have our +little drama out alone. I do not know how it struck Ching Po; but I felt +very small on that swept and garnished scene. + +I was winded; and with the hope of reaching Stires well dashed, my legs +began to crumple. I sank down for a few seconds on the low wall of some +one's compound. But I kept a keen eye out for Follet. I thought Stires +could look out for himself, so long as it was just Ching Po. It was the +triangular mix-up I was afraid of; even though I providentially had +Follet's pistol. And, for that matter, where was Follet? Had he given up +the chase? Gone home for that drink, probably. + +But in that I had done him injustice; for in a few moments he debouched +from yet a third approach. Ching Po had evidently doubled, somehow, and +baffled him. + +I rose to meet him, and he slowed down to take me on. By this time the +peaceful water front had absorbed the Chinaman; and if Stires was at +home, the two were face to face. I made this known to Follet. + +"Give me back my pistol," he panted. + +"Not on your life," I said, and jammed it well into my pocket. + +"What in hell have you got to do with it?" he snarled. + +"Stires is a friend of mine." I spoke with some difficulty, for though +we were not running, we were hitting up a quick pace. Follet was all +colors of the rainbow, and I looked for him to give out presently, but +he kept on. + +"Ching Po, too?" he sneered. + +"Not a bit of it. But they won't stand for murder in open daylight--even +_your_ friends." + +We were very near Stires's place by this time. There was no sign of any +one in the yard; it was inhabited solely by the familiar rusty monsters +of Stires's trade. As we drew up alongside, I looked through the window. +Stires and Ching Po were within, and from the sibilant noise that +stirred the peaceful air, I judged that Ching Po was talking. Their +backs were turned to the outer world. I pushed open the door, and Follet +and I entered. + +For the first time I found myself greeted with open hostility by my +fellow countryman. "What the devil are you doing here?" I was annoyed. +The way they all dragged me in and then cursed me for being there! The +Chinaman stood with his hands folded in his wicked sleeves, his eyes on +the ground. In the semi-gloom of Stires's warehouse, his face looked +like a mouldy orange. He was yellower even than his race +permitted--outside and in. + +"If I can't be of any service to you or Miss Eva, I should be only too +glad to go home," I retorted. + +"What about her?" asked Stires truculently. He advanced two steps +towards me. + +"I'm not looking for trouble--" It seemed to me just then that I hated +Naapu as I had never hated any place in the world. "She's having +hysterics up at Madame Maür's. I fancy that's why we're here. Your +yellow friend there seems to have been responsible for the hysterics. +This other gentleman and I"--I waved a hand at Follet, who stood, spent +and silent, beside me--"resented it. We thought we would follow him up." + +How much Ching Po understood of plain English, I do not know. One always +conversed with him in the pidgin variety. But he certainly looked at +peace with the world: much as the devil must have looked, gazing at +Pompeii in the year '79. + +"You can do your resenting somewheres else," snapped Stires. "Both of +you." + +"I go," murmured Ching Po. He stepped delicately towards the door. + +"No, you don't!" Follet's foot shot out to trip him. But the Chinaman +melted past the crude interruption. + +"I go," he repeated, with ineffable sadness, from the threshold. + +The thing was utterly beyond me. I stood stock-still. The two men, +Follet and Stires, faced each other for an instant. Then Follet swung +round and dashed after Ching Po. I saw him clutch the loose black sleeve +and murmur in the flat ear. + +Stires seemed to relent towards me now that Follet was gone. "Let 'em +alone," he grunted. "The Chink won't do anything but tell him a few +things. And like as not, he knows 'em already, the--" The word indicated +his passionate opinion of Follet. + +"I was called in by Madame Maür," I explained weakly. "Ching Po wouldn't +leave the road in front of her compound. And--Miss Eva was inside, +having hysterics. Ching Po had been with her earlier. Now you know all +I know, and as I'm not wanted anywhere, I'll go. I assure you I'm very +glad to." + +I was not speaking the strictest truth, but I saw no reason to pour out +Madame Maür's revelations just then upon Stires's heated soul. Nor would +I pursue the subject of Follet. + +Stires sank down on something that had once been an office-chair. Thence +he glowered at me. I had no mind to endure his misdirected anger, and I +turned to go. But in the very instant of my turning from him I saw +tragedy pierce through the mask of rage. The man was suffering; he could +no longer hold his eyes and lips to the expression of anger. I spoke to +him very gently. + +"Has Miss Eva really anything to fear from that miserable Chinaman?" + +Stires bowed his head on his hands. "Not a thing, now. He's done his +damnedest. It only took a minute for him to spit it out." + +"Will he spit it out to Follet?" + +"You bet he will. But I've got a kind of a hunch Follet knew all along." + +"I'm sure he didn't--whatever it is." + +"Well, he does by now. They must be nearly back to the ho-tel. I'm kind +of busy this morning"--he waved his hand round that idle scene--"and I +guess--" + +"Certainly. I'm going now." I spared him the effort of polishing off his +lie. The man wanted to be alone with his trouble, and that was a state +of mind I understood only too well. + +The circumstantial evidence I had before me as I walked back to my own +house led inevitably to one verdict. I could almost reconstruct the +ignoble pidgin-splutter in which Ching Po had told Stires, and was even +now telling Follet. The wonder to me was that any one believed the +miserable creature. Truth wouldn't be truth if it came from Ching Po. +Yet if two men who were obviously prepossessed in the lady's favor were +so easily to be convinced by his report, some old suspicions, some +forgotten facts must have rushed out of the dark to foregather with it. +French Eva had been afraid of the Chinaman; yet even Follet had +pooh-poohed her fears; and her reputation was--or had been--well-nigh +stainless on Naapu, which is, to say the least, a smudgy place. +Still--there was only one road for reason to take, and in spite of these +obstacles it wearily and doggedly took it. + +Joe, of course, was still absent; and though I was never more in need of +food, my larder was empty. I would not go to Dubois's and encounter +Follet and Ching Po. Perhaps Madame Maür would give me a sandwich. I +wanted desperately to have done with the whole sordid business; and had +there been food prepared for me at home, I think I should have +barricaded myself there. But my hunger joined hands with a lurking +curiosity. Between them they drove me to Madame Maür's. + +The lady bustled about at once to supply my needs. Her husband was still +away, and lunch there was not in any proper sense. But she fed me with +odd messes and endless cups of coffee. Hunger disappeared leaving +curiosity starkly apparent. + +"How's Eva?" I asked. + +Madame Maür pursed her lips. "She went away an hour ago." + +"Home?" + +The lady shrugged her shoulders. "It looked like it. I did not ask her. +She would go--with many thanks, but with great resolution.--What has +happened to you?" she went on smoothly. + +I deliberated. Should I tell madame anything or should I not? I decided +not to. "Ching Po went back to the hotel," I said. "I don't believe he +meant to annoy you." + +She let the subject drop loyally. And, indeed, with Ching Po and French +Eva both out of the way, she had become quite normal again. Of course, +if I would not let her question me, I could not in fairness question +her. So we talked on idly, neither one, I dare say, quite sure of the +other, and both ostensibly content to wait. Or she may have had reasons +as strong as mine for wishing to forget the affair of the morning. + +I grew soothed and oblivious. The thing receded. I was just thinking of +going home when Follet appeared at the gate. Then I realized how futile +had been our common reticence. + +"Is Eva here?" he shouted before he reached us. + +"She went home long ago." Madame Maür answered quietly, but I saw by her +quick shiver that she had not been at peace, all this time. + +"She's not there. The place is all shut up." + +"Doesn't she usually attend these festivities up the hill?" I asked. + +His look went through me like a dagger. "Not today, you fool!" + +"Well, why worry about her?" It was I who put it calmly. Six hours +before, I had not been calm; but now I looked back at that fever with +contempt. + +"She's been to Stires's," he went on; and I could see the words hurt +him. + +"Well, then, ask him." + +"He was asleep. She left her beloved gramophone there. He found it when +he waked." + +"Her gramophone?" I ejaculated. "Where is Stires?" + +"Looking for her--and hoping he won't find her, curse him!" + +Follet took hold of me and drew me down the steps. "Come along," he +said. Then he turned to Madame Maür. "Sorry, madame. This is urgent. +We'll tell you all about it later." + +Félicité Maür did not approve of Follet, but he could do no wrong when +she was actually confronted with him. She took refuge in a shrug and +went within. + +When we were outside the gate, I stood still and faced Follet. "What did +Ching Po tell you and Stires?" + +"Don't you know?" Sheer surprise looked out at me from his eyes. + +"Of course, I think I know. Do you really want to tear the place up, +looking for her?" + +"It's not that!" he shouted. "If it had been, every one would have known +it long since. Ching Po got it out of old Dubois. I shook Dubois out of +his opium long enough to confirm it. I had to threaten him.--Ching Po's +a dirty beast, but, according to the old man he told the truth. Ching Po +did want to marry her once. She wouldn't, of course, and he's just been +waiting to spike her guns. When he found out she really wanted that +impossible Yankee, he said he'd tell. She had hysterics. He waited for +her outside the Maürs', hoping, I suppose, it would work out another +way. When we appeared, he decided to get his work in. He probably +thought she had sent for us. And he was determined no one should stop +him from telling. Now do you see? Come on." He pulled at my arm. + +"In heaven's name, man, _what_ did he tell?" I almost shrieked. + +"Just the one thing you Yankees can't stand," Follet sneered. "A touch +of the tar-brush. She wasn't altogether French, you see. Old Dubois +knows her pedigree. Her grandmother was a mulatto, over Penang way. She +knew how Stires felt on the subject--a damn, dirty ship-chandler no +self-respecting officer deals with--" + +"None of that!" I said sharply. "He's a good man, Stires. A darned sight +too good for the Naapu grafters. A darned sight too good to go native--" +Then I stopped, for Follet was hardly himself, nor did I like the look +of myself as a common scold. + +We did not find Stires, and after an hour or two we gave up the search. +By dusk, Follet had got to the breaking-point. He was jumpy. I took him +back myself to the hotel, and pushed him viciously into Ching Po's arms. +The expressionless Chinese face might have been a mask for all the +virtues; and he received the shaking burden of Follet as meekly as a +sister of charity. + +I bought some tinned things for my dinner and took my way home. I should +not, I felt sure, be interrupted, and I meant to turn in early. Madame +Maür would be telling the tale to her husband; Follet would, of a +certainty, be drunk; and Stires would be looking, I supposed, for French +Eva. French Eva, I thought, would take some finding; but Stires was the +best man for the job. It was certainly not my business to notify any one +that night. So I chowed alone, out of the tins, and smoked a long +time--alone--in the moonlight. + + * * * * * + +It was not Stires, after all, who found her, though he must have hunted +the better part of that night. It was three days before she was washed +ashore. She was discovered by a crew of fishermen whom she had often +beaten down in the way of business. They brought her in from the remote +cove, with loud lamentations and much pride. She must have rocked back +and forth between the shore and the reef, for when they found her, her +body was badly battered. From the cliff above, they said, she looked at +first like a monstrous catch of seaweed on the sand Her hair-- + +Follet had treated himself to a three days' drinking-bout, and only +emerged, blanched and palsied, into a town filled with the clamor of her +funeral. Stires had shut up his junk-shop for a time and stayed strictly +at home. I went to see him, the day after they found her. His face was +drawn and gloomy, but it was the face of a man in his right mind. I +think his worst time was that hour after Follet had followed Ching Po +out of his warehouse. He never told me just how things had stood between +French Eva and him, but I am sure that he believed Ching Po at once, and +that, from the moment Ching Po spoke, it was all over. It was no longer +even real to him, so surely had his inborn prejudice worked. Stires was +no Pierre Loti. + +In decency we had to mention her. There was a great to-do about it in +the town, and the tom-toms had mysteriously returned from the hillsides. + +"I've been pretty cut up about it all," he admitted. "But there's no +doubt it's for the best. As I look back on it, I see she never was +comfortable in her mind. On and off, hot and cold--and I took it for +flightiness. The light broke in on me, all of a sudden, when that dirty +yellow rascal began to talk. But if you'll believe me, sir, I used to be +jealous of Follet. Think of it, now." He began to whittle. + +Evidently her ravings to Madame Maür had not yet come to his ears. +Madame Maür was capable of holding her tongue; and there was a chance +Follet might hold his. At all events, I would not tell Stires how +seriously she had loved him. He was a very provincial person, and I +think--considering her pedigree--it would have shocked him. + +French Eva's cerebrations are in some ways a mystery to me, but I am +sure she knew what she wanted. I fancy she thought--but, as I say, I do +not know--that the mode of her passing would at least make all clear to +Stires. Perhaps she hoped for tardy regrets on his part; an +ex-post-facto decision that it didn't matter. The hot-and-cold business +had probably been the poor girl's sense of honor working--though, +naturally, she couldn't have known (on Naapu) the peculiar +impregnability of Stires's prejudices. When you stop to think of it, +Stires and his prejudices had no business in such a place, and nothing +in earth or sky or sea could have foretold them to the population of +that landscape. Perhaps when she let herself go, in the strong seas, she +thought that he would be at heart her widower. Don't ask me. Whatever +poor little posthumous success of the sort she may have hoped for, she +at least paid for it heavily--and in advance. And, as you see, her ghost +never got what her body had paid for. It is just as well: why should +Stires have paid, all his life? But if you doubt the strength of her +sincerity, let me tell you what every one on Naapu was perfectly aware +of: she could swim like a Kanaka; and she must have let herself go on +those familiar waters, against every instinct, like a piece of +driftwood. Stires may have managed to blink that fact; but no one else +did. + +Lockerbie gave a dinner-party at the end of the week, and Follet got +drunk quite early in the evening. He embarrassed every one (except me) +by announcing thickly, at dessert, that he would have married French Eva +if she hadn't drowned herself. I believed it no more the second time +than I had believed it the first. Anyhow, she wouldn't have had him. +Schneider left us during those days. We hardly noticed his departure. +Ching Po still prospers. Except Stires, we are not squeamish on Naapu. + + + + +THE PAST[10] + +By ELLEN GLASGOW + +(From _Good Housekeeping_) + + +I had no sooner entered the house than I knew something was wrong. +Though I had never been in so splendid a place before--it was one of +those big houses just off Fifth Avenue--I had a suspicion from the first +that the magnificence covered a secret disturbance. I was always quick +to receive impressions, and when the black iron doors swung together +behind me, I felt as if I were shut inside of a prison. + +When I gave my name and explained that I was the new secretary, I was +delivered into the charge of an elderly lady's maid, who looked as if +she had been crying. Without speaking a word, though she nodded kindly +enough, she led me down the hall, and then up a flight of stairs at the +back of the house to a pleasant bedroom in the third story. There was a +great deal of sunshine, and the walls, which were painted a soft yellow, +made the room very cheerful. It would be a comfortable place to sit in +when I was not working, I thought, while the sad-faced maid stood +watching me remove my wraps and hat. + +"If you are not tired, Mrs. Vanderbridge would like to dictate a few +letters," she said presently, and they were the first words she had +spoken. + +"I am not a bit tired. Will you take me to her?" One of the reasons, I +knew, which had decided Mrs. Vanderbridge to engage me was the +remarkable similarity of our handwriting. We were both Southerners, and +though she was now famous on two continents for her beauty, I couldn't +forget that she had got her early education at the little academy for +young ladies in Fredericksburg. This was a bond of sympathy in my +thoughts at least, and, heaven knows, I needed to remember it while I +followed the maid down the narrow stairs and along the wide hall to the +front of the house. + +In looking back after a year, I can recall every detail of that first +meeting. Though it was barely four o'clock, the electric lamps were +turned on in the hall, and I can still see the mellow light that shone +over the staircase and lay in pools on the old pink rugs, which were so +soft and fine that I felt as if I were walking on flowers. I remember +the sound of music from a room somewhere on the first floor, and the +scent of lilies and hyacinths that drifted from the conservatory. I +remember it all, every note of music, every whiff of fragrance; but most +vividly I remember Mrs. Vanderbridge as she looked round, when the door +opened, from the wood fire into which she had been gazing. Her eyes +caught me first. They were so wonderful that for a moment I couldn't see +anything else; then I took in slowly the dark red of her hair, the clear +pallor of her skin, and the long, flowing lines of her figure in a +tea-gown of blue silk. There was a white bearskin rug under her feet, +and while she stood there before the wood fire, she looked as if she had +absorbed the beauty and colour of the house as a crystal vase absorbs +the light. Only when she spoke to me, and I went nearer, did I detect +the heaviness beneath her eyes and the nervous quiver of her mouth, +which drooped a little at the corners. Tired and worn as she was, I +never saw her afterwards--not even when she was dressed for the +opera--look quite so lovely, so much like an exquisite flower, as she +did on that first afternoon. When I knew her better, I discovered that +she was a changeable beauty, there were days when all the colour seemed +to go out of her, and she looked dull and haggard, but at her best no +one I've ever seen could compare with her. + +She asked me a few questions, and though she was pleasant and kind, I +knew that she scarcely listened to my responses. While I sat down at the +desk and dipped my pen into the ink, she flung herself on the couch +before the fire with a movement which struck me as hopeless. I saw her +feet tap the white fur rug, while she plucked nervously at the lace on +the end of one of the gold-coloured sofa cushions. For an instant the +thought flashed through my mind that she had been taking something--a +drug of some sort--and that she was suffering now from the effects of +it. Then she looked at me steadily, almost as if she were reading my +thoughts, and I knew that I was wrong. Her large radiant eyes were as +innocent as a child's. + +She dictated a few notes--all declining invitations--and then, while I +still waited pen in hand, she sat up on the couch with one of her quick +movements, and said in a low voice, "I am not dining out to-night, Miss +Wrenn. I am not well enough." + +"I am sorry for that." It was all I could think of to say, for I did not +understand why she should have told me. + +"If you don't mind, I should like you to come down to dinner. There will +be only Mr. Vanderbridge and myself." + +"Of course I will come if you wish it." I couldn't very well refuse to +do what she asked me, yet I told myself, while I answered, that if I had +known she expected me to make one of the family, I should never, not +even at twice the salary, have taken the place. It didn't take me a +minute to go over my slender wardrobe in my mind and realize that I had +nothing to wear that would look well enough. + +"I can see you don't like it," she added after a moment, almost +wistfully, "but it won't be often. It is only when we are dining alone." + +This, I thought, was even queerer than the request--or command--for I +knew from her tone, just as plainly as if she had told me in words, that +she did not wish to dine alone with her husband. + +"I am ready to help you in any way--in any way that I can," I replied, +and I was so deeply moved by her appeal that my voice broke in spite of +my effort to control it. After my lonely life I dare say I should have +loved any one who really needed me, and from the first moment that I +read the appeal in Mrs. Vanderbridge's face I felt that I was willing to +work my fingers to the bone for her. Nothing that she asked of me was +too much when she asked it in that voice, with that look. + +"I am glad you are nice," she said, and for the first time she smiled--a +charming, girlish smile with a hint of archness. "We shall get on +beautifully, I know, because I can talk to you. My last secretary was +English, and I frightened her almost to death whenever I tried to talk +to her." Then her tone grew serious. "You won't mind dining with us. +Roger--Mr. Vanderbridge--is the most charming man in the world." + +"Is that his picture?" + +"Yes, the one in the Florentine frame. The other is my brother. Do you +think we are alike?" + +"Since you've told me, I notice a likeness." Already I had picked up the +Florentine frame from the desk, and was eagerly searching the features +of Mr. Vanderbridge. It was an arresting face, dark, thoughtful, +strangely appealing, and picturesque--though this may have been due, of +course, to the photographer. The more I looked at it, the more there +grew upon me an uncanny feeling of familiarity; but not until the next +day, while I was still trying to account for the impression that I had +seen the picture before, did there flash into my mind the memory of an +old portrait of a Florentine nobleman in a loan collection last winter. +I can't remember the name of the painter--I am not sure that it was +known--but this photograph might have been taken from the painting. +There was the same imaginative sadness in both faces, the same haunting +beauty of feature, and one surmised that there must be the same rich +darkness of colouring. The only striking difference was that the man in +the photograph looked much older than the original of the portrait, and +I remembered that the lady who had engaged me was the second wife of Mr. +Vanderbridge and some ten or fifteen years younger, I had heard, than +her husband. + +"Have you ever seen a more wonderful face?" asked Mrs. Vanderbridge. +"Doesn't he look as if he might have been painted by Titian?" + +"Is he really so handsome as that?" + +"He is a little older and sadder, that is all. When we were married it +was exactly like him." For an instant she hesitated and then broke out +almost bitterly, "Isn't that a face any woman might fall in love with, a +face any woman--living or dead--would not be willing to give up?" + +Poor child, I could see that she was overwrought and needed some one to +talk to, but it seemed queer to me that she should speak so frankly to a +stranger. I wondered why any one so rich and so beautiful should ever be +unhappy--for I had been schooled by poverty to believe that money is the +first essential of happiness--and yet her unhappiness was as evident as +her beauty, or the luxury that enveloped her. At that instant I felt +that I hated Mr. Vanderbridge, for whatever the secret tragedy of their +marriage might be, I instinctively knew that the fault was not on the +side of the wife. She was as sweet and winning as if she were still the +reigning beauty in the academy for young ladies. I knew with a knowledge +deeper than any conviction that she was not to blame, and if she wasn't +to blame, then who under heaven could be at fault except her husband? + +In a few minutes a friend came in to tea, and I went upstairs to my +room, and unpacked the blue taffeta dress I had bought for my sister's +wedding. I was still doubtfully regarding it when there was a knock at +my door, and the maid with the sad face came in to bring me a pot of +tea. After she had placed the tray on the table, she stood nervously +twisting a napkin in her hands while she waited for me to leave my +unpacking and sit down in the easy chair she had drawn up under the +lamp. + +"How do you think Mrs. Vanderbridge is looking?" she asked abruptly in a +voice, that held a breathless note of suspense. Her nervousness and the +queer look in her face made me stare at her sharply. This was a house, I +was beginning to feel, where everybody, from the mistress down, wanted +to question me. Even the silent maid had found voice for interrogation. + +"I think her the loveliest person I've ever seen," I answered after a +moment's hesitation. There couldn't be any harm in telling her how much +I admired her mistress. + +"Yes, she is lovely--every one thinks so--and her nature is as sweet as +her face." She was becoming loquacious. "I have never had a lady who was +so sweet and kind. She hasn't always been rich, and that may be the +reason she never seems to grow hard and selfish, the reason she spends +so much of her life thinking of other people. It's been six years now, +ever since her marriage, that I've lived with her, and in all that time +I've never had a cross word from her." + +"One can see that. With everything she has she ought to be as happy as +the day is long." + +"She ought to be." Her voice dropped, and I saw her glance suspiciously +at the door, which she had closed when she entered. "She ought to be, +but she isn't. I have never seen any one so unhappy as she has been of +late--ever since last summer. I suppose I oughtn't to talk about it, but +I've kept it to myself so long that I feel as if it was killing me. If +she was my own sister, I couldn't be any fonder of her, and yet I have +to see her suffer day after day, and not say a word--not even to her. +She isn't the sort of lady you could speak to about a thing like that." + +She broke down, and dropping on the rug at my feet, hid her face in her +hands. It was plain that she was suffering acutely, and while I patted +her shoulder, I thought what a wonderful mistress Mrs. Vanderbridge must +be to have attached a servant to her so strongly. + +"You must remember that I am a stranger in the house, that I scarcely +know her, that I've never even seen her husband," I said warningly, for +I've always avoided, as far as possible, the confidences of servants. + +"But you look as if you could be trusted." The maid's nerves, as well as +the mistress's, were on edge, I could see. "And she needs somebody who +can help her. She needs a real friend--somebody who will stand by her no +matter what happens." + +Again, as in the room downstairs, there flashed through my mind the +suspicion that I had got into a place where people took drugs or +drink--or were all out of their minds. I had heard of such houses. + +"How can I help her? She won't confide in me, and even if she did, what +could I do for her?" + +"You can stand by and watch. You can come between her and harm--if you +see it." She had risen from the floor and stood wiping her reddened eyes +on the napkin. "I don't know what it is, but I know it is there. I feel +it even when I can't see it." + +Yes, they were all out of their minds; there couldn't be any other +explanation. The whole episode was incredible. It was the kind of thing, +I kept telling myself, that did not happen. Even in a book nobody could +believe it. + +"But her husband? He is the one who must protect her." + +She gave me a blighting look. "He would if he could. He isn't to +blame--you mustn't think that. He is one of the best men in the world, +but he can't help her. He can't help her because he doesn't know. He +doesn't see it." + +A bell rang somewhere, and catching up the tea-tray, she paused just +long enough to throw me a pleading word, "Stand between her and harm, if +you see it." + +When she had gone I locked the door after her, and turned on all the +lights in the room. Was there really a tragic mystery in the house, or +were they all mad, as I had first imagined? The feeling of apprehension, +of vague uneasiness, which had come to me when I entered the iron doors, +swept over me in a wave while I sat there in the soft glow of the shaded +electric light. Something was wrong. Somebody was making that lovely +woman unhappy, and who, in the name of reason, could this somebody be +except her husband? Yet the maid had spoken of him as "one of the best +men in the world," and it was impossible to doubt the tearful sincerity +of her voice. Well, the riddle was too much for me. I gave it up at last +with a sigh--dreading the hour that would call the downstairs to meet +Mr. Vanderbridge. I felt in every nerve and fibre of my body that I +should hate him the moment I looked at him. + +But at eight o'clock, when I went reluctantly downstairs, I had a +surprise. Nothing could have been kinder than the way Mr. Vanderbridge +greeted me, and I could tell as soon as I met his eyes that there wasn't +anything vicious or violent in his nature. He reminded me more than +ever of the portrait in the loan collection, and though he was so much +older than the Florentine nobleman, he had the same thoughtful look. Of +course I am not an artist, but I have always tried, in my way, to be a +reader of personality; and it didn't take a particularly keen observer +to discern the character and intellect in Mr. Vanderbridge's face. Even +now I remember it as the noblest face I have ever seen; and unless I had +possessed at least a shade of penetration, I doubt if I should have +detected the melancholy. For it was only when he was thinking deeply +that this sadness seemed to spread like a veil over his features. At +other times he was cheerful and even gay in his manner; and his rich +dark eyes would light up now and then with irrepressible humour. From +the way he looked at his wife I could tell that there was no lack of +love or tenderness on his side any more than there was on hers. It was +obvious that he was still as much in love with her as he had been before +his marriage, and my immediate perception of this only deepened the +mystery that enveloped them. If the fault wasn't his and wasn't hers, +then who was responsible for the shadow that hung over the house? + +For the shadow was there. I could feel it, vague and dark, while we +talked about the war and the remote possibilities of peace in the +spring. Mrs. Vanderbridge looked young and lovely in her gown of white +satin with pearls on her bosom, but her violet eyes were almost black in +the candlelight, and I had a curious feeling that this blackness was the +colour of thought. Something troubled her to despair, yet I was as +positive as I could be of anything I had ever been told that she had +breathed no word of this anxiety or distress to her husband. Devoted as +they were, a nameless dread, fear, or apprehension divided them. It was +the thing I had felt from the moment I entered the house; the thing I +had heard in the tearful voice of the maid. One could scarcely call it +horror, because it was too vague, too impalpable, for so vivid a name; +yet, after all these quiet months, horror is the only word I can think +of that in any way expresses the emotion which pervaded the house. + +I had never seen so beautiful a dinner table, and I was gazing with +pleasure at the damask and glass and silver--there was a silver basket +of chrysanthemums, I remember, in the centre of the table--when I +noticed a nervous movement of Mrs. Vanderbridge's head, and saw her +glance hastily toward the door and the staircase beyond. We had been +talking animatedly, and as Mrs. Vanderbridge turned away, I had just +made a remark to her husband, who appeared to have fallen into a sudden +fit of abstraction, and was gazing thoughtfully over his soup-plate at +the white and yellow chrysanthemums. It occurred to me, while I watched +him, that he was probably absorbed in some financial problem, and I +regretted that I had been so careless as to speak to him. To my +surprise, however, he replied immediately in a natural tone, and I saw, +or imagined that I saw, Mrs. Vanderbridge throw me a glance of gratitude +and relief. I can't remember what we were talking about, but I recall +perfectly that the conversation kept up pleasantly, without a break, +until dinner was almost half over. The roast had been served, and I was +in the act of helping myself to potatoes, when I became aware that Mr. +Vanderbridge had again fallen into his reverie. This time he scarcely +seemed to hear his wife's voice when she spoke to him, and I watched the +sadness cloud his face while he continued to stare straight ahead of him +with a look that was almost yearning in its intensity. + +Again I saw Mrs. Vanderbridge, with her nervous gesture, glance in the +direction of the hall, and to my amazement, as she did so, a woman's +figure glided noiselessly over the old Persian rug at the door, and +entered the dining-room. I was wondering why no one spoke to her, why +she spoke to no one, when I saw her sink into a chair on the other side +of Mr. Vanderbridge and unfold her napkin. She was quite young, younger +even than Mrs. Vanderbridge, and though she was not really beautiful, +she was the most graceful creature I had ever imagined. Her dress was of +gray stuff, softer and more clinging than silk, and of a peculiar misty +texture and colour, and her parted hair lay like twilight on either side +of her forehead. She was not like any one I had ever seen before--she +appeared so much frailer, so much more elusive, as if she would vanish +if you touched her. I can't describe, even months afterwards, the +singular way in which she attracted and repelled me. + +At first I glanced inquiringly at Mrs. Vanderbridge, hoping that she +would introduce me, but she went on talking rapidly in an intense, +quivering voice, without noticing the presence of her guest by so much +as the lifting of her eyelashes. Mr. Vanderbridge still sat there, +silent and detached, and all the time the eyes of the stranger--starry +eyes with a mist over them--looked straight through me at the tapestry +on the wall. I knew she didn't see me and that it wouldn't have made the +slightest difference to her if she had seen me. In spite of her grace +and her girlishness I did not like her, and I felt that this aversion +was not on my side alone. I do not know how I received the impression +that she hated Mrs. Vanderbridge--never once had she glanced in her +direction--yet I was aware from the moment of her entrance, that she was +bristling with animosity, though animosity is too strong a word for the +resentful spite, like the jealous rage of a spoiled child, which gleamed +now and then in her eyes. I couldn't think of her as wicked any more +than I could think of a bad child as wicked. She was merely wilful and +undisciplined and--I hardly know how to convey what I mean--elfish. + +After her entrance the dinner dragged on heavily. Mrs. Vanderbridge +still kept up her nervous chatter, but nobody listened, for I was too +embarrassed to pay any attention to what she said, and Mr. Vanderbridge +had never recovered from his abstraction. He was like a man in a dream, +not observing a thing that happened before him, while the strange woman +sat there in the candlelight with her curious look of vagueness and +unreality. To my astonishment not even the servants appeared to notice +her, and though she had unfolded her napkin when she sat down, she +wasn't served with either the roast or the salad. Once or twice, +particularly when a course was served, I glanced at Mrs. Vanderbridge to +see if she would rectify the mistake, but she kept her gaze fixed on her +plate. It was just as if there were a conspiracy to ignore the presence +of the stranger, though she had been, from the moment of her entrance, +the dominant figure at the table. You tried to pretend she wasn't there, +and yet you knew--you knew vividly that she was gazing insolently +straight through you. + +The dinner lasted, it seemed, for hours, and you may imagine my relief +when at last Mrs. Vanderbridge rose and led the way back into the +drawing-room. At first I thought the stranger would follow us, but when +I glanced round from the hall she was still sitting there beside Mr. +Vanderbridge, who was smoking a cigar with his coffee. + +"Usually he takes his coffee with me," said Mrs. Vanderbridge, "but +tonight he has things to think over." + +"I thought he seemed absent-minded." + +"You noticed it, then?" She turned to me with her straightforward +glance. "I always wonder how much strangers notice. He hasn't been well +of late, and he has these spells of depression. Nerves are dreadful +things, aren't they?" + +I laughed. "So I've heard, but I've never been able to afford them." + +"Well, they do cost a great deal, don't they?" She had a trick of ending +her sentences with a question. "I hope your room is comfortable, and +that you don't feel timid about being alone on that floor. If you +haven't nerves, you can't get nervous, can you?" + +"No, I can't get nervous." Yet while I spoke, I was conscious of a +shiver deep down in me, as if my senses reacted again to the dread that +permeated the atmosphere. + +As soon as I could, I escaped to my room, and I was sitting there over a +book, when the maid--her name was Hopkins, I had discovered--came in on +the pretext of inquiring if I had everything I needed. One of the +innumerable servants had already turned down my bed, so when Hopkins +appeared at the door, I suspected at once that there was a hidden motive +underlying her ostensible purpose. + +"Mrs. Vanderbridge told me to look after you," she began. "She is afraid +you will be lonely until you learn the way of things." + +"No, I'm not lonely," I answered. "I've never had time to be lonely." + +"I used to be like that; but time hangs heavy on my hands now. That's +why I've taken to knitting." She held out a gray yarn muffler. "I had an +operation a year ago, and since then Mrs. Vanderbridge has had another +maid--a French one--to sit up for her at night and undress her. She is +always so fearful of overtaxing us, though there isn't really enough +work for two lady's-maids, because she is so thoughtful that she never +gives any trouble if she can help it." + +"It must be nice to be rich," I said idly, as I turned a page of my +book. Then I added almost before I realized what I was saying, "The +other lady doesn't look as if she had so much money." + +Her face turned paler if that were possible, and for a minute I thought +she was going to faint. "The other lady?" + +"I mean the one who came down late to dinner--the one in the gray dress. +She wore no jewels, and her dress wasn't low in the neck." + +"Then you saw her?" There was a curious flicker in her face as if her +pallor came and went. + +"We were at the table when she came in. Has Mr. Vanderbridge a secretary +who lives in the house?" + +"No, he hasn't a secretary except at his office. When he wants one at +the house, he telephones to his office." + +"I wondered why she came, for she didn't eat any dinner, and nobody +spoke to her--not even Mr. Vanderbridge." + +"Oh, he never speaks to her. Thank God, it hasn't come to that yet." + +"Then why does she come? It must be dreadful to be treated like that, +and before the servants, too. Does she come often?" + +"There are months and months when she doesn't. I can always tell by the +way Mrs. Vanderbridge picks up. You wouldn't know her, she is so full of +life--the very picture of happiness. Then one evening she--the Other +One, I mean--comes back again, just as she did tonight, just as she did +last summer, and it all begins over from the beginning." + +"But can't they keep her out--the Other One? Why do they let her in?" + +"Mrs. Vanderbridge tries hard. She tries all she can every minute. You +saw her tonight?" + +"And Mr. Vanderbridge? Can't he help her?" + +She shook her head with an ominous gesture. "He doesn't know." + +"He doesn't know she is there? Why, she was close by him. She never took +her eyes off him except when she was staring through me at the wall." + +"Oh, he knows she is there, but not in that way. He doesn't know that +any one else knows." + +I gave it up, and after a minute she said in a suppressed voice, "It +seems strange that you should have seen her. I never have." + +"But you know all about her." + +"I know and I don't know. Mrs. Vanderbridge lets things drop +sometimes--she gets ill and feverish very easily--but she never tells me +anything outright. She isn't that sort." + +"Haven't the servants told you about her--the Other One?" + +At this, I thought, she seemed startled. "Oh, they don't know anything +to tell. They feel that something is wrong; that is why they never stay +longer than a week or two--we've had eight butlers since autumn--but +they never see what it is." + +She stooped to pick up the ball of yarn which had rolled under my chair. +"If the time ever comes when you can stand between them, you will do +it?" she asked. + +"Between Mrs. Vanderbridge and the Other One?" + +Her look answered me. + +"You think, then, that she means harm to her?" + +"I don't know. Nobody knows--but she is killing her." + +The clock struck ten, and I returned to my book with a yawn, while +Hopkins gathered up her work and went out, after wishing me a formal +good night. The odd part about our secret conferences was that as soon +as they were over, we began to pretend so elaborately to each other that +they had never been. + +"I'll tell Mrs. Vanderbridge that you are very comfortable," was the +last remark Hopkins made before she sidled out of the door and left me +alone with the mystery. It was one of those situations--I am obliged to +repeat this over and over--that was too preposterous for me to believe +even while I was surrounded and overwhelmed by its reality. I didn't +dare face what I thought, I didn't dare face even what I felt; but I +went to bed shivering in a warm room, while I resolved passionately that +if the chance ever came to me I would stand between Mrs. Vanderbridge +and this unknown evil that threatened her. + +In the morning Mrs. Vanderbridge went out shopping, and I did not see +her until the evening, when she passed me on the staircase as she was +going out to dinner and the opera. She was radiant in blue velvet, with +diamonds in her hair and at her throat, and I wondered again how any one +so lovely could ever be troubled. + +"I hope you had a pleasant day, Miss Wrenn," she said kindly. "I have +been too busy to get off any letters, but tomorrow we shall begin +early." Then, as if from an afterthought, she looked back and added, +"There are some new novels in my sitting-room. You might care to look +over them." + +When she had gone, I went upstairs to the sitting-room and turned over +the books, but I couldn't, to save my life, force an interest in printed +romances after meeting Mrs. Vanderbridge and remembering the mystery +that surrounded her. I wondered if "the Other One," as Hopkins called +her, lived in the house, and I was still wondering this when the maid +came in and began putting the table to rights. + +"Do they dine out often?" I asked. + +"They used to, but since Mr. Vanderbridge hasn't been so well, Mrs. +Vanderbridge doesn't like to go without him. She only went tonight +because he begged her to." + +She had barely finished speaking when the door opened, and Mr. +Vanderbridge came in and sat down in one of the big velvet chairs before +the wood fire. He had not noticed us, for one of his moods was upon him, +and I was about to slip out as noiselessly as I could when I saw that +the Other One was standing in the patch of firelight on the hearth rug. +I had not seen her come in, and Hopkins evidently was still unaware of +her presence, for while I was watching, I saw the maid turn towards her +with a fresh log for the fire. At the moment it occurred to me that +Hopkins must be either blind or drunk, for without hesitating in her +advance, she moved on the stranger, holding the huge hickory log out in +front of her. Then, before I could utter a sound or stretch out a hand +to stop her, I saw her walk straight through the gray figure and +carefully place the log on the andirons. + +So she isn't real, after all, she is merely a phantom, I found myself +thinking, as I fled from the room, and hurried along the hall to the +staircase. She is only a ghost, and nobody believes in ghosts any +longer. She is something that I know doesn't exist, yet even, though she +can't possibly be, I can swear that I have seen her. My nerves were so +shaken by the discovery that as soon as I reached my room I sank in a +heap on the rug, and it was here that Hopkins found me a little later +when she came to bring me an extra blanket. + +"You looked so upset I thought you might have seen something," she said. +"Did anything happen while you were in the room?" + +"She was there all the time--every blessed minute. You walked right +through her when you put the log on the fire. Is it possible that you +didn't see her?" + +"No, I didn't see anything out of the way." She was plainly frightened. +"Where was she standing?" + +"On the hearthrug in front of Mr. Vanderbridge. To reach the fire you +had to walk straight through her, for she didn't move. She didn't give +way an inch." + +"Oh, she never gives way. She never gives way living or dead." + +This was more than human nature could stand. "In Heaven's name," I cried +irritably, "who is she?" + +"Don't you know?" She appeared genuinely surprised. "Why, she is the +other Mrs. Vanderbridge. She died fifteen years ago, just a year after +they were married, and people say a scandal was hushed up about her, +which he never knew. She isn't a good sort, that's what I think of her, +though they say he almost worshipped her." + +"And she still has this hold on him?" + +"He can't shake it off, that's what's the matter with him, and if it +goes on, he will end his days in an asylum. You see, she was very young, +scarcely more than a girl, and he got the idea in his head that it was +marrying him that killed her. If you want to know what I think, I +believe she puts it there for a purpose." + +"You mean--?" I was so completely at sea that I couldn't frame a +rational question. + +"I mean she haunts him purposely in order to drive him out of his mind. +She was always that sort, jealous and exacting, the kind that clutches +and strangles a man, and I've often thought, though I've no head for +speculation, that we carry into the next world the traits and feelings +that have got the better of us in this one. It seems to me only common +sense to believe that we're obliged to work them off somewhere until we +are free of them. That is the way my first lady used to talk anyhow, and +I've never found anybody that could give me a more sensible idea." + +"And isn't there any way to stop it? What has Mrs. Vanderbridge done?" + +"Oh, she can't do anything now. It has got beyond her, though she has +had doctor after doctor, and tried everything she could think of. But, +you see, she is handicapped because she can't mention it to her husband. +He doesn't know that she knows." + +"And she won't tell him?" + +"She is the sort that would die first--just the opposite from the Other +One--for she leaves him free, she never clutches and strangles. It isn't +her way." For a moment she hesitated, and then added grimly--"I've +wondered if you could do anything?" + +"If I could? Why, I am a perfect stranger to them all." + +"That's why I've been thinking it. Now, if you could corner her some +day--the Other One--and tell her up and down to her face what you think +of her." + +The idea was so ludicrous that it made me laugh in spite of my shaken +nerves. "They would fancy me out of my wits! Imagine stopping an +apparition and telling it what you think of it!" + +"Then you might try talking it over with Mrs. Vanderbridge. It would +help her to know that you see her also." + +But the next morning, when I went down to Mrs. Vanderbridge's room, I +found that she was too ill to see me. At noon a trained nurse came on +the case, and for a week we took our meals together in the morning-room +upstairs. She appeared competent enough, but I am sure that she didn't +so much as suspect that there was anything wrong in the house except the +influenza which had attacked Mrs. Vanderbridge the night of the opera. +Never once during that week did I catch a glimpse of the Other One, +though I felt her presence whenever I left my room and passed through +the hall below. I knew all the time as well as if I had seen her that +she was hidden there, watching, watching-- + +At the end of the week Mrs. Vanderbridge sent for me to write some +letters, and when I went into her room, I found her lying on the couch +with a tea table in front of her. She asked me to make the tea because +she was still so weak, and I saw that she looked flushed and feverish, +and that her eyes were unnaturally large and bright. I hoped she +wouldn't talk to me, because people in that state are apt to talk too +much and then to blame the listener; but I had hardly taken my seat at +the tea table before she said in a hoarse voice--the cold had settled on +her chest: + +"Miss Wrenn, I have wanted to ask you ever since the other evening--did +you--did you see anything unusual at dinner? From your face when you +came out I thought--I thought--" + +I met this squarely. "That I might have? Yes, I did see something." + +"You saw her?" + +"I saw a woman come in and sit down at the table, and I wondered why no +one served her. I saw her quite distinctly." + +"A small woman, thin and pale, in a grey dress?" + +"She was so vague and--and misty, you know what I mean, that it is hard +to describe her; but I should know her again anywhere. She wore her hair +parted and drawn down over her ears. It was very dark and fine--as fine +as spun silk." + +We were speaking in low voices, and unconsciously we had moved closer +together while my idle hands left the tea things. + +"Then you know," she said earnestly, "that she really comes--that I am +not out of my mind--that it is not an hallucination?" + +"I know that I saw her. I would swear to it. But doesn't Mr. +Vanderbridge see her also?" + +"Not as we see her. He thinks that she is in his mind only." Then after +an uncomfortable silence, she added suddenly, "She is really a thought, +you know. She is his thought of her--but he doesn't know that she is +visible to the rest of us." + +"And he brings her back by thinking of her?" + +She leaned nearer while a quiver passed over her features and the flush +deepened in her cheeks. "That is the only way she comes back--the only +way she has the power to come back--as a thought. There are months and +months when she leaves us in peace because he is thinking of other +things, but of late, since his illness, she has been with him almost +constantly." A sob broke from her, and she buried her face in her hands. +"I suppose she is always trying to come--only she is too vague--and she +hasn't any form that we can see except when he thinks of her as she used +to look when she was alive. His thought of her is like that, hurt and +tragic and revengeful. You see, he feels that he ruined her life because +she died when the child was coming--a month before it would have been +born." + +"And if he were to see her differently, would she change? Would she +cease to be revengeful if he stopped thinking her so?" + +"God only knows. I've wondered and wondered how I might move her to +pity." + +"Then you feel that she is really there? That she exists outside of his +mind?" + +"How can I tell? What do any of us know of the world beyond? She exists +as much as I exist to you or you to me. Isn't thought all that there +is--all that we know?" + +This was deeper than I could follow; but in order not to appear stupid, +I murmured sympathetically. + +"And does she make him unhappy when she comes?" + +"She is killing him--and me. I believe that is why she does it." + +"Are you sure that she could stay away? When he thinks of her isn't she +obliged to come back?" + +"Oh, I've asked that question over and over! In spite of his calling her +so unconsciously, I believe she comes of her own will. I have always the +feeling--it has never left me for an instant--that she could appear +differently if she would. I have studied her for years until I know her +like a book, and though she is only an apparition, I am perfectly +positive that she wills evil to us both. Don't you think he would change +that if he could? Don't you think he would make her kind instead of +vindictive if he had the power?" + +"But if he could remember her as loving and tender?" + +"I don't know. I give it up--but it is killing me." + +It _was_ killing her. As the days passed I began to realize that she had +spoken the truth. I watched her bloom fade slowly and her lovely +features grow pinched and thin like the features of a starved person. +The harder she fought the apparition, the more I saw that the battle was +a losing one, and that she was only wasting her strength. So impalpable +yet so pervasive was the enemy that it was like fighting a poisonous +odour. There was nothing to wrestle with, and yet there was everything. +The struggle was wearing her out--was, as she had said, actually +"killing her"; but the physician who dosed her daily with drugs--there +was need now of a physician--had not the faintest idea of the malady he +was treating. In those dreadful days I think that even Mr. Vanderbridge +hadn't a suspicion of the truth. The past was with him so constantly--he +was so steeped in the memories of it that the present was scarcely more +than a dream to him. It was, you see, a reversal of the natural order of +things; the thought had become more vivid to his perceptions than any +object. The phantom had been victorious so far, and he was like a man +recovering from the effects of a narcotic. He was only half awake, only +half alive to the events through which he lived and the people who +surrounded him. Oh, I realize that I am telling my story badly!--that I +am slurring over the significant interludes! My mind has dealt so long +with external details that I have almost forgotten the words that +express invisible things. Though the phantom in the house was more real +to me than the bread I ate or the floor on which I trod, I can give you +no impression of the atmosphere in which we lived day after day--of the +suspense, of the dread of something we could not define, of the brooding +horror that seemed to lurk in the shadows of the firelight, of the +feeling always, day and night, that some unseen person was watching us. +How Mrs. Vanderbridge stood it without losing her mind, I have never +known; and even now I am not sure that she could have kept her reason if +the end had not come when it did. That I accidentally brought it about +is one of the things in my life I am most thankful to remember. + +It was an afternoon in late winter, and I had just come up from +luncheon, when Mrs. Vanderbridge asked me to empty an old desk in one of +the upstairs rooms. "I am sending all the furniture in that room away," +she said, "it was bought in a bad period, and I want to clear it out and +make room for the lovely things we picked up in Italy. There is nothing +in the desk worth saving except some old letters from Mr. Vanderbridge's +mother before her marriage." + +I was glad that she could think of anything so practical as furniture, +and it was with relief that I followed her into the dim, rather musty +room over the library, where the windows were all tightly closed. Years +ago, Hopkins had once told me, the first Mrs. Vanderbridge had used this +room for a while, and after her death her husband had been in the habit +of shutting himself up alone here in the evenings. This, I inferred, was +the secret reason why my employer was sending the furniture away. She +had resolved to clear the house of every association with the past. + +For a few minutes we sorted the letters in the drawers of the desk, and +then, as I expected, Mrs. Vanderbridge became suddenly bored by the task +she had undertaken. She was subject to these nervous reactions, and I +was prepared for them even when they seized her so spasmodically. I +remember that she was in the very act of glancing over an old letter +when she rose impatiently, tossed it into the fire unread, and picked up +a magazine she had thrown down on a chair. + +"Go over them by yourself, Miss Wrenn," she said, and it was +characteristic of her nature that she should assume my trustworthiness. +"If anything seems worth saving you can file it--but I'd rather die than +have to wade through all this." + +They were mostly personal letters, and while I went on, carefully filing +them, I thought how absurd it was of people to preserve so many papers +that were entirely without value. Mr. Vanderbridge I had imagined to be +a methodical man, and yet the disorder of the desk produced a painful +effect on my systematic temperament. The drawers were filled with +letters evidently unsorted, for now and then I came upon a mass of +business receipts and acknowledgements crammed in among wedding +invitations or letters from some elderly lady, who wrote interminable +pale epistles in the finest and most feminine of Italian hands. That a +man of Mr. Vanderbridge's wealth and position should have been so +careless about his correspondence amazed me until I recalled the dark +hints Hopkins had dropped in some of her midnight conversations. Was it +possible that he had actually lost his reason for months after the death +of his first wife, during that year when he had shut himself alone with +her memory? The question was still in my mind when my eyes fell on the +envelope in my hand, and I saw that it was addressed to Mrs. Roger +Vanderbridge. So this explained, in a measure at least, the carelessness +and the disorder! The desk was not his, but hers, and after her death he +had used it only during those desperate months when he barely opened a +letter. What he had done in those long evenings when he sat alone here +it was beyond me to imagine. Was it any wonder that the brooding should +have permanently unbalanced his mind? + +At the end of an hour I had sorted and filed the papers, with the +intention of asking Mrs. Vanderbridge if she wished me to destroy the +ones that seemed to be unimportant. The letters she had instructed me to +keep had not come to my hand, and I was about to give up the search for +them, when, in shaking the lock of one of the drawers, the door of a +secret compartment fell open and I discovered a dark object, which +crumbled and dropped apart when I touched it. Bending nearer, I saw that +the crumbled mass had once been a bunch of flowers, and that a streamer +of purple ribbon still held together the frail structure of wire and +stems. In this drawer some one had hidden a sacred treasure, and moved +by a sense of romance and adventure, I gathered the dust tenderly in +tissue paper, and prepared to take it downstairs to Mrs. Vanderbridge. +It was not until then that some letters tied loosely together with a +silver cord caught my eyes, and while I picked them up, I remember +thinking that they must be the ones for which I had been looking so +long. Then, as the cord broke in my grasp and I gathered the letters +from the lid of the desk, a word or two flashed back at me through the +torn edges of the envelopes, and I realized that they were love letters +written, I surmised, some fifteen years ago, by Mr. Vanderbridge to his +first wife. + +"It may hurt her to see them," I thought, "but I don't dare destroy +them. There is nothing I can do except give them to her." + +As I left the room, carrying the letters and the ashes of the flowers, +the idea of taking them to the husband instead of to the wife, flashed +through my mind. Then--I think it was some jealous feeling about the +phantom that decided me--I quickened my steps to a run down the +staircase. + +"They would bring her back. He would think of her more than ever," I +told myself, "so he shall never see them. He shall never see them if I +can prevent it." I believe it occurred to me that Mrs. Vanderbridge +would be generous enough to give them to him--she was capable of rising +above her jealousy, I knew--but I determined that she shouldn't do it +until I had reasoned it out with her. "If anything on earth would bring +back the Other One for good, it would be his seeing these old letters," +I repeated as I hastened down the hall. + +Mrs. Vanderbridge was lying on the couch before the fire, and I noticed +at once that she had been crying. The drawn look in her sweet face went +to my heart, and I felt that I would do anything in the world to comfort +her. Though she had a book in her hand, I could see that she had not +been reading. The electric lamp on the table by her side was already +lighted, leaving the rest of the room in shadow, for it was a grey day +with a biting edge of snow in the air. It was all very charming in the +soft light; but as soon as I entered I had a feeling of oppression that +made me want to run out into the wind. If you have ever lived in a +haunted house--a house pervaded by an unforgettable past--you will +understand the sensation of melancholy that crept over me the minute the +shadows began to fall. It was not in myself--of this I am sure, for I +have naturally a cheerful temperament--it was in the space that +surrounded us and the air we breathed. + +I explained to her about the letters, and then, kneeling on the rug in +front of her, I emptied the dust of the flowers into the fire. There +was, though I hate to confess it, a vindictive pleasure in watching it +melt into the flames and at the moment I believe I could have burned the +apparition as thankfully. The more I saw of the Other One, the more I +found myself accepting Hopkins' judgment of her. Yes, her behaviour, +living and dead, proved that she was not "a good sort." + +My eyes were still on the flames when a sound from Mrs. +Vanderbridge--half a sigh, half a sob--made me turn quickly and look up +at her. + +"But this isn't his handwriting," she said in a puzzled tone. "They are +love letters, and they are to her--but they are not from him." For a +moment or two she was silent, and I heard the pages rustle in her hands +as she turned them impatiently. "They are not from him," she repeated +presently, with an exultant ring in her voice. "They are written after +her marriage, but they are from another man." She was as sternly tragic +as an avenging fate. "She wasn't faithful to him while she lived. She +wasn't faithful to him even while he was hers--" + +With a spring I had risen from my knees and was bending over her. + +"Then you can save him from her. You can win him back? You have only to +show him the letters, and he will believe." + +"Yes, I have only to show him the letters." She was looking beyond me +into the dusky shadows of the firelight, as if she saw the Other One +standing there. "I have only to show him the letters," I knew now that +she was not speaking to me, "and he will believe." + +"Her power over him will be broken," I cried out. "He will think of her +differently. Oh, don't you see? Can't you see? It is the only way to +make him think of her differently. It is the only way to break for ever +the thought that draws her back to him." + +"Yes, I see, it is the only way," she said slowly; and the words were +still on her lips when the door opened and Mr. Vanderbridge entered. + +"I came for a cup of tea," he began, and added with playful tenderness, +"What is the only way?" + +It was the crucial moment, I realized--it was the hour of destiny for +these two--and while he sank wearily into a chair, I looked imploringly +at his wife and then at the letters lying scattered loosely about her. +If I had had my will I should have flung them at him with a violence +which would have startled him out of his lethargy. Violence, I felt was +what he needed--violence, a storm, tears, reproaches--all the things he +would never get from his wife. + +For a minute or two she sat there, with the letters before her, and +watched him with her thoughtful and tender gaze. I knew from her face, +so lovely and yet so sad, that she was looking again at invisible +things--at the soul of the man she loved, not at the body. She saw him, +detached and spiritualized, and she saw also the Other One--for while we +waited I became slowly aware of the apparition in the firelight--of the +white face and the cloudy hair and the look of animosity and bitterness +in the eyes. Never before had I been so profoundly convinced of the +malignant will veiled by that thin figure. It was as if the visible form +were only a spiral of grey smoke covering a sinister purpose. + +"The only way," said Mrs. Vanderbridge, "is to fight fairly even when +one fights evil." Her voice was like a bell, and as she spoke, she rose +from the couch and stood there in her glowing beauty confronting the +pale ghost of the past. There was a light about her that was almost +unearthly--the light of triumph. The radiance of it blinded me for an +instant. It was like a flame, clearing the atmosphere of all that was +evil, of all that was poisonous and deadly. She was looking directly at +the phantom, and there was no hate in her voice--there was only a great +pity, a great sorrow and sweetness. + +"I can't fight you that way," she said, and I knew that for the first +time she had swept aside subterfuge and evasion, and was speaking +straight to the presence before her. "After all, you are dead and I am +living, and I cannot fight you that way. I give up everything. I give +him back to you. Nothing is mine that I cannot win and keep fairly. +Nothing is mine that belongs really to you." + +Then, while Mr. Vanderbridge rose, with a start of fear, and came +towards her, she bent quickly, and flung the letters into the fire. When +he would have stooped to gather the unburned pages, her lovely flowing +body curved between his hands and the flames; and so transparent, so +ethereal she looked, that I saw--or imagined that I saw--the firelight +shine through her. "The only way, my dear, is the right way," she said +softly. + +The next instant--I don't know to this day how or when it began--I was +aware that the apparition had drawn nearer, and that the dread and fear, +the evil purpose, were no longer a part of her. I saw her clearly for a +moment--saw her as I had never seen her before--young and gentle +and--yes, this is the only word for it--loving. It was just as if a +curse had turned into a blessing, for, while she stood there, I had a +curious sensation of being enfolded in a kind of spiritual glow and +comfort--only words are useless to describe the feeling because it +wasn't in the least like anything else I had ever known in my life. It +was light without heat, glow without light--and yet it was none of these +things. The nearest I can come to it is to call it a sense of +blessedness--of blessedness that made you at peace with everything you +had once hated. + +Not until afterwards did I realize that it was the victory of good over +evil. Not until afterwards did I discover that Mrs. Vanderbridge had +triumphed over the past in the only way that she could triumph. She had +won, not by resisting, but by accepting, not by violence, but by +gentleness, not by grasping, but by renouncing. Oh, long, long +afterwards, I knew that she had robbed the phantom of power over her by +robbing it of hatred. She had changed the thought of the past, in that +lay her victory. + +At the moment I did not understand this. I did not understand it even +when I looked again for the apparition in the firelight, and saw that it +had vanished. There was nothing there--nothing except the pleasant +flicker of light and shadow on the old Persian rug. + + + + +HIS SMILE[11] + +By SUSAN GLASPELL + +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + + +Laura stood across the street waiting for the people to come out from +the picture-show. She couldn't have said just why she was waiting, +unless it was that she was waiting because she could not go away. She +was not wearing her black; she had a reason for not wearing it when she +came on these trips, and the simple lines of her dark-blue suit and the +smart little hat Howie had always liked on her, somehow suggested young +and happy things. Two soldiers came by; one of them said, "Hello, there, +kiddo," and the other, noting the anxiety with which she waited, assured +her, "_You_ should worry." She looked at them, and when he saw her face +the one who had said, "You should worry," said, in sheepish fashion, +"Well, _I_ should worry," as if to get out of the apology he didn't know +how to make. She was glad they had gone by. It hurt so to be near the +soldiers. + +The man behind her kept saying, "Pop-_corn_! _Pop_-corn right _here_." +It seemed she must buy pop-corn if she stood there. She bought some. She +tried to do the thing she was expected to do--so she wouldn't be +noticed. + +Then the people came pushing out from the theater. They did it just as +they did it in the other towns. A new town was only the same town in a +different place; and all of it was a world she was as out of as if it +were passing before her in a picture. All of it except that one thing +that was all she had left! She had come so far to have it tonight. She +_wouldn't_ be cheated. She crossed the street, and as the last people +were coming out of the theater she went in. + +A man, yawning, was doing something to a light. He must belong to the +place. His back was to her, and she stood there trying to get brave +enough to speak. It had never been easy for her to open conversations +with strangers. For so many years it was Howie who had seemed to connect +her with the world. And suddenly she thought of how sorry Howie would be +to see her waiting around in this dismal place after every one else had +gone, trying to speak to a strange man about a thing that man wouldn't +at all understand. How well Howie would understand it! He would say, "Go +on home, Laura." "Don't do this, sweetheart." Almost as if he had said +it, she turned away. But she turned back. This was her wedding +anniversary. + +She went up to the man. "You didn't give all of the picture tonight, did +you?" Her voice was sharp; it mustn't tremble. + +He looked round at her in astonishment. He kept looking her up and down +as if to make her out. Her trembling hands clutched the bag of pop-corn +and some of it spilled. She let it all fall and put one hand to her +mouth. + +A man came down from upstairs. "Lady here says you didn't give the whole +show tonight," said the first man. + +The young man on the stairs paused in astonishment. He, too, looked +Laura up and down. She took a step backward. + +"What was left out wasn't of any importance, lady," said the man, +looking at her, not unkindly, but puzzled. + +"I think it was!" she contended in a high, sharp voice. They both stared +at her. As she realized that this could happen, saw how slight was her +hold on the one thing she had, she went on, desperately, "You haven't +any right to do this! It's--it's _cheating_." + +They looked then, not at her, but at each other--as the sane counsel +together in the presence of what is outside their world. Oh, she knew +that look! She had seen her brother and his wife doing it when first she +knew about Howie. + +"Now I'll tell you, lady," said the man to whom she had first spoken, +in the voice that deals with what has to be dealt with carefully, "you +just let me give you your money back, then you won't have the feeling +that you've been cheated." He put his hand in his pocket. + +"I don't want my money back!" cried Laura. "I--want to see what you left +out!" + +"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," proposed the young man, taking his +cue from the older one. "I'll tell you just exactly what happened in the +part that was left out." + +"I know exactly what happened," cut in Laura. "I--I want to _see_--what +happened." + +It was a cry from so deep that they didn't know what to do. + +"Won't you do it for me?" she begged of the young man, going up to him. +"What you left out--won't you show it for me--_now_?" + +He just stood there staring at her. + +"It means--! It--" But how could she tell them what it meant? She looked +from one to the other, as if to see what chance there was of their doing +it without knowing what it meant. When she couldn't keep sobs back, she +turned away. + +Even in her room at the hotel she had to try to keep from crying. She +could hear the man moving around in the next room--so he, of course, +could hear her, too. It was all as it was in the pictures--people +crowded together, and all of it something that seemed life and really +wasn't. Even _that_--the one thing, the one moment--really wasn't life. +But it was all she had! If she let herself think of how little that all +was--it was an emptiness she was afraid of. + +The people who had tried to comfort her used to talk of how much she had +had. She would wonder sometimes why they were talking on her side +instead of their own. For if you have had much--does that make it easy +to get along with nothing? Why couldn't they _see_ it? That because of +what Howie had been to her--and for ten years!--she just didn't know any +way of going on living without Howie! + +Tonight made fresh all her wedding anniversaries--brought happiness to +life again. It almost took her in. And because she had been so near the +dear, warm things in which she had lived, when morning came she couldn't +get on the train that would take her back to that house to which Howie +would never come again. Once more it all seemed slipping from her. There +must be _something_. As a frightened child runs for home, she turned to +that place where--for at least a moment--it was as if Howie were there. + +She went to the telegraph office and wired the company that sent out +"The Cross of Diamonds," asking where that film could be seen. She had +learned that this was the way to do it. She had known nothing about such +things at first; it had been hard to find out the ways of doing. It was +a world she didn't know the ways of. + +When she got her answer, and found that the place where "The Cross of +Diamonds" would be shown that night was more than a hundred miles +away--that it meant going that much farther away from home--she told +herself this was a thing she couldn't do. She told herself this must +stop--that her brother was right in the things he said against it. It +wouldn't do. He hadn't said it was crazy, but that was what he meant--or +feared. She had told him she would try to stop. Now was the time to do +it--now when she would have to go so much farther away. But--_it_ was +going farther away--this glimpse of Howie--all that was left of Howie +was moving away from her! And after the disappointment of the night +before--She must see him once more! Then--yes, then she would stop. + +She was excited when she had decided to do this. It lifted her out of +the nothingness. From this meager thing her great need could in a way +create the feeling that she was going to meet Howie. Once more she would +see him do that thing which was so like him as to bring him back into +life. _Why_ should she turn from it? What were all the other things +compared with this thing? This was one little flash of life in a world +that had ceased to be alive. + +So again that night, in the clothes he had most liked, she went for that +poor little meeting with her husband--so pitifully little, and yet so +tremendous because it was all she would ever have. Again she sat in a +big, noisy place with many jostling, laughing people--and waited to see +Howie. She forgot that the place had ugly red walls and sickly green +lights; she could somehow separate herself from harsh voices and +smells--for she was here to meet Howie! + +She knew just the part of the house to sit in. Once she had sat where +she couldn't see him as he passed from sight! After that she had always +come very early. So she had to sit there while other people were coming +in. But she didn't much mind that; it was like sitting in a crowded +railway station when the person you love is coming soon. + +But suddenly something reached over that gulf between other people and +her. A word. A terrible word. Behind her some one said "munitions." She +put her hand to her eyes and pressed tight. Not to _see_. That was why +she had to keep coming for this look at Howie. She had to see +_him_--that she might shut out _that_--the picture of Howie--_blown into +pieces_. + +She _hated_ people. They were always doing something like this to her. +She hated all these people in the theater. It seemed they were all, +somehow, against her. And Howie had been so good to them! He was so good +to people like the people in this theater. It was because he was so good +and kind to them that he was--that he was not Howie now. He was always +thinking of people's comfort--the comfort of people who had to work +hard. From the time he went into his father's factory he had always been +thinking up ways of making people more comfortable in their work. To see +girls working in uncomfortable chairs, or standing hour after hour at +tables too low or too high for them--he couldn't pass those things by as +others passed them by. He had a certain inventive faculty, and his +kindness was always making use of that. His father used to tell him he +would break them all up in business if his mind went on working in that +direction. He would tell him if he was going to be an inventor he had +better think up some money-making inventions. Howie would laugh and +reply that he'd make it all up some day. And at last one of the things +he had thought out to make it better for people was really going to make +it better for Howie. It was a certain kind of shade for the eyes. It +had been a relief to the girls in their little factory, and it was being +tried out elsewhere. It was even being used a little in one of the big +munition plants. Howie was there seeing about it. And while he was +there--He went in there Howie. There wasn't even anything to carry out. + +The picture had begun. She had to wait until almost half of it had +passed before her moment came. The story was a tawdry, meaningless thing +about the adventures of two men who had stolen a diamond cross--a +strange world into which to come to find Howie. Chance had caught him +into it--he was one of the people passing along a street which was being +taken for the picture. His moment was prolonged by his stopping to do +the kind of thing Howie would do, and now it was as if that one moment +was the only thing saved out of Howie's life. They who made the picture +had apparently seen that the moment was worth keeping--they left it as a +part of the stream of life that was going by while the detective of +their story waited for the men for whom he had laid a trap. The story +itself had little relation to real things--yet chance made it this +vehicle for keeping something of the reality that had been Howie--a +disclosing moment captured unawares. + +She was thinking of the strangeness of all this when again the people +seated back of her said a thing that came right to her. They were saying +"scrap-heap." She knew--before she knew why--that this had something to +do with her. Then she found that they were talking about this film. It +was ready for the scrap-heap. It was on its last legs. They laughed and +said perhaps they were seeing its "last appearance." + +She tried to understand what it meant. Then even this would cease to be +in the world. She had known she ought to stop following the picture +around, she had even told herself this would be the last time she would +come to see it--but to feel it wouldn't any longer be there to be +seen--that even this glimpse of Howie would go out--go out as life goes +out--scrap-heap! She sat up straight and cleared her throat. She would +have to leave. She must get air. But she looked to see where they were. +Not far now. She might miss Howie! With both hands she took hold of the +sides of the seat. She was _not_ going to fall forward! _Not_ +suffocating. Not until after she had seen him. + +_Now._ The detective has left the hotel--he is walking along the street. +He comes to the cigar-store door, and there steps in to watch. And there +comes the dog! Then it was not going to be cut out tonight! Along comes +the little dog--pawing at his muzzle. He stops in distress in front of +the cigar-store. People pass and pay no attention to the dog--there on +the sidewalk. And then--in the darkened theater her hands go out, for +the door has opened--and she sees her husband! _Howie._ _There._ Moving +as he always moved! She fights back the tears that would blur him. That +dear familiar way he moves! It is almost as if she could step up and +meet him, and they could walk away together. + +He starts to go the other way. Then he sees the dog. He goes up to him; +he is speaking to him, wanting to know what is the matter. She can +fairly hear the warmth and kindness of his voice as he speaks to the +little dog. He feels of the muzzle--finds it too tight; he lets it out a +notch. _Dear_ Howie. Of _course_ he would do that. No one else had +cared, but he would care. Then he speaks to the dog--pats him--tells him +he is all right now. Then Howie turns away. + +But the dog thinks he will go with this nice person! Howie laughs and +tells him he can't come. A little girl has come across the street. Howie +tells her to keep the dog from following him. Then again he turns to go. +But just before he passes from sight the child calls something to him, +and he looks back over his shoulder and smiles. She sees again the smile +that has been the heart of her life. Then he passes from sight. + +And he always leaves friends behind him--just as he always did leave +friends behind him. There will be little murmurs of approval; sometimes +there is applause. Tonight a woman near Laura said, "Say, I bet that's +an awful nice fellow." + +She never left her seat at once, as if moving would break a spell. For a +little while after she had seen it, his smile would stay with her. Then +it would fade, as things fade in the motion pictures. Somehow she didn't +really _have_ it. That was why she had to keep coming--constantly +reaching out for something that was not hers to keep. + +When her moment had gone, she rose and walked down the aisle. It was +very hard to go away tonight. There had been all the time the fear that +what happened the night before would happen again--that she would not +see Howie, after all. That made her so tense that she was exhausted now. +And then "munitions"--and "scrap-heap." Perhaps it was because of all +this that tonight her moment had been so brief. Only for an instant +Howie's smile had brought her into life. It was gone now. It had passed. + +She was so worn that when, at the door, her brother Tom stepped up to +her she was not much surprised or even angry. Tom had no business to be +following her about. She had told him that she would have to manage it +her own way--that he would have to let her alone. Now here he was +again--to trouble her, to talk to her about being brave and sane--when +he didn't _know_--when he didn't have any idea what he was talking +about! But it didn't matter--not tonight. Let him do things--get the +tickets--and all that. Even let him talk to her. That didn't matter +either. + +But he talked very little. He seemed to think there was something wrong +with her. He looked at her and said, "O, Laura!" reproachfully, but +distressed. + +"I thought you weren't going to do this any more, Laura," he said +gently, after they had walked a little way. + +"How did you know I was here?" she asked listlessly. + +"They sent me word you had left home. I traced you." + +"I don't see why you should trace me," she said, but not as if it +mattered. + +"O, Laura!" he said again. "Well, I must say I don't think Mrs. Edmunds +was much of a friend!" + +It was Mrs. Edmunds who had told Laura that there was this glimpse of +her husband in "The Cross of Diamonds." She had hesitated about telling +her, but had finally said it was so characteristic and beautiful a +moment she felt Laura should see it. + +From the first Tom had opposed her seeing it, saying it would be nothing +but torture to her. Torture it was, but it was as if that torture were +all there was left of life. + +Tonight everything was as a world of shadows. She knew that her brother +was taking her to his home instead of back to her own. He had wanted to +do this before, but she had refused. There was nothing in her now that +could refuse. She went with him as if she were merely moving in a +picture and had no power of her own to get out of it. + +And that was the way it was through the next few weeks. Tom and his wife +would talk to her about trying to interest herself in life. She made no +resistance, she had no argument against this; but she had no power to do +it. They didn't know--they didn't know how it had been with her and +Howie. + +She herself had never been outgoing. It was perhaps a habit of reserve +built out of timidity, but she had been a girl whose life did not have a +real contact with other lives. Perhaps there were many people like +that--perhaps not; she did not know. She only knew that before Howie +came the life in her was more as a thing unto itself than a part of the +life of the world. + +Then Howie came! Howie, who could get on with any one, who found +something to like in every one; and in the warmth and strength of his +feeling for people he drew her into that main body of life where she had +not been before. It had been like coming into the sunshine! + +Now he was gone; and they asked her to be alone what she had been +through him. It was like telling one to go into the sunshine when the +sun is not shining. + +And the more these others tried to reach her, the more alone she felt, +for it only made her know they could not reach her. When you have lived +in the sunshine, days of cold mist may become more than you can bear. +After a long struggle not to do so, she again went to the long-distance +telephone to find out where that picture was being shown--that picture +into which was caught one moment of Howie's life as he moved through the +world. + +Worn by the struggle not to do what she was doing, and tormented by the +fear that she had waited too long, that this one thing which was left to +her might no longer _be_, she had to put every bit of her strength into +establishing this connection with the people who could tell her what she +must know. Establishing the connection with living was like this. She +was far off and connected only by a tenuous thing which might any moment +go into confusion and stop. + +At the other end some one was making fun of her. They doubted if "The +Cross of Diamonds" could be seen anywhere at all. "The Cross of +Diamonds" had been double-crossed. Wasn't it too much of a cross, +anyway, to see "The Cross of Diamonds"? + +Finally another man came to the phone. "The Cross of Diamonds" could be +seen at a certain town in Indiana. But she'd better hurry! And she'd +better look her last look. Why did she want to see it--might he ask? But +Laura hung up the receiver. She must hurry! + +All the rest of it was a blur and a hurry. Through the unreal confusion +drove the one idea--she must get there in time! And that whole life of +the world seemed pitted against her--it was as if the whole of that main +body of life was thrown in between her and Howie. The train was late. It +was almost the hour for pictures to begin when she got down at that +lonely, far-away station. And the town, it seemed, was a mile from the +station! There was a bus she must take. Every nerve of her being was +hurrying that bus on--until that very anxiety made it seem it was Howie +himself she would see if only she could get there in time. + +And being late, the downstairs at the theater was full. "Balcony only," +said a man as she came in. "Oh, _won't_ you find me a good seat?" Laura +besought him. "Like to know how I'll find you a seat when there ain't no +seat," was the answer--the whole big life of the world in between her +and Howie! + +Upstairs, too, it was hard to find a place. And all those people seated +there--for them it meant only a few hours' silly entertainment! + +But after a moment a man directed her to a seat. There was another place +beside it, and just as Laura was being seated a woman came along with +two children. "We can't all sit together," she was saying, "so you just +sit in here, Mamie. You sit right in here--beside the nice lady." + +The mother looked at Laura, as if expecting her to welcome her child. +Laura did nothing. She must be alone. She was there to be with Howie. + +She was not as late as she had feared. There would be time for getting +ready--getting ready for Howie! She knew this would be the last time she +would see Howie as he had moved through the world. For the last time she +would see his face light to a smile. If she did not reach him tonight, +she would never reach him. She had a feeling that she could reach him, +if only something in her--if only something in her-- + +She could not finish that; it brought her to a place into which she +could not reach, but as never before she had a feeling that he could be +reached. And so when the little girl beside her twisted in her seat and +she knew that the child was looking up at her she tried not to know this +little girl was there--tried not to know that any of those people were +there. If only she could get them all out of the _way_--she could reach +into the shadow and feel Howie near! + +But there was one thing she kept knowing--try her best not to know it! +The little girl beside her, too young to be there, was going to sleep. +When it came right up to the moment for her to see Howie, she was +knowing that that little girl had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable +position. Her head had been resting on the side of the seat--the side +next Laura--and as she fell asleep it slipped from its support in a way +that--Could _she_ help it if this child was not comfortable? Angry, she +tried to brush this from her consciousness as we brush dust from our +eyes. This was her moment with _Howie_--her _chance_. + +But when her moment came, a cruel thing happened. Something was wrong +with the machine that was showing the picture. At just _that_ moment--of +all the moments!--the worn-out film seemed to be going to pieces before +her eyes. After the little dog came along, and just as Howie should come +out from the cigar-store, there was a flash--a blur--a jumble of +movements. It was like an earthquake--it looked like life ceasing to be +life. "_No!_" she gasped under her breath. "_No!_" The people around her +were saying things of a different sort. "Cut it!" "What you givin' us?" +"Whoa, boy!" They laughed. _They_ didn't care. It got a little better; +she could make out Howie bending down to fix the dog's muzzle--but it +was all dancing crazily--and people were laughing. And then--then the +miracle! It was on Howie's smile the picture steadied--that smile back +over his shoulder after he had turned to go. And, as if to bring to +rights what had been wrong, the smile was held, and it was as if Howie +lingered, as if in leaving life he looked back over his shoulder and +waited--waited for his smile to reach Laura. Out of the jumble and +blur--out of the wrong and meaningless--Howie's beautiful steady smile +_making it all right_. + +She could not have told how it happened. As Howie passed, she turned to +the little girl beside her whose head was without support and, not +waking her, supported the child's head against her own arm. And after +she had done this--it was after she had done it that she began to know, +as if doing it let down bars. + +Now she was knowing. She had wanted to push people aside and reach into +the shadows for Howie. She began to see that it was not so she would +reach him. It was in being as he had been--kind, caring--that she could +have a sense of him near. Here was her chance--among the people she had +thought stood between her and her chance. Howie had always cared for +these people. On his way through the world with them he had always +stopped to do the kind thing--as he stopped to make it right for the +badly muzzled dog. Then there _was_ something for her to do in the +world. She could do the kind things Howie would be doing if he were +there! It would somehow--keep him. It would--fulfill him. Yes, fulfill +him. Howie had made her more alive--warmer and kinder. If she became as +she had been before--Howie would have failed. She moved so that the +little girl who rested against her could rest the better. And as she did +this--it was as if Howie had smiled. The one thing the picture had never +given her--the sense that it was hers to keep--that stole through her +now as the things come which we know we can never lose. For the first +moment since she lost him, she had him. And all the people in that +theater, and all the people in the world--_here_ was the truth! It +cleared and righted as Howie's smile had righted the picture. In so far +as she could come close to others she would come closer to him. + + + + +THE HARBOR MASTER[12] + +By RICHARD MATTHEWS HALLET + +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + + +Coming ashore one summer's night from Meteor Island, Jethro Rackby was +met by Peter Loud--Deep-water Peter he was called, because even so early +he had gone one foreign voyage. Peter was going round with a paper +containing the subscription to a dance. + +"Come, Harbor Master," he said; "put your thumb mark in the corner along +with the rest of us." + +Rackby drew back. "Why should I dance?" he muttered. + +He was town clerk as well as harbor master--a scholarly man with +visionary, pale eyes, and a great solitary, as Peter knew. + +"Why? I'll tell you why," said Peter. "To bring joy to Caddie Sill's +heart, if nothing more. The girl would throw all the rest of us in a +heap tomorrow for a firm hold of you, Rackby." + +He winked at Zinie Shadd, who swayed on his heels soberly. + +Rackby turned his eyes toward the black mound of Meteor, which lay like +a shaggy stone Cerberus at the harbor's mouth. + +The star-pointed harbor was quiet at his feet. Shadows in the water were +deep and languid, betokening an early fall of rain through the still +air. But from the rim of the sea, where the surf was seen only as a +white glow waxing and waning, a constant drone was borne in to them--a +thunder of the white horses' hoofs trampling on Pull-an'-be-Damned; the +vindictive sound of seas falling down one after another on wasted rocks, +on shifting sand bars--a powerful monotone seeming to increase in the +ear with fuller attention. The contrast was marked between the +heavy-lying peace of the inner harbor and that hungry reverberation from +without of waters seeking fresh holds along a mutilated coast. On damp +nights when the wind hauled to the southeast, men stood still in their +tracks, and said, simply, "There's the Old Roke," as if it was the Old +Man of the Sea himself. The sound was a living personality in their +ears.--Women whom the sea had widowed shivered and rattled irons when +the Old Roke came close to their windows; but the men listened, as if +they had been called--each by his own name. + +"What's the ringle jingle of feet by the side of that?" Rackby said, his +mystified face turned toward the water. "I'm a man for slow tunes, +Peter. No, no, no; put your paper up again." + +"No? You're a denying sort of a crab, and no mistake. Always seeing how +fast you can crawl backward out of pleasure." + +"I mistrust women." + +"You cleave to the spirit and turn from the flesh, that I know. But +here's a woman with a voice to waken the dead." + +"That's the voice on the seaward side of Meteor," answered Rackby. + +"Cad Sills is flesh and blood of the Old Roke, I'm agreed," said +Deep-water Peter. "She's a seafaring woman, that's certain. Next door to +ending in a fish's tail, too, sometimes I think, when I see her carrying +on--Maybe you've seen her sporting with the horse-shoe crabs and all o' +that at Pull-an'-be-Damned?" + +"No, I can't say that." + +"No, it wasn't to be expected, you with your head and shoulders walking +around in a barrel of jam." + +The harbor master smiled wistfully. + +"More I don't require," he said. + +"Ah, so you say now--Well, marry the sea, then. It's a slippery embrace, +take the word of a man who has gone foreign voyages." + +"I mistrust the sea," said Jethro. + +"So you do.--You mistrust the sea and the like o' that, and you mistrust +women and the like o' that. There's too much heaving and tossing in such +waters for a harbor master, hey?" + +"I'm at home here, that's a fact," said Jethro. "I know the tides and +the buoys. I can find my way in the dark, where another man would be at +a total loss. I'm never suffering for landmarks." + +"Landmarks!" roared Deep-water Peter. "What's a landmark good for but to +take a new departure?" + +To the sea-goers, tilted on a bench in the shadow of the Customs House, +he added, "What life must be without a touch of lady fever is more than +I can tell." + +A red-bearded viking at the end of the bench rose and took Peter's +shoulders in a fearful grip. + +"What's all this talk of lady fever?" + +"Let be, Cap'n Dreed!" cried Peter. His boisterousness failed him like +wind going out of a sail. He twisted out of the big seaman's grip and +from a distance shouted, "If you weren't so cussed bashful, you might +have had something more than a libel pinned to your mainmast by now, +with all this time in port." + +There was a general shifting along the bench, to make room for possible +fray. It was a sore point with Sam Dreed that the ship chandler had that +day effected a lien for labor on his ship, and the libel was nailed to +the mast. + +"Now they'll scandalize each other," murmured Zinie Shadd. + +They were turned from that purpose only by the sudden passing at their +backs of the woman in question, Caddie Sills. + +Quiet reigned. The older men crossed their legs, sat far down on their +spines, and narrowed their eyes. The brick wall of the Customs House, +held from collapsing by a row of rusty iron stars, seemed to bulge more +than its wont for the moment--its upper window, a ship's deadlight, +round and expressionless as the eye of a codfish. + +Cad Sills ran her eye over them deftly, as if they were the separate +strings of an instrument which could afford gratification to her only +when swept lightly all at one time by her tingling finger tips, or, +more likely, by the intangible plectrum in her black eye. + +The man she selected for her nod was Sam Dreed, however. + +Peter Loud felt the walls of his heart pinch together with jealousy. + +It was all in a second's dreaming. "Gape and swallow," as Zinie Shadd +said, from his end of the bench. The woman passed with a supercilious +turn of her head away from them. + +"That's a foot-loose woman if ever there was one." + +With all her gift of badinage, she was a solitary soul. The men feared +no less than they admired her. They were shy of that wild courage, +fearful to put so dark a mystery to the solution. The women hated her, +backbit and would not make friends, because of the fatal instantaneous +power she wielded to spin men's blood and pitch their souls derelict on +that impassioned current. Who shall put his finger on the source of this +power? There were girls upon girls with eyes as black, cheeks as like +hers as fruit ripened on the same bough, hair as thick and lustrous--yet +at the sound of Caddie Sills's bare footfall eyes shifted and glowed, +and in the imaginations of these men the women of their choice grew pale +as the ashes that fringe a fallen fire. + +"She's a perilous woman," muttered the collector of the port. "Sticks in +the slant of a man's eye like the shadow of sin. Ah! there he goes, like +the leaves of autumn." + +Samuel Dreed trod the dust of the road with a wonderful swaying of his +body, denominated the Western Ocean roll. He was a mighty man, all were +agreed; not a nose of wax, even for Cad Sills to twist. + +"Plump she'll go in his canvas bag, along with his sea boots and his +palm and needle, if she's not precious careful, with her +shillyshallying," said Zinie Shadd. "I know the character of the man, +from long acquaintance, and I know that what he says he'll do he'll do, +and no holding off at arm's length, either, for any considerable period +of time." + +Such was the situation of Cad Sills. A dark, lush, ignorant, entrancing +woman, for whose sake decent men stood ready to drop their principles +like rags--yes, at a mere secret sign manifested in her eye, where the +warmth of her blood was sometimes seen as a crimson spark alighted on +black velvet. She went against the good government of souls. + +Even Rackby had taken note of her once, deep as his head was in the +clouds by preference and custom. It was a day in late November. No snow +had fallen, and she floated past him like a cloud shadow as he plodded +in the yellow road which turned east at the Preaching Tree. She passed, +looked back, slashed a piece of dripping kelp through the air so close +that salt drops stung his pale eyes, laughed aloud, and at the top of +her laugh, broke into a wild, sweet song unfamiliar to him. It was a +voice unlike the flat voices of women thereabouts--strong, sweet, +sustained, throbbing with a personal sense of the passion which lurked +in the warm notes. + +Her foot was bare, and more shapely in consequence than if she had had a +habit of wearing shoes. Its shape was the delicate shape of strength +native to such a foot, and each toe left its print distinct and even in +the dust. With his eye for queer details, he remembered that print and +associated with it the yellow-rutted road, the rusty alders in the +meadow beyond, and the pale spire of the church thrust into a November +sky. + +He called this to mind when on the night of the dance information came +to his ear that she had sold her pearls to lift the lien on Cap'n Sam +Dreed's ship, with her own hands tearing down the libel from the mast +and grinding it under her heel. + +No man whom she had once passed and silently interrogated could quite +forget her, not even Jethro Rackby. The harbor master swayed on his +oars, collected himself, and looked forward across the dimpled floor of +his harbor, which in its quietude was like a lump of massy silver or +rich ore, displaying here and there a spur of light, a surface sparkle. +The serenity of his own soul was in part a reflection of this nightly +calm, when the spruce on the bank could not be known from its fellow in +the water by a man standing on his head. Moreover, to maintain this +calm was the plain duty of the harbor master. For five years he had held +that office by an annual vote of the town meeting. With his title went +authority to say where were the harbor lines, to order the removal of +hulks, to provide for keeping open a channel through winter ice--in a +word, to keep the peace. This peace was of his own substance. + +It was rudely shattered. On the night following the dance Cad Sills put +herself in his path for the second time and this time she gave him short +shrift. He was pushing forward, near sundown, to take the impulse of an +eddy at the edge of Pull-an'-be-Damned when he saw that predatory, +songful woman balanced knee-deep in rushing water, her arms tossing. + +"She's drowning herself after her quarrel with Sam Dreed," was his first +thought. He had just heard a fine tale of that quarrel. The truth was +not quite so bold. She had been caught by the tide, which, first peering +over the rim of that extended flat, had then shot forth a frothy tongue, +and in a twinkling lapped her up. + +Jethro presently brought up the webs of his two thumbs hard at her +armpits, and took her into his boat, dripping. + +"She's not so plump as she was ashore," he said to himself with a vague +astonishment. She was as lean as a man at the hips, and finned away like +a mermaid, as became a daughter of the Old Roke. + +"Steady now, my girl--. Heave and away." + +There they stood confronting each other. Enraptured, life given into her +hand again, Cad Sills flung her arms about his neck and kissed him--a +moist, full-budded, passionate, and salty kiss. Even on the edge of +doom, it was plain, she would not be able to modulate, tone, or contain +these kisses, each of which launched a fiery barb into the recipient's +bosom. + +The little fisherman had not known what elemental thing was in a kiss +before. He bit his lip and fell back slowly. Then, after a second's vain +reflection, he seized the butts of his oars, which had begun to knock +together. Caddie Sills sank across a thwart and shivered a little to +mark the crowding together of white horses at the very place where she +had stood. Contrary currents caused the tide to horse in strongly over +Pull-an'-be-Damned. + +"What a ninny!" she whispered. "Was I sick with love, I wonder?" + +The harbor master answered with the motion of his oars. + +She glanced at him shrewdly, then struck her hands together at her +breast, which she caused to rise and fall stormily. She was, in fact, a +storm petrel in the guise of woman. + +"You have saved my life," she cried out, "when not another man in all +this world would have lifted so much as his little finger. Do what you +will with me after this. Let me be your slave, your dog--. I am a lost +woman if you will not take pity on me." + +Rackby's heart came into his throat with the slow surge of a sculpin on +a hook. + +"Nothing--. Nothing at all. Nothing in the world. I happened along--. +Just a happen so." + +The girl stood up, looked at him long and long, cried, "Thank you for +nothing, then, Mr. Happen-so," and from the humility of gratitude she +went to the extreme of impudence, and laughed in his face--a ringing, +brazen laugh, with the wild sweetness in it which he had noted in the +song she sang on that November hillside. + +"You're a caution, little man, you're a caution," she said, slanting her +lashes. "You certainly are. I've heard of you. Yes, I have, only this +morning. I'm a solitary like yourself. See here. You and I could set the +world on fire if we joined hands. Do you know that?" + +The little man was struck dumb at his oars for very fear of the boldness +of her advance. He recognized this for an original and fearsome, not to +say delectable, vein of talk. She came on like the sea itself, impetuous +and all-embracing. Unfathomed, too. Could fancy itself construct a woman +so, pat to his hand? + +"Is it true that you despise women as they say?" she whispered. She +breathed close, and electrified the tip of his ear with a tendril of +hair. He saw that she wore coral now, in place of the pearls. But her +lips were redder than the coral. He raised his head. + +"Yesterday morning you sold pearls for the benefit of Sam Dreed," he +said, in dull tones. "And here you are with your brimstone fairly in my +boat." + +He looked at her as if the Old Roke himself had clambered into the boat, +with his spell of doom. + +"I am not afraid of helping honest men in trouble that I know of," said +Cad Sills, sucking in her lower lip. "But do you throw that up to me?" + +Jethro felt the wickedness of his position like a breath of fire fanning +his cheek. Perilously tempted, he sagged back on the oars without a +word. + +"Soho! you're setting me ashore," said that dark woman, laughing. "I +don't wear very well in the eye and that's a plain conclusion." + +She laid a finger to her breast, and her eye mocked him. This brazen +hardness put him from his half-formed purpose. He addressed himself to +the oars, and the dory grated on the shore. + +"Good-bye, then, little man," she said, springing past him. + +But even now she lingered and looked back, biting the coral and letting +it fall, intimating that a word, a whispered syllable, might lay her +low. + +He sat like a man crushed to earth. When he raised his head she was +gone. + +Was this the voice from the seaward side of Meteor? True, the sea had +yielded this wild being up, but did she speak with the sea's voice? She +had at least the sea's inconstancy, the sea's abandonment. + +Her words were hot and heavy in little Rackby's heart. Serene harbor +master that he was, the unearthly quiet of his harbor was an affront +upon him in his present mood. Now that she was lost to him, he could +not, by any makeshift of reason, be rid of the impulse that had come +upon him to jump fairly out of his own skin in an effort to recapture +that tormenting woman--. + +He drifted down upon Meteor Island, bowed and self-reproachful, like a +spirit approaching the confines of the dead. He stepped ashore and +passed the painter of his dory through its ring. + +On the crest of the island, at the very spot where, scientists averred, +a meteorite had fallen in some prehistoric age, there stood a thick +grove, chiefly of hemlock trees. Here on this night he paused. A strange +inertness filled all nature. Not a whisper from the branches overhead, +not a rustle from the dark mold underfoot. Moonlight in one place +flecked the motionless leaves of an alder. Trunk and twigs were quite +dissolved in darkness--nothing but the silver pattern of the leaves was +shown in random sprays. He felt for an instant disembodied, like these +leaves--as if, taking one step too many, he had floated out of his own +body and might not return. + +"Bear and forbear," he thought. "You wouldn't have stirred, let her say +what she would," his heart whispered to the silver leaves. + +But he could not forget that wild glance, the wet hand clinging to his +wrist, the laugh repeated like an echo from the symphony of that +November hillside. He reproached himself withal. What was known of Cad +Sills? Little known, and nothing cared to be known. A waif, pursuing him +invisibly with a twinkle or flare from her passionate eyes. She was the +daughter of a sea captain by his fifth wife. He had escaped the other +four. They had died or been deserted in foreign ports, but this one he +could not escape. Tradition had it that he lost the figurehead from his +ship on the nuptial voyage, attributed this disaster to his bride, and +so left her at Rosario, only to find her, after all sail was set, in the +forechains, at the very stem of his ship, half drowned, her arms +outstretched, a living figurehead. She had swum after him. She outlived +him, too, and died in giving birth to Cad Sills, whose blood had thus a +trace of sea water--. + +He entered his house. In his domestic arrangements he was the very +figure of a bachelor. His slimsy silver spoon, dented with toothmarks of +an ancestor who had died in a delirium, was laid evenly by his plate. +The hand lamps on the shelf wore speckled brown-paper bags inverted over +their chimneys. A portrait of a man playing the violin hung out, in +massive gilt, over the table, like a ship's figurehead projecting over a +wharf's end. His red couch bore northeast and southwest, so that he +might not lose good sleep by opposing his body to the flow of magnetic +currents. + +On this night he drew out from a hole in the upholstery of the couch a +bag of stenciled canvas, which chinked. It was full of money, in gold +and silver pieces. He counted it, and sat thoughtful. Later he went out +of the house and stood looking at the sea as if for a sign. But the sea +gave him no sign; and on that night at least had no voice. + +It was three days before he came up with Cad Sills again. Then he spied +her at nightfall, reclining under the crab-apple tree at Hannan's +Landing. + +The little man came close enough to tread on her shadow, cleared his +throat, and almost shouted: + +"Did you mean what you said? Did you mean what you said, girl?" + +She laughed and threw the core of an apple in his direction. + +"I did when I said it, Mr. Happen-so. I did when I said it." + +"I'm ready--. I'm ready now. We'll be married tomorrow, if you don't +mind." + +"But will I sell my cabbages twice, I wonder? I've had a change of heart +since, if I must tell you." + +"Surely not in this short space of time," Rackby gasped, dismayed. + +A light throbbed in her eye. "Well, perhaps I haven't." + +The storm petrel hovered high, swooped close, her lips parted. Her teeth +shone with a native luster, as if she had lived on roots and tough +things all her life. Again little Rackby felt that glow of health and +hardness in her person, as if one of the cynical and beautiful immortals +of the Greeks confronted him. He was heartily afraid of her mystifying +power of enchantment, which seemed to betray him to greater lengths than +he had dreamed. Even now perhaps all was lost. + +"I will meet you tonight, then--at the top of the hill. See? By the +Preaching Tree." + +She nodded her head toward the church corner. "At eight sharp, by the +west face of the clock. And, mind you, Mr. Man, not one jot late or +early." + +Although he heard the quick fall of her feet in the dust grow fainter, +it pleased him not to turn. There was a prickling above his heart and at +the cords of his throat. The harbor was as blue as a map suddenly +unrolled at his feet. Clouds with a purple warp were massing in the +east. + +The harbor master stared hard at the low ridge of an outlying island +where a cow had been put to pasture. The hillocky back of that lone +ruminant grew black as ink in the glow of sunset. The creature exhibited +a strange fixity of outline, as if it had been a chance configuration of +rocks. Rackby in due time felt a flaming impatience shoot upward from +his heels. Water soughed and chuckled at the foot of the crab-apple +tree, but these eager little voices could no longer soothe or even +detain him with their familiar assurances. + +He jumped up and stared hard at the west face of the clock, whose gilt +hands were still discernible in the fading light. It was five minutes of +eight. + +When he slipped into the shadow of the Preaching Tree it had grown dark. +Fitful lightning flashed. In the meadow fireflies were thick. They made +him think of the eager beating of many fiery little hearts, exposed by +gloom, lost again in that opalescent glare on the horizon against which +the ragged leaves of elm and maple were hung like blobs of ink or swarms +of bees. + +He breathed fast; he heard mysterious fluted calls. A victim of +torturing uncertainty, he strained his ear for that swift footfall. +Suddenly he felt her come upon him from behind, buoyant, like a warm +wave, and press firm hands over his eyelids. Her hair stung his cheek +like wire. + +"Guess three times." + +Rackby felt the strong beat of that adventurous heart like drums of +conquest. He crushed her in his arms until she all but cried out. There +was nothing he could say. Her breath carried the keen scent of crushed +checkerberry plums. She had been nibbling at tender pippins by the way, +like a wild thing. + +The harbor master remembered later that he seemed to have twice the +number of senses appointed to mortals in that hour. A heavy fragrance +fell through the dusk out of the thick of the horse-chestnut tree. A +load of hay went by, the rack creaking, the driver sunk well out of +sight. He heard the dreaming note of the tree toad; frogs croaked in the +lush meadow, water babbled under the crazy wooden sidewalk.--The meadow +was one vast pulse of fireflies. He felt this industrious flame enter +his own wrists. + +Then the birches over the way threshed about in a gust of wind. Almost +at once rain fell in heavy drops; blinds banged to and fro, a strong +smell of dust was in his nostrils, beat up from the road by driving +rain. + +The girl first put the palm of her hand hard against his cheek, then +yielded, with a pliant and surprising motion of the whole body. Her eyes +were full of a strange, bright wickedness. Like torches they seemed to +cast a crimson light on the already glowing cheek. + +Fascinated by this thought, Rackby bent closer. The tented leaves of the +horse-chestnut did not stir. Surely the dusky cheek had actually a touch +of crimson in the gloom. + +This effect, far from being an illusion was produced by a lantern in the +fist of a man swinging toward them with vast strides. And now the clock, +obeying its north face, struck eight. + +Before the last stroke had sounded the girl was made aware of the +betraying light. She whirled out of Rackby's arms and ran toward Sam +Dreed. The big viking stood with his feet planted well apart, and a +mistrustful finger in his beard. + +"Touch and go!" cried Caddie Sills, falling on his neck. "Do we go at +the top of the tide, mister?" + +"What hellion is that under the trees?" he boomed at her, striking the +arm down savagely. + +"You will laugh when you see," said Cad Sills, wrung with pain, but +returning to him on the instant. + +"On the wrong side of my face, maybe." + +"Can't you see? It's the little harbor master." + +"Ah! and standing in the same piece of dark with you, my girl." + +Cad Sills laughed wildly. "Did ever I look for more thanks than this +from any mortal man? Then I'm not disappointed. But let me ask you, have +you taken your ship inside the island to catch the tide?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, you have. And would you have done that with the harbor master +looking on? Hauled short across the harbor lines? Maybe you think I +have a whole chest of pearls at your beck and call, Sam Dreed. Oh, what +vexation! Here I hold the little man blindfolded by my wiles--and this +is my thanks!" + +The voice was tearful with self-pity. + +"Is that so, my puss?" roared the seaman, melted in a flash. He swung +the girl by the waist with his free arm. "You _have_ got just enough +natural impudence for the tall water and no mistake. Come along." + +"Wait!" cried Jethro Rackby. He stepped forward. He felt the first of +many wild pangs in thus subjecting himself to last insult. "Where are +you going?" + +The words had the pitiful vacuity of a detaining question. For what +should it matter to Jethro where she went, if she went in company with +Sam Dreed? + +"How can I tell you that, little man?" Cad Sills flung over her shoulder +at him. "The sea is wide and uncertain." + +Her full cheek, with its emphatic curve, was almost gaunt in the moment +when she fixed her eyes on the wolfish face of that tousle-headed giant +who encircled her. Her shoulder blades were pinched back; the line of +the marvelous full throat lengthened; she devoured the man with a +vehemence of love, brief and fierce as the summer lightning which played +below the dark horizon. + +She was gone, planting that aerial foot willfully in the dust. Raindrops +ticked from one to another of the broad, green leaves over the harbor +master's head. Water might be heard frothing in a nearby cistern. + +Suddenly the moon glittered on the parson's birch-wood pile, and slanted +a beam under the Preaching Tree. Sunk in the thick dust which the rain +had slightly stippled in slow droppings, he saw the tender prints of a +bare foot and the cruel tracks of the seaman's great, square-toed boots +pointing together toward the sea. + +He raised his eyes only with a profound effort. They encountered a +blackboard affixed to the fat trunk of the Preaching Tree, on which from +day to day the parson wrote the text for its preachments in colored +chalk. The moon was full upon it, and Rackby saw in crimson lettering +the words, "Woman, hath no man damned thee?" The rest of the text he +had rubbed out with his own shoulders in turning to take the girl into +his arms. + +"I damn ye!" he cried, raising his arms wildly. "Yes, by the Lord, I +damn ye up and down. May you burn as I burn, where the worm dieth not, +and the fires are not quenched." + +So saying, he set his foot down deliberately on the first of the light +footprints she had made in springing from his side--as if he might as +easily as that blot out the memory of his enslavement. + +Thereafter the Customs House twitted him, as if it knew the full extent +of his shame. Zinie Shadd called after him to know if he had heard that +voice from the sea yet, in his comings and goings. + +"Peter Loud was not so easy hung by the heels," that aged loiterer +affirmed, "shipping as he did along with the lady herself, as bo's'n for +Cap'n Sam Dreed." + +Jethro Rackby took to drink somewhat, to drown these utterances, or +perhaps to quench some stinging thirst within him which he knew not to +be of the soul. + +When certain of the elders asked him why he did not cut the drink and +take a decent wife, he laughed like a demon, and cried out: + +"What's that but to swap the devil for a witch?" + +Others he met with a counter question: + +"Do you think I will tie a knot with my tongue that I can't untie with +my teeth?" + +So he sat by himself at the back windows of a water-front saloon, and +when he caught a glimpse of the water shining there low in its channels +he would shut his lips tight.--Who could have thought that it would be +the sea itself to throw in his path the woman who had set this +blistering agony in his soul? There it lay like rolled glass; the black +piles under the footbridge were prolonged to twice their length by their +own shadows, so that the bridge seemed lifted enormously high out of +water. Beyond the bridge the seine pockets of the mackerel men hung on +the shrouds like black cobwebs, and the ships had a blighting look of +funeral ships.-- + +He had mistrusted the sea. It was life; it was death; flow, slack, and +ebb--and his pulse followed it. + +Officials of the Customs House could testify that for better than a +year, if he mentioned women at all, it was in a tone to convey that his +fingers had been sorely burned in that flame and smarted still. + +The second autumn, from that moment under the Preaching Tree, found him +of the same opinion still. He trod the dust a very phantom, while little +leaves of cardinal red spun past his nose like the ebbing heart's blood +of full-bodied summer. The long leaves of the sumach, too, were like +guilty fingers dipped in blood. But the little man paid no heed to the +analogies which the seasons presented to his conscience in their dying. +Though he thought often of his curse, he had not lifted it. But when he +saw a cluster of checkerberry plums in spring gleam withered red against +gray moss, on some stony upland, he stood still and pondered. + +Then, on a night when the fall wind was at its mightiest, and shook the +house on Meteor Island as if clods of turf had been hurled against it, +he took down his Bible from its stand. At the first page to which he +turned, his eye rested on the words, "Woman, hath no man damned thee?" + +He bent close, his hand shook, and his blunt finger traced the remainder +of that text which he and Cad Sills together had unwittingly erased from +the Preaching Tree. + +"No man, Lord."--"Neither do I damn thee: go, and sin no more." + +He left the Bible standing open and ran out-of-doors. + +The hemlock grove confronted him a mass of solid green. Night was coming +on, as if with an ague, in a succession of coppery cold squalls which +had not yet overtaken the dying west. In that quarter the sky was like a +vast porch of crimson woodbine. + +When this had sunk, night gave a forlorn and indistinguishable look to +everything. A spark of ruddy light glowed deep in the valley. The +rocking outlines of the hills were lost in rushing darkness. At his back +sounded the pathetic clatter of a dead spruce against its living +neighbor, bespeaking the deviltry of woodland demons.--It was the hour +which makes all that man can do seem as nothing in the mournful +darkness, causing his works to vanish and be as if they had not been. + +At this hour the heart of man may be powerfully stirred, by an anguish, +a prayer, or perhaps--a fragrance. + +The harbor master, uttering a brief cry, dropped to his knees and +remained mute, his arms extended toward the sea in a gesture of +reconcilement. + +On that night the _Sally Lunn_, Cap'n Sam Dreed, was wrecked on the +sands of Pull-an'-be-Damned. + +Rackby, who had fallen into a deep sleep, lying northeast and southwest, +was awakened by a hand smiting his door in, and a wailing outside of the +Old Roke busy with his agonies. In a second his room was full of +crowding seamen, at their head Peter Loud, bearing in his arms the +dripping form of Caddie Sills. He laid her gently on the couch. + +"Where did you break up?" whispered Rackby. He trembled like a leaf. + +"Pull-an'-be-Damned," said Deep-water Peter. "The Cap'n's gone. He +didn't come away. Men can say what they like of Sam Dreed; he wouldn't +come into the boat. I'll tell all the world that." + +The crew of the wrecked ship stood heaving and glittering in their oils, +plucking their beards with a sense of trespass, hearing the steeple +clock tick, and water drum on the worn floor. + +"All you men clear out," said Caddie Sills, faintly. "Leave me here with +Jethro Rackby." + +They set themselves in motion, pushing one against the other with a rasp +and shriek of oilskins--and Peter Loud last of all. + +The harbor master, not knowing what to say, took a step away from her, +came back, and, looking into her pale face, cried out, horror-struck, "I +damned ye." He dropped on his knees. "Poor girl! I damned ye out and +out." + +"Hold your horses, Mr. Happen-so," said Cad Sills. "There's no harm in +that. I was damned and basted good and brown before you ever took me +across your little checkered apron." + +She looked at him almost wistfully, as if she had need of him. With her +wet hair uncoiling to the floor, she looked as if she had served, +herself, for a fateful living figurehead, like her mother before her. +The bit of coral was still slung round her throat. The harbor master +recalled with what a world of meaning she had caught it between her +teeth on the night of his rescue--the eyes with a half-wistful light as +now. + +"Come," she said, "Harbor Master. I wasn't good to you, that's true; but +still you have done me a wrong in your turn, you say?" + +"I hope God will forgive me," said the harbor master. + +"No doubt of that, little man. But maybe you would feel none the worse +for doing me a favor, feeling as you do." + +"Yes, yes." + +Her hand sought his. "You see me--how I am. I shall not survive my +child, for my mother did not before me. Listen. You are town clerk. You +write the names of the new born on a sheet of ruled paper and that is +their name?" + +Rackby nodded. + +"So much I knew--Come. How would it be if you gave my child your +name--Rackby? Don't say no to me. Say you will. Just the scratching of a +pen, and what a deal of hardship she'll be saved not to be known as Cad +Sills over again." + +Her hand tightened on his wrist. Recollecting how they had watched the +tide horse over Pull-an'-be-Damned thus, he said, eagerly, "Yes, yes, if +so be 'tis a she," thinking nothing of the consequences of his promise. + +"Now I can go happy," murmured Cad Sills. + +"Where will you go?" said the harbor master, timorously, feeling that +she was whirled out of his grasp a second time. + +"How should I know?" lisped Caddie Sills, with a remembering smile. "The +sea is wide and uncertain, little man." + +The door opened again. A woman appeared and little Rackby was thrust out +among the able seamen. + +Three hours later he came and looked down on Cad Sills again. Rain still +beat on the black windows. Her lips were parted, as if she were only +weary and asleep. But in one glance he saw that she had no need to lie +northeast and southwest to make certain of unbroken sleep. + +To the child born at the height of the storm the harbor master gave a +name, his own--Rackby. He was town clerk, and he gave her this name when +he came to register her birth on the broad paper furnished by the +government. And for a first name, Day, as coming after that long night +of his soul, perhaps. + +When this was known, he was fined by the government two hundred dollars. +Such is the provision in the statutes, in order that there may be no +compromise with the effects of sin. + +The harbor master did not regret. He reckoned his life anew from that +night when he sat in the dusk with the broad paper before him containing +the names of those newly born. + +So the years passed, and Day Rackby lived ashore with her adoptive +father. When she got big enough they went by themselves and reopened the +house on Meteor Island. + +The man was still master of the harbor, but he could not pretend that +his authority extended to the sea beyond. There he lost himself in +speculation, sometimes wondering if Deep-water Peter had found a thing +answering his quest. But Peter did not return to satisfy him on this +point. + +The harbor master was content to believe that he had erred on the side +of the flesh, and that the sea, a jealous mistress, had swept him into +the hearing of the gods, who were laughing at him. + +As for the child of Cad Sills, people who did not know her often said +that her eyes were speaking eyes. Well if it were so, since this voice +in the eyes was all the voice she had. She could neither speak nor hear +from birth. It was as if kind nature had sealed her ears against those +seductive whisperings which--so the gossips said--had been the ruination +of her mother. + +As she grew older, they said behind their hands that blood would tell, +in spite of all. Then, when they saw the girl skipping along the shore +with kelp in her hands they said, mistrustfully, that she was "marked" +for the sea, beyond the shadow of a doubt. + +"She hears well enough, when the sea speaks," Zinie Shadd averred. He +had caught her listening in a shell with an intent expression. + +"She will turn out to be a chip of the old block," said Zinie Shadd's +wife, "or I shall never live to see the back of my neck." + +Jethro Rackby heard nothing of such prophecy. He lived at home. Here in +his estimation was a being without guile, in whose innocence he might +rejoice. His forethought was great and pathetic. He took care that she +should learn to caress him with her finger tips alone. He remembered the +fatal touch of Cad Sills's kiss at Pull-an'-be-Damned, which had as good +as drawn the soul out of his body in a silver thread and tied it in a +knot. + +Once, too, he had dreamed of waking cold in the middle of the night and +finding just a spark on the ashes of his hearth. This he nursed to +flame; the flame sprang up waist-high, hot and yellow. Fearful, he beat +it down to a spark again. But then again he was cold. He puffed at this +spark, shivering; the flame grew, and this time, with all he could do, +it shot up into the rafters of his house and devoured it.-- + +So it was that the passion of Cad Sills lived with him still. + +He taught the child her letters with blue shells, and later to take the +motion of his lips for words. She waylaid him everywhere--on the rocks, +on the sands, in the depths of the hemlock grove, on tiny antlers of +gray caribou moss, with straggling little messages and admonishings of +love. Her apron pocket was never without its quota of these tiny shells +of brightest peacock blue. They trailed everywhere. He ground them under +heel at the threshold of his house. From long association they came to +stand for so many inquisitive little voices in themselves, beseeching, +questioning, defying. + +But for his part, he grew to have a curious belief, even when her head +was well above his shoulder, that the strong arch of her bosom must ring +out with wild sweet song one day, like that which he had heard on the +November hillside, when Caddie Sills had run past him at the Preaching +Tree. This voice of Day's was like the voice sleeping in the great +bronze horn hanging in a rack, which his father had used to call the +hands to dinner. A little wind meant no sound, but a great effort, +summoning all the breath in the body, made the brazen throat ring out +like a viking's horn, wild and sweet. + +So with Day, if an occasion might be great enough to call it forth. + +"He always was a notional little man," the women said, on hearing this. +The old bachelor was losing his wits. Such doctrine as he held made him +out not one whit better off than Zinie Shadd, who averred that the heart +of man was but a pendulum swaying in his bosom--though how it still +moved when he stood on his head was more than even Zinie Shadd could +fathom, to be sure. + +"It's the voice of conscience he's thinking of, to my judgment," said +one. "That girl is deafer than a haddock and dumb as the stone." + +Untouched by gossip, the harbor master felt with pride that his jewel +among women was safe, and that here, within four humble walls, he +treasured up a being literally without guile, one who grew straight and +white as a birch sapling. "Pavilioned in splendor" were the words +descriptive of her which he had heard thunderously hymned in church. The +hair heavy on her brow was of the red gold of October. + +If they might be said to be shipmates sailing the same waters, they yet +differed in the direction of their gaze. The harbor master fixed his +eyes upon the harbor; but little Day turned hers oftenest upon the blue +sea itself, whose mysterious inquietude he had turned from in dismay. + +True, the harbor was not without its fascination for her. Leaning over +the side of his dory, the sea girl would shiver with delight to descry +those dismal forests over which they sailed, dark and dizzying masses +full of wavering black holes, through which sometimes a blunt-nosed +bronze fish sank like a bolt, and again where sting ray darted, and +jellyfish palpitated with that wavering of fringe which produced the +faintest of turmoil at the surface of the water. + +This would be at the twilight hour when warm airs alternated with cold, +like hopes with despairs. Sparbuoys of silver gray were duplicated in +the water, wrinkled like a snout at the least ripple from the oars. +Boats at anchor seemed twice their real size by reason of their dark +shadows made one with them. One by one the yellow riding lights were +hung, far in. They shone like new-minted coins; the harbor was itself a +purse of black velvet, to which the harbor master held the strings. The +quiet--the immortal quiet--operated to restore his soul. But at such +times Day would put the tips of her fingers mysteriously to her +incarnadined dumb lips and appear to hearken on the seaward side. If a +willful light came sometimes in her eyes he did not see it. + +But even on the seaward side there would not be heard, on such nights, +the slightest sound to break the quiet, unless that of little fish +jumping playfully in the violet light, and sending out great circles to +shimmer toward the horizon. + +So it drew on toward Day Rackby's eighteenth birthday. + +One morning in October they set out from Meteor for the village. A cool +wind surged through the sparkling brown oak leaves of the oaks at +Hannan's Landing. + +"They die as the old die," reflected Jethro Rackby, "gnarled, withered, +still hanging on when they are all but sapless." + +Despite the melancholy thought, his vision was gladdened by a magic +clarity extending over all the heavens, and even to the source of the +reviving winds. The sea was blown clear of ships. In the harbor a few +still sat like seabirds drying plumage. Against the explosive whiteness +of wind clouds, their sails looked like wrinkled parchment, or yellowing +Egyptian cloth; the patches were mysterious hieroglyphs. + +Day sat sleepily in the stern of the dory, her shoulders pinched back, +her heavy braid overside and just failing the water, her eyes on the +sway of cockles in the bottom of the boat. + +Rackby puckered his face, when the square bell tower of the church, +white as chalk, came into view, dazzling against the somber green +upland. The red crown of a maple showed as if a great spoke of the +rising sun had passed across that field and touched the tree to fire +with its brilliant heat. + +So he had stood--so he had been touched. His heart beat fast, and now he +stood under the Preaching Tree again, and drew a whiff of warm hay, +clover-spiced, as it went creaking past, a square-topped load, swishing +and dropping fragrant tufts.--This odor haunted him, as if delights +forgotten, only dreamed, or enjoyed in other lives, had drifted past +him.--Then the vivid touch of Cad Sills's lips. + +He glanced up, and at once his oars stumbled, and he nearly dropped them +in his fright. For the fraction of a second he had, it seemed, surprised +Cad Sills herself looking at him steadily out of those blue, half-shut +lazy eyes of his scrupulously guarded foster child. The flesh cringed on +his body. Was she lurking there still? Certainly he had felt again, in +that flash, the kiss, the warm tumult of her body, the fingers +dove-tailed across his eyes; and even seen the scented hay draw past +him, toppling and quivering. + +He stared more closely at the girl. She looked nothing like the wild +mother. There was no hint of Cad Sills in that golden beauty unless, +perhaps, in a certain charming bluntness of sculpturing at the very tip +of her nose, a deft touch. Nevertheless, some invisible fury had beat +him about the head with her wings there in the bright sunshine. + +Disquieted, he resumed the oars. They had drifted close to the bank, and +a shower of maple leaves, waxen red, all but fell into the boat. + +"These die as the young die," thought the harbor master, sadly. "They +delight to go, these adventurers, swooping down at a breath. They are +not afraid of the mystery of mold." + +His glance returned to the wandlike form of his daughter, whose eyes now +opened upon his archly. + +"So she would adventure death," he reflected. "Almost at as light a +whisper from the powers of darkness, too." + +They were no sooner ashore than the girl tugged at his hand to stay him. +The jeweler's glass front had intrigued her eye, for there, displayed +against canary plush, was a string of pearls, like winter moons for +size and luster. Her speaking eye flashed on them and her slim fingers +twisted and untwisted at her back. She lifted her head and with her +forefinger traced a pleading circle round her throat. + +A dark cloud came over Rackby's features. These were the pearls, he knew +at once, which Caddie Sills had sold in the interest of Cap'n Dreed so +long ago. They were a luckless purchase on the part of the jeweler. All +the women were agreed that such pearls had bad luck somewhere on the +string, and no one had been found to buy. + +"Why does he display them at this time of all times, in the face and +eyes of everybody?" thought the harbor master. + +A laugh sounded behind him. It was Deep-water Peter, holding a gun in +one hand, and a dead sheldrake in the other. The red wall of the Customs +House bulged over him. + +"Ah, there, Jethro!" he said. "Have you married the sea at last and +taken a mermaid home to live?" + +"This is my daughter, if you please," said Jethro Rackby. An ugly glint +was in his usually gentle eye, but he did not refuse the outstretched +hand. "You have prospered seemingly." + +"Oh, I have enough to carry me through," said Peter. "I picked up a +trifle here, and a trifle there, and a leetle pinch from nowhere, just +to salt it down. And so all this time you've been harbor master here?" + +His tone was between contempt and tolerance, as befitted the character +formed in a harder school, and the harbor master was bitterly silent. + +Day had turned from the jewels and was coming toward her father. When +she saw the strange man beside him she stopped short and averted her +face, not before observing that Rackby might have passed for Peter's +father. + +"Not so shy--not so shy," murmured Deep-water Peter, as if she had been +a wild filly coming up to his hand. + +"She cannot hear you," Rackby interposed. The gleam of triumph in his +eye was plain. + +"Can't hear?" + +"Neither speak nor hear." + +Peter Loud turned toward the girl again--and this time her blue eye met +his, and a spark was struck, not dying out instantly, such a spark as +might linger on the surface of a flint struck by steel. + +Was it a certain trick of movement, or only the quickened current of his +blood that made Deep-water Peter know the truth? + +"This is strange," he said. + +That wind-blown voice of his, with its deepwater melodiousness, had +dropped to a whisper. + +"Even providential," the harbor master returned, and his eye glittered. + +Peter would have said something to that, but Rackby, with a stern hand +at his daughter's elbow, passed out of hearing. + +Peter Loud was promptly taken in the coils of that voiceless beauty +whose speaking eye had met his so squarely. The mother had played him +false, as she had Jethro--but with Peter these affairs were easier +forgotten. + +Within the week, as he was striding over the bare flats of +Pull-an'-be-Damned, he saw the flash of something white inside a weir. +The sun was low and dazzled him. He came close and saw that this was +Rackby's daughter. She had slipped into the weir to tantalize a crab +with the sight of her wriggling toes and so had stepped on a sharp shell +and cut her foot to the bone. + +Peter cried amazedly. The shadow of the weir net on her face and body +trembled, but she uttered no slightest sound. It was as if some wild +swan had fallen from the azure. + +In falling she had hurt her leg and could not walk. Peter tore the +sleeves from her arms and bound the foot, then bent eagerly and lifted +her out of the weir. + +Immediately she hid her cheek in his coat, shivered, set her damp lips +with their flavor of sweet salt, full against his. + +Deep-water Peter held her tighter yet. How could he know that here, on +Pull-an'-be-Damned, within a biscuit's toss of the weirs, Cad Sills had +served the same fare to Rackby. He turned and ran, holding her close, +and the tide hissed at his heels like a serpent. + +The harbor master, lately returned from evening inspection of the +harbor, heard the rattle of oars under his wharf, and in no great while +he saw Peter advancing with Day limp in his arms. + +The sailor brushed past him into the kitchen, and laid the girl down, as +he had laid her mother, northeast and southwest. Rackby at his side +muttered: + +"How come you here like this? How come you?" + +A fearful misgiving caused him to drop to his knees. The girl opened her +eyes; a new brilliance danced there. With a shiver, the harbor master +perceived those signs of a fire got beyond control which had consumed +the mother. + +"She has cut her foot, friend Rackby," said Peter. "I took the liberty +to bring her here--so." + +Wrath seized the little man. "Thank you for nothing, Peter Loud!" he +cried, and these again were the very words Cad Sills had hurled at him +when he had saved her life at Pull-an'-be-Damned. + +"That's as you say," said Deep-water Peter. + +"You have done your worst now," said Jethro. "If I find you here again I +will shoot you down like a dog." + +Peter laughed very bitterly. "You have got what is yours, Harbor +Master," he said, "and it takes two to make a quarrel." + +But as he was going through the door he looked back. The girl unclosed +her eyes, and a light played out of them that followed him into the dark +and streamed across the heavens like the meteorite that had once fallen +on Meteor Island. + +Peter had taken a wreath of fire to his heart. The girl attended him +like something in the corner of his eye. Times past count, he plied his +oars among the cross currents to the westward of that island, hoping to +catch a glimpse of his siren on the crags. + +Sometimes for long moments he lay on his oars, hearing the blue tide +with a ceaseless motion heave and swirl and gutter all round its rocky +border, and the serpents' hiss come from some Medusa's head of trailing +weed uttered in venomous warning. Under flying moons the shaggy hemlock +grove was like a bearskin thrown over the white and leprous nakedness of +stony flanks. At the approach of storm the shadows stealing forth from +that sullen, bowbacked ridge were blue-filmed, like the languid veil +which may be seen to hang before blue, tear-dimmed eyes. + +Deep-water Peter felt from the first that he could not dwell for long on +the mysteries of that island without meeting little Rackby's mad +challenge. Insensibly he drew near--and at last set foot on its shores +again. Late on a clear afternoon he landed in the very lee of the +island, at a point where the stone rampart was fifty feet in height, +white as a bone, and pitted like a mass of grout. This cliff was split +from top to bottom, perhaps by frosts, perhaps by the fall of the buried +meteor. A little cove lay at the base of this crevasse, and here a bed +of whitest sand had sifted in, rimmed by a great heap of well-sanded, +bright-blue shells of every size and shape. This was the storehouse from +which Day Rackby drew her speaking shells. + +He looped the painter of his dory under a stone and ascended the rock. +His heart was in his throat. All the world hitherto had not proffered +him such choice adventure, if he had read the signs aright. As if +directed by the intuition of his heart, he slipped into the shadows of +the grove. Fragrance was broadcast there, the clean fragrance of nature +at her most alone. Crows whirred overhead; their hoarse plaint, with its +hint of desolation, made a kind of emptiness in the wood, and he went +on, step by step, as in a dream, wrapt, expectant. Was she here? Could +Rackby's will detain her here, a presence so swift, mischievous, and +aerial? Such a spirit could not be held in the hollow of a man's hand. +He remembered how in his youth a man had tried to keep wild foxes on +this same island, for breeding purposes, but they had whisked their +brushes in his face and swum ashore. + +The green dusk was multiplied many times now by tiny spruces, no thicker +than a man's thumb, which grew up in racks and created a dense +blackness, its edges pierced by quivering shafts of the sun, some of +which, as if by special providence, fell between all the outer +saplings, and struck far in. A certain dream sallowness was manifested +in that sunlit glimpse. The air was quiet. Minutest things seemed to +marshal themselves as if alone and unobserved, so that it was strange to +spy them out. + +"She is not here," he thought. His footfall was nothing on the soft +mold. Portly trunks of the hemlocks began to bar his way. The thick +shade entreated secrecy; he stood still, and saw his dryad, a green +apparition, kneeling at the foot of a beech tree, and looking down. In +the stillness, which absorbed all but the beating of his heart, he heard +the dry tick, tick of a beech leaf falling. Those that still clung to +the sleek upper boughs were no more than a delicate yellow cloud or +glowing autumnal atmosphere suffusing the black bole of the tree with a +light of pure enchantment. He was surprised that anything so vaporous +and colorful should come from the same sap that circulated through the +bark and body of the thick tree itself. But then he reflected that, +after all, the crown and flame of Sam Dreed's life was Day Rackby. + +Had she, perhaps, descended from that yellow cloud above her? Deep-water +Peter had a moment of that speechless joy which comes when all the doors +in the house of vision are flung open at one time. + +His feet sank unheeded in a patch of mold. He saw now that her eye was +on the silent welling of a spring into a sunken barrel. She had one hand +curled about the rim. The arm was of touching whiteness against that +cold, black round, which faithfully reflected the silver sheen of the +flesh on its under parts. Red and yellow leaves, crimped and curled, sat +or drifted to her breath in the pool, as if they had been gaudy little +swans. + +Suddenly the sun sent a pale shaft, tinctured with lustrous green, +through the hemlock shades. This shaft of light moved over the forest +floor, grew ruddy, spied out a secret sparkle hidden in a fallen leaf, +shone on twisting threads of gossamer-like lines of running silver on +which the gloom was threaded, and, last of all, blazing in the face of +that fascinating dryad, caused her to draw back. + +Peter, as mute as she, stretched out his arms. She darted past him in a +flash, putting her finger to her lips and looking back. The light +through the tiny spruces dappled her body; she stopped as if shot; he +came forward, humble and adoring, thinking to crush into this moment, +within these arms, all that mortal beauty, the _ignis fatuus_ of +romance. + +His lips were parted. He seemed now to have her with her back against a +solid wall of rock outcropping, green-starred; but next instant she had +slipped into a cleft where his big shoulders would not go. Her eyes +shone like crystals in that inviting darkness. + +"What can I do for you?" said Peter, voicelessly. + +Day Rackby pinched her shoulders back, leaned forward, and drew a +mischievous finger round her throat. + + * * * * * + +On that night Jethro stole more than one look at the girl while she was +getting supper. Of late, when she came near him, she adopted a +beloved-old-fool style of treatment which was new to him. + +She was more a woman than formerly, perhaps. He did not understand her +whimsies. But still they had talked kindly to each other with their +eyes. They communed in mysterious ways--by looks, by slight pressures, +by the innumerable intuitions which had grown up, coral-wise, from the +depths of silence. + +But this intercourse was founded upon sympathy. That once gone, she +became unfathomable and lost to him, as much so as if visible bonds had +been severed.-- + +A certain terror possessed him at the waywardness she manifested. +Evidently some concession must be made. + +"Come," he said, turning her face toward him with a tremulous hand. "I +will make you a little gift for your birthday. What shall it be?" + +She stood still--then made the very gesture to her bosom and around her +neck, which had already sent Peter scurrying landward. + +The movement evoked a deadly chill in Rackby's heart. Was the past, +then, to rise against him, and stretch out its bloodless hands to link +with living ones? That sinister co-tenant he had seen peering at him +through the blue eyes would get the better of him yet. + +Conscious of his mood, she leaped away from him like a fawn. A guilty +light was in her eye, and she ran out of the house. + +Rackby followed her in terror, not knowing which way to go in the lonely +darkness to come up with her. In his turn he remembered the man who had +tried to keep wild foxes on Meteor. + +The harbor was calm, wondrous calm, with that blackness in the water +which always precedes the _rigor mortis_ of winter itself. All calm, all +in order--not a ship of all those ships displaying riding lights to +transgress the harbor lines he had decreed. How, then, should his own +house not be in order? + +But this was just what he had thought when Caddie Sills first darted the +affliction of love into his bosom. Somewhere beyond the harbor mouth +were the whispers of the tide's unrest, never to be quite shut out. Let +him turn his back on that prospect as he would, the Old Roke would +scandalize him still. + +A man overtaken by deadly sickness, he resolved upon any sacrifice to +effect a cure. On the morrow he presented himself at the jeweler's and +asked to be shown the necklace. + +"It is sold at last," said the jeweler, going through the motions of +washing his hands. + +"Sold? Who to?" + +"To Peter Loud," said the jeweler. + +Jethro Rackby pressed the glass case hard with his finger ends. What +should Deep-water Peter be doing with a string of pearls? He must go at +once. Yet he must not return empty-handed. He bought a small pendant, +saw it folded into its case, and dropped the case into his pocket. + +When he came to the harbor's edge he found a fleecy fog had stolen in. +The horn at the harbor's mouth groaned like a sick horse. As he pulled +toward Meteor the fog by degrees stole into his very brain until he +could not rightly distinguish the present from the past, and Caddie +Sills, lean-hipped and dripping, seemed to hover in the stern. + +At one stroke he pulled out of the fog. Then he saw a strong, thick +rainbow burning at the edge of the fog, a jewel laid in cotton wool. +Its arch just reached the top of the bank, and one brilliant foot was +planted on Meteor Island. + +"That signifies that I shall soon be out of my trouble," he thought, +joyfully. + +The fog lifted; the green shore stood out again mistily, then more +vividly, like a creation of the brain. He saw the black piles of the +herring wharf, and next the west face of the church clock, the hands and +numerals glittering like gold. + +The harbor was now as calm as a pond, except for the pink and dove color +running vaporously on the back of a long swell from the south. A white +light played on the threshold of the sea, and the dark bank of +seaward-rolling fog presently revealed that trembling silver line in all +its length, broken only where the sullen dome of Meteor rose into it. + +High above, two wondrous knotty silver clouds floated, whose image +perfectly appeared in the water. + +"Glory be!" said Jethro Rackby, aloud. He hastened his stroke. + +Rackby, returning to the gray house with his purchase, peered past its +stone rampart before going in. His eye softened in anticipation of +welcome. Surely no angel half so lovely was ever hidden at the heart of +night. + +The kitchen was empty. So were all the rooms of the house, he soon +enough found out. Not a sound but that of the steeple clock on the +kitchen shelf, waddling on at its imperfect gait, loud for a few +seconds, and then low. + +Jethro went outside. The stillness rising through the blue dusk was +marvelous, perfect. But an icy misgiving raced through his frame. He +began to walk faster, scanning the ground. At first in his search he did +not call aloud, perhaps because all his intercourse with her had been +silent, as if she were indeed only the voice of conscience in a radiant +guise. And when at length he did cry out, it was only as agony may wring +from the lips a cry to God. + +He called on her in broken phrases to come back. Let her only come, she +might be sure of forgiveness. He was an old man now, and asked for +nothing but a corner in her house. Then again, he had here a little +surprise for her. Ah! Had she thought of that? Come; he would not open +the package without a kiss from her finger ends. + +He hurried forward, hoarse breathing. A note of terrible joy cracked his +voice when the thought came to him that she was hiding mischievously. +That was it--she was hiding--just fooling her old father. Come; it +wouldn't do to be far from his side on these dark nights. The sea was +wide and uncertain--wide and uncertain. + +But he remembered that ominous purchase of the pearls by Deep-water +Peter, and shivered. His voice passed into a wail. Little by little he +stumbled through the hemlock grove, beseeching each tree to yield up out +of obdurate shadow that beloved form, to vouchsafe him the lisp of +flying feet over dead beech leaves. But the trees stood mournfully +apart, unanswering, and rooted deep. + +Now he was out upon the pitted crags, calling madly. She should have all +his possessions, and the man into the bargain. Yes, his books, his +silver spoons, that portrait of a man playing on the violin which she +had loved. + +With a new hope, he pleaded with her to speak to him, if only once, to +cry out. Had he not said she would, one day? Yes, yes, one little cry of +love, to show that she was not so voiceless as people said.-- + +He stood with awful expectation, a thick hand bending the lobe of his +ear forward. Then through silver silences a muttering was borne to him, +a great lingering roar made and augmented by a million little +whispers.--The Old Roke himself, taking toll at the edge of his +dominions. + +Nothing could approach the lonely terror of that utterance. He ran +forward and threw himself on his knees at the very brink of that cracked +and mauled sea cliff. + +It was true that Peter, in his absence, had disembarked a second time on +Meteor--a fit habitation for such a woman as Day Rackby. But did that +old madman think that he could coop her up here forever? How far must he +be taken seriously in his threat? + +Peter advanced gingerly. Blue water heaved eternally all round that +craggy island, clucked and jabbered in long corridors of faulted stone, +while in its lacy edge winked and sparkled new shells of peacock blue, +coming from the infinite treasury of the sea to join those already on +deposit here. + +What, then, was he about? He loved her. What was love? What, in this +case, but an early and late sweetness, a wordless gift, a silent form +floating soft by his side--something seeking and not saying, hoping and +not proving, burning and as yet scarce daring--and so, perhaps, dying. + +Then he saw her. + +She lay in an angle of the cover, habited in that swimming suit she had +plagued Jethro into buying, for she could swim like a dog. There, for +minutes or hours, she had lain prone upon the sands, nostrils wide, legs +and arms covered with grains of sand in black and gold glints. Staring +at the transfigured flesh, she delighted in this conversion of herself +into a beautiful monster.-- + +Suddenly the sea spoke in her blood, as the gossips had long prophesied, +or something very like it. Lying with her golden head in her arms, the +splendid shoulders lax, she felt a strong impulse toward the water shoot +through her form from head to heel at this wet contact with the naked +earth. She felt that she could vanish in the tide and swim forever. + +At that moment she heard Peter's step, and sprang to her feet. She could +not be mistaken. Marvelous man, in whose arms she had lain; fatal +trespasser, whom her father had sworn to kill for some vileness in his +nature. What could that be? Surely, there was no other man like Peter. +She interpreted his motions no less eagerly than his lips. + +The sun sank while they stared at each other. Flakes of purple darkness +seemed to scale away from the side of the crag whose crest still glowed +faintly red. It would be night here shortly. Deep-water Peter gave a +great sigh, fumbled with his package, and next the string of pearls +swayed from his finger. + +"Yours," he uttered, holding them toward her. + +Silence intervened. A slaty cloud raised its head in the east, and +against that her siren's face was pale. Her blue eyes burned on the gems +with a strange and haunted light. There was wickedness here, she +mistrusted, but how could it touch her? + +Peter came toward her, bent over her softly as that shadow in whose +violet folds they were wrapped deeper moment by moment. His fingers +trembled at the back of her neck and could not find the clasp. Her damp +body held motionless as stone under his attempt. + +"It is done," he cried, hoarsely. + +She sprang free of him on the instant. + +"Is this all my thanks?" Peter muttered. + +She stooped mischievously and dropped a handful of shells deftly on the +sand, one by one. Peter, stooping, read what was written there; he cried +for joy, and crushed her in his arms, as little Rackby had crushed her +mother, once, under the Preaching Tree. + +A strong shudder went through her. The yellow hair whipped about her +neck. Then for one instant he saw her eyes go past him and fix +themselves high up at the top of that crag. Peter loosened his hold with +a cry almost of terror at the light in those eyes. He thought he had +seen Cad Sills staring at him. + +There was no time to verify such notions. Day Rackby had seen Jethro on +his knees, imploring her, voicelessly, with his mysterious right reason, +which said, plainer than words, that the touch of Peter's lips was +poison to her soul. It seemed to Jethro in that moment that a ringing +cry burst from those dumb lips, but perhaps it was one of the voices of +the surf. The girl's arms were lifted toward him; she whirled, thrust +Peter back, and fled over soft and treacherous hassocks of the purple +weed. In another instant she flashed into the dying light on the sea +beyond the headland, poised. + +The weed lifted and fell, seething, but the cry, even if the old man had +heard it once, was not repeated. + + + + +GREEN GARDENS[13] + +By FRANCES NOYES HART + +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + + +Daphne was singing to herself when she came through the painted gate in +the back wall. She was singing partly because it was June, and Devon, +and she was seventeen, and partly because she had caught a breath-taking +glimpse of herself in the long mirror as she had flashed through the +hall at home, and it seemed almost too good to be true that the radiant +small person in the green muslin frock with the wreath of golden hair +bound about her head, and the sea-blue eyes laughing back at her, was +really Miss Daphne Chiltern. Incredible, incredible luck to look like +that, half Dryad, half Kate Greenaway--she danced down the turf path to +the herb-garden, swinging her great wicker basket and singing like a +small mad thing. + + "He promised to buy me a bonnie blue ribbon," + +carolled Daphne, all her own ribbons flying, + + "He promised to buy me a bonnie blue ribbon, + He promised to buy me a bonnie blue ribbon + To tie up--" + +The song stopped as abruptly as though some one had struck it from her +lips. A strange man was kneeling by the beehive in the herb-garden. He +was looking at her over his shoulder, at once startled and amused, and +she saw that he was wearing a rather shabby tweed suit and that his face +was oddly brown against his close-cropped, tawny hair. He smiled, his +teeth a strong flash of white. + +"Hello!" he greeted her, in a tone at once casual and friendly. + +Daphne returned the smile uncertainly. "Hello," she replied gravely. +The strange man rose easily to his feet, and she saw that he was very +tall and carried his head rather splendidly, like the young bronze Greek +in Uncle Roland's study at home. But his eyes--his eyes were +strange--quite dark and burned out. The rest of him looked young and +vivid and adventurous--but his eyes looked as though the adventure were +over, though they were still questing. + +"Were you looking for any one?" she asked, and the man shook his head, +laughing. + +"No one in particular, unless it was you." + +Daphne's soft brow darkened. "It couldn't possibly have been me," she +said in a rather stately small voice, "because, you see, I don't know +you. Perhaps you didn't know that there is no one living in Green +Gardens now?" + +"Oh, yes, I knew. The Fanes have left for Ceylon, haven't they?" + +"Sir Harry left two weeks ago, because he had to see the old governor +before he sailed, but Lady Audrey only left last week. She had to close +the London house, too, so there was a great deal to do." + +"I see. And so Green Gardens is deserted?" + +"It is sold," said Daphne, with a small quaver in her voice, "just this +afternoon. I came over to say good-by to it, and to get some mint and +lavender from the garden." + +"Sold?" repeated the man, and there was an agony of incredulity in the +stunned whisper. He flung out his arm against the sun-warmed bricks of +the high wall as though to hold off some invader. "No, no; they'd never +dare to sell it." + +"I'm glad you mind so much," said Daphne softly. "It's strange that +nobody minds but us, isn't it? I cried at first--and then I thought that +it would be happier if it wasn't lonely and empty, poor dear--and then, +it was such a beautiful day, that I forgot to be unhappy." + +The man bestowed a wretched smile on her. "You hardly conveyed the +impression of unrelieved gloom as you came around that corner," he +assured her. + +"I--I haven't a very good memory for being unhappy," Daphne confessed +remorsefully, a lovely and guilty rose staining her to her brow at the +memory of that exultant chant. + +He threw back his head with a sudden shout of laughter. + +"These are glad tidings! I'd rather find a pagan than a Puritan at Green +Gardens any day. Let's both have a poor memory. Do you mind if I smoke?" + +"No," she replied, "but do you mind if I ask you what you are doing +here?" + +"Not a bit." He lit the stubby brown pipe, curving his hand dexterously +to shelter it from the little breeze. He had the most beautiful hands +that she had ever seen, slim and brown and fine--they looked as though +they would be miraculously strong--and miraculously gentle. "I came to +see--I came to see whether there was 'honey still for tea,' Mistress +Dryad!" + +"Honey--for tea?" she echoed wonderingly; "was that why you were looking +at the hive?" + +He puffed meditatively, "Well--partly. It's a quotation from a poem. +Ever read Rupert Brooke?" + +"Oh, yes, yes." Her voice tripped in its eagerness. "I know one by +heart-- + + "'If I should die think only this of me: + (That there's some corner of a foreign field + (That is forever England. There shall be--" + +He cut in on the magical little voice roughly. + +"Ah, what damned nonsense! Do you suppose he's happy, in his foreign +field, that golden lover? Why shouldn't even the dead be homesick? No, +no--he was sick for home in Germany when he wrote that poem of +mine--he's sicker for it in Heaven, I'll warrant." He pulled himself up +swiftly at the look of amazement in Daphne's eyes. "I've clean forgotten +my manners," he confessed ruefully. "No, don't get that flying look in +your eyes--I swear that I'll be good. It's a long time--it's a long time +since I've talked to any one who needed gentleness. If you knew what +need I had of it, you'd stay a little while, I think." + +"Of course, I'll stay," she said. "I'd love to, if you want me to." + +"I want you to more than I've ever wanted anything that I can remember." +His tone was so matter-of-fact that Daphne thought that she must have +imagined the words. "Now, can't we make ourselves comfortable for a +little while? I'd feel safer if you weren't standing there ready for +instant flight! Here's a nice bit of grass--and the wall for a back--" + +Daphne glanced anxiously at the green muslin frock. "It's--it's pretty +hard to be comfortable without cushions," she submitted diffidently. + +The man yielded again to laughter. "Are even Dryads afraid to spoil +their frocks? Cushions it shall be. There are some extra ones in the +chest in the East Indian room, aren't there?" + +Daphne let the basket slip through her fingers, her eyes black through +sheer surprise. + +"But how did you know--how did you know about the lacquer chest?" she +whispered breathlessly. + +"'Oh, devil take me for a blundering ass!" He stood considering her +forlornly for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders, with the +brilliant and disarming smile. "The game's up, thanks to my inspired +lunacy! But I'm going to trust you not to say that you've seen me. I +know about the lacquer chest because I always kept my marbles there." + +"Are you--are you Stephen Fane?" + +At the awed whisper the man bowed low, all mocking grace, his hand on +his heart--the sun burnishing his tawny head. + +"Oh-h!" breathed Daphne. She bent to pick up the wicker basket, her +small face white and hard. + +"Wait!" said Stephen Fane. His face was white and hard too. "You are +right to go--entirely, absolutely right--but I am going to beg you to +stay. I don't know what you've heard about me--however vile it is, it's +less than the truth--" + +"I have heard nothing of you," said Daphne, holding her gold-wreathed +head high, "but five years ago I was not allowed to come to Green +Gardens for weeks because I mentioned your name. I was told that it was +not a name to pass decent lips." + +Something terrible leaped in those burned-out eyes--and died. + +"I had not thought they would use their hate to lash a child," he said. +"They were quite right--and you, too. Good night." + +"Good night," replied Daphne clearly. She started down the path, but at +its bend she turned to look back--because she was seventeen, and it was +June, and she remembered his laughter. He was standing quite still by +the golden straw beehive, but he had thrown one arm across his eyes, as +though to shut out some intolerable sight. And then, with a soft little +rush she was standing beside him. + +"How--how do we get the cushions?" she demanded breathlessly. + +Stephen Fane dropped his arm, and Daphne drew back a little at the +sudden blaze of wonder in his face. + +"Oh," he whispered voicelessly. "Oh, you Loveliness!" He took a step +toward her, and then stood still, clinching his brown hands. Then he +thrust them deep in his pockets, standing very straight. "I do think," +he said carefully, "I do think you had better go. The fact that I have +tried to make you stay simply proves the particular type of rotter that +I am. Good-by--I'll never forget that you came back." + +"I am not going," said Daphne sternly. "Not if you beg me. Not if you +are a devil out of hell. Because you need me. And no matter how many +wicked things you have done, there can't be anything as wicked as going +away when some one needs you. How do we get the cushions?" + +"Oh, my wise Dryad!" His voice broke on laughter, but Daphne saw that +his lashes were suddenly bright with tears. "Stay, then--why, even I +cannot harm you. God himself can't grudge me this little space of +wonder--he knows how far I've come for it--how I've fought and struggled +and ached to win it--how in dirty lands and dirty places I've dreamed of +summer twilight in a still garden--and England, England!" + +"Didn't you dream of me?" asked Daphne wistfully, with a little catch of +reproach. + +He laughed again, unsteadily. "Why, who could ever dream of you, my +Wonder? You are a thousand, thousand dreams come true." + +Daphne bestowed on him a tremulous and radiant smile. "Please let us get +the cushions. I think I am a little tired." + +"And I am a graceless fool! There used to be a pane of class cut out in +one of the south casement windows. Shall we try that?" + +"Please, yes. How did you find it, Stephen?" She saw again that thrill +of wonder on his face, but his voice was quite steady. + +"I didn't find it; I did it! It was uncommonly useful, getting in that +way sometimes, I can tell you. And, by the Lord Harry, here it is. Wait +a minute, Loveliness--I'll get through and open the south door for +you--no chance that way of spoiling the frock." He swung himself up with +the swift, sure grace of a cat, smiled at her--vanished--it was hardly a +minute later that she heard the bolts dragging back in the south door, +and he flung it wide. + +The sunlight streamed into the deep hall and stretched hesitant fingers +into the dusty quiet of the great East Indian room, gilding the soft +tones of the faded chintz, touching very gently the polished furniture +and the dim prints on the walls. He swung across the threshold without a +word, Daphne tiptoeing behind him. + +"How still it is," he said in a hushed voice. "How sweet it smells!" + +"It's the potpurri in the Canton jars," she told him shyly. "I always +made it every summer for Lady Audrey--she thought I did it better than +any one else. I think so too." She flushed at the mirth in his eyes, but +held her ground sturdily. "Flowers are sweeter for you if you love +them--even dead ones," she explained bravely. + +"They would be dead indeed, if they were not sweet for you." Her cheeks +burned bright at the low intensity of his voice, but he turned suddenly +away. "Oh, there she sails--there she sails still, my beauty. Isn't she +the proud one though--straight into the wind!" He hung over the little +ship model, thrilled as any child. "_The Flying Lady_--see where it's +painted on her? Grandfather gave it to me when I was seven--he had it +from his father when he was six. Lord, how proud I was!" He stood back +to see it better, frowning a little. "One of those ropes is wrong; any +fool could tell that--" His hands hovered over it for a moment--dropped. +"No matter--the new owners are probably not seafarers! The lacquer +chest is at the far end, isn't it? Yes, here. Are three enough--four? +We're off!" But still he lingered, sweeping the great room with his +dark eyes. "It's full of all kinds of junk--they never liked it--no +period, you see. I had the run of it--I loved it as though it were +alive; it was alive, for me. From Elizabeth's day down, all the family +adventurers brought their treasures here--beaten gold and hammered +silver--mother-of-pearl and peacock feathers, strange woods and stranger +spices, porcelains and embroideries and blown glass. There was always an +adventurer somewhere in each generation--and however far he wandered, he +came back to Green Gardens to bring his treasures home. When I was a +yellow-headed imp of Satan, hiding my marbles in the lacquer chest, I +used to swear that when I grew up I would bring home the finest treasure +of all, if I had to search the world from end to end. And now the last +adventurer has come home to Green Gardens--and he has searched the world +from end to end--and he is empty-handed." + +"No, no," whispered Daphne. "He has brought home the greatest treasure +of all, that adventurer. He has brought home the beaten gold of his +love, and the hammered silver of his dreams--and he has brought them +from very far." + +"He had brought greater treasures than those to you, lucky room," said +the last of the adventurers. "You can never be sad again--you will +always be gay and proud--because for just one moment he brought you the +gold of her hair and the silver of her voice." + +"He is talking great nonsense, room," said a very small voice, "but it +is beautiful nonsense, and I am a wicked girl, and I hope that he will +talk some more. And please, I think we will go into the garden and see." + +All the way back down the flagged path to the herb-garden they were +quiet--even after he had arranged the cushions against the rose-red +wall, even after he had stretched out at full length beside her and +lighted another pipe. + +After a while he said, staring at the straw hive: "There used to be a +jolly little fat brown one that was a great pal of mine. How long do +bees live?" + +"I don't know," she answered vaguely, and after a long pause, full of +quiet, pleasant odors from the bee-garden, and the sleepy happy noises +of small things tucking themselves away for the night, and the faint but +poignant drift of tobacco smoke, she asked: "What was it about 'honey +still for tea'?" + +"Oh, that!" He raised himself on one elbow so that he could see her +better. "It was a poem I came across while I was in East Africa; some +one sent a copy of Rupert Brooke's things to a chap out there, and this +one fastened itself around me like a vise. It starts where he's sitting +in a cafe in Berlin with a lot of German Jews around him, swallowing +down their beer; and suddenly he remembers. All the lost, unforgettable +beauty comes back to him in that dirty place; it gets him by the throat. +It got me, too. + + "'Ah, God! to see the branches stir + Across the moon at Grantchester! + To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten + Unforgettable, unforgotten + River-smell, and hear the breeze + Sobbing in the little trees. + Oh, is the water sweet and cool, + Gentle and brown, above the pool? + And laughs the immortal river still + Under the mill, under the mill? + Say, is there Beauty yet to find? + And Certainty? and Quiet kind? + Deep meadows yet, for to forget + The lies, and truths, and pain?--oh, yet + Stands the Church clock at ten to three? + And is there honey still for tea?'" + +"That's beautiful," she said, "but it hurts." + +"Thank God you'll never know how it hurts, little Golden Heart in quiet +gardens. But for some of us, caught like rats in the trap of the ugly +fever we called living, it was black torture and yet our dear delight +to remember the deep meadows we had lost--to wonder if there was honey +still for tea." + +"Stephen, won't you tell me about it--won't that help?" + +And suddenly some one else looked at her through those haunted eyes--a +little boy, terrified and forsaken. "Oh, I have no right to soil you +with it. But I came back to tell some one about it--I had to, I had to. +I had to wait until father and Audrey went away. I knew they'd hate to +see me--she was my stepmother, you know, and she always loathed me, and +he never cared. In East Africa I used to stay awake at night thinking +that I might die, and that no one in England would ever care--no one +would know how I had loved her. It was worse than dying to think that." + +"But why couldn't you come back to Green Gardens--why couldn't you make +them see, Stephen?" + +"Why, what was there to see? When they sent me down from Oxford for that +dirty little affair, I was only nineteen--and they told me I had +disgraced my name and Green Gardens and my country--and I went mad with +pride and shame, and swore I'd drag their precious name through the dirt +of every country in the world. And I did--and I did." + +His head was buried in his arms, but Daphne heard. It seemed strange +indeed to her that she felt no shrinking and no terror; only great pity +for what he had lost, great grief for what he might have had. For a +minute she forgot that she was Daphne, the heedless and gay-hearted, and +that he was a broken and an evil man. For a minute he was a little lad, +and she was his lost mother. + +"Don't mind, Stephen," she whispered to him, "don't mind. Now you have +come home--now it is all done with, that ugliness. Please, please don't +mind." + +"No, no," said the stricken voice, "you don't know, you don't know, +thank God. But I swear I've paid--I swear, I swear I have. When the +others used to take their dirty drugs to make them forget, they would +dream of strange paradises, unknown heavens--but through the haze and +mist that they brought, I would remember--I would remember. The filth +and the squalor and vileness would fade and dissolve--and I would see +the sun-dial, with the yellow roses on it, warm in the sun, and smell +the clove pinks in the kitchen border, and touch the cresses by the +brook, cool and green and wet. All the sullen drums and whining flutes +would sink to silence, and I would hear the little yellow-headed cousin +of the vicar's singing in the twilight, singing, 'There is a lady, sweet +and kind' and 'Weep you no more, sad fountains' and 'Hark, hark, the +lark.' And the small painted yellow faces and the little wicked hands +and perfumed fans would vanish and I would see again the gay beauty of +the lady who hung above the mantel in the long drawing-room, the lady +who laughed across the centuries in her white muslin frock, with eyes +that matched the blue ribbon in her wind-blown curls--the lady who was +as young and lovely as England, for all the years! Oh, I would remember, +I would remember! It was twilight, and I was hurrying home through the +dusk after tennis at the rectory; there was a bell ringing quietly +somewhere and a moth flying by brushed against my face with velvet--and +I could smell the hawthorn hedge glimmering white, and see the first +star swinging low above the trees, and lower still, and brighter still, +the lights of home.--And then before my very eyes, they would fade, they +would fade, dimmer and dimmer--they would flicker and go out, and I +would be back again, with tawdriness and shame and vileness fast about +me--and I would pay." + +"But now you have paid enough," Daphne told him. "Oh, surely, +surely--you have paid enough. Now you have come home--now you can +forget." + +"No," said Stephen Fane. "Now I must go." + +"Go?" At the small startled echo he raised his head. + +"What else?" he asked. "Did you think that I would stay?" + +"But I do not want you to go." Her lips were white, but she spoke very +clearly. + +Stephen Fane never moved but his eyes, dark and wondering, rested on her +like a caress. + +"Oh, my little Loveliness, what dream is this?" + +"You must not go away again, you must not." + +"I am baser than I thought," he said, very low. "I have made you pity +me, I who have forfeited your lovely pity this long time. It cannot even +touch me now. I have sat here like a dark Othello telling tales to a +small white Desdemona, and you, God help me, have thought me tragic and +abused. You shall not think that. In a few minutes I will be gone--I +will not have you waste a dream on me. Listen--there is nothing vile +that I have not done--nothing, do you hear? Not clean sin, like +murder--I have cheated at cards, and played with loaded dice, and stolen +the rings off the fingers of an Argentine Jewess who--" His voice +twisted and broke before the lovely mercy in the frightened eyes that +still met his so bravely. + +"But why, Stephen?" + +"So that I could buy my dreams. So that I could purchase peace with +little dabs of brown in a pipe-bowl, little puffs of white in the palm +of my hand, little drops of liquid on a ball of cotton. So that I could +drug myself with dirt--and forget the dirt and remember England." + +He rose to his feet with that swift grace of his, and Daphne rose too, +slowly. + +"I am going now; will you walk to the gate with me?" + +He matched his long step to hers, watching the troubled wonder on her +small white face intently. + +"How old are you, my Dryad?" + +"I am seventeen." + +"Seventeen! Oh, God be good to us, I had forgotten that one could be +seventeen. What's that?" + +He paused, suddenly alert, listening to a distant whistle, sweet on the +summer air. + +"Oh, that--that is Robin." + +"Ah--" His smile flashed, tender and ironic. "And who is Robin?" + +"He is--just Robin. He is down from Cambridge for a week, and I told him +that he might walk home with me." + +"Then I must be off quickly. Is he coming to this gate?" + +"No, to the south one." + +"Listen to me, my Dryad--are you listening?" For her face was turned +away. + +"Yes," said Daphne. + +"You are going to forget me--to forget this afternoon--to forget +everything but Robin whistling through the summer twilight." + +"No," said Daphne. + +"Yes; because you have a very poor memory about unhappy things! You told +me so. But just for a minute after I have gone, you will remember that +now all is very well with me, because I have found the deep meadows--and +honey still for tea--and you. You are to remember that for just one +minute--will you? And now good-by--" + +She tried to say the words, but she could not. For a moment he stood +staring down at the white pathos of the small face, and then he turned +away. But when he came to the gate, he paused and put his arms about the +wall, as though he would never let it go, laying his cheek against the +sun-warmed bricks, his eyes fast closed. The whistling came nearer, and +he stirred, put his hand on the little painted gate, vaulted across it +lightly, and was gone. She turned at Robin's quick step on the walk. + +"Ready, dear? What are you staring at?" + +"Nothing! Robin--Robin, did you ever hear of Stephen Fane?" + +He nodded grimly. + +"Do you know--do you know what he is doing now?" + +"Doing now?" He stared at her blankly. "What on earth do you mean? Why, +he's been dead for months--killed in the campaign in East Africa--only +decent thing he ever did in his life. Why?" + +Daphne never stirred. She stood quite still, staring at the painted +gate. Then she said, very carefully: "Some one thought--some one thought +that they had seen him--quite lately." + +Robin laughed comfortingly. "No use looking so scared about it, my +blessed child. Perhaps they did. The War Office made all kinds of +ghastly blunders--it was a quick step from 'missing in action' to +'killed.' And he'd probably would have been jolly glad of a chance to +drop out quietly and have every one think he was done for." + +Daphne never took her eyes from the gate. "Yes," she said quietly, "I +suppose he would. Will you get my basket, Robin? I left it by the +beehive. There are some cushions that belong in the East Indian room, +too. The south door is open." + +When he had gone, she stood shaking for a moment, listening to his +footsteps die away, and then she flew to the gate, searching the +twilight desperately with straining eyes. There was no one there--no one +at all--but then the turn in the lane would have hidden him by now. And +suddenly terror fell from her like a cloak. + +She turned swiftly to the brick wall, straining up, up on tiptoes, to +lay her cheek against its roughened surface, to touch it very gently +with her lips. She could hear Robin whistling down the path but she did +not turn. She was bidding farewell to Green Gardens--and the last +adventurer. + + + + +SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY[14] + +By FANNIE HURST + +(From _The Cosmopolitan_) + + +By that same mausolean instinct that was Artimesia's when she mourned +her dear departed in marble and hieroglyphics; by that same +architectural gesture of grief which caused Jehan at Agra to erect the +Taj Mahal in memory of a dead wife and a cold hearthstone, so the Bon +Ton Hotel, even to the pillars with red-freckled monoliths and +peacock-backed lobby chairs, making the analogy rather absurdly +complete, reared its fourteen stories of "Elegantly furnished suites, +all the comforts and none of the discomforts of home." + +A mausoleum to the hearth. And as true to form as any that ever mourned +the dynastic bones of an Augustus or a Hadrian. + +It is doubtful if in all its hothouse garden of women the Hotel Bon Ton +boasted a broken finger-nail or that little brash place along the +forefinger that tattles so of potato peeling or asparagus scraping. + +The fourteenth story, Manicure, Steam-bath, and Beauty Parlors, saw to +all that. In spite of long bridge-table, lobby-divan and _table d'hote_ +séances, "tea" where the coffee was served with whipped cream and the +tarts built in four tiers and mortared in mocha filling, the Bon Ton +Hotel was scarcely more than an average of fourteen pounds over-weight. + +Forty's silhouette, except for that cruel and irrefutable place where +the throat will wattle, was almost interchangeable with eighteen's. +Indeed, Bon Ton grandmothers with backs and French heels that were +twenty years younger than their throats and bunions, vied with twenty's +profile. + +Whistler's kind of mother, full of sweet years that were richer because +she had dwelt in them, but whose eyelids were a little weary, had no +place there. + +Mrs. Gronauer, who occupied an outside, southern-exposure suite of five +rooms and three baths, jazz-danced on the same cabaret floor with her +granddaughters. + +Fads for the latest personal accoutrements gripped the Bon Ton in +seasonal epidemics. + +The permanent wave swept it like a tidal one. + +The beaded bag, cunningly contrived, needleful by needleful, from little +colored strands of glass caviar, glittered its hour. + +_Filet_ lace came then, sheerly, whole yokes of it for _crepe de Chine_ +nightgowns and dainty scalloped edges for camisoles. + +Mrs. Samstag made six of the nightgowns that winter, three for herself +and three for her daughter. Peach-blowy pink ones with lace yokes that +were scarcely more to the skin than the print of a wave edge running up +sand, and then little frills of pink satin ribbon, caught up here and +there with the most delightful and unconvincing little blue satin +rosebuds. + +It was bad for her neuralgic eye, the meanderings of the _filet_ +pattern, but she liked the delicate threadiness of the handiwork, and +Mr. Latz liked watching her. + +There you have it! Straight through the lacy mesh of the _filet_ to the +heart interest! + +Mr. Louis Latz, who was too short, slightly too stout, and too shy of +likely length of swimming arm ever to have figured in any woman's +inevitable visualization of her ultimate Leander, liked, fascinatedly, +to watch Mrs. Samstag's nicely manicured fingers at work. He liked them +passive, too. Best of all, he would have preferred to feel them between +his own, but that had never been. + +Nevertheless, that desire was capable of catching him unawares. That +very morning as he had stood, in his sumptuous bachelor's apartment, +strumming on one of the windows that overlooked an expensive tree and +lake vista of Central Park, he had wanted very suddenly and very badly +to feel those fingers in his and to kiss down on them. He liked their +taper and the rosy pointedness, those fingers, and the dry, neat way +they had of slipping in between the threads. + +On this, one of a hundred such typical evenings in the Bon Ton lobby, +Mr. Latz, sighing out a satisfaction of his inner man, sat himself down +on a red velvet chair opposite Mrs. Samstag. His knees wide-spread, +taxed his knife-pressed gray trousers to their very last capacity, but +he sat back in none the less evident comfort, building his fingers up +into a little chapel. + +"Well, how's Mr. Latz this evening?" asked Mrs. Samstag, her smile +encompassing the question. + +"If I was any better I couldn't stand it"--relishing her smile and his +reply. + +The Bon Ton had just dined, too well, from fruit-flip _à la_ Bon Ton, +mulligatawny soup, _filet_ of sole, _sauté_, choice of, or both, +Poulette _émincé_ and spring lamb _grignon_ and on through to fresh +strawberry ice-cream in fluted paper boxes, _petit fours_ and +_demi-tasse_. Groups of carefully corseted women stood now beside the +invitational plush divans and peacock chairs, paying twenty minutes +after-dinner standing penance. Men with Wall Street eyes and blood +pressure, slid surreptitious celluloid toothpicks, and gathered around +the cigar stand. Orchestra music flickered. Young girls, the traditions +of demure sixteen hanging by one inch shoulder-straps and who could not +walk across a hardwood floor without sliding the last three steps, +teetered in bare arm-in-arm groups, swapping persiflage with pimply, +patent-leather haired young men who were full of nervous excitement and +eager to excel in return badinage. + +Bell hops scurried with folding tables. Bridge games formed. + +The theater group got off, so to speak. Showy women and show-off men. +Mrs. Gronauer, in a full length mink coat that enveloped her like a +squaw, a titillation of diamond aigrettes in her Titianed hair and an +aftermath of scent as tangible as the trail of a wounded shark, emerged +from the elevator with her son and daughter-in-law. + +"Foi!" said Mr. Latz, by way of--somewhat unduly perhaps--expressing his +own kind of cognizance of the scented trail. + +"_Fleur de printemps_," said Mrs. Samstag in quick olfactory analysis. +"Eight ninety-eight an ounce." Her nose crawling up to what he thought +the cunning perfection of a sniff. + +"Used to it from home--not? She is not. Believe me, I knew Max Gronauer +when he first started in the produce business in Jersey City and the +only perfume he had was seventeen cents a pound, not always fresh killed +at that. Cold storage _de printemps_." + +"Max Gronauer died just two months after my husband," said Mrs. Samstag, +tucking away into her beaded hand-bag her _filet_ lace handkerchief, +itself guilty of a not inexpensive attar. + +"_Thu-thu_," clucked Mr. Latz for want of a fitting retort. + +"Heigh-ho! I always say we have so little in common, me and Mrs. +Gronauer. She revokes so in bridge, and I think it's terrible for a +grandmother to blondine so red; but we've both been widows for almost +eight years. Eight years," repeated Mrs. Samstag on a small scented +sigh. + +He was inordinately sensitive to these allusions, reddening and wanting +to seem appropriate. + +"Poor, poor little woman!" + +"Heigh-ho," she said, and again, "Heigh-ho." + +It was about the eyes that Mrs. Samstag showed most plainly whatever +inroads into her clay the years might have gained. There were little +dark areas beneath them like smeared charcoal and two unrelenting sacs +that threatened to become pouchy. + +Their effect was not so much one of years, but they gave Mrs. Samstag, +in spite of the only slightly plump and really passable figure, the look +of one out of health. + +What ailed her was hardly organic. She was the victim of periodic and +raging neuralgic fires that could sweep the right side of her head and +down into her shoulder blade with a great crackling and blazing of +nerves. It was not unusual for her daughter Alma to sit up the one or +two nights that it could endure, unfailing, through the wee hours, with +hot applications. + +For a week sometimes, these attacks heralded their comings with little +jabs, like the pricks of an exploring needle. Then the under-eyes began +to look their muddiest. They were darkening now and she put up two +fingers with little pressing movement to her temple. + +"You're a great little woman," reiterated Mr. Latz, rather riveting even +Mrs. Samstag's suspicion that here was no great stickler for variety of +expression. + +"And a great sufferer, too," he said, noting the pressing fingers. + +She colored under this delightful impeachment. + +"I wouldn't wish one of my neuralgia spells to my worst enemy, Mr. +Latz." + +"If you were mine--I mean--if--the--say--was mine, I wouldn't stop until +I had you to every specialist in Europe. I know a thing or two about +those fellows over there. Some of them are wonders." + +Mrs. Samstag looked off, her profile inclined to lift and fall as if by +little pulleys of emotion. + +"That's easier said than done, Mr. Latz, by a--a widow who wants to do +right by her grown daughter and living so--high since the war." + +"I--I--" said Mr. Latz, leaping impulsively forward on the chair that +was as tightly upholstered in effect as he in his modish suit, then +clutching himself there as if he had caught the impulse on the fly--"I +just wish I could help." + +"Oh!" she said, and threw up a swift, brown look from the lace making. + +He laughed, but from nervousness. + +"My little mother was an ailer too." + +"That's me, Mr. Latz. Not sick--just ailing. I always say that it's +ridiculous that a woman in such perfect health as I am should be such a +sufferer." + +"Same with her and her joints." + +"Why, I can outdo Alma when it comes to dancing down in the grill with +the young people of an evening, or shopping." + +"More like sisters than any mother and daughter I ever saw." + +"Mother and daughter, but which is which from the back, some of my +friends put it," said Mrs. Samstag, not without a curve to her voice, +then hastily: "But the best child, Mr. Latz. The best that ever lived. +A regular little mother to me in my spells." + +"Nice girl, Alma." + +"It snowed so the day of--my husband's funeral. Why, do you know that up +to then I never had an attack of neuralgia in my life. Didn't even know +what a headache was. That long drive. That windy hill-top with two men +to keep me from jumping into the grave after him. Ask Alma. That's how I +care when I care. But of course, as the saying is, time heals. But +that's how I got my first attack. Intenseness is what the doctors called +it. I'm terribly intense." + +"I--guess when a woman like you--cares like--you--cared, it's not much +use hoping you would ever--care again. That's about the way of it, ain't +it?" + +If he had known it, there was something about his own intensity of +expression to inspire mirth. His eyebrows lifted to little gothic arches +of anxiety, a rash of tiny perspiration broke out over his blue shaved +face and as he sat on the edge of his chair, it seemed that inevitably +the tight sausage-like knees must push their way through mere fabric. + +"That's about the way of it, ain't it?" he said again into the growing +silence. + +"I--when a woman cares for--a man like--I did--Mr. Latz, she'll never be +happy until--she cares again--like that. I always say, once an +affectionate nature, always an affectionate nature." + +"You mean," he said, leaning forward the imperceptible half-inch that +was left of chair, "you mean--me?" + +The smell of bay rum came out greenly then as the moisture sprang out on +his scalp. + +"I--I'm a home woman, Mr. Latz. You can put a fish in water but you +cannot make him swim. That's me and hotel life." + +At this somewhat cryptic apothegm Mr. Latz's knee touched Mrs. +Samstag's, so that he sprang back full of nerves at what he had not +intended. + +"Marry me, Carrie," he said more abruptly than he might have, without +the act of that knee to immediately justify. + +She spread the lace out on her lap. + +Ostensibly to the hotel lobby, they were casual as, "My mulligatawny +soup was cold tonight" or "Have you heard the new one that Al Jolson +pulls at the Winter Garden?" But actually, the roar was high in Mrs. +Samstag's ears and he could feel the plethoric red rushing in flashes +over his body. + +"Marry me, Carrie," he said, as if to prove that his stiff lips could +repeat their incredible feat. + +With a woman's talent for them, her tears sprang. + +"Mr. Latz--" + +"Louis," he interpolated, widely eloquent of posture. + +"You're proposing--Louis!" She explained rather than asked, and placed +her hand to her heart so prettily that he wanted to crush it there with +his kisses. + +"God bless you for knowing it so easy, Carrie. A young girl would make +it so hard. It's just what has kept me from asking you weeks ago, this +getting it said. Carrie, will you?" + +"I'm a widow, Mr. Latz--Louis--" + +"Loo--" + +"L--Loo. With a grown daughter. Not one of those merry widows you read +about." + +"That's me! A bachelor on top but a home-man underneath. Why, up to five +years ago, Carrie, while the best little mother a man ever had was +alive, I never had eyes for a woman or--" + +"It's common talk what a grand son you were to her, Mr. La--Louis--" + +"Loo!" + +"Loo." + +"I don't want to seem to brag, Carrie, but you saw the coat that just +walked out on Mrs. Gronauer? My little mother, she was a humpback, +Carrie, not a real one, but all stooped from the heavy years when she +was helping my father to get his start. Well, anyway, that little +stooped back was one of the reasons why I was so anxious to make it up +to her. Y'understand?" + +"Yes--Loo." + +"But you saw that mink coat? Well, my little mother, three years before +she died, was wearing one like that in sable. Real Russian. Set me back +eighteen thousand, wholesale, and she never knew different than that it +cost eighteen hundred. Proudest moment of my life when I helped my +little old mother into her own automobile in that sable coat." + +"I had some friends lived in the Grenoble Apartments when you did--the +Adelbergs. They used to tell me how it hung right down to her heels and +she never got into the auto that she didn't pick it up so as not to sit +on it." + +"That there coat is packed away in cold storage, now, Carrie, waiting, +without me exactly knowing why, I guess, for--the one little woman in +the world besides her I would let so much as touch its hem." + +Mrs. Samstag's lips parted, her teeth showing through like light. + +"Oh," she said, "sable. That's my fur, Loo. I've never owned any, but +ask Alma if I don't stop to look at it in every show window. Sable!" + +"Carrie--would you--could you--I'm not what you would call a youngster +in years, I guess, but forty-four ain't--" + +"I'm--forty-one, Louis. A man like you could have younger." + +"No. That's what I don't want. In my lonesomeness, after my mother's +death, I thought once that maybe a young girl from the West, nice girl +with her mother from Ohio--but I--funny thing, now I come to think about +it--I never once mentioned my little mother's sable coat to her. I +couldn't have satisfied a young girl like that or her me, Carrie, any +more than I could satisfy Alma. It was one of those mama-made matches +that we got into because we couldn't help it and out of it before it was +too late. No, no, Carrie, what I want is a woman near to my own age." + +"Loo, I--I couldn't start in with you even with the one little lie that +gives every woman a right to be a liar. I'm forty-three, Louis--nearer +to forty-four. You're not mad, Loo?" + +"God love it! If that ain't a little woman for you! Mad? Just doing that +little thing with me raises your stock fifty per cent." + +"I'm--that way." + +"We're a lot alike, Carrie. At heart, I'm a home man, Carrie, and unless +I'm pretty much off my guess, you are, too--I mean a home woman. Right?" + +"Me all over, Loo. Ask Alma if--" + +"I've got the means, too, Carrie, to give a woman a home to be proud +of." + +"Just for fun, ask Alma, Loo, if one year since her father's death I +haven't said, 'Alma, I wish I had the heart to go back housekeeping.'" + +"I knew it!" + +"But I ask you, Louis, what's been the incentive? Without a man in the +house I wouldn't have the same interest. That first winter after my +husband died I didn't even have the heart to take the summer-covers off +the furniture. You can believe me or not, but half the time with just me +to eat it, I wouldn't bother with more than a cold snack for supper and +every one knew what a table we used to set. But with no one to come home +evenings expecting a hot meal--" + +"You poor little woman. I know how it is. Why, if I used to so much as +telephone that I couldn't get home for supper right away I knew my +little mother would turn out the gas under what was cooking and not eat +enough herself to keep a bird alive." + +"Housekeeping is no life for a woman alone. On the other hand, Mr. +Latz--Louis--Loo, on my income, and with a daughter growing up, and +naturally anxious to give her the best, it hasn't been so easy. People +think I'm a rich widow and with her father's memory to consider and a +young lady daughter, naturally I let them think it, but on my +seventy-four hundred a year it has been hard to keep up appearances in a +hotel like this. Not that I think you think I'm a rich widow, but just +the same, that's me every time. Right out with the truth from the +start." + +"It shows you're a clever little manager to be able to do it." + +"We lived big and spent big while my husband lived. He was as shrewd a +jobber in knit underwear as the business ever saw, but--well, you know +how it is. Pneumonia. I always say he wore himself out with +conscientiousness." + +"Maybe you don't believe it, Carrie, but it makes me happy what you just +said about money. It means I can give you things you couldn't afford for +yourself. I don't say this for publication, Carrie, but in Wall Street +alone, outside of my brokerage business, I cleared eighty-six thousand +last year. I can give you the best. You deserve it, Carrie. Will you say +yes?" + +"My daughter, Loo. She's only eighteen, but she's my shadow--I lean on +her so." + +"A sweet, dutiful girl like Alma would be the last to stand in her +mother's light." + +"She's my only. We're different natured. Alma's a Samstag through and +through, quiet, reserved. But she's my all, Louis. I love my baby too +much to--to marry where she wouldn't be as welcome as the day itself. +She's precious to me, Louis." + +"Why, of course. You wouldn't be you if she wasn't. You think I would +want you to feel different?" + +"I mean--Louis--no matter where I go, more than with most children, +she's part of me, Loo. I--why that child won't so much as go to spend +the night with a girl friend away from me. Her quiet ways don't show it, +but Alma has character! You wouldn't believe it, Louis, how she takes +care of me." + +"Why, Carrie, the first thing we pick out in our new home will be a room +for her." + +"Loo!" + +"Not that she will want it long the way I see that young rascal +Friedlander sits up to her. A better young fellow and a better business +head you couldn't pick for her. Didn't that youngster go out to Dayton +the other day and land a contract for the surgical fittings for a big +new hospital out there before the local firms even rubbed the sleep out +of their eyes? I have it from good authority, Friedlander & Sons doubled +their excess-profits tax last year." + +A white flash of something that was almost fear seemed to strike Mrs. +Samstag into a rigid pallor. + +"No! No! I'm not like most mothers, Louis, for marrying their daughters +off. I want her with me. If marrying her off is your idea, it's best you +know it now in the beginning. I want my little girl with me--I have to +have my little girl with me!" + +He was so deeply moved that his eyes were moist. + +"Why, Carrie, every time you open your mouth, you only prove to me +further what a grand little woman you are." + +"You'll like Alma, when you get to know her, Louis." + +"Why, I do now. Always have said she's a sweet little thing." + +"She is quiet and hard to get acquainted with at first, but that is +reserve. She's not forward like most young girls nowadays. She's the +kind of a child that would rather sit upstairs evenings with a book or +her sewing than here in the lobby. She's there now." + +"Give me that kind every time, in preference to all these gay young +chickens that know more they oughtn't to know about life before they +start than my little mother did when she finished." + +"But do you think that girl will go to bed before I come up? Not a bit +of it. She's been my comforter and my salvation in my troubles. More +like the mother, I sometimes tell her, and me the child. If you want me, +Louis, it's got to be with her too. I couldn't give up my baby--not my +baby." + +"Why, Carrie, have your baby to your heart's content. She's got to be a +fine girl to have you for a mother and now it will be my duty to please +her as a father. Carrie will you have me?" + +"Oh, Louis--Loo!" + +"Carrie, my dear!" + +And so it was that Carrie Samstag and Louis Latz came into their +betrothal. + +None the less, it was with some misgivings and red lights burning high +on her cheek-bones that Mrs. Samstag, at just after ten that evening, +turned the knob of the door that entered into her little sitting-room, +but in this case, a room redeemed by an upright piano with a green silk +and gold-lace shaded floor lamp glowing by it. Two gilt-framed +photographs and a cluster of ivory knickknacks on the white mantel. A +heap of hand-made cushions. Art editions of the gift-poets and some +circulating library novels. A fireside chair, privately owned and drawn +up, ironically enough, beside the gilded radiator, its head rest worn +from kindly service to Mrs. Samstag's neuralgic brow. + +From the nest of cushions in the circle of lamp glow, Alma sprang up at +her mother's entrance. Sure enough she had been reading and her cheek +was a little flushed and crumpled from where it has been resting in the +palm of her hand. + +"Mama," she said, coming out of the circle of light and switching on the +ceiling bulbs, "you stayed down so late." + +There was a slow prettiness to Alma. It came upon you like a little +dawn, palely at first and then pinkening to a pleasant consciousness +that her small face was heart-shaped and clear as an almond, that the +pupils of her gray eyes were deep and dark like cisterns and to young +Leo Friedlander, rather apt his comparison, too, her mouth was exactly +the shape of a small bow that had shot its quiverful of arrows into his +heart. + +And instead of her eighteen she looked sixteen. There was that kind of +timid adolescence about her, yet when she said, "Mama, you stayed down +so late," the bang of a little pistol-shot was back somewhere in her +voice. + +"Why--Mr. Latz--and I--sat and talked." + +An almost imperceptible nerve was dancing against Mrs. Samstag's right +temple. Alma could sense, rather than see the ridge of pain. + +"You're all right, mama?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Samstag, and plumped rather than sat herself down on a +divan, its naked greenness relieved by a thrown scarf of black velvet, +stenciled in gold. + +"You shouldn't have remained down so long if your head is hurting," said +her daughter, and quite casually took up her mother's beaded hand-bag +where it had fallen in her lap, but her fingers feeling lightly and +furtively as if for the shape of its contents. + +"Stop that," said Mrs. Samstag, jerking it back, a dull anger in her +voice. + +"Come to bed, mama. If you're in for neuralgia, I'll fix the electric +pad." + +Suddenly Mrs. Samstag shot out her arm, rather slim looking in the +invariable long sleeve she affected, drawing Alma back toward her by the +ribbon sash of her pretty chiffon frock. + +"Alma, be good to mama tonight! Sweetheart--be good to her." + +The quick suspecting fear that had motivated Miss Samstag's groping +along the beaded hand-bag shot out again in her manner. + +"Mama--you haven't?" + +"No, no. Don't nag me. It's something else, Alma. Something mama is very +happy about." + +"Mama, you've broken your promise again." + +"No. No. No. Alma, I've been a good mother to you, haven't I?" + +"Yes, mama, yes, but what--" + +"Whatever else I've been hasn't been my fault--you've always blamed +Heyman." + +"Mama, I don't understand." + +"I've caused you worry, Alma--terrible worry. But everything is changed +now. Mama's going to turn over a new leaf that everything is going to be +happiness in this family." + +"Dearest, if you knew how happy it makes me to hear you say that." + +"Alma, look at me." + +"Mama, you--you frighten me." + +"You like Louis Latz, don't you, Alma?" + +"Why yes, mama. Very much." + +"We can't all be young and handsome like Leo, can we?" + +"You mean--" + +"I mean that finer and better men than Louis Latz aren't lying around +loose. A man who treated his mother like a queen and who worked himself +up from selling newspapers on the street to a millionaire." + +"Mama?" + +"Yes, baby. He asked me tonight. Come to me, Alma, stay with me close. +He asked me tonight." + +"What?" + +"You know. Haven't you seen it coming for weeks? I have." + +"Seen what?" + +"Don't make mama come out and say it. For eight years I've been as +grieving a widow to a man as a woman could be. But I'm human, Alma, and +he--asked me tonight." + +There was a curious pallor came over Miss Samstag's face, as if smeared +there by a hand. + +"Asked you what?" + +"Alma, it don't mean I'm not true to your father as I was the day I +buried him in that blizzard back there, but could you ask for a finer, +steadier man than Louis Latz? It looks out of his face." + +"Mama, you--what--are you saying?" + +"Alma?" + +There lay a silence between them that took on the roar of a simoon and +Miss Samstag jumped then from her mother's embrace, her little face +stiff with the clench of her mouth. + +"Mama--you--no--no. Oh, mama--Oh--" + +A quick spout of hysteria seemed to half strangle Mrs. Samstag, so that +she slanted backward, holding her throat. + +"I knew it. My own child against me. Oh, God! Why was I born? My own +child against me!" + +"Mama--you can't marry him. You can't marry--anybody." + +"Why can't I marry anybody? Must I be afraid to tell my own child when a +good man wants to marry me and give us both a good home? That's my +thanks for making my child my first consideration--before I accepted +him." + +"Mama, you didn't accept him. Darling, you wouldn't do a--thing like +that!" + +Miss Samstag's voice thickened up then, quite frantically, into a little +scream that knotted in her throat and she was suddenly so small and +stricken, that with a gasp for fear she might crumple up where she +stood, Mrs. Samstag leaned forward, catching her again by the sash. + +"Alma!" + +It was only for an instant, however. Suddenly Miss Samstag was her +coolly firm little self, the bang of authority back in her voice. + +"You can't marry Louis Latz." + +"Can't I? Watch me." + +"You can't do that to a nice, deserving fellow like him!" + +"Do what?" + +"That!" + +Then Mrs. Samstag threw up both her hands to her face, rocking in an +agony of self-abandon that was rather horrid to behold. + +"Oh, God, why don't you put me out of it all? My misery! I'm a leper to +my own child!" + +"Oh--mama--" + +"Yes, a leper. Hold my misfortune against me. Let my neuralgia and +Doctor Heyman's prescription to cure it ruin my life. Rob me of what +happiness with a good man there is left in it for me. I don't want +happiness. Don't expect it. I'm here just to suffer. My daughter will +see to that. Oh, I know what is on your mind. You want to make me out +something--terrible--because Dr. Heyman once taught me how to help +myself a little when I'm nearly wild with neuralgia. Those were doctor's +orders. I'll kill myself before I let you make me out something +terrible. I never even knew what it was before the doctor gave his +prescription. I'll kill--you hear--kill myself." + +She was hoarse, she was tear splotched so that her lips were slippery +with them, and while the ague of her passion shook her, Alma, her own +face swept white and her voice guttered with restraint, took her mother +into the cradle of her arms, and rocked and hushed her there. + +"Mama, mama, what are you saying? I'm not blaming you, sweetheart. I +blame him--Dr. Heyman--for prescribing it in the beginning. I know your +fight. How brave it is. Even when I'm crossest with you, I realize. +Alma's fighting with you, dearest, every inch of the way until--you're +cured! And then--maybe--some day--anything you want! But not now. Mama, +you wouldn't marry Louis Latz now!" + +"I would. He's my cure. A good home with a good man and money enough to +travel and forget myself. Alma, Mama knows she's not an angel--sometimes +when she thinks what she's put her little girl through this last year, +she just wants to go out on the hill-top where she caught the neuralgia +and lay down beside that grave out there and--" + +"Mama, don't talk like that!" + +"But now's my chance, Alma, to get well. I've too much worry in this big +hotel trying to keep up big expenses on little money and--" + +"I know it, mama. That's why I'm so in favor of finding ourselves a +sweet, tiny little apartment with kitch--" + +"No! Your father died with the world thinking him a rich man and it will +never find out from me that he wasn't. I won't be the one to humiliate +his memory--a man who enjoyed keeping up appearances the way he did. Oh, +Alma, Alma, I'm going to get well now. I promise. So help me God, if I +ever give in to--to it again." + +"Mama, please. For God's sake, you've said the same thing so often only +to break your promise." + +"I've been weak, Alma; I don't deny it. But nobody who hasn't been +tortured as I have, can realize what it means to get relief just by--" + +"Mama, you're not playing fair this minute. That's the frightening part. +It isn't only the neuralgia any more. It's just desire. That's what's so +terrible to me, mama. The way you have been taking it these last months. +Just from--desire." + +Mrs. Samstag buried her face, shuddering down into her hands. + +"Oh, God, my own child against me!" + +"No, mama. Why, sweetheart, nobody knows better than I do how sweet and +good you are when you are away--from it. We'll fight it together and +win! I'm not afraid. It's been worse this last month because you've been +nervous, dear. I understand now. You see, I--didn't dream of you +and--Louis Latz. We'll forget--we'll take a little two room apartment of +our own, darling, and get your mind on housekeeping and I'll take up +stenography or social ser--" + +"What good am I anyway? No good. In my own way. In my child's way. A +young man like Leo Friedlander crazy to propose and my child can't let +him come to the point because she is afraid to leave her mother. Oh, I +know--I know more than you think I do. Ruining your life! That's what I +am, and mine too!" + +Tears now ran in hot cascades down Alma's cheeks. + +"Why, mama, as if I cared about anything--just so you--get well." + +"I know what I've done. Ruined my baby's life and now--" + +"No!" + +"Then help me, Alma. Louis wants me for his happiness. I want him for +mine. Nothing will cure me like having a good man to live up to. The +minute I find myself getting the craving for--it--don't you see, baby, +fear that a good husband like Louis could find out such a thing about me +would hold me back. See, Alma?" + +"That's a wrong basis to start married life on--" + +"I'm a woman who needs a man to baby her, Alma. That's the cure for me. +Not to let me would be the same as to kill me. I've been a bad, weak +woman, Alma, to be so afraid that maybe Leo Friedlander would steal you +away from me. We'll make it a double wedding, baby!" + +"Mama, mama, I'll never leave you." + +"All right then, so you won't think your new father and me want to get +rid of you. The first thing we'll pick out in our new home, he said it +himself tonight, is Alma's room." + +"I tell you it's wrong. It's wrong!" + +"The rest with Leo can come later, after I've proved to you for a little +while that I'm cured. Alma, don't cry! It's my cure. Just think, a good +man. A beautiful home to take my mind off--worry. He said tonight he +wants to spend a fortune if necessary to cure--my neuralgia." + +"Oh, mama, mama, if it were only--that!" + +"Alma, if I promise on my--my life! I never felt the craving so little +as I do--now." + +"You've said that before--and before." + +"But never, with such a wonderful reason. It's the beginning of a new +life. I know it. I'm cured!" + +"Mama, if I thought you meant it." + +"I do. Alma, look at me. This very minute I've a real jumping case of +neuralgia. But I wouldn't have anything for it except the electric pad. +I feel fine. Strong! Alma, the bad times with me are over." + +"Oh, mama, mama, how I pray you're right." + +"You'll thank God for the day that Louis Latz proposed to me. Why, I'd +rather cut off my right hand than marry a man who could ever live to +learn such a--thing about me." + +"But it's not fair. We'll have to explain to him, dear that we hope +you're cured now, but--" + +"If you do--if you do--I'll kill myself! I won't live to bear that! You +don't want me cured. You want to get rid of me, to degrade me until I +kill myself! If I was ever anything else than what I am now--to Louis +Latz--anything but his ideal--Alma, you won't tell! Kill me, but don't +tell--don't tell!" + +"Why, you know I wouldn't, sweetheart, if it is so terrible to you. +Never." + +"Say it again." + +"Never." + +"As if it hasn't been terrible enough that you should have to know. But +it's over, Alma. Your bad times with me are finished. I'm cured." + +"But wait a little while, mama, just a year." + +"No. No." + +"A few months." + +"Now. He wants it soon. The sooner the better at our age. Alma, mama's +cured! What happiness. Kiss me, darling. So help me God, to keep my +promises to you. Cured, Alma, cured." + +And so in the end, with a smile on her lips that belied almost to +herself the little run of fear through her heart, Alma's last kiss to +her mother that night was the long one of felicitation. + +And because love, even the talk of it, is so gamey on the lips of woman +to woman, they lay in bed that night heart-beat to heart-beat, the +electric pad under her pillow warm to the hurt of Mrs. Samstag's brow +and talked, these two, deep into the stillness of the hotel night. + +"My little baby, who's helped me through such bad times, it's your turn +now, Alma, to be care-free, like other girls." + +"I'll never leave you mama, even if--he shouldn't want me." + +"He will, darling, and does! Those were his words. 'A room for Alma.'" + +"I'll never leave you!" + +"You will! Much as Louis and me want you with us every minute, we won't +stand in your way! That's another reason I'm so happy, Alma. I'm not +alone, any more now. Leo's so crazy over you, just waiting for the +chance to--pop--" + +"Shh-sh-h-h." + +"Don't tremble so, darling. Mama knows. He told Mrs. Gronauer last night +when she was joking him to buy a ten dollar carnation for the +Convalescent Home Bazaar, that he would only take one if it was white, +because little white flowers reminded him of Alma Samstag." + +"Oh, mama--" + +"Say, it is as plain as the nose on your face. He can't keep his eyes +off you. He sells goods to Doctor Gronauer's clinic and he says the same +thing about him. It makes me so happy, Alma, to think you won't have to +hold him off any more." + +"I'll never leave you. Never!" + +None the less she was the first to drop off to sleep, pink, there in the +dark, with the secret of her blushes. + +Then for Mrs. Samstag the travail set in. Lying there with her raging +head tossing this way and that on the heated pillow, she heard with +cruel awareness, the _minutiæ_, all the faint but clarified noises that +can make a night seem so long. The distant click of the elevator, +depositing a night-hawk. A plong of the bed spring. Somebody's cough. A +train's shriek. The jerk of plumbing. A window being raised. That creak +which lies hidden in every darkness, like a mysterious knee-joint. By +three o'clock she was a quivering victim to these petty concepts, and +her pillow so explored that not a spot but what was rumpled to the +aching lay of her cheek. + +Once Alma, as a rule supersensitive to her mother's slightest unrest, +floated up for the moment out of her young sleep, but she was very +drowsy and very tired and dream-tides were almost carrying her back, as +she said: + +"Mama, are you all right?" + +Simulating sleep, Mrs. Samstag lay tense until her daughter's breathing +resumed its light cadence. + +Then at four o'clock, the kind of nervousness that Mrs. Samstag had +learned to fear, began to roll over her in waves, locking her throat and +curling her toes and her fingers, and her tongue up dry against the roof +of her mouth. + +She must concentrate now--must steer her mind away from the craving! + +Now then: West End Avenue. Louis liked the apartments there. Luxurious. +Quiet. Residential. Circassian walnut or mahogany dining room? Alma +should decide. A baby-grand piano. Later to be Alma's engagement gift +from, "Mama and--Papa." No, "Mama and Louis." Better so. + +How her neck and her shoulder-blade, and now her elbow, were flaming +with the pain! She cried a little, far back in her throat with the small +hissing noise of a steam-radiator, and tried a poor futile scheme for +easing her head in the crotch of her elbow. + +Now then: She must knit Louis some neckties. The silk-sweater-stitch +would do. Married in a traveling-suit. One of those smart dark-blue +twills like Mrs. Gronauer Junior's. Top-coat--sable. Louis' hair +thinning. Tonic. Oh God, let me sleep. Please, God. The wheeze rising in +her closed throat. That little threatening desire that must not shape +itself! It darted with the hither and thither of a bee bumbling against +a garden wall. No. No. Ugh! The vast chills of nervousness. The flaming, +the craving chills of desire! + +Just this last giving-in. This once. To be rested and fresh for him +tomorrow. Then never again. The little beaded handbag. Oh God, help me. +That burning ache to rest and to uncurl of nervousness. All the +thousand, thousand little pores of her body, screaming each one, to be +placated. They hurt the entire surface of her. That great storm at sea +in her head; the crackle of lightning down that arm-- + +Let me see--Circassian walnut--baby-grand--the pores demanding, +crying--shrieking-- + +It was then that Carrie Samstag, even in her lovely pink night-dress, a +crone with pain, and the cables out dreadfully in her neck, began by +infinitesimal processes to swing herself gently to the side of the bed, +unrelaxed inch by unrelaxed inch, softly and with the cunning born of +travail. + +It was actually a matter of fifteen minutes, that breathless swing +toward the floor, the mattress rising after her with scarcely a whisper +of its stuffings and her two bare feet landing patly into the pale blue +room-slippers, there beside the bed. + +Then her bag, the beaded one on the end of the divan. The slow taut +feeling for it and the floor that creaked twice, starting the sweat out +over her. + +It was finally after more tortuous saving of floor creaks and the +interminable opening and closing of a door that Carrie Samstag, the +beaded bag in her hand, found herself face to face with herself in the +mirror of the bathroom medicine chest. + +She was shuddering with one of the hot chills, the needle and little +glass piston out of the hand-bag and with a dry little insuck of breath, +pinching up little areas of flesh from her arm, bent on a good firm +perch, as it were. + +There were undeniable pock-marks on Mrs. Samstag's right forearm. +Invariably it sickened her to see them. Little graves. Oh, oh, little +graves. For Alma. Herself. And now Louis. Just once. Just one more +little grave-- + +And Alma, answering her somewhere down in her heart-beats: "No, mama, +no, mama. No. No. No." + +But all the little pores gaping. Mouths! The pinching up of the skin. +Here, this little clean and white area. + +"No, mama. No, mama. No. No. No." + +"Just once, darling?" Oh--oh--graves for Alma and Louis. No. No. No. + +Somehow, some way, with all the little mouths still parched and gaping +and the clean and quite white area unblemished, Mrs. Samstag found her +way back to bed. She was in a drench of sweat when she got there and the +conflagration of neuralgia curiously enough, was now roaring in her +ears so that it seemed to her she could hear her pain. + +Her daughter lay asleep, with her face to the wall, her flowing hair +spread in a fan against the pillow and her body curled up cozily. The +remaining hours of the night, in a kind of waking faint she could never +find the words to describe, Mrs. Samstag, with that dreadful dew of her +sweat constantly out over her, lay with her twisted lips to the faint +perfume of that fan of Alma's flowing hair her toes curling in and out. +Out and in. Toward morning she slept. Actually, sweetly and deeply as if +she could never have done with deep draughts of it. + +She awoke to the brief patch of sunlight that smiled into their +apartment for about eight minutes of each forenoon. + +Alma was at the pretty chore of lifting the trays from a hamper of +roses. She places a shower of them on her mother's coverlet with a kiss, +a deeper and dearer one somehow, this morning. + +There was a card and Mrs. Samstag read it and laughed: + + Good morning, Carrie. + + Louis. + +They seemed to her, poor dear, these roses, to be pink with the glory of +the coming of the dawn. + + * * * * * + +On the spur of the moment and because the same precipitate decisions +that determined Louis Latz's successes in Wall Street determined him +here, they were married the following Thursday in Greenwich, +Connecticut, without even allowing Carrie time for the blue twill +traveling suit. She wore her brown velvet instead, looking quite modish, +and a sable wrap, gift of the groom, lending genuine magnificence. + +Alma was there, of course, in a beautiful fox scarf, also gift of the +groom, and locked in a white kind of tensity that made her seem more +than ever like a little white flower to Leo Friedlander, the sole other +attendant, and who during the ceremony yearned at her with his gaze. But +her eyes were squeezed tight against his, as if to forbid herself the +consciousness that life seemed suddenly so richly sweet to her--oh, so +richly sweet! + +There was a time during the first months of the married life of Louis +and Carrie Latz, when it seemed to Alma, who in the sanctity of her +lovely little ivory bedroom all appointed in rose-enamel toilet trifles, +could be prayerful with the peace of it, that the old Carrie, who could +come pale and terrible out of her drugged nights, belonged to some +grimacing and chimeric past. A dead past that had buried its dead and +its hatchet. + +There had been a month at Hot Springs in the wintergreen heart of +Virginia, and whatever Louis may have felt in his heart, of his right to +the privacy of these honeymoon days, was carefully belied on his lips, +and at Alma's depriving him now and then of his wife's company, packing +her off to rest when he wanted a climb with her up a mountain slope or a +drive over piny roads, he could still smile and pinch her cheek. + +"You're stingy to me with my wife, Alma," he said to her upon one of +these provocations. "I don't believe she's got a daughter at all, but a +little policeman instead." + +And Alma smiled back, out of the agony of her constant consciousness +that she was insinuating her presence upon him, and resolutely, so that +her fear for him should always subordinate her fear of him, she bit down +her sensitiveness in proportion to the rising tide of his growing, but +still politely held in check, bewilderment. + +One day, these first weeks of their marriage, because she saw the +dreaded signal of the muddy pools under her mother's eyes and the little +quivering nerve beneath the temple, she shut him out of her presence for +a day and a night, and when he came fuming up every few minutes from the +hotel veranda, miserable and fretting, met him at the closed door of her +mother's darkened room and was adamant. + +"It won't hurt if I tiptoe in and sit with her," he pleaded. + +"No, Louis. No one knows how to get her through these spells like I do. +The least excitement will only prolong her pain." + +He trotted off then down the hotel corridor with a strut to his +resentment that was bantam and just a little fighty. + +That night as Alma lay beside her mother, fighting sleep and watching, +Carrie rolled her eyes sidewise with the plea of a stricken dog in them. + +"Alma," she whispered, "for God's sake. Just this once. To tide me over. +One shot--darling. Alma, if you love me?" + +Later, there was a struggle between them that hardly bears relating. A +lamp was overturned. But toward morning, when Carrie lay exhausted, but +at rest in her daughter's arms, she kept muttering in her sleep: + +"Thank you, baby. You saved me. Never leave me, Alma. +Never--never--never. You saved me Alma." + +And then the miracle of those next months. The return to New York. The +happily busy weeks of furnishing and the unlimited gratifications of the +well-filled purse. The selection of the limousine with the special body +that was fearfully and wonderfully made in mulberry upholstery with +mother-of-pearl caparisons. The fourteen-room apartment on West End +Avenue, with four baths, drawing-room of pink brocaded walls and +Carrie's Roman bathroom that was precisely as large as her old hotel +sitting room, with two full length wall-mirrors, a dressing table +canopied in white lace over white satin and the marble bath itself, two +steps down and with the rubber curtains that swished after. + +There were evenings when Carrie, who loved the tyranny of things with +what must have been a survival within her of the bazaar instinct, would +fall asleep almost directly after dinner her head back against her +husband's shoulder, roundly tired out after a day all cluttered up with +matching the blue upholstery of their bedroom with taffeta bed hangings. + +Latz liked her so, with her fragrantly coiffured head, scarcely gray, +back against his shoulder and with his newspapers--Wall Street journals +and the comic weeklies which he liked to read--would sit an entire +evening thus, moving only when his joints rebelled, and his pipe smoke +carefully directed away from her face. + +Weeks and weeks of this and already Louis Latz's trousers were a little +out of crease and Mrs. Latz after eight o'clock and under cover of a +very fluffy and very expensive négligée, would unhook her stays. + +Sometimes friends came in for a game of small-stake poker, but after the +second month they countermanded the standing order for Saturday night +musical comedy seats. So often they discovered it was pleasanter to +remain at home. Indeed, during these days of household adjustment, as +many as four evenings a week Mrs. Latz dozed there against her husband's +shoulder, until about ten, when he kissed her awake to forage with him +in the great, white porcelain refrigerator and then to bed. + +And Alma. Almost, she tiptoed through these months. Not that her +scorching awareness of what must have crouched low in Louis' mind ever +diminished. Sometimes, although still never by word, she could see the +displeasure mount in his face. + +If she entered in on a tête-à-tête, as she did once, when by chance she +had sniffed the curative smell of spirits of camphor on the air of a +room through which her mother had passed, and came to drag her off that +night to share her own lace-covered and ivory bed. + +Again: upon the occasion of an impulsively planned motor trip and +week-end to Lakewood, her intrusion had been so obvious. + +"Want to join us, Alma?" + +"O--yes--thank you, Louis." + +"But I thought you and Leo were--" + +"No, no, I'd rather go with you and mama, Louis." + +Even her mother had smiled rather strainedly. Louis' invitation, +politely uttered, had said so plainly: "Are we two never to be alone. +Your mother and I?" + +Oh, there was no doubt that Louis Latz was in love and with all the +delayed fervor of first youth. + +There was something rather throat-catching about his treatment of her +mother that made Alma want to cry. + +He would never tire of marveling, not alone at the wonder of her, but at +the wonder that she was his. + +"No man has ever been as lucky in women as I have, Carrie," he told her +once in Alma's hearing. "It seemed to me that after--my little mother, +there couldn't ever be another--and now you! You!" + +At the business of sewing some beads on a lamp-shade, Carrie looked up, +her eyes dewy. + +"And I felt that way about one good husband," she said, "and now I see +there could be two." + +Alma tiptoed out. + +The third month of this, she was allowing Leo Friedlander his two +evenings a week. Once to the theater in a modish little sedan car which +Leo drove himself. One evening at home in the rose and mauve +drawing-room. It delighted Louis and Carrie slyly to have in their +friends for poker over the dining-room table these evenings, leaving the +young people somewhat indirectly chaperoned until as late as midnight. +Louis' attitude with Leo was one of winks, quirks, slaps on the back and +the curving voice of innuendo. + +"Come on in, Leo, the water's fine!" + +"Louis!" This from Alma stung to crimson and not arch enough to feign +that she did not understand. + +"Loo, don't tease," said Carrie, smiling, but then closing her eyes as +if to invoke help to want this thing to come to pass. + +But Leo was frankly the lover, kept not without difficulty on the edge +of his ardor. A city youth with gymnasium bred shoulders, fine, pole +vaulter's length of limb and a clean tan skin that bespoke cold +drubbings with Turkish towels. + +And despite herself, Alma, who was not without a young girl's feelings +for nice detail, could thrill to this sartorial svelteness and to the +patent-leather lay of his black hair which caught the light like a +polished floor. + +The kind of sweetness he found in Alma he could never articulate even to +himself. In some ways she seemed hardly to have the pressure of vitality +to match his, but on the other hand, just that slower beat to her may +have heightened his sense of prowess. His greatest delight seemed to lie +in her pallid loveliness. "White Honeysuckle," he called her and the +names of all the beautiful white flowers he knew. And then one night, to +the rattle of poker chips from the remote dining-room, he jerked her to +him without preamble, kissing her mouth down tightly against her teeth. + +"My sweetheart. My little, white carnation sweetheart. I won't be held +off any longer. I'm going to carry you away for my little moon-flower +wife." + +She sprang back prettier than he had ever seen her in the dishevelment +from where his embrace had dragged at her hair. + +"You mustn't," she cried, but there was enough of the conquering male in +him to read easily into this a mere plating over her desire. + +"You can't hold me at arm's length any longer. You've maddened me for +months. I love you. You love me. You do. You do," and crushed her to +him, but this time his pain and his surprise genuine as she sprang back, +quivering. + +"You--I--mustn't!" she said, frantic to keep her lips from twisting, her +little lacy fribble of a handkerchief a mere string from winding. + +"Mustn't what?" + +"Mustn't," was all she could repeat and not weep her words. + +"Won't--I--do?" + +"It's--mama." + +"What?" + +"You see--I--she's all alone." + +"You adorable, she's got a brand-new husky husband." + +"No--you don't--understand." + +Then, on a thunder-clap of inspiration, hitting his knee, "I have it. +Mama-baby! That's it. My girlie is a cry-baby, mama-baby!" And made to +slide along the divan toward her, but up flew her two small hands, like +fans. + +"No," she said with the little bang back in her voice which steadied him +again. "I mustn't! You see, we're so close. Sometimes it's more as if I +were the mother and she my little girl." + +Misery made her dumb. + +"Why don't you know, dear, that your mother is better able to take care +of herself than you are. She's bigger and stronger. You--you're a little +white flower." + +"Leo--give me time. Let me think." + +"A thousand thinks, Alma, but I love you. I love you and want so +terribly for you to love me back." + +"I--do." + +"Then tell me with kisses." + +Again she pressed him to arm's length. + +"Please, Leo. Not yet. Let me think. Just one day. Tomorrow." + +"No, no. Now." + +"Tomorrow." + +"When?" + +"Evening." + +"No, morning." + +"All right Leo--tomorrow morning--" + +"I'll sit up all night and count every second in every minute and every +minute in every hour." + +She put up her soft little fingers to his lips. + +"Dear boy," she said. + +And then they kissed and after a little swoon to his nearness she +struggled like a caught bird and a guilty one. + +"Please go, Leo," she said, "leave me alone--" + +"Little mama-baby sweetheart," he said. "I'll build you a nest right +next to hers. Good night, little White Flower. I'll be waiting, and +remember, counting every second of every minute and every minute of +every hour." + +For a long time she remained where he had left her, forward on the pink +divan, her head with a listening look to it, as if waiting an answer for +the prayers that she sent up. + +At two o'clock that morning, by what intuition she would never know, and +with such leverage that she landed out of bed plump on her two feet, +Alma, with all her faculties into trace like fire-horses, sprang out of +sleep. + +It was a matter of twenty steps across the hall. In the white tiled +Roman bathroom, the muddy circles suddenly out and angry beneath her +eyes, her mother was standing before one of the full-length +mirrors--snickering. + +There was a fresh little grave on the inside of her right fore arm. + +Sometimes in the weeks that followed, a sense of the miracle of what was +happening would clutch at Alma's throat like a fear. + +Louis did not know. + +That the old neuralgic recurrences were more frequent again, yes. +Already plans for a summer trip abroad, on a curative mission bent, were +taking shape. There was a famous nerve specialist, the one who had +worked such wonders on his little mother's cruelly rheumatic limbs, +reassuringly foremost in his mind. + +But except that there were not infrequent and sometimes twenty-four hour +sieges when he was denied the sight of his wife, he had learned with a +male's acquiescence to the frailties of the other sex, to submit, and +with no great understanding of pain, to condone. + +And as if to atone for these more or less frequent lapses there was +something pathetic, even a little heart-breaking, in Carrie's zeal for +his wellbeing. No duty too small. One night she wanted to unlace his +shoes and even shine them, would have, in fact, except for his fierce +catching of her into his arms and for some reason, his tonsils aching as +he kissed her. + +Once after a "spell" she took out every garment from his wardrobe and +kissing them piece by piece, put them back again and he found her so, +and they cried together, he of happiness. + +In his utter beatitude, even his resentment of Alma continued to grow +but slowly. Once, when after forty-eight hours she forbade him rather +fiercely an entrance into his wife's room, he shoved her aside almost +rudely, but at Carrie's little shriek of remonstrance from the darkened +room, backed out shamefacedly and apologized next day in the +conciliatory language of a tiny wrist-watch. + +But a break came, as she knew and feared it must. + +One evening during one of these attacks, when for two days Carrie had +not appeared at the dinner table, Alma, entering when the meal was +almost over, seated herself rather exhaustedly at her mother's place +opposite her stepfather. + +He had reached the stage when that little unconscious usurpation in +itself could annoy him. + +"How's your mother?" he asked, dourly for him. + +"She's asleep." + +"Funny. This is the third attack this month and each time it lasts +longer. Confound that neuralgia." + +"She's easier now." + +He pushed back his plate. + +"Then I'll go in and sit with her while she sleeps." + +She who was so fastidiously dainty of manner, half rose, spilling her +soup. + +"No," she said, "you mustn't! Not now!" And sat down again hurriedly, +wanting not to appear perturbed. + +A curious thing happened then to Louis. His lower lip came pursing out +like a little shelf and a hitherto unsuspected look of pigginess +fattened over his rather plump face. + +"You quit butting into me and my wife's affairs, you, or get the hell +out of here," he said, without changing his voice or his manner. + +She placed her hand to the almost unbearable flutter of her heart. + +"Louis! You mustn't talk like that to--me!" + +"Don't make me say something I'll regret. You! Only take this tip, you! +There's one of two things you better do. Quit trying to come between me +and her or--get out." + +"I--she's sick." + +"Naw, she ain't. Not as sick as you make out. You're trying, God knows +why, to keep us apart. I've watched you. I know your sneaking kind. +Still water runs deep. You've never missed a chance since we're married +to keep us apart. Shame!" + +"I--she--" + +"Now mark my word, if it wasn't to spare her, I'd have invited you out +long ago. Haven't you got any pride?" + +"I have. I have," she almost moaned and could have crumpled up there and +swooned in her humiliation. + +"You're not a regular girl. You're a she-devil. That's what you are! +Trying to come between your mother and me. Ain't you ashamed? What is it +you want?" + +"Louis--I don't--" + +"First you turn down a fine fellow like Leo Friedlander, so he don't +come to the house any more and then you take out on us whatever is +eating you, by trying to come between me and the finest woman that ever +lived. Shame. Shame." + +"Louis," she said. "Louis," wringing her hands in a dry wash of agony, +"can't you understand? She'd rather have me. It makes her nervous trying +to pretend to you that she's not suffering when she is. That's all, +Louis. You see, she's not ashamed to suffer before me. Why, +Louis--that's all. Why should I want to come between you and her? Isn't +she dearer to me than anything in the world and haven't you been the +best friend to me a girl could have? That's all--Louis." + +He was placated and a little sorry and did not insist further upon going +into the room. + +"Funny," he said. "Funny," and adjusting his spectacles, snapped open +his newspaper for a lonely evening. + +The one thing that perturbed Alma almost more than anything else, as the +dreaded cravings grew, with each siege her mother becoming more brutish +and more given to profanity, was where she obtained the drug. + +The well-thumbed old doctor's prescription she had purloined even back +in the hotel days, and embargo and legislation were daily making more +and more furtive and prohibitive the traffic in narcotics. + +Once Alma, mistakenly too, she thought later, had suspected a chauffeur +of collusion with her mother and abruptly dismissed him. To Louis' rage. + +"What's the idea," he said out of Carrie's hearing, of course. "Who's +running this shebang anyway?" + +Once after Alma had guarded her well for days, scarcely leaving her +side, Carrie laughed sardonically up into her daughter's face, her eyes +as glassy and without swimming fluid as a doll's. + +"I get it! But wouldn't you like to know where? Yah!" + +And to Alma's horror she slapped her quite roundly across the cheek. + +And then one day, after a long period of quiet, when Carrie had lavished +her really great wealth of contrite love upon her daughter and husband, +spending on Alma and loading her with gifts of jewelry and finery to +somehow express her grateful adoration of her; paying her husband the +secret penance of twofold fidelity to his well-being and every whim, +Alma, returning from a trip, taken reluctantly, and at her mother's +bidding, down to the basement trunk room, found her gone, a modish +black-lace hat and the sable coat missing from the closet. + +It was early afternoon, sunlit and pleasantly cold. + +The first rush of panic and the impulse to dash after, stayed, she +forced herself down into a chair, striving with the utmost difficulty +for coherence of procedure. + +Where in the half hour of her absence had her mother gone? Matinee? +Impossible! Walking. Hardly probable. Upon inquiry in the kitchen +neither of the maids had seen nor heard her depart. Motoring? With a +hand that trembled in spite of itself, Alma telephoned the garage. Car +and chauffeur were there. Incredible as it seemed, Alma, upon more than +one occasion had lately been obliged to remind her mother that she was +becoming careless of the old pointedly rosy hand. Manicurist? She +telephoned the Bon Ton Beauty Parlor. No! Where, oh God, where? Which +way to begin? That was what troubled her most. To start right, so as not +to lose a precious second. + +Suddenly, and for no particular reason, Alma began a hurried search +through her mother's dresser-drawers of lovely personal appointments. + +A one-inch square of newspaper clipping apparently gouged from the sheet +with a hairpin, caught her eye from the top of one of the gold-backed +hair-brushes. Dawningly, Alma read. + +It described in brief detail the innovation of a newly equipped Narcotic +Clinic on the Bowery below Canal Street, provided to medically +administer to the pathological cravings of addicts. + +Fifteen minutes later Alma emerged from the subway at Canal Street and +with three blocks toward her destination ahead, started to run. + +At the end of the first block she saw her mother, in the sable coat and +the black-lace hat, coming toward her. + +Her first impulse was to run faster and yoo-hoo, but she thought better +of it and by biting her lips and digging her fingernails, was able to +slow down to a casual walk. + +Carrie's fur coat was flaring open and because of the quality of her +attire down there where the bilge waters of the city-tide flow and eddy, +stares followed her. + +Once, to the stoppage of Alma's heart, she halted and said a brief word +to a truckman as he crossed the sidewalk with a bill of lading. He +hesitated, laughed and went on. + +Then she quickened her pace and went on, but as if with sense of being +followed, because constantly as she walked, she jerked a step, to look +back, and then again, over her shoulder. + +A second time she stopped, this time to address a little nub of a woman +without a hat and lugging one-sidedly a stack of men's basted +waistcoats, evidently for homework in some tenement. She looked and +muttered her un-understanding of whatever Carrie had to say and shambled +on. + +Then Mrs. Latz spied her daughter, greeting her without surprise or any +particular recognition. + +"Thought you could fool me! Heh, Louis? Alma." + +"Mama, it's Alma. It's all right. Don't you remember, we had this +appointment? Come, dear." + +"No, you don't! That's a man following. Shh-h-h-h, Louis. I was fooling. +I went up to him (snicker) and I said to him, 'Give you five dollars for +a doctor's certificate.' That's all I said to him, or any of them. He's +in a white carnation, Louis. You can find him by the--it's on his coat +lapel. He's coming! Quick--" + +"Mama, there's no one following. Wait, I'll call a taxi!" + +"No, you don't! He tried to put me in a taxi, too. No, you don't!" + +"Then the subway, dearest. You'll sit quietly beside Alma in the subway, +won't you, Carrie. Alma's so tired." + +Suddenly Carrie began to whimper. + +"My baby! Don't let her see me. My baby. What am I good for? I've ruined +her life. My precious sweetheart's life. I hit her once--Louis--in the +mouth. God won't forgive me for that." + +"Yes, He will, dear, if you come." + +"It bled. Alma, tell him mama lost her doctor's certificate. That's all +I said to him--give you five dollars for a doctor's certificate--he had +a white carnation--right lapel--stingy! Quick! He's following!" + +"Sweetheart, please, there's no one coming." + +"Don't tell! Oh, Alma darling--mama's ruined your life. Her sweetheart +baby's life." + +"No, darling, you haven't. She loves you if you'll come home with her, +dear, to bed, before Louis gets home and--" + +"No. No. He mustn't see. Never this bad--was I, darling--oh--oh--" + +"No, mama--never--this bad. That's why we must hurry." + +"Best man that ever lived. Best baby. Ruin. Ruin." + +"Mama, you--you're making Alma tremble so that she can scarcely walk if +you drag her back so. There's no one following, dear. I won't let any +one harm you. Please, sweetheart--a taxicab." + +"No. I tell you he's following. He tried to put me into a taxicab." + +"Then mama, listen. Do you hear! Alma wants you to listen. If you +don't--she'll faint. People are looking. Now I want you to turn square +around and look. No, look again. You see now, there's no one following. +Now, I want you to cross the street over there to the subway. Just with +Alma, who loves you. There's nobody following. Just with Alma who loves +you." + +And then Carrie, whose lace hat was crazily on the back of her head, +relaxed enough so that through the enormous maze of the traffic of +trucks and the heavier drags of the lower city, she and her daughter +could wind their way. + +"My baby. My poor Louis," she kept saying. "The worst I've ever been. +Oh--Alma--Louis--waiting--before we get there--Louis." + +It was in the tightest tangle of the crossing and apparently on this +conjuring of her husband, that Carrie jerked suddenly free of Alma's +frailer hold. + +"No--no--not home--now. Him. Alma!" And darted back against the breast +of the down side of the traffic. + +There was scarcely more than the quick rotation of her arm around with +the spoke of a truck wheel, so quickly she went down. + +It was almost a miracle, her kind of death, because out of all that jam +of tonnage, she carried only one bruise, a faint one, near the brow. + +And the wonder was that Louis Latz in his grief was so proud. + +"To think," he kept saying over and over again and unabashed at the way +his face twisted, "to think they should have happened to me. Two such +women in one lifetime, as my little mother--and her. Fat little old +Louis to have had those two. Why just the memory of my Carrie--is almost +enough--to think old me should have a memory like that--it is almost +enough--isn't isn't it, Alma?" + +She kissed his hand. + +That very same, that dreadful night, almost without her knowing it, her +throat-tearing sobs broke loose, her face to the waistcoat of Leo +Friedlander. + +He held her close. Very, very close. + +"Why sweetheart," he said, "I could cut out my heart to help you. Why, +sweetheart. Shh-h-h, remember what Louis says. Just the beautiful +memory--of--her--is--wonderful--" + +"Just--the b-beautiful--memory--you'll always have it too--of her--my +mama--won't you, Leo? Won't you?" + +"Always," he said, when the tight grip in his throat had eased enough. + +"Say--it again--Leo." + +"Always." + +She could not know how dear she became to him then, because not ten +minutes before, from the very lapel against which her cheek lay pressed, +he had unpinned a white carnation. + + + + +THE LITTLE MASTER OF THE SKY[15] + +By MANUEL KOMROFF + +(From _The Dial_) + + +Even idiots it seems have their place and purpose in society, or as a +chess player would say tapping his fingers on the board--"That pawn may +cost you your queen." The little village of M---- only realized this +after it was too late. + +The police of M---- all knew that Peter, a half-wit, or "Silly Peter" as +he was called, was perfectly harmless; even though at times he would +litter the streets and market-place with bread crumbs. But the pigeons +of M---- soon cleared the walks. + +Peter, it seems, had at an early age dedicated his silly life to the +pigeons. All his cares and sorrows were bound up in the lives of the +birds. In fact it seemed as though he himself became birdlike. He could +flap his arms to his sides and produce that same dull penetrating note +that was given only to this particular species of bird when they flapped +their wings. + +At an early age he was left without parents and managed to grow up among +the horses and cows in the barns. But these larger animals were entirely +out of his sphere--he did not understand them. + +One day when the lad was about seven years old, the village folks +suddenly noticed that he was lame. When asked about it, all he would +reply was: "The pigeons made me lame." + +Luba, a farmer's fat cook, once told at the market-place how Peter +became lame. She told of how the boy stood on the roof of her master's +barn flapping his arms in imitation of the birds encircling his head; +how he sprang in the air in a mad attempt to fly, and fell to the +ground. But Luba had a reputation for being a liar, and none believed +her although all enjoyed listening. "Such good imagination," they would +say, after she was gone. + +Peter grew up a little lame, but this defect seemed only to add to his +nimbleness. He could climb a telegraph pole sideways like a parrot +walking up a stick. Once on top he would swing his good leg around the +cross beam and wave his hat--and from below a flight of flapping and +fluttering birds would arise. + +In this way he lived and grew to the age of sixteen, although his small, +protruding bones and round, child-like eyes kept him looking younger. +Where he slept and where he ate, all remained a mystery to the village +folk; but this mystery was not near as great as another-- + +The schoolmaster once noticed that at times the pigeons seemed all grey, +and at other times the greater number of them carried large pink +breasts; also at times there were few, while on other days the streets +and market-place were thickly dotted with nodding, pecking birds; also +that never could they find the very young ones. + +It seemed as though only Peter knew the secret--but when asked about it +he would show a silly grin and shy away, pretending to be much occupied +chasing the birds that ever flocked about him. + +He would travel about from barn to barn collecting the feed that fell +from the bins of careless animals. He would sometimes travel along the +back yards, twist his mouth and call to nobody in particular: "A few +crumbs for the birdies, lady?" And presently through an open window a +crust would fly, and with this buried in his hat he would be off. + +Only among the poor would he hobble about. He never ventured up the hill +where the better people lived; and it is perhaps for this reason that he +was seldom disturbed. + + * * * * * + +To himself Silly Peter was monarch of the air. In his own distorted mind +he was master of all creatures that flew. Worldly cares he left to +those who had inherited worldly material; as for himself, he was +concerned only with the aerial strata and with the feathery creatures +thereof. Nobody wanted it; so he acquired it as he acquired the cast-off +hat that he wore. He fathomed it, tasted it, drank it, navigated his +creatures through it, and even fanned life into it by flapping his bony +arms. + +He understood the air and the sky, and it all belonged to him. Every +atom of sky that poured itself over the village of M---- belonged to +Silly Peter. It seemed as though he purposely limped lightly over the +ground that was foreign to his nature; for he was captain and master of +the sky. + + +II + +"We must first loosen the ground," said a petty officer. "If the soil is +too hard, then the action will drag. And quick action and a brisk finish +always make for a better picture." + +"Hey, you!" commanded the Captain. "Go get another shovel and help dig." + +While two soldiers stood digging in a rectangular plot in the +market-place, the camera-men had set up and were adjusting a motion +picture apparatus. Twenty-five feet away stood six soldiers leaning on +their rifles talking and laughing. + +"Enough digging!" shouted the Captain. "Turn the loose earth back into +the pit." The soldiers obeyed. + +"Are you ready?" he said as he turned to the camera-men. + +"All ready," came the reply. + +"Now," said the Captain winking maliciously to two of his men. "You run +around and pick me up a beggar." + +The soldiers started off, pushing their way through the sheepish crowd +and into a side street. After walking a few hundred paces one remarked +to the other: "When you don't need them, a hundred are upon you. When +you want them--the devil take it." + +At last they came upon Silly Peter and decided that he would answer. + +"Come along, boy; the Captain wants you," they said, taking hold of his +arms. + +"Let me go!" The boy struggled. "I did nothing." + +"Come along, you fool!" + +They brought Silly Peter to the square, placed him on the spot that +smelled fresh with upturned earth, placed a shovel in his hands and told +him to dig his grave. + +When they stepped aside, the terrified boy could see the camera before +him and the six soldiers standing at attention a few paces away. Already +the clicking handles started turning. + +"Dig!" shouted the Captain. + +"I don't want a grave," whimpered the frightened creature as several +pigeons approached. "I don't want a grave," as he turned up the loose +earth with trembling shovel-strokes. "I don't want a grave," and tears +ran in trickling rivulets down his silly face. + +Even an idiot could understand. At one side of him he was confronted +with death for no apparent reason at all. And on the other side of him +flew his pigeons. + +Suddenly the signal was given; the six rifles were raised, and a volley +of blank cartridges shot at the boy. The frightened birds flew into the +air as the twisted frame of Silly Peter sank into the soft, upturned +earth. + +When the smoke had cleared, a soldier came up and shouted: "Hey fool? +Get up!--You're not dead." But the boy only sobbed, with his face beside +the shovel in the fresh earth. + +The soldiers were dismissed, and the Captain climbed into his carriage +and drove away. The sheep-like inhabitants of the village of M---- +feared to venture near the spot of military manoeuvre. + +Presently an old farmer, driving his horse across the square, stopped, +lifted the boy, and said: "Don't cry, Peter. It is only a little joke. +See, you're not dead--here, pick up your hat. See all the pigeons are +around us--you're not dead." + +The boy seemed numb and twisted like the limb of a tree as the old man +following his horse helped him across the market-place and through the +lane. + +"Don't be foolish, Peter. You're not dead. See the pigeons; see the +sky. Look, here is Luba--she will bring us soup." + +But the boy squinted at the sun through a film of tears and with his +one-sided mouth mumbled: "I don't want a grave." + + +III + +The Captain lit a cigarette as he leaned back in the carriage. The +horses snorted as they drew up the hill. "Why," he asked himself, "are +people afraid of dying? For many, life can hold little attraction, yet +even an imbecile fears death as though it were the devil himself. Yet +each man nurses his own pet fears." + +The carriage rocked from side to side as it climbed the hill, and the +Captain turned his mind to his young wife. "It's all imagination; that's +what I think," he said to himself. "It's all in her mind. Now she's +afraid of this and afraid of that, and in this way she worries herself +ill. + +"And the doctor thinks he knows it all, but he knows nothing. He should +have given her iron, she's too pale. Now we shall have to call him +again. It is all a trick that doctors have. Yes, each man looks out for +himself. But I will call him again and say to him: 'Don't you think a +little iron would be good for her, she is so pale?' And he will reply: +'Yes, it can't harm.' But I would have to say this to the doctor when he +is putting on his coat in the hallway so that Vera does not hear. + +"No. Vera must not hear that I think her pale. It would worry her and +she might become worse. Then she would have to go to bed again, the +doctor would come again, and the servants would do as they pleased. And +Vera would grow worse and more nervous and--" + +"Here we are!" called the coachman, and the Captain stepped out upon his +own lawn. + +The house was built of stone, and although its architecture was plain, +it had the solidity of a castle. Even the vines that grew up the +lattice-work and walls seemed to intertwine their curly branches into a +living network that helped fortify the stone nest of the Captain and his +beautiful Vera. + +The lovely creature was passing her hands lightly over the keyboard of +the piano as the Captain entered. + +"It is only I," he called, but she was startled nevertheless. + +"I am glad you came," she said as she rose to meet him, and placing her +pale head on his decorated breast added--"I am afraid to remain here +alone." + +"But where are the servants, my dear?" + +"Oh, servants don't count." + +"Well, well, my darling," spoke the Captain, petting her. "You have +nothing to fear. It is all imagination." + +"But I am so nervous." + +"Come, my dear. Let's have tea and I will tell you a funny story." + +Presently they were seated at the table drinking tea, and the Captain +began his story. + +"You know, my dear," he said; "we are going to put an end to all this +foolish political talk and people's committees. Any beggar forms a +committee, and they do what they like. Civil authorities and military +authorities are all alike to them." + +"Oh, I am so afraid of beggars," interrupted the beautiful Vera. + +"Well, my dear; soon there will be nothing to be afraid of; a propaganda +council was organized at headquarters this morning, and what do you +think? This morning two men arrived with a moving picture camera to take +pictures of our orderly town, and in the afternoon we took an +object-lesson picture. I marched the soldiers into the square and we dug +up a plot so that the earth might be soft. + +"Then we had a beggar dig his own grave as we took the picture. When he +had dug enough, I gave the signal and the firing squad drew up their +rifles and blazed away." + +"Why did you kill him?" + +"No, my dear; we only pretended to kill him. I myself was careful to see +that the leads were taken off the cartridge. But you see we could not +tell the beggar that he was not going to die because we wanted to make +the picture look realistic--he might have run away in the middle and +ruined the film. + +"Well, my dear, to make a long story short, the fool beggar fell into +the pit, believing himself really killed. It will make a fine picture. +It will be shown in all the surrounding towns as an object lesson, and +before the picture itself appears on the screen it will be entitled--I +suggested it myself--it will read--'This is what happened to a fool who +thought he could oppose the military authorities,' and then will be +shown the picture of the beggar digging his own grave. + +"It will be a great lesson and education to the people whose heads have +been turned. It will be sent all over the country and if the results are +favourable and it pleases headquarters who can say," at this point he +clasped his wife's pale hand, "who can say that I will not receive +another decoration, or perhaps a promotion? Who can tell, my dear? +Things move so quickly these days." + +In the evening as they were eating, Vera looked up from her plate and +spoke: "You know, if it happened to me, I think I should die." + +"Don't talk nonsense," replied the Captain angered by the idea. "How +could it happen to you?" + +"Well, supposing the revolutionists took control, and then--" + +"Supposing! Supposing the sky should fall," he interrupted, and smiled +on his lovely and delicate Vera. + + +IV + +Silly Peter refused to eat the bowl of soup that Luba placed out for +him, but he went aloft in the barn and cried in his dull, monotonous +tone: "I don't want a grave--I don't want a grave," until he fell +asleep. + +Then over his simple, slumbering brain came a vision. + +He saw himself standing on an elevated place and over him rested the +great ultramarine dome of sky. About him he could see the horizon as +though it were a white circle of foam. + +Gradually this circle grew smaller and smaller and rose up like a +sparkling and living halo. As it came nearer, he discovered that the +circle was composed of hundreds of white doves. + +Soon they were close over him encircling the elevation on which he +stood, and he could hear the wild beating of the wings as though they +were rolling a tattoo on muffled drums. Then suddenly the circle broke, +and rose like a puff of smoke against a sky of blue. + +With startling rapidity it rose until it rent and perforated the sky, +and was lost from sight. Only a large oval opening of light-grey +nothingness remained overhead--a hole in the sky--an opening to heaven. + +Then from all quarters came a loud uproar; a thousand piercing, +whistling yells; a rackety, rumbling, rattling commotion mixed with the +beat and swish of wings. This was followed by an upward rush which +darkened the sky. + +Peter saw himself standing like a monarch reviewing his nation from an +elevated platform. Around him flew the feathered tribes of the air. From +the fluttering starling to the giant albatross, all were liberated and +each paid homage to him--the master of the sky, before they shot upward +and through the oval opening in the rent heaven. It was a grand and +colourful sight to behold. + +Finally they were all gone and he saw himself take a last look about him +as he stood alone on his elevation. He then craned his neck and turned +his face to the oval nothingness--flapped his arms, and with a thrilling +sensation flew heavenward. His body went through the air a little +sideways--but it flew, and the rest did not matter. + +Poor Peter awoke to find himself in the loft of the barn among his cages +of pigeons, confronted with the sordidness of material reality. He +opened a small window and then flung open the cages. + +Through the night he limped from barn to barn, darting under wagons, and +between the legs of slumbering horses, opening doors, boxes, and even +barrels. He was liberating the imprisoned, full-breasted creatures. + +The little village of M---- slept soundly as it was being flooded with +fluttering birds. Only the hypersensitive Vera was disturbed by the +monotonous beating of restless wings. + +No longer was there any mystery regarding the pigeons. + + +V + +In the morning the streets were covered with pink-breasted birds as well +as grey. Besides this, there were breeds and species of pigeons that the +villagers of M---- had never seen before. Wherever one turned, one saw +pigeons. They were on the ground and in the sky, as well as upon the +roofs. Their colours were mixed, and their leaders were lost. + +Silly Peter ran joyfully about the streets waving a little white flag at +the disorganized flying tribes, waving a white flag as though it were a +truce to the sky. + +For some reason or other, an extra large number of birds took refuge on +the gable and chimney of the Captain's stone house on the hill. + +Late in the afternoon, as the charming Vera was playing at the piano, a +dark shadow crept over her page of music, and this was accompanied by a +scrambling noise from outside. As she turned about, she could see +through the corner of her eye a struggling figure across the window, +clambering on the vines. The body was silhouetted against the sky. + +One glance was sufficient--her throat let loose a piercing scream as she +ran from the room into the kitchen. "A man! A man is climbing up the +house--quick, send for the police!" she shouted breathlessly to the +servants. + +Holding her throbbing temples with both hands, she waited with the +servants in the kitchen. Soon two policemen arrived, having been told +that a robber had entered the house, but they found nothing excepting +Silly Peter on top of the roof, propped against the chimney, waving his +flag and signalling to his birds. + +"He's harmless," said the officer. "I can't make him come down, madam. +I'm a policeman, not a fireman." And with this they went away, leaving +Vera with her servants and Peter with his pigeons. + +Presently the Captain came home, raved and shouted as he swung his +arms--but Peter sat with his back against the chimney, making bubbles +with his mouth and holding two new-born birds close to his face in order +that they might prick the bubbles with their little soft beaks and +drink. + +"Come down from my house, you beggar!" But this did not even frighten +the birds that flocked about Silly Peter in ever increasing numbers. + +At length he came into the house, and took a rifle from his case. "Just +wait till it grows dark," he mumbled. But the lovely Vera jumped from +her chair and, with tears in her eyes, cried: "No! No! God will see you. +He will never forgive us. After all, what harm does the boy do? He did +not intend to frighten me, I am sure, put it away, my dear--God will +never forgive us if you don't." + +Who could resist a pleading tear from lovely Vera? Surely not the +Captain. + +"You are right, my dear. He can do us no harm," he finally allowed. + +At night there was a noise and commotion on the roof. Vera awoke, but +then all was silent again. A fearful silence hung over the house, +interrupted only by the heavy breathing of her devoted soldier husband. + +She remained awake until morning and was glad when she heard the +servants stir. Then thinking that a little music might be restful, she +dressed herself lightly and went down to the drawing room, opened the +piano and finally opened the shutter. There beneath her on the ground +lay Peter, with his face up--dead. His round child-like eyes stared +heavenward as his birds sat about in mournful groups of twos and fours. + +The unfortunate Vera again rushed into the kitchen and sent for the +police before she ran, terrified by the sight she had just beheld, to +awaken her husband. In about an hour, although it seemed longer, the +poor folk of the village arrived and carried the body from the yard. Fat +Luba insisted upon halting the procession long enough so that she could +kiss the white forehead of the little dead master of the sky. A ring of +pigeons swirled around the procession as it marched down the hill. + +Vera nursed up a little fever for herself and was put to bed, while +Luba, the cook, stood in the market-place and with tears in her eyes +told everybody that the Captain killed her little Major of the +Birds--"and now nobody will look after them, and they will make dirt +everywhere. And people will have to move away. And he is such a bad man +to take the crumbs away from little doves. And if he has any children, I +wish them the best of everything for they surely will be unfortunate." + +Marking the spot where Peter fell were two new-born birds crushed beside +the stone house on the hill. Through the air swung a grand flight +describing an oval in the sky. At each end of the oval the pigeons beat +their wings as they rounded the curve. With mournful thuds they beat, as +they circled over the old farmer's house and again over the solid stone +house on the hill. + +All day they flapped a tattoo with their wings and beat their sorrowful +dead sounds into lovely Vera's ears. In the evening the Captain sent for +the doctor. + +All night long the uncontrollable feathery tribes encircled the town +with their monotonous beating and swishing of wings. + +The next day Vera grew worse, as Luba in the market place kept insisting +that the Captain killed her Little Master of the Birds; until a +committee of three working-men took it upon themselves to investigate. +They started for the hill, but stopped off in order to induce the +schoolmaster to join them. + +The schoolmaster, however, did not allow himself to be disturbed. He was +playing chess with a friend, and kept tapping the dull-sounding table +with his fingers, and repeating in a monotone: "If he disturbs that +pawn, he may lose his queen." + +As the committee went on to the hill, they were overtaken by the doctor +in his carriage. At last they arrived at the stone house and found the +doctor walking briskly up and down the drawing room smoking a +cigarette--he had not yet told the Captain. + +Upstairs they could hear the Captain in Vera's darkened room, kneel down +beside the bed. + +"Do you know, my darling," he spoke. "I have never kept anything from +you--but the other day when I told you about the beggar, I should have +told you that he was--Are you listening, my dear? I should have told you +that he was the same boy--the poor boy that lived with the pigeons. + +"See; we have already been--are you listening, my dear? God has already +punished us--now you can get better and we will go away from here. We +will go to some quiet place.--Are you listening, my dear? We will go to +some--do you hear me, Vera? My darling girl, don't sleep now. Tell me, +what did the doctor say? Wake up Vera."--But the hand of death had +already passed over Vera. + +The Little Master of the Sky didn't need a grave and didn't want one. +But they dug one for him just the same, at the end of the town. While +his pigeons encircled the sky and swished the air, the villagers +straightened his twisted, little body and slipped it into a narrow box, +and lowered him down. The poor folk gave him a little grave, but he +doesn't need it for he never uses it. + + + + +THE MAN WITH THE GOOD FACE[16] + +By FRANK LUTHER MOTT + +(From _The Midland_) + + +A subway express train roared into the Fourteenth Street Station and +came to a full stop, and the doors slid open. It was just at the lull of +traffic before the rush of the late afternoon, and the cars were only +comfortably filled. As the train stopped, a small, unobtrusive man, +sitting near one end of the third car, quickly rose from his seat on the +side of the car facing the station platform, and peered through the +opposite windows. All the way up from Wall Street this little man had +sat quietly observing through his deep-set grey eyes every man or woman +who had entered or left the car. His figure was slight, and the office +pallor that overspread his serious face seemed to give to his eyes a +singular intensity of gaze. Now he peered intently out at the people on +the Fourteenth Street platform. + +Suddenly his eyes dilated; he leaned toward the window, and raised both +hands as if to shade his eyes. Then he turned and ran toward the door, +which was sliding shut. The little man's face was white as chalk; his +eyes were round and blazing with excitement. Against the protests of the +guard, he squeezed through the door and made his escape just as the +train was beginning to move. Heedless of the commotion he caused, the +man dodged wildly across the platform toward a local, which stood there, +gongs ringing and doors closing. For all his haste, the little man was +too late to enter. He pounded on the glass of one of the closed doors +imperiously. + +"Next train," said the guard shortly. + +"Let me on!" demanded the little man, waving his arms wildly. "Let me +on! You have time!" + +"Next train," repeated the guard. + +The train began to move swiftly. The little man ran alongside, peering +in through the windows at something or somebody inside. + +"Look out!" called the guard, watching him. + +The man, however, paid no attention to the warning. It is strange that +he was not hurt as he ran blindly alongside the train. Perilously near +the end of the platform he stopped short and put his hand to his head. +The train thundered away, its colored rear-lights vanishing far-off in +the black tunnel. Oblivious to the interest of the spectators, oblivious +to all the hurrying and running and crowding as other trains roared into +the underground station, the little man leaned limply against a pillar. + +"He's gone!" he muttered to himself. "He's gone!" + +For upward of twenty years Mr. James Neal had been a clerk in the +offices of Fields, Jones & Houseman on Lower Broadway. Every day of +these twenty-odd years, if we except Sundays and holidays, Mr. Neal had +spent an hour and a half on subway trains. An hour and a half every day +for more than twenty years he had spent in the great underground system +of the Interborough. Its ceaseless roar benumbed his senses as he was +hurtled from the Bronx, where he had a room, to the Imperial Building, +where he worked, and back again. This, as he had often computed, +amounted to fifty-eight and a half working days each year, or about two +months' time. Such was the fee he paid to Time for the privilege of +using other hours for working and living. It had seemed a cruel loss at +first--this hour and a half from every working day--but that was in the +early days of his experience in the city. Then he had been driven by +boundless energy and hope--the same energy and the same hope that had +brought him here from his little mid-western community in the first +place. Year by year, however, as custom calloused him to the only part +in life he seemed fit to play, he forgot about the waste of time in the +Interborough cars. Destiny, he said to himself, had hollowed out the +subway as the rut in which his life was ordained to travel; destiny had +condemned him inescapably to an underground roar. + +He never confessed to anyone that he held the subway as the sign and +symbol of the rut into which his life had grown. There was, indeed, +nobody to whom he might impart such thoughts as he had about the deeper +meanings of life. When Mr. Neal first came to Fields, Jones & +Houseman's, timid and green from the country, he had been repelled by +the lack of interest in his new problems on the part of his fellow +clerks, and he had then put on for the first time that armor of +indifference which now clung to him with the familiarity of an +accustomed garment. Nor did he feel a greater kinship with the family in +the Bronx with which he lodged. They were at pains not to annoy him; he +kept apart from them. + +Perhaps the pallid little clerk with the large grey eyes would have +become very lonesome if he had not eventually found a real interest in +life. This, then, was the manner and substance of his finding. + +As he traveled back and forth on the subway morning and evening, day in +and day out, week after week, he wasted the hours much more completely +than most of his fellow travelers. The average subway passenger reads +his newspaper and forgets the world; he knows by some sixth sense when +the train has arrived at his station, and only then does he look up from +his reading. Mr. Neal seldom read newspapers. The blatancy, the +crassness of the daily prints revolted him. Perhaps there was another +reason, too, which Mr. Neal himself did not realize; perhaps the settled +selfishness which his manner of life had fixed upon him had destroyed a +natural craving for the so-called "human interest" that is spread over +the pages of the journals of the metropolis. He despised the little +brawls aired in the papers, the bickerings of politics, the fights and +strikes and broils of all humanity reflected in daily mirrors. + +Self-deprived of the newspapers, it was natural that he should fall to +watching the people on the cars. He got to studying faces. At first he +did it unconsciously, and he had probably been analyzing features idly +for years before he discovered and fully realized how extremely +interesting this occupation was becoming. One half holiday he went up to +the library and read a book on physiognomy, and after that he laid out +his course of study carefully, classifying and laying away in his memory +the various types of faces that he saw. He pursued his investigations in +the detached, careful spirit of the scientist, but as time passed he was +absorbingly interested. Every morning and every evening he worked in his +laboratory--the subway trains. + +He never had to stand up in the cars, for he boarded them, whether at +one end of his trip or the other, before they were crowded; but as soon +as crowds began to fill up the aisles he always gave up his seat. This +naturally gained him repeated credit for courtesy, but the real reason +for his apparent gallantry was that he could not see people's faces when +he was sitting while others stood in the aisles. But when he hung to a +strap and looked at the window in front of him, the blackness outside +combined with the bright light of the car to make the glass of the +windows an excellent mirror to reflect the faces of those who stood near +him. + +To classify faces according to nationality was not easy in the polyglot +crowds of this East Side line. But Mr. Neal devised many schemes to help +him. He watched the papers they read: everybody read papers! He even +ventured when greatly curious, to ask a question of the object of his +interest, so that the man might reveal his origin. Usually he was +rebuffed, but sometimes he was successful. He read all the books on +immigrants he could get his hands on. More than once he even followed a +rare specimen--shadowed him to his work and there made guarded +inquiries. Such investigations had several times made him late to work, +so that his chief had made sarcastic remarks. The chief clerk at Fields, +Jones & Houseman's was a tall, gaunt, old-young man with a hawk-like +nose that carried eyeglasses perched perilously astride it, and he had a +tongue that spit caustic. But the chief clerk's ugly words did not annoy +Mr. Neal if his inquiry had been successful. + +At length he became so skillful that he could separate the Slavic types +into their various nationalities, and he could tell Polish, Lithuanian +and Roumanian Jews apart. He could name the provinces from which +Italians and Germans came with few errors. + +But the most interesting set of categories, according to which he filed +away the various faces he saw was that of their ruling passions. There +was the scholar, the sport, the miser, the courtesan, the little +shopkeeper, the clerk, the housewife, the artist, the brute, the +hypocrite, the clergyman, the bar-hound, the gambler. The charm of this +classification was that the categories were not mutually exclusive, and +permitted infinite variation. + +Mr. Neal became as devoted to this fascinating game as ever any +enthusiast has been to billiards, golf, baseball or poker. He looked +forward all day, while in the midst of the ancient grind of Fields, +Jones & Houseman, to the moment when he could establish himself in a +position of vantage on a subway car, and get back to his study of faces. +All night long he dreamed of faces--faces wise and foolish, good and +evil. + +Yet more and more the ugliness in the subway faces oppressed Mr. Neal. +Sometimes he looked into faces loosened by liquor and saw such an empty +foulness looking out at him that he was heartsick. Then he would look at +all the faces about him and see sin in manifold guise marking all of +them. The sodden eyes of disillusion, the protruding underlip of lust, +the flabby wrinkles of dissipation, the vacuous faces of women: it was a +heart-breaking picture gallery. + +Every face was stamped with the little passion peculiar to it--the mark +of its peculiar spirit. The mouths, especially, betrayed the souls +within. Somewhere Mr. Neal had once read weird stories of souls seen to +escape from the bodies of dying persons, and always they had been seen +to issue from the open mouths of the corpses. There was a singular +appropriateness in this phenomenon, it seemed to Mr. Neal, for the soul +stamped the mouth even before it marked the eyes. Lewd mouths, and +cunning mouths, and hateful mouths there were aplenty. Even the mouths +of children were old in evil. + +"I'm sorry I've learned it," breathed Mr. Neal one day. "Now I must +always look into a man's soul when I look into his face." + +It was true. Men who could hide secret sins from bosom friends--even +from their wives--were defenseless against this little clerk hanging to +a strap--this man with the serious pale face and the large grey eyes who +had learned by years of systematic observation to pierce every barrier +of reserve. + +His study and classification went on for several years before it +occurred to him that there was one kind of face that he never saw--one +type that he never found in all the Manhattan crowds. When he had first +discovered that this face was missing he had called it "the good face;" +and though he realized the insufficiency of this designation he could +not think of a better, and the term stuck. It was not that he never saw +faces with good qualities stamped upon them: he sometimes saw faces +marked with benevolence, honesty and resolution, for example, and these +were all good faces in a way. But they were not what Mr. Neal was +looking for--what he searched for more intently with the passing months. +He remembered the face of his own mother dimly through the years; it was +a little like what he wanted to see here in the subway. He searched for +simplicity, for transparent truth, for depth of spirituality, for meek +strength and gentle power. But simplicity in the subway? Guileless +transparency of any sort? Spirituality? Mockery! + +The face he never saw became an obsession with Mr. Neal. He hunted for +it in various parts of the city. He tried the Broadway line of the +subway where the faces are notably pleasanter, more prosperous, and +smugger. But neither there nor about the Universities on Morningside +Heights and on the banks of the Harlem, nor in Brooklyn, nor anywhere he +looked, did he find the face he sought. He could always see it when he +closed his eyes. At night he dreamed of it continuously--of meeting it +on the subway and looking into eyes of ineffable kindness. + +It came finally to affect his life--this search for the unseen face. It +gradually altered his attitude toward all his subway folk. He came to +have a great pity for the ignorant, and pain filled his heart at all the +marks of Cain he saw. He came to have an inexpressible hunger for the +sight of spiritual quality lighting the faces of the people of the +subway crowds. He did not express his hunger in words, as people do when +they want to make a thing definite and tangible. It was perfectly clear +and distinct to him when he closed his eyes; then he saw the face. + +The time came when Mr. Neal could not sleep of nights for the evil faces +that leered at him from every side out of the darkness. It was only when +he slept that he could see, in his dreams, the "good face." Finally, he +was driven to make a resolution. He would consciously seek for the good +faces; evil ones he would pass over quickly. Thenceforward he was +happier. As his train roared through the tunnels of night under New +York, his eyes dwelt most upon the faces that were marked, however +lightly, with the qualities that reached their united culmination in the +"good face." He found his old faith in the perfectibility of man +renewed, and often he would keep his eyes closed for many minutes +together, so that he could see the face of his dreams. + +So months went on, and joined together into years. + +Then, one day in the subway, with his eyes full open, James Neal +suddenly saw the face! He had been going home from work in the evening +quite as usual. The express train on which he was riding was about to +leave Fourteenth Street Station when a tall man who was about to enter +the local train standing at the other side of the station platform +turned and looked directly at him. Mr. Neal's heart almost stopped +beating. His eyes were blinded, and yet he saw the face so distinctly +that he could never forget it. It was just as he had known it would be, +and yet gentler and stronger. A moment Mr. Neal stood spellbound. The +door of his own car was sliding shut; he leaped toward it, and, as we +have already seen, squeezed through and ran toward the other train. +Though he was too late to get in, still he could see the face within the +moving car. Thinking about it later, as he did very, very often, he +realized that he could not tell how the man with the "good face" was +dressed; he could see only his face, and that for a moment only, as the +local moved swiftly out of the station. Suddenly he found himself alone +and disconsolate. + +He went home sick in spirit. As he lay in his bed that night, trying to +go to sleep, he said to himself that if ever he should see the face +again--and he prayed that he might--no merely physical barriers should +keep him from seeking out the rare spirit that animated such features. +Ah, but it had been much even to have seen that face; even that had been +worth living for. At last he fell asleep peacefully. + +The next morning Mr. Neal entered upon a new life. He had seen the face; +it had not been a dream after all. He felt young again--not young with +the ambition he had once felt so strongly, but glad and cleansed and +strengthened by a sure faith in the supremacy of truth and goodness in +the world. A happy smile lighted his serious face that morning; a faint +flush touched the pallor of his cheeks; and his deep grey eyes were +unusually luminous. + +Even the roar of the subway did not pull his spirits down, and when he +briskly entered the office of Fields, Jones & Houseman, the +old-fashioned high desks and stools and all the worn, dingy furniture of +the room seemed to the little clerk with the shining face to be +strangely new. The chief clerk, sitting at a dusty old roll-top desk in +the corner, looked up at Mr. Neal sharply as he entered. The chief clerk +always looked up sharply. There was a preternatural leanness about the +chief clerk which was accentuated by his sharp hawk's nose, and when he +looked up quickly from his position hunched over his desk, his sharp +little eyes pierced his subordinate through and through, and his +glasses, perched halfway down his nose, trembled from the quickness of +his movements. + +"Morning!" he said briefly, and dived down again into his work, with his +shoulders humped. + +But Mr. Neal was more expansive. + +"Good morning!" he called, so cheerily that the whole office felt the +effect of his good humor. + +A young man with a very blond pompadour was just slipping into a worn +office coat. + +"Well, Mr. Neal!" he exclaimed. "I swear you're getting younger every +day!" + +Mr. Neal laughed happily as he changed his own coat and climbed upon his +familiar stool. His desk neighbor turned and regarded him +good-naturedly. + +"He'll be running off and getting married pretty soon," prophesied the +neighbor, for the benefit of the whole office force. + +Mr. Neal laughed again. + +"You're judging me by your own case, Bob," he rejoined. Then in a lower +tone, "That romance of yours now--how is it coming?" + +That was enough to cause the young man to pour into Mr. Neal's willing +ear all the latest developments of Bob's acquaintance with the only girl +in the world. + +For a long time Mr. Neal lived in daily hope of seeing the face again. +He got into the habit of changing to a local at Fourteenth Street +because it was at that station he had seen the face before, but he +caught not a glimpse of any face resembling the one that he could see at +any time he closed his eyes. Yet he was not discouraged. He was happy, +because he felt that something big and noble had come into his +life--that now he had something to live for. It was only a question of +time, he told himself, until he should find the face. It was but a +question of time--and he could wait. + +So the weeks and months passed by. Mr. Neal never relaxed his search for +the face; it had become a part of his life. There was no monotony in his +great game. He always found new faces interesting to classify, some +unusual combination, some degree of emotional development he had not +seen before. But _the_ face never. + +Until one Saturday half holiday in December. This is the way it +happened. + +Mr. Neal employed this particular half holiday at Columbus Park. Long +ago he had found this park, adjoining Chatham Square and near Chinatown, +Mulberry Bend and the Bowery, a great gathering place for the lower +types of humanity, and such half holidays as he did not spend at the +library studying Lombroso, Darwin, Piderit, Lavater, and other +physiognomists, he usually employed at Columbus Park. Sometimes he +wandered over to Hester Street, or up Orchard or some other Ghetto +street off Delancey, or sometimes he spent a few hours in Battery Park +or in the tenement district of the lower West Side. On this particular +Saturday he found Columbus Park less populous than it had been on his +last visit a month before, for many of its habitues had sought warmer +climes. The weather was seasonably cold, and Mr. Neal felt really sorry +for some of the old, broken-down men and women he saw. + +Toward the end of the short December afternoon, he found an old man, +shaking with the cold, huddled up on one of the benches of the park. The +haggard, unshaven face told the usual story of the derelict, but +something in the face--perhaps the abject fear that glowered in the +eyes--sounded before he knew it the depths of pity in the little clerk's +heart. Mr. Neal tried to talk to him, but there was no ready beggar's +tale to be poured into the ears of benevolence; there was only fear of +the cold, and of misery, and of death. Yielding suddenly to an impulse +so strong that it bore down all thoughts of prudence, Mr. Neal slipped +out of his own overcoat and put it about the man's threadbare shoulders, +and then hurried off toward the Worth Street Station of the subway. + +The wintry breeze chilled him as he hastened along, a slight figure in +worn business suit, leaning against the wind, but his heart was warm and +light within him. Down he hurried into the subway station, and dropped +his tithe of tribute into the multiple maw of the Interborough. The +train was thundering in, its colored lights growing momentarily brighter +as they came down the black tunnel. The train was crammed to the doors, +for it was the rush hour and even down here the trains were crowded. Mr. +Neal edged into the nearest door and then squirmed over to a place +against the opposite door in the vestibule, where he could see people as +they came out. + +The train shot again into the dark tunnels. A thousand men and women +were being hurtled at terrific thundering speed, by some strange power +but half understood, through the black corridors of the night that +reigned under old Manhattan, to some unseen goal. It was magnificent; +it was colossal; but it was uncanny. Mr. Neal had always been moved by +the romance of the subway, but tonight, in his elevation of spirit, it +seemed something of epic quality, full of a strange, unreal grandeur. +Faint red lights here and there revealed nothing of the tunnel; they but +lent mystery to dimly seen arches and darkling bastions, fleeting by the +roaring train. + +They stopped a minute at Canal Street, and more people pushed into the +overcrowded car, and then the train was off again. The man pushing +against Mr. Neal was heavy-jowled as a prize-fighter, but if ever he had +followed the ring his fighting days were over now. Good feeding had done +for him; he breathed heavily in the fetid atmosphere of the car. He was +almost squeezing the breath out of the little man with a heavy red +mustache who stood just behind him. The red mustache made the little +man's face seem out of proportion; there was not enough of chin to make +a proper balance. + +At Spring Street two women struggled to get off. + +"Let 'em off!" came the familiar admonition of the guard. + +Those about the women made every effort to give them room, but at the +best they had a hard fight to make their way out. Both the women were +modishly dressed, and their complexions were correctly made. There was, +too, that hardness about the mouths of both of them that Mr. Neal found +in the faces of most of the women he saw--a hardness that even the +stress of their effort to get out of the car could not disturb. When +they finally got out, others crowded in. + +Mr. Neal was happy, and he looked about him to find other happy faces. +But they were nowhere to be seen; the faces were stolid, or indifferent, +or intent, or vacuous. None of them were glad. If their mouths would +only turn up at the corners! Well, it was the same old story. Mouths +that turned up at the corners were seldom met with in Mr. Neal's book of +subway faces. + +Bleecker Street, and a worse jam than ever, but there was encouragement +in the thought that Fourteenth Street would soon relieve the pressure. +Two girls crowded on at Bleecker, amid shrill laughter and many +smothered exclamations. Their lips were carmined and their eyes bold. +Every swerve of the train brought fresh giggles or stifled screams from +them. + +As the train was slowing down for Astor Place Station an express train +passed it, speeding for Fourteenth Street. Mr. Neal turned with an +effort (for he was wedged in tightly) and looked through the glass door +at the brightly lighted cars as they passed, and then slowly gained +upon, his own train. The express was crowded too, with people standing +in the aisles, hanging to straps. The faces were very clearly +distinguishable in the bright light; and Mr. Neal, strangely excited at +this rapid panorama of faces, saw each one distinctly. Suddenly he +leaned forward, close to the glass. He saw it! The face! It was there! +But it was gone in a moment. It had been like a flash in the dark +tunnel. His own train had come to a jarring stop, and the express was +only thunder in the distance. + +Mr. Neal felt that he must rush out of the car, must get out into the +open. But the big prize-fighter still pressed against him, and in a +moment they were rushing on again into the darkness. + +Now the clerk had no eyes for the occupants of his car. His face was +pressed against the glass door. He saw, out there in the darkness, that +serenely beautiful face, beatific, transcendent. And even as he looked, +he saw again the rear-lights of the express. They were going to overtake +it--to pass it again. It had been halted by the block signals of the +train ahead, perhaps--at any rate it was now moving very slowly. As the +local shot by, the panorama of faces was unfolded much more rapidly than +it had been before, but Mr. Neal caught a glimpse of the face once more. +It looked directly at him, as it had before, and he thought it smiled +upon him a little. + +The little clerk was greatly excited. As soon as the local had come to a +stop at the Fourteenth Street Station and the doors had been opened, he +darted out and hurried to the other side of the platform. There he stood +leaning out to watch for the approach of the express. In a moment it +came, rumbling in quite as usual, mechanically and regularly, and the +doors slid open to allow the flood of people to pour out. Mr. Neal +squirmed through the crowd, looking in at the windows and watching the +people coming out; but he did not see the face, and frantic lest he +should lose it once more, he crowded into one of the cars again at the +last minute. He tried at first to pass through the train searching for +the man with the "good face," but the guards rebuffed him, and the +usually good-natured crowd was provoked to impatience by his squirming +efforts; and he himself soon became so exhausted in his attempt that he +gave it up. At Grand Central Station he again hurried out upon the +platform to watch the crowds getting off. The gong had begun to ring +again when he caught sight of a tall figure mounting a short flight of +stairs toward the upper platform, and he immediately knew that there was +the man he sought. The face was turned away, yet he thought he could not +be mistaken. He rushed toward the stairway, bumping into others so many +times in his haste that he really made little speed. When he reached the +top of the stairs he looked about. For one heartsick moment he thought +he had lost the man after all. Then, away across the station, near one +of the exits, he saw the tall figure again. The man was leaving the +station, and as he passed out, for a moment he turned his face toward +the crowd within; and Mr. Neal knew then that he had not been mistaken. + +To the little clerk it seemed an age before he could reach the exit +through which the tall figure had passed. He ran around people and +dodged and ducked, oblivious of the curious watching of the crowd. At +last he gained the exit. The tall man was nowhere to be seen. + +Mr. Neal found himself on Forty-Second Street, east of Fourth Avenue. It +was night, and the December wind pierced his clothing and cut to his +very bones like a knife. He buttoned his sack coat up tightly and turned +up the collar. He decided to walk east down Forty-Second Street, in the +hope of seeing the face again. He walked very rapidly, impelled both by +the desire to keep as warm as possible, and the thought that whatever +chance he had of finding the man would be lost if he did not hurry. + +As he stood for a moment on the curb before crossing Lexington Avenue, +halted by a long string of passing automobiles, he thought he saw the +tall man at about the middle of the next block. Taking his life in his +hands, he scurried across the street, dodging in and out among the +vehicles with the curses of drivers in his ears. But he got across +safely, and now he was certain that he had been right: there was the +tall figure he could not mistake. Now he gained on the man, who turned +south into Third Avenue. As Mr. Neal breathlessly turned the corner he +saw the tall man mounting the stoop of a shabby four-story apartment +house a little way down the street. About to enter, he turned his face +toward the running clerk, and even by the dim light at the entrance to +the dingy house, Mr. Neal could see how ineffably spiritual and strong +the face was. Joy filled the little clerk's heart so full that tears +came to his eyes. At last he was to meet the man with the "good +face"--after so long! He managed to find breath to call out. + +"I say!" he shouted. + +But he was too late, for the door had closed almost before the words +left his mouth. + +Leaping up the steps, he found that the door was not locked, and he +entered a dark hallway. He heard a step on the landing above, and called +out again, but there was no answer. He hurried up the creaking stairs, +but he was just in time to see the first door on his left closed +silently but firmly. + +Mr. Neal hesitated. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead, which +was damp with perspiration. Then he rang the bell. + +The hallway was dimly lighted with one small gas jet over against the +discolored wall. Mr. Neal waited. Presently he heard footsteps. Then the +door was opened and a flood of warm light poured into the dim little +hall. A short, white-bearded old man stood in the doorway. He seemed the +very personification of serene happiness, and over his shoulder peered +an old lady whose face was lighted by the same kindly joy. There was an +atmosphere of quiet goodness about them both; it flooded out into the +hallway as sensibly as the glow of light itself. The old couple looked +questioningly at Mr. Neal. The little clerk was somewhat embarrassed. + +"I--I wanted to see the gentleman who just came in here," he said. + +The white-bearded old man seemed surprised. + +"Why, nobody has come in here," he said in a gentle voice. "Not since I +came home over an hour ago." + +"Oh, the tall man, with--with--" + +"But nobody has come in, sir," reiterated the old man. + +"Just now, you know," insisted Mr. Neal. "A tall man--" + +A shadow crossed the old man's face--a shade of alarm. The woman +withdrew a little. Some of the happiness seemed to leave their faces, +allowing the wrinkles of age to show themselves. + +"I don't know what you mean, sir," the old man said slowly, "but we two +are alone here. There is no tall man here, I assure you. Please--" + +"But haven't you a lodger?" asked Mr. Neal hopefully. "This was a very +tall man; that was the reason I could see him so well in the subway. He +has a good face--a really wonderful face--" + +Mr. Neal hesitated a moment, realizing that he had been led to reveal +his secret to one who might not understand. + +Pity came into the old gentleman's eyes. + +"Ah," he said, and nodded. "If I could be of any help to you--Would you +come in?" + +"Didn't he come in here, really? Hasn't a tall man been here?" + +"Nobody is here, sir, but us. But if I could do anything for you, I'd be +glad to." + +Mr. Neal saw that the old gentleman thought he was dealing with a +demented man; he saw, too, that the denial was an honest one. + +"Thank you," said Mr. Neal. "No. I must be going. I am very sorry I +troubled you." + +The old man bade him a cheery good-night, but he looked after Mr. Neal +in solicitude as the clerk went slowly down the steps. + +The air was bitter cold outside, and Mr. Neal realized for the first +time that he did not have his overcoat. He shivered. + +Hunching his shoulders up against the blast, he hurried back to the +subway. + +Heartbreaking though his disappointment was, Mr. Neal was not +embittered. There was one thing that he knew now beyond all cavil or +doubt: he knew that he should find the man with the good face. He knew +that he should eventually meet him somewhere, sometime, and come to know +him. How Mr. Neal longed for that time words cannot describe, but his +settled faith that his desire would one day be fulfilled kept him +tranquil and happy. Why should he be impatient? Perhaps today, or +tomorrow--perhaps in this car he was entering, perhaps just around the +next corner--he would see the face. + +"It will be soon," he would say to himself. "I know it will be soon." + +The beggars in front of the Imperial building came to know the little +clerk and thank him in advance for his alms. The elevator men and the +newsies came to watch for him. Mr. Neal himself took an interest in +everybody. He formed the habit of watching crowds wherever they were +greatest, partly because thereby his chance of discovering the face was +enhanced, and partly because crowds thrilled him. What a tremendous mass +of emotions--hopes, fears, ambitions, joys, sorrows--were in these +thousand faces swirling about him in ceaseless tide! They were all +individuals; that was the wonder of it! All were individuals with +personalities of their own, with their own lives to live and their own +problems to think out. He would like to help them all. + +Mr. Neal at last formed the acquaintance of the members of the family +with whom he had lodged so long. One evening just outside his room he +met a red-cheeked boy whom he supposed to be the son of his landlord, +and it came to him with a shock that he scarcely knew these people under +whose roof he had lived for many years. The boy seemed surprised and a +little frightened when Mr. Neal tried to talk to him, and the clerk +resolved there and then to make amends for past neglect. The very next +evening he made an excuse to visit the father of the household. A fine +hearty fellow he found him, sitting in the kitchen with his stockinged +feet up on a chair, smoking an old clay pipe and reading the evening +paper. Mr. Neal learned he was a hard-working teamster. The man seemed +pleased with his lodger's attentions, and invited him to come again, and +Mr. Neal did come again and often, for he liked his landlord from the +start. There were three children, two of them pictures of health, but +the third thin and pale and unable to romp about because of a twisted +leg. + +Mr. Neal became a veritable member of the household, and when he +discovered from a chance remark of the father that they were saving +money, penny by penny, to buy a brace for the crooked leg, he insisted +on "loaning" the money to make up the balance still lacking. + +"Funny thing," commented the teamster one evening. "We used to think you +wasn't human exactly." He laughed heartily. "Gotta get acquainted with a +guy, ain't you?" + +Then his wife, a thin, washed-out little woman, embarrassed the little +clerk greatly by saying gravely: + +"Mr. Neal, you're a good man." + +Her eyes were on the little cripple. + +In the same vein was the comment of the office force at Fields, Jones & +Houseman's on the occasion of Arnold's injury in the elevator accident, +when Mr. Neal took up a collection for the injured man, heading the +subscription himself. + +"Funny thing," exclaimed the chief clerk to a stenographer as they were +leaving the office that afternoon. "Funny thing: when I first came here +James Neal was close as a clam; never a word out of him. Paid no +attention to anybody, all gloom. Now look at him helping everybody! Best +old scout in the office!" + +As he nodded his head in emphasis, his eyeglasses trembled on his +nose--but they stuck. + +"I've not got a better friend in the whole town than James Neal, and I +know it," he added, "and I guess that's true of everybody in the +office!" + +It was true that Mr. Neal and the chief clerk had become fast friends. +They had come to spend their Sundays together, and even to share +confidences, and so it was natural that when Mr. Neal saw the face for +the third time he should be moved to tell his friend about it. This +telling of his secret was epochal in Mr. Neal's life. + +The two men sat on a bench in a more or less secluded part of Bronx +Park. Mr. Neal looked off among the trees as he told the story of the +face hesitatingly, often in difficulty for the right word, the light of +the mystic in his glowing eyes. The chief clerk listened attentively, +his cane across his knees, his lean face serious. His eyes bored into +the very mind of his friend with their keen gaze. When Mr. Neal told of +his failure to find the man with the good face in the house on Third +Avenue, his friend shook his head definitely. + +"No!" he said. "No! I'll tell you what it is: it is what they call a +hallucination." + +"Oh, no," replied Mr. Neal calmly. "It is real, John. There's no doubt +it's real." + +The chief clerk shook his head sharply again, and there was a pause. + +"I felt I must tell you," resumed Mr. Neal at length, "because I saw him +again last night." + +His friend looked quickly at the little clerk, who gazed away among the +trees, his eyes luminous. + +"I saw him in the Pennsylvania subway station, and I followed him out. +There was no doubt about it: I saw his face. He went down Eighth Avenue, +and I saw him turn in at a door. I wasn't far behind him. The door was +right next to a pawnshop. It was unlatched, and I went in. I found +myself in a dark hallway, but toward the other end there was light +coming from a half opened door. I was excited, John. Tremendously. You +see, John, it was the great experience of my life--no wonder I was +trembling. + +"I stepped quietly back to where the light was, and looked into the room +that it came from. What do you think I saw, John? There was a young +mother and two fresh-cheeked boys; one of the boys was reading at the +table, and the other one sat in a low chair at his mother's knee and she +was talking to him--telling him stories, I think. The room was poor, +John, but the mother's face! It was wonderful! It reminded me of my own +mother's. There is just one word to describe it, John: it was a +Madonna's face--a Madonna of Eighth Avenue!" + +Mr. Neal paused and glanced at his friend. The chief clerk said nothing, +but dug at the turf with his stick. + +"But the tall man was not there," resumed Mr. Neal. "I knocked at the +door and asked about him. The woman didn't know; no man was in their +rooms, she said. She was a poor widow. She wanted to know how I got in. +I could see I was frightening her, so I left, and I could hear the door +locked behind me." + +The little clerk sighed, and passed his hand over his eyes. + +His friend rose suddenly. + +"Come," he said. "Let's walk--and talk about something else." + +This was but the first of many talks the two clerks had about the face. +Mr. Neal's friend became more and more sympathetic toward the quest. One +afternoon Mr. Neal detained the chief clerk as he was leaving the office +after work. The little clerk's eyes were very serious, and his voice was +low as he said: + +"John, I know that I am going to find him very soon. I know it." + +"How do you know it?" asked the chief clerk. "Something--well--psychic?" + +"Oh, no. It's not mysterious. It's just a--a certainty, John. I know I +shall find him very, very soon." + +"Well, you know--" and the chief clerk looked at Mr. Neal steadily, "you +know that I--I should like to know him, too." + +Mr. Neal wrung his friend's hand. They went down together in the +elevator, and parted. Mr. Neal hurried down into his subway station. +There were not many waiting on the platforms. Far down the black tunnels +in either direction the little white lights glimmered. The echoing +silence of a great cave was in the station. Then suddenly the red and +green lights of a train appeared far away; then a rumble and a roar, the +doors of the train slid open and Mr. Neal stepped in. All the way home +he kept his eyes shut. The hurtling roar, the crush of people growing +greater as they approached the great business sections, the calls of +the guards, did not disturb Mr. Neal. He kept his eyes closed so he +might see the face. + +It was about one o'clock of the next day that the accident occurred of +which James Neal was the victim. He had been trying to cross the street +in defiance of traffic regulations, and had been struck by a heavily +loaded truck and knocked down, with some injury to his skull. He had +been taken, unconscious, to St. Cecilia's Hospital. + +Little work was done by the clerks of Fields, Jones & Houseman that +afternoon. One of the clerks had seen the accident; indeed he had been +talking to Mr. Neal just before the latter had rushed into the street. +He had seen the little clerk suddenly raise his hand and point across +the street. + +"I see it! There he is!" Mr. Neal had said in a voice exultant with joy, +and then he had dodged into the traffic, reckless of life and limb. + +The chief clerk was greatly distressed. He could not work. He would sit +with his lank form huddled up in his office chair, gazing fixedly over +his eyeglasses at nothing in particular. About two o'clock he bethought +himself to look up the family with which Mr. Neal lodged in the +telephone directory and to inform them of the accident. The whole office +force listened to the conversation over the telephone, and heard the +chief's voice break as he told of the seriousness of the injury. Then +the chief clerk shut his books sharply, clapped on his street coat and +rusty straw hat, and set out for the hospital. + +Long before the chief clerk arrived at the hospital, a white-coated +doctor, standing momentarily in a doorway of the ward in which Mr. James +Neal lay, met a nurse coming out. The doctor's face was such a one as +would have delighted Mr. Neal if he had been able to see it. It was a +benevolent face. A profound knowledge of the problems of humanity had +marked it with depth of understanding, and withal, a kindliness and +sympathy, that made it worthy a second and a third glance in any +company, however distinguished. + +"How about the skull fracture?" asked the doctor in a low voice, as the +nurse was passing out. + +"He is dead," said the nurse. + +"When?" asked the doctor. + +"Just now. I just left him." + +"There was no chance," said the doctor. + +The nurse was about to pass on when the doctor detained her. + +"That tall man," he said, "who was with him: where has he gone?" + +The nurse looked at the doctor in surprise. + +"There was no one with him but me," she said. + +"Oh, yes," said the doctor. "I saw a man bending over the bed--a very +tall man with a remarkable face. I wondered who he could be." + +The nurse turned, and with the doctor looked over toward the bed where +the body of James Neal lay. + +"That is strange," said the nurse. + +"I saw him there," said the doctor, "just as you were leaving the +patient; now he is gone." + +"Queer! I saw no one," said the nurse, and moved away to attend to other +duties. + +The doctor walked over to the bed where the body of the little clerk +lay. + +"It _is_ strange," he mused. "I surely saw him.--The most beautiful face +I ever saw." + +Then he looked down at what had been James Neal. + +"He was very fortunate," said the doctor in a low tone, "to die with a +face like that looking into his." + +There was a smile on the death-white lips of the little clerk. + + + + +MASTER OF FALLEN YEARS[17] + +By VINCENT O'SULLIVAN + +(From _The Smart Set_) + + +Several years ago, I was intimately acquainted with a young man named +Augustus Barber. He was employed in a paper-box manufacturer's business +in the city of London. I never heard what his father was. His mother was +a widow and lived, I think, at Godalming; but of this I am not sure. It +is odd enough that I should have forgotten where she lived, for my +friend was always talking about her. Sometimes he seemed immensely fond +of her; at other times almost to hate her; but whichever it was, he +never left her long out of his conversation. I believe the reason I +forget is that he talked so much about her that I failed at last to pay +attention to what he said. + +He was a stocky young man, with light-coloured hair and a pale, rather +blotchy complexion. There was nothing at all extraordinary about him on +either the material or spiritual side. He had rather a weakness for +gaudy ties and socks and jewelry. His manners were a little boisterous; +his conversation, altogether personal. He had received some training at +a commercial school. He read little else than the newspapers. The only +book I ever knew him to read was a novel of Stevenson's, which he said +was "too hot for blisters." + +Where, then, in this very commonplace young man, were hidden the +elements of the extraordinary actions and happenings I am about to +relate? Various theories offer; it is hard to decide. Doctors, +psychologists whom I have consulted, have given different opinions; but +upon one point they have all agreed--that I am not able to supply +enough information about his ancestry. And, in fact, I know hardly +anything about that. + +This is not, either, because he was uncommunicative. As I say, he used +to talk a lot about his mother. But he did not really inspire enough +interest for anybody to take an interest in his affairs. He was there; +he was a pleasant enough fellow; but when he had gone you were finished +with him till the next time. If he did not look you up, it would never +occur to you to go and see him. And as to what became of him when he was +out of sight, or how he lived--all that, somehow, never troubled our +heads. + +What illustrates this is that when he had a severe illness a few years +after I came to know him, so little impression did it make on anyone +that I cannot now say, and nobody else seems able to remember, what the +nature of the illness was. But I remember that he was very ill indeed; +and one day, meeting one of his fellow clerks in Cheapside, he told me +that Barber's death was only a question of hours. But he recovered, +after being, as I heard, for a long time in a state of lethargy which +looked mortal. + +It was when he was out again that I--and not only myself but +others--noticed for the first time that his character was changing. He +had always been a laughing, undecided sort of person; he had a facile +laugh for everything; he would meet you and begin laughing before there +was anything to laugh at. This was certainly harmless, and he had a +deserved reputation for good humor. + +But his manners now became subject to strange fluctuations, which were +very objectionable while they lasted. He would be overtaken with fits of +sullenness in company; at times he was violent. He took to rambling in +strange places at night, and more than once he appeared at his office in +a very battered condition. It is difficult not to think that he provoked +the rows he got into himself. One good thing was that the impulses which +drove him to do such actions were violent rather than enduring; in fact, +I often thought that if the force and emotion of these bouts ever came +to last longer, he would be a very dangerous character. This was not +only my opinion; it was the opinion of a number of respectable people +who knew him as well as I did. + +I recollect that one evening, as three or four of us were coming out of +a music hall, Barber offered some freedom to a lady which the gentleman +with her--a member of Parliament, I was told--thought fit to resent. He +turned fiercely on Barber with his hand raised--and then suddenly grew +troubled, stepped back, lost countenance. This could not have been +physical fear, for he was a strongly built, handsome man--a giant +compared to the insignificant Barber. But Barber was looking at him, and +there was something not only in his face, but, so to speak, +_encompassing_ him--I can't well describe it--a sort of abstract +right--an uncontrolled power--a command of the issues of life and death, +which made one quail. + +Everybody standing near felt it; I could see that from their looks. Only +for a moment it lasted, and then the spell was broken--really as if some +formidable spectacle had been swept away from before our eyes; and there +was Barber, a most ordinary looking young man, quiet and respectable, +and so dazed that he scarcely heeded the cuff which the gentleman +managed to get in before we could drag our friend off-- + +It was about this time that he began to show occasionally the strangest +interest in questions of art--I mean, strange in him whom we had never +known interested in anything of the kind. I am told, however, that this +is not so very remarkable, since not a few cases have been observed of +men and women, after some shock or illness, developing hitherto +unsuspected aptitude for painting or poetry or music. But in such cases +the impulse lasts continuously for a year or two, and now and then for +life. + +With Barber the crisis was just momentary, never lasting more than half +an hour, often much less. In the midst of his emphatic and pretentious +talk, he would break off suddenly, remain for a minute lost and +dreaming, and then, after spying at us suspiciously to see if we had +noticed anything strange, he would give an undecided laugh and repeat a +joke he had read in some comic paper. + +His talk on these art subjects was without sense or connection, so far +as I could discover. Sometimes he spoke of painting, but when we put to +him the names of famous painters, he had never heard of them, and I +don't believe he had ever been in an art gallery in his life. More often +he spoke of theatrical matters. Coming back from a theatre, he would +sometimes fall to abusing the actors, and show the strongest jealousy, +pointing out how the parts should have been played, and claiming roundly +that he could have played them better. Of course, there were other +times--most times--when he was alike indifferent to plays and players, +or summed them up like the rest of us, as just "ripping" or "rotten." It +was only when the play had much excited him that he became critical, and +at such times none of us seemed willing to dispute with him, though we +hardly ever agreed with what he was saying. + +Sometimes, too, he would talk of his travels, telling obvious lies, for +we all knew well enough that he had never been outside the home +counties, except once on a week-end trip to Boulogne-sur-mer. On one +occasion he put me to some confusion and annoyed me considerably before +a gentleman whom I had thoughtlessly brought him with me to visit. This +gentleman had long resided in Rome as agent for an English hosiery firm, +and he and his wife were kindly showing us some photographs, picture +post-cards, and the like, when, at the sight of a certain view, Barber +bent over the picture and became absorbed. + +"I have been there," he said. + +The others looked at him with polite curiosity and a little wonder. To +pass it off I began to mock. + +"No," he persisted, "I have seen it." + +"Yes, at the moving-pictures." + +But he began to talk rapidly and explain. I could see that the gentleman +and his wife were interested and quite puzzled. It would seem that the +place he described--Naples, I think it was--resembled broadly the place +they knew, but with so many differences of detail as to be almost +unrecognizable. It was, as Mrs. W. said afterward, "like a city +perceived in a dream--all the topsy-turvydom, all the mingling of +fantasy and reality." + +After outbursts of this kind, he was generally ill--at least he kept his +bed and slept much. As a consequence, he was often away from the office; +and whenever I thought of him in those days, I used to wonder how he +managed to keep his employment. + +One foggy evening in January, about eight o'clock, I happened to be +walking with Barber in the West End. We passed before a concert hall, +brilliantly lighted, with a great crowd of people gathered about the +doors, and I read on a poster that a concert of classical music was +forward at which certain renowned artists were to appear. I really +cannot give any sort of reason why I took it into my head to go in. I am +rather fond of music, even of the kind which requires a distinct +intellectual effort; but I was not anxious to hear music that night, and +in any case, Barber was about the last man in the world I should have +chosen to hear it with. When I proposed that we should take tickets, he +strongly objected. + +"Just look me over," he said. "I ain't done anything to you that you +want to take my life, have I? I know the kind of merry-go-round that +goes on in there, and I'm not having any." + +I suppose it was his opposition which made me stick to the project, for +I could not genuinely have cared very much, and there was nothing to be +gained by dragging Barber to a concert against his will. Finally, seeing +I was determined, he yielded, though most ungraciously. + +"It'll be the chance of a lifetime for an hour's nap," he said as we +took our seats, "if they only keep the trombone quiet." + +I repeat his trivial sayings to show how little there was about him in +manner or speech to prepare me for what followed. + +I remember that the first number on the programme was Beethoven's +Seventh Symphony. This work, as is well known, is rather long, and so, +at the end of the third movement, I turned and looked at Barber to see +if he was asleep. But his eyes were wide open, feverish, almost glaring; +he was twining and untwining his fingers and muttering excitedly. +Throughout the fourth movement he continued to talk incoherently. + +"Shut up!" I whispered fiercely. "Just see if you can't keep quiet, or +we shall be put out." + +I was indeed very much annoyed, and some people near by were turning in +their chairs and frowning.-- + +I do not know whether he heard what I said: I had no chance to talk to +him. The applause had hardly died away at the end of the symphony when a +singer appeared on the stage. Who he was, or what music he sang, I am +utterly unable to say; but if he is still alive it is impossible that he +should have forgotten what I relate. If I do not remember him, it is +because all else is swallowed up for me in that extraordinary event. + +Scarcely had the orchestra ceased preluding and the singer brought out +the first notes of his song, than Barber slowly rose from his seat. + +"That man is not an artist," he said in a loud and perfectly final +voice, "I will sing myself." + +"Sit down, for God's sake!--The management--the police"-- + +Some words like these I gasped, foreseeing the terrible scandal which +would ensue, and I caught him by the arm. But he shook himself free +without any difficulty, without even a glance at me, and walked up the +aisle and across the front of the house toward the little stairs at the +side which led up to the platform. By this time the entire audience was +aware that something untoward was happening. There were a few cries of +"Sit down! Put him out!" An usher hastened up as Barber was about to +mount the steps. + +Then a strange thing happened. + +As the usher drew near, crying out angrily, I saw Barber turn and look +at him. It was not, as I remember, a fixed look or a determined look; it +was the kind of untroubled careless glance a man might cast over his +shoulder who heard a dog bark. I saw the usher pause, grow pale and +shamefaced feel like a servant who has made a mistake; he made a +profound bow and then--yes, he actually dropped on his knees. All the +people saw that. They saw Barber mount the platform, the musicians +cease, the singer and the conductor give way before him. But never a +word was said--there was a perfect hush. And yet, so far as my stunned +senses would allow me to perceive, the people were not wrathful or even +curious; they were just silent and collected as people generally are at +some solemn ceremonial. Nobody but me seemed to realize the +outrageousness and monstrosity of the vulgar-looking, insignificant +Barber there on the platform, holding up the show, stopping the +excellent music we had all paid to hear. + +And in truth I myself was rapidly falling into the strangest confusion. +For a certain time--I cannot quite say how long--I lost my hold on +realities. The London concert hall, with its staid, rather sad-looking +audience, vanished, and I was in a great white place inundated with +sun--some vast luminous scene. Under a wide caressing blue sky, in the +dry and limpid atmosphere, the white marble of the buildings and the +white-clad people appeared as against a background of an immense blue +veil shot with silver. It was the hour just before twilight, that rapid +hour when the colors of the air have a supreme brilliance and serenity, +and a whole people, impelled by some indisputable social obligation, +seemed to be reverently witnessing the performance of one magnificent +man of uncontrollable power, of high and solitary grandeur.-- + +Barber began to sing. + +Of what he sang I can give no account. The words seemed to me here and +there to be Greek, but I do not know Greek well, and in such words as I +thought I recognized, his pronunciation was so different from what I had +been taught that I may well have been mistaken. + +I was so muddled, and, as it were, transported, that I cannot say even +if he sang well. Criticism did not occur to me; he was there singing and +we were bound to listen. As I try to hear it, now, it was a carefully +trained voice. A sound of harps seemed to accompany the singing; perhaps +the harpists in the orchestra touched their instruments.-- + +How long did it last? I have no idea. But it did not appear long before +all began to waver. The spell began to break; the power by which he was +compelling us to listen to him was giving out. It was exactly as if +something, a mantle or the like, was falling from Barber. + +The absurdity of the whole thing began to dawn on me. There was Barber, +an obscure little Londoner, daring to interrupt a great musical +performance so that the audience might listen to him instead! Probably +because I was the only one on the spot personally acquainted with +Barber, I was perceiving the trick put upon us sooner than the rest of +the audience; but they, too, were becoming a little restless, and it +would not be long ere they fully awoke. One thing I saw with perfect +clearness and some terror, and that was that Barber himself realized +that his power was dying within him. He appeared to be dwindling, +shrinking down; in his eyes were suffering and a terrible panic--the +distress of a beaten man appealing for mercy. The catastrophe must fall +in a minute-- + +With some difficulty I rose from my place and made for the nearest exit. +My difficulty came, not from the crowd or anything like that, but from +an inexplicable sensation that I was committing some crime by stirring +while Barber was on the stage, and even risking my life. + +Outside it was raining. + +I walked away rapidly, for although I was, to a certain extent, under +the influence of the impression I have just described, some remains of +common sense urged me to put a long distance between myself and the +concert hall as soon as possible. I knew that the hoots and yells of +fury and derision had already broken loose back there. Perhaps Barber +would be taken to the police station. I did not want to be mixed up in +the affair-- + +But suddenly I heard the steps of one running behind me. As I say, it +was a wet night, and at that hour the street was pretty empty. Barber +ran up against me and caught my arm. He was panting and trembling +violently. + +"You fool!" I cried furiously. "Oh, you fool!" I shook myself free of +his hold. "How did you get out?" + +"I don't know," he panted. "They let me go--that is, as soon as I saw +that I was standing up there before them all, I jumped off the stage and +bolted. Whatever made me do it? My God, what made me do it? I heard a +shout. I think they are after me." + +I hailed a passing cab and shoved Barber inside, and then got in +myself. I gave the cabman a fictitious address in Kensington. + +"Yes," I said fiercely. "What made you do it?" + +He was bunched in a corner of the cab, shuddering like a man who has +just had some great shock, or who has been acting under the influence of +a drug which has evaporated and left him helpless. His words came in +gasps. + +"If you can tell me that!--God, I'm frightened! I'm frightened! I must +be crazy. Whatever made me do it? If they hear of it at the office I'll +lose my job." + +"They'll hear of it right enough, my boy," I sneered, "and a good many +other people too. You can't do these little games with impunity." + +I caught sight of the clock at Hyde Park corner. It was near a quarter +to ten. + +"Why," I said, "you must have been up there over twenty minutes. Think +of that!" + +"Don't be so hard on me," said Barber miserably. "I couldn't help it." + +And he added in a low voice: "It was the _Other_." + +I paid off the cab, and we took a 'bus which passed by the street where +Barber lived. All the way I continued to reproach him. It was not enough +for him to play the fool on his own account, but he must get me into a +mess, too. I might lose my work through him. + +I walked with him to his door. He looked extremely ill. His hand +trembled so badly that he could not fit his latchkey. I opened the door +for him. + +"Come up and sit with a fellow," he ventured. + +"Why?" + +"I'm frightened.--" + +"I believe," I said roughly, "that you've been drinking--or drugging." + +I shoved him inside the house, pulled the door closed, and walked away +down the street. I was very angry and disturbed, but I felt also the +need to treat Barber with contempt so as to keep myself alive to the +fact that he was really a mere nothing, a little scum on the surface of +London, of no more importance than a piece of paper on the pavement. +For--shall I confess it?--I was even yet so much under the emotion of +the scene back there in the concert hall that I could not help regarding +him still with some mixture of respect and--yes, absurd as it may sound, +of fear. + +It was nearly a year before I saw Barber again. I heard that he had lost +his place at his office. The cashier there, who told me this, said that +although the young man was generally docile and a fair worker, he had in +the last year become very irregular, and was often quarrelsome and +impudent. He added that Barber could now and then influence the +management--"when he was not himself," as the cashier put it--or they +would not have tolerated him so long. + +"But this was only momentary," said the cashier. "He was more often weak +and feeble, and they took a good opportunity to get rid of him. He was +uncanny," ended the cashier significantly. + +I cannot imagine how Barber existed after he lost his place. Perhaps his +mother was able to help a little. On the day I met him, by mere chance +in the street, he looked sick and miserable; his sallow face was more +blotchy than ever. Whether he saw me or not I don't know, but he was +certainly making as if to go by when I stopped him. I told him he looked +weak and unwell. + +"Trust you to pass a cheery remark!" And he continued irritably: + +"How can you expect a chap to look well if he has something inside him +stronger than himself forcing him to do the silliest things? It _must_ +wear him out. I never know when it will take me next. I'm here in London +looking for a job today, but even if I find one, I'm sure to do some +tom-fool thing that will get me the sack." + +He passed his hand across his face. "I'd rather not think about it." + +I took pity on him, he looked so harassed, and I asked him to come on to +a Lyons restaurant with me and have a bit of lunch. As we walked through +the streets, we fell in with a great crowd, and then I remembered that +some royal visitors were to proceed in great state to the Mansion House. +I proposed to Barber that we should go and look at the procession, and +he agreed more readily than I expected. + +In fact, after a while, the crowd, and the rumor, and stirring of troops +as they fell into position, evidently wrought on him to a remarkable +degree. He began to talk loud and rather haughtily, to study his +gestures; there was infinite superiority and disdain in the looks he +cast on the people. He attracted the attention and, I thought, the +derision of those close to us, and I became rather ashamed and impatient +of those ridiculous airs. Yet I could not help feeling sorry for him. +The poor creature evidently suffered from megalomania--that was the only +way to account for his pretentious notions of his own importance, seeing +that he was just a needy little clerk out of work.-- + +The place from which we were watching the procession was a corner of +Piccadilly Circus. The street lay before our eyes bleached in the sun, +wide and empty, looking about three times as large as usual, bordered +with a line of soldiers and mounted police, and the black crowd massed +behind. In a few minutes the procession of princes would sweep by. There +was a hush over all the people. + +What followed happened so quickly that I can hardly separate the +progressive steps. Barber continued to talk excitedly, but all my +attention being on the scene before me, I took no heed of what he said. +Neither could I hear him very plainly. But it must have been the ceasing +of his voice which made me look around, when I saw he was no longer by +my side. + +How he managed, at that moment, to get out there I never knew, but +suddenly in the broad vacant space, fringed by police and soldiery, I +saw Barber walking alone in the sight of all the people. + +I was thunderstruck. What a madman! I expected to hear the crowd roar at +him, to see the police ride up and drag him away. + +But nobody moved; there was a great stillness; and before I knew it my +own feelings blended with the crowd's. It seemed to me that Barber was +in his right place there: this mean shabby man, walking solitary, was +what we had all come to see. For his passage the street had been +cleared, the guards deployed, the houses decked. + +It all sounds wild, I know, but the whole scene made so deep an +impression on my mind that I am perfectly certain as to what I felt +while Barber was walking there. He walked slowly, with no trace of his +usual shuffling uncertain gait, but with a balanced cadenced step, and +as he turned his head calmly from side to side his face seemed +transfigured. It was the face of a genius, an evil genius, unjust and +ruthless--a brutal god. I felt, and no doubt everyone in the crowd felt, +that between us and that lonely man there was some immense difference +and distance of outlook and will and desire. + +I could follow his progress for several yards. Then I lost sight of him. +Almost immediately afterward I heard a tumult--shouts and uproar-- + +Then the royal procession swept by. + +I said to Mr. G.M., "Whether he was arrested that day, or knocked down +by the cavalry and taken to a hospital, I don't know. I have not seen or +heard of him till I got that letter on Wednesday." + +Mr. G.M., who is now one of the managers of a well-known tobacconist +firm, had been in the same office as Barber, and notwithstanding the +disparity of age and position, had always shown a kindly interest in him +and befriended him when he could. Accordingly, when I received a letter +from Barber begging in very lamentable terms to visit him at an address +in Kent, I thought it prudent to consult this gentleman before sending +any reply. He proposed very amiably that we should meet at Charing Cross +Station on the following Saturday afternoon and travel in to Kent +together. In the train we discussed Barber's case. I related all I knew +of the young man and we compared our observations. + +"Certainly," said Mr. G.M., "what you tell me is rather astonishing. But +the explanation is simple as far as poor Barber is concerned. You say he +has been often ill lately? Naturally, this has affected his brain and +spirits. What is a little more difficult to explain is the impression +left by his acts on you and other spectators. But the anger you always +experienced may have clouded your faculties for the time being. Have you +inquired of anybody else who was present on these occasions?" + +I replied that I had not. I had shrunk from being identified in any way +with Barber. I had to think of my wife and children. I could not afford +to lose my post. + +"No," rejoined Mr. G.M., "I can quite understand that. I should probably +have acted myself as you did. Still, the effect his performances have +had on you, and apparently on others, is the strangest element in +Barber's case. Otherwise, I don't see that it offers anything +inexplicable. You say that Barber acts against his will--against his +better judgment. We all do that. All men and women who look back over +their lives must perceive the number of things they have done which they +had no intention of doing. We obey some secret command; we sail under +sealed orders. We pass by without noticing it some tiny fact which, +years later, perhaps, influences the rest of our lives. And for all our +thinking, we seldom can trace this tiny fact. I myself cannot tell to +this day why I did not become a Baptist minister. It seems to me I +always intended to do this, but one fine afternoon I found I had ended +my first day's work in a house of business. + +"Much of our life is unconscious; even the most wide-awake of us pass +much of our lives in dreams. Several hours out of every twenty-four we +pass in a dream state we cannot help carrying some of those happy or +sinister adventures into our waking hours. It is really as much our +habit to dream as to be awake. Perhaps we are always dreaming. Haven't +you ever for a moment, under some powerful exterior shock, become half +conscious that you should be doing something else from what you are +actually doing? But with us this does not last; and as life goes on such +intimations become dimmer and dimmer. With subjects like Barber, on the +other hand, the intimations become stronger and stronger, till at last +they attempt to carry their dreams into action. That is the way I +explain this case." + +"Perhaps you are right." + +The house where Barber was lodging stood high up on the side of a hill. +We reached it after a rather breathless climb in the rain. It was a +shepherd's cottage, standing quite lonely. Far down below the village +could be seen with the smoke above the red roofs. + +The woman told us that Barber was in, but she thought he might be +asleep. He slept a lot. + +"I don't know how he lives," she said. "He pays us scarce anything. We +can't keep him much longer." + +He was fast asleep, lying back in a chair with his mouth half open, +wrapped in a shabby overcoat. He looked very mean; and when he awoke it +was only one long wail on his hard luck. He couldn't get any work. +People had a prejudice against him; they looked at him askance. He had a +great desire for sleep--couldn't somehow keep awake. + +"If I could tell you the dreams I have!" he cried fretfully. "Silliest +rotten stuff. I try to tell 'em to the woman here or her husband +sometimes, but they won't listen. Shouldn't be surprised if they think +I'm a bit off. They say I'm always talking to myself. I'm sure I'm +not.--I wish I could get out of here. Can't you get me a job?" he asked, +turning to Mr. G.M. + +"Well, Gus, I'll see. I'll do my best." + +"Lummy!" exclaimed Barber excitedly, "you ought to see the things I +dream. I can't think where the bloomin' pictures come from. And yet I've +seen it all before. I know all those faces. They are not all white. Some +are brown like Egyptians, and some are quite black. I've seen them +somewhere. Those long terraces and statues and fountains and marble +courts, and the blue sky and the sun, and those dancing girls with the +nails of their hands and feet stained red, and the boy in whose hair I +wipe my fingers, and the slave I struck dead last night--" + +His eyes were delirious, terrible to see. + +"Ah," he cried hoarsely, "I am stifling here. Let us go into the air." + +And indeed he was changing so much--not essentially in his person, +though his face had become broader, intolerant, domineering and +cruel--but there was pouring from him so great an emanation of power +that it seemed to crack and break down the poor little room. Mr. G.M. +and myself had no desire to thwart him, and it never occurred to us to +do so. We should as soon have thought of stopping a thunderstorm. We +followed him outside on to the space of level ground before the house +and listened humbly while he spoke. + +As well as I can recollect, he was lamenting some hindrance to his +impulses, some flaw in his power. "To have the instincts of the ruler +and no slaves to carry out my will. To wish to reward and punish and to +be deprived of the means. To be the master of the world, but only in my +own breast--Oh, fury! The ploughboy there is happy, for he has no +longings outside of his simple round life. While I--if I had the earth +in my hand, I should want a star. Misery! Misery!" + +He leaned upon a low stonewall and looked down on the town, over the +pastures blurred with rain. + +"And those wretches down there," he pronounced slowly, "who jeer at me +when I pass and insult me with impunity, whose heads should be struck +off, and I cannot strike them off! I loathe that town. How ugly it is! +It offends my eyes." + +He turned and looked us full in the face and our hearts became as water. + +"Burn it," he said. + +Then he turned away again and bowed his head in his arms on the wall. + +I don't remember anything clearly till a long time afterward, when I +found myself walking with Mr. G.M. in the wet night on a deserted road +on the outskirts of the town. We were carrying some inflammable things, +flax, tar, matches, etc., which we must have purchased. + +Mr. G.M. stopped and looked at me. It was exactly like coming out of a +fainting fit. + +"What are we doing with this gear?" he said in a low voice. + +"I don't know." + +"Better chuck it over a hedge.--" + +We made our way to the station in silence. I was thinking of that +desolate figure up there on the hill, leaning over the wall in the dark +and the rain. + +We caught the last train to London. In the carriage Mr. G.M. began to +shiver as though he were cold. + +"Brrr! that fellow got on my nerves," he said; and we made no further +allusion to the matter. + +But as the train, moving slowly, passed a gap which brought us again in +sight of the town, we saw a tongue of flame stream into the sky. + + + + +THE SHAME DANCE[18] + +By WILBUR DANIEL STEELE + +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + + +"Stories of New York life preferable." + +Well, then, here is a story of New York. A tale of the night heart of +the city, where the vein of Forty-Second touches the artery of Broadway; +where, amid the constellations of chewing-gum ads and tooth paste and +memory methods, rise the incandescent façades of "dancing academies" +with their "sixty instructresses," their beat of brass and strings, +their whisper of feet, their clink of dimes.--Let a man not work away +his strength and his youth. Let him breathe a new melody, let him draw +out of imagination a novel step, a more fantastic tilt of the pelvis, a +wilder gesticulation of the deltoid. Let him put out his hand to the +Touch of Gold.-- + +It is a tale of this New York. That it didn't chance to happen in New +York is beside the point. Where? It wouldn't help you much if I told +you. Taai. That island. Take an imaginary ramrod into Times Square, push +it straight down through the center of the earth; where it comes out on +the other side will not be very many thousand miles wide of that earth +speck in the South Seas. Some thousands, yes; but out here a few +thousand miles and a month or so by schooner make less difference than +they do where the trains run under the ground.-- + +"Glauber's Academy"--"Einstein's Restaurant"--"Herald Square"-- + +I can't tell you how bizarrely those half-fabulous names fell from +Signet's lips in the turquoise and gold of the afternoon. It was like +the babble of some monstrous and harmless mythology. And all the while, +as he kicked his bare heels on the deckhouse and harassed me with his +somnolent greed for "talk," one could see him wondering, wondering, in +the back of his mind. So he would have been wondering through all the +hours of weeks, months--it had come to the dignity of years, on the +beach, in the bush--wondering more than ever under the red iron roof of +the Dutchman: "What in hell am I doing here? What in hell?" + +A guttersnipe, pure and simple. That's to say, impure and unpleasantly +complex. It was extraordinary how it stuck. Even with nothing on but a +pair of cotton pants swimming out to me among the flashing bodies of the +islanders, men, women, girls, youths, who clung to the anchor cable and +showed their white teeth for pilot biscuit, condensed milk, and +gin--especially gin--even there you could see Signet, in imagination, +dodging through the traffic on Seventh Avenue to pick the _Telegraph +Racing Chart_ out of the rubbish can under the Elevated.-- + +I hadn't an idea who the fellow was. He burst upon me unheralded. I sail +out of west-coast ports, but once I had been in New York. That was +enough for him. He was "pals" in ten minutes; in fifteen, from his +eminence on the deckhouse, with a biscuit in one hand and a tumbler of +much-diluted Hollands in the other, he gazed down at his erstwhile beach +fellows with almost the disdainful wonder of a tourist from a white +ship's rail.-- + +"Gi' me an article you can retail at a nickel--any little thing +everybody needs--or gi' me a song with a catchy chorus--something you +can turn out on them ten-cent records.--That makes _me_. Don't want any +Wall Street stuff. That's for Rockefeller and the boobs. But just one +time le' me catch on with one little old hunch that'll go in vaudeville +or the pi'tures--get Smith and Jones diggin' for the old nickel.--That +makes _me_. Then the line can move up one. That's the thing about New +York. Say, man, len' me a cigarette.--But that's the thing about +Broadway. When you make, you make _big_. I know a guy turned out a +powder-puff looked like a lor'nette--a quarter of a dollar. You know how +the Janes'll fall for a thing like that--" + +It was completely preposterous, almost uncomfortable. It made a man look +around him. On the schooner's port side spread the empty blue of the +South Pacific; the tenuous snowdrift of the reef, far out, and the +horizon. On the starboard hand, beyond the little space of the +anchorage, curved the beach, a pink-white scimitar laid flat. Then the +scattering of thatched and stilted huts, the red, corrugated-iron store, +residence and godowns of the Dutch trader, the endless Indian-file of +coco palms, the abrupt green wall of the mountain.--A twelve-year-old +girl, naked as Eve and, I've no doubt, thrice as handsome, stood +watching us from the mid-decks in a perfection of immobility, an empty +milk tin propped between her brown palms resting on her breast. Twenty +fathoms off a shark fin, blue as lapis in the shadow, cut the water +soundlessly. The hush of ten thousand miles was disturbed by nothing but +that grotesque, microscopic babbling: + +"Say you play in bad luck. Well, you can't play in bad luck _f'rever_. +Not if you're wise. One time I get five good wheezes. Good ones! Sure +fire! One of 'em was the old one about the mother-'n-law and the doctor, +only it had a perfectly novel turn to it. Did I make? I did not. Why? +Well, a good friend o' mine lifts them five wheezes, writes a vaudeville +turn around 'em, and makes big. Big! What does that learn me? Learns me +to go bear on friendship. So next time I get an idea--" + +The girl had put the milk tin down between her toes on deck and turned +her head. + +"Digger!" I called to the mate. "Clear the vessel! Shove them all +overboard! Here comes the Dutchman!" + +Before the advance of the trader's canoe, painted vermillion like his +establishment and flying over the water under the paddle strokes of his +six men, Signet took himself hastily overboard with the rest. There was +no question of protest or false pride. Over he went. Rising and treading +water under the taffrail, and seeing the trader still some fathoms off, +he shook the wet from the rag of a beard with which long want of a razor +had blurred his peaked chin and gathered up the ends of the +conversation: + +"No, Dole, you can't play in bad luck _f'rever_. One sure-fire hunch, +that's all. That makes _me_. When I get back to Broadway--" + +A paddle blade narrowly missed his head. He dived. + +The Dutchman told me more about him that evening. I dined at the +trader's house. He was a big-bodied tow-haired man who spoke English +with the accent of a east-coast Scot, drank like a Swede, and viewed +life through the eyes of a Spaniard--that is, he could be diabolical +without getting red in the face. + +"No, my dear sir, that Signet shall not 'get back to Broadway.' Too many +have I seen. He is too tired. Quite too tired." + +"But how in the world did he ever come here, Mynheer?" + +"That is simple. This Signet got drunk in Papeete. He was on his way to +Australia with a pugilist. How should he be in a pugilist's company, +this crab? Because he plays a good game of pinochle--to keep the +pugilist's mind bright. At any event, the steamship stops at Tahiti. +This Signet gets drunk. 'Soused!' And the steamship is gone without him. +No more pinochle for the pugilist, what?--From then, my dear sir, it is +what it shall always be; one island throws him to another island. Here +he shall stay for a while--" + +"Till you decide to 'throw' him to another island, eh, Mynheer?" + +"No, but I am alone. Sometimes to amuse myself I will invite him to dine +with me. I put on him a suit of the evening clothes which belong to my +nephew who is dead. But I will not allow him the razor, since his absurd +beard is amusing to me. Afterward, however, I take away the evening +clothes and I will kick him out. But he is talking continuously." + +"I believe you, Mynheer." + +"But at last I will say: 'My dear sir, suppose that you should have the +most brilliant idea; that "hunch" of yours. "Sure-fire." What advantage +will it do you here in the island of Taai? You are not here on Broadway. +You are too many thousand miles. You cannot come here. You are too +tired. It takes money. Now, my dear sir, I am putting a trench about +the godowns. If you wish, I will let you work for me.'" + +"What does he say to that, Mynheer?" + +"He says, 'Do you take me for an _I_talian?' + +"Then I will say: 'No; you see you are too tired. Also you are too soft. +You are a criminal. That's natural to you. But you think of police. You +have a wish, say. Well my dear sir, but would you kill a man--three--ten +men--to have that wish? No, you are too tired, and you must have the +police. But here there are no police. _I_ am the police. Why do you not +kill _me_? Ha-ha-ha! Then you could take my property. Then you would +"make big," as you say. My dear sir, that is a "hunch!" That is "sure +fire!" Ha-ha-ha!'--Then I will kick him out in his coolie cotton pants." + +After coffee the trader said: "One gallon of the Hollands which you sent +me ashore has disappeared. The kitchen boys are 'careless.' Also I wink +one eye when a schooner arrives. Of course they will dance tonight, +however. You would care to go up, my dear sir?" + +Of course we went. There's no other amusement in an islet like Taai but +the interminable native dance. The Dutchman led the way up a narrow, +bushy ravine, guiding me by sound rather than by sight. + +"Up this same very path," I heard him, "has gone one uncle of mine. They +pulled him to the advance with one rope around his arms. Then they cut +him up and ate him. But that was many years ago, my dear sir. Now I am +the law. Maybe there shall come, now and then, a Dutch gunboat to have a +look-in. I raise up that flag. The captain shall dine with me. All is +good. But, my dear sir, I am the law." + +The "music" began to be heard, a measured monotone of drums, a breath of +voices in a recitative chant, slightly impassioned by that vanished +gallon. The same old thing, indeed; one of the more than fifty-seven +varieties of the island _hula_. Then that had died away. + +The light from the "place" grew among the higher leaves. And the trader, +becoming visible, halted. I saw him standing, listening. + +"No, my dear sir, but that is a new thing." + +He started forward. He stopped again. I heard it now. Out of the +familiar, hollow tautophony of drumbeats there began to emerge a thread +of actual melody--an untraditional rise and fall of notes--a tentative +attack as it were, on the chromatic scale of the west. No he-goat's skin +stretched on bamboo would do that. + +We pushed on, curious. We came out into the "place." The scene under the +candlenut torches was as familiar to us as the Ohio River of Uncle Tom +to the small-town schoolboy; the meager rows of three-quarter naked +Kanakas, yellow with saffron and blue with tattooer's ink; the old women +in the background of sultry lights and enormous shadows compounding +endless balls of _popoi_ for the feast; the local and desceptered +chieftain squatting on his hams and guarding the vanished gallon between +his knees; this was all as it should have been. This was the +convention.--But what was really happening on that sylvan, torchlit +stage that night was something as new as anything can be under the sun, +because it was something that had not happened for ten thousand years.-- + +We who are worn with novelty can never reconquer for ourselves the +thrill of an unmitigated wonder. We have sold the birthright. But +imagine the toppling of a hundred centuries! You could have seen it in +the eyes of those watchers, in their rapt, rapacious attention, in the +conflict that went on within them visibly; traitorous applause pent and +pitted against all the instinctive protest of an established art.-- + +"Yes, but this isn't _dancing_!" + +Yet their bodies, one here, one there, would begin to sway-- + +Three Kanaka men, strangers to the island, sat cross-legged on the turf. +One had taken over a drum from a local musician. The other two had +instruments fashioned of dried gourds with fingering pieces of bamboo +and strings of gut--barbaric cousins to the mandolin. So, on this one +night in history, the music of another tribe had come to Taai. It just +escaped being an authentic "tune." How it escaped was indefinable. The +sophisticated ear would almost have it, and abruptly it had got away in +some provoking lapse, some sudden and bizarre disintegration of tone. +And the drumbeat, bringing it back, ran like a fever pulse in a man's +blood. + +In the center of the sward, her back to the musicians, a solitary female +danced; a Kanaka woman, clothed in a single shift of the sheerest +crimson cotton, tied at one shoulder and falling to mid-thigh. Not from +Taai did this woman come; one saw that; not from any near island or +group. Her beauty was extraordinary, like that of the Marquesans, with +that peculiar straightness of all the lines, at once Grecian, austere, +and incalculably voluptuous.-- + +The dance, as I saw it for the first time that night, I will not speak +of. I have traded to many islands in many groups--even the Low +Archipelago--but the island where that dance was indigenous I am sure +I've never touched. Compared with any of the _hulas_, set and fixed in +each locality as the rites of Rome, it was sophisticated; it gave an +illusion of continuous invention and spontaneity; it was flesh swept by +a wind and shattered; it ravished the eyes. + +I don't know how long I watched; how long all the immortal flame in me +lent itself to the histrionic purposes of that woman. But I shall never +forget it. Never! Never! + +I looked away. I saw two faces. One of them hung over my shoulder. It +was the trader's. It was the face of a man who has lived a very long +while wielding power of life and death over unsatisfying satisfactions. +A man awakened! The toppling of a hundred centuries, indeed. + +The other was Signet's. Scarred by leaf shadows, thrust like a swimmer's +from the meager sea of heads and naked shoulders, it held as still as a +death mask, minute by minute, except that, in the penumbra cast by the +veil of goat tuft on his chin, the Adam's apple was convulsed at +intervals, as if he were swallowing, as if the man were _drinking_! + +The night grew. The torches were consumed, the "place" deserted. +Somewhere the amazing voyagers had taken themselves to rest. A half moon +mutilated the island--long stripes of palms, shadow scars of defiles, +mottles of bushes. It was like a sleeping animal, a tiger of deep blue +and blue-white, an enormous leopard. + +We sat on the veranda at the Residence, the trader and I. By and by, +soft-footed, Signet was there, occupying the lowermost step. + +The Dutchman talked. Like the able administrator he was, he had already +all the data to be procured. Into his ears had poured the whispered +trickles of a score of informants. + +"You are right, my dear sir. Marquesan. You have been there?" + +"No." + +"She is called in Polynesian, 'Queen Daughter.' My people, who know +nothing as a rule, of course--but they tell me the woman is in actuality +the daughter of a queen. But what is a Kanaka queen? After all, Signet, +my dear sir, down there, what is one queen, out here?" + +The trader was obviously in a good humor. He had not been excited for +years. The man was alive. I've said he was like a Spaniard in that he +could be diabolical without getting red in the face. Diabolically +devious and strategic! Before he resumed he blew three mouthfuls of +cigar smoke out into the moonlight, where they burst from the shadow +under the roof like mute cannon shots, round and silvery. Beneath them, +from the step, Signet's eyes were fixed upon the trader's face, dry, +rapt, glazed with some imperious preoccupation. + +"But they tell me this woman has danced in a great many islands. She +will go from here to another island to dance. The three men are her +husbands. But she is no wife. A maid, that woman! They have the +hardihood to tell me that. Ha-ha-ha! But, then, she is daughter to a +queen. With those 'husbands' she crosses a hundred leagues of sea in her +sailing canoe. That royal canoe! To dance at another island.--" + +As the Dutchman talked, blowing his smoke bursts into the moonlight, the +vision of that Marquesan woman came again before me. I perceived her, +under the heavy procession of his words, a figure of astounding romance, +an adventuress incomparable, a Polynesian bacchante. No, I saw her as +the missionary of a strange thing, crossing oceans, daring thirst and +gale and teeth of sharks, harrying deeper and deeper into the outseas +of mystery that small, devoted, polyandrous company of husbands, at once +her paddlers, cooks, flunkies, watchdogs, music makers. "Queen +Daughter!" Royal and self-anointed priestess of that unheard-of dance, +the tribal dance, no doubt, of some tiny principality rearing a cone in +the empty hugeness of the sea.--I couldn't get away from my time and +race. I found myself wondering what she got out of it--in some +jungle-bowered, torch-lit "high place," to feel again the toppling of +ten thousand years? Was it something to feel the voluptuous and +abominable beauty of that rhythm going out of her flesh, beat by beat, +and entering into the flesh of those astounded and half-hostile +watchers? Perhaps.-- + +"They tell me that she has also danced at Papeete--before the white men +of the steamships," the Dutchman was informing us. + +At that, from the step, from the moon-blue huddle of the castaway, there +came a sound. With a singular clarity of divination I built up the +thought, the doubt, the bitter perturbation in the fellow's mind. The +woman had danced then at Papeete, the cross roads, the little Paris of +mid-seas. And before the white men from steamers--the white men that go +back! + +Moved by projects deeper and more devious than ours, the Dutchman made +haste to cover up what seemed to have been an overshot. Frankly, he +turned his attention to the outcast. + +"By the God, then, my dear Signet, have you considered?" + +He knew well enough that Signet had "considered." He could see as well +as I that Signet was a changed man. But he must "pile it on." + +"There, my dear sir, you have it. That 'hunch!' That 'sure fire!' Do you +think I do not know that New York of yours? Such a dance as that! You +must believe me. If you were but a man of energy, now--" With the utmost +deliberation he launched upon a tirade of abuse. "But, no, you are not a +man of energy, not a man to take things in your hands. The obstacles are +too big. Those three husbands! You might even take that woman, that +lovely, royal dancing woman--you, my dear sir, a common street snipe. +What would a woman like that, with that novel, impassioned, barbaric, +foreign dance, be worth to a man on your Broadway? Eh? But obstacles! +Obstacles! You have her not on Broadway. It is too many thousand miles, +and you have no money. But see, if you were a man to grasp things, a man +to 'hit the nail in the head,' to 'boost,' to 'go big'--then would not a +man like me, who turns everything to gold--would he not say to you +quickly enough, 'See here, my dear sir, but let me put so much money +into the undertaking myself?'" + +Under the explosions of cigar smoke, Signet continued to hold the trader +with his eyes; seemed to consume him with the fixed, dry fire of his +gaze. Not fathoming, as with a singular intuition I had fathomed, the +profound purposes of the Dutchman, Signet saw only the implied promise +in his words.--The trader broke out once more with a sardonic and +calculated spleen: + +"But, no! Obstacles! A sniveling little animal sees only obstacles. The +obstacle not to be mounted over--those three husbands. There they lie +tonight on Nakokai's platform--this beautiful, incredible 'Queen +Daughter'--this gold goddess of the 'Shame Dance'--and about her those +three husbands. Ah, my dear sir, but their big, lithe muscles! That is +too much! To imagine them leaping up at the alarm in the moonlight, the +overpowering and faithful husbands. No, he cannot put out his hand to +take the gift. _Pah!_ He is a criminal in nature, but he is afraid of +the police, even here. He is not a man for the big life in these +islands. He will never do anything. Those faithful, strong watch-dogs of +husbands! Those strong, destructive muscles! Dear, good God, that is too +much to think of--Look, my dear sir!" + +He was speaking to me, as if Signet were less than the very pebbles at +the step. He got up, striking the floor heavily with his boots, and I +followed him into the house, where he took a lighted candle from a +stand. Buried in our shadows, silent footed, Signet pursued us as the +trader had meant him to do. I persist in saying that I perceived the +thing as a whole. From the first I had divined the maneuver of the +Dutchman. + +"Look!" he repeated, flinging open a door and thrusting in the candle to +cast its light over ranks and ranges of metal. It was the gun room of +the Residence. Here dwelt the law. Shotguns, repeating rifles, old-style +revolvers, new, blue automatics. An arsenal! + +"Big brown muscles!" he cried, with a ponderous disdain. "What are they? +What is the strongest brown man? _Puff!_ To a man of purpose and +indomitable will like me! Obstacles? Three husbands? _Puff-puff-puff!_ +Like that!--But all that will never be of use to _him_. That Signet! No, +he is a street snipe who will steal a pocketbook and call it a crime. He +is afraid to grasp.--But it is close in here, is it not?" + +It was too bald. He stepped across the floor, unlatched and threw open +the blind of the window, letting the candlelight stream forth upon a +mass of bougainvillaea vine without. + +"I keep this door locked; you can imagine that," he laughed, returning +and shutting us out of the gun room. He twisted the key; put it in his +pocket. And there, at the back, that window blind stood open. + +He stared at Signet, as if the beach comber were just discovered. + +"You are hopeless, my dear sir." + +"Let us have a drink," he shifted. + +For Signet he poured out a tumblerful of raw gin. The fellow took it +like a man in a daze--the daze of a slowly and fiercely solidifying +resolution. It shivered in his hand. A habit of greed sucked his lips. +Into his mouth he took a gulp of the spirits. He held it there. His eyes +searched our faces with a kind of malignant defiance. Of a sudden he +spat the stuff out, right on the floor. He said nothing. It was as if he +said: "By God! if you think I need _that_! _No!_ You don't know me!" + +He stalked out of the door. When we followed as far as the veranda we +saw him making off into the striped light to the left.-- + +"Why did you call it the 'Shame Dance,' Mynheer?" We were seated again. + +"Of course, my dear sir, it is not that, but it has a sound so when the +Kanakas speak it. The woman spoke the name. If it is a Polynesian word +I have not heard it before. 'Shemdance.' Like that." + +"A good name, though. By jingo! a darn good name. Eh, Mynheer?" + +But the trader's head was turned in an attitude of listening. Triumphant +listening--at the keyhole of the striped, moonlit night. I heard it, +too--a faint disturbance of bougainvillaea foliage around two sides of +the house, near the window standing open to the gun room. + +Of course the amazing thing was that the man fooled us. In the +Dutchman's heart, I believe, there was nothing but astonishment at his +own success. Signet, on the face of it, was the typical big talker and +little doer; a flaw in character which one tends to think imperishable. +He fitted so precisely into a certain pigeonhole of human kind.--What we +had not counted on was the fierceness of the stimulus--like the taste of +blood to a carnivore or, to the true knight, a glimpse of the veritable +Grail. + +All the following day I spent on board, overseeing the hundred minor +patchings and calkings a South Sea trader will want in port. When I went +ashore that evening, after sundown, I found the Dutchman sitting in the +same chair on the veranda, blowing smoke out into the afterglow. There +was the illusion of perfect continuity with the past. Yesterday, today, +tomorrow. Life flowed like a sleeping river, it would seem. + +But this was the status of affairs. The three brown music makers, +sons-in-law to an island queen, lay on a platform somewhere within the +edge of the bush, heavier by ounces with thirty-two caliber slugs, +awaiting burial. And Signet, guttersnipe, beach comber, and midnight +assassin, was lodged in the "calaboose," built stoutly in a corner of +the biggest and reddest of the Dutchman's godowns. As for the royal +dancing woman, I was presently in the trader's phrase, to "have a look +at her." + +At his solicitation I followed around the house, past the gun-room +window (locked fast enough now, you may be sure), and up steeply through +a hedged, immaculate garden, which witnessed to the ordered quality of +the owner's mind. At the upper end, under a wall of volcanic tufa, we +came to a summerhouse done in the native style, stilts below, palmite +thatch above, and walled on three sides only with hanging screens of +bamboo. Striking through this screen from the west, the rose and green +of the afterglow showed the woman as in a semi-luminous cavern, seated +cross-legged in the center of the platform, her hands drooped between +her knees, and her large, dark eyes fixed upon the sea beyond the roof +of the Residence below. + +Was it the perfect immobility of defiance and disdain? Not once did her +transfixed gaze take us in. Was it the quiescence of defeat and +despair--that level brooding over the ocean which had been to her, first +and last, a cradle and roadway for her far, adventurious pilgrimages? +She sat there before our peering eyes, the sudden widow, the daughter of +potentates brought low, the goddess of an exuberant and passionate +vitality struck with quietude; mute, astounded by catastrophe, yet +unbowed. The beauty of that golden-skinned woman abashed me. + +It did not abash the Dutchman. His was another and more indomitable +fiber. It is fine to succeed, beyond expectation, detail by detail of +strategy. His hands were clean. He remained the perfect administrator. +Had there been no other way, he would not have flinched at any necessary +lengths of wholesale or retail butchery. Still, it was nice to think +that his hands were spotless. For instance, if that gunboat, with its +purple-whiskered Amsterdammer of a captain, should just now happen in. + +His face glowed in the dusk. His eyes shone with frank calculations. +Fists on hips, head thrust out, one saw him casting up the sum of his +treasure-trove.--But he was an epicure. He could wait. It was even +delightful to wait. When I turned away he came down with me, his hands +still on his hips and his eyes on the gently emerging stars. + +The man was extraordinary. Sitting on the veranda, bombarding the +direction of the foreshore with that huge deliberate fusillade of cigar +smoke, he talked of home, of his boyhood on the dike at Volendam, and of +his mother, who, bless her! was still alive to send him cheeses at +Christmas-time. + +It was midnight and the moon was rising when I got away and moved down +toward the beach where the dinghy waited. The horizontal ray struck +through the grating of the "calaboose" at the corner of the godown I was +skirting. I saw the prisoner. The upright shadow of an iron bar cut his +face in two, separating the high, soiled cheeks, each with an eye. + +"You mustn't leave him get at her!" + +I tell you it was not the same man that had come swimming and sniveling +out to the schooner less than forty hours before. Here was a fierce one, +a zealot, a flame, the very thin blade of a fine sword. + +"Listen, Dole, if you leave that devil get at her--" + +His eyes burned through me. He failed completely to accept the fact that +he was done. His mind, ignoring the present, ran months ahead. With a +flair of understanding, thinking of those three travesties of husbands +and the wife who was no wife, I perceived what he meant. + +I left him. He was a wild man, but the quality of his wildness showed +itself in the fact that he squandered none of it in shaking the bars, +shouting, or flinging about. His voice to the last, trailing me around +the next corner, held to the same key, almost subdued. + +"By God! if that--gets at her, I'll--I'll--" + +"You'll what?" I mused. You see, even now I couldn't get rid of him as +the drifter, the gutter Hamlet, the congenital howler against fate. +"You'll what?" I repeated under my breath, and I had to laugh. + +I got the vessel under way as soon as I came aboard. The Dutchman's +shipment of copra was arranged for--a week, two, three weeks (as the +wind allowed)--and I was to return from the lower islands, where my +present cargo was assigned, and take it on. + +As we stood offshore under the waxing moonlight, as I watched the +island, gathering itself in from either extremity, grow small and +smaller on the measureless glass of the sea, the whole episode seemed to +swell up in my mind, explode, and vanish. It was too preposterous. +Thirty-eight hours chosen at random out of ten thousand empty Polynesian +years--that in that wink of eternity five human lives should have gone +to pot simultaneously--a man wasn't to be taken in by that sort of +thing.-- + +Through twelve days it remained at that. Discharging cargo in the +furnace of Coco Inlet, if my thoughts went back to Taai, it was almost +with the deprecating amusement a man will feel who has been had by a +hoax. If those minstrel husbands were murdered and buried; if that +Broadway imp sweated under the red-hot roof of the godown; if that +incomparable, golden-skinned heiress of cannibal emperors sat staring +seaward from the gilded cage of the Dutchman, awaiting (or no longer +waiting) the whim of the epicure--if indeed any one of them all had ever +so much as set foot upon that microscopic strand lost under the blue +equator--then it was simply because some one had made it up in his head +to while me away an empty hour. I give you my word, when at noon of the +thirteenth day the mountain of Taai stood up once more beyond the bows, +I was weary of the fantasy. I should have been amazed, really, to find a +fellow named Signet housed in the Dutchman's private jail. + +As a matter of fact, Signet was not in the jail. + +When I went ashore in mid afternoon, wondering a little why no naked +biscuit-beggars or gin swallowers had swum out to bother me that day, I +found the trader of Taai sitting on his veranda, blowing puffs of smoke +from those fine Manila Club perfectos out into the sunshine. Beside him +leaned a shiny, twelve-gauge pump gun which he jostled with an elbow as +he bade me by word and gesture to make myself at home. + +I'm quite certain I looked the fool. My eyes must have stuck out. Half a +dozen times I started to speak. With some vacant, fatuous syllable I +tried to break the ice. Strange as it sounds, I was never so embarrassed +in my life.--For the trader of Taai, the blatantly obvious proprietor of +the island's industry and overlord of its destinies--sitting there +before me now with a pump gun touching his elbow--was this fellow +Signet. + +Till now I don't know precisely what had happened; that is to say, none +of the details of the act, horrid or heroic as they may have been. All I +seemed to have was a memory of the Dutchman's voice: "Why do you not +kill _me_? Ha-ha-ha! Then you could take my property." And again an echo +of his disdainful laughter at that fool, "Ha-ha-ha!" as, on some +midnight, he had kicked his dinner guest and his "coolie cotton pants" +out into the rain.--Why not, indeed? But who now was the "fool?" + +Signet, in the course of the afternoon, brought forth gravely a bill of +sale, making over in an orderly fashion to B.R. Signet, New York, +U.S.A., the real and personal property of the trading station at Taai, +and "signed" in the identical, upright, Fourteenth Street grammar-school +script, by "the Dutchman."--I understood Signet. Signet understood me. +The thing was not even an attempt at forgery. It was something solely +formal--as much as to say: "This is understood to be the basis of our +mutual dealings. You will see I am owner of this place." + +As for the Dutchman: + +"Oh, the Dutchman? Well, he decided to go away. Go home." + +Before the incalculable sang-froid of this rail bird, movie usher, alley +dodger, and hanger-on at dancing academies, I could not so much as +summon up the cheek to ask what he had done with the body. You'll say I +ought to have acted; that I ought at least to have got up and left him. +That shows two things--first, that you've never been a trader in the +islands; second, that you cannot at all comprehend how--well, how +_stunning_ he was. Sitting there, a single fortnight removed from cotton +pants and the beach, crime-stained, imperturbable, magnificent! Spawn of +the White Lights! Emperor of an island! How's that? + +"It's a rich island," he impressed upon me with an intention I was yet +to plumb. "Dole," he exclaimed, "it's a gold mine!" + +"Is--is _she_ here?" I ventured to demand at last. + +"_Is_ she? Say! Come and have a look." + +I was between laughing and wincing at that "have a look." + +Going up the garden, Signet let me know that the woman was in love with +him. I might believe it or not. She would do anything for him. + +"_Anything!_" he exclaimed, standing squarely still in the path. And in +his eyes I was somehow relieved to find a trace of wonder. + +Obstacles! All his life had been a turning back from small, +insurmountable obstacles. Of a sudden he beheld really vast obstacles +tumbling down, verily at a touch. Here was just one more of them. By a +lucky chance this "Queen Daughter" did not know by whose hand she had +been made thrice a widow; it was the simplest thing to suppose it the +trader, the same big, blond, European man who had presently removed her +"for safety" to the summer house behind the Residence.--And from the +trader, by a gesture of melodramatic violence, the other and slighter +man had set her free.--Perhaps even that would not have intrigued her +essentially barbaric interest as much as it did had it not been for his +amazing attitude of, well, let's say, "refrainment." His almost absurdly +fastidious concern for what the West would call "the sanctity of her +person." You can imagine--to a Marquesan woman! That! She was not ugly! + +As her gaze, from the platform, dwelt upon the shrewd, blade-sharp +features of the man beside me, the elementary problem in her eyes seemed +to redouble the peculiar, golden, Aryan beauty of her face. Let me tell +you I am human. Perhaps Signet was human, too. Standing there, +encompassed by the light of that royal and lovely woman's eyes, there +was surely about him a glow--and a glow not altogether, it seemed to me, +of "Smith's nickel and Jones's dime." I could have laughed. I could have +kicked him. The impostor! Even yet I had failed to measure the man. + +Back on the veranda again, dinner eaten, and dusk come down, Signet +brought out an old guitar from among the Dutchman's effects (it had +belonged probably to that defunct nephew of the dress clothes), and as +he talked he picked at the thing with idle fingers. Not altogether idle, +though, I began to think. Something began to emerge by and by from the +random fingerings--a rhythm, a tonal theme.--Then I had it, and there +seemed to stand before me again the swarded "high place," with torches +flaring over upturned faces and mounting walls of green. Almost I sensed +again the beat in my blood, the eye-ravishing vision of that gold-brown +flame of motion, that voluptuous priestess. + +"Oh, yes. That!" I murmured. "It's got something--something--that +tune.--But how can you remember it?" + +"_She_ helps me out. I'm trying to put it in shape." + +Indeed, when I left that night and before my oarsmen had got me a +cable's length from the beach I heard the strumming resumed, very +faintly, up in the dark behind the Residence; still tentatively, with, +now and then through the flawless hush of the night, the guiding note of +a woman's voice. (A woman profoundly mystified.) + +A rehearsal? For what? For that almost mythical Broadway half around the +bulge of the world? Had the fool, then, not got beyond _that_? Yet? + +Here he was, lord of the daughter of a queen, proprietor of a "gold +mine." For Signet was not to be hoodwinked about the commercial value of +Taai. All afternoon and evening, as through the two days following, +while my promised cargo was getting ferried out under the shining +authority of the pump gun, he scarcely let a minute go by without some +word or figure to impress upon me the extent of his "possessions." To +what end? + +Well, it all came out in a burst on the third evening, my last there. He +even followed me to the beach; actually, regardless of the Dutchman's +nephew's boots and trouser legs, he pursued me out into the shadows. + +"A gold mine! Don't be a damned boob, Dole. You can see for yourself, a +big proposition for a guy like you, with a ship and everything--" + +Upon me he would heap all those priceless "possessions." Me! And in +exchange he would ask only cabin passage for two from Taai beach to the +Golden Gate. Only deck passage! Only anything! + +"Set us down there, me and her, that's all. I'll give you a bill of +sale. Why, from where you look at it, it's a _find_! It's a lead-pipe +cinch! It's taking candy away from a baby, man!" + +"Why don't you keep it, then?" + +The soul of his city showed through. I saw him again as I had seen him +swimming in his cotton pants, with that low-comedy whisker and that +consuming little greedy nickel hope of paradise. Even the gestures. + +"No, but can't you see, Dole? I got a bigger thing up my sleeve. +God'l'mighty, d'you think I'm a _farmer_? You could go big here; _I_ +don't go at all. I ain't that kind. But put me down in New York with +that woman there and that there dance--and that tune--Say! You don't +understand. You can't imagine. Money? Say! And not only money. Say! I +could take that up to Glauber's Academy, and I could say to Glauber, +'Glauber,' I could say--" + +I had to leave him standing there, up to his knees in the inky water, +heaping me frankly with curses. I shall not repeat the curses. At the +end of them he bawled after me: + +"But I'll get there! You watch me all the same, all the same, you +damn--" + +The reason I didn't up-anchor and get out that night was that, when I +came aboard I discovered not far from my berth the unobtrusive loom of +that Dutch gunboat, arrived for a "look-in" at last. + +The only thing for me to do was to sit tight. If, when the state of the +island's affairs had been discovered, there should be want of +explanation or corroboration, it would be altogether best for me to give +it. I wasn't yet through trading in those waters, you understand. + +But Signet was no fool. He, too, must have seen the discreet shade of +the visitor. When the morning dawned, neither he nor the royal dancer +from the Marquesas was to be found. Some time in that night, from the +windward beach, ill-manned and desperate, the royal sailing canoe must +have set forth tumultuously upon its pilgrimage again. + +I sat in a place in Honolulu. Soft drinks were served, and somewhere +beyond a tidy screen of palm fronds a band of strings was playing. Even +with soft drinks, the old instinct of wanderers and lone men to herd +together had put four of us down at the same table. Two remain vague--a +fattish, holiday-making banker and a consumptive from Barre, Vermont. +For reasons to appear, I recall the third more in detail. + +He let me know somewhere in the give-and-take of talk that he was a +railway telegraph operator, and that, given his first long vacation, an +old impulse, come down from the days of the Hawaiian _hula_ phonograph +records, had brought him to the isle of delight. He was disappointed in +it. One could see in his candid eyes that he felt himself done out of an +illusion, an illusion of continuous dancing by girls in rope skirts on +moonlit beaches. It was an intolerable waste of money. Here, come so far +and so expensively to the romantic goal, he was disturbed to find his +imagination fleeing back to the incredible adventure of a Rock Island +station, an iron-red dot on the bald, high plain of eastern Colorado--to +the blind sun flare of the desert--to the immensity of loneliness--to +the thundering nightly crisis of the "Eleven-ten," sweeping monstrous +and one-eyed out of the cavern of the West, grating, halting, +glittering, gossiping, yawning, drinking with a rush and gurgle from the +red tank--and on again with an abrupt and always startling clangor into +the remote night of the East. + +He shifted impatiently in his chair and made a dreary face at the +screening fronds. + +"For the love o' Mike! Even the rags they play here are old." + +The consumptive was telling the banker about the new coöperative scheme +in Barre, Vermont. + +"For the love o' Mike!" my friend repeated. "That ain't a band; it's a +historical s'ciety. Dead and buried! Next they'll strike up that latest +novelty rage, 'In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree!'--Now will you listen +to that. Robbin' the cemetery!" + +He needn't have asked me to listen. As a matter of fact I had been +listening for perhaps a hundred seconds; listening, not as if with the +ears, but with the deeper sensatory nerves. And without consciously +grasping what the air was I had suffered an abrupt voyage through space. +I saw a torch-lit sward, ringed with blue and saffron faces and high +forest walls; I saw the half-nude, golden loveliness of a Polynesian +woman shaken like a windy leaf. And the beat of a goat-hide drum was the +beat of my blood. I felt my shoulders swaying. + +I looked at the young man. His face expressed a facetious weariness, but +his shoulders, too, were swaying. + +"What tune is that?" I asked, in a level tone. + +His contemptuous amazement was unfeigned. + +"Holy Moses! man. Where you been?" + +He squinted at me. After all, I might be "stringing him." + +"That," he said, "is as old as Adam. It was run to death so long ago I +can't remember. That? That's 'Paragon Park.' That is the old original +first 'Shimmie' dance--with whiskers two foot long--" + +"The original what?" + +"Shimmie! _Shimmie!_ Say, honest to God, don't you know--?" And with his +shoulders he made a wriggling gesture in appeal to my wits, the crudest +burlesque, it seemed, of a divinely abominable gesture in my +memory.--"That?" he queried. "Eh?" + +"Shimmie," I echoed, and, my mind skipping back: "_Shemdance! Shame +Dance!_--I see!" + +"Why?" he demanded, intrigued by my preoccupation. + +"Nothing. It just reminded me of something." + +Then he lifted a hand and smote himself on the thigh. "Me, too! By +jinks! Say, I'd almost forgot that." + +He hitched his chair upon me; held me down with a forefinger. + +"Listen. That was funny. It was one night--last fall. It was just after +Number Seventeen had pulled out, westbound, about one-forty in the +morning. There wasn't anything else till six-one. Them are always the +hardest hours. A fellow's got to stay awake, see, and nothin' to keep +him--unless maybe a coyote howlin' a mile off, or maybe a bum knockin' +around among the box cars on the sidin', or, if it's cold, the stove to +tend. That's all. Unless you put a record on the old phonograph and hit +'er up a few minutes now and then. Dead? Say, boy!" + +"Well, this night it was a bum. I'm sittin' there in the coop, countin' +my fingers and listenin' to Limon calling off car numbers to +Denver--just like that I'm sittin'--when I hear somethin' out in the +waitin' room. Not very loud.--Well, I go out there, and there's the bum. +Come right into the waitin' room. + +"Bum! If he wasn't the father and mother and brother and sister of the +original bum, I'll eat my hat. Almost a Jew-lookin' guy, and he'd saw +hard service. But he's got a kind o' crazy glitter in his eye. + +"'Well,' says I, just like that, 'Well, what do you want?' + +"He don't whine; he don't handle the pan. He's got that look in his eye. + +"'My woman is out in them box cars,' says he. 'I'm goin' to bring her in +here where it's warm.' That's what he says. Not '_can_ I bring her in?' +but '_goin_' to bring her in!' From a _hobo_! + +"Can you imagine? It makes me think. It comes to me the guy is really +off his trolley. To keep him calm I says, 'Well--' + +"He goes out. 'I'm shed o' _him_,' I says to myself. Not a bit. About +three minutes and here he comes trottin' back, sure enough, bringin' a +woman with him. Now Mister--What's-y'r-name--prepare to laugh. That +there woman--listen--make up your face--she's a _nigger_! + +"He says she ain't a nigger. + +"'Mexican?' says I. + +"'No,' says he. + +"I give her another look, but I can't make much out of her, except she's +some kind of a nigger, anyhow. She's sittin' on the bench far away from +the light, and she's dressed in a second-hand horse blanket, a feed +sack, and a bran' new pair of ar'tics. And she don't say a word. + +"'Well,' says I, 'if she ain't some kind of nigger, I'll eat my--' + +"But there he is, all of a sudden, squarin' off in front o' me, his mug +stuck up and his eyes like a couple o' headlights. Imagine! The guy +ain't got enough meat on his bones for a rest'rant chicken. Honest to +God, he looked like he'd been through a mile o' sausage mill. But crazy +as a bedbug. And there's somethin' about a crazy man-- + +"'Hold y'r gab!' says he. To _me_! That gets my goat. + +"'Just for that,' says I, 'you can get out o' this station. And don't +forget to take your _woman_ along with you. Get out!' + +"'Get out--_hell!_' says he. He sticks his mug right in my face. + +"'That woman you speak so light of,' says he, 'is a queen. A Canuck +queen,' say he. + +"I had to laugh. 'Since when was there queens in Canada?' says I. 'And +since when has the Canuck queens been usin' stove polish for talcum +powder?' + +"The guys grabs me by the coat. Listen. He was strong as a wire. He was +deceivin'. A wire with ten thousand volts into it. + +"'Look at me!' says he, breathin' hard between his teeth. 'And take +care!' says he. 'I'm a man no man can monkey with. I'm a man that'll go +through. I'm stained with crime. I've waded through seas o' blood. +Nothin' in heaven or earth or hell can stop me. A month from now rubes +like you'll be glad to crawl at my feet--an' wipe their dirty mugs on +the hem o' that there woman's skirt.--Now listen,' says he. 'Get the +hell into that there box o' yourn over there and be quiet.' + +"Crazy as a loon. I hope to die! the guy was _dangerous_. I see that. It +come to me it's best to humor him, and I go into the coop again. I sit +there countin' my fingers and listenin' to Denver tellin' back them car +numbers to Limon again. By and by I'm jumpy as a cat. I get up and stick +a record in the old machine.--That's what brings the whole thing back to +mind. That record is this 'Paragon Park.' + +"First thing I know I'm out in the waitin' room again. And what you +think I see? I give you a hundred guesses." + +"I'll take one," I said to him. "What you saw was the finest exhibition +of the 'Shimmie' you ever clapped an eye upon. Am I right?" + +The young fellow's mouth hung open. He stared at me. + +"Half undressed! Honest! That nigger woman! Horse blanket, feed sack, +ar'tics--where was they? Shimmie? Say! Can you imagine, in that there +prairie depot at three in the mornin', and a wind howlin' under the +floor? Say! Well, I can't tell you, but talk about _Shimmie_! Say, she's +like a dead one come to life." + +"Yes," I agreed, "yes.--But what about the man?" + +"Well, that man, now. The record's comin' to the end and I go back in to +start it over. And, here's this hobo, come in behind me. + +"'What's that?' says he, pointin' to the record I got in my hand. + +"Then he grabs it and looks it over. He keeps turnin' it round and round +and round, starin' at it. + +"'I hope you'll know it again,' says I, with a laugh. + +"My laugh seems to set him off into a shiver. Then down he throws that +record o' mine onto the floor and stamps on it; busts it into a million +pieces under his boots. I been tellin' you he's crazy. + +"'Here there!' I yell at him. + +"He looks at me. Looks right through me, it seems and beyond, with them +there red-rimmed eyes. + +"'Seas o' blood,' says he. That's all. 'Seas o' blood!' + +"Then he turns around, walks out into the waitin' room, and sits down in +a heap in the farthest corner. Never another peep. There he sits till +daylight, and the nigger woman, with the horse blanket on again, she +sits there beside him, holdin' his hand. + +"'What's up with him?' I ask her. + +"She says somethin' in Mexican--or some language, anyway. But I see she +don't know any more 'n me.--It's just like this. The current's gone out +o' the wire.--Last I ever see of 'em, she's leadin' him off in the +sunrise toward the box cars--leadin' him by the hand.--Now did you ever +hear a funnier experience than that to happen to a man?" + +"No," I said, "I never did." + +"You had to pity him," he added. + +"Yes," I agreed.--And I could think of her leading him by the hand. + +I saw Signet again. It was on my first and last voyage to the Marquesas. +Under the shadow of a mountain, on a stone platform facing the sea, sat +Signet, quite nude save for a loin cloth, and with an unequivocal black +beard falling down on his breast. There was a calmness about him. + +"How did you come here?" I asked, at length. + +"She wanted it," he said. + +"She's a wonderful woman," he said to me, "a wonderful woman. She would +do anything for me, Dole. _Anything!_ We've got a kid." + +I made shift to get in a question I had carried long in mind. "Somebody +beat you out at Papeete, then, after all?" + +He turned upon me a faintly quizzical look. + +"I mean, somebody saw her--some tourist--that time she danced at +Papeete--Remember?--and got away with it?" + +The thing seemed already so remote that he had to grope back. Then he +laughed. + +"Lord, no. Look here, Dole. It was her herself seen the thing at +Papeete. On board a tourist boat. I found out about it since I learned +her language good. Her and some others went aboard to dance the +_hula_--same as always, you know. Then some of _them_, the tourists, +understand--Well, they had to spring the latest thing from Broadway. And +then this woman of mine--Well, you can imagine. Like a woman with a new +hat. Got to run right off and show it to the whole damn length and +breadth of the South Seas. That's all.--And once upon a time I thought I +was bright.--" + +Out of the half house at the rear of the platform came the daughter of a +queen, bearing under one arm a prince of this island valley, and in the +other hand a bowl of coconut wine for the visitor. And for her lord. For +you will see that at last, despite the malignant thrusts and obstacles +of destiny, this gutter snipe of Gotham had come to a certain estate. + +When I left, he accompanied me slowly to the beach. + +"You ought to like it here," I said. "After all, the city could never +have given you so much." + +"No," he said. Wide-eyed, he took in the azure immensity of the sea. +"No. Here a guy has got time to think, think, without any hurry or +worry.--I been thinking, Dole, a lot. I ain't going to say nothing about +it, but Dole, I b'lieve I got an idea coming along. No flivver this +time. A real, sure-fire hunch. Something that'll go big in the city. +Big!" + +And so I left him there in the shadow of the mountain, staring at the +impassable sea. + + + + +KINDRED[19] + +By HARRIET MAXON THAYER + +(From _The Midland_) + + +If I had had a less positive sense of revulsion for him, I might have +been able to treat him with more contempt, certainly with more +indifference. It was a part of Con Darton's power that those who knew +him should waver in their judgments of him, should in turn reproach +themselves for their hardness of heart and then grow angry at their own +lack of assuredness. Perhaps it was the disquieted gray eyes in the lean +leathery face, or the thin-lipped mouth that I had seen close so foxly +after some sanctimonious speech, or the voice which, when not savage +with recrimination, could take on a sustained and calculated intonation +of appeal,--perhaps these things aroused my interest as well as my +disgust. Certain it is that other men of a like feather, sly, irascible, +gone to seed in a disorderly Illinois town, I should have avoided. I +made the excuse of Lisbeth, and it was true that her welfare, first as +his daughter and later as the wife of my friend, was very dear to my +heart. Yet that could not explain the hypnotism the man had for me, +befogging, as it sometimes did, an honest estimate. + +There were, of course, moments of certainty. I recalled village +anecdotes of bitter wrangles among the Dartons with Con always coming +out best. They were a quarreling pack of sentimentalists. From all +accounts Miss Etta must have been at that time a rugged girl of +twenty-eight, of striking, if ungentle, appearance; and only the +unsteadied sensibilities and the too-ready acrimony could have +foreshadowed the large blatant woman she was to become, a woman who +alternated between a generous flow of emotion on the one hand and an +unimaginative hardness on the other. Only Lin Darton could have given +promise then of the middle-class, semi-prosperous business man who was +to justify the Darton tradition. But from all that I could gather of +those younger days, before Con's marriage to Selma Perkins, he was the +cock of the walk, holding the reins over them all by virtue of his +shrewdness, apparently understanding the robust, over-blooded strains of +their temperament and not unwilling to sound these at his pleasure. + +My own experience dates back to the first time that he stood out for me +a vivid picture in that sagging barn-like old farmhouse behind the elms. +I was ten years old then, and I was already beginning to think highly of +my father's profession, which that winter had sent him into a nest of +small asthma-ridden towns. It was my privilege to trot by his side, +carrying his worn black medicine case and endeavoring vainly to keep +pace with his long jerky strides. On this particular occasion he had +been summoned suddenly to the Dartons'; and, being unable to leave +promptly, had sent me ahead postehaste with instructions, and an +envelope of white pills to be taken "only in case of extreme pain." + +Arriving at the farmhouse, the peaked façade of which, built to suggest +an unbegotten third story, looked more hideous than ever among the bare +branches, I knocked with reddened knuckles at the door. There was no +response; at last, my half-frozen hand smarting with the contact of the +wood, I pushed open the door and went in. + +It was very still inside--a strange unnatural stillness. Even Grega and +Martie, the two little plain-faced girls, were not to be seen; the drab, +rose-patterned carpet muffled my footsteps, which, for some inexplicable +reason, I made as light as possible. The room, faded, and scrubbed to +the point of painfulness, gave only two signs of disorder, a crumpled +book of verse open on the table and a Bible lying face down on the worn, +orange-colored sofa. But there was something vaguely uncanny about the +whole house; the very air seemed thin, like the atmosphere of +approaching death. An unnameable terror took hold of me. I waited, +fearing to call out. A door shut upstairs. There were footsteps, and the +sound of voices,--a man's and a woman's--whispering. Then more +footsteps. This time some one was taking no trouble to walk lightly. + +"Quietly now," the woman's voice cautioned. + +"Ye said it was a boy?" This was Mr. Darton's voice, unmistakable now. + +"I didn't say," the woman's whisper floated down to me as a door creaked +open. "But it _is_--a girl. You must be ver--" + +Her words were cut off by the report of a door banging shut. There was +the sibilant sound of a breath being drawn in and, at the same moment, +Mr. Darton's voice again. + +"What the hell made ye think I'd want to see another _girl_ for?" he +growled. + +A pause followed, the emptier for the preceding stridor of his voice. +Then--"You c'n get along now--we ain't got no more call fur neighbors." + +With that he came stamping down the stairs and slouched into the front +room, where, upon his catching sight of me, a frightened look crossed +his face, followed, almost instantly, by a queer expression, a mixture +of relief and cunning that gave his face a grotesqueness that I can +recall to this very day. + +"Well, boy," he said in that low drawl and wavelike inflection of the +voice that I was to learn to know so well, "yer father sent ye, did he?" + +I proffered the note and the pills, and he frowned at them a second +before pocketing them. + +"Come--_he-re_." He seemed to pull at the words, giving each a retarded +emphasis. As I approached, he drew me towards him, where he had sunk on +the dingy, orange-fringed sofa. "N-ow, y're a nice young fellow--a bit +scrawny, though. Ye--gotta horse?" + +I shook my head. + +"N-ow, then--ye aughtta have a h-orse. Yer pappy should see to't." + +His gray eyes, then almost blue against the loose brown skin of his +face, held me speechless. + +"N-ow I gotta horse--a fine horse fur a boy. Ye might ride her--like +to? Then, if yer pappy wanted, he cou'd buy her fur ye?" + +I looked at him in doubt. + +"Yes, he could. Yer pappy has more money than anyone hereabouts, and it +ain't right--I tell you, it ain't _right_ to have a little boy like you +and not give him--eve-ry thing he wants!" + +His last words ended in that slow climactic inflection that made +whatever he said so indisputable. It was not unlike the minister's +voice, I thought; and, my glance chancing to fall on the opened Bible, I +was about to question him, when the door was pushed back hurriedly, +admitting my father's lank, wiry figure along with a stream of chilling +air. + +"G-ood morning, Mr. Breighton--a f-ine morning." + +"Morning, Darton," said my father crisply. "Can I go directly upstairs?" + +"No hurry n-ow, Doctor. It's all over. Mrs. Carn's been here all morning +and--" + +It was at this moment that Mrs. Carn, her eyelids red from weeping, an +old bumpy, red worsted shawl over her head, came nervously into the +room; and, without so much as even a nod to any of us, edged quicky out +of the front door. + +"Well--" began my father, his clear, scrutinizing eyes fixed on Darton. + +"A-nother sign," expostulated Mr. Darton, "of what ye might call the +smallness of human van-ity. We must forgive 'er. Ye see Selma was +gettin' so upset with her rancorous gossipin'--perhaps I should have +been more careful--but it was a question of Selma and--" + +"Quite right, Darton," my father nodded to him. "I'm going up for a +moment." + +I had walked to the front window with its starched, lacy curtain; and +stood still, looking out in a puzzled maze at the strangeness of the +morning's happenings, a certain sense of disconsolateness stealing over +me. Beyond the row of dark, spare trees I could see a gaunt figure in a +black skirt and a bumpy red shawl moving along the road; and the picture +of her, scurrying away, remained, as such apparently unimportant figures +often will, sharply engraven on my mind. As I recall it in late years, +I often wonder how my father could have mistaken the lying, rancorous +woman of Con Darton's description for this stern-lipped creature, who +had gone by wordlessly, shutting the door gently behind her, a door that +she was never to re-open. + +I turned to find myself alone in the room. Mr. Darton had disappeared as +unexpectedly but more quietly than he had entered. I could hear my +father's footsteps going softly about upstairs; and his voice, which +though quick and crisp, had a soothing quality, talking in a gentle +monotone to some one. After about ten minutes he came to the head of the +steps and called to me. + +"Mrs. Darton says will you come up, Tom?" + +Knees quivering with the queerness of it all as well as with the icy +frigidity of the hallway, I mounted the uncarpeted stairs. + +Following in the direction of the voices, I came to a dark, +low-ceilinged room with a pine bed, on which lay a withered-looking +woman with sparsely lashed eyelids and fine, straight, straw-colored +hair. Near her was a small oblong bundle, wrapped round with a bright +patch-work quilt; and out of this bundle a cry issued. As I peered into +it, a red weazened face stared back at me, the eyes opening startlingly +round. I looked long in wonder. The woman sighed; and, my gaze reverting +to her, I thought suddenly of what a neighbor had once said to my +father, "Selma Perkins used to be the prettiest girl in school. She was +like the first arbutus flowers." Surely this woman with her pallid skin +and her faded spiritless eyes could not have been the one they meant! + +There was some talk between my Father and his patient, the gist of which +I could not get, absorbed as I was with the face inside the patch-work +quilt. We went out silently, after I had taken a last, long look into +the bundle.--Lisbeth had come into my world. + + * * * * * + +Some twenty years were to go by before I was to realize the significance +of the scene that I had witnessed that winter morning at the old frame +farmhouse. It was the year of my return to America with Jim Shepherd, +whose career as a rising young painter had just begun to be heralded, +that I felt impelled to revisit the place of my childhood. Not my least +interest lay in seeing Lisbeth again. I remembered her as a fragile +upstanding girl of twelve with soft hair the color of dead leaves and +gray inquiring eyes. But whatever it was that I was to find I was +conscious that I would see it with new appreciation of values. For if my +eight years of medical work abroad had sharpened my discernment, even +more had my intimacy with Jim Shepherd swept my mind clean of prejudice +and casuistry. + +To strangers Jim must often have appeared naive and undevious. The fact +was that his passion for truth-probing and his worship of the +undiscovered loveliness of life had obscured whatever self-consciousness +had been born in him. Meeting him for the first time was like entering +another element. It left you a little flat. That candor and eagerness of +his at first balked you, it made negligible your traditions of thought +and speech. One ended by loving him. + +On our arrival at the sparse little village I told him of the Dartons. I +had had no news of them for the past four years, and inquiries among the +neighbors left me only the more at sea. Lisbeth they seldom saw, they +said; she never went to church or meetings; and, especially since her +mother, in an unprecedented flare of rebellion, had gone to live with a +married sister in town, she had grown silent and taciturn. As for old +Con Darton, he was going to seed, in spite of the remnants of an earlier +erudition that still clung to him. That is, though he went about +unshaven and in slovenly frayed clothing, he still quoted fluently from +the Bible and Gray's "Elegy." Among the villagers he had come to have +the reputation of a philosopher and an ill-used man. He was poor, it +seemed, so poor that he had abandoned the white farmhouse and had come +to live in a box-like, unpainted shack at the foot of the hill, the new +boarding of which stood out harshly against the unturfed soil. Built +just across the way from a disused mill, near the creek, it had become +known as the "mill house." In spite of this thriftiness, Con always had +money for a new horse, which he would soon trade off for a better; +although these transactions had, of late, become fewer, as Con was +feared as a "shrewd one." The fact seemed to call forth his neighbors' +admiration, just as the tale that he had been "deserted" called forth +their pity. Lisbeth, they averred, who had stuck to him, was "a hard +piece to get close to." + +She was standing at the bottom of the hill where the creek ran between +the deserted mill and the new shack; and, as I came down the hill, I +felt a sharp twinge of pain at the contrast of the fragile line of her +profile against the coarse, dark sweater, at the slender grace of her +body against that dead, barn-sprinkled background. I could observe her +easily without her knowledge, for she was looking up, as we so often +used to at twilight, to the old plank high above the sagging mill, where +the turkeys fly to roost towards evening, so awkwardly and comically, +with a great breathless whirring of wings. I saw her lift her arms to +them with a swift, urging gesture, as though to steady their ungainly +flight, and I could not be certain that she was not talking to them. +Again a pang for the contracting loneliness of those bitter winters that +she had lived through and must still live through, stabbed me. + +She turned with a low cry and a momentary flush of gladness. But I +noticed, as I questioned her as an old friend might, that the flush +melted into a level pallor, and her eyes, deeper and more unquiet than I +had remembered them, either wandered up the road or reverted to the last +of the turkeys soaring heavily to rest. + +"I used to do all those things, Tom," she said in answer to my question. + +"Used to?" I laughed. "Why, it's only five years ago I was hearing that +you were the best little lady on skis and skates at the West-Highlands." + +Her eyelids quivered at the word. + +"That year--yes," she said and averted her face. + +"You mean--" I had to prod, there was no other way about it--"that you +only stayed--one year?" + +She nodded. + +"My Freshman year prep school." + +"And then--?" + +"I was needed here." + +"Your father--?" + +"Yes,--he needed me." + +"There was Grega," I insisted. "She was the man of the family." + +"She's married, you know." + +I recalled having heard of an unsatisfactory marriage. So she had +escaped! + +"And Martie?" + +"Working at a store in town." + +A dull rage charred at the inner fibres of my being. Here was Lisbeth, +the most delicate and responsible of them all, with, I supposed, much of +her mother's early gentleness and beauty, interred in this--. I did not +like to dwell on it. I switched back to skating. + +"Come now. One does not forget these things at twenty or twenty-one." + +She smiled at me ever so faintly, a smile that sent the winter chill of +that arid spot scurrying into my veins. + +"One grows old fast--in the country," was all she said. + +I thought of the flying figures that I had met in Norway and Sweden. It +was a moment before I spoke, and then I said the wrong thing. + +"But it's this very sort of air, they say, that makes for vigor--and--" + +"Yes," she said thinly, "those who live in cities--say so." + +She turned, her meagre dress flapping about her knees like a flag. But +at the foot of the rickety outer steps that ran across the bare front of +the shack crookedly, like a broken arm, I caught her by the wrist. + +"You'll be going to Mrs. Carn's funeral tomorrow, Lisbeth?" + +She shook her head and I thought she paled. + +It was an unheard of thing for the whole population not to turn out for +the funeral of one of the villagers, and Mrs. Carn, I knew, had +befriended Lisbeth, in spite of Old Con's displeasure. She must have +noted my surprise, for she turned on me squarely, facing me with what +seemed at the time an unnecessary display of staunchness. + +"Perhaps you didn't know," she said very softly, "that the +Minister--couldn't come--and--" + +She paused, while I made some inadequate reply, for I, too, seemed +caught in the sort of mirthless evasion that engulfed her. + +"He--" she made a slight backwards motion of the head towards the upper +room of the shack--"is going to--preach." + +My startled exclamation must have disclosed all the horror I felt at +this announcement, but, before I could speak again, she had gone swiftly +up the rickety steps and pushed shut the flimsy board door behind her. + +The next afternoon was one that I have never been able to erase from my +mind, for even more vividly than my earlier impressions of Con Darton, +it marked the wizardry as well as the fearfulness of his power. A +hundred times during that burial service the sound of a banged door and +a rasped voice sounded in my ears and the sight of a tense, hurrying +figure in a black dress and a bumpy red shawl moved before my eyes. The +thin figure was lying there now and over it, his rusty black coat tails +curving in the wind, like wings bent to trap the air, his gray eyes +misty with emotion, hovered the man whose door she had never entered +since that fateful day of Lisbeth's birth. I could not but feel that the +vision of him standing there told the story of his triumphs more grimly +than any recital. + +The service began in a sharp, fine drizzle of rain, through which his +voice sang in shifting cadences, now large and full, now drooping to a +premonitory whisper with an undeniably dramatic quality. In spite of +myself the words stirred within me. As he read and spoke he laid aside +the turns of speech that had become his through years of association +with country folk. Almost he was another man. + +"Man that is born of woman--" + +The words reached down through the overlying structure of thought and +habit. I felt a giving and a drawing away; saw the crowd sway to his +will. + +"In the midst of life we are--in death." + +Again the tones woke me to a sharper sense of the scene. Tears stood in +many eyes. The people had melted at his touch. They were his. For a +while I lost myself in watching them, until again a changed intonation +drew me back to the man before us. + +"We therefore commit her body to the ground--earth to earth--ashes to +ashes--dust to dust--" + +My will was powerless to resist the beautifully delivered lines, to +doubt the integrity of the man who uttered them. The little lumps of wet +earth that he threw against the coffin struck against my heart with a +sense of the futility of all things. And then as suddenly, drawn by +something compellingly alive and pervading, I glanced at Jim, who stood +next to me; and catching the slant of his vision followed it to the edge +of the crowd, where, her thin dress clinging to her knees, her face +almost blue with cold, stood Lisbeth; and there was across her eyes and +mouth an expression of contempt and loathing such as I had never seen in +a girl so young. Jim was watching her intently, noting, with that +certain appraisal of his, the etched profile; and, with all an artist's +sensibility, reading life into the line of head and shoulders. What +if--the idea went through my mind with the intensity of sudden +pain--what if Jim and Lisbeth--? The sound of sobbing broke in upon my +reverie. Con Darton was delivering the funeral oration. + +"My friends," I heard him saying through the streams of thought that +encompassed me, "we are here out of respect for a woman all of ye +knew,--and whose life--and whose character--ye all--knew." He paused to +give more weight to what he was about to say. "Margaret Carn was like +the rest of us. She had her qualities--and she had her--failings. I want +to say to you today that there's a time fur knowing these things--and a +time fur--forgettin' them." His voice on the last words dropped abruptly +away. There was the sound of rain spattering among the loosened lumps of +clay. "Such a time is now." His left hand dropped heavily to his side. +"I tell you there is more rejoicing in Heaven over one sinner who +repenteth than over ninety-and-nine--" + +I grabbed Jim's arm to assure myself of something warm and human. But +his eyes were still fixed on Lisbeth, whose gaze was in turn riveted on +her father's face. It occurred to me with a swift sense of helplessness +that she and I were probably the only two who could even vaguely realize +any of the inner motives of Con Darton's mind, as we certainly were the +only persons who knew how great a wrong had been done to Margaret Carn's +memory that day. To the rest she was stamped forever as a lying gossip, +forgiven by the very man she had striven to harm. I shuddered; and Jim, +feeling it, turned to me and drew me towards Lisbeth. Outside of the +scattering crowd she saw us and greeted me gravely; then gave her hand +to Jim with a little quickening gesture of trust. + +We went down the road together, taking the longest way to the foot of +the hill, Jim loquacious, eager; Lisbeth silent. The rain had melted +into a soft mist, and through it her face took on a greater remoteness, +a pallid, elfin quality. At the foot of the hill, which had to be +climbed again to reach the old farmhouse, she stopped, glancing up to +the plank where the turkeys were already roosting. + +"Not going up the hill, Lisbeth?" I asked. + +She shook her head. + +"We live here now," she said. + +"Not--?" + +"All the year round.--It's cheaper," she added with that little touch of +staunchness that had become hers. + +"But it's too--" + +I was cut short by the look of anguish in her eyes, the most poignant +sign of emotion that I had seen her show since my return. There was an +awkward silence, while I stood looking at her, thinking of nothing so +much as how her head would look against a worn, gold Florentine +background, instead of silhouetted against these flat unchanging +stretches of unbending roads and red barns. It seemed that she and Jim +were saying something to each other. Then just as she turned to go, he +stopped her. + +"You'll forgive me, because I'm an old friend of Tom's," he was urging, +"if I ask you to drive to town with Tom and myself for supper." + +There was an incongruity in the request that could not have escaped +either of them. I could see the color mounting to her temples and then +ebbing away, leaving her whiter than before. Her lips parted to answer, +but closed again sturdily. + +"It couldn't--be arranged. If it could, I should have liked to," she +supplemented stiffly. + +It was a stiffness that made me want to cry out to the hilltops in +rebellion. + +"But suppose it _could_ be arranged?" suggested Jim. + +She looked away from us. + +"It couldn't be," she replied in that same inflectionless voice. + +It was her voice that cut so sharply. I reflected that it was only in +the very old that we could bear that look of dead desire, that absence +of all seeking, that was settling over her face. + +"But you'll try," insisted Jim. "You won't say no now?" + +With one reddened hand she smoothed the surface of her dress. "I'll +try," she promised faintly. + +Dinner over, prompted perhaps by a desire to look the old place over by +myself, perhaps half inclined to pay a visit to Con, I left Jim in the +library to his own devices, and stepped out alone along the road. The +air was clear now, and the sleet had frozen to a thin crystal layer, a +presage of winter, which glistened under the clear stars and sent them +shivering up at me again. As I neared the mill house, I could hear +voices through its scanty boarding, and decided, for the moment, to go +on, following the bed of the creek, when an intonation, oddly familiar, +brought me up like the crack of a whip. It is strange the power that +sounds have to transport us, and again I saw a withered woman with +straw-colored hair and a small, oblong bundle in a patch-work quilt. +But, as I drew nearer, my thoughts were all for Lisbeth. + +"Have my girl in town with that young _puppy_!" Old Con was rasping at +her. "I know these artist-fellows, I tell you and--" + +He ripped out an oath that took me bounding up the steps. My hand on the +front door knob, however, I paused, catching sight of Lisbeth through +the window. She was standing with her back towards the inner door her +moth-like dress blending oddly with the pallor of her cheeks, the +smudgy glow of the lamp light laying little warm patches on her hair. +But it was her eyes, wide and dark, that stopped me. There was pain in +them, and purport, a certain fierce intention, that made me wonder if I +could not serve her better where I was. And, as I waited, her voice +seeped thinly through the boarding. + +"I don't believe it."--Her voice came quietly, almost without +intonation. "Tom Breighton wouldn't be his friend then.--They're both +fine and straight--and--" + +"They are, are they?" he jeered. "Ye've learned to tell such things out +here in th' country, I suppose--" + +"There are things," she retorted, "I've learned." + +He began drawling his words again, as he always did when he had got +himself under control. + +"I suppose ye're _insinuatin'_ ye don't like it here--don't like what +ye're pore ol' Father c'n do fur ye?" + +Her look of contempt would have cut short another man. + +"Ye--wantta--go?" he finished. + +She nodded mutely. And at that he flared at her terribly. + +"It's like ye," he shouted, "like yere mother, like all the Perkinses. +Word-breakers! cowards! _shirkers!_" + +The words seared. The careful articulation of the afternoon was gone. + +"Promised--if I sent ye to school, ye'd stay here winters to look after +ye're pore ol' Father--didn't ye?" He looked at her through narrow, +reddish lids, where she had backed against the door. "Didn't ye?" he +repeated. "But soon's he's done fur--soon's his _money's gone_--" + +"Stop!" she cried. "_Stop i_--" Her breath caught. + +He stared at her, the words shaken from him by the sheer force of her. +She had not moved, but, somehow, as she stood there against the +unvarnished door facing him, fists at her side, eyes brilliant, she +appeared to tower over him. + +"I'll stay," she was saying in a queer, fierce monotone, "I'll stay here +this winter anyhow if I freeze for it! I'll scrub and cook and haul wood +for ye till I've paid ye back--_paid ye_," she repeated more softly, +"till no one can say the Perkinses don't keep their word! And then--in +the spring--I'm going--it'll be for good--. _For always_," she added, +and turned limply towards the door. + +To my surprise he sank heavily into the rickety chair by the stove. + +"Go then," he muttered. "It's all I c'ld expect." + +The door closed on her and still he sat there before the fire, head bent +forward, as though he had an audience. I shrank back closer into the +shadows, drawing my coat collar more snugly about my throat. It was +incredible that he should play a part before her--and now alone! His +very posture suggested a martyred, deserted old man. I felt myself in +the presence of something inexplicable.--Then, in a frenzy of suppressed +rancor, such as I had never felt before, I climbed the hill, the lumps +of mud and ice seeming to cling against my footsteps as I went. + + * * * * * + +The winter was a bitter one that year, such as only the winters in that +Northern, prostrate land can be. The countryside appeared to crouch +under a passive, laden-colored sky. Then the snow came settling in +deeper and deeper layers, and, as it packed down, a coating of thin ice +formed on its surface. One could walk on it at times, this crust that +had grown over the land like a new skin. + +We smuggled sweaters and coats to Lisbeth, making them old lest Con +suspect us. But, even with all we could do for her, her suffering must +have been without comparison. There was no fire in the shack except that +in the old rusty cook stove which she tended, and the cold made an easy +entrance through the loose carpentry of the walls. With it all there +were the loneliness and the mental agony. At first, when she did not +know how deep was Jim's devotion, there must have been times when life +held out no promise to her except that of escape. + +All this time the rest of the Dartons gave no sign. Old Con, I +discovered, made occasional obscure trips to the city where he saw Lin +Darton and Miss Etta, the former established as a second-rate +real-estate dealer, the latter, as buyer for a large department store. +Later it became more apparent that it was after these trips of his that +he was able to purchase another horse. He quoted more and more +frequently from the Bible and the "Elegy." Such feeling as any of the +neighbors may have had for Lisbeth was now completely turned aside by +her tight-lipped reticence and her deft evasion of all references to her +situation. Old Con was thoroughly established as a brilliant fellow, +ruined by his family. + +From the first I saw that the winter had to be endured like a famine. +Keep Jim away of course I could not, though I did persuade him, by dint +of much argument, that it would be for Lisbeth's good to meet her away +from the mill house; and what pleading he may have had with her to leave +all and come with him, then and there, I could only imagine. Each time +Lisbeth came back from these encounters a little paler, her lips a +little firmer, her eyes burning with a steadier purpose. But it was the +sort of purpose that robs instead of giving life, that strikes back on +itself while it still clings to a sort of bitter triumph. Knowing her, I +knew that it had to be so, for to despoil her of this high integrity +would be to take from her something as essentially hers as was her +sensitive spirit, her fine sureness of vision. + +So we kept silence until, as the first signs of spring came on again, +while the country alternately was flooded or lay under rigid pools of +ice, the line of her mouth seemed to soften and a glow crept into her +eyes and a dreaming. I held my breath and waited. Thin she was, like +something worn to the thread. The fine color had given place to a blue +tint in the cold, and to a colorless gray as she bent over the old stove +within. But the exquisitely moulded line of cheek and chin, the grace of +motion and the deep questing light in her eyes nothing could destroy. I +believe that, to Jim, she grew more lovely as she appeared to fade. + +At last the day came when the water ran in yellowed torrents in the +creek or stood in stagnant pools under a new sun, when the blood +bounded, overwarm, in the tired body. That day Old Con caught sight of +them, walking arm in arm at the top of the hill, looking down as though +to find a footing, and talking earnestly. They had never before ventured +so near the mill. Catching sight of them from some distance, I foresaw +the meeting before I could reach them. When I came close enough to see, +Lisbeth was trembling visibly, as though from a chill, and Jim stood +glowering down at Old Con. + +Suddenly Lisbeth edged herself sidewise between them, shouldering Jim +away. + +"Don't touch him!" she cried. "It's what he's waiting for you to do! +Can't you see the look on his face--that wronged look of a man that's +done nothing but wrong all his life?" + +She stopped, the words swelling within her, too big for utterance. Jim +put a quieting arm about her; and just then Old Con made an abrupt +motion towards her wrist. + +"I guess," he said, "that a father--" + +But she was before him. + +"Father! He's not my father, d'ye hear? I've kept my word to him and now +I'm going to keep it to myself! You see that sun over the hills?"--She +turned to Con.--"It's the spring sun--it's summer--summer, d'ye hear? +And it's _mine_--and I'm going to have it, before I'm dead like my +mother died with her body still living! You're no more my father than +that dead tree the sun can't ever warm again!--It's for good--I said it +would be for good--and it is!" + +We took her, sobbing dryly, between us, up the road. + +That night in our house Lisbeth was married to Jim. A deep serenity +seemed to hang about her as though for the moment the past had been shut +away from her by a mist. As for Jim, there was a wonder in his eyes, not +unlike that I had seen when he came upon an old Lippo Lippi, and a great +comprehending reverence. There were tears at the back of my eyes--then +the beauty of the scene drove all else back before it. + + * * * * * + +There is one more episode in the life of Con Darton and Lisbeth. Knowing +him, it would be incredible that there should not be. It happened some +five years later and I was concerned in it from the moment that I was +summoned unexpectedly to Mr. Lin Darton's office in the city, a dingy +though not unprosperous menage located in the cheaper part of the down +town district. I found him sitting amid an untidy litter of papers at +the table, talking through the telephone to some one who later +developed to be Miss Etta; and I had at once a feeling of suffocation +and closeness, due not alone, I believe, to the barred windows and the +steaming radiator. The family resemblance that Mr. Lin Darton bore to +Old Con threw into relief the former's honesty, and made more bearable +his heavy sentimentalism, upon which Con had played as surely as on a +bagpipe, sounding its narrow range with insistent evenness of response. + +"I want to talk to you about Con," he said gravely, as soon as the +receiver had been hung up, "and--Lisbeth." He uttered his niece's name +as though it were a thing of which he could not but be ashamed. + +I said nothing to this, and waited. + +"As you are still in touch with her; and, as the situation is probably +already partly known to you, I thought you might be able--willing--" He +hesitated, paused; and a grieved look came into his eyes that was quite +genuine. I realized the fact coldly. + +"Whatever I can do," I assured him, "I shall be glad to." + +"None of us," he continued, "have seen Lisbeth since that terrible night +four years ago, when she turned Con away from her house." + +I hesitated for a moment and then said: "It was three o'clock in the +morning, if I remember, and he had written that he was coming to take +her little son into the country, to give him a chance," I added +bitingly, "of some real country air." + +"It was a cold night," continued Lin Darton, as though he had not heard +me, "and she has all she needs--while he--" + +"To my mind, he had no business there!" I flared. + +"He was her father." + +He stared at me hard, as though he had uttered the final, indisputable +word. + +"He forfeited all right to that title years ago." + +"When?" demanded Mr. Darton. + +"On the day of her birth," I snapped back at him. + +"I do not understand you," he said coldly. And, when I remained silent, +he added: "There is no greater crime than that of a child towards a +father." + +"Unless it be, perhaps, that of a father towards a child." + +His sadness seemed to weigh him against the desk. I relented. + +"To go against one's _own_--_against one's own_," he repeated, "and Con +so sick now--" + +"You must forgive me, Mr. Darton, for my views," I said more gently, +"and tell me what I can do." + +He pulled himself together at that. + +"Con's all gone to pieces, you know--at the old mill house--no money--no +one to care for him. We wanted you to come out with us. Perhaps medical +care might, even now--We thought maybe," he interrupted himself hastily, +"that you could get Lisbeth to help out too--and maybe come herself--" + +"Come herself!" I repeated, and my voice must have sounded the sick fear +that struck me. + +"Money's not the only thing that counts when it comes to one's own +blood," he said sententiously. + +There were no two ways about it, that was his final stand. So, having +assumed them of my services that afternoon, I went straight to Lisbeth. + +I found her bending over the youngest baby, and, when I told her, her +body became rigid for an instant, then she stooped lower that I might +not see the shadow that had fallen across her face. Finally she left the +child and came to me with that old look of misery in her face that I had +not seen there for so long, but with far more gentleness. + +"Sit down here, Tom," she said, leading me to the window seat, where the +strands of sunlight struck against her head, giving fire to her +dull-brown hair. She had changed but slightly in appearance, I thought, +from the girl that I had known five years before; still there _was_ a +change, a certain assurance was there, and a graciousness that came from +the knowledge that she was loved. + +"I think you know," she began, her eyes looking not at me but straight +ahead, "that I've been happy--these five years--though perhaps not how +happy. But in spite of it all--there is always that something--that +_fear_ here--clutching at me--that it may not all be real--that it can't +last." + +Again she looked at me and turned away, but not before I had caught a +flash of terror in her eyes. + +"Even with them all against me, Tom, I've stuck to it--to what I feel is +my right. This is my home--and it's Jim's home--and the children's as +well as it's mine--and, in a way, it's--inviolate. I've sworn that +nothing ugly shall come into it--nothing shall ruin it--the way our +lives were ruined out there!" + +Her voice trembled, but her eyes, as she turned to me at the last, were +steady. + +"I'll send something, of course," she said; "you will take it to them. +But I'll--not go." + +With her message and her money I sought out Lin Darton and Miss Etta, +and together we rambled in their open Ford along those flat, dead +Illinois roads that I had not seen for so long. + +It is a doctor's profession to save life, and there was a life to be +saved, if it were possible. But he was nearer to the end than I had +thought. Grega was there in that same barren room of the mill-house, +doing things in a stolid, undeft sort of way. The bed had been pulled +near the stove and the room was stuffier, more untidy than in the days +when Lisbeth had been there. The creaky bed, the unvarnished walls, and +the rusty alarm clock, that ticked insistently, all added to the sense +of flaccidity. The afternoon was late and already dark; sagging clouds +had gathered, shutting out what was left of the daylight. Miss Etta lit +a smudgy lamp, sniffling as she did so. + +From under the torn quilt the man stared back at me, with much of his +old penetration, despite the fever that racked him. + +"I--want--Lisbeth," were his first words to me. + +I shook my head. "She cannot come just now," I told him, hand on his +wrist. "But we are here to do everything for you." + +"Tel-e-phone her," he said with his old emphasis on each syllable, "and +tell--her that I'm--dy-ing. Don't answer me. You know that--_I--am +dy-ing and I--want--her_." + +Miss Etta, the tears streaming over her large face, went to do his +bidding. I could hear her lumbersome footsteps going down the crazy +outside stairway. He gave me a triumphant look as I lifted his arm, then +abruptly he drew away from me. He had an ingrained fear of drugs of any +sort. There was no gainsaying his fierce refusals, so I made him as +comfortable as I could while we waited. The end was very near. His face, +thin almost to emaciation, was flushed to a deep, feverish red, but his +lips took on a more unbending line than ever and his eyes burned like +bits of phosphorescence in the semidarkness. For an hour he lay there +motionless with only the shadow of a smile touching his lips at +intervals. + +Miss Etta had returned, letting in a gust of damp air, but bringing no +definite answer from Lisbeth. Would she come? I remembered her +unyielding decision, her unflinching sincerity. The rain broke now +suddenly, and came roaring down the hill towards the creek. Outside the +branches of elms dragged, with a snapping of twigs, across the brittle +roof. A rusty stream of water crawled sizzling down the pipe of the +stove. It was hot--hot with the intolerable hotness of steam. The +patchwork quilt looked thick and unsmoothed. I reflected that it never +could look smoothed. And how their personalities bore down upon one with +a swamping sensation! Miss Etta and Grega and Mr. Lin Darton were +gathered into a corner of the room and an occasional whispering escaped +them. The oppression was terrific. I began to want Lisbeth, to long for +her to come, as she would come, like a cool blade cutting through +density. And yet--I was not sure. I found myself staring through the +black, shiny surface of the window, seeking relief in the obscuring +dark. It gave little vision, except its own distorted reflections, but I +could distinguish vaguely the outlines of the old mill with the shadowly +raft in the high branches and the smudgy round spots that I knew to be +the turkeys roosting. + +A fiercer current tore at the framework of the mill-house. The water +rapped pitilessly against the pane. The brownish stream thickened, as it +made its way down the stovepipe and fell in flat puddles on the tin +plate beneath it.--_Would she come?_ + +"If she doesn't come now!" whimpered Miss Etta. "An awful +girl--_awful_!" + +I began hoping of a sudden that she would not come. Though I craved her +presence in that insufferable room, I was afraid for her. A sort of +nameless terror had seized me that would not be dismissed. Yet what +worse thing than she had already endured could come from that bundle of +loose clothes on the bed? The figure moved uneasily under the covers and +made an indefinite motion. I could only guess at the words addressed to +Miss Etta as she bent over him. She shook her head. + +"No," she said audibly, "not yet." + +With one brown, fleshless hand, that lay outside the covers, he made a +gesture of resignation, but the gray eyes, turning towards me, burned +black. + +I could make out fragmentary bits of conversation that issued from the +corner of the room. + +"When it comes to one's own blood--" + +The rest was lost in a surge of wind and rain. + +"An awful girl--" + +"She ought to be--" + +A low rumble came down the hill, followed by a more terrific onslaught +of rain. Outside the clap of a door came as a relief. There were steps, +then, just as I had expected, the door was thrust back and she stood +there letting in the fresh air of heaven, a slender sheaf of gray in her +long coat and small fur toque. + +A satirical gleam of triumph gleamed across the sick man's face and +vanished, leaving him a wronged and silently passive creature. + +"You can shut the door tight, now you've _come_," said Miss Etta. "A +draft won't do him any good." + +With this greeting she turned her back. There was a moment's silence, +while Lisbeth pushed shut the flimsy door, and I, to cover her +embarrassment, helped her make it fast. I noticed then that she was +carrying a small leather case. + +"Thermos bottles," she explained, as an aroma of comfort escaped them. +But the man on the bed shook his head, as she approached. + +"Not now," he said plaintively. His look reproached her. Tears stood +thickly in Miss Etta's eyes. She pulled Lisbeth aside with a series of +jerks at her elbow. + +"Too late for that now," I heard her whisper sententiously. And then: +"You had your chance." + +I saw the hand, that disengaged Miss Etta's clutch, tremble; and for an +instant I thought the girl would break down under the benumbing +thickness of their emotion. But she merely unfastened her coat, walking +towards the window as though seeking composure, as I had, in the cold +shadows without, in the blurred outlines of the old mill and the +intrepid row of turkeys. + +He beckoned to her, but she did not see him. Rapidly failing as he was, +I was certain that he was by no means without power of speech. I touched +her on the arm. His words came finally in monotonous cadences. + +"I am dy-ing," he said. "You will--pray?" + +I saw her catch her breath. My own hung in my throat and choked me. He +was watching her intently now with overweighted gray eyes, that could +not make one entirely forget the long cunning line of the mouth. What +courage did she have to withstand this? He was dying--of that there +could be little doubt. She had grown white to the roots of her hair. + +"I do not pray," she said steadily. + +His eyebrows met. "You--_do not pray_? Who--taught--you--_not to +p--ray_?" + +"You did," she said quietly. + +He lay back with a sigh. + +"Outrageous!" murmured Miss Etta through her tears. "An awful +girl--_awful_!" + +The man on the bed smiled. He lifted his hand and let it fall back on +the cover. + +"It's all right--all right--all--right." The reddish-brown eyelids +closed slowly. + +Involuntarily a wave of pity shook me. It was consummate acting. That a +man should play a part upon the very edge of life held in it something +awesome, compelling attention. I drew myself together, feeling his eyes, +sharp for all their floating sadness, upon me. Was he--? Was I--?--A +crackling of thunder shook the ground. When it had passed, the rain came +down straight and hard and windless like rapier thrusts. The room +seemed, if possible, closer, more suffocating. He beckoned to Lisbeth +and she went and stood near him. He was to put her through a still +harder ordeal. + +"You have never cared for me," he whispered. + +There was no sound except for the steady pour outside and the rustle of +Miss Etta's garments as she made angry motions to Lisbeth. Even at this +moment, I believe, had he shown sign of any honest wish for affection, +she would have given all she had. + +"Not for many years," she said, and for the first time her voice shook. + +"_Ah--h!_" His breath went inwards. + +Suddenly he began to fumble among the bed clothes. + +"The picture," he said incoherently, "your mother's picture. Pick it +up," he ordered, his eyelids drooping strangely. "No--no--under the +_bed_." + +Before I could stop her she had dropped to her knees and was fumbling +among the rolls of dust under the bed. An overpowering dread had +clutched at me, forcing the air from my lungs. But in that instant he +had raised himself, by what must have been an almost incredible exercise +of will, and grabbed her by the throat. + +"_Curse you!_" he cried, shaking her as one would a rat, "you and your +mother--_cur_--" + +His hands dropped away, limp and brittle like withered leaves. He fell +back.-- + + * * * * * + +Of course they will always find excuses for the dead, and eulogies. Even +as I helped her into Jim's small curtained car and took my place at the +wheel, I knew that the things that they would say about her would be +more than I could bear. We plunged forward, and a moment later, rounding +a curve, our headlights came full upon the outlines of the old farm with +its hideous false façade. I could not resist glancing at her, though I +said nothing. Her eyes were on her hands, held loosely in her lap. She +did not look at me until, with another lurch, we had swung about again, +and all but the road in front of us was drawn back swiftly into +obscurity. I found that she had turned towards me then, and, as I laid +one hand across her arm, I felt her relax to a relieved trembling. +Before us the night crowded down over the countryside, masking its +ugliness like a film, through which our lights cut a white fissure +towards town. + + + + +SHELBY[20] + +By CHARLES HANSON TOWNE + +(From _The Smart Set_) + + +When I sit down to write of Shelby--Lucien Atterwood Shelby, the author, +whose romantic books you must have read, or at least heard of--I find +myself at some difficulty to know where to begin. I knew him so well at +one time--so little at another; and men, like houses, change with the +years. Today's tenant in some old mansion may not view the garden as you +did long ago; and the friend of a man's later years may not hold the +same opinions the acquaintance of an earlier period once formed. + +I think it best to begin with the time I met Shelby on the newspaper +where we both, as cub reporters, worked. That was exactly twenty years +ago. + +The boys didn't take to Shelby. He was too dapper, too good-looking, and +he always carried a stick, as he called it; we were unregenerate enough +to say cane. And, most loathsome of all, he had an English +accent--though he was born in Illinois, we afterwards learned. You can +imagine how this accent nettled us, for we were all unassuming +lads--chaps, Shelby would have called us--and we detested "side." + +But how this new acquisition to the staff could write! It bothered us to +see him hammer out a story in no time, for most of us had to work over +our copy, and we made Hanscher, the old managing editor, raving mad +sometimes with our dilatoriness. I am afraid that in those sadly distant +days we frequented too many bars, and no doubt we wasted some of our +energy and decreased our efficiency. But every young reporter drank more +or less; and when Shelby didn't mix with us, and we discovered that he +took red wine with his dinner at Mouqin's--invariably alone--we hated +him more than ever. + +I remember well how Stanton, the biggest-hearted fellow the Lord ever +let live, announced one night in the copy room that he was going to get +Shelby tight or die in the attempt, and how loud a laugh went up at his +expense. + +"It can't be done," was the verdict. + +The man hadn't enough humanity, we figured. He was forever dramatizing +himself, forever attitudinizing. And those various suits of his--how +they agonized us! We were slouches, I know, with rumpled hair and, I +fear not overparticular as to our linen during the greater part of the +week. Some of us had families to support, even in those young days--or +at least a father or a mother up the State to whom we had to send a +monthly cheque out of our meagre wages. + +I can't say that we were envious of Shelby because of his +single-blessedness--he was only twenty-two at that time; but it hurt us +to know that he didn't really have to work in Herald Square, and that he +had neat bachelor quarters down in Gramercy Park, and a respectable club +or two, and week-ended almost where he chose. His blond hair was always +beautifully plastered over a fine brow, and he would never soil his +forehead by wearing a green shade when he bent over his typewriter late +at night. That would have robbed him of some of his dignity, made him +look anything but the English gentleman he was so anxious to appear. + +I think he looked upon us as just so much dust beneath his feet. He +would say "Good evening" in a way that irritated every one of us--as +though the words had to be got out somehow, and he might as well say +them and get them over with, and as though he dreaded any reply. You +couldn't have slapped him on the back even if you had felt the impulse; +he wasn't the to-be-slapped kind. And of course that means that he +wouldn't have slapped any of us, either. And he was the type you +couldn't call by his first name. + +Looking back, I sometimes think of all that he missed in the way of +good-fellowship; for we were the most decent staff in New York, as +honest and generous and warmly human a bunch as anyone could hope to +find. We were ambitious, too, mostly college men, and we had that +passion for good writing, perhaps not in ourselves, but in others, which +is so often the newspaper man's special endowment. We were swift to +recognize a fine passage in one another's copy; and praise from old +Hanscher meant a royal little dinner at Engel's with mugs of cream ale, +and an hour's difference in our arrival at the office next day. Oh, +happy, vanished times! Magic moments that peeped through the grayness of +hard work, and made the whole game so worth while. + +Well, Stanton won out. He told us about it afterwards. + +On the pretext that he wanted to ask Shelby's advice about some +important personal matter, he urged him to let him give him as good a +meal as Mouqin could provide, with a certain vintage of French wine +which he knew Shelby was fond of. There were cocktails to begin with, +though Shelby had intimated more than once that he abominated the +bourgeois American habit of indulging in such poison. And there was an +onion soup _au gratin_, a casserole, and artichokes, and special coffee, +and I don't know what else. + +"He got positively human," Stanton put it, later, as we clustered round +him in the copy room. (Shelby hadn't turned up.) "I don't like him, you +know; and at first it was hard to get through the soup; but I acted up, +gave him a song and dance about my mythical business matter--I think he +feared I was going to 'touch him'--and finally got a little tipsy +myself. From then on it was easy. It was like a game." + +It seems that afterwards, arm in arm, they walked out into Sixth Avenue +in the soft snow--it was winter, and the Burgundy had done the +trick--and Shelby, his inhibitions completely gone, began to weep. + +"Why are you crying?" Stanton asked, his own voice thick. + +"Because you fellers don't like me!" Shelby choked out. + +The accent and the stick went together into the gutter, Stanton +laughingly told us. An immortal moment! The poseur with his mask off, at +last! Beneath all that grease-paint and charlatanism there was a solid, +suffering, lonely man; and even in his own dazed condition Stanton was +quick to recognize it, and to rejoice in the revelation. + +Moreover, he was flattered, as we always are, when our judgments have +proved right. Stanton had deliberately set out to find the real +Shelby--and he had. + +"A man who can write as he can has something in him--that I know," he +had said generously more than once. He made us see that he had not been +wrong. + +But it was not the real Shelby that returned to the office. That is +where he missed his great opportunity. Back strutted the pompous, +stained-glass, pitiful imitation of an Englishman, in a louder suit than +ever, and with a big new cane that made the old one look flimsy. + +We despised him more than ever. For we would have taken him within our +little circle gladly after Stanton's sure report; and there would have +been chance after chance for him to make good with us. But no; he +preferred the pose of aloofness, and his face betrayed that he was +ashamed of that one night's weakness. He never alluded to his evening +with Stanton; and when Minckle, who was certain the ice had been broken, +put his arm around his shoulder the next day, he looked and drawled, + +"I say, old top, I wish you wouldn't." + +Of course that finished him with us. + +"He can go to the devil," we said. + +We wanted him fired, obliterated; but the very next evening there was a +murder in Harlem, and old Hanscher sent Shelby to cover it, and his +first-page story was the talk of the town. We were sports enough to tell +him what a wonderful thing he had done. He only smiled, said "Thanks," +and went on at his typewriter. + + +II + +It was shortly after this that Marguerite Davis assailed New York with +her beauty--a young actress with a wealth of hair and the kind of eyes +you dream of. She captured the critics and the public alike. Her name +was on every lip and the Broadway theater where she starred in "The +Great Happiness" was packed to the doors. Such acclaim was never +received by any young woman. We heard that Shelby went every night for a +week to see some part of the play--he couldn't, because of his +assignments, view the entire performance; and it was Minckle who, after +the piece had been running a month in New York, found a photograph of +the star in the top drawer of Shelby's desk. He had gone there for a +match--you know how informal we newspaper men are. Moreover, the picture +had been autographed. + +"I wish you wouldn't touch that." It was Shelby's voice. Of course he +had come in at the very moment poor Minckle made his startling +discovery. + +With quiet dignity, and with a flush on his cheeks, Shelby took the +photograph from Minckle's hand, and replaced it in the drawer. + +"I always keep matches on top of my desk--when I have any," he said, in +a voice like ice. + +There was no denying his justified anger. No man likes to have his heart +secrets disclosed; and Shelby knew that even the Associated Press could +not give more publicity to the discovery than Minckle could. He +dreaded--and justly, I think--the wagging of heads that would be noticed +from now on, the pitiless interest in his amour. + +Stanton was the only one of us, except myself, later, who ever was +privileged, if you care to put it that way, to visit Shelby's +apartment--diggings, Shelby always called them. There, on the walls, he +told us, were innumerable photographs of Miss Davis, in every +conceivable pose. They looked out at one from delicate and heavy frames; +and some were stuck informally in the mirror of his dresser, as though +casually placed there to lighten up the beginning of each day, or +perhaps because there was no other space for them. + +"You must know her awfully well," Stanton ventured once. + +"I have never met the lady," was all Shelby said; and Stanton told me +there was a sigh that followed the remark. + +"What!" this full-blooded young American reporter cried, astounded. +"You've never met this girl, and yet you have all these--all these +pictures of her?" + +"I don't want to lose my dream, my illusion," was Shelby's answer. + +A man who would not meet the toast of Broadway--and Fifth Avenue, for +that matter--if he could, was, to Stanton and the rest of us, +inconceivable. + +It was at the close of that winter that Shelby left us. Some there were +who said he was suffering from a broken heart. At any rate, he began to +free-lance; and the first of those fascinating romantic short stories +that he did so well appeared in one of the magazines. There was always a +poignant note in them. They dealt with lonely men who brooded in secret +on some unattainable woman of dreams. This sounds precious; but the +tales were saved from utter banality by a certain richness of style, a +flow and fervour that carried the reader on through twenty pages without +his knowing it. They struck a fresh note, they were filled with the fire +of youth, and the scenes were always laid in some far country, which +gave them, oddly enough, a greater reality. Shelby could pile on +adjectives as no other writer of his day, I always thought, and he could +weave a tapestry, or create an embroidery of words that was almost +magical. + +He made a good deal of money, I believe, during those first few months +after he went away from Herald Square. Apparently he had no friends, +and, as I have said, invariably he seemed to dine alone at Mouqin's, at +a corner table. Afterwards, he would go around to the Café Martin, then +in its glory, where Fifth Avenue and Broadway meet, for his coffee and a +golden liqueur and a cigarette. That flaming room, which we who were +fortunate enough to have our youth come to a glorious fruition in 1902, +attracted us all like a magnet. Here absinthe dripped into tall glasses, +and the seats around the sides, the great mirrors and the golden +curtains, which fluttered in summer and remained austerely in place in +winter, made a little heaven for us all, and life one long cry of joy. +Here women, like strange flowers that bloomed only at night, smiled and +laughed the hours away; and the low whirr of Broadway drifted in, while +the faint thunder of Fifth Avenue lent an added mystery to the place, as +though the troubled world were shut out but could be reached again in an +instant, if you wished to reach it. + +Shelby liked to be seen in such places. He said he felt that he was on +the Continent, and he liked to get nervously excited over a liqueur and +a mazagan of coffee, and then flee to his cozy lodgings in Gramercy Park +and produce page after page of closely written manuscript. + +The pictures of Marguerite Davis remained a part of the furnishings of +those rooms of his--that we heard; and I knew it directly shortly after +this. For I, too, left the newspaper, and went into the magazine-editing +game. I found a berth on that same popular periodical to which Shelby +was then contributing his matchless stories; and part of my job was to +see him frequently, take him to luncheon or dinner, talk over his future +plans with him, discuss the possibility of his doing a novelette which +later he could expand into a full-sized volume and thereby gain an added +vogue. + +It was during this period that I came to know him so well--came to know +him, that is, as intimately as he wished to be known. Always there was a +cloak of reserve which he put on with me, as with every one. I tried to +broaden his horizon, to have him meet other men--and women. He would go +with me once or twice to some party, for he was clever enough to see +that he must not offend me, just as he knew that I must not offend him. +We were too valuable to each other, and in that odd mixing up of our +affairs in this world here we were, after so brief an interval, in the +relationship of editor and contributor. + +He knew, however, that I had always admired his literary gifts; but I +confess that the feet of clay began to creep into view when he told me, +one night at the Martin, that his favorite novelist of all time +was--Marion Crawford! That explained so much to me that I had not +understood before. I smiled tolerantly, for my own taste ran much +higher; and I seemed from then on to sense a certain cheapness in +Shelby's mind, as if I had lifted the cloth over a chair and discovered +cherrywood where I had hoped to find Chippendale. It is through such +marginalia that we come to know people. I could not reconcile Shelby's +delicate style with so forlorn a taste for other literary dishes. I said +then that he would never become a great writer. He would simply mark +time, artistically speaking, after reaching a certain point. Thereafter +everything he produced would be but repetition. + +I was right. His virgin novel proved a rank failure. The man could do +nothing sustained. He was essentially a person of brilliant flashes. The +book, called, as you may remember, "The Shadow and the Substance," was a +_tour de force_ in vapid writing, and it almost severed his literary +jugular vein. All the reviewers, delighted with a chance to play upon +his title, said it contained far more shadow than substance. + +Shelby had had easy sailing up till that time. His pride was hurt by the +reception of the book; and he told me he was going to flee to +London--which he straightway did. Then I heard of him in his beloved +England; and from there he sent me several short manuscripts filled with +his old grace and charm of style--a sort of challenge to his critics. +But always we waited for the story with a punch; for the story that +would show there was a soul in the fellow. These pale blossoms were all +very well--as magazine bait to capture the young girl reader of our +smart periodical; but too many of them cloyed. It was as though you +served a banquet and made _hors d'oeuvres_ the main dish. + +Yet his popularity with our readers was tremendous. Letters, addressed +in feminine handwriting, came to him in our care every day, from all +over the land; and he was no doubt flattered by silly women who were +fascinated even more by his fiction after we printed his romantic +photograph. For he had a profile that captivated many a girl, eyes that +seemed to speak volumes; and no doubt there were numerous boudoirs that +contained his picture, just as his rooms contained so many likenesses of +Marguerite Davis. + +I next heard of him in Egypt, where he said he was gathering colour for +a new romance. He stayed away several months, and then blew in one +morning, better-looking than ever, brown and clear-eyed. He had been all +over the Orient, and he said his note-book was full of material. Now he +could sit down quietly and write. He had so much to put on paper, he +told me. + +But he hadn't. He dreamed adventure, he craved adventure; but nothing +ever happened to him. His trips were invariably on glassy seas. He +traveled by himself--he hadn't even one chum whom he cared to have share +his joys; and though he penetrated the jungles of Africa at one time, +the lions remained mysteriously in hiding, and the jaguars didn't even +growl. + +I remember that this came out one night at a dinner party he and I went +to at the home of a friend of mine. A Captain Diehart was there--a most +delightful man of fifty or so, who had just returned from a trip around +the world; and he fascinated us all by his lively recounting of certain +dramatic happenings in the Far East. Zulus had captured him once, and he +had come perilously close to death on so many occasions that it was a +miracle that he should be sitting here now, sipping his champagne and +smoking his cigarette. + +On the way home--I had a habit of seeing Shelby to his doorstep during +this period--he turned to me and said: + +"Isn't it strange, Allison, that nothing of that kind has ever happened +to me? I move about all the while, I look eagerly for excitement, I hope +always for the supreme adventure--and I never find it. Yet I love +romance. Why does it never come to me?" + +I was silent for a few paces. I felt so sorry for him. For once he had +told me what was in his heart. + +"You're in love with love," I said finally. "That's what's the matter +with your work, Shelby, if you'll let me say so. I wonder if you have +really loved a woman--or a friend, even? If the great thing should come +into your life, wouldn't it illuminate your whole literary expression? +Wouldn't you write eighty per cent better. Wouldn't everything you do be +sharpened splendidly alive? Why don't you meet--Miss Davis?" + +"My God, man!" he let out. "Won't you allow me to keep at least one +dream?" + +He tried to be tragic right there in the street; but I read him like a +book. + +"Don't be an ass, old fellow. You're not a poet, you know--you're a +happy dabbler in prose; but you've got to wake up--you've got to have +some vital experience before you can hope to reach the top. This +vicarious loving isn't worth a tin whistle. You're like a soldier in the +barracks compared to one who's in the thick of the fight. Wake up, shake +yourself, get out of your shell, and see how much greater you'll be!" + +He didn't like that. He never liked the truth. How few of us do! + +The next thing I knew he was off for Japan, and he sent me pretty +post-cards of geisha-girls, and tried to indicate that he was having the +time of his life, at last. But there was something false--I cannot quite +express it--about his messages. They didn't ring true at all. He knew +it, and he knew that I knew it. + + +III + +When he came back, after a year or so, there was a vast change in him. +He was more sure of himself; and in the Martin one night he told me how +various other periodicals were now after him. His rate would have to go +up, and all that sort of thing. He liked me, and _The Athenian_, but one +must grow, and there were wider fields for him to penetrate; and it was +all right that we had made him what he was, but in the final summing up +a man must think of himself, and one's career was one's career, you +know. He brought in several fashionable names, I remember--I don't +recall just how he did it, but he tried to appear casual when he spoke +of Mrs. Thus-and-So, who had a mansion on Fifth Avenue; and he indicated +that he often dined there now. They had met in the Orient, and Reggie +was a corker, too, and he might summer at Newport, and what did I think +of an offer of five thousand dollars from a great weekly for a serial +dealing with high life? + +He sickened me that evening. Yes, he was a prig, a snob, and I don't +know what else. Frankly and coldly I told him to go to the dickens. Our +magazine had existed without him once upon a time, and it could go on +existing without him. I was sorry to see him make such a fool of +himself. + +His whole attitude changed. + +"Oh, don't think I mean all I say, Allison!" he pleaded. "I'll continue +to give you something now and again. After all, I've got a wide audience +with you people, and I don't quite wish to lose it." + +That irritated me more than ever--his stupid patronage, his abominable +self-assurance. I remember paying the check very grandiloquently, and +leaving him alone--as he was so fond of being, at one time--in the +center of the room. + +When we met thereafter of course we were exceedingly chilly to each +other. Once I saw him with Mrs. Thus-and-So, and he cut me dead. I +suppose I looked painfully inadequate, utterly unimportant to him that +afternoon. He had moved to higher circles; and after all I was only a +struggling young editor, who dressed rather badly--; all right for +certain occasions, but hardly one to be seen bowing to at a moment like +this! I read his mind, you see; and again he knew that I knew; and of +course he hated me from that time forth. + +It was at this time that the phrase, "See America First," came into such +wide circulation. It was considered the thing to look over the Grand +Canyon or the Yellowstone Park, or to run down to Florida, rather than +cross the ocean; and I next heard of Shelby in the West, diligently +writing--for other magazines. He had brought out one more novel, "The +Orange Sunset," and it had gone far better than the first, which must +have heartened him and given him a fresh impetus. He changed book +publishers, too--went to a smarter firm who did much for him in the way +of publicity. And special editions, in limp covers, helped his sales. +Even his short stories were brought out, and as little brochures, in +gorgeous binding with colored illustrations, a single tale would attract +the romantic maiden. It was a chocolate-cream appeal; but cream-drops +have their uses in this weary world. + +The San Francisco earthquake--I believe they always allude to it out +there as "the fire"--occurred--that next year; and Stanton, who had +succeeded old Hanscher in Herald Square--the latter had died in harness +at his desk--heard, in that mysterious way that newspaper men hear +everything, that Shelby was in the ill-fated city when the earth rocked +on that disastrous night. Immediately he telegraphed him, "Write two +thousand words of your experiences, your sensations in calamity. Wire +them immediately. Big check awaits you." + +Silence followed. Stanton and I talked it over, and we concluded that +Shelby must have been killed. + +"If he isn't dead, here at last is the great adventure he has been +longing for," I couldn't help saying. + +No word ever came from him; but two weeks later he blew into town, and +again Stanton found out that he had arrived. + +"Why didn't you answer my wire?" he telephoned him. + +"I couldn't," Shelby rather whimpered over the line. "You see, Stanton, +old top, the thing got me too deeply. I just couldn't--I hope you'll +understand--write one word of it." + +But it was not the grief of the man who feels so deeply that he cannot +shed a tear. It was the craven in Shelby that had shocked the +meretricious Shelby into insensibility, into utter inarticulateness in +one of the crowning disasters of the ages. + +In the face of something so real, so terribly real, he was but a puny +worm, with no vocabulary to express his emotions--for he had none, save +the emotion of fear. That we knew from people who had been at the same +hotel where he was stopping when the great shock came. He ran through +the corridors like a frightened doe, in pajamas of silk, with wonderful +tassels of green. He wrung his hands, and babbled like a lunatic. "Oh, +my manuscripts! My manuscripts!" were the only intelligible words that +came from his white lips. + +Think of it! He thought of those piffling stories--those stories of +unreality, when he was experiencing the biggest thing that ever came +into his little life! Do you wonder that we cared even less for him +after that? That I refused to see him at all, and that even wise, +understanding Bill Stanton couldn't touch his syndicate stuff? + + +IV + +There is, of necessity, a hiatus here. One cannot write of what one does +not know. I lost all trace of Shelby during the intervening years, +except that I saw spasmodic productions of his in various periodicals, +and guessed that he must be working in those same bachelor quarters +probably still surrounded with the pictures of Miss Davis. There were +rumors, also, that he went frequently to the opera with very grand +people, and dined and supped on Lower as well as Upper Fifth Avenue. It +was whispered in editorial circles that he had come to care more as to +where he could dine next week than how he could write next week. You +see, he was most personable, and he could flatter ladies, and drink like +a gentleman, and wear his evening clothes to perfection--he still had +them made in London--and that sort of unmarried man is always in demand +in New York. Add to these social graces the piquancy of a little +literary reputation, and you have the perfect male butterfly. + +Shelby fluttered his way through the corridors and drawing rooms of the +rich, and his later work, if you will notice, always touches upon what +is called smart society. We heard that he never mentioned his newspaper +days--that he was not a little ashamed of having spent so many months +bending over a typewriter in a dingy, cluttered office. Yet it was there +he had learned to write; and had he been true to the best traditions of +those days of exciting assignments, how far he might have gone on the +long literary road! + +The war came. Of course Shelby was beyond the draft age--quite far +beyond it; but he had no ties, was in perfect physical condition, and he +might have found in the trenches another contact that would have made a +thorough man of him. Again, he had always loved England and the English +so dearly that it would not have been surprising had he offered his +services in some way to that country when she and her allies so needed +assistance. But the lists of those who offered their lives then may be +searched in vain for Shelby's name. + +I heard vaguely that he had gone to Borneo in September, 1914; and there +he remained, "to avoid such a nasty mess as the world had come to." You +see, his was a process of evasion. He loved romance when it was sweet +and beautiful; but he had not the vision to understand that there is +also a hard, stern, iron romance--the romance of men's companionships in +difficult places. + +How he did it, I never knew; but he returned from Borneo a year later, +and handed to his publishers a novel called "The Blowing Rose," which +dealt, as its title would indicate, with anything but the War--a +sentimental tale of the old South, full of lattices and siestas through +long, slow afternoons, and whispered words of love, and light +conversations at dusk, and all that sort of rot. And all the while, +outside his door the guns were booming; at the gates of the world a +perilous storm had broken. The earth was on fire; but while Rome burned, +he, like Nero, played a fiddle--and was content. + +Then he wrote a comedy of British manners, and nothing would do but that +he must himself journey to London in war-time to see about its +production there. + +Stanton and I happened to see him the day before he sailed. We met him +face to face on Fifth Avenue, and he bowed to us. We returned the +salute, little dreaming that never again would we see him. + +For Shelby sailed on the _Lusitania_. + +There must be a hiatus here, too; for no one saw him die. The story runs +that he must have been in his cabin when the awful moment came--that he +was drowned like a rat in a trap. I wonder. And I wonder if he knew in +that agonizing instant that he was doomed? But was it not better to die +than to emerge again from so great a calamity--so historical an +episode--as he had once before emerged, and find himself again +inarticulate? At least there can be some glory for him now; for one +likes to think that, after all, he might have told us how he felt in so +supreme a moment, and linked it, through his delicate art, with his San +Francisco sensations. Could those have been revived, and put upon paper? +Could Shelby ever have made a fine gesture, know himself as we knew him, +and told the truth. + +I doubt it. For, looking over his published works tonight, I find only +one or two epigrams worthy of a brief existence. And one of those I am +sure he filched from an English wit, and redressed it for his purposes. +That was the only time he cared for American tailoring. + +But poor Shelby! Vicarious, indeed, were all the experiences, save two, +of his shallow days. But in the face of each, he was speechless. There +is a law of averages, a law of compensation, you know. The balance wheel +turns; the tides change; the sands of occasion shift. Fate gave this man +one overwhelmingly glorious chance to say something. He was mute. The +second time she sealed his lips forever. + + + + +THE WALLOW OF THE SEA[21] + +By MARY HEATON VORSE + +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + + +After twenty years I saw Deolda Costa again, Deolda who, when I was a +girl, had meant to me beauty and romance. There she sat before me, +large, mountainous, her lithe gypsy body clothed in fat. Her dark eyes, +beautiful as ever, still with a hint of wildness, met mine proudly. And +as she looked at me the old doubts rose again in my mind, a cold chill +crawled up my back as I thought what was locked in Deolda's heart. My +mind went back to that night twenty years ago, with the rain beating its +devil's tattoo against the window, when all night long I sat holding +Deolda's hand while she never spoke or stirred the hours through, but +stared with her crazy, smut-rimmed eyes out into the storm where Johnny +Deutra was. I heard again the shuttle of her feet weaving up and down +the room through the long hours. + +It was a strange thing to see Deolda after having known her as I did. +There she was, with her delight of life all changed into youngsters and +fat. There she was, heavy as a monument, and the devil in her divided +among her children--though Deolda had plenty of devil to divide. + +My first thought was: "Here's the end of romance. To think that you once +were love, passion, and maybe even carried death in your hand--and when +I look at you now!" + +Then the thought came to me, "After all, it is a greater romance that +she should have triumphed completely, that the weakness of remorse has +never set its fangs in her heart." She had seized the one loophole that +life had given her and had infused her relentless courage into another's +veins. + +I was at the bottom of Deolda Costa's coming to live with my aunt +Josephine Kingsbury, for I had been what my mother called "peaked," and +was sent down to the seashore to visit her. And suddenly I, an inland +child, found myself in a world of romance whose very colors were +changed. I had lived in a world of swimming green with faint blue +distance; hills ringed us mildly; wide, green fields lapped up to our +houses; islands of shade trees dotted the fields. + +My world of romance was blue and gray, with the savage dunes glittering +gold in the sun. Here life was intense. Danger lurked always under the +horizon. Lights, like warning eyes, flashed at night, and through the +drenching fog, bells on reefs talked to invisible ships. Old men who +told tales of storm and strange, savage islands, of great catches of +fish, of smuggling, visited my aunt. + +Then, as if this were merely the background of a drama, Deolda Costa +came to live with us in a prosaic enough fashion, as a "girl to help +out." + +If you ask me how my aunt, a decent, law-abiding woman--a sick woman at +that--took a firebrand like Deolda into her home, all I would be able to +answer is: If you had seen her stand there, as I did, on the porch that +morning, you wouldn't ask the question. The doorbell rang and my aunt +opened it, I tagging behind. There was a girl there who looked as though +she were daring all mankind, a strange girl with skin tawny, like sand +on a hot day, and dark, brooding eyes. My aunt said: + +"You want to see me?" + +The girl glanced up slowly under her dark brows that looked as if they +had been drawn with a pencil. + +"I've come to work for you," she said in a shy, friendly fashion. "I'm a +real strong girl." + +No one could have turned her away, not unless he were deaf and blind, +not unless he were ready to murder happiness. I was fifteen and +romantic, and I was bedazzled just as the others were. She made me think +of dancing women I have heard of, and music, and of soft, starlit +nights, velvet black. She was more foreign than anything I had ever seen +and she meant to me what she did to plenty of others--romance. She must +have meant it to my aunt, sick as she was and needing a hired girl. So +when Deolda asked, in that soft way of hers: + +"Shall I stay?" + +"Yes," answered my aunt, reluctantly, her eyes on the girl's lovely +mouth. + +While she stood there, her shoulders drooping, her eyes searching my +aunt's face, she still found time to shoot a glance like a flaming +signal to Johnny Deutra, staring at her agape. I surprised the glance, +and so did my aunt Josephine, who must have known she was in for nothing +but trouble. And so was Johnny Deutra, for from that first glance of +Deolda's that dared him, love laid its heavy hand on his young +shoulders. + +"What's your name, dear?" my aunt asked. + +"Deolda Costa," said she. + +"Oh, you're one-armed Manel's girl. I don't remember seeing you about +lately." + +"I been working to New Bedford. My father an' mother both died. I came +up for the funeral. I--don't want to go back to the mills--" Then sudden +fury flamed in her. "I hate the men there!" she cried. "I'd drown before +I'd go back!" + +"There, there, dear," my aunt soothed her. "You ain't going back--you're +going to work for Auntie Kingsbury." + +That was the way Deolda had. She never gave one any chance for an +illusion about her, for there was handsome Johnny Deutra still hanging +round the gate watching Deolda, and she already held my aunt's heart in +her slender hand. + +My aunt went around muttering, "One-armed Manel's girl!" She appealed to +me: "She's got to live somewhere, hasn't she?" + +I imagine that my aunt excused herself for deliberately, running into +foul weather by telling herself that Deolda Was her "lot," something the +Lord had sent her to take care of. + +"Who was one-armed Manel?" I asked, tagging after my aunt. + +"Oh, he was a queer old one-armed Portygee who lived down along," said +my aunt, "clear down along under the sand dunes in a green-painted house +with a garden in front of it with as many colors as Joseph's coat. Those +Costas lived 'most any way." Then my aunt added, over her shoulder: +"They say the old woman was a gypsy and got married to one-armed Manel +jumping over a broomstick. And I wouldn't wonder a mite if 'twas true. +She was a queer looking old hag with black, piercing eyes and a proud +way of walking. The boys are a wild crew. Why, I remember this girl +Deolda, like a little leopard cat with blue-black shadows in her hair +and eyes like saucers, selling berries at the back door!" + +My uncle Ariel, Aunt Josephine's brother, came in after a while. As he +took a look at Deolda going out of the room, he said: + +"P--hew! What's that?" + +"I told you I was sick and had to get a girl to help out--what with +Susie visiting and all," said my aunt, very short. + +"Help out? Help out! My lord! _help out!_ What's her name--Beth Sheba?" + +Now this wasn't as silly as it sounded. I suppose what Uncle Ariel meant +was that Deolda made him think of Eastern queens and Araby. But my +attention was distracted by the appearance of two wild-looking boys with +a green-blue sea chest which served Deolda as a trunk. I followed it to +her room and started making friends with Deolda, who opened the trunk, +and I glimpsed something embroidered in red flowers. + +"Oh, Deolda, let me see. Oh, let me see!" I cried. + +It was a saffron shawl all embroidered with splotchy red flowers as big +as my hand. It made me tingle as it lay there in its crinkly folds, +telling of another civilization and other lands than our somber shores. +The shawl and its crawling, venomous, alluring flowers marked Deolda off +from us. She seemed to belong to the shawl and its scarlet insinuations. + +"That was my mother's," she said. Then she added this astounding thing: +"My mother was a great dancer. All Lisbon went wild about her. When she +danced the whole town went crazy. The bullfighters and the princes would +come--" + +"But how--?" I started, and stopped, for Deolda had dropped beside the +chest and pressed her face in the shawl, and I remembered that her +mother was dead only a few days ago, and I couldn't ask her how the +great dancer came to be in Dennisport in the cabin under the dunes. I +tiptoed out, my heart thrilled with romance for the gypsy dancer's +daughter. + +When my aunt was ready for bed there was no Deolda. Later came the sound +of footsteps and my aunt's voice in the hall outside my room. + +"That you, Deolda?" + +"Yes'm." + +"Where were you all evening?" + +"Oh, just out under the lilacs." + +"For pity's sake! Out under the lilacs! What were you doing out there?" + +Deolda's voice came clear and tranquil. "Making love with Johnny +Deutra." + +I held my breath. What can you do when a girl tells the truth unabashed. + +"I've known Johnny Deutra ever since he came from the Islands, Deolda," +my aunt said, sternly. "He'll mean it when he falls in love." + +"I know it," said Deolda, with a little breathless catch in her voice. + +"He's only a kid. He's barely twenty," my aunt went on, inexorably. +"He's got to help his mother. He's not got enough to marry; any girl who +married him would have to live with the old folks. Look where you're +going, Deolda." + +There was silence, and I heard their footsteps going to their rooms. + +The next day Deolda went to walk, and back she came, old Conboy driving +her in his motor. Old Conboy was rich; he had one of the first motors on +the Cape, when cars were still a wonder. After that Deolda went off in +Conboy's motor as soon as her dishes were done and after supper there +would be handsome Johnny Deutra. We were profoundly shocked. You may be +sure village tongues were already busy after a few days of these goings +on. + +"Deolda," my aunt said, sternly, "what are you going out with that old +Conboy for?" + +"I'm going to marry him," Deolda answered. + +"You're _what_?" + +"Going to marry him," Deolda repeated in her cool, truthful way that +always took my breath. + +"Has he asked you?" my aunt inquired, sarcastically. + +"No, but he will," said Deolda. She looked out under her long, slanting +eyes that looked as if they had little red flames dancing in the depths +of them. + +"But you love Johnny," my aunt went on. + +She nodded three times with the gesture of a little girl. + +"Do you know what you're headed for, Deolda?" said my aunt. "Do you know +what you're doing when you talk about marrying old Conboy and loving +that handsome, no-account kid, Johnny?" + +We were all three sitting on the bulkheads after supper. It was one of +those soft nights with great lazy yellow clouds with pink edges sailing +down over the rim of the sea, fleet after fleet of them. I was terribly +interested in it all, but horribly shocked, and from my vantage of +fifteen years I said. + +"Deolda, I think you ought to marry Johnny." + +"Fiddledeedee!" said my aunt. "If she had sense she wouldn't marry +either one of 'em--one's too old, one's too young." + +"She ought to marry Johnny and make a man of him," I persisted, for it +seemed ridiculous to me to call Johnny Deutra a boy when he was twenty +and handsome as a picture in a book. + +My prim words touched some sore place in Deolda. She gave a brief +gesture with her hands and pushed the idea from her. + +"I can't," she said, "I can't do it over again. Oh, I can't--I can't. +I'm afraid of emptiness--empty purses, empty bellies. The last words my +mother spoke were to me. She said, '_Deolda, fear nothing but +emptiness--empty bellies, empty hearts._' She left me something, too." + +She went into the house and came back with the saffron shawl, its long +fringe trailing on the floor, its red flowers venomous and lovely in the +evening light. + +"You've seen my mother," she said, "but you've seen her a poor old +woman. She had everything in the world once. She gave it up for love. +I've seen what love comes to. I've seen my mother with her hands callous +with work and her temper sharp as a razor edge nagging my father, and my +father cursing out us children. She had a whole city in love with her +and she gave up everything to run away with my father. He was jealous +and wanted her for himself. He got her to marry him. Then he lost his +arm and they were poor and her voice went. I've seen where love goes. If +I married Johnny I'd go and live at Deutra's and I'd have kids, and old +Ma Deutra would hate me and scream at me just like my mother used to. It +would be going back, right back in the trap I've just come out of." + +What she said gave me an entirely new vision of life and love. "They +were married and lived happy ever afterward" was what I had read in +books. Now I saw all at once the other side of the medal. It was my +first contact, too, with a nature strong enough to attempt to subdue +life to will. I had seen only the subservient ones who had accepted +life. + +Deolda was a fierce and passionate reaction against destiny. It's a +queer thing, when you think of it, for a girl to be brought up face to +face with the wreck of a tragic passion, to grow up in the house with +love's ashes and to see what were lovers turned into an old hag and a +cantankerous, one-armed man nagging each other. + +My aunt made one more argument. "What makes you get married to any of +'em, Deolda?" + +Now Deolda looked at her with a queer look; then she gave a queer laugh +like a short bark. + +"I can't stay here forever. I'm not going back to the mill." + +Then my aunt surprised me by throwing her arms around Deolda and kissing +her and calling her "my poor lamb," while Deolda leaned up against my +aunt as if she were her own little girl and snuggled up in a way that +would break your heart. + +One afternoon soon after old Conboy brought Deolda home before tea time, +and as she jumped out: + +"Oh, all right!" he called after her. "Have your own way; I'll marry you +if you want me to!" + +She made him pay for this. "You see," she said to my aunt, "I told you I +was going to marry him." + +"Well, then come out motoring tonight when you've got your dishes done," +called old Conboy. + +"I'm going to the breakwater with Johnny Deutra tonight," said Deolda, +in that awful truthful way of hers. + +"You see what you get," said my aunt, "if you marry that girl." + +"I'll get worse not marrying her," said Conboy. "I may die any minute; +I've a high blood pressure, and maybe a stroke will carry me off any +day. But I've never wanted anything in many years as I want to hold +Deolda in my arms." + +"Shame on you!" cried my aunt. "An old man like you!" + +So things went on. Johnny kept right on coming. My aunt would fume about +it, but she did nothing. We were all under Deolda's enchantment. As for +me, I adored her; she had a look that always disarmed me. She would sit +brooding with a look I had come to know as the "Deolda look." Tears +would come to her eyes and slide down her face. + +"Deolda," I would plead, "what are you crying about?" + +"Life," she answered. + +But I knew that she was crying because Johnny Deutra was only a boy. +Then she would change into a mood of wild gayety, whip the shawl around +her, and dance for me, looking a thousand times more beautiful than +anyone I had ever seen. And then she would shove me out of the room, +leaving me feeling as though I had witnessed some strange rite at once +beautiful and unholy. + +She'd sit mocking Conboy, but he'd only smile. She'd go off with her +other love and my aunt powerless to stop her. As for Johnny Deutra, he +was so in love that all he saw was Deolda. I don't believe he ever +thought that she was in earnest about old Conboy. + +So things stood when one day Capt. Mark Hammar came driving up with +Conboy to take Deolda out. Mark was his real name, but Nick was what +they called him, after the "Old Nick," for he was a devil if there ever +was one, a big, rollicking devil--that is, outwardly. But gossips said +no crueller man ever drove a crew for the third summer into the Northern +Seas. I didn't like the way he looked at Deolda from the first, with his +narrowed eyes and his smiling mouth. My aunt didn't like the way she +signaled back to him. We watched them go, my aunt saying + +"No good'll come of that!" And no good did. + +All three of them came back excited and laughing. Old Conboy, tall as +Mark Hammar, wide-shouldered, shambling like a bear, but a fine figure +of an old fellow for all that; Mark Hammar, heavy and splendid in his +sinister fashion; and between them Deolda with her big, red mouth and +her sallow skin and her eyes burning as they did when she was excited. + +"I'm saying to Deolda here," said Captain Hammar, coming up to my aunt, +"that I'll make a better runnin' mate than Conboy." He drew her up to +him. There was something alike about them; the same devil flamed out of +the eyes of both of them. Their glances met like forked lightning. "I've +got a lot more money than him, too," said Hammar, jerking his thumb +toward Conboy. He roused the devil in Deolda. + +"You may have more money," said she, "but you'll live longer! And I want +to be a rich widow!" + +"Stop your joking," my aunt said, sharply. "It don't sound nice." + +"Joking?" says Captain Hammar, letting his big head lunge forward. "I +ain't joking; I'm goin' to marry that girl." + +My aunt said no more while they were there. She sat like a ramrod in her +chair. That was one of the worst things about Deolda. We cover our +bodies decently with clothes, and we ought to cover up our thoughts +decently with words. But Deolda had no shame, and people with her +didn't, either. They'd say just what they were thinking about. + +After they left Deolda came to Aunt Josephine and put her arms around +her like a good, sweet child. + +"What's the matter, Auntie?" she asked. + +"You--that's what. I can't stand it to hear you go on." + +Deolda looked at her with a sort of wonder. "We were only saying out +loud what every girl's thinking about when she marries a man of +forty-five, or when she marries a man who's sixty-five. It's a +trade--the world's like that." + +"Let me tell you one thing," said my aunt. "You can't fool with Capt. +Mark Hammar. It means that you give up your other sweetheart." + +"That's to be seen," said Deolda in her dark, sultry way. Then she said, +as if she was talking to herself: "Life--with him--would be interesting. +He thinks he could crush me like a fly.--He can't, though--" And then +all of a sudden she burst into tears and threw herself in my aunt's lap, +sobbing: "Oh, oh! Why's life like this? Why isn't my Johnny grown up? +Why--don't he--take me away--from them all?" + +After that Captain Hammar kept coming to the house. He showed well +enough he was serious. + +"That black devil's hypnotized her," my aunt put it. + +Deolda seemed to have some awful kinship to Mark Hammar, and Johnny +Deutra, who never paid much attention to old Conboy, paid attention to +him. Black looks passed between them, and I would catch "Nick" Hammar's +eyes resting on Johnny with a smiling venom that struck fear into me. +Johnny Deutra seldom came daytimes, but he came in late one afternoon +and sat there looking moodily at Deolda, who flung past him with the air +she had when she wore the saffron shawl. I could almost see its long +fringes trailing behind her as she stood before him, one hand on her +tilted hip, her head on one side. + +It was a queer sort of day, a day with storm in the air, a day when all +our nerves got on edge, when the possibility of danger whips the blood. +I had an uncomfortable sense of knowing that I ought to leave Deolda and +Johnny and that Johnny was waiting for me to go to talk. And yet I was +fascinated, as little girls are; and just as I was about to leave the +room I ran into old Conboy hurrying in, his reddish hair standing on +end. + +"Well, Deolda," said he, "Captain Hammar's gone down the Cape all of a +sudden. He told me to tell you good-by for him. Deolda, for God's sake, +marry me before he comes back! He'll kill you, that's what he'll do. +It's not for my sake I'm asking you--it's for your sake!" + +She looked at him with her big black eyes. "I believe you mean that, +Conboy. I believe I'll do it. But I'll be fair and square with you as +you are with me. You'd better let me be; you know what I'm like. I won't +make you happy; I never pretended I would. And as for him killing me, +how do you know, Conboy, I mightn't lose my temper first?" + +"He'll break you," said Conboy. "God! but he's a man without pity! Don't +you know how he drives his men? Don't you know the stories about his +first wife? He's put some of his magic on you. You're nothing but a poor +little lamb, Deolda, playing with a wolf, for all your spirit. There's +nothing he'd stop at. Nothing," he repeated, staring at Johnny. "I +wouldn't give a cent for that Johnny Deutra's life until I'm married to +you, Deolda. I've seen the way Mark Hammar looks at him--you have, too. +I tell you, Mark Hammar don't value the life of any man who stands in +his way!" And the way the old man spoke lifted the hair on my head. + +Then all of us were quiet, for there stood Captain Hammar himself. + +"Why, Mark, I thought you'd gone down the Cape!" said Conboy. + +"I lost the train," he answered. + +"Well, what about that vessel you was going to buy in Gloucester?" + +"I got to sail over," said Captain Hammar. + +Conboy glanced out of the window. The bay was ringed around with heavy +clouds; weather was making. Storm signals were flying up on Town Hill, +and down the harbor a fleet of scared vessels were making for port. + +"You can't go out in that, Mark," says Conboy. + +"I've got the money," says Mark Hammar, "and I'm going to go. If I don't +get down there that crazy Portygee'll have sold that vessel to some one +else. It ain't every day you can buy a vessel like that for the price. +He let me know about it first, but he won't wait long, and he's got to +have the cash in his hands. He's up to some crooked work or he wouldn't +'a' sent the boy down with the letter; he'd 'a' sent it by post, or +telegraphed even. He's let me know about it first, but he won't wait. It +was getting the money strapped up that made me late. I had to wait for +the old cashier to get back from his dinner." + +"You and your money'll be in the bottom of the bay, that's where you'll +be," said Conboy. + +"If I'd taken in sail for every little bit o' wind I'd encountered in my +life," said Mark Hammar, "I'd not be where I am now. So I just thought +I'd come and run in on Deolda before I left, seeing as I'm going to +marry her when I get back." + +Johnny Deutra undid his long length from the chair. He was a tall, heavy +boy, making up in looks for what he lacked in head. He came and stood +over Mark Hammar. He said: + +"I've had enough of this. I've had just enough of you two hanging around +Deolda. She's my woman--I'm going to marry Deolda myself. Nobody else is +going to touch her; so just as soon as you two want to clear out you +can." + +There was silence so that you could hear a pin drop. And then the wind +that had been making hit the house like the blow of a fist and went +screaming down the road. Deolda didn't see or hear; she was just looking +at Johnny. He went to her. + +"Don't you listen to 'em, Deolda. I'll make money for you; I'll make +more than any of 'em. It's right you should want it. Tell 'em that +you're going to marry me, Deolda. Clear 'em out." + +That was where he made his mistake. _He_ should have cleared them out. +Now Captain Hammar spoke: + +"You're quite a little man, ain't you, Johnny? Here's where you got a +chance to prove it. You can make a hundred dollars tonight by taking the +_Anita_ across to Gloucester with me. We'll start right off." + +Everyone was quiet. Then old Conboy cried out: + +"Don't go, Mark. Don't go! Why, it's _murder_ to tempt that boy out +there." + +At the word "murder" Deolda drew her breath in and clapped her hand over +her mouth, her eyes staring at Johnny Deutra. "Nick" Hammar pretended he +hadn't noticed. He sat smiling at Johnny. + +"We-ll," he drawled. "How about it, Johnny? Goin'?" + +Johnny had been studying, his eyes on the floor. + +"I'll go with you," he said. + +Then again for a half minute nobody spoke. Captain Hammar glared, +letting us see what was in his dark mind. Old Conboy shrunk into himself +and Deolda sat with her wild eyes going from one to the other, but not +moving. We were all thinking of what old Conboy had said just before +Captain Hammar had flung open the door. A sudden impulse seized me; I +wanted to cry out: "Don't go, Johnny. He'll shove you overboard." For I +knew that was what was in "Nick" Hammar's mind as well as if he had told +me. A terrible excitement went through me. I wanted to fling myself at +"Nick" Hammar and beat him with my fists and say, "He sha'n't go--he +sha'n't, he sha'n't!" But I sat there unable to move or speak. Then +suddenly into the frozen silence came the voice of "Nick" Hammar. This +is what he said in his easy and tranquil way: + +"Well, I'm goin' along. Are you coming, Conboy?" He spoke as though +nothing had happened. "I'll meet you down at the wharf, Johnny, in a +half hour. I'll leave you to say good-by to Deolda." They went out, the +wind blowing the door shut behind them. + +Deolda got up and so did Johnny. They stood facing each other in the +queer yellow light of the coming storm. They didn't notice my aunt or +me. + +"_You going?_" asked Deolda. + +They looked into each other's eyes, and he answered so I could barely +hear: + +"Sure." + +"_You know what he's thinking about?_" said Deolda. + +Again Johnny waited before he answered in a voice hardly above a +whisper: + +"I can guess." + +Deolda went up slowly to him and put one of her long hands on each of +his shoulders. She looked deep into his eyes. She didn't speak; she just +looked. And he looked back, as though trying to find out what she had in +her heart, and as he looked a little flicker of horror went over his +face. Then he smiled a slow smile, as though he had understood something +and consented to it--and it was a queer smile to see on the face of a +young fellow. It was as if the youth of Johnny Deutra had passed away +forever. Then Deolda said to him: + +"Good for you, Johnny Deutra!" and put out her hand, and he laid his in +hers and they shook on it, though no word had passed between them. And +all this time my aunt and I sat motionless on the haircloth sofa next to +the wall. And I tell you as I watched them my blood ran cold, though I +didn't understand what it was about. But later I understood well enough. + +There never was so long an evening. The squall blew over and a heavy +blow set in. I could hear the pounding of the waves on the outside +shore. Deolda sat outside the circle of the lamp in a horrible tense +quiet. My aunt tried to make talk, and made a failure of it. It was +awful to hear the clatter of her voice trying to sound natural in the +face of the whistle of the storm, and out wallowing in it the gasoline +dory with its freight of hatred. I hated to go to bed, for my room gave +on the sea, and it seemed as if the night and the tragedy which I had +glimpsed would come peering in at me with ghastly eyes. + +I had just got under the blanket when the door opened quietly. + +"Who is that?" I asked. + +"It's me--Deolda." + +She went to the window and peered out into the storm, as though she were +trying to penetrate its mystery. I couldn't bear her standing there; it +was as if I could hear her heart bleed. It was as if for a while I had +become fused with her and her love for Johnny Deutra and with all the +dark things that had happened in our house this afternoon. I got out of +bed and went to her and put my hand in hers. If she'd only cried, or if +she'd only spoken I could have stood it; if she'd said in words what was +going on inside her mind. But she sat there with her hand cold in mine, +staring into the storm through all the long hours of the night. + +Toward the end I was so tired that my mind went to sleep in that way +your mind can when your body stays awake and everything seems far off +and like things happening in a nightmare except that you know they're +real. At last daylight broke, very pale, threatening, and slate colored. +Deolda got up and began padding up and down the floor, back and forth, +like a soul in torment. + +About ten o'clock old Conboy came in. + +"I got the license, Deolda," he said. + +"All right," said Deolda, "all right--go away." And she kept on padding +up and down the room like a leopard in a cage. + +Conboy beckoned my aunt out into the entry. I followed. + +"What ails her?" he asked. + +"I guess she thinks she sent Johnny Deutra to his grave," said my aunt. + +Conboy peered in the door at Deolda. Her face looked like a yellow mask +of death with her black hair hanging around her. + +"God!" he said, in a whisper. "_She cares!_" I don't believe it had +dawned on him before that she was anything but a wild devil. + +All that day the _Anita_ wasn't heard from. That night I was tired out +and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep; Deolda sat staring out into the +dark as she had the night before. + +Next morning I was standing outside the house when one of Deolda's +brothers came tearing along. It was Joe, the youngest of one-armed +Manel's brood, a boy of sixteen who worked in the fish factory. + +"Deolda!" he yelled. "Deolda, Johnny's all right!" + +She caught him by the wrist. "Tell me what's happened!" + +"The other feller--he's lost." + +"_Lost?_" said Deolda, her breath drawn in sharply. "Lost--how?" + +"Washed overboard," said Joe. "See--looka here. When Johnny got ashore +this is what he says." He read aloud from the newspaper he had brought, +a word at a time, like a grammar-school kid: + +"With a lame propeller and driven out of her course, the _Anita_ made +Plymouth this morning without her Captain, Mark Hammar. John Deutra, who +brought her in, made the following statement: + +"'I was lying in my bunk unable to sleep, for we were being combed by +waves again and again. Suddenly I noticed we were wallowing in the +trough of the sea, and went on deck to see what was wrong. I groped my +way to the wheel. It swung empty. Captain Hammar was gone, washed +overboard in the storm. How I made port myself I don't know--'" + +Here his reading was interrupted by an awful noise--Deolda laughing, +Deolda laughing and sobbing, her hands above her head, a wild thing, +terrible. + +"Go on," my aunt told the boy. "Go home!" And she and Deolda went into +the house, her laughter filling it with awful sound. + +After a time she quieted down. She stood staring out of the window, +hands clenched. + +"Well?" she said, defiantly. "Well?" She looked at us, and what was in +her eyes made chills go down me. Triumph was what was in her eyes. Then +suddenly she flung her arms around my aunt and kissed her. "Oh," she +cried, "kiss me, Auntie, kiss me! He's not dead, my Johnny--not dead!" + +"Go up to your room, Deolda," said my aunt, "and rest." She patted her +shoulder just as though she were a little girl, for all the thoughts +that were crawling around our hearts. + +When later in the day Conboy came, "Where's Deolda?" he asked. + +"I'll call her," I said. But Deolda wasn't anywhere; not a sign of her. +She'd vanished. Conboy and Aunt Josephine looked at each other. + +"She's gone to him," said Conboy. + +My aunt leaned toward him and whispered, "_What do you think?_" + +"Hush!" said Conboy, sternly. "_Don't think_, Josephine! _Don't speak. +Don't even dream!_ Don't let your mind stray. You know that crew +couldn't have made port in fair weather together. The strongest man +won--that's all!" + +"Then you believe--" my aunt began. + +"Hush!" he said, and put his hand over her mouth. Then he laughed +suddenly and slapped his thigh. "God!" he said. "Deolda--Can you beat +her? She's got luck--by gorry, she's got luck! You got a pen and ink?" + +"What for?" said my aunt. + +"I want to write out a weddin' present for Deolda," he said. "Wouldn't +do to have her without a penny." + +So he wrote out a check for her. And then in two months old Conboy died +and left every other cent to Deolda. You might have imagined him +sardonic and grinning over it, looking across at Deolda's luck from the +other side of the grave. + +But what had happened wasn't luck. I knew that she had sent her Johnny +out informed with her own terrible courage. A weaker woman could have +kept him back. A weaker woman would have had remorse. But Deolda had the +courage to hold what she had taken, and maybe this courage of hers is +the very heart of romance. + +I looked at her, stately, monumental, and I wondered if she ever thinks +of that night when the wallow of the sea claimed Mark Hammar instead of +Johnny Deutra. But there's one thing I'm sure of, and that is, if she +does think of it the old look of triumph comes over her face. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: The order in which the stories in this volume are printed +is not intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors.] + +[Footnote 2: Copyright, 1921, by George H. Doran Company. Copyright, +1921, by B.W. Huebsch. From "The Triumph of the Egg and other Stories."] + +[Footnote 3: Copyright, 1921, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. +Copyright, 1921, by Boni and Liveright, Inc. From "Ghitza, +and Other Tales of Gypsy Blood."] + +[Footnote 4: Copyright, 1921, by The Pictorial Review Company. +Copyright, 1921, by Charles Scribner's Sons. From "Chance +Encounters."] + +[Footnote 5: Copyright, 1921, by The Curtis Publishing Company. +Copyright, 1921, by Irvin S. Cobb. From a forthcoming volume +to be published by George H. Doran Co.] + +[Footnote 6: Copyright, 1921, by The Crowell Publishing Company. +Copyright, 1922, by Lincoln Colcord.] + +[Footnote 7: Copyright, 1920, by Charles J. Finger.] + +[Footnote 8: Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. +Copyright, 1922, by Waldo Frank.] + +[Footnote 9: Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. +Copyright, 1922, by Katharine Fullerton Gerould.] + +[Footnote 10: Copyright, 1920, by the International Magazine Co. +Copyright, 1922, by Doubleday, Page & Co.] + +[Footnote 11: Copyright, 1921, by The Pictorial Review Company, Inc. +Copyright, 1922, by Susan Glaspell Cook.] + +[Footnote 12: Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers. +Copyright, 1922, by Richard Matthews Hallet.] + +[Footnote 13: Copyright, 1921, by Charles Scribner's Sons. +Copyright, 1922, by Prances Noyes Hart.] + +[Footnote 14: Copyright, 1921, by The International Magazine Company. +Copyright, 1922, by Fannie Hurst.] + +[Footnote 15: Copyright, 1921, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. +Copyright, 1922, by Manuel Komroff.] + +[Footnote 16: Copyright, 1920, by John T. Frederick. +Copyright, 1922, by Frank Luther Mott.] + +[Footnote 17: Copyright, 1921, by Smart Set Company, Inc. +Copyright, 1922, by Vincent O'Sullivan.] + +[Footnote 18: Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. +Copyright, 1922, by Wilbur Daniel Steele.] + +[Footnote 19: Copyright, 1921, by John T. Frederick. +Copyright, 1922, by Harriet Maxon Thayer.] + +[Footnote 20: Copyright, 1920, by Smart Set Company, Inc. +Copyright, 1922, by Charles Hanson Towne.] + +[Footnote 21: Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers. +Copyright, 1922, by Mary Heaton Minor.] + + + + +THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY, OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, +1921 + + + + +ADDRESSES OF MAGAZINES PUBLISHING SHORT STORIES + + +I. AMERICAN MAGAZINES + +NOTE. _This address list does not aim to be complete, but is +based simply on the magazines which I have consulted for this volume._ + + Adventure, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. + Ainslee's Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. + All's Well, Gayeta Lodge, Fayetteville, Arkansas. + American Boy, 142 Lafayette Boulevard, Detroit, Michigan. + American Magazine, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. + Argosy All-Story Weekly, 280 Broadway, New York City. + Asia, 627 Lexington Avenue, New York City. + Atlantic Monthly, 8 Arlington Street, Boston, Mass. + Bookman, 244 Madison Avenue, New York City. + Brief Stories, 714 Drexel Building, Philadelphia, Pa. + Broom, 3 East 9th Street, New York City. + Catholic World, 120 West 60th Street, New York City. + Century, 353 Fourth Avenue, New York City. + Chicago Tribune, Chicago, Illinois. + Christian Herald, Bible House, New York City. + Collier's Weekly, 416 West 13th Street, New York City. + Cosmopolitan Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. + Delineator, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. + Dial, 152 West 13th Street, New York City. + Everybody's Magazine, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. + Follies, 25 West 45th Street, New York City. + Good Housekeeping, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. + Harper's Bazar, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. + Harper's Magazine, Franklin Square, New York City. + Hearst's International Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. + Holland's Magazine, Dallas, Texas. + Ladies' Home Journal, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa. + Liberator, 34 Union Square East, New York City. + Little Review, 24 West 16th Street, New York City. + Live Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City. + McCall's Magazine, 236 West 37th Street, New York City. + McClure's Magazine, 76 Fifth Avenue, New York City. + Magnificat, Manchester, N.H. + Metropolitan, 432 Fourth Avenue, New York City. + Midland, Box 110, Iowa City, Iowa. + Munsey's Magazine, 280 Broadway, New York City. + Open Road, 248 Boylston Street, Boston, Mass. + Outlook, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. + Pagan, 23 West 8th Street, New York City. + People's Favorite Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. + Pictorial Review, 216 West 39th Street, New York City. + Popular Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. + Queen's Work, 626 North Vandeventer Avenue, St. Louis, Mo. + Red Book Magazine, North American Building, Chicago, Ill. + Saturday Evening Post, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa. + Scribner's Magazine, 597 Fifth Avenue, New York City. + Short Stories, Garden City, Long Island, N.Y. + Smart Set, 25 West 45th Street, New York City. + Snappy Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City. + Sunset, 460 Fourth Street, San Francisco, Cal. + Telling Tales, 799 Broadway, New York City. + To-day's Housewife, Cooperstown, N.Y. + Top-Notch Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. + Wayside Tales, 6 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Ill. + Western Story Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. + Woman's Home Companion, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. + Woman's World, 107 South Clinton Street, Chicago, Ill. + + +II. ENGLISH MAGAZINES + + Apple of Discord, 53, Victoria Street, London, S.W.1. + Blackwood's Magazine, 37, Paternoster Row, London, E.C.4. + Blue Magazine, 115, Fleet Street, London, E.C.4. + Bystander, Graphic Buildings, Whitefriars, London, E.C.4. + Cassell's Magazine, La Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, London, E.C.4. + Chamber's Journal, 38, Soho Square, London, W.C.1. + Colour Magazine, 53, Victoria Street, London, S.W.1. + Cornhill Magazine, 50A Albemarle Street, London, W.1. + Country Life, 20, Tavistock Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + English Review, 18, Bedford Square, London, W.C.1. + Eve, Great New Street. London, E.C.4. + Fanfare, 31, Percy Street, London, W.1. + Form, Morland Press, Ltd., 190, Ebury Street, London, S.W.1. + Grand Magazine, 8-11, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Graphic, Graphic Buildings, Whitefriars, London, E.C.4. + Home Magazine, 8-11 Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Hutchinson's Magazine, 34 Paternoster Row, London, E.C.4. + John O'London's Weekly, 8-11 Southampton Street, London, W.C.2. + Lady, 39 Bedford Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Lady's World, 6, Essex Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Lloyd's Story Magazine, 12, Salisbury Square, London, E.C.4. + London, Fleetway House, Farringdon Street, London, E.C.4. + London Mercury, Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, London, E.C.4. + Looking Forward, Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, London, E.C.4. + Manchester Guardian, 3, Cross Street, Manchester. + Nash's and Pall Mall Magazine, 1, Amen Corner, Paternoster Row, + London. E.C.4. + Nation and Athenæum, 10, Adelphi Terrace, London, W.C.2. + New Age, 38, Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, London, E.C.4. + New Magazine, La Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, London, E.C.4. + New Statesman, 10, Great Queen Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2. + Novel Magazine, Henrietta Street, London, W.C.2. + Outward Bound, Edinburgh House, 2, Eaton Gate, London, S.W.1. + Pan, Long Acre, London, W.C.2. + Pearson's Magazine, 17-18 Henrietta Street, London, W.C.2. + Premier, The Fleetway House, Farringdon Street, London, E.C.4. + Queen, Bream's Buildings, London, E.C.4. + Quest, 21, Cecil Court, Charing Cross Road, London, W.C.2. + Quiver, La Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, London, E.C.4. + Red Magazine, The Fleetway House, Farringdon Street, London, E.C.4. + Royal Magazine, 17-18 Henrietta Street, London, W.C.2. + Saturday Westminster Gazette, Tudor House, Tudor Street, London, E.C.4. + Sketch, 172, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Sovereign Magazine, 34, Paternoster Row, London, E.C.4. + Sphere, Great New Street, London, E.C.4. + Story-Teller, La Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, London, E.C.4. + Strand Magazine, 8-11, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Times Literary Supplement, Printing House Square, London, E.C.4. + Truth, Bolt Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.4. + Vanity Fair, 1, Amen Corner, Paternoster Row, London, E.C.4. + Vineyard, Care of Allen & Unwin, Ltd., Ruskin House, 40, Museum Street, + London, W.C.1. + Voices, Care of Chapman & Hall, Ltd., 11, Henrietta Street, + London, W.C.2. + Wide World Magazine, 8-11, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. + Windsor Magazine, Warwick House, Salisbury Square, London, E.C.4. + Yellow Magazine, The Fleetway House, Farringdon Street, London, E.C.4. + + + + +THE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ROLL OF HONOR OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES + + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 + +NOTE. _Only stories by American authors are listed. The best +stories are indicated by an asterisk before the title of the story. The +index figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 prefixed to the name of the author +indicate that his work has been included in the Rolls of Honor for 1914, +1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, and 1920 respectively. The list excludes +reprints. "Oscar" by Djuna Barnes should be added to the Roll of Honor +in "The Best Short Stories of 1920."_ + + +(567) ABDULLAH, ACHMED (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Dutiful Grief. + Lute of Jade. + + +ALLEN, JAMES LANE. Born in Lexington, Kentucky, 1849. Educated +at Transylvania University. Taught in the secondary schools and at +Kentucky University and Bethany College. Author of "Flute and Violin," +1891; "Blue Grass Region," 1892; "John Gray," 1893; "Kentucky Cardinal," +1895; "Aftermath," 1896; "Summer in Arcady," 1896; "Choir Invisible," +1897; "Reign of Law"; "Mettle of the Pasture;" "Bride of the Mistletoe," +1909; "Doctor's Christmas Eve," 1910; "Heroine in Bronze," 1912; "Last +Christmas Tree," 1914; "Sword of Youth," 1915; "Cathedral Singer," 1916; +"Kentucky Warbler," 1918. Lives in New York City. + + *Ash-Can. + + +(34567) ANDERSON, SHERWOOD (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Brothers. + *New Englander. + *Unlighted Lamps. + + +(7) BERCOVICI, KONRAD (_for biography, see 1920_). + + *Fanutza. + + +(14567) BURT, MAXWELL STRUTHERS (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Buchanan Hears the Wind. + *Experiment. + + +(567) CABELL, JAMES BRANCH (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Image of Sesphra. + + +(23) CHILD, RICHARD WASHBURN. Born at Worcester, Massachusetts, +August 5, 1881. Graduate of Harvard University and Harvard Law School. +Admitted to the Bar in 1906. Appointed United States Ambassador to +Italy, 1921. Author of "Jim Hands," 1910; "Man In The Shadow," 1911; +"Blue Wall" 1912; "Potential Russia," 1916; "Bodbank," 1916; "Velvet +Black," 1921. Lives in Rome, Italy. + + Screen. + + +(2345) COBB, IRVIN S. (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Darkness. + Short Natural History. + + +(2) COLCORD, LINCOLN. Born at sea, off Cape Horn, August 14, +1883. Educated at Searsport, Maine, High School and University of Maine. +Spent first fourteen years of his life at sea on the China coast. Civil +Engineer 1906-9. Author of "The Drifting Diamond," 1912; "Game of Life +and Death," 1914; "Vision of War," 1915. Washington correspondent of +Philadelphia Ledger, 1917 to 1919. Lives at Searsport, Maine. + + *Instrument of the Gods. + + +(456) CRABBE, BERTHA HELEN (_for biography, see 1917_). + + On Riverside Drive. + + +(7) FINGER, CHARLES J. (_for biography, see 1920_). + + Derailment of Train No. 16. + *Lizard God. + + +(4) FRANK, WALDO (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Under the Dome. + + +(123457) GEROULD, KATHARINE FULLERTON (_for biography, see +1917_). + + *French Eva. + + +(4) GLASGOW, ELLEN (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Past. + + +(456) GLASPELL, SUSAN (MRS. GEORGE CRAM COOK) (_for +biography, see 1917_). + + *His Smile. + + +(346) HALLET, RICHARD MATTHEWS (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Harbor Master. + + +HART, FRANCES NOYES. Born at Silver Spring, Maryland, August +10, 1890. Educated at Chicago Latin School, privately in Connecticut and +abroad, and at the Sorbonne in the Collège de France. Interested in +anything from baseball to Bach. First short story, "Contact," published +in the Pictorial Review, December, 1920, and awarded second prize by O. +Henry Memorial Committee Society of Arts and Sciences. Published "Mark" +1913, and "My A.E.F.," 1920, under name of Frances Newbold Noyes. Lives +in New York City. + + *Green Gardens. + + +(256) HECHT, BEN (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Bomb-Thrower. + + +(23456) HURST, FANNIE (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *She Walks in Beauty. + + +(6) IMRIE, WALTER MCLAREN (_for biography, see 1919_). + + Remembrance. + + +(7) KOMROFF, MANUEL. Born in New York City. Educated in New +York public schools, and special courses at Yale University. Journalist. +First short story published in Reedy's Mirror two years ago. Lives in +New York City. + + *Little Master of the Sky. + + +MOTT, FRANK LUTHER. + + *Man With the Good Face. + + +(457) O'HIGGINS, HARVEY J. (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Peter Quayle. + + +(3457) O'SULLIVAN, VINCENT (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Master of Fallen Years. + + +(4) PORTOR, LAURA SPENCER. + + Sightseers. + + +(1237) POST, MELVILLE DAVISSON (_for biography, see 1920_). + + Unknown Disciple. + + +(5) Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield) (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Miss Sunshine. + + +ROBBINS, TOD. Born in Brooklyn, N.Y., June 25, 1888. Educated +at Polytechnic Preparatory School, Mercersburg Academy, and Washington +and Lee University. Well-known amateur athlete. First short story +"Married," published in The Parisienne, February, 1917. Author of "The +Unholy Three," 1917; "Red of Surley," 1919; "Silent, White and +Beautiful," 1920. Lives in New York City. + + Toys of Fate. + + +SCOBEE, BARRY. Born at Pollock, Missouri, May 2, 1885. Educated +at Missouri State Normal School. Journalist and printer. Chief interests +metaphysics and mountains. Was in regular army 1907-10, including +Philippine campaign. First story "The Whip In the Thatch," Young's +Magazine, March. 1915. Lives in Bellingham, Washington. + + *The Wind. + + +(3457) SPRINGER, FLETA CAMPBELL (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Role of Madame Ravelles. + + +(234567) STEELE, WILBUR DANIEL (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *At-Two-in-the-Bush. + *Footfalls. + *Life. + *Shame Dance. + 'Toinette of Maisonnoir. + + +THAYER, HARRIET MAXON (MRS. GILBERT THAYER). Born at +Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, 1889. Attended University of Wisconsin and School +of Journalism, Columbia University. Fairy tales in Philadelphia North +American and in the Guide, Milwaukee, 1921. Married Gilbert Thayer, +September 5, 1921. Served in France with American Red Cross Canteen, +1918 and 1919. + + *Kindred. + + +TOWNE, CHARLES HANSON. Born in Louisville, Kentucky, February +2, 1877. Educated in New York public schools and College of the City of +New York. Author of "Quiet Singer"; "Manhattan"; "Youth"; "Beyond the +Stars"; "To-day and To-morrow"; "The Tumble Man"; and "Autumn +Loiterers." Has been editor of The Designer, Smart Set, and McClure's +Magazine. Lives in New York City. + + *Shelby. + + +(56) VENABLE, EDWARD C. Born at Petersburg, Virginia, July 4, +1884. Graduate of Princeton University, 1906. Served in France in Field +Ambulance Service and Flying Corps, 1917-19. Author of "Pierre Vinton," +1914; "Short Stories," 1915; "Wife of the Junior Partner," 1915; +"Lasca," 1916; "Ali Babette," 1917; and "At Isham's," 1918. Lives in +Baltimore, Maryland. + + *Madame Tichepin. + + +(34567) VORSE, MARY HEATON (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Wallow of the Sea. + + +(567) WILLIAMS, BEN AMES (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Man Who Looked Like Edison. + + +(6) WORMSER, G. RANGER. Born in New York City, February 24, +1893. Educated privately. First short story "Tragedy's Fool," published +in English edition of the Smart Set, 1910. Author of "The Scarecrow," +1918. Lives in New York City. + + Gossamer. + Second-Hand. + + +(67) YEZIERSKA, ANZIA (_for biography, see 1919_). + + My Own People. + + + + +THE ROLL OF HONOR OF FOREIGN SHORT STORIES IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 + +NOTE. _Stories of special excellence are indicated, by an +asterisk. The index figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 prefixed to the name +of the author indicate that his work has been included in the Rolls of +Honor for 1914, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, and 1920 respectively. The +list excludes reprints._ + + +I. ENGLISH AND IRISH AUTHORS + +(1234567) AUMONIER, STACY. + + Beautiful Merciless One. + *Little White Frock. + + +(7) BECK, L. ADAMS. + + *How Great is the Glory of Kwannon! + *Interpreter. + + +(6) BEERBOHM, MAX. + + *T. Fenning Dodworth. + *William and Mary. + + +(34) BERESFORD, J.D. + + *Expiation. + + +(123567) BLACKWOOD, ALGERNON. + + Confession. + + +COPPARD, A.E. + + *Hurly-Burly. + *Tiger. + + +(123456) GALSWORTHY, JOHN. + + *Awakening. + *Timber. + *Hedonist. + +(2) GIBBON, PERCEVAL. + + Statistics. + + +HUDSON, STEPHEN. + + Southern Women. + + +HUXLEY, ALDOUS. + + *Tillotson Banquet. + + +MCFEE, WILLIAM. + + Knights and Turcopoliers. + + +ROBERTS, CECIL. + + Silver Pool. + + +(7) SINCLAIR, MAY. + + *Lena Wrace. + *Return. + + +(57) STEPHENS, JAMES. + + *In the Beechwood. + + +(27) WALPOLE, HUGH. + + *Bombastes Furioso. + *Critic. + *Strange Case of Mr. Nix. + *Lucy Moon. + *Lizzie Rand. + *Nobody! + *Peter Westcott's Nursery. + + + +II. TRANSLATIONS + +(35) "GORKI, MAXIM." (_Russian._) + + *Rivals. + + +MANN, THOMAS. (_German._) + + *Loulou. + + +REMIZOV, ALEKSEI. (_Russian._) + + *White Heart. + + +(7) SCHNITZLER, ARTHUR. (_German._) + + *Greek Dancer. + + +SWEDEN, PRINCE CARL WILHELM LUDWIG OF. (_Swedish._) + + Pearls. + + + + +THE BEST BOOKS OF SHORT STORIES OF 1921: A CRITICAL SUMMARY + +THE BEST AMERICAN BOOKS + + 1. ANDERSON. The Triumph of the Egg. Huebsch. + 2. BERCOVICI. GHITZA. Boni and Liveright. + 3. BURT. Chance Encounters. Scribner. + 4. CABELL. The Line of Love. McBride. + 5. SOCIETY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. O. Henry Prize Stories, 1920. + Doubleday, Page. + + +THE BEST ENGLISH BOOKS + + 1. AUMONIER. Golden Windmill. Macmillan. + 2. CHOLMONDELEY. The Romance of His Life. Dodd, Mead. + 3. COPPARD. Adam and Eve and Pinch Me. Knopf. + 4. HUDSON. Dead Man's Plack. Dutton. + 5. MANSFIELD. Bliss. Knopf. + 6. MERRICK. A Chair on the Boulevard. Dutton. + 7. NEVINSON. Original Sinners. Huebsch. + 8. STEPHENS. Irish Fairy Tales. Macmillan. + 9. WALPOLE. The Thirteen Travellers. Doran. + + +THE BEST TRANSLATIONS + + 1. BYNG, _editor_. Roumanian Stories. Lane. + 2. CHEKHOV. The Horse-Stealers. Macmillan. + 3. CHEKHOV. The Schoolmaster. Macmillan. + 4. CHEKHOV. The Schoolmistress. Macmillan. + 5. FRANCE. Seven Wives of Bluebeard. Lane. + 6. HAMP. People. Harcourt and Brace. + 7. JACOBSEN. Mögens. Brown. + 8. JAMMES. Romance of the Rabbit. Brown. + 9. POPOVIC, _editor_. Jugo-Slav Stories. Duffield. + 10. SCHNITZLER. The Shepherd's Pipe. Brown. + 11. TURGENEV. Knock, Knock, Knock. Macmillan. + 12. TURGENEV. The Two Friends. Macmillan. + + +THE BEST NEW ENGLISH PUBLICATIONS + + 1. BERESFORD. Signs and Wonders. Golden Cockerel Press. + 2. CORKERY. Hounds of Banba. Talbot Press. + 3. FISHER. Romantic Man. Secker. + 4. LYONS. MARKET BUNDLE. Butterworth. + 5. MCCALLIN. Ulster Fireside Tales. Heath Cranton. + 6. MACKLIN, _translator_. 29 Short Stories. Philpot. + 7. MOORMAN. Tales of the Ridings. Mathews. + 8. MOORMAN. More Tales of the Ridings. Mathews. + 9. STEIN. Three Lives. Lane. + 10. WOOLF. Monday or Tuesday. Hogarth Press. + + + + +BELOW FOLLOWS A RECORD OF THIRTY DISTINCTIVE VOLUMES PUBLISHED BETWEEN +OCTOBER 1, 1920 AND SEPTEMBER 30, 1921. + + +I. AMERICAN AUTHORS + +GHITZA AND OTHER ROMANCES OF GYPSY BLOOD, by _Konrad Bercovici_ +(Boni & Liveright). This is the best volume of short stories published +by an American author this year. It consists of nine epic fragments +which are studies in passionate color of Roumanian gypsy life. Mr. +Bercovici's work bears no trace of special literary influences, and he +has moulded a new form for these stories which disobeys successfully all +the codes of story writing. Whether we are to regard him as an American +or a European artist seems of little importance. The essential point is +that he and Sherwood Anderson are the most significant new short story +writers who have emerged in America within the past five years. + +HOMESPUN AND GOLD, by _Alice Brown_ (The Macmillan Company). +Miss Brown's new collection of fifteen short stories, which she has +written during the past thirteen years, is not one of her best books, +but it is of considerable importance as one more contribution to the +literature of New England regionalism. Its qualities of homely fidelity +and quiet humor make it distinctly worth reading, and one story, "White +Pebbles" ranks with Miss Brown's best work. + +THE VELVET BLACK, by _Richard Washburn Child_ (E.P. Dutton & +Company). I do not regard this as more than a piece of extremely +competent craftsmanship, and its interest to the man of letters is +largely technical, but it contains one excellent story full of dramatic +suspense and a certain literary honesty. I think "Identified" might be +commended to a short story anthologist. + +THE SONS O' CORMAC, AN' TALES OF OTHER MEN'S SONS, by _Aldis +Dunbar_ (E.P. Dutton & Company). This collection of fifteen Irish fairy +and hero tales, told by a gardener to a little boy, show considerable +deftness of fancy, and although the idiom Mr. Dunbar uses is borrowed +and not quite convincing, his book seems to me almost as good as those +of Seumas MacManus, which probably suggested it. + +GREAT SEA STORIES (Brentano's) and MASTERPIECES OF MYSTERY (4 vols.) +(Doubleday, Page & Co.), edited by _Joseph Lewis French_. These +anthologies, which are somewhat casually edited, are worthy of +purchase by students of the short story who do not possess many +anthologies, for they contain a number of standard texts. But I do +not think highly of the selections, which are of a thoroughly +conventional nature. + +"MOMMA," AND OTHER UNIMPORTANT PEOPLE, by _Rupert Hughes_ +(Harper & Brothers). This is an unimportant book containing one superb +story, "The Stick-In-the-Muds," which I had the pleasure of printing +last year in this series. It is one of the stories which Mr. Hughes has +written for his own pleasure and not for the preconceived pleasure of +his large and critical public. I consider that it ranks with the +excellent series of Irish-American studies which Mr. Hughes published a +few years ago. + +MASTER EUSTACE, by _Henry James_ (Thomas Seltzer). This volume, +which is a companion to "A Landscape Painter," reprints five more early +stories of Henry James, not included in any American edition now in +print. They have all the qualities of "Roderick Hudson" and "The +American," and should be invaluable to the students of Henry James's +technique. It would have been a matter of regret had these stories not +been rendered accessible to the general public. + +FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES and FAMOUS PSYCHIC STORIES, +edited by _J. Walker McSpadden_ (Thomas Y. Crowell Company). These two +anthologies have been edited on more or less conventional lines, but +they contain several important stories which are not readily accessible, +and I can commend them as texts for students of the short story. + +TALES FROM A ROLLTOP DESK by _Christopher Morley_ (Doubleday, +Page & Company). I record this volume for the sake of one admirable +story, "Referred to the Author," which almost any contemporary of Mr. +Morley would have been glad to sign. Apart from this, the volume is +ephemeral. + +THE SLEUTH OF ST. JAMES'S SQUARE by _Melville Davisson Post_. +(D. Appleton & Company). This volume contains the best of Mr. Post's +well-known mystery stories, and I take special pleasure in calling +attention to "The Wrong Sign," "The Hole in the Mahogany Panel," and +"The Yellow Flower." These stories show all the resourceful virtuosity +of Poe, and are models of their kind. While they seem to me to possess +no special literary value, they have solved some important new technical +problems, and I believe they will repay attentive study. + +DEVIL STORIES, edited by _Maximilian J. Rudwin_ (Alfred A. +Knopf). This is an excellent anthology revealing a wide range of reading +and introducing a number of good stories which are likely to prove new +to most readers. The editor has added to the value of the volume by +elaborate annotation. He wears his learning lightly however, and it only +serves to adorn his subject. + +CHRISTMAS ROSES, AND OTHER STORIES, by _Anne Douglas Sedgwick_ +(Houghton Mifflin Company). This admirable series of nine studies +dealing with the finer shades of character are subdued in manner. Mrs. +de Sélincourt has voluntarily restricted her range, but she has simply +"curtailed her circumference to enlarge her liberty," and I believe this +volume is likely to outlast many books which are more widely talked +about. + +CAPE BRETON TALES, by _Harry James Smith_ (The Atlantic Monthly +Press). This little volume of short stories and studies deals with the +Arcadian life of Cape Breton and the Gaspé coast. I am speaking from +personal knowledge when I state that, this is the first time the +Acadian has been understood by an English speaking writer, and if Mr. +Smith's art works within narrow limits, it is quite faultless in its +rendering. This volume suggests what a loss American letters has +sustained in the author's death. + + +II. ENGLISH AND IRISH AUTHORS + +THE GOLDEN WINDMILL, AND OTHER STORIES, by _Stacy Aumonier_ +(The Macmillan Company). For some years Mr. Aumonier has been quietly +winning an important place for himself in English letters by his +admirable short stories, and this place has been fittingly recognized by +Mr. Galsworthy, among others, during the past year. Eight of the nine +stories in the present volume seem to me as good as stories written in +the traditional technique can be, and I regard this book as only second +in excellence to the volumes of A.E. Coppard and Katherine Mansfield of +which I shall speak presently. + +MORE LIMEHOUSE NIGHTS, by _Thomas Burke_ (George H. Doran +Company). It is a wise counsel of perfection which says that sequels are +barred, and I do not believe that Mr. Burke has chosen wisely in +endeavoring to repeat the artistic success of "Limehouse Nights." Apart +from "The Scarlet Shoes" and "Miss Plum-Blossom," this volume seems to +me to be second-rate, and I feel that Mr. Burke has already exhausted +his Limehouse field. + +ADAM AND EVE AND PINCH ME, by _A.E. Coppard_ (Alfred A. Knopf). +I have endeavored elsewhere to express my opinion of "Adam and Eve and +Pinch Me" by dedicating this year's annual volume to Mr. Coppard. I +believe that he ranks as an artist among the best continental writers. +He sees life as a pattern which he simplifies, and weaves a closely +wrought fabric which is a symbol of human life as seen by a +disinterested but happy observer. His range is wide, and if he presents +the uncommon instance of a man who has absorbed all that two men as +different as Chekhov and Henry James have to teach, he brings to this +fusion a personal view which transmutes the values of his masters into a +new set of values. To do this successfully is the sign of a fine artist. + +DEAD MAN'S PLACK, AND AN OLD THORN, by _W.H. Hudson_ (E.P. +Dutton & Company). Mr. Hudson's devoted readers have long known of the +existence of these two stories, and have regretted that the author did +not see fit to issue them in book form. The first story is a short study +in historical reconstruction equal to the best of Jacobsen's work, while +"The Old Thorn" ranks with "El Ombu" as one of Mr. Hudson's best two +short stories. The volume is, of course, a permanent addition to English +literature. + +TOP O' THE MORNIN', by _Seumas MacManus_ (Frederick A. Stokes +Company). Mr. MacManus's new collection of Irish tales has ups and downs +like a Galway road, but his ups are very good indeed and show that he +has by no means lost the folk imagination which made his early books +rank among the very best of their kind. I can specially commend to the +reader "The Widow Meehan's Cassimeer Shawl," "The Bellman of Carrick," +and "The Heart-Break of Norah O'Hara." + +BLISS AND OTHER STORIES, by _Katherine Mansfield_ (Alfred A. +Knopf). I have no hesitation in stating after careful thought that Miss +Mansfield's first book of short stories at once places her in the great +European tradition on a par with Chekhov and De Maupassant. This is +certainly the most important book of short stories which has come to my +notice since I began to edit this series of books. I say this with the +more emphasis because, although her technique is the same as that of +Chekhov, she is one of the few writers to whom a close study of Chekhov +has done no harm. Most American short story writers are bad because they +copy "O. Henry," and most English short story writers are bad because +they copy Chekhov. Chekhov and "O. Henry" were both great writers +because they copied nobody. I hope that the success of Miss Mansfield's +book will not have the effect of substituting a new model instead of +these two. Mr. Knopf is to be complimented for his taste in publishing +the best two volumes of short stories of the year. It is a disinterested +service to literature. + +A CHAIR ON THE BOULEVARD, by _Leonard Merrick_ (E.P. Dutton & +Company). It is unnecessary at this date to point out the special +excellences of Leonard Merrick. They are such as to ensure him a +tolerably secure position in the history of the English short story. But +it may be well to point out that the vice of his excellence is his +proneness to sentimentality. This is more evident in Mr. Merrick's other +volumes than in the present collection, which is really a reissue of his +best stories, including that masterpiece, "The Tragedy of a Comic Song." +If one were to compile an anthology of the world's best twenty stories, +this story would be among them. + +SELECTED ENGLISH SHORT STORIES (XIX AND XX CENTURIES), edited +by _H.S.M._ (Oxford University Press). This volume has the merit of +containing in very short compass twenty-eight stories by English and +American authors, not too conventionally selected, which would form +admirable texts for a short story course. It includes stories by Mark +Rutherford and Richard Garnett which are likely to be unfamiliar to most +readers, and if taken in conjunction with the previous volume in the +same series, provides a tolerably complete conspectus of the development +of the short story in England and America since 1800. + +ORIGINAL SINNERS, by _Henry W. Nevinson_ (B.W. Huebsch, Inc.). +It has always been a mystery to me why Mr. Nevinson's short stories are +so little known to American readers. His earlier volumes "The Plea of +Pan" and "Between the Acts," are eagerly sought by collectors, but they +have been permitted to go out of print, I believe, and the general +public knows very little about them. To nine out of ten people, Mr. +Nevinson is known as a publicist and war correspondent, but it is by his +short stories that he will live longest, and the present volume is one +more illustration of the place which has always been occupied in English +literature by the gifted amateur. The stories in the present volume all +lead back by implication to the golden age, and if Mr. Nevinson's mood +is elegiac, he never refuses to face reality. + +IRISH FAIRY TALES, by _James Stephens_ (The Macmillan Company). +We think of Mr. Stephens primarily as a poet and an ironic moralist, but +in the present volume a new side of his genius is revealed. It might +seem that too many writers have attempted with more or less success to +reproduce the spirit of the gray Irish Sagas by retelling them, and we +think of Standish O'Grady, Lady Gregory, "A.E.," and others. But Mr. +Stephens has seen them in the fresh light of an unconquerable youth, and +I am more than half inclined to think that this is the best book he has +given us. + +SAVITRI, AND OTHER WOMEN, by _Marjorie Strachey_ (G.P. Putnam's +Sons). Marjorie Strachey has presented the feminist point of view in +eleven short stories drawn from the folklore of many nations. Her object +in telling these stories is a sophisticated one, and I suspect that her +success has been only partial, but she has considerable resources of +style to assist her, and I think that the volume is worthy of some +attention. + +THE THIRTEEN TRAVELLERS, by _Hugh Walpole_ (George H. Doran +Company). Mr. Walpole has collected in this volume twelve studies of +English life in the present transition stage between war and peace. He +has studied with considerable care those modifications of the English +character which are noticeable to the patient observer, and his volume +has some value as an historical document apart from its undoubted +literary charm. While it will not rank among the best of Mr. Walpole's +books, it is full of excellent _genre_ pieces rendered with subtlety and +poise. + + +III. TRANSLATIONS + +THE HORSE-STEALERS AND OTHER STORIES, and THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND +OTHER STORIES, by _Anton Chekhov_ translated from the Russian by +_Constance Garnett_ (The Macmillan Company). Mrs. Garnett's +excellent edition of Chekhov is rapidly drawing to a conclusion. In +the two volumes now under consideration we find the greater part of +Chekhov's very short sketches, notably many of the humorous pieces +which he wrote in early life. These are most often brief renderings +of a mood, or quiet ironic contrasts which set forth facts without +drawing any moral or pointing to any intellectual conclusion. + +LITTLE PIERRE, and THE SEVEN WIVES OF BLUEBEARD, by +_Anatole France_; edited by _Frederic Chapman_, _James Lewis May_, and +_Bernard Miall_. (John Lane). The first of these volumes presents +another instalment of the author's autobiography in the form of a series +of delicately rendered pictures portrayed with quiet deftness and a +laughing irony which is half sad. In "The Seven Wives of Bluebeard" he +has retold four legends and endowed them with a philosophic content of +smiling ironic doubt which accepts life as we find it and preaches a +gentle disillusioned epicureanism. Both volumes are faultlessly +translated. + +PEOPLE, by _Pierre Hamp_; translated by _James Whitall_ +(Harcourt, Brace, and Company). Among the poets and prose writers who +have emerged in France during the past ten years and formulated a new +social and artistic philosophy, Pierre Hamp is by no means the least +important figure. He has already published about a dozen volumes of +mingled fiction and economic comment which form a somewhat detailed +history of the French workingman in his social and industrial relations, +but "People" is the first volume which has yet been translated into +English. His attitude as revealed in these stories is full of indignant +pity, and he gives us a series of sharply etched portraits, many of +which will not be forgotten readily. He does not conceal his +propagandist tendencies, but they limit him as an artist less in these +stories than in his other books. Mr. Whitall's translation is excellent, +and conveys the author's rugged style convincingly. + +LITTLE RUSSIAN MASTERPIECES in Four Volumes, chosen and +translated from the Russian by _Zénaïde A. Ragozin_ (G.P. Putnam's +Sons). This collection is valuable as a supplement to existing +anthologies because it wisely leaves for other editors the most familiar +stories and concentrates on introducing less known writers to the +English-speaking public. The editor has broadened her scheme in order to +include Polish authors. Among the less familiar figures who are here +introduced, I may mention Lesskof, Mamin-Sibiriàk, and Slutchefsky. I +can cordially recommend this admirable series. + +THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES, by _Ivan Turgenev_; +translated from the Russian by _Constance Garnett_ (The Macmillan +Company). Mrs. Garnett, to whom we are ever grateful, has surprised us +delightfully by offering us some hitherto untranslated novelettes by +Turgenev which seem to me to rank among his masterpieces. In each of +them he has compressed a whole life cycle into a brief series of +significant incidents and made them the microcosm of a larger human +world. This is one of the most important volumes of the year. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921: AN INDEX + +NOTE. _An asterisk before a title indicates distinction. This +list includes single short stories, and collections of short stories. +Volumes announced for publication in the autumn of 1921 are listed here, +although in some cases they had not yet appeared at the time this book +went to press._ + + +I. AMERICAN AUTHORS + +ABBOTT, ELEANOR HALLOWELL. + Peace on Earth, Good Will to Dogs. Dutton. + +ANDERSON, SHERWOOD. + *Triumph of the Egg. Huebsch. + +BAILEY, CAROLYN SHERWIN. + Enchanted Bugle. F.A. Owen Pub. Co. + +BAILEY, TEMPLE. + Gay Cockade. Penn Pub. Co. + +BARDEEN, CHARLES WILLIAM. + Castiron Culver. C.W. Bardeen. + +BARNES, WILLIAM CROFT. + Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp. Breeders' Gazette. + +"BENIGNUS, WILLIAM." + Woodstock Stories, Poems and Essays. Author. + +BERCOVICI, KONRAD. + *Ghitza. Boni and Liveright. + +BESKOW, ELIZABETH MARIA. + Faith of a Child. Rose Printing Co. + +BOREHAM, FRANK W. + Reel of Rainbow. Abingdon Press. + +BRADDY, NELLA, _editor_. + Masterpieces of Adventure, 4 vol. Doubleday, Page. + +BRUNO, GUIDO. + Night in Greenwich Village. Author. + Sentimental Studies. Author. + +BURT, MAXWELL STRUTHERS. + *Chance Encounters. Scribner. + +CABELL, JAMES BRANCH. + *Line of Love. McBride. + +CHAMBERLAIN, GEORGE AGREW. + Pigs to Market. Bobbs-Merrill. + +CHILD, RICHARD WASHBURN. + Velvet Black. Dutton. + +COLES, BERTHA LIPPINCOTT. + Wound Stripes. Lippincott. + +COLUM, PADRAIC. + *Children of Odin. Macmillan. + +CONNOLLY, JAMES B. + *Tide Rips. Scribner. + +COTTER, WINIFRED. + Sheila and Others. Dutton. + +CRADOCK, WILLIAM H.C. + Everyday Stories. Jacobs. + +DELAND, MARGARET. + Old Chester Secret. Harper. + +DELL, ETHEL M. + Rosa Mundi. Putnam. + +DREVES, F.M. + Joyful Herald of the King of Kings. Herder. + +DUNBAR, ALDIS. + *Sons o' Cormac. Dutton. + +EVARTS, HAL G. + Bald Face. Knopf. + +FORD, SEWELL. + Inez and Trilby May. Harper. + Meet 'em with Shorty McCabe. Clode. + +FRECK, LAURA F., _editor_. + Short Stories of Various Types. Merrill. + +FRENCH, JOSEPH LEWIS, _editor_. + *Great Sea Stories. Brentano's. + +GATLIN, DANA. + Missy. Doubleday, Page. + +GELZER, JAY. + Street of a Thousand Delights. McBride. + +GROSS, ANTON. + Merchants of Precious Goods. Roxburgh. + +GRUELLE, JOHN B. + Raggedy Andy Stories. Volland. + +HARRIS, KENNETT. + Meet Mr. Stegg. Holt. + +HAY, CORINNE. + Light and Shade 'round Gulf and Bayou. Roxburgh. + +HILL, FREDERICK TREVOR. + Tales Out of Court. Stokes. + +KAHLER, HUGH MACNAIR. + Babel. Putnam. + +KELLAND, CLARENCE BUDINGTON. + Scattergood Baines. Harper. + +KITTREDGE, DANIEL WRIGHT. + Mind Adrift. Seattle: S.F. Shorey. + +LASELLE, MARY AUGUSTA, _editor_. + Joy in Work. Holt. + +LAWSON, J.C. + Tales of Aegean Intrigue. Dutton. + +LEVINGOR, ELMA EHRLICH. + Playmates in Egypt. Jewish Pub. Soc. of America. + +LINCOLN, JOSEPH C. + "Old Home House." Appleton. + +LONDON, JACK. + *Brown Wolf. Macmillan. + +MARQUIS, DON. + Carter, and Other People. Appleton. + +MEANS, E.K. + Further E.K. Means. Putnam. + +MORLEY, CHRISTOPHER. + Tales from a Rolltop Desk. Doubleday, Page. + +MURDOCK, VICTOR. + Folks. Macmillan. + +NADIR, MOISHE. + Peh-el-peh (Face to Face). Pagan Pub. Co. + +NEWTON, ALMA. + Shadows. Lane. + +O'BRIEN, EDWARD J. + Best Short Stories of 1920. Small, Maynard. + +OEMLER, MARIE CONWAY. + Where the Young Child Was. Century. + +PERKINS, LAWRENCE. + Cross of Ares. Brentano's. + +RICHARDS, CLARICE E. + Tenderfoot Bride. Revell. + +RINEHART, MARY ROBERTS. + Truce of God. Doran. + +RUDWIN, MAXIMILIAN JOSEF, _editor_. + *Devil Stories. Knopf. + +RUTLEDGE, ARCHIBALD. + Old Plantation Days. Stokes. + +SAVAGE, NANNIE H. + Sketches. Author. + +SCARBOROUGH, DOROTHY, _editor_. + *Famous Modern Ghost Stories. Putnam. + Humorous Ghost Stories. Putnam. + +SHEARD, VIRGINIA STANTON. + Golden Appletree. McCann. + +SHORE, VIOLA BROTHERS. + Heritage. Doran. + +SMITH, HARRY JAMES. + *Cape Breton Tales. Atlantic Monthly Press. + +SMITH, LOGAN PEARSALL. + *Stories from the Old Testament. Luce. + +SOCIETY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES, _editors_. + *O. Henry Memorial Award Prize Stories of 1920. Doubleday, Page. + +STOCKING, JAY T. + Mr. Friend-o'-Man. Interchurch Press. + +STRINGER, ARTHUR. + Twin Tales. Bobbs-Merrill. + +TAYLOR, CHARLES FORBES. + Riveter's Gang. Revell. + +TERHUNE, ALBERT PAYSON. + Buff; a Collie. Doran. + +TRAGOR, HANNAH. + Festival Stories of Child Life in a Jewish Colony in Palestine. Dutton. + Stories of Child Life in a Jewish Colony in Palestine. Dutton. + +VAN VECHTEN, CARL, _editor_. + *Lords of the Housetops. Knopf. + +WALKLEY, WILLIAM S. + Three Golden Days. Revell. + +WIGGIN, KATE DOUGLAS. + Homespun Tales. Houghton, Mifflin. + +WILEY, HUGH. + Jade. Knopf. + +WILSON, JOHN FLEMING. + Scouts of the Desert. Macmillan. + +WITWER, H.C. + Leather Pushers. Putnam. + + +II. ENGLISH AND IRISH AUTHORS + +ARLEN, MICHAEL. + Romantic Lady. Dodd, Mead. + +AUMONIER, STACY. + Golden Windmill. Macmillan. + +BAILEY, H.C. + Call Mr. Fortune. Dutton. + +BIBESCO, PRINCESS. + I Have Only Myself to Blame. Doran. + +BUCHAN, JOHN. + Path of the King. Doran. + +BURKE. THOMAS. + *More Limehouse Nights. Doran. + +CHOLMONDELEY, MARY. + *Romance of His Life. Dodd, Mead. + +COPPARD, A.E. + *Adam and Eve and Pinch Me. Knopf. + +CORELLI, MARIE. + Love of Long Ago. Doubleday, Page. + +"DEHAN, RICHARD." + Villa of the Peacock. Doran. + +DE MONTMORENCY, J.E.G. + Admiral's Chair. Oxford University Press. + +GREEN, PETER. + Our Kid. Longmans, Green. + +HAGGARD, SIR RIDER. + Smith and the Pharaohs. Longmans, Green. + +HUDSON, W.H. + *Dead Man's Plack, and An Old Thorn. Dutton. + +LAWSON, KATE, LADY. + Life of Gnat. Warne. + +M., H.S., _editor_. + *Selected English Short Stories. 2d series. Oxford University Press. + +"SAPPER." + Man in Ratcatcher. Doran. + +MANSFIELD, KATHERINE. + *Bliss. Knopf. + +MAUGHAM, W. SOMERSET. + *Trembling of a Leaf. Doran. + +MERRICK, LEONARD. + *Chair on the Boulevard. Dutton. + +NEVINSON, HENRY WOODD. + *Original Sinners. Huebsch. + +STEPHENS, JAMES. + *Irish Fairy Tales. Macmillan. + +STRACHEY, MARJORIE. + *Savitri and Other Women. Putnam. + +WALPOLE, HUGH. + *Thirteen Travellers. Doran. + + +III. TRANSLATIONS + +BALZAC, HONORE DE. (_French._) + Short Stories. Boni and Liveright. + +BYNG, LUCY, _translator_. (_Roumanian._) + *Roumanian Stories. Lane. + +CHEKHOV, ANTON. (_Russian._) + *Horse-Stealers. Macmillan. + *Schoolmaster. Macmillan. + *Schoolmistress. Macmillan. + +DOSTOEVSKY, FEDOR. + *Friend of the Family. Macmillan. + +"FRANCE, ANATOLE." (_French._) + *Little Pierre. Lane. + *Seven Wives of Bluebeard. Lane. + +HAMP, PIERRE. (_French._) + *People. Harcourt, Brace. + +JACOBSEN, JENS PETER. (_Danish._) + *Mögens. Brown. + +JAMMES, FRANCIS. (_French._) + *Romance of the Rabbit. Brown. + +MEREJKOVSKI, DMITRI. (_Russian._) + *Menace of the Mob. Brown. + +"NERVAL, GERARD DE." (_French._) + *Daughters of Fire. Brown. + +POPOVIC, PAVLE, _editor_. (_Jugo-Slav._) + *Jugo-Slav Stories. Duffield. + +SCHNITZLER, ARTHUR. (_German._) + *Shepherd's Pipe. Brown. + +TURGENEV, IVAN. (_Russian._) + *Knock, Knock, Knock. Macmillan. + *Two Friends. Macmillan. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND AND IRELAND ONLY + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921: AN INDEX + + +NOTE. _An asterisk before a title indicates distinction._ + + +I. AMERICAN AUTHOR + +STEIN, GERTRUDE. + *Three Lives. Lane. + + +II. ENGLISH AND IRISH AUTHORS + +ATKEY, BERTRAM. + Winnie O'Wynn and the Wolves. Cassell. + +BARCYNSKA, COUNTESS. + Love's Last Reward. Hurst and Blackett. + +BENSON, E.F. + Countess of Lowndes Square. Cassell. + +BERESFORD, J.D. + *Signs and Wonders. Golden Cockerel Press. + +BESTE, FLORENCE. + Home in Kentucky. Stockwell. + +BEVAN, C. ELRUTH. + Collection of Ghosts. Morland. + +"BIRMINGHAM, GEORGE A." + Lady Bountiful. Christophers. + +BLATCHFORD, ROBERT. + Spangles of Existence. Lane. + +BOWEN, MARJORIE. + Pleasant Husband. Hurst and Blackett. + +BYRON, LESLEY. + Opportunist Sinn Feiners. Heath Cranton. + +CASTLE, AGNES and EGERTON. + Romances in Red. Hodder and Stoughton. + +CLARKE, B.A. + Free Hand. Ward, Lock. + +CORKERY, DANIEL. + *Hounds of Banba. Talbot Press. + +DAVIS, F. HADLAND. + Peony of Pao-Yu. Theosophical Pub. Co. + +EARLE, SYBIL K.L. + Olla Podrida. Morland. + +FINDLATER, JANE HELEN. + Green Grass-Widow. Murray. + +FISHER, HERVEY. + *Romantic Man. Seeker. + +FRANCIS, BRAND. + Comedy and Tragedy. Holden and Hardingham. + +GARVICE, CHARLES. + Miss Smith's Fortune. Skeffington. + +GONNE, FRANCIS. + Fringe of the Eternal. Burns, Oates, and Washbourne. + +HAZELWOOD, A. + Decision. Morland. + +HOUSMAN, LAWRENCE. + *Gods and Their Makers. Allen and Unwin. + +HOWARD, FRANCIS MORTON. + Little Shop in Fore Street. Methuen. + +KEEN, RALPH HOLBROOK. + *Little Ape. Henderson's. + +KYFFIN-TAYLOR, BESSIE. + From Out of the Silence. Books, Ltd. + +LE QUEUX, WILLIAM. + In Secret. Odham's. + +LOWTHER, ALICE. + Down the Old Road. Heath Cranton. + +LYONS, A. NEIL. + *Market Bundle. Butterworth. + +MCCALLIN, WILLIAM. + *Ulster Fireside Tales. Heath, Cranton. + +MOORMAN, F.W. + *More Tales of the Ridings. Mathews. + *Tales of the Ridings. Mathews. + +PEIRSON, FANNY. + Noble Madness. Swarthmore Press. + +PEMBERTON, MAX. + Prince of the Palais Royal. Cassell. + +PULLEN, A.M. + Invisible Sword. S. Allen Warner. + +PURDON, K.F. + *Candle and Crib. Talbot Press. + +QUEER STORIES from "Truth," 22d Series. Cassell. + +RANSOME, ARTHUR. + Soldier and Death. John G. Wilson. + +RAYMOND, ADOLPHUS, _and_ BUNIN, A. + Amongst the Aristocracy of the Ghetto. Stanley Paul. + +"ROHMER, SAX." + Haunting of Low Fennel. Pearson. + +SPETTIGUE, J.H. + Nero. Lane. + +ST. MARS, F. + Off the Beaten Track. Chambers. + +TAYLOR, SISTER EMILY. + Diamonds in the Rough. Stockwell. + +WAUGH, ALEC. + *Pleasure. Grant Richards. + +WAUGH, JOSEPH LAING. + Heroes in Homespun. Hodder and Stoughton. + +WEEKS, WILLIAM. + 'Twas Ordained. Exeter: W. Pollard and Co. + +WILCOX, ANNE SYMS. + Settler's Story of 1820. Stockwell. + +WINTLE, W. JAMES. + Ghost Gleams. Heath Cranton. + +WOOLF, LEONARD. + *Stories of the East. Hogarth Press. + +WOOLF, VIRGINIA. + *Monday or Tuesday. Hogarth Press. + + +III. TRANSLATIONS + +ANDREYEV, LEONID. (_Russian._) + *And it Came to Pass that the King was Dead. Daniel. + *His Excellency the Governor. Daniel. + +DUVERNOIS, HENRI. (_French._) + Holidays. Philpot. + +MACKLIN, ALYS EYRE, _translator_ (_French._) + *29 Short Stories. Philpot. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN FRANCE + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921: AN INDEX + + +NOTE. _An asterisk before a title indicates distinction._ + + BARBEY D'AUREVILLY, J. *Cachet d'Onyx. La Connaissance. + BODIN, MARGUERITE. Psaumes d'amour. Figuière. + BOURGET, PAUL. *Anomalies. Plon. + BOUTET, FREDERIC. *Adventures Sombres et Pittoresques. Ferenczi. + DOYON, RENE LOUIS. Proses Mystiques. La Connaissance. + FARRERE, CLAUDE. Betes et Gens Qui s'Aimérent. Flammarion. + GEFFROY, GUSTAVE. Nouveaux contes du pays d'Ouest. Crès. + GIRIEUD, MAXIME. Contes du Temps Jamais. La Sirène. + GOBIMEAU, COMTE DE. *Mademoiselle Irnois. Nouv. Revue franç. + HENRIOT, EMILE. *Temps Innocents. Emile Paul. + LEVEL, MAURICE. Morts Étranges. Ferenczi. + LICHTENBERGER, ANDRA. Scènes en Famille. Plon. + MACORLAN, PIERRE. *A Bord de l'Etoile Matutine. Crès. + MAURICE-VERNE. Milles-et-une Nuits. Albin Michel. + MELHOUF, DJEBAL. Père Robin. Boet, Constantine. + MENASCHE, ELIE-L. CONTES DE L'INDE CRUELLE. Bouchet et Barri. + MILLE, PIERRE. *Histoires exotiques et merveilleuses. Ferenczi. + MORAND, PAUL. *Tendres Stocks. Nouv. Revue franç. + NANDEAU, LUDOVIC. Histoire des Wagon et de la Cabine. Pierre Lafitte. + NESMY, JEAN. Arc-en-ciel. Grasset. + PERGAUD, LOUIS. *Rustiques. M. de F. + PILLON, MARCEL. Contes à ma consine. Figuière. + REGISMAUSET, CHARLES. Livre de Mes Amis. Sansot. + RENAUD, J. JOSEPH. Clavecin Hanté. Pierre Lafitte. + RICHEPIN, JEAN. *Coin des Fous. Flammarion. + "TAILLEFER." Contes de Grenoble, Audin et Cir. + TISSERAND, ERNEST. Contes de la popote. Crès. + TURPIN, FRANCOIS. Contes Inutiles. La Connaissance. + VERNON, YVONNE. Chine, Japan, Stamboul. Tohner. + + + + +ARTICLES ON THE SHORT STORY + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 + + +Authors of articles are printed in capital letters. + +_The following abbreviations are used in this index:_ + + _Ain._ Ainslee's Magazine + _Ath._ Athenæum + _A.W._ All's Well + _B.E.T._ Boston Evening Transcript + _Book._ (_London_) Bookman (London) + _Book._ (_N.Y._) Bookman (New York) + _Book. J._ Bookman's Journal + _Cen._ Century + _Det. Sun. N._ Detroit Sunday News + _Dial_ Dial + _Eng. R._ English Review + _Fortn. R._ Fortnightly Review + _Free._ Freeman + _Harp. M._ Harper's Magazine. + _Liv. A._ Living Age + _L. Merc._ London Mercury + _L. St._ Live Stories + _M. de F._ Mercure de France + _N.A. Rev._ North American Review + _Nat._ (_N.Y._) Nation (New York) + _Nat._ (_London_) Nation (London) + _New S._ New Statesman + _N. Rep._ New Republic + _N.R.F._ Nouvelle Revue Française + _N.Y. Times_ New York Times Review of Books + _Outl._ (_London_) Outlook (London) + _R.D.M._ Revue des Deux Mondes + _Sat. West._ Saturday Westminster Gazette + _Scr._ Scribner's Magazine + _So. Atl. Q._ South Atlantic Quarterly + _S.S._ Smart Set + _Times Lit. Suppl._ Times Literary Supplement (London) + _Unp. R._ Unpartisan Review + _W. Rev._ Weekly Review + _19th Cent._ Nineteenth Century and after + + +AIKEN, CONRAD. + Anton Chekhov. Free. April 6. (3:90.) + Short Story As Poetry. Free. May 11. (3:210.) + +ALDINGTON, RICHARD. + James Joyce. Eng. R. April. (32:333.) + +American Short Story. + By Constance Mayfield Rourke. Free. Oct. 6, '20. (2:91.) + +Andreyev, Leonid. + By Clarendon Ross. N. Rep. May 25. (26:382.) + +Artzibashef, Michael. + By Berenice C. Skidelsky. A.W. Aug. (1:189.) A.W. Sept (1:202.) + +ASTÉRIOTIS, DÉMÉTRIUS. + Jean Psichari. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. (144:797.) + D. Voutyras. M. de F. April 15. (147:526.) + +BAGENAL, H. + Leo Nicolaievitch Tolstoy. Free. Feb. 16. (2:548.) + +BATLLE, CARLOS DE. + Vicente Blasco Ibáñez. Liv. A. Oct. 23, '20. (307:293.) + +BEAUNIER, ANDRÉ. + M. Franc-Nohain. R.D.M. Sept. 1. (65:217.) + +BECHHOFER, C.E. + James Branch Cabell. Times Lit. Suppl. June 16. (20:387.) + Theodore Dreiser; Willa Sibert Cather. Times Lit. Suppl. June 23. + (20:403.) + +Beerbohm, Max. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 23. (19:873.) + Anonymous. Nat. (London). March 19. (28:883.) + By Henry D. Davray. M. de F. July 1. (149:245.) + By Herbert S. Gorman. N.Y. Times. Jan. 2. (9.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. Dec. 18, '20. (16:339.) + By Carl Van Doren. Nat. (N.Y.). Dec. 29, '20. (111:785.) + By S.W. Ath. Dec. 31, '20. (888.) + +BELL, LISLE. + Henry James. Free. Dec. 29, '20, (2:381.) + +BENNETT, ARNOLD. + Chekhov, Maupassant, and James. + +Bennett, Arnold. + By St. John Ervine. N.A. Rev. Sept. (214:371.) + +Beresford, J.D. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. June 30. (20:417.) Sat. R. Jul. 2. (132:19.) + +BERNSTEIN, HERMAN. + Count Lyof Tolstoi. N.Y. Times. Jan. 9. (3.) + +BERTRAND, LOUIS. + Paul Bourget. R.D.M. Dec. 15, '20. (60:723.) + +Bierce, Ambrose. + By Walter Jerrold. Book. (London.) June. (60:132.) + +BIRRELL, AUGUSTINE. + Henry James. Nat. (London). July 16. (29:581.) + +BJORKMAN, EDWIN. + Knut Hamsun. N. Rep. Apr. 13. (26:195.) + +BLACK, JOHN. + Lord Dunsany. Book. (N.Y.). April. (53:140.) + +Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente. + By Carlos de Sic Batlle. Liv. A. Oct. 23, '20. (307:293.) + By Jean Gasson. M. de F. Aug. 15. (32:244.) + By T.R. Ybarra. N.Y. Times. Jan. 23. (16.) + +Bloch, Jean Richard. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 14, '20. (19:662.) + +BLUMENFELD, L. + Léon Kobrin. M. de F. March 15. (146:826.) + +Boccaccio, Giovanni. + Anonymous. New S. Nov. 6, '20. (16:144.) + +BOURGET, PAUL. + Prosper Mérimée. Liv. A. Nov. 6, '20. (307:346.) + +Bourget, Paul. + By Louis Bertrand. R.D.M. Dec. 15, '20. (60:723.) + By C.F. Ath. Oct. 15, '20. (532.) + By Louis Martin-Chauffier. N.R.F. Dec. '20. (8:934.). + +BOYD, ERNEST A. + Jens Peter Jacobsen. Free. May 25. (3:259.) + James Stephens. Free. March 9. (2:619.) + +BRAITHWAITE, WILLIAM STANLEY. + Willa Cather. B.E.T. Feb. 16. + +BRENNECKE, ERNEST. + Thomas Hardy. N.Y. Times. June 5. (12.) + +BREWSTER, DOROTHY. + Fyodor Dostoevski. Nat. (N.Y.). Aug. 10. (113:155.) + +Buchan, John. + By Louise Maunsell Field. N.Y. Times. Jul. 3. (9.) + +Bunin, I.A. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 18. (20:530.) + By Jean Chuzeville. M. de F. Sept. 15. (32:815.) + +BURKE, KENNETH. + Francis Jammes. Free. May 11. (3:211.) + +Burke, Thomas. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). June 25. (29:476.) + By Allen Monkhouse. New S. April 30. (17:106.) + +BURT, MAXWELL STRUTHERS. + By Blanche Colton Williams. Book. (N.Y.). March. (53:53.) + +Burt, Maxwell Struthers. + Henry W. Nevinson. Book. (N.Y.). May. (53:253.) + +Cabell, James Branch. + By C.E. Bechhofer. Times Lit. Suppl. June 16. (20:387.) + By Richard Le Gallienne. N.Y. Times. Feb. 13. (3.) + By Robert Morss Lovett. N. Rep. Apr. 13. (26:187.) + +CARROLL, LATROBE. + Willa Sibert Cather. Book. (N.Y.). May. (53:212.) + +CASSON, JEAN. + Vicente Blasco Ibáñez. M. de F. Aug. 15. (32:244.) + Ramon Gomez de la Serna. M. de F. Jan. 15. (145:516.) + Miguel de Unamuno. M. de F. June 15. (148:819.) + +Cather, Willa Sibert. + By C.E. Bechhofer. Times Lit. Suppl. June 23. (20:403.) + By William Stanley Braithwaite. B.E.T. Feb. 16. + By Latrobe Carroll. Book. (N.Y.). May. (53:212.) + By Francis Hackett. N. Rep. Jan. 19. (25:233.) + By Carl Van Doren. Nat. (N.Y.). Jul. 27. (113:92.) + By O.W. Ath. Dec. 31, '20. (890.) + +CHEKHOV, ANTON. + Diary. Free. April 6. (3:79.) + Notebook. M. de F. Jan. (3:285.) Free. April 13. (3:104). +April 20. (3:127.) April 27. (3:152.) May 4. (3:175.) May 11. +(3:199.) May 18. (3:225.) May 25. (3:247.) June 1. (3:272) +June 8. (3:296.) June 15. (3:320.) June 22. (3:344.) June 29. +(3:368.) July 6. (3:392.) July 13. (3:415.) July 20. (3:440.) + +Chekhov, Anton. + By Conrad Aiken. Free. April 6. (3:90.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Nov. 18, '20. (19:756.) + Anonymous. L. St. Dec. '20. (125.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. April 21. (20:257.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 22. (20:609.) + By Arnold Bennett. L. Merc. Oct., '20. (2:677.) + By N. Bryllion Fagin. P.L. Autumn. (32:416.) + By Maxim Gorky. Free. May 25. (3:251.) + By Maxim Gorky. New S. April 16. (17:52.) + Free. May 25. (3:251.) June 1. (3:275.) June 8. (3:298.) + By Alexander Kuprin. Free. Aug. 10. (3:511.) Aug. 17. (3:535.) + Aug. 24. (3:561.) Aug. 31. (3:583.) + By Prince D.S. Mirski. Outl. (London.). Jul. 30. (48:90.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Jan. 1. (11.) + Nat. (London). June 4. (29:365.) + +CHEW, SAMUEL C. + George Meredith. N. Rep. Jan. 26. (25:267.) + +Chuzeville, Jean. + Ivan A. Bunin. M. de F. Sept. 15. (32:815.) + +Collette. + By Benjamin Crémieux. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:939.) + +COLLIS-MORLEY, LACY. + Federigo Tozzi; Mario Puccini. Nat. (London). July 16. (29:585.) + +Colum, Padraic. + By Constance Mayfield Rourke. N. Rep. May 4. (26:300.) + +Conrad, Joseph. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). March 19. (28:881.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. March 3. (20:141.) + By Louise Maunsell Field. N.Y. Times. May 8. (10.) + By Robert Lynd. New S. Mar. 12. (16:674.) + By William McFee. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:102.) + +CONRAD, JOSEPH. + Five Prefaces. L. Merc. Mar. (3:493.) + +Coppard, A.E. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Jul. 30. (29:656.) + By Malcolm Cowley. Dial. Jul. (71:93.) + +Corkery, Daniel. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Apr. 2. (29:27.) + By Shane Leslie. Dub. R. Apr. (168:289.) + +Coster, Charles D. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 14, '20. (19:663.) + +COURNOS, JOHN. + Count Lyof Tolstoi. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 30, '20. (19:889.) + +COWLEY, MALCOLM. + A.E. Coppard. Dial. Jul. (71:93.) + Katharine Mansfield. Dial. Sept. (71:365.) + +CRÉMIEUX, BENJAMIN. + Collette. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:939.) + +D'Annunzio, Gabrielle. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jan. 6. (20:7.) + +DAVRAY, HENRY D. + Max Beerbohm. M. de F. Jul. 1. (149:245.) + Henry James. M. de F. Feb. 15. (146:68.) + +De Coster, Charles. + Anonymous. New S. Jan. 22. (16:482.) + +DELEBECQUE, JACQUES. + R.L. Stevenson. M. de F. Jan. 1. (145:55.) + +Dostoevsky, Fyodor. + Anonymous. Ath. Dec. 3, '20. (758.) + Anonymous. Times. Lit. Suppl. Dec. 9, '20. (19:811.) + By Dorothy Brewster. Nat. (N.Y.). Aug. 10. (113:155.) + By Herbert S. Gorman. N.Y. Times. Aug. 7. (6.) + By Allan Monkhouse. New S. Mar. 5. (16:646.) + By Clarendon Ross. N. Rep. Jan. 12. (25:205.) + By Louis Gillet. R.D.M. Dec. 15, '20. (60:851.) + +Dreiser, Theodore. + By C.E. Bechhofer. Times Lit. Suppl. June 23. (20:403.) + By Edward H. Smith. Book. (N.Y.). Mar. (53:27.) + +DUGAS, L. + Prosper Mérimée. M. de F. Oct. 1, '20. (143:113.) + +Dunsany, Lord. + By John Black. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:140.) + By C.E. Lawrence. Liv. A. Aug. 27. (310:531.) Book. + (London). Jul. (60:172.) + By Odell Shepard. Scr. May. (69:595.) + +Easton, Dorothy. + By H.S.G.N. Rep. Feb. 23. (25:384.) + +EDGETT, EDWIN FRANCIS. + W.H. Hudson. B.E.F. Jan. 12. (6.) + +ELLIOT, JOHN. + H.G. Wells. Book. (N.Y.). Feb. (52:542.) + +ERVINE. ST. JOHN. + Arnold Bennett. N.A. Rev. Sept. (214:371.) + +EWART, WILFRID. + Thomas Hardy. 19th Cent. Sept. (90:427.) + +FAGIN, N. BRYLLION. + Anton Chekhov. P.L. Autumn. (32:416.) + +FIELD, LOUISE MAUNSELL. + John Buchan. N.Y. Times. Jul. 3. (9.) + Joseph Conrad. N.Y. Times. May 8. (10.) + +FINGER, CHARLES J. + R.B. Cunninghame-Graham. A.W. Jul. (1:168.) + +Fisher, Hervey. + By Orlo Williams. Ath. Feb. 11. (157.) + +Flaubert, Gustave. + Anonymous. Nat. (N.Y.) Jul. 13. (113:33.) + By Georges-A. Le Roy. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. (144:788.) + +Franc-Nohain, M. + By André Beaunier. R.D.M. Sept. 1. (65:217.) + +France, Anatole. + By Pitts Sanborn. Free. Feb. 9. (2:514.) + +G., H.S. + Aldous Huxley. N. Rep. Oct. 13, '20. (24:172.) + Dorothy Easton. N. Rep. Feb. 23. (25:384.) + +Gálvez, Manuel. + By Isaac Goldberg. B.E.T. Feb. 16. '21. + +BARTHOU, LOUIS. + Guy de Maupassant. R.D.M. Oct. 15, '20. (59:746.) + +GILLET, LOUIS. + Fyodor Dostoevski. R.D.M. Dec. 15, '20. (60:851.) + Lyof Tolstoi. R.D.M. Oct. 1, '20. (59:633.) + +Gogol, Nikolas. + By "Parijanine." Liv. A. Jul. 2. (310:51.) + +Goedhart-Becker, J.M. + By J.L. Walch. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. (144:794.) + +Gogol, Nikolai Vassilievitch. + By Albert Jay Nock. Free. Jan. 26. (2:464.) + +GOLDBERG, ISAAC. + Manuel Gálvez. B.E.T. Feb. 16, '21. + +Gomez de la Serna, Ramon. + By Jean Casson. M. de F. Jan. 15. (145:516.) + +GORKI, MAXIM. + Count Lyof Tolstoi. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:862.) + +GORKY, MAXIM. + Anton Chekhov. New S. Apr. 16. (17:52.) Free. May 25. (3:251.) + June 1. (3:275.) June 8. (3:298.) + +GORMAN, HERBERT S. + American Short Story. N.Y. Times. Mar. 6., (10.) + Max Beerbohm. N.Y. Times. Jan. 2. (9.) + Fyodor Dostoevski. N.Y. Times. Aug. 7. (6.) + +Govoni, Corrado. + By Mario Praz. L. Merc. Sept. (4:527.) + +Graham, R.B. Cunninghame. + By Charles J. Finger. A.W. Jul. (1:168.) + By C. Lewis Hind. Free. May 18. (3:237.) + By Mariano Joachin Lorente. A.W. Jan. (1:6.) + +GUÈRINOT, A. + Guy de Maupassant. M. de F. June 15. (148:597.) + +Hamilton, Anthony. + Anonymous. New S. Apr. 23. (17:83.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Apr. 7. (20:225.) + +H., R. + Katharine Mansfield. N. Rep. Mar. 23. (26:114.) + +HACKETT, FRANCIS. + James Stephens. N. Rep. Dec. 22, '20. (25:111.) + Lyof Tolstoi. N. Rep. Jan. 5. (25:172.) + Willa Sibert Cather. N. Rep. Jan. 12. (25:233.) + +Hamp, Pierre. + By Gilbert Thomas. Free. June 29. (3:379.) + +Hamsun, Knut. + Anonymous. N.Y. Times. June 26. (8.) + Anonymous. New S. Nov. 13, '20. (16:170.) + By Edwin Bjorkman. N. Rep. Apr. 13. (26:195.) + By Allen Wilson Porterfield. Nat. (N.Y.) Dec 8, '20. (111:652.) + By Allen Shoenfield. Det. Sun. N. Dec. 19, '20. + By W.W. Worster. Fortn. R. Dec., '20. (114:1003.) + +Hardy, Thomas. + By Ernest Brennecke. N.Y. Times. June 5. (12.) + By Wilfrid Ewart. 19th Cent. Sept. (90:427.) + By H.M. Tomlinson. N. Rep. Jan. 12. (25:190.) + +HARWOOD, H.C. + Hugh Walpole. Outl. (London). Jul. 23. (48:75.) + +Hearn, Lafcadio. + Anonymous. New S. Sept. 10. (17:628.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 25. (20:545.) + Anonymous. Sat. R. Sept. 24. (48:380.) + +"Henry, O." + By William Johnston. Book. (N.Y.). Feb. (52:536.) + By Archibald L. Sessions. Ain. Sept. (48:150.) + +Hergesheimer, Joseph. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 16, '20. (19:854.) + By Edward Shanks. L. Merc. Jan. (3:337.) + +HIND, C. LEWIS. + R.B. Cunninghame Graham. Free. May 18. (3:237.) + +HOPKINS, R. THURSTON. + Robert Louis Stevenson. Book. J. Jan. 14. (3:194.) + +Hudson, W.H. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 9, '20. (19:823.) + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Jan. 22. (28:584.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 29. (20:625.) + By Edwin Francis Edgett. B.E.T. Jan. 12. (6.) + By H.J. Massingham. L. Merc. Nov. '20. (3:73.) + By Forest Reid. Ath. Jan. 14. (39.) + +Hurst, Fannie. + By Inez Haynes Irwin. Book. (N.Y.). June. (53:335.) + +Huxley, Aldous. + By H.S.G. N. Rep. Oct. 13, '20. (24:172.) + +Huysmans, Joris Karl. + By Albert Thibaudet. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:93.) + By Cuthbert Wright. Dial. Dec., '20. (69:655.) + +IRWIN, INEZ HAYNES. + Fannie Hurst. Book. (N.Y.). June. (53:335.) + +Jacobsen, Jens Peter. + By Ernest Boyd. Free. May 25. (3:259.) + +James, Henry. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. May 12. (20:298) June 30. + (20:417.) Liv. A. Jul. 30. (310:267.) + By Arnold Bennett. L. Merc. Oct., '20. (2:677.) + By Lisle Bell. Free. Dec. 29, '20. (2:381.) + By Augustine Birrell. Nat. (London). Jul. 16. (29:581.) + By Henry-D. Davray. M. de F. Feb. 15. (146:68.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. Dec. 18, '20. (16:339.) + By Brander Matthews. N.Y. Times. June 12. (2.) + By Wilfrid L. Randell. Fortn. R. Sept. (116:458.) + By Stanley Went. Unp. Rev. Oct., '20. (14:381.) + +Jammes, Francis. + By Kenneth Burke. Free. May 11. (3:211.) + +JERROLD, WALTER. + Ambrose Bierce. Book. (London). June. (60:132.) + +JOHNSTON, WILLIAM. + O. Henry. Book. (N.Y.). Feb. (52:536.) + +Joyce, James. + By Richard Aldington. Eng. R. Apr. (32:333.) + By Evelyn Scott. Dial. Oct., '20. (69:353.) + +Karkavitsas, Andreas. + By Aristides E. Phoutrides. W. Rev. Dec. 8, '20. (3:566.) + +KAYE, A. LISTER. + Fyodor Sologub. Fortn. R. Oct., '20. (114:663.) + +Kipling, Rudyard. + By Arthur Bartlett Maurice. N.Y. Times. May 22. (4.) + +Kobrin, Léon. + By L. Blumenfeld. M. de F. Mar. 15. (146:826.) + +KUPRIN, ALEXANDER. + Anton Chekhov. Free. Aug. 10. (3:511.) Aug. 17. (3:535.) + Aug. 24. (3:561.) Aug. 31. (3:583.) + +Kurz, Isolde. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. June 30. (20:415.) + +Larbaud, Valery. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 2, '20. (19:790.) + +LAWRENCE, C.E. + Lord Dunsany. Liv. A. Aug. 27. (310:531.) Book. (London). + Jul. (60:172.) + +LE GALLIENNE, RICHARD. + James Branch Cabell. N.Y. Times. Feb. 13. (3.) + +Le Roy, Georges A. + Gustave Flaubert. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. (144:788.) + +LESLIE, SHANE. + Daniel Corkery. Dub. Rev. Apr. (168:289.) + +LINATI, CARLO. + Giovanni Verga. Dial. Aug. (71:150.) + +LONDON, CHARMIAN. + Jack London. Cen. Mar. (101:545.) May. (102:105.) + June. (102:287.) Jul. (102:443.) Aug. (102:599.) + +London, Jack. + By Charmian London. Cen. March. (101:545.) May + (102:105.) June. (102:287.) Jul. (102:443.) Aug. + (102: 599.) + +LORENTE, MARIANO JOACHIN. + R.B. Cunninghame Graham. A.W. Jan. (1:6.) + +LOVETT, ROBERT MORSS. + James Branch Cabell. N. Rep. Apr. 13. (26:187.) + +LYND, ROBERT. + Joseph Conrad. New S. Mar. 12. (16:674.) + +MACCARTHY, DESMOND. + Max Beerbohm. New S. Dec. 18, '20. (16:339.) + Henry James. New S. Dec. 18, '20. (16:339.) + Katharine Mansfield. New S. Jan. 15. (16:450.) + Guy de Maupassant. New S. Sept. 24. (17:677.) + Leonard Woolf and Virginia Woolf. New S. Apr. 9. (17:18.) + +MCFEE, WILLIAM. + Joseph Conrad. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:102.) + +MACY, JOHN. + Edgar Allen Poe. Free. Mar. 9. (2:622.) + +MANN, DOROTHEA LAWRANCE. + Anne Douglas Sedgwick. B.E.T. Jan. 29, '21. + +MANSFIELD, KATHARINE. + Gertrude Stein. Ath. Oct. 15, '20. (520.) + +Mansfield, Katharine. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 16, '20. (19:858.) Ath. + Jan. 21. (67.) Nat. (London). Feb. 5. (28:639.) + By Malcolm Cowley. Dial. Sept. (71:365.) + By R.H.N. Rep. Mar. 23. (26:114.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. Jan. 15. (16:450.) + By Jasper Pendlethwaite. Sat. West. Jan. 1. (16.) + By Edward Shanks. L. Merc. Jan. (3:337.) + +MARTIN-CHAUFFIER, LOUIS. + Paul Bourget. N.R.F. Dec. '20. (8:934.) + +MASON, LAWRENCE. + H.W. Nevinson. Free. Aug. 10. (3:524.) + +MASSINGHAM, H.J.M. + W.H. Hudson. L. Merc. Nov. 20. (3:73.) + Guy de Maupassant. Nat. (London.) Oct. 30, '20. (28:166.) + +MATTHEWS, BRANDER. + Henry James. N.Y. Times. June 12. (2.) + Edgar Allen Poe. N.Y. Times. Mar. 13. (3.) + Mark Twain. Harp. M. Oct., '20. (141: 635.) + +Maupassant, Guy de. + By Arnold Bennett. L. Merc. Oct., '20. (2: 677.) + By A. Guèrinot. M. de F. June 15. (148:597.) + By Louis Barthou. R.D.M. Oct. 15, '20. (59:746.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. Sept. 24. (17:677.) + By H.J.M. Massingham. Nat. (London.) Oct. 30, '20. (28:166.) + By Albert Thibaudet. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:923.) + +MAURICE, ARTHUR BARTLETT. + Rudyard Kipling. N.Y. Times. May 22. (4.) + +MENCKEN, H.L. + Mark Twain. S.S. Oct., '20. (138.) + +Meredith, George. + By Samuel C. Chew. N. Rep. Jan. 26. (25:267.) + By E.T. Raymond. Liv. A. Oct. 23, '20. (307:222.) + +Mérimée, Prosper. + By Paul Bourget. Liv. A. Nov. 6, '20. (307:346.) + By L. Dugas. M. de F. Oct. 1, '20. (143:113.) + By Camille Pitollet. M. de F. Nov. 15, '20. (144:252.) + +MIRSKI, PRINCE D.S. + Anton Chekhov. Outl. (London.) Jul. 30. (48:90.) + +MONKHOUSE, ALLAN. + Thomas Burke. New S. Apr. 30. (17:106.) + Fyodor Dostoievsky. New S. Mar. 5. (16:646.) + +Moorman, F.W. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 21, '20. (19:679.) + +Morand, M. Paul. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Mar. 3. (20:142.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Nat. (London). Apr. 23. (29:137.) + +MORGAN, EDITH PARSONS. + Victor Murdock. N. Rep. Sept. 14. (28:79.) + +MORRISSEY, FRANK R. + Mark Twain. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:143.) + +Murdock, Victor. + By Edith Parsons Morgan. N. Rep. Sept. 14. (28:79.) + +MURRY, J. MIDDLETON. + Anton Chekhov. Ath. Jan. 7. (11.) Nat. (London). June 4. (29:365.) + Paul Morand. Nat. (London.) Apr. 23. (29:137.) + Hugh Walpole. Nat. (London.) Jul. 16. (29:584.) + +Nevinson, Henry W. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Jan. 15. (38:554.) + By Maxwell Struthers Burt. Book. (N.Y.). May. (53:253.) + By Lawrence Mason. Free. Aug. 10. (3:524.) + +NICHOLS, ROBERT. + Oscar Wilde. New S. Dec. 11, '20. (16:310.) + +NOCK, ALBERT JAY. + Vassilievitch Nikolai Gogol. Free. Jan. 26. (2:464.) + +O'CONOR, NORREYS JEPHSON. + James Stephens. B.E.T. Dec. 18. + +"PARIJANINE." + Nikolas Gogol. Liv. A. Jul. 2. (310:51.) + +PECKHAM, H. HOUSTON. + Mark Twain, So. Atl. Q. Oct., '20. (19:332.) + +PENDLETHWAITE, JASPER. + Katharine Mansfield. Sat. West. Jan. 1. (16.) + +Pérez de Ayala, Ramón. + By J.B. Trend. Nat. (London). Jul. 9. (29:550.) + +PHOUTRIDES, ARISTIDES E. + Andreas Karkavitsas. W. Rev. Dec. 8, '20. (3:566.) + +PITOLLET, CAMILLE. + Prosper Mérimée. M. de F. Nov. 15, '20. (144:252.) + +Poe, Edgar Allen. + By Brander Matthews. N.Y. Times. Mar. 13. (3.) + By John Macy. Free. Mar. 9. (2:622.) + By Merton S. Yewdale. N.A. Rev. Nov., '20. (212:686.) + +PORTERFIELD, ALLEN WILSON. + Knut Hamsun. Nat. (N.Y.). Dec. 8, '20. (111:596.) + +PRAZ, MARIO. + Corrado Govoni. L. Merc. Sept. (4:527.) + Federico Tozzi. L. Merc. Jan. (3:321.) + +Psichari, Jean. + By Démétrius Astériotis. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. (144:797.) + +Puccini, Mario. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 25. (20:546.) + By Lucy Collis-Morley. Nat. (London.). Jul. 16. (29:585.) + +RANDELL, WILFRID L. + Henry James. Fortn. R. Sept. (116:458.) + +RAYMOND, E.T. + George Meredith. Liv. A. Oct. 23, '20. (307:222.) + +REID, FORREST. + W.H. Hudson. Ath. Jan. 14. (39.) + +Rejmont, Ladislas. + By Z.-L. Zaleski. M. de F. Oct. 1, '20. (143:35.) + +Régnier, Henri de. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 23, '20. (19:869.) + +Robbins, Tod. + Anonymous. Nat. (N.Y.). Nov. 24, '20. (111:596.) + +ROSS, CLARENDON. + Leonid Andreyev. N. Rep. May 25. (26:382.) + Fyodor Dostoevski. N. Rep. Jan. 12. (25:205.) + +"Ross, Martin." + _See_ "Somerville, E. [OE].," _and_ "Ross, Martin." + +ROURKE, CONSTANCE MAYFIELD. + American Short Story. Free. Oct. 6, '20. (2:91.) + Padraic Colum. N. Rep. May 4. (26:300.) + +ROWLAND-BROWN, LILIAN. + Ivan Turgenev. 19th Cent. Aug. (90:230.) + +Sainte-Beuve, C.A. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 28, '20. (19:695.) + +SANBORN, PITTS. + Anatole France. Free. Feb. 9. (2:514.) + +Schickele, René. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jan. 27. (20:58.) + +SCHOENFIELD, ALLEN. + Knut Hamsun. Det. Sun. N. Dec. 19, '20. + +SCHREINER, OLIVE. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Dec. 18, '20. (28:416.) + Nat. (N.Y.). Dec. 29, '20. (111:769.) + +SCOTT, EVELYN. + James Joyce. Dial. Oct., '20. (69:353.) + +Sedgwick, Anne Douglas. + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Oct. 16, '20. (28:84.) + By Dorothea L. Mann. B.E.T. Jan. 29, 1921 + By Rebecca West. New S. Oct. 9, '20. (16:20.) + +Seidel, Ina. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. June 30. (20:415.) + +SESSIONS, ARCHIBALD L. + O. Henry. Ain. Sept. (48:150.) + +SHANKS, EDWARD. + Katharine Mansfield. } + Joseph Hergesheimer. } L. Merc. Jan. (3:337.) + +SHEPARD, ODELL. + Lord Dunsany. Scr. May. (69:595.) + +Short Story As Poetry. + By Conrad Aiken. Free. May 11. (3:210.) + +SKIDELSKY, BERENICE C. + Michael Artzibashef. A.W. Aug. (1:189.) A.W. Sept. (1:202.) + +SMITH, EDWARD H. + Theodore Dreiser. Book. (N.Y.). Mar. (53:27.) + +Söderberg, Hjalmar. + By Charles Wharton Stork. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:142.) + +Sologub, Fyodor. + By A. Lister Kaye. Fortn. R. Oct., '20. (114:663.) + "Somerville, E. [OE].," _and_ "Ross, Martin." + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 23, '20. (19:697.) + +SQUIRE, J.C. + The Short Story. Outl. (London.) Sept. 17. (48:234.) + +Stein, Gertrude. + By Katharine Mansfield. Ath. Oct. 15, '20. (520.) + +Stephens, James. + By Ernest A. Boyd. Free. Mar. 9. (2:619.) + By Francis Hackett. N. Rep. Dec. 22, '20. (25:111.) + By Norreys Jephson O'Conor. B.E.T. Dec. 18, '20. + +Stevenson, Robert Louis. + Anonymous. New S. Nov. 27, '20. (16:240.) Times Lit. Suppl. + Oct. 28, '20. (19:699.) Nat. (London). Jan. 18. (28:554.) + By Jacques Delebecque. M. de F. Jan. 1. (145:55.) + By R. Thurston Hopkins. Book. J. Jan. 14. (3:194.) + By F.R. Ath. Nov. 12, '20. (650.) + +STORK, CHARLES WHARTON. + Hjalmar Söderberg. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:142.) + +THIBAUDET, ALBERT. + Emile Zola; Guy de Maupassant; Joris-Karl Huysmans. N.R.F. + Dec., '20. (8:923.) + +THOMAS, GILBERT. + Pierre Hamp. Free. June 29. (3:379.) + +Tolstoi, Count Lyof. + By H. Bagenal. Free. Feb. 16. (2:548.) + By Herman Bernstein. N.Y. Times. Jan. 9. (3.) + By John Cournos. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 30, '20. (19:888.) + By Louis Gillet. R.D.M. Oct. 1, '20. (59:633.) + By Maxim Gorki. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:862.) + By Francis Hackett. N. Rep. Jan. 5. (25:172.) + +TOMLINSON, H.M. + Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. Jan. 12. (25:190.) + +Tozzi, Federigo. + By Lucy Collis-Morley. Nat. (London.) Jul. 16. (29:585.) + By Mario Praz. L. Merc. Jan. (3:321.) + +Trancoso, Fernandez. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 25. (20:546.) + +TREND, J.B. + Ramón Pérez de Ayala. Nat. (London). Jul. 9. (29:550.) + +Turgenev, Ivan. + By Lilian Rowland-Brown. 19th Cent. Aug. (90:230.) + +"Twain, Mark." + Anonymous. Nat. (London). Oct. 23, '20. (28:136.) New S. + Oct. 2, '20. (15:707.) Liv. A. Nov. 27, '20. (307:555.) + By Brander Matthews. Harp. M. Oct., '20. (141:635.) + By H.L. Mencken. S.S. Oct., '20. (138.) + By Frank R. Morrissey. Book. (N.Y.). Apr. (53:143.) + By H. Houston Peckham. So. Atl. Q. Oct., '20. (19:332.) + By V.R. Ath. Oct. 8, '20. (470.) + +Unamuno, Miguel de. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 28. (20:483.) + By Jean Casson. M. de F. June 15. (148:819.) + +VALE, CHARLES. + Oscar Wilde. Dial. Sept. (71:359.) + +VAN DOREN, CARL. + Max Beerbohm. Nat. (N.Y.), Dec. 29, '20. (111:785.) + Willa Sibert Cather. Nat. (N.Y.). Jul. 27. (113:92.) + +Verga, Giovanni. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. May 26. (20:339.) + By Carlo Linati. Dial. Aug. (71:150.) + +Voutyras, D. + By Démétrius Astériotis. M. de F. Apr. 15. (147:526.) + +Walch, J.L. + J.M. Goedhart-Becker; Karel Wasch. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. + (144:794.) + +Walpole, Hugh. + Anonymous. Sat. R. Jul. 30. (132:150.) + By H.C. Harwood. Outl. (London). Jul. 23. (48:75.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Nat. (London.) Jul. 16. (29:584.) + +Wasch, Karel. + By J.L. Walch. M. de F. Dec. 15, '20. (144:794.) + +Wells, H.G. + By John Elliot. Book. (N.Y.). Feb. (52:542.) + +Went, Stanley. + Henry James. Unp. Rev. Oct., '20. (14:381.) + +WEST, REBECCA. + Anne Douglas Sedgwick. New S. Oct. 9, '20. (16:20.) + +Wilde, Oscar. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Nov. 18, '20. (19:754.) + By Robert Nichols. New S. Dec. 11, '20. (10:310.) + By Charles Vale. Dial. Sept. (71:359.) + +WILLIAMS, BLANCHE COLTON. + Maxwell Struthers Burt. Book. (N.Y.). Mar. (53:53.) + +WILLIAMS, ORLO. + Hervey Fisher. Ath. Feb. 11. (157.) + +Woolf, Virginia. + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. Apr. 9. (17:18.) + +WORSTER, W.W. + Knut Hamsun. Fortn. R. Dec., '20. (114:1003.) + +Wright, Cuthbert. + Joris-Karl Huysmans. Dial. Dec., '20. (69:655.) + +YBARRA, T.R. + Vicente Blasco Ibáñez. N.Y. Times. Jan. 23. (16.) + +YEWDALE, MERTON S. + Edgar Allen Poe. N.A. Rev. Nov., '20. (212:686.) + +ZALESKI, Z.L. + Stefan Zeromski; Ladislas Rejmont. M. de F. Oct. 1, '20. (143:35.) + +Zeromski, Stefan. + By Z.-L. Zaleski. M. de F. Oct. 1. '20. (143:35.) + +Zola, Emile. + By Albert Thibaudet. N.R.F. Dec., '20. (8:923.) + + + + +INDEX OF SHORT STORIES IN BOOKS + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 + + +NOTE. _One, two, or three asterisks are prefixed to the titles +of stories to indicate distinction. Three asterisks prefixed to a title +indicate the more or less permanent literary value of the story. Cross +references after an author's name refer to previous volumes of this +series._ + +_The following abbreviations are used in the index:_ + +_Aumonier_ Aumonier. Golden Windmill and Other Stories. + +_Bercovici_ Bercovici. Ghitza and Other Romances of Gypsy Blood. + +_Brown B_ Brown. Homespun and Gold. + +_Burke_ Burke. More Limehouse Nights. + +_Burt B_ Burt. Chance Encounters. + +_Cabell A_ Cabell. Lines of Love. + +_Chekhov F_ Chekhov. Schoolmistress and Other Stories. + +_Chekhov G_ Chekhov. Horse-Stealers and Other Stories. + +_Child_ Child. Velvet Black. + +_Cholmondeley_ Cholmondeley. Romance of His Life and Other Romances. + +_Coppard_ Coppard. Adam and Eve and Pinch Me. + +_Dunbar_ Dunbar. Sons o' Cormac an' Tales of Other Men's Sons. + +_France_ France. Seven Wives of Bluebeard. + +_French C_ French. Masterpieces of Mystery. Ghost Stories. + +_French D_ French. Masterpieces of Mystery. Mystic-Humorous Stories. + +_French E_ French. Masterpieces of Mystery. Riddle Stories. + +_French F_ French. Masterpieces of Mystery. Detective Stories + +_French G_ French. Great Sea Stories. + +_Hamp_ Hamp. People. + +_Hudson_ Hudson. Dead Man's Plack and An Old Thorn. + +_Hughes B_ Hughes. Momma and Other Unimportant People. + +_James B_ James. Master Eustace. + +_Jugo-Slav_ Popovic. Jugo-Slav Stories. + +_MacManus B_ MacManus. Top o' the Mornin'. + +_McSpadden B_ McSpadden. Famous Psychic Stories. + +_McSpadden C_ McSpadden. Famous Detective Stories. + +_Mansfield_ Mansfield. Bliss and Other Stories. + +_Marquis_ Marquis. Carter, and Other People. + +_Maugham_ Maugham. Trembling of a Leaf. + +_Merrick C_ Merrick. Chair on the Boulevard. + +_Morley_ Morley. Tales From a Rolltop Desk. + +_Nevinson B_ Nevinson. Original Sinners. + +_New Dec. B_ New Decameron. Volume the Second, Containing the Second + Day. + +_Oxford_ Oxford. Selected English Short Stories. Second Series. + (XIX and XX Centuries.) + +_Post C_ Post. Sleuth of St. James's Square. + +_Ragozin_ Ragozin. Little Russian Masterpieces. + +_Roumania_ Roumania. Roumanian Stories. + +_Rudwin_ Rudwin. Devil Stories. + +_Sedgwick_ Sedgwick. Christmas Roses and Other Stories. + +_Smith B_ Smith. Cape Breton Tales. + +_Stephens_ Stephens. Irish Fairy Tales. + +_Strachey_ Strachey. Savitri and Other Women. + +_Turgenev_ Turgenev. Two Friends and Other Stories. + +_Van Vechten A_ Van Vechten. Lords of the Housetops. + +_Walpole_ Walpole. Thirteen Travellers. + + +I. AMERICAN AUTHORS + +ALDEN, WILLIAM LIVINGSTON. + *Monty's Friend. Van Vechten A.203. + +ANDERSON, SHERWOOD. (1876- .) (_See 1920._) + ***Other Woman. O'Brien D. 3. + +ANONYMOUS. + Great Valdez Sapphire. French E. 44. + Printer's Devil. Rudwin. 136. + +BABCOCK, EDWINA STANTON. (_See 1920._) + ***Gargoyle. O'Brien D. 12. + +BACON, PEGGY. + *Queen's Cat Van, Vechten A. 220. + +BERCOVICI, KONRAD. (1882- .) + **Bear-Tamers Daughter. Bercovici. 181. + ***Fanutza. Bercovici. 135. + ***Ghitza. Bercovici. 7. O'Brien D. 36. + ***Hazi, Wife of Tender Surtuck. Bercovici. 159. + ***Law of the Lawless. Bercovici. 27. + ***Tinka. Bercovici. 112. + **Vlad's Son, Bercovici. 54. + *Yahde, the Proud One. Bercovici. 85 + **Yancu Lantaru. Bercovici. 209. + +BIERCE, AMBROSE. (1842-1914.) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Horseman in the Sky. Oxford. 252. + ***Moxon's Master. McSpadden B. 177. + +BLASHFIELD, EVANGELINE WILBOUR. + *Ghoul, McSpadden B. 245. + +BONE, DAVID W. + *Merchant's Cup. French G. 203. + +BRANDENBURG, BROUGHTON. + Mystery of the Steel Disk. McSpadden C. 233. + +BROWN, ALICE. (1857- .) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + **Ann Eliza. Brown B. 79. + **Brush of Paint. Brown B. 181. + **Confessions. Brown B. 259. + *Deserters. Brown B. 210. + **Homespun Wizardry. Brown B. 43. + **House of the Bride. Brown B. 139 + *Mary Felicia. Brown B. 22. + **Path of Stars. Brown B. 201. + **Question of Wills. Brown B. 158. + **Red Poppies. Brown B. 64. + **Return of Father. Brown B. 101. + **Up on the Mountain. Brown B. 283 + **Wedding Ring. Brown B. 1. + ***White Pebbles. Brown B. 239. + **Widow's Third. Brown B. 222. + +BRYNER, EDNA CLARE. + ***Life of Five Points. O'Brien D. 49. + +BURT, MAXWELL STRUTHERS. + **"Bally Old" Knott. Burt B. 217. + ***Blood-Red One. Burt B. 197. + *Devilled Sweetbreads. Burt B. 117. + ***"Dream or Two." Burt B. 152. + ***Each in His Generation, Burt B. 252. + ***Experiment. Burt B. 39. + ***Scarlet Hunter. Burt B. 1. + ***Shining Armor. Burt B. 79. + +CABELL, JAMES BRANCH. + **Adhelmar at Puysange. Cabell A. 35. + ***Castle of Content. Cabell A. 173. + ***Conspiracy of Arnaye. Cabell A. 145 + ***In Necessity's Mortar. Cabell A. 113 + ***In Ursula's Garden. Cabell A. 203. + ***Love-Letters of Falstaff. Cabell A. 63. + **Porcelain Cups. Cabell A. 229. + ***"Sweet Adelais." Cabell A. 87. + ***Wedding Jest. Cabell A. 9. + +CAMP, (CHARLES) WADSWORTH. (1879- .) + ***Signal Tower. O'Brien D. 66. + +CARRYL, GUY WETMORE. + ***Zut. Van Vechten A. 11. + +CHILD, RICHARD WASHBURN. (1881- .) + *Avenger. Child. 243. + **Cracking Knee. Child. 114. + **Experiment in Resource. Child. 217. + *Fiber. Child. 183. + Foxed. Child. 352. + ***Identified. Child. 27. + *In Dancing Shadows. Child. 307. + *Nightingale. Child. 53. + *Pode. Child. 280. + *Velvet Black. Child. 1. + *Whiff of Heliotrope. Child. 79. + +COOPER, JAMES FENIMORE. (1789-1851.) + **Wreck of the Royal Caroline. French G. 129. + +CRAM, RALPH ADAMS. (1863- .) + *Sister Maddelena. French C. 167. + +CREW, HELEN COALE. (1866- .) + ***Parting Genius. O'Brien D. 83. + +DUNBAR, ALDIS. + *Conn the Boaster. Dunbar. 200. + *Constant Green Jerkin. Dunbar. 1. + *Eiveen Cold-Heart. Dunbar. 41. + *Ethlenn o' the Mist. Dunbar. 68. + *Fair Ailinn. Dunbar. 106. + *Grainne the Haughty. Dunbar. 165. + *Harvestin' o' Dermond. Dunbar. 21. + *How Cormac Lost His Kingdom. Dunbar. 134. + *King Diarmid an' Pol. Dunbar. 94. + *King o' the Three Winds. Dunbar. 212. + *Light O' Me Eyes. Dunbar. 181. + *Questin' o' Cleena. Dunbar. 55. + *Servin' o' Culain. Dunbar. 120. + *Wild Apples an' Golden Grain. Dunbar. 80. + *Wind an' Wave an' Wandherin Flame. Dunbar. 151. + +FERNALD, CHESTER BAILEY. (1869- .) + *Chan Tow the Highrob. French D. 143. + +FREEMAN, MARY E. WILKINS. (1862- .) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Cat. Van Vechten A. 1. + ***Shadows on the Wall. McSpadden. B. 269. + +GEROULD, KATHARINE FULLERTON. (1879- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Habakkuk. O'Brien D. 90. + +GREEN, ANNA KATHARINE (ANNA KATHARINE GREEN ROHLFS.) (1846- .) + Grotto Spectre. McSpadden C. 199. + Missing: Page Thirteen. French F. 108. + +HANSHEW, THOMAS W. (1857-1914.) + Mystery of the Steel Room. McSpadden C. 293. + +HANSHEW, THOMAS W. _and_ MARY E. + Rope of Fear. French F. 200. + +HARLAND, HENRY. (1861-1905.) + *House of Eulalie. Oxford. 396. + +HARTE, FRANCIS BRET. (1839-1902.) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***How Santa Claus Came to Simpson's Bar. Oxford. 202. + ***Outcasts of Poker Flat. Oxford. 190. + +HARTMAN, LEE FOSTER. (1879- .) + ***Judgment of Vulcan. O'Brien D. 116. + +HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL. (1804-1864.) (_See 1918._) + ***Birth-Mark. French E. 94. + ***Grey Champion. Oxford. 32. + ***Maypole of Merry Mount. Oxford. 19. + ***Old Esther Dudley. Oxford. 64. + ***Roger Malvin's Burial. Oxford. 41. + ***White Old Maid. McSpadden B. 1. + +HEARN, LAFCADIO. (1850-1904.) (_See 1920._) + ***Ghost. French D. 101. + +"HENRY, O." (WILLIAM SYDNEY PORTER.) (1867-1910.) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Gift of the Magi. Oxford. 406. + ***Madame Bo-Peep, of the Ranches. Oxford. 430. + ***Municipal Report. Oxford. 412. + +HUGHES, RUPERT. (1872- .) (_See 1918._) + Butcher's Daughter. Hughes B. 256. + College Lorelei. Hughes B. 152. + *Dauntless Bookkeeper. Hughes B. 317. + *Father of Waters. Hughes B. 78. + Innocence. Hughes B. 121. + *"Momma." Hughes B. 1. + Quicksilver Window. Hughes B. 289. + Read It Again. Hughes B. 60. + Split. Hughes B. 213. + ***Stick-In-The-Muds. Hughes B. 33; O'Brien D. 148. + *Story I Can't Write. Hughes B. 237. + Yellow Cords. Hughes B. 193. + You Hadn't Ought To. Hughes B. 336. + +IRVING, WASHINGTON. (1783-1859.) (_See 1918._) + **Devil and Tom Walker. Rudwin 28. + +JAMES, HENRY. (1843-1916.) (_See 1920._) + ***Benvolio. James B. 203. + ***Four Meetings. Oxford. 301. + ***Light Man. James B. 147. + ***Longstaff's Marriage. James B. 57. + ***Master Eustace. James B. 7. + ***Owen Wingrave. Oxford. 260. + ***Théodolinde. James B. 111. + +JANVIER, THOMAS A. + **Madame Jolicoeur's Cat. Van Vechten A. 163. + +LONDON, JACK. (1876-1916.) + *Terrible Solomons. French G. 306. + +MACMANUS, SEUMAS. (1870- .) (_See 1920._) + **All on the Brown Knowe. MacManus B. 242. + *Barney Brian's Monument. MacManus B. 225. + ***Bellman of Carrick. MacManus B. 207. + *Billy Baxter's Holiday. MacManus B. 101. + **Cadger-Boy's Last Journey. MacManus B. 41. + *Capture of Nelly Carribin. MacManus B. 192. + *Case of Kitty Kildea. MacManus B. 77. + Five Minutes a Millionaire. MacManus B. 156. + ***Heart-Break of Norah O'Hara. MacManus B. 261. + **Lord Mayor o' Buffalo. MacManus B. 1. + *Minister's Racehorse. MacManus B. 59. + *Mrs. Carney's Sealskin. MacManus B. 176. + *Wee Paidin. MacManus B. 119. + **When Barney's Trunk Comes Home. MacManus B. 136. + ***Widow Meehan's Cassimeer Shawl. MacManus B. 18. + +MARQUIS, DON. (ROBERT PERRY.) (1878- .) + *Behind the Curtain. Marquis. 263. + *Bubbles. Marquis. 135. + *Carter. Marquis. 3. + *Chances of the Street. Marquis. 169. + *Kale. Marquis. 107. + *Locked Box. Marquis. 245. + *Looney the Mutt. Marquis. 89. + *McDermott. Marquis. 55. + *Never Say Die! Marquis. 35. + *Old Man Murtrie. Marquis. 21. + *Penitent. Marquis. 223. + *Professor's Awakening. Marquis. 185. + +MASON, GRACE SARTWELL. (1877- .) + ***His Job. O'Brien D. 169. + +MATTHEWS, JAMES BRANDER. (1852- .) (_See 1920._) + **Rival Ghosts. French D. 238. + +MELVILLE, HERMAN. (1819-1891.) + ***Capture of the Great White Whale. French G. 145. + +MOFFETT, CLEVELAND (LANGSTON). (1863- .) + *Mysterious Card. French E. 3. + +MORLEY, CHRISTOPHER (DARLINGTON). (1890- .) + Advice to the Lovelorn. Morley. 27. + Battle of Manila Envelopes. Morley. 169. + Climacterie. Morley. 187. + Commutation Chophouse. Morley. 126. + Curious Case of Kenelm Digby. Morley. 58. + Gloria and the Garden of Sweden. Morley. 99. + Pert Little Hat. Morley. 142. + Prize Package. Morley. 1. + Punch and Judy. Morley. 198. + ***Referred to the Author. Morley. 211. + *Urn Burial. Morley. 158. + +O'BRIEN, FITZ-JAMES. (_See 1918._) + ***Diamond Lens. French D. 38. + ***Lost Room. French E. 232. + +OPPENHEIM, JAMES. (1882- .) + ***Rending. O'Brien D. 187. + +PEATTIE, ELIA (WILKINSON). (1862- .) + **From the Loom of the Dead. McSpadden B. 235. + +PERKINS, FREDERICK BEECHER. + Devil-Puzzlers. Rudwin. 179. + +POE, EDGAR ALLEN. (1809-1849.) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Black Cat. Van Vechten A. 149. + **Bon-Bon. Rudwin. 112. + ***Cask of Amontillado. Oxford. 100. + ***Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar. McSpadden B. 17. + ***Oblong Box. French E. 76. + ***Purloined Letter. French F. 3. McSpadden C. 1. Oxford. 78. + +POST, MELVILLE DAVISSON. (1871- .) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + American Horses. Post C. 213. + **Cambered Foot. Post C. 70. + *End of the Road. Post C. 171. + **Fortune Teller. Post C. 130. + ***Hole in the Mahogany Panel. Post C. 150. + *House by the Loch. Post C. 317. + *Last Adventure. Post C. 193. + *Lost Lady. Post C. 46 + *Man in the Green Hat. Post C. 90. + *Pumpkin Coach. Post C. 260. + **Reward. Post C. 23. + **Satire of the Sea. Post C. 301. + *Spread Rails. Post C. 235. + *Thing on the Hearth. Post C. 1. + ***Wrong Sign. Post C. 107. + ***Yellow Flower. Post C. 282. + +REEVE, ARTHUR BENJAMIN. (1880- .) + Black Hand. McSpadden C. 167. + French F. 33. + +RICKFORD, KATHERINE. (_See 1920._) + ***Joseph: a Story. French C. 70. + +ROBERTSON, MORGAN. + *Derelict Neptune. French G. 282. + +ROCHE, ARTHUR SOMERS. (1883- .) + ***Dummy-Chucker. O'Brien D. 198. + +SEDGWICK, ANNE DOUGLAS. (MRS. BASIL DE SÉLINCOURT.) (1873- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Autumn Crocuses. Sedgwick. 279. + **Carnations. Sedgwick. 168. + ***Christmas Roses. Sedgwick. 1. + ***Daffodils. Sedgwick. 92. + ***Evening Primroses. Sedgwick. 253. + **Hepaticas. Sedgwick. 63. + ***Pansies. Sedgwick. 121. + **Pink Foxgloves. Sedgwick. 147. + ***Staking a Larkspur. Sedgwick. 208. + +SIDNEY, ROSE. (1888- .) + ***Butterflies. O'Brien D. 214. + +SMITH, HARRY JAMES. (1880-?.) + **Bucherons. Smith B. 19. + ***Fly, My Heart. Smith B. 121. + **Garland for Pettipaw. Smith B. 101. + **La Belle Mélanie. Smith B. 32. + **Privilege. Smith B. 63. + **Siméon's Son. Smith B. 44. + ***Their True Love. Smith B. 79. + +SPRINGER, FLETA CAMPBELL. (1886- .) (_See 1920._) + ***Rotter, O'Brien D. 236. + +STEELE, WILBUR DANIEL. (1886- .) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Out of Exile. O'Brien D. 266. + **Yellow Cat. French C. 207. + +"STORM, ETHEL." + ***Three Telegrams. O'Brien D. 293. + +TARKINGTON, BOOTH. (1869- .) + **Gipsy. Van Vechten A. 124. + +"TWAIN, MARK." (SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS..) (1835-1910.) (_See 1920._) + *Dick Baker's Cat. Van Vechten A. 144. + Mr. Bloke's Item. French D. 96. + +WARNER, CHARLES DUDLEY. (1829-1900.) + *Calvin. Van Vechten A. 226. + +WHEELWRIGHT, JOHN TYLER. (1856- .) + ***Roman Bath. O'Brien D. 312. + +WHITMAN, STEPHEN FRENCH. + ***Amazement. O'Brien D. 320. + +WILLIAMS, BEN AMES. (1889- .) (_See 1920._) + ***Sheener. O'Brien D. 348. + +WOOD, FRANCES GILCHRIST. (_See 1920._) + ***Turkey Red. O'Brien D. 359. + + +II. ENGLISH AND IRISH AUTHORS + +ARCHER, WILLIAM. (1856- .) + **My Fascinating Friend. French E. 207. + +AUMONIER, STACY. (_See 1918._) + ***Bent Tree. Aumonier. 199. + ***Brothers. Aumonier. 59. + ***Golden Windmill. 3. + ***Good Action. Aumonier. 137. + ***Great Unimpressionable. Aumonier. 213. + ***Little White Frock. Aumonier. 109. + *"Old Iron." Aumonier. 79. + ***Source of Irritation. Aumonier. 35. + ***Them Others. Aumonier. 169. + +BENSON, EDWARD FREDERIC. (1867- .) (_See 1920._) + ***Man Who Went Too Far. McSpadden B. 143. French D. 109. + +BLACKWELL, BASIL. (_See 1920._) + History of Andrew Niggs. New Dec. B. 31. + +BLACKWOOD, ALGERNON. (1869- .) (_See 1920._) + ***Listener. French C. 3. + ***May-Day Eve. French D. 3. + ***Psychical Invasion. Van Vechten A. 29. + +BURKE, THOMAS. (1887- .) (_See 1920._) + *Affair at the Warehouse. Burke. 155. + *Big Boy Blue. Burke. 171. + **Bluebell. Burke. 95. + *Cane. Burke. 259. + **Dumb Wife. Burke. 77. + *Family Affair. Burke. 117. + *Game of Poker. Burke. 33. + Good Samaritans. Burke. 221. + *Heart of a Child. Burke. 65. + *Katie the Kid. Burke. 49. + **Little Flowers of Frances. Burke. 133. + *Mazurka. Burke. 185. + ***Miss Plum-Blossom. Burke. 245. + *Perfect Girl. Burke. 143. + ***Scarlet Shoes. Burke. 197. + *Song of Ho Sing. Burke. 271. + **Twelve Golden Curls. Burke. 231. + **Yellow Scarf. Burke. 11. + +CHOLMONDELEY, MARY. + **Dark Cottage. Cholmondeley. 55. + **End of the Dream. Cholmondeley. 216. + ***Ghost of a Chance. Cholmondeley. 83. + **Goldfish. Cholmondeley. 109. + **Her Murderer. Cholmondeley. 173. + **Romance of His Life. Cholmondeley. 25. + *Stars In Their Courses. Cholmondeley. 146. + **Votes for Men. Cholmondeley. 200. + +COLLINS, WILLIAM WILKIE. (1824-1889.) + *Biter Bit. French F. 64. + **Dream Woman. McSpadden B. 33. + **Terribly Strange Bed. French E. 122. Oxford. 148. + +COPPARD, ALFRED EDGAR. (1878- .) + ***Adam and Eve and Pinch Me. Coppard. 67. + ***Angel and the Sweep. Coppard. 123. + ***Arabesque: The Mouse. Coppard. 133. + ***Communion. Coppard. 89. + ***Dusky Ruth. Coppard. 25. + ***King of the World. Coppard. 57. + ***Marching to Zion. Coppard. 9. + ***Piffincap. Coppard. 43. + ***Princess of Kingdom Gone. Coppard. 81. + ***Quiet Woman. Coppard. 97. + ***Trumpeters. Coppard. 115. + ***Weep Not My Wanton. Coppard. 37. + +CORNISH, GERALD WARRE. (1875-1916.) + *Stowaway. Oxford. 462. + +DICKENS, CHARLES. (1812-1870.) (_See 1918._) + ***Holly Tree. Oxford. 108. + +DOYLE, SIR ARTHUR CONAN. (1859- .) (_See 1918._) + *Scandal in Bohemia. French F. 164. McSpadden C. 57. + *Secret of Goresthorpe Grange. French D. 203. + +GARNETT, RICHARD. (1835-1906.) + ***Ananda the Miracle Worker. Oxford. 177. + ***Demon Pope. Rudwin. 228. + **Madam Lucifer. Rudwin. 242. + +GILCHRIST, R. MURRAY. (1867-1917.) + *Gap in the Wall. Oxford. 452. + *Witch in the Peak. Oxford. 457. + +GISSING, GEORGE. (1857-1903.) + **Poor Gentleman. Oxford. 380. + +GRANT, CHARLES. (1841-1889.) + **Peppiniello. Oxford. 220. + +HARVEY, WILLIAM F. (_See 1920._) + **Beast With Five Fingers French C. 123. McSpadden B. 193. + **Toal. New Dec. B. 54. + +HORNUNG, ERNEST WILLIAM. (1866- .) + *Gentlemen and Players. McSpadden C. 139. + +HUDSON, W.H. ( - .) (_See 1920._) + ***Dead Man's Plack. Hudson. 3. + *Friendly Rat. Van Vechten A. 198. + ***Old Thorn. Hudson. 135. + +JAMES, MONTAGUE RHODES. (1862- .) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Number 13. French C. 45. + ***Stalls of Barchester Cathedral. McSpadden B. 121. + +JAMESON, M. STORM. _See_ STORM-JAMESON, M. + +KINGSLEY, CHARLES. (1819-1875.) + ***Spanish Bloodhounds and English Mastiffs. French G. 1. + +LAMB, CHARLES. (1775-1834.) + **First Going to Church. Oxford. 12. + +LAMB, MARY ANN. (1764-1847.) + **Sailor Uncle. Oxford. 1. + +MACHEN, ARTHUR. + ***Inmost Light. French D. 158. + +MANN, FRANCIS OSCAR. + **Devil in a Nunnery. Rudwin. 1. + +MANSFIELD, KATHERINE. (MRS. J. MIDDLETON MURRY.) + ***Bliss. Mansfield. 116. + ***Dill Pickle. Mansfield. 228. + ***Escape. Mansfield. 272. + ***Feuille d'Album. Mansfield. 218. + ***Je Ne Parle Pas Français. Mansfield. 71. + ***Little Governess. Mansfield. 239. + ***Man Without a Temperament. Mansfield. 172. + ***Mr. Reginald Peacock's Day. Mansfield. 194. + ***Pictures. Mansfield. 157. + ***Prelude. Mansfield. 1. + ***Psychology. Mansfield. 145. + ***Revelations. Mansfield. 262. + ***Sun and Moon. Mansfield. 208. + ***Wind Blows. Mansfield. 137. + +MARRYAT, FLORENCE. + Box With the Iron Clamps. French E. 157. + +MARRYAT, FREDERICK. (1792-1848.) + *Club-Hauling of the Diomede. French G. 26. + +MASEFIELD, JOHN. + ***Devil and the Old Man. Rudwin. 263. + ***El Dorado. French G. 324. + +MAUGHAM, W. SOMERSET. + *Fall of Edward Barnard. Maugham. 66. + *Honolulu. Maugham. 205. + *Mackintosh. Maugham. 15. + *Pool. Maugham. 148. + *Rain. Maugham. 241. + *Red. Maugham. 115. + +MERRICK, LEONARD. (1864- .) (_See 1920._) + **Cafe of the Broken Heart. Merrick C. 83. + **Conspiracy for Claudine. Merrick C. 140. + *Danger of Being a Twin. Merrick C. 299. + **Doll in the Pink Silk Dress. Merrick C. 161. + **Dress Clothes of Monsieur Pomponnet. Merrick C. 101. + **Fairy Poodle. Merrick C. 240. + **Fatal Florozonde. Merrick C. 41. + *Hercules and Aphrodite. Merrick C. 318. + **How Tricotrin Saw London. Merrick C. 355. + **Infidelity of Monsieur Noulens. Merrick C. 373. + **Invitation to Dinner. Merrick C. 207. + **Judgment of Paris. Merrick C. 225. + ***Last Effect. Merrick C. 187. + ***Little-Flower-of-the-Wood. Merrick C. 261. + **Miracle in Montmartre. Merrick C. 279. + **Opportunity of Petitpas. Merrick C. 63. + **"Pardon, You Are Mademoiselle Girard!" Merrick C. 384. + **Suicides in the Rue Sombre. Merrick C. 121. + ***Tragedy of a Comic Song. Merrick C. 1. + ***Tricotrin Entertains. Merrick C. 19. + +NEVINSON, HENRY WOODD. (1852- .) (_See 1920._) + *"Act of Fear." Nevinson B. 157. + ***In Diocletian's Day. Nevinson B. 173. + ***Life on the Ocean Wave. Nevinson B. 55. + *Pongo's Illusion. Nevinson B. 78. + **"Qualis Artifex." Nevinson B. 1. + **"Sitting at a Play." Nevinson B. 103. + **Sly's Awakening. Nevinson B. 27. + **Transformation Scene. Nevinson B. 131. + +NIGHTINGALE, M.T. (_See 1920._) + Affair of the Mulhaven Baby. New Dec. B. 82. + +"NOBBS, BILL." + "Once Upon a Time." New Dec. B. 152. + +OLIPHANT, MARGARET. (1828-1897.) (_See 1918._) + **Open Door. McSpadden B. 65. + +POWELL, G.H. + ***Blue Dryad. Van Vechten A. 131. + +"ROHMER, SAX." (ARTHUR SARSFIELD WARD.) (1883- .) + Adventure of the Toadstools. McSpadden C. 121. + +READE, CHARLES. (1814-1884.) + **Merchantman and the Pirate. French G. 75. + +RUSSELL, WILLIAM CLARK. (1844-1911.) + **Storm and a Rescue. French G. 226. + +SADLIER, MICHAEL. (_See 1920, under_ SADLER.) + Bread Upon the Waters. New Dec. B. 20. + +SCOTT, MICHAEL. (1789-1835.) + **Cruise of the Torch. French G. 36. + +STACPOOLE, HENRY DE VERE. (1865- .) + *Salving of the Yan-Shan. French G. 263. + +STEPHENS, JAMES. + ***Becuma of the White Skin. Stephens. 219. + ***Birth of Bran. Stephens. 91. + ***Boyhood of Fionn. Stephens. 35. + ***Carl of the Drab Coat. Stephens. 173. + ***Enchanted Cave of Cesh Corran. Stephens. 201. + ***Little Brawl at Allen. Stephens. 157. + ***Morgan's Frenzy. Stephens. 257. + ***Oisin's Mother. Stephens. 109. + ***Story of Tuan MacCaivill. Stephens. 4. + ***Wooing of Becfola. Stephens. 133. + +STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS. (1850-1894.) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Adventure of the Hansom Cabs. McSpadden C. 93. + ***Sire de Malétroit's Door. Oxford. 334. + ***Thrawn Janet. French C. 191. + +STORM-JAMESON, M. (_See 1920._) + *Player Perforce. New Dec. B. 158. + +STRACHEY, MARJORIE. + *Bamboo-Cutter's Story. Strachey. 123. + *Building of Skadar. Strachey. 143. + *Courtship of Etain. Strachey. 155. + *Janet and Tamlin. Strachey. 73. + *Jonkahainen's Sister. Strachey. 101. + *Lay of the Ash Tree. Strachey. 23. + *Libussa the Prophetess. Strachey. 85. + *Saint Iria. Strachey. 49. + *Savitri. Strachey. 3. + *Vassilissa the Wise. Strachey. 57. + *Yanka and Her Brothers. Strachey. 39. + +THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE. (1811-1863.) + *Devil's Wager. Rudwin. 79. + **Painter's Bargain. Rudwin. 93. + +VINES, SHERARD. (_See 1920._) + **Salvator Street. New Dec. B. 176. + +WALPOLE, HUGH SEYMOUR. (1884- .) (_See 1920._) + ***Absalom Jay. Walpole. 13. + ***Bombastes Furioso. Walpole. 252. + ***Fanny Close. Walpole. 34. + ***Hon. Clive Torby. Walpole. 51. + ***Lizzie Rand. Walpole. 200. + ***Lois Drake. Walpole. 151. + ***Lucy Moon. Walpole. 107. + ***Miss Morganhurst. Walpole. 69. + ***Mrs. Porter and Miss Allen. Walpole. 132. + ***Mr. Nix. Walpole. 175. + ***Nobody. Walpole. 221. + ***Peter Westcott. Walpole. 86. + +WHITE, WILLIAM HALE. ("Mark Rutherford.") (1831-1913) + *"Sweetness of a Man's Friend." Oxford. 169. + +WILDE, OSCAR. (FINGALL O'FLAHERTIE WILLS.) (1856-1900.) (_See 1920._) + ***Birthday of the Infanta. Oxford. 358. + + +III. TRANSLATIONS + +BALZAC, HONORE DE. (1799-1850.) (_French._) + ***Afflictions of an English Cat. Van Vechten A. 103. + +BAUDELAIRE, CHARLES PIERRE. (1821-1867.) (_French._) + ***Generous Gambler. Rudwin. 162. + +BEZA, M. (_Roumanian._) + ***Dead Pool. Roumania. 109. + ***Gardana. Roumania. 93. + **Zidra. Roumania. 85. + +BRATESCU-VOINESHTI, AL. (_Roumanian._) + ***Bird of Ill Omen. Roumania. 261 + ***Fledgling. Roumania. 167. + +"CABALLERO, FERMAN." (MRS. CECELIA BOHL VON FABER.) (_Spanish_.) + *Devil's Mother-in-Law. Rudwin. 149. + +CARAGIALE, I.L. (_Roumanian._) (_See 1920._) + **At Manjoala's Inn. Roumania. 35. + ***Easter Torch. Roumania. 11. + +CARGO, FRANCIS. (_French._) (_See 1920._) + Jim of Molock's Bar. New Dec. B. 9. + +CHEKHOV, ANTON PAVLOVICH. (1861-1904.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + **Actor's End. Chekhov. G. 303. + ***After the Theatre. Chekhov. F. 79. + **Avenger. Chekhov G. 245. + ***Beauties. Chekhov F. 277. + **Beggar. Chekhov G. 179. + ***Bet. Chekhov F. 253. + ***Cattle-Dealers. Chekhov F. 113. + ***Champagne. Chekhov F. 67. + **Darkness. Chekhov G. 171. + ***Dead Body. Chekhov G. 131. + ***Defenceless Creature. Chekhov G. 265. + *Enigmatic Nature. Chekhov G. 275. + ***First-Class Passenger. Chekhov F. 179. + ***Frost. Chekhov G. 209. + *Gone Astray. Chekhov G. 237. + *Happy Ending. Chekhov G. 141. + **Happy Man. Chekhov G. 281. + ***Head Gardener's Story. Chekhov F. 267. + ***Horse-Stealers. Chekhov G. 3. + ***In Exile. Chekhov F. 97. + **In the Coach-House. Chekhov F. 229. + **In Trouble. Chekhov G. 197. + **Jenne Premier. Chekhov G. 255. + ***Lady's Story. Chekhov F. 87. + **Looking-Glass. Chekhov G. 151. + *Minds in Ferment. Chekhov G. 229. + ***Misery. Chekhov F. 55. + ***Nervous Breakdown. Chekhov F. 17. + ***Old Age. Chekhov G. 161. + ***On Official Duty. Chekhov F. 153. + ***Panic Fears. Chekhov F. 241. + **Petchenyeg. Chekhov G. 113. + ***Requiem. Chekhov F. 219. + ***Safety Match. French F. 229. + ***Schoolmistress. Chekhov F. 1. + ***Shoemaker and the Devil. Chekhov F. 293. + *Slander. Chekhov G. 221. + ***Small Fry. Chekhov F. 213. + ***Sorrow. Chekhov F. 141. + *Story Without a Title. Chekhov G. 189. + ***Tragic Actor. Chekhov F. 193. + ***Transgression. Chekhov F. 201. + ***Troublesome Visitor. Chekhov G. 291. + ***Ward No. 6. Chekhov G. 29. + +COROVICH, SVETOZAR. (1875-1918.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***Hodja Saleek. Jugo-Slav. 205 + +CREANGA, I. (_Roumanian._) + ***Old Nichifor, the Impostor. Roumania. 115. + +DAUDET, ALPHONSE. (1840-1897.) (_French._) (_See 1918._) + **Three Low Masses. Rudwin. 167. + +DELAVRANCEA, B. (_Roumanian._) + ***Irinel. Roumania. 267. + +DEULIN, CHARLES. (_French._) + *Devil's Round. Rudwin. 203. + +DOMBROVSKY, IGNATIUS. (_Polish._) + *Legend on the Saturday Sunbeam. Ragozin. 3:165. + +DOSTOEVSKY, FYODOR MIKHARLOVICH. (1821-1881.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918 + and 1920._) + ***Beggar Boy at Christ's Christmas Tree. Ragozin. 3:173. + +"FRANCE, ANATOLE." (JACQUES-ANATOLE THIBAULT.) (1844- .) (_French._) + (_See 1918._) + ***Lucifer. Rudwin. 250. + ***Miracle of the Great St. Nicolas. France. 43. + ***Seven Wives of Bluebeard. France. 3. + ***Shirt. France. 119. + ***Story of the Duchess of Cicogne and of Monsieur de Boulingrin. + France. 93. + +GABORIAU, EMILE. (1835-1873.) (_French._) + *Interview with M. Lecoq. McSpadden C. 29. + +GAUTIER, THEOPHILE. (1811-1872.) (_French._) (_See 1918._) + ***Mummy's Foot. French D. 77. + +GLISICH, MILOVAN. (1827-1908.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***First Furrow. Jugo-Slav. 109. + +GOGOL, NIKOLAI VASILIEVICH. (1809-1852.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918 and + 1920._) + ***St. John's Eve. Rudwin. 56. + +"GORKI MAXIM." (ALEXEI MAXIMOVICH PYESHKER.) (1868 or 1869- .) + (_Russian._) (_See 1918 and 1920._) + ***Devil. Rudwin. 257. + +HAMP, PIERRE. (_French._) + ***Mademoiselle Sowrire. Hamp. 61. + ***Man With a Soft Job. Hamp. 44. + ***"Miller, You're Asleep." Hamp. 133. + ***Monsieur Becqueriaux. Hamp. 187. + ***Monsieur Robled's Throat. Hamp. 29. + ***Nonnon. Hamp. 11. + ***Screen. Hamp. 199. + **Seine Rises. Hamp. 71. + ***Sweet Smeller. Hamp. 21. + ***Tight-Wads. Hamp. 37. + ***At the Chevalier Restaurant. Hamp. 94. + *At the Express Window. Hamp. 89. + ***Boxers. Hamp. 146. + ***Bourbon's Pleasures. Hamp. 157. + ***Fat-Mouth. Hamp. 104. + **Fly-Catcher. Hamp. 111. + ***Fried-Potato Sisters. Hamp. 3. + ***Gracieuse. Hamp. 54. + **Joy Boys. Hamp. 170. + *King's C's. Hamp. 193. + +HAUFF, WILHELM. (1802-1827.) (_German._) + **From the Memoirs of Satan. Rudwin. 46. + +HUGO, VICTOR. (1802-1885.) + **Corvette Claymore. French G. 181. + +JOVANOVICH, ZMAJ-JOVAN. (1833-1904.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***Vidosava Brankovich. Jugo-Slav. 79. + +KOROLENKO, VLADIMIR GALAKTIONOVICH. (1853- .) (_Russian._) (_See 1920._) + ***"Slayer." Ragozin. 4:109. + ***Winter. Ragozin. 4:174. + +LAZAROVICH, LAZAR. (1851-1890.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***By the Well. Jugo-Slav. 123. + ***First Matins with My Father. Jugo-Slav. 19. + +LE BLANC, MAURICE. (1864- .) (_French._) + Sign of the Shadow. McSpadden C. 261. + +LERMONTOF, MICHAIL YURIEVICH. (1814-1841.) (_Russian._) + ***Travelling Episode. Ragozin. 1:171. + +LESSKOF, NICOLAS STEPANOVICH. (1831-1895.) (_Russian._) + **Friends. Ragozin. 3:52. + ***From an Old Chronicle. Ragozin. 3:99. + **Pearl Necklace. Ragozin. 3:20. + ***Simpleton. Ragozin. 3:3. + +LJUBISA. STJEPAN MITROR. (1821-1878.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***Kanjosh Macedonovich. Jugo-slav. 51. + +"LOTI, PIERRE." (LOUIS-MARIE-JULIEN VIAUD.) (1850- .) (_French._) + ***Sailor's Wife. French G. 250. + +MACHIAVELLI, NICCOLO. (1469-1527.) (_Italian._) + **Belphagor, or the Marriage of the Devil. Rudwin. 14. + +MAMIN-SIBIRIÀK, D.W. (_Russian._) + ***Father Elect. Ragozin 2:147. + ***Misgir. Ragozin 2:103. + +MATAVULYA, SIMO. (1852-1908.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***Povareta. Jugo-Slav. 187. + +MAUPASSANT, HENRI RENE ALBERT GUY DE. (1850-1893.) (_French._) (_See + 1918._) + ***Horla. French C. 84. + **Legend of Mont St. Michel. Rudwin. 222. + ***Man with the Pale Eyes. French D. 230. + +NEGRUZZI, C. (_Roumanian._) + **Alexandru Lapushneanu. Roumania. 51. + +*NIEDZWIECKI, ZYGMUNT. (_Polish._) + *In May. Ragozin 2:201. + +POPOVICI-BANATZEANU, ION. (_Roumanian._) + ***Out in the World. Roumania. 207. + +PUSHKIN, ALEXANDER SERGEYEVICH. (1799-1837.) (_Russian._) (_See 1920._) + ***Good Shot. Ragozin 1:51. + ***Masquerading. Ragozin 1:5. + ***Queen of Spades. Ragozin 1:107. + ***Snowstorm. Ragozin 1:79. + +SADOVEANU, M. (_Roumanian._) + ***Cozma Racoare. Roumania. 141. + **Fairy of the Lake. Roumania. 1. + ***Wanderers. Roumania. 157. + +SALTYKOF, M.Y. "N. SCHEDRIN." (1826-1889.) (_Russian._) + ***Christmas Sermon. Ragozin 2:5. + ***Eagle, Patron of Learning. Ragozin 2:77. + ***Lost Conscience. Ragozin 2:49. + **Peasant and the Two Excellencies. Ragozin 2:31. + +SLAVICI, I. (_Roumanian._) + ***Popa Tanda. Roumania. 175. + +SLUCHEVSKY, K.Y. (_Russian._) + **Can the End Justify the Means? Ragozin 2:169. + **Coward or Hero? Ragozin 2:185. + +STANINOKOVICH, CONSTANTINE MIKHAILOVICH. (1844-1903.) (_Russian._) + *Bobtail. Ragozin 4:6. + *Convict. Ragozin 4:56. + +TOLSTOI, LYOF NIKOLAIEVICH, COUNT. (1828-1910.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918 + and 1920._) + ***Three Deaths. Ragozin 3:187. + +TURGENEV, IVAN SERGIEVICH. (1818-1883.) (_Russian._) (_See 1920._) + ***Father Alexey's Story. Turgenev. 125. + ***Quiet Backwater. Turgenev. 217. + ***Three Meetings. Turgenev. 155. + ***Two Friends. Turgenev. 1. + +USPENSKY, GLIEB IVANOVICH. (1840-1905.) (_Russian._) + *Inspecting the Bride. Ragozin 2:212. + +VESELINOVICH, JANKO. (1862-1905.) (_Jugo-Slav._) + ***Eternity. Jugo-Slav. 227. + ***Kum's Curse. Jugo-Slav. 151. + +VILLIERS DE L'ISLE-ADAM. PHILIPPE AUGUSTE MATHIAS, COMTE DE. (1840-1889.) + (_French._) + ***Torture By Hope. French E. 149. + +ZEISINGER, HELEN. (_Polish._) + *Christmas Eve in the Forest. Ragozin 2:235. + + + + +MAGAZINE AVERAGES + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 + + +_The following table includes the averages of American periodicals +published from October, 1920, to September, 1921, inclusive. One two, +three asterisks are employed to indicate relative distinction. +"Three-asterisk stories" are of somewhat permanent literary value. The +list excludes reprints._ + + _______________________________________________________________________ + | | | + | | No. of | Percentage + | No. of | Distinctive | of Distinctive + Periodicals | Stories | Stories | Stories + (Oct.-Sept.) | Published | Published | Published + | |_________________|_________________ + | | | | | | | + | | * | ** | *** | * | ** | *** + _______________________|___________|_____|_____|_____|_____|_____|_____ + | | | | | | | + All's Well | 14 | 6 | 3 | 2 | 43 | 21 | 14 + Asia | 11 | 10 | 1 | 0 | 90 | 9 | 0 + Atlantic Monthly | 20 | 13 | 7 | 3 | 65 | 35 | 15 + Century | 50 | 35 | 15 | 5 | 70 | 30 | 10 + Chicago Tribune | 52 | 11 | 2 | 1 | 22 | 4 | 2 + Collier's Weekly | 106 | 12 | 1 | 0 | 12 | 1 | 0 + Cosmopolitan | 83 | 15 | 6 | 2 | 18 | 7 | 2 + Dial | 16 | 16 | 14 | 11 | 100 | 88 | 69 + Everybody's Magazine | 91 | 16 | 7 | 1 | 18 | 8 | 1 + Good Housekeeping | 46 | 13 | 4 | 1 | 28 | 9 | 2 + Harper's Bazar | 32 | 12 | 1 | 0 | 38 | 3 | 0 + Harper's Magazine | 53 | 39 | 24 | 10 | 74 | 45 | 19 + Hearst's International | 79 | 18 | 3 | 0 | 23 | 4 | 0 + Ladies' Home Journal | 52 | 8 | 0 | 0 | 15 | 0 | 0 + McCall's Magazine | 48 | 9 | 3 | 0 | 19 | 6 | 0 + McClure's Magazine | 46 | 8 | 2 | 1 | 17 | 4 | 2 + Metropolitan | 74 | 18 | 9 | 3 | 24 | 12 | 4 + Midland | 15 | 14 | 8 | 3 | 93 | 53 | 20 + New York Tribune | | | | | | | + Pictorial Review | 65 | 46 | 31 | 21 | 71 | 48 | 32 + Red Book Magazine | 116 | 23 | 0 | 0 | 20 | 0 | 0 + Saturday Evening Post | 221 | 32 | 7 | 3 | 15 | 3 | 1 + Scribner's Magazine | 46 | 24 | 8 | 4 | 52 | 17 | 9 + Smart Set | 115 | 29 | 8 | 4 | 25 | 7 | 4 + _______________________|___________|_____|_____|_____|_____|_____|_____ + + +_The following tables indicate the rank, during the period between +October, 1920, and September, 1921, inclusive, by number and percentage +of distinctive stories published, of the twenty-three periodicals coming +within the scope of my examination which have published an average of 15 +per cent in stories of distinction. The lists exclude reprints but not +translations._ + +BY PERCENTAGE OF DISTINCTIVE STORIES + + 1. Dial 100% + 2. Midland 93% + 3. Asia 90% + 4. Harper's Magazine 74% + 5. Pictorial Review 71% + 6. Century 70% + 7. Atlantic Monthly 65% + 8. Scribner's Magazine 52% + 9. All's Well 43% + 10. Harper's Bazar 38% + 11. Good Housekeeping 28% + 12. Smart Set 25% + 13. Metropolitan 24% + 14. Hearst's International 23% + 15. Chicago Tribune 22% + 16. Red Book Magazine 20% + 17. McCall's Magazine 19% + 18. Everybody's Magazine 18% + 19. Cosmopolitan 18% + 20. McClure's Magazine 17% + 21. Saturday Evening Post 15% + 22. Ladies' Home Journal 15% + 23. Collier's Weekly 12% + +BY NUMBER OF DISTINCTIVE STORIES + + 1. Pictorial Review 46 + 2. Harper's Magazine 39 + 3. Century 35 + 4. Saturday Evening Post 32 + 5. Smart Set 29 + 6. Scribner's Magazine 24 + 7. Red Book Magazine 23 + 8. Metropolitan 18 + 9. Hearst's International 18 + 10. Dial 16 + 11. Everybody's Magazine 16 + 12. Cosmopolitan 15 + 13. Midland 14 + 14. Atlantic Monthly 13 + 15. Good Housekeeping 13 + 16. Harper's Bazar 12 + 17. Collier's Weekly 12 + 18. Chicago Tribune 11 + 19. Asia 10 + 20. McCall's Magazine 9 + 21. McClure's Magazine 8 + 22. Ladies' Home Journal 8 + 23. All's Well 6 + +_The following periodicals have published during the same period ten or +more "two-asterisk stories." The list excludes reprints, but not +translations. Periodicals represented in this list during 1915, 1916, +1917, 1918, 1919, and 1920 are represented by the prefixed letters a, b, +c, d, e, and f respectively._ + + 1. bcdef Pictorial Review 31 + 2. abcdef Harper's Magazine 24 + 3. abcdef Century 15 + 4. f Dial 14 + +_The following periodicals have published during the same period five or +more "three-asterisk stories." The list excludes reprints, but not +translations. The same signs are used as prefixes as in the previous +list._ + + 1. bcdef Pictorial Review 21 + 2. f Dial 11 + 3. abcdef Harper's Magazine 10 + 4. abcdef Century 5 + +_Ties in the above lists have been decided by taking relative rank in +other lists into account._ + + + + +INDEX OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES + +OCTOBER, 1920, TO SEPTEMBER, 1921 + + +_All short stories published in the following magazines and newspapers, +October, 1920, to September, 1921 inclusive, are indexed:_ + + All's Well + American Magazine + Asia + Atlantic Monthly + Bookman + Catholic World + Century + Chicago Tribune (Syndicate Service) + Collier's Weekly + Cosmopolitan + Delineator + Dial + Everybody's Magazine + Freeman + Good Housekeeping + Harper's Bazar + Harper's Magazine + Hearst's International Magazine + Ladies' Home Journal + Liberator + Little Review + McCall's Magazine + McClure's Magazine + Metropolitan + Midland + New York Tribune + Pagan + Pictorial Review + Red Book Magazine + Saturday Evening Post + Scribner's Magazine + Smart Set + Sunset Magazine + Touchstone + Woman's Home Companion + + +_Short stories of distinction only, published in the following magazines +during the same period, are indexed:_ + + Adventure + Ainslee's Magazine + Argosy All-Story Weekly + Follies + Holland's Magazine + Little Story Magazine + Live Stories + Magnificat + Munsey's Magazine + New Parisienne + Popular Magazine + Romance + Snappy Stories + Telling Tales + To-day's Housewife + Top-Notch Magazine + +_Certain stories of distinction published in the following magazines +during this period are indexed, because they have been specially called +to my attention:_ + + Apropos + Current Opinion + Midwest Bookman + New York Call Magazine + Northwestern Miller + Western Story Magazine + +_I have considered several other magazines without finding any stories +of distinction. The present list includes a small number of distinctive +stories published between October, 1919 and September, 1920, which I was +unable to read last year owing to labor and transportation +difficulties._ + +_One, two, or three asterisks are prefixed to the titles of stories to +indicate distinction. Three asterisks prefixed to a title indicate the +more or less permanent literary value of the story, and entitle it to a +place on the annual "Rolls of Honor." Cross references after an author's +name refer to previous volumes of this series. (H.) after the name of an +author indicates that other stories by this author, published in +American magazines between 1900 and 1914, are to be found indexed in +"The Standard Index of Short Stories," by Francis J. Hannigan, published +by Small, Maynard & Company, 1918. The figures in parentheses after the +title of a story refer to the volume and page number of the magazine. In +cases where successive numbers of a magazine are not paged +consecutively, the page number only is given in this index._ + +_The following abbreviations are used in the index:_ + + _Adv._ Adventure + _Ain._ Ainslee's Magazine + _Am._ American Magazine + _Am. B._ American Boy + _Apropos._ Apropos + _Arg._ Argosy All-Story Weekly + _Asia._ Asia + _Atl._ Atlantic Monthly + _A.W._ All's Well + _Book._ Bookman (N.Y.) + _Call._ New York Call Magazine + _Cath. W._ Catholic World + _Cen._ Century + _Chic. Trib._ Chicago Tribune (Syndicate Service) + _Col._ Collier's Weekly + _Cos._ Cosmopolitan + _Cur. O._ Current Opinion + _Del._ Delineator + _Dial._ Dial + _Ev._ Everybody's Magazine + _Fol._ Follies + _Free._ Freeman + _G.H._ Good Housekeeping + _Harp. B._ Harper's Bazar + _Harp. M._ Harper's Magazine + _Hear._ Hearst's International Magazine + _Hol._ Holland's Magazine + _L.H.J._ Ladies' Home Journal + _Lib._ Liberator + _Lit. R._ Little Review + _Lit. S._ Little Story Magazine + _L. St._ Live Stories + _Mag._ Magnificat + _McC._ McClure's Magazine + _McCall._ McCall's Magazine + _Met._ Metropolitan + _Mid._ Midland + _Mid. Book._ Midwest Bookman + _Mun._ Munsey's Magazine + _N.Y. Trib._ New York Tribune + _N.M._ Northwestern Miller + _Pag._ Pagan + _Par._ New Parisienne + _Pict. R._ Pictorial Review + _Pop._ Popular Magazine + (_R._) Reprint + _Red Bk._ Red Book Magazine + _Rom._ Romance + _Scr._ Scribner's Magazine + _S.E.P._ Saturday Evening Post + _Sn. St._ Snappy Stories + _S.S._ Smart Set + _Sun._ Sunset Magazine + _Tod._ To-day's Housewife + _Top._ Top-Notch Magazine + _Touch._ Touchstone + _T.T._ Telling Tales + _W.H.C._ Woman's Home Companion + _W. St._ Western Story Magazine + (_161_) Page 161 + (_2:161_) Volume 2, page 161 + (_See 1915_) _See_ "Best Short Stories of 1915" + + +I. AMERICAN AUTHORS + + +A + +ABBOTT, ELEANOR HALLOWELL. MRS. FORDYCE COBURN. (1872- .) (_See 1915, + 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Blinded Lady. Pict. R. Sept. (12.) + Book of the Funny Smells--and Everything. L.H.J. Sept. (8.) + Fairy Prince. Pict. R. Dec., '20. (6.) + Game of the Bewitchments. G.H. (39.) + +ABBOTT, HARRIET. + He Couldn't Stand Prosperity. Am. June. (14.) + +ABBOTT, KEENE. (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Anchored. L.H.J. Mar., '20. (9.) + +ABBOTT, VERNA. + *Unbalanced. Arg. Oct. 23, '20. (126:522.) + +ABDULLAH, ACHMED. (ACHMED ABDULLAH NADIR KHAN EL-DURANI EL-IDRISSYEH. + "A.A. Nadir.") (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + *Broadway of It. Mun. Oct., '20 (71:99.) + ***Dutiful Grief. Pict. R. Aug. (10.) + ***Lute of Jade. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (8.) + *Perfect Way. T.T. Sept. (126.) + *"There's Corn in Egypt." Ain. Jan. (64.) + *Triumph. T.T. Aug. (36.) + +ADAMS, FRANK R. (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) + Good Little Bathing Girl. Cos. Aug. (59.) + Man-Handling Ethel. Cos. Jan. (29.) + Miles Brewster and the Super-Sex. Cos. Jul. (35.) + Miss Wife o' Mine. Cos. Feb. (53.) + Near-Lady. Cos. Mar. (33.) + Rival to the Prince. Cos. Dec., '20. (53.) + Tarnished Chevrons. Cos. Nov., '20. (43.) + This Eileen Person. Cos. Oct., '20. (29.) + What's It All About? Cos. May. (53.) + You Have to Choose. Cos. June. (44.) + +ADAMS, SAMUEL HOPKINS. (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Amateurs and Others. Red Bk. June. (66.) + Andy Dunne and the Barker. S.E.P. May 7. (5.) + *Barbran. Col. Dec. 25, '20. (8.) + Doom River Bed. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (32.) + *For Mayme, Read Mary. Col. Mar. 19. (5.) + Salvage. Del. June. (8.) + Shoal Waters. S.E.P. Aug. 27. (14.) + Silverwing. L.H.J. Aug. (10.) + +ADDISON, THOMAS. (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Sealed Proposals. Ev. Oct., '20. (54.) + +AGEE, MRS. H.P. _See_ LEA, FANNY HEASLIP. + +AKINS, ZOE. (1886- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) + Rings and Chains. Cos. Dec., '20. (25.) + +ALDRICH, BESS STREETER. ("MARGARET DEAN STEVENS.") (1881- .) (_See 1919, + 1920._) (_See 1916 under_ STEVENS, MARGARET DEAN.) + Father Mason Retires. Am. Oct., '20. (26.) + +ALEXANDER, ELIZABETH. + Fifty-Two Weeks for Florette, S.E.P. Aug. 13. (10.) + +ALEXANDER, IDA. + First Client. W.H.C. Jul. (31.) + Immovable Kelly. Met. Aug. (34.) + Robe for Rodney. W.H.C. Apr. (16.) + +"ALEXANDER, MARY." _See_ KILBOURNE, FANNIE. + +ALEXANDER, MILDRED SCOTT. + Be Sociable! G.H. (60.) + +ALEXANDER, SANDRA. (_See 1919, 1920._) + *His Absolute Safety. Cen. Dec., '20. (101:181.) + +ALLEN, JAMES LANE. (1849- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Ash-Can. Cen. Sept. (102:657.) + +ALLEN, MARYLAND. (MRS. EDWARD TYSON ALLEN.) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + Urge. Ev. Sept. (135.) + +ANDERSON, FREDERICK IRVING. (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Assassins. Pict. R. Feb. (12.) + Dolores Cay. Chic. Trib. Jan. 23. + **Phantom Alibi. McC. Nov., '20 (27.) + Signed Masterpiece. McC. June-Jul. (21.) + +ANDERSON. SHERWOOD. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + ***Brothers. Book. Apr. (53:110.) + ***New Englander. Dial. Feb. (70:143.) + ***Unlighted Lamps. S.S. Jul. (45.) + +ANDREWS, A.C. + House That Stood Back. Chic. Trib. Aug. 28. + +ANDREWS, MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Reluctantly Diana. Scr. Oct., '20. (68:463.) + +ANTHONY, JOSEPH. + **Cask of Ale for Columban. Cen. Mar. (101:583.) + +APOTHEKER, NAN. + John Miles' Stenographer. S.S. Jan. (77.) + +APPLE, E. ALBERT. (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Twenty Miles from Nowhere. Am. June. (46.) + +ARBUCKLE, MARY. (_See 1917._) + Big Rich. McCall. Oct., '20. (14.) + Wasted. Mid. May. (7:177.) + +ARMS, LOUIS LEE. + Heart-Crusher. Ev. Oct., '20. (74.) + +ARMSTRONG, WILLIMINA L. _See_ "Dost, Zamin Ki." + +ASHBY, W.S. + Tied Down by His Wife. Am. Apr. (47.) + +ASPINWALL, MARGUERITE. (_See 1918, 1920._) + House on the Island. Sun. Dec., '20. (32.) Jan. (30.) + +AUSTIN, MARY (HUNTER). (1868- .) (_See 1918._) (_H._) + Kiss of Nino Dios. Del. Dec., '20. (7.) + *Souls of Stitt. Harp. M. Dec., '20. (142:71.) + +AVERY, STEPHEN MOREHOUSE. (_See 1920._) + All About Men. Harp. B. Oct., '20. (78.) + "Chameleon." Pict. R. June. (10.) + Mademoiselle Papillon. Pict. R. Mar. (14.) + "Patchwork." Cen. June. (102:202.) + + +B + +BABCOCK, EDWINA STANTON. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Lion. Harp. M. Apr. (142:569.) + **Nourishment, Harp. M. Feb. (142:283.) + +BACHELLER, IRVING. (1859- .) (_See 1915, 1918._) (_H._) + Forks. Am. Jan. (28.) + Riddles. Ev. May. (28.), June. (44.) + +BACHMANN, ROBERT A. (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Art is Art and Business Business. Met. Dec., '20. (25.) + +BACON, JOSEPHINE DASKAM. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1919._) (_H._) + Blind Cupid. Col. Oct. 2, '20. (5.) Oct. 9. (14.) + *Crossed Wires. L.H.J. Feb. (6.) + In September. L.H.J. Oct., '20 (7.) + +BAILEY, (IRENE) TEMPLE. (_See 1915, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Burned Toast. S.E.P. Dec. 4, '20. (17.) + **Hidden Land. Harp. M. Oct., '20. (141:553.) Nov., '20. (141:795.) + Wait--For Prince Charming. L.H.J. Dec., '20. (8.) + White Birches. S.E.P. June 18. (8.) + +BAKER, KARLE WILSON. ("CHARLOTTE WILSON.") (1878- .) + *Porch-Swing. Cen. Apr. (101:679.) + +BALL, MRS. T. AUSTIN. _See_ STEELE, ALICE GARLAND. + +BALL, WILLIAM DAVID. (_See 1917._) + Brute. McCall. Apr. (10.) + +BALMER, EDWIN. (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Against the World. Del. Nov., '20. (12.) + Beyond the Alps. Hear. Jul. (10.) + Daughter of Violence. Cos. Jan. (75.) + Lost In Mid-Air. Am. May. (29.) + Queer Reunion of Three Friends. Am. Dec., '20. (28.) + Settled Down. Ev. Feb. (48.) + Something Big. Met. Aug. (27.) + That Man Called Gentleman. Met. Dec., '20. (22.) + Wide House of the World. Met. Sept. (26.) + +BARKER, CHARLES H. + Revival. A.W. Aug. (1:184.) + +BARNARD, FLOY TOLBERT. (1879- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + In the Fields of Boaz. McCall. Feb. (8.) + +BARNES, DJUNA. (1892- .) (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Katrina Silverstaff. Lit. R. Jan. Mar. (27.) + ***Oscar. Lit. R. Apr., '20. (7.) + **Robin's House. Lit. R. Sept.-Dec. (31.) + +BARRETT, RICHMOND BROOKS. (_See 1920._) + "Darling." S.S. Dec., '20. (53.) + Fool's Paradise. S.S. Sept. (95.) + Not Without Dust and Heat. S.S. June. (119.) + +BARTLETT, FREDERICK ORIN. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Intangibles. Ev. Nov., '20. (40.) + Managers. Chic. Trib. Feb. (20.) + Queer Noises. Ev. Apr. (9.) + Reserved. Del. Aug. (9.) + Secret History. S.E.P. Jan. 8. (14.) + Strangle-Hold. Ev. May. (60.) + +BARTLEY, NALBRO. (1888- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + After-Wit. Ev. Jan. (21.) + Merely Married. Ev. Nov., '20. (23.) + Poor Men's Orchids. Ev. May. (13.) + Wise or Otherwise. Ev. June. (23.) + +BARTON, BRUCE. (1886- .) + "It Happened In Orchard Street." W.H.C. May. (29.) + Steve Carter, Who Won the War. W.H.C. Jul. (21.) + +BEACH, REX. (ELLINGWOOD.) (1877- .) (_See 1919._) + Flowing Gold. Hear. May. (6.) + +BEARD, WOLCOTT LE CLEAR. (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + In Honey's House. Scr. June. (69:741.) + +BEAUMONT, GERALD. + Called On Account of Darkness. Red Bk. Sept. (56.) + Crab. Red Bk. Aug. (70.) + His Honor the Umps. S.E.P. Jul. 16. (12.) + John McArdle, Referee. Red Bk. Jul. (50.) + Kerrigan's Kid. Red Bk. Apr. (86.) + Leaves of Friendship. Red Bk. June. (37.) + Lil' ol' Red Stockings. Ev. Feb. (12.) + 133 at 3. Red Bk. Mar. (61.) + Rainbow. Red Bk. May. (86.) + United States Smith. Red Bk. Jan. (30.) + +BECHDOLT, ADELE FORTIER. + Problem of Mother. Sun. Dec., '20. (40.) + +BEER, THOMAS. (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + *Josh and the Lofty Mountain. S.E.P. Jan. 29. (8.) + *Lily Pond. S.E.P. Apr. 16. (28.) + *Little Eva Ascends. S.E.P. Apr. 9. (16.) + *Mighty Man. S.E.P. Mar. 13, '20. (8.) + *Mummery. S.E.P. Jul. 30. (14.) + Yawl. S.E.P. Aug. 6. (16.) + +BEHRMAN, S.N. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + *Wraith. S.S. Nov., '20. (91.) + +BELKNAP, G.Y. + Without Surrender. S.S. Feb. (57.) + +BELL, R.S. WARREN. + Lesson. Chic. Trib. Dec. 26, '20. + +BENDA, LILITH. + Prosaic Conclusion. S.S. Aug. (101.) + +BENNETT-THOMPSON, LILLIAN. _See_ THOMPSON, LILLIAN BENNET _and_ + HUBBARD, GEORGE. + +BENSON, E.M. + Starfish and Sea Lavender. Hear. Jan. (21.) + +BENSON, RAMSEY. (1866- .) (_See 1917._) + *Whom the Lord Loveth. Rom. Oct., '20. (8.) + +BENTON, MARGARET. + What Gitton Learned in 1920. Am. Nov., '20. (61.) + +BERCOVICI, KONRAD. (1882- .) (_See 1920._) + **Bear-Tamer's Daughter. Adv. Jul. 3. (49.) + *Broken Dreams. Rom. Oct., '20. (155.) + ***Fanutza. Dial. May. (70: 545.) + *Miracle Machine. McC. Mar. (25.) + **To Shed Blood. Adv. Aug. 18. (89.) + **Vlad's Son. Adv. Mar. 18. (147.) + +BERTHOUD, FERDINAND. + *Unholy One. Adv. Nov. 3, '20. (67.) + +BETTS, THOMAS JEFFRIES. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) + *Recall. Scr. Mar. (69: 289.) + +BIGGERS, EARL DERR. (1884- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) + Girl Who Paid Dividends. S.E.P. Apr. 23. (12.) + Idle Hands. S.E.P. June 11. (5.) + John Henry and the Restless Sex. S.E.P. Mar 5. (10.) + Prisoners in Paradise. Am. Jul. (23.) + Selling Miss Minerva. S.E.P. Feb. 5. (10.) + Shining Garments of Success. Pict. R. Oct, '20. (30.) + +BLANCHARD, EDWIN H. + *Grandpa Drum. S.S. Mar. (87.) + *Hired Girl. S.S. Sept. (86.) + His Book. S.S. Jul. (29.) + +BLOCK, RUDOLPH. _See_ "LESSING, BRUNO." + +BLUDGETT, MRS. SIDNEY. _See_ DEJEANS, ELIZABETH. + +BOAS, GEORGE. (_See 1920._) + Better Recipe. Atl. Mar. (127: 379.) + +BOOTH, ALICE. + Little Lady. G.H. Apr. (24) + +BOULTON, AGNES. (MRS. EUGENE G. O'NEILL.) (1893- .) (_See 1920._) + *Snob. S.S. June. (83.) + +BOUVE, WINSTON. + Dollars. Met. Mar. (20.) + +BOWEN, HELENE H. + Women. Pag. May. (24.) + +BOYD, JAMES. (1866- .) + *Old Pines. Cen. Mar. (101: 609) + **Sound of a Voice. Scr. Aug. (70: 214.) + +BOYER, WILBUR S. (_See 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Lallapaloosa. Ev. Oct., '20. (61.) + Simps. Col. June 25. (7.) + +BOYLE, JACK. + Boomerang Bill. Cos. Dec., '20 (65.) + Child of the Famine. Red Bk. Sept. (52.) + Claws of the Tong. Red Bk. Apr. (47.) + Heart of the Lily. Red Bk. Feb. (25.) + Little Lord of All the Earth. Red Bk. Mar. (33.) + Mother of the Middle Kingdom Red Bk. June. (71.) + Painted Child. Cos. Oct., '20 (65.) + +BRACE, BLANCHE. (_See 1920._) + Adventure of a Ready Letter Writer. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20 (18.) + Jane Goes In. S.E.P. Jul. 16. (14.) + +BRACKETT. CHARLES. + Money Matters. S.E.P. Feb. 19. (8.) + +BRADLEY, MARY HASTINGS, (_See 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Children of the Street. Met. Mar. (9.) + +BRADY, FRANK. + Check, Please. McCall. Jan. (13.) + +BRALEY, BERTON. (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + High Cost of Hot Cakes. W.H.C. Nov., '20. (18.) + Nemesis Has a Busy Day. Ev. Oct., '20. (37.) + +BRANDT, WILLIAM E. + *Liberator. Lit. S. Dec., '20. (28.) + +BRINIG, MYRON. + Blissful Interlude. S.S. Aug. (53.) + +BRODY, CATHARINE. + American Luck. S.S. Aug. (63.) + Saturday Night Blues. S.S. Oct., '20. (85.) + +BROOKS, ALDEN..(_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Barren Soil. S.E.P. Mar. 20, '20, (30.) + +BROOKS. JONATHAN. (_See 1920._) + Galloping Ghosts. Col. Sept. 3. (3.) + Indiana Pajamas. Col. Jul. 16. (3.) + Monkey Crouch. Col. May 14. (5.) + Roll, Jordan, Roll. Col. Oct. 23, '20. (5.) + Step Lively, Please. Col. Apr. 9. (14.) + Wedding Bells, C.O.D. Col. Sept. 17. (3.) + +BROOKS, PAUL. (_See 1920._) + Poor Winnie! Poor Towny! S.S. Dec '20. (99.) + +BROWN, ALICE. (1857- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Judgment from Above. Harp. M. June. (143:86.) + *Little Elm. L.H.J. Aug. (8.) + *Shooting-Stars. W.H.C. Nov., '20. (7.) + +BROWN, BERNICE. (_See 1917, 1918._) + Being a Nobody. Col. Sept. 17. (7.) + Double Barriers. McCall. Mar. (11.) + Emperor Hadrian. Col. Apr. 23. (3.) + Fortune Huntress. McCall. Sept. (13.) + Her Thousand Dollars. Col. June 18. (7.) + Stranger--My Dog. Col. Feb. 5. (7.) + Women Are Like That. Col. Jul. 2 (3.) + +BROWN, CAMBRAY. + Time Clock in the Taj Mahal. Harp. M. Feb. (142:401.) + +BROWN, DEMETRA KENNETH. (_See_ "VAKA, DEMETRA.") + +BROWN, KATHARINE HOLLAND. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Argive Helen and the Little Maid of Tyre. Scr. Aug. (70:172.) + Neighbor. W.H.C. Dec., '20. (26.) + +BROWN, ROYAL. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + As Grandpop said to Grant. Cos. Nov., '20. (27.) + Dynamite. Cos. Jul. (75.) + From Four to Eleven--Three! McC. Oct., '20. (19.) + Kelly of Charles Street. Cos. Aug. (42.) + Long, Long Shot. McC. Jan. (12.) + Lyons and Miss Mouse. McC. June-Jul. (18.) + Mother Takes a Hand in the Game. Am. Dec., '20. (13.) + Priscilla Bags a Big One. Cos. Apr. (43.) + This Suspense is Terrible. Cos. Mar. (53.) + Two Hours to Train Time. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (63.) + Unfair Sex. Cos. May. (37.) + +BROWNE, PORTER EMERSON. (1879- .) (_See 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + Wild Horses. Col. Jan. 1. (14.) + +BROWNELL, AGNES MARY. (---- -1921.) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + *Doc Greer's Practice. Mid. Jan. (7:26.) + +BRUBAKER, HOWARD. (1892- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Ruby Common. Col. Mar. 26. (14.) + Tight Rope. S.E.P. Aug. 20. (14.) + *When Knighthood Was In Bud. Harp. M. Apr. (142:642.) + Writing on the Wall Paper. Col. May 21. (7.) + *Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Future. Harp. M. May. (142:761.) + +BRYSON, LYMAN LLOYD. (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + *Shadow. Scr. Jan. (69:99.) + +BUCHANAN, JOHN PRESTON. + *Trial of Jonathan Goode. Scr. Dec., '20. (68:711.) + +BULGER, BOZEMAN. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) + Class Double A. S.E.P. May 28. (12.) + +BULLOCK, WILLIAM. (_See 1915._) + Hereditary Punch. Ev. Aug. (79.) + Mama's Boy. Ev. Sept. (39.) + +BURANELLI, PROSPER. + *Lost Lip. Harp. M. Jan. (142:242.) + +BURNETT, FRANCES HODGSON. (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + *House in the Dismal Swamp. G.H. Apr., '20. (16.) + +BURT, MAXWELL STRUTHERS. (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Buchanan Hears the Wind. Harp. M. Aug. (143:274.) + ***Experiment. Pict. R. June. (5.) + *Full Moon. Chic. Trib. Feb. 13. + Making of a Patriot. S.E.P. Aug. 13. (14.) + Sweet Syllables. S.E.P. June 11. (3.) + +BUTLER, ELLIS PARKER. (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1817, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + *Man Who Murdered a Fairy. Pict. R. Apr. (12.) + Once a Penguin Always a Penguin. Harp. M. June. (143:129.) + +BUZZELL, FRANCIS. (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + *Troubleman. Pict. R. May. (14.) + +"BYRNE, DONN." (BRYAN OSWALD DONN-BYRNE.) (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, + 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Daughter of the Medici. Hear. Sept. (6.) + *Great Gift. Hear. Jul. (13.) + *Keeper of the Bridge. McC. Apr. (6.) + Marriage Has Been Arranged. Hear. May. (10.) + Reynardine. McC. May. (15.) + What Became of M. Gilholme? Hear. Jan. (11.) + + +C + +CABELL, JAMES BRANCH. (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + ***Image of Sesphra. Rom. Oct., '20. (87.) + +CAMP, (CHARLES) WADSWORTH. (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1920._) (_H._) + Haunted House. Col. Jan. 8. (5.) + Real People. Col. Jul. 9. (5.) + +CAMPBELL, MARJORIE PRENTISS. (_See 1919, 1920._) + After Midnight. Hear. May. (41.) + +CANFIELD, DOROTHY. (DOROTHEA FRANCES CANFIELD FISHER.) (1879- .) (_See + 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Pamela's Shawl. Cen. Aug. (102:504.) + +CAREW, HELEN. + Tears that Angels Shed. Sun. Nov., '20. (96.) + +CARLISLE, H. GRACE. + Marie. Met. Aug. (26.) + +CARMAN, MIRIAM CRITTENDEN. (_See 1916._) + Her Own Game. Del. May. (13.) + +CARRUTH, (FRED) HAYDEN. (1862- .) + Benefactor of Upper Haddock. Harp. M. Mar. (142:537.) + +CARY, HAROLD. (_See 1920._) + Brown Boots. Del. Jul. (15.) + +CARY, LUCIAN. (1886- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Art Movement in Real Estate. S.E.P. Oct. 30, '20. (14.) + Bringing Home the Errant Husband. Red Bk. Mar. (57.) + Conquering Male. McCall. Jul. (10.) + Dark Secret. Ev. Feb. (23.) + Daughter of the Rich. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (67.) + Just Like Any Married Man. Chic. Trib. June 19. + Milly of Langmore Street. McCall. Feb. (5.) + Pirate of Park Avenue. Ev. Dec., '20. (53.) + Voice of the Old Home Town. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (68.) + Way Wives Are, L.H.J. Apr. (14.) + What if the Girl Wouldn't Go Back? Red Bk. Jan. (64.) + +CASEY, PATRICK _and_ CASEY, TERENCE. (_See 1915, 1917, 1920._) (_See "H." + under_ CASEY, PATRICK.) + *Road Kid. Lib. Jul. (10.) + +CAVENDISH, JOHN C. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Common-Sense Romance. S.S. June. (45.) + Faut Pas. S.S. Oct., '20. (117.) + Mother and Daughter. S.S. May. (39.) + +CHADWICK, CHARLES. (_See 1920._) + Man With the Diamond In His Head. Ev. Mar. (43.) + Once In His Life. Del. Nov., '20 (13.) + +CHAMBERLAIN, GEORGE AGNEW. (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) + Thieves' Market. Chic. Trib. May 15. + +CHAMBERLAIN, LUCIA. (_See 1917, 1920._) (_H._) + Corcoran. S.E.P. Mar. 12. (5.) + *Dreamers. S.E.P. Jul. 23. (15.) + Telephone Time. S.E.P. Jul. 2. (16.) + +CHAMBERS, ELWYN M. + Find the Thief. Am. May. (38.) + +CHAMBERS, ROBERT HUSTED. + Matter of Medicine. McC. June-Jul. (28.) + *Throw-Back. McC. Dec., '20 (25.) + +CHAMBERS, ROBERT W(ILLIAM). (1865- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) + Flaming Jewel. McCall. Aug. (5.) + Master Passion. McCall. Sept. (6.) + +CHAPMAN, EDITH. (_See 1920._) + *Immune. S.S. Jul. (97.) + +CHAPMAN, FRANCES NORVILLE. (_See 1916._) + *Annie Kearney. S.S. May. (103) + **Gossip. S.S. Oct., '20. (93.) + +CHASE, MARY ELLEN. (1887- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) + *Waste of the Ointment. Pict. R. Jul. (6.) + +CHILD, RICHARD WASHBURN. (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Eye of Cleopatra. Chic. Trib. Apr. 24. + *Fanny. Pict. R. Sept. (26.) + *From Dark to Day. Pict. R. Apr. (10.) + *Idols. Hear. Aug. (6.) + *Lure. S.E.P. Oct. 9, '20. (12.) + *Man and Gentleman. Hear. Nov., '20. (8.) + Other Volabia. S.E.P. Jul. 2. (12.) + ***Screen. Pict. R. Mar. (8.) + V for Viper. S.E.P. Oct. 23, '20. (12.) + +CHITTENDEN, GERALD. (_See 1915, 1916._) + Victim of His Vision. Scr. May. (69:611.) + +CHRISTIE, MORRIS. + Middle-Age. S.S. Jul. (121.) + +CHURCHILL. DAVID. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Solvent. Cen. Mar. (101:638.) + Trencher. Ev. Dec., '20. (23.) + +CHURCHILL, ROY P. (_See 1919._) + Love Sets the Alarm Clock. Am. Jan. (20.) + +CISCO, RUPERT F. + Twins--Three of Them. Met. Mar. (33.) + +CLAPP, LUCRETIA D. (_See H._) + Gift. McCall. Apr. (12.) + +CLARK, (CHARLES) BADGER. (_See 1920._) + Deal in Mules. Sun. Dec., '20. (36.) + Don't Spoil His Aim. Sun. June. (29.) + Price of Liberty. Sun. Sept. (44.) + Tuck's Quiet Wedding. Sun. Jul. (34.) + Wind to Heaven. Sun. May. (38.) + Young Hero. Sun. Aug. (43.) + +CLARK, VALMA. (_See 1920._) + Silhouettes and Starlight. Hear. Mar. (33.) + Sneaking Upon Pa. Am. Apr. (21.) + Uncle Cy--Talented, or Crazy? Am. Sept. (27.) + +CLAUSEN, CARL. (_See 1920._) + Might-Have-Been. Ev. Sept. (23.) + Sea Love. Ev. Jul. (47.) + +COBB, IRWIN S(HREWSBURY). (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + **Cater-Cornered Sex. S.E.P. Sept. 24. (8.) + ***Darkness. S.E.P. Aug. 20. (3.) + Greatest Thrill I Ever Had. Am. Dec., '20. (54.) + **Ravelin' Wolf. S.E.P. Feb. 21, '20. (12.) + ***Short Natural History. S.E.P. Oct. 9, '20. (3.) + +COBURN, MRS. FORDYCE. _See_ ABBOTT, ELEANOR HALLOWELL. + +COCKS, DOROTHY. + Americanization Stuff. Sun. Feb. (34.) + +COHEN, BELLA. (_See 1920._) + **Passing of the Stranger. L. St. Mar. (45.) + +COHEN, LESTER. + Fraudway. Pag. Aug.-Sept. (9.) + +COHEN, OCTAVUS ROY. (1891- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Bird of Pray. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20. (10.) + End of the Rainbow. Am. Mar. (23.) + Evil Lie. S.E.P. Sept. 10. (14.) + H2O Boy! S.E.P. June 4. (14.) + Less Miserable. Chic. Trib. Sept. 25. + Midsummer Knight's Dream. Hear. Sept. (45.) + Oft In the Silly Night. S.E.P. Mar. 12. (10.) + +COLCORD, LINCOLN (ROSS). (1883- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Instrument of the Gods. Am. Apr. (10.) May. (47.) + *Moments of Destiny. Pop. Aug. 20. (126.) + +COLEMAN, SARA LINDSEY. (_See H._) + Honeymoon House. Del. June. (15.) + +COMFORT, WILL LEVINGTON. (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_See also in 1920_, COMFORT, WILL LEVINGTON _and_ DOST, + ZAMIN KI.) + Plucked One. Red Bk. Jul. (94.) + *Red Handed. S.E.P. Jan. 1. (8.) + *Deadly Karait. Asia. Aug. (21:663.) + +CONDON, FRANK. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + By Ten Feet. Col. Jan. 29. (10.) + Followed by Laughter. Ev. Nov. '20. (47.) + Punch and Julie. Col. Aug. 6. (6.) + Red Monahan. Col. May 21. (3.) + +CONNELL, RICHARD. + Cage Man. S.E.P. Nov. 6, '20 (18.) + Gretna Greenhorns. McCall. Aug. (11.) + Man In the Cape. Met. May. (31.) + Sin of Monsieur Pettipon. S.E.P. Sept. 24. (12.) + Suzi Goes Back to the Land. McCall. Apr. (8.) + Tiger Syrup. Ev. Dec., '20. (71.) + $25,000 Jaw. S.E.P. Aug. 27. (22.) + +CONNOLLY, JAMES BRENDON. (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + *Bill Jackson's Adeline. Col. Nov. 20, '20. (5.) + *Captain Joe Gurley. Col. Feb. 26. (5.) + *His Three Fair Wishes. Red Bk. Jul. (35.) + Not Down in the Log. Col. Jan. 22. (7.) + +COOKE, GRACE MACGOWAN. _See_ MACGOWAN, ALICE AND GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE. + +COOPER COURTNEY RYLEY (1886- .) (_See 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Christmas Eve at Pilot Butte. Red Bk. Jan. (39.) + Envy. Red Bk. Apr. (42.) + Fear. Red Bk. Mar. (38.) + Fiend. Cos. Mar. (59.) + Love. Red Bk. June. (56.) + Mother. Chic. Trib. Apr. 10. + Old Scarface. Pict. R. Apr. (24.) + Pin-Point Pupil. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (64.) + *Simp. Pict. R. Nov., '20. (22.) + To Oblige a Lady. McC. Sept. (27.) + +COOPER, COURTNEY RYLEY _and_ CREAGAN, -- LEO S. + Martin Garrity Finally Pulls a Bone -- Am. Apr. (29.) + Martin Garrity Gets Even. Am. Jul. (20.) + +COPELAND, FRED. + Dude-Puncher Steve. Scr. Mar (69:343) + +COWAN, HOY PASCAL. + *Accompanist. S.S. Oct., '20. (103.) + +COWDERY, ALICE. (See 1915, 1917, 1919.) (_H._) + **Tree. Harp. M. Nov., '20. (141:710.) + +"CRABB, ARTHUR." (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Jigger. Met. Mar. (27.) + Jimmy Evans Comes Back. Ev. Dec., '20. (64.) + Juror No. 5. Col. June 11. (14.) + Miss Jeremiah. Ev. Nov., '20. (64.) + Old Man Ladd. Sun. Sept. (28.) + +CRABBE, BERTHA HELEN. (1887- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***On Riverside Drive. Touch. Dec., '20. (8:194.) + +CRAM, MILDRED R. (1889- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) + *Anna. McCall. Mar. (5.) + Bridge. Harp. B. Apr. (46.) + Chestnuts in the Fire. Harp. B. June. (44.) + *Gold Woman. Red Bk. Feb. (44.) + Kitty Passes. Harp. B. May. (60.) + Mirage. Red Bk. Sept. (85.) + Oh, La-La. Harp. B. Aug. (44.) + **Stranger Things. Met. Jan. (15.) + **Sun. McCall. Aug. (7.) + +CRANE, CLARKSON. (_See 1916, 1920._) + **American. S.S. Nov., '20. (107.) + *Magnificent Major. S.S. Dec., '20. (89.) + Morning Walk. S.S. June. (55.) + +CREAGAN, LEO F. _See_ COOPER, COURTNEY RYLEY _and_ CREAGAN, LEO F. + +CROWELL, ELINOR ROBINSON. + "Hold 'em, Harvard!" Met. Jan. (14.) + +CRUMP, IRVING R. (_See 1919._) (_H._) + King-Dog. Red Bk. Jul. (69.) + +CURTISS, PHILIP (EVERETT). (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Fancy Skater of Meloumerang. Harp. M. May. (142:737.) + *"Gum-Shoe." Scr. Feb. (69:169.) + Left-Handed Piccolo Player. Harp. M. Dec., '20. (142:87.) + Pentelicus the Younger. Harp. B. Oct., '20. (68.) + *Postmaster-General of Mindanao. Harp. M. Oct., '20. (141:644.) + **Waving Palm and the Blue Lagoon. Harp. M. Jan. (142:154.) + +CURWOOD, JAMES OLIVER. (1878- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Country Beyond. Cos. Jul. (29.) + Honor and the Outlaw. Cos. Sept. (30.) + Jolly Roger of the Forests. Cos. Aug. (35.) + +CUTNER, JEAN. + Surrender. S.S. May. (89.) + +CUTTING, MARY STEWART (DOUBLEDAY.) (1851- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) + (_H._) + Fairy Godmother. W.H.C. June. (16.) + + +D + +DALLETT, MORRIS. + *Balances. Cen. Feb. (101:470.) + +DALRYMPLE, C. LEONA. (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + His Secrets. Pict. R. Feb. (20.) + Love's Derelict. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (10.) + +DAMER, JOHN. + "In Vino." Lib. Jan. (5.) + +DAVIS, CHARLES BELMONT. (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + Small Part People. Met. Aug. (13.) + +DAVIS, ELMER (HOLMES). (1890- .) + Double Indemnity. Ev. Aug. (61.) + +DAVIS, MAURICE. (_See 1920._) + Morning in Spring. S.S. May. (85.) + +DAVIS, ROBERT (HOBART.). (1869- .) + Conjugal Bolshevist. Cen. Apr. (101:725.) + +DAY, JR., CLARENCE. (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + Grand Tour of Horlick. Harp. M. Feb. (142:376.) + Tragedy of Gustatory Selection. Harp. M. Dec.,'20. (142:111.) + +DAY, HOLMAN FRANCIS. (1865- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Contribution Neggle-ance. S.E.P. Aug. 20. (12.) + Court Took a Recess. Col. Aug. 20. (7.) + *That Vanished. Col. Jul. 23. (6.) + While the Biscuits Baked. Col. June 4. (5.) + +DEAN, WILLIAM HARPER. + Second Youth of Zachary Howe. L.H.J. Oct., '20. (25.) + +DECAMP, CHARLES B. (_See H._) + Glass of Fashion. Met. Jan. (25.) + Mildred, the Head-Hunter. Met. Sept. (36.) + +DEJEANS, ELIZABETH (MRS. SIDNEY BLUDGETT.) (_See H._) + *Twixt the Cup and Lip. Met. Nov., '20. (13.) + +DELANO, EDITH BARNARD. (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1920._) _See "H." under_ + BARNARD, EDITH, _and_ DELANO, EDITH BARNARD. + Heart That Understands. L.H.J. Feb. (14.) + *Let the Anchor Hold. McCall. May. (6.) + +DELANUX, EYRE. + Man in the Wheel. Del. May. (19.) + +DELEON, WALTER. + Brooders. Ev. Jul. (59.) + In Hell-Hole Swamp. Ev. Aug. (139.) + Plague o' My Hearth. Ev. May. (54.) + +DELL, STANLEY. + Nickel's Worth of Greatness. S.S. May. (57.) + +DERIEUX, SAMUEL A. (1881- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Bolter. Am. Sept. (50.) + Figgers Can't Lie. Del. Apr. (7.) + Old Frank to the Rescue. Am. Mar. (41.) + Pursuit. Am. Nov., '20. (29.) + +DICKENSON, EDWIN C. (_See 1918._) + Altar Rock. Scr. Apr. (69:433.) + +DICKSON, HARRIS. (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Above Suspicion. Col. Dec. 4, '20. (5.) + Buster, the Catspaw. Cos. May. (81.) + Crook and the Crazy Man. Cos. June. (87.) + Ghost and the Gallows Nail. Col. Apr. 2. (5.) + Legs is Legs. Cos. Sept. (95.) + Old Reliable on Guard. Cos. Mar. (75.) + Squeeze In and Freeze Out. S.E.P. Mar. 26. (10.) + Wedlocked in Bond. Cos. Apr. (79.) + +DIVINE, CHARLES. (_See 1917._) + Silver Box. Ev. June. (5.) + +DOBIE, CHARLES CALDWELL. (1881- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **All or Nothing. Harp. M. Jul. (143:151.) + *From a Balcony. Harp. B. Sept. (34.) + **Paying the Piper. Pict. R. Nov. '20. (14.) + +DODGE, HENRY IRVING. (1861- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Ladies and Joe O'Brien (Pt. 2.) McC. Oct., '20. (12.) + +DODGE, LOUIS. (1870- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1920._) + Love Strike. McC. Dec. '20. (16.) + **Opal Flagon. Scr. Oct., '20. (68:446.) + +"DOST, ZAMIN KI" (WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG.) _See_ COMFORT, WILL LEVINGTON + _and_ DOST, ZAMIN KI. + +DOUGLAS, FORD. (_See 1920._) (_H._) + Heel of Achilles. S.S. Mar. (29.) + +DOWST, HENRY PAYSON. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Runt. S.E.P. Oct. 9, '20. (30.) + Sawmiller's Job. S.E.P. Feb. 19. (12.) + Whip Hand. S.E.P. Dec. 18, '20. (12.) + +DREISER, THEODORE. (1871- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + **Chains. L. St. Dec., '20. (3.) + *Phantom Gold. L. St. Feb. (3.) + +DU BOIS, THEODORA. + Devils and Four Gold Cups. Cen. June. (102:252.) + Sieve. Met. June. (16.) + +DUFF, NELLIE BROWNE. + Golden Gown. Am. May. (50.) + +DUGAN, FRANCES DORWIN. + *Outsider. Mid. Aug. (7:297.) + +DUNN, JOSEPH ALLAN. (1872- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Smuggler's House. Ev. Feb. (63.) + +DURAND, MRS. ALBERT C. _See_ SAWYER, RUTH. + +DUTTON, LOUISE ELIZABETH. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Breaking Up. S.E.P. Sept. 17. (14.) + Dream Tree. S.E.P. Apr. 9. (10.) + Three of a Kind. S.E.P. June 11. (14.) + +DWYER, JAMES FRANCIS. (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Berries of the Bittersweet. W.H.C. June. (7.) + "Cath." W.H.C. Mar. (7.) + *Goliath Gamble and Fate. Ain. Jan. (41.) + *Herb Woman. Hol. Nov., '20. (7.) + Miss Thistledown and Mr. Tinker. W.H.C. May. (14.) + *They Came to Ophir. Col. June 4. (9.) + +DYER, WALTER ALDEN. (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Elijah and the Widow. Del. Jul. (22.) + + +E + +EARLS, S.J. MICHAEL. + Shadow Before. Cath. W. June. (113:366.) + +EASTMAN, REBECCA HOOPER. (_See 1915, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Great American Husband. S.E.P. (Oct. 23, '20.) (16.) + Man Trap. S.S. Dec., '20. (27.) + Yellow Tree. G.H. Nov., '20. (30.) + +EATON, WALTER PRICHARD. (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + (_H._) + Auction Hounds. Del. Jan. (8.) + Miss Agatha's Gardener. Del. Aug. (5.) + Procrastinated Christmas. Chic. Trib. Dec. 19, '20. + Two in the Town. Del. Feb. (4.) + Uses of Adversity. Del. Sept. (10.) + +EDENS, OLIVE. + Her Secret and His. Met. Feb. (25.) + In Place of God. McC. Mar. (32.) + +EDGAR, RANDOLPH. (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + Simple Saga. N.M. Feb. 9. (125:635.) + +EDMONDSON, K.T. + Green Cord. S.S. Jan. (45.) + +"ELDERLY SPINSTER." (MARGARET WILSON.) (1882- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Speaking of Careers. Asia. Jul. (21:575.) + *Waste. Atl. Feb. (127:180.) + +ELKIN, MARCIA. + Butterfly so Bright. Am. Jan. (38.) + Order of the Garter. W.H.C. Jul. (22.) + +ELLERBE, ALMA MARTIN ESTABROOK. (1871- .) _and_ ELLERBE, PAUL LEE. (_See + 1915 under_ ESTABROOK, ALMA MARTIN; _1917 under_ ELLERBE, ALMA + ESTABROOK; _1919 under_ ELLERBE, ALMA MARTIN, _and_ ELLERBE, PAUL + LEE; 1920.) (_See "H." under_ ELLERBE, PAUL LEE.) + Mrs. Franklin. Col. Jul. 2. (12.) + +ELLERBE, ALMA _and_ ELLERBE, PAUL. + Pound Calico. Sun. Sept. (17.) + When the Ice Went Out. Sun. May. (28.) + +ELLERBE, ROSA L. (_See 1917, 1920._) (_H._) + Cyclone. Chic. Trib. Aug. 21. + +ENDERS, GORDON. + *Danzy. Asia. Oct., '20. (20:871.) + +ENGLAND, GEORGE ALLAN. (1877- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + Fifty-Fifty. S.E.P. Mar. 19. (20.) + Girl Across the Way. McCall. June. (10.) + +ESTY, ANNETTE. + Play-Acting. Scr. Apr. (69:491.) + +EVANS, FRANK E. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1920._) (_H._) + Grandstand Player, Red Bk. Nov., '20. (69.) + Hip! Hip! Red Bk. Oct., '20. (87.) + +EVANS, IDA MAY. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Her Place in the Sun. Cos. Jan. (53.) + Loves Between. Cos. Jul. (93.) + Valencia Comes a Cropper. G.H. Dec., '20. (26.) + +EVARTS, HAL G. (_See 1920._) + Glutton. S.E.P. June 25. (10.) + Last Move. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (86.) + Savagery. Red Bk. Jan. (44.) + Swamp Colony, S.E.P. May 14. (9.) + Traveling Otter. S.E.P. Apr. 23 (8.) + Vanishing Squadron. Red Bk. Aug. (55.) + + +F + +FAHNESTOCK, MRS. WALLACE WEIR. _see_ HUMPHREY, (HARRIET) ZEPHINE. + +FARNHAM, MATEEL HOWE. (_See 1920._) (_H._) + Fat of the Land. Del. Mar. (13) + Little Matter of Business. W.H.C. Jul. (14.) + Million-Dollar Invitation. W.H.C. Nov., '20. (9.) + +FELLOM, JAMES. + Celestial Chattel. Pict. R. May (12.) + +FERBER, EDNA. (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Not a Day Over Twenty-One. Col. Aug. 13. (3.) + +FERGUSON, CHARLES A. + Passing of the Chief. Cath. W. Apr. (113:83.) + +FIELD, DOROTHY LLEWELLYN FIELD. + It Can Be Done. Ev. Feb. (40) + +FIELD, FLORA. (_See 1918, 1920._) + Mister Montague's Premises. Del. May. (15.) + +FINGER, CHARLES J. (1871- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) + ***Derailment of Train No. 16. A.W. Sept. (1:196.) + *Liar. A.W. Feb. (1:47.) + ***Lizard God. A.W. Dec., '20. (10.) Cur. O. May. (623.) + **Some Mischievous Thing. (_R._) A.W. May. (1:118.) + *Tale of the Far South. A.W. June. (1:145.) + +FISHER, DOROTHEA FRANCES CANFIELD. _See_ CANFIELD, DOROTHY. + +FISHER, SALLY. + Rose Dupré's Escape. Del. Jan. (15.) + +FITZGERALD, FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. (_See 1920._) + His Russet Witch. Met. Feb. (11.) + Jelly-Bean. Met. Oct., '20. (15.) + *Lees of Happiness. Chic. Trib. Dec. 12, '20. + Tarquin of Cheapside. S.S. Feb. (43.) + +FITZGERALD, HENRY. (_See 1915._) + Tale of the Chase. S.S. Sept. (105.) + +FITZHERBERT, N.V. + A B C's of a Man. Pag. Aug. Sept. (49.) + +FLANDRAN, GRACE HODGSON. (_See 1918, 1920._) + Rubies in Crystal. S.S. June. (65.) + Terry Sees Red. Harp. M. Dec., '20. (142:18.) + +FLANNER, JANET. + In Transit and Return. Cen. Oct., '20. (100:801.) + +FLEISCHMAN, LEON. + Fly. Con. Apr. (101:768.) + +FOLSOM, ELIZABETH IRONS. (1876- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Along the White Road. Hear. Jul. (49.) + *Masterpiece. Met. Jan. (32.) + *Mrs. Charles Grimes. Sun. Oct., '20. (33.) + *Pitch. Met. Dec., '20. (17.) + What Opened Jerry's Eyes to Bertha. Am. Oct., '20. (39.) + +FOOTE, JOHN TAINTOR. (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Fowl Disaster. Col. Mar. 19. (12.) + Soft Craws. S.E.P. Jul. 23. (8.) + Spirit Dope. Am. Oct., '20. (57.) + +FORRESTER, IZOLA L. (_See 1918 under_ FORRESTER, IZOLA L. _and_ PAGE, + MANN; _see_ "_H._" _under_ FORRESTER, IZOLA L.) + Christmas Highwayman. Del. Dec., '20. (16.) + Eyes of Angels. Del. Aug. (20.) + His Own Vineyard. Del. Oct., '20. (20.) + Leaven of Love. Del. Nov., '20. (14.) + +FORSYTH, LOUISE. (_See 1918._) + *Initiation. Cen. Nov., '20. (101: 81.) + +FORTUNE, MARGARET EMMANUEL. + Yolanda Comes and Goes. Sun. Jul. (42.) + +FOSTER, HARRY L. + Bradley's Wife. Met. Aug. (30.) + +FOSTER, MARY. (_See 1919._) + Maragh of the Silent Valley. Cath. W. Mar. (112: 771.) + +FOX, PAUL HERVEY. (_See 1917, 1918._) + Grand Passion. S.S. Feb. (65.) + Last Picture. S.S. Dec., '20. (63.) + +FRANK, WALDO. (1890- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) + **Under the Dome. Dial. Oct., '20. (69:329.) + +FRASER, W(ILLIAM) A(LEXANDER). (1859- .) (_H._) + Delilah. S.E.P. June 11. (10.) + Static. S.E.P. Apr. 23. (5.) + Who Laughs Last. S.E.P. Jul. 9. (16.) + +FREDERICK, JUSTUS GEORGE. (1882- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + "I Love You Exclamation Point." Ev. Mar. (53.) + +FUESSLE, NEWTON A. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + Cheaters. S.S. Mar. (61.) + +FULLERTON, HUGH STEWART. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + "Pay to T. Hartley, Good Sport, $10,000." Am. Nov., '20. (40.) + Triple Cross. Col. Nov. 27, '20. (5.) + + +G + +GAITHER, RICE. + Then Came Sue. W.H.C. Mar. (11.) + +GALE, ZONA. (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + "Patches." W.H.C. Mar. (9.) + +GARRETT, GARET. (1878- .) (_See 1917, 1920._) + Luck Lepee's Tale. S.E.P. Mar. 26. (14.) + Wall Street Baptism. S.E.P. Jan. 15. (23.) + +GASCH, MARIE MANNING. _See_ MANNING, MARIE. + +GATLIN, DANA. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Altar Fires. Cos. Aug. (103.) + Dark Man in Her Future. Cos. Feb. (27.) + Martyr's Crown. G.H. Feb. (58.) + Not a Marrying Man. Cos. Apr. (53.) + Old Home Town. Cos. Sept. (36.) + Out of the Forest. McCall. Nov., '20. (9.) + Royal Unrepentant. Cos. Nov., '20. (61.) + +GELZER, JAY. (_See 1920._) + *Flower of the Flock. Cos. Aug. (73.) + +GEROULD, KATHARINE FULLERTON. (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + ***French Eva. Scr. Nov., '20. (68:549.) + **Keeper of the Gate. Ev. May. (74.) + +GERRY, MARGARITA SPALDING. (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1920._) (_H._) + ***"To Meet His Majesty." Harp. M. Jul. (143:233.) + +GIBSON, STUART. + Dainty Marie. McCall. Feb. (6.) + +GIESY, JOHN ULRICH. (1877- .) (_See 1917._) + *Beyond the Violet. Arg. Nov. 27, '20. (128:118.) + +GIFFORD, FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS. (MRS. AUGUSTUS MCKINSTRY GIFFORD.) + (1884- .) (_H._) + **"New England." Atl. Apr. (127:505.) + +GILBERT, GEORGE. (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Devil of the Pool. Sun. Apr. (16.) + Man Who Was Strangely Tempted. Am. Oct., '20. (21.) + "Most Wise! Most Subtle!" Sun. Feb. (17.) + +GILBERT, MORRIS. + Bitter Moment. S.S. May. (19.) + +GILKYSON, T. WALTER. + **Illumined Moment. Atl. Apr. (127:458.) + +GIRARDEAU, CLAUDE M. (_See 1915._) + Opal Amulet. Harp. B. Oct., '20. (62.) + +GLASGOW, ELLEN (ANDERSON GHOLSON). (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) + ***The Past. G.H. Oct., '20. (64.) + +GLASPELL, SUSAN (KEATING). (MRS. GEORGE CRAM COOK.) (1882- .) (_See 1915, + 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + ***His Smile. Pict. R. Jan. (15.) + +GLASS, MONTAGUE MARSDEN. (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1920._) (_H._) + *Keeping Expenses Down. Hear. Aug. (10.) + Never Begin with Lions. Hear. June. (13.) + Sixth McNally. Hear. May. (13.) + Squaring Mr. Turkeltaub. Cos. Oct., '20. (17.) + +GODFREY, WINONA. (1877- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Quintin and the Quince. Am. Feb. 29. + Tarradiddle. Sun. Nov., '20. (50.) + Webs. Sun. Oct., '20. (74.) + +GOETCHIUS, MARIE LOUISE. _See_ "RUTLEDGE MARYSE." + +GOODFELLOW, DOROTHY. + Camel-Driver. McCall. May. (13.) + +GOODLOE, ABBIE CARTER. (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Talisman. Scr. Sept. (70:337.) + +GOODMAN, HENRY. + *Faith and Jack London. Book. (N.Y.) Sept. (54:13.) + +GOULD, F. + Baby Vamp. S.S. Sept. (91.) + +GRACE, JULIA H. + "Doit" Case. A.W. Apr. (1:93.) + +GRAEVE, OSCAR. (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Change. S.E.P. Jul. 9. (10.) + Stars. S.E.P. Jan. 22. (33.) + +GRANT, MRS. ETHEL WATTS-MUMFORD. _See_ MUMFORD, ETHEL WATTS. + +GRAVES, LOUIS. (_See 1915, 1920._) (_H._) + Menton Marvel. Met. Oct., '20. (28.) + +GRAY, DAVID. (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Self-Determination with the Lenoxes. S.E.P. May 14. (5.) + +GREIG, ALGERNON. (_See 1920._) + Isn't it Funny?--But It's True! Met. Nov., '20. (21.) + Scrambled Eggs. Met. Dec., '20. (20.) + +GREY, ZANE. (1875- .) (_H._) + Great Slave. L.H.J. Dec., '20. (10.) + +GRIGGS, VETA HURST. + Call It What You Please. Ev. Apr. (70.) + +GWYNNE, BERTHA LOWRY. + Rose Mary Garland. W.H.C. Feb. (20.) + + +H + +HAINES, DONAL HAMILTON. (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Three Swallows, Clear! S.S. Jan. (61.) + +HALL, AMANDA BENJAMIN. + Bubble of Bliss. S.S. Feb. (25.) + Eye of the Beholder. S.S. Mar. (103.) + Fortunes of Mr. Finn. S.S. Sept. (51.) + Sunday. S.S. Aprl. (57.) + +HALL, HERSCHEL S. (_See 1919 under_ HALL, H.S., _1920._) + Kick. S.E.P. Oct. 16, '20. (16.) + Prospectors. S.E.P. Jan. 29. (5.) + +"HALL, HOLWORTHY." (HAROLD EVERETT PORTER.) (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, + 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Fog of Orleans. McC. Feb. (16.) + Freddie the Fifth. Harp. B. Feb. (44.) + His Dear Cassandra. McC. Nov. '20. (13.) + Ironies. Chic. Trib. Oct. 17, '20. + Madam President. Cos. June. (29.) + Man Who Wouldn't Be Told. Cos. Aug. (89.) + Miss Nemesis. McC. Sept. (8.) + Mopus. Pict. R. May. (24.) + Runner-Up. Col. Mar. 5. (5.) + Target. L.H.J. Feb. (10.) + Turtle's Head. McCall. Aug. (8.) + +HALL, WILBUR (JAY). (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Americanization of Jonesy. Sun. Aug. (48.) + Communism in Shadow Valley. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (78.) + Stringer Blood. S.E.P. June 25. (12.) + +HALLET, RICHARD MATTHEWS. (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + **Bluebeard Shadrach. S.E.P. Mar. 20, '20. (20.) + ***Harbor Master. Harp. M. June. (143:36.) Jul. (143:198.) + *Mountain and Mahomet. Harp. M. Nov., '20. (141:735.) + **Whale of a Story. Pict. R. Nov., '20. (20.) + +HAMBY, WILLIAM HENRY. (1875- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Dance of the Clog-Footed. Ev. Oct., '20. (45.) + +HAMILTON, GERTRUDE BROOKE. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Finette of the Streets. Par. Nov., '20. (43.) + Thunderstorm. G.H. Sept. (24.) + +HAMILTON, H.M. + Devil à la Mode. Pag. Mar.-Apr. (23.) + +HAMPTON, EDGAR LLOYD. (_See 1916, 1920._) + Rolling Stone. Sun. Nov., '20. (43.) + +HANSON, NELL. + *Jimsie of Kilmack. Rom. Oct., '20. (3.) + +HARDY, ARTHUR SHERBURNE. (1847- .) (_See 1916, 1920._) (_H._) + *Comedy at the Prefecture. Harp. M. Feb. (142:339.) + **Tragedy on the Upper Snake River. Scr. Jul. (70:53.) + +HARLOWE, B. + Freud _vs._ William B. Thompkin. S.S. Feb. (109.) + +HARRIS, KENNETT. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Birds in Their Little Nests. S.E.P. Jul. 16. (5.) + Junk. S.E.P. Dec. 25, '20. (16.) + Peacock-Blue Album. S.E.P. Dec. 18, '20. (15.) + Pest and the Pie-Dough Cake. S.E.P. Feb. 12. (8.) + Roland Stoops to Conquer. S.E.P. Apr. 2. (3.) + +HART, FRANCES NOYES. + **Contact. Pict. R. Dec., '20. (16.) + ***Green Gardens. Scr. Jul. (70:24.) + +HATCH, LEONARD. (_See 1915, 1920._) (_H._) + Something Desperate. W.H.C. Dec., '20. (15.) + Sunny Side of Nineteen. Ev. Aug. (23.) + +HAWLEY, J.B. (_See 1920._) + Friendship. S.S. June. (111.) + Sacred Story. S.S. Jan. (113.) + +HAWTHORNE, CHRISTOPHER. + Disappearing Statues. S.S. Oct., '20. (27.) + +HECHT, BEN. (1896- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Bomb Thrower. Little Review. Sept.-Dec. (18.) + +HENDERSON, GERTRUDE. (_H._) + World Without End. Atl. Jul. (128:82.) + +"HENRY, O." (WILLIAM SYDNEY PORTER.) (1867-1910.) (_H._) + *Shamrock and the Palm. (_R._) Ain. Sept. (141.) + +HERGESHEIMER, JOSEPH. (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + **Beyond the Bridge. S.E.P. Dec. 11, '20. (5.) + *Early Americans. S.E.P. Aug. 27. (8.) + *Juju. S.E.P. Jul. 30. (5.) + **Scarlet Ibis. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20. (5.) + *Sprig of Lemon Verbena. S.E.P. Sept. 17. (8.) + +HICKS, JANE. + Aspiring Becky Pye. Met. Sept. (56.) + +HILL, FLORENCE BRUSH. + Buds. Pag. Aug.-Sept. (31.) + +HILLIS, RICHARD DWIGHT. (_See 1918._) + Reform of Leadpipe Neumann. Met. Sept. (31.) + Stateroom on Deck "A." Met. May. (28.) + +HILLYARD, ANNA BRANSON. + Love Laughs. W.H.C. Feb. (15.) + +HINTON, LEONARD. (_See 1915._) + Teacup. S.S. Apr. (73.) + +HOLDING, ELIZABETH SANXAY. (_See 1920._) + *Marie's View of It. Cen. Dec., '20. (101:210.) + Mollie, The Ideal Nurse. Cen. Jan. (101:326.) + +HOLLINGSWORTH, CEYLON. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Blood and Bacon. Col. Mar. 12. (9.) + I Ain't a Coward, Maw. Col. May 14. (9.) + Love and Sediment. Col. Feb. 12. (12.) + +HOLLOWAY, WILLIAM. (_See 1915, 1916._) + Follow Through. Cen. Feb. (101:509.) + +HOLT, HENRY. + Mystic Swab. Met. Sept. (34.) + +HOPPER, JAMES (MARIE). (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Flash Molloy. Cos. Aug. (69.) + **Little Cave-Boy. Ev. Jan. (67.) + *Sculptor and His Wife. Cos. June. (81.) + +HORTON, CHARLES M. (_H._) + *Miguel Arrieta. Scr. Oct., '20. (68:491.) + +HOSTETTER, VAN VECHTEN. (_See 1920._) + Escape. S.S. Oct., '20. (109.) + +HOUSTON, MARGARET BELLE. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Atmosphere. L.H.J. Mar. (3.) + +HOWARD, SIDNEY. + **Stars in Their Courses. Col. Nov. 6, '20. (5.) + +HOWLAND, HENRY C. + Chimney. S.E.P. May 7. (21.) + +HUBBARD, GEORGE, _and_ THOMPSON, LILLIAN BENNET --. _See_ THOMPSON, + LILLIAN BENNET -- _and_ HUBBARD, GEORGE. + +HUGHES, RUPERT. (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Love the Subliculous. Cos. Oct., '20. (71.) + Wallflower. Col. Sept. 10. (3.) + *When Crossroads Cross Again. Col. Jan. 29. (5.) + +HULL, ALEXANDER. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Gray Valley. Scr. Nov., '20. (68:607.) + Letty, the Grabber. Am. Jan. (13.) + Winner. Am. June. (39.) + Youth and Mr. Forrest. L.H.J. May. (12.) + +HULL, HELEN R. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Men of Their Race. Touch. Oct., '20. (8:1.) + *Waiting. Touch. Feb. (8:346.) + +HUMPHREY, (HARRIETTE) ZEPHINE. (MRS. WALLACE WEIR FAHNESTOCK.) (1874- .) + (_See 1915, 1916._) + Return. Del. Nov., '20. (15.) + +HUNT, FRAZIER. (1885- .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + Lightning Flashes Around the World. Col. Apr. 2. (12.) + Nice and White and Innocent. Col. May 7. (9.) + Tea Stands for Tokyo. Col. Apr. 23 (7.) + Tell It to the Marines. Col. May 21. (12.) + Where Lightning Strikes. Col. July 2. (11.) + +HUNTER, REX. + Wild Eyes. A.W. Sept. (1:221.) + +HURST, FANNIE. (1889- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + **"Guilty." Cos. Feb. (14.) + **Roulette. Cos. May. (18.) + ***She Walks in Beauty. Cos. Aug. (28.) + +HUSSEY, L.M. (_See 1919, 1920._) + *Husband of Carmen Maria. Cen. Jan. (101:346.) + **Lost Art. S.S. Oct., '20. (69.) + Saint of Valera. S.S. Sept. (109.) + Twilight of a God. S.S. May (63.) + *Ugliest Woman on the Boardwalk. S.S. Nov., '20. (63.) + + +I + +IMRIE, WALTER MCLAREN. (_See 1919._) + *Faith. S.S. Jan. (101.) + ***Remembrance. Mid. Oct., '20. (6:182.) + +IRWIN, WALLACE. (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Hickory Dickory Dock. McC. May. (8.) + Old School. Pict. R. Apr. (6.) + Only One. McC. Oct., '20. (30.) + Silver Heels. S.E.P. June 18. (5.) + Sophie Semenoff. S.E.P. Nov. 27, '20. (10.) + Who's Who. S.E.P. Apr. 9. (14.) + +IRWIN, WILL(IAM HENRY). (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Cassidy's Job. S.E.P. Sept. 17. (12.) + Tom. S.E.P. Jan. 22. (12.) + Round Turn. S.E.P. Aug. 13. (12.) + Uses of Calamity. S.E.P. Sept. 3. (14.) + Woman Inside. S.E.P. Dec., '20 (12.) + +ISH-KISHOR, SULAMITH. + Roofs of Dhoum. S.S. Apr. (95.) + + +J + +JACKSON, SELBY. + Chasm. Sun. Feb. (46.) + +JENKINS, N.W. + Seeing Hearts. W.H.C. Dec., '20. (16.) + +JOHN, W.A.P. (_See 1920._) + Frisky Whisky. S.E.P. Sept. 24. (14.) + +"JOHN O' GATHAM." + Acknowledgment. Met. Nov., '20. (29.) + +JOHNSON, ALVIN SAUNDERS. (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Object Matrimony. S.S. July. (83.) + +JOHNSON, OLIVE MCCLINTIC. (_See 1920._) + De Nation's Bu'ffday. Col. July 9. (9.) + First Kind Word. Col. Sept. 3. (7.) + Infatuation. Col. Jan. 22. (5.) + Insane Truth. Col. Oct. 9, '20. (7.) + Isn't Nature Wonderful! Col. Feb. 26. (7.) + +JOHNSON, OWEN (MCMAHON). (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) + Bathtub King. Hear. Apr. (17.) + Girl They Loved. Hear. June. (22.) + Mosquito-Proof Socks. Hear. Sept. (39.) + +JOHNSTON, CALVIN. (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Mr. Bliven's Day of Fate. Sun. Nov., '20. (22.) + *Temple Dusk. S.E.P. Oct. 16, '20. (3.) + +JONES, ALICIA. + **First Sorrowful Mystery. Mid. Jan. (7:1.) + +JONES, HOWARD MUMFORD. (_See 1919._) + At the Pool of Bethesda. S.S. Mar. (49.) + Concerto in A-Flat. S.S. Apr. (99.) + **Drigsby's Universal Regulator. Mid. Nov., '20. (6:157.) + +JONES, WALTER. (_H._) + Boob's Progress. McC. Dec., '20. (6.) + Framed for Broadway. McC. Nov., '20. (10.) + Nanny. Cos. Oct., '20. (37.) + Vampires Ahoy! McC. May. (24.) + +JORDAN, ELIZABETH (GARVER). (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + His Son's Wife. W.H.C. May. (7.) + Miss Mary Smith. Chic. Trib. July 10. + Rev. Archie Reconstructs. Chic. Trib. Nov. 28, '20. + Tears of Dorothea. Chic. Trib. Sept. 4. + +JORDAN, KATE (MRS. F.M. VERMILYE). (_See 1915, 1920._) + On Margin. S.E.P. Dec. 11, '20. (13.) + +JULIUS, EMANUEL HALDEMAN --. (1888- .) _and_ JULIUS, MRS. EMANUEL + HALDEMAN --. (_See 1919, 1920._) (_See 1917, 1918 under_ JULIUS, + EMANUEL HALDEMAN.) + Unworthy Coopers. Atl. May. (127:614.) + + +K + +KAHLER, HUGH MACNAIR. (_See 1917, 1919, 1920._) + Allie Rebsoll's Better Self. S.E.P. Mar. 19. (12.) + Commune, Limited. S.E.P. Apr. 30. (16.) + *Davy Corbutt's Brother. S.E.P. May 28. (14.) + East Wind. S.E.P. Oct., 23, '20. (3.) + Failure. L.H.J. Jan. (5.) + Fool's First. S.E.P. Nov. 20, '20. (12.) + Like a Tree. S.E.P. Jan. 22. (5.) + Number One. S.E.P. Mar. 5. (5.) + Once a Peddler. S.E.P. Sept. 3. (6.) + Oppressor. S.E.P. June 25. (14.) + Pink Sheep. S.E.P. Dec. 4, '20. (14.) + Playboy. Ev. Mar. (5.) + Unbowed. S.E.P. Dec. 25, '20. (5.) + +KEIL, ESTHER W. + Divorced. Cath. W. Nov., '20. (195.) + +KELLAND, CLARENCE BUDINGTON. (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Conflict. Red Bk. Aug. (65.) + Grandma Cutcheon--Detective. Am. Jan. (30.) + Scattergood and the Missing Organ Fund. Am. Mar. (31.) + Scattergood and the Tongue of Gossip. Am. Feb. (21.) + Scattergood Baits a Hook. Am. Sept. (21.) + Scattergood Buys a Church. Am. June. (21.) + With the Help of the Duke. Chic. Trib. Nov. 7, '20. + +KELLOGG, VERNON LYMAN. _See_ "VERNON, MAX." + +KENNON, HARRY B. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Amber Door. A.W. Jan. (1:10.) + Dvorak Op. 101, No. 7. A.W. Mar. (1:63.) + My Seat on the Aisle. A.W. July. (1:163.) + +KENTY, GERTRUDE SNOW. + Grandmother's Shoes. W.H.C. Apr. (15.) + +KEON, GRACE. + Partners. Cath. W. Oct. '20. (74.) + +KERR, SOPHIE. (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_See "H." under_ UNDERWOOD, SOPHIE KERR.) + Beach Comber. L.H.J. Jan. (10.) + Girl Who Hated Her Mother. Del. Sept. (12.) + Home Brew. Met. June. (14.) + Smashed-To-Bits Heart. W.H.C. June. (11.) + Talker. McC. Aug. (21.) + Wild Earth. S.E.P. Apr. 2. (10.) + +KILBOURNE, FANNIE ("MARY ALEXANDER."). (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1920, + under_ KILBOURNE, FANNIE, _and 1917 under_ ALEXANDER, MARY.) + Any Other Girl Can Tell. L.H.J. Mar. (8.) + Cinderella Dyes Them Black. Am. June. (31.) + Corner on William. L.H.J. Nov., '20. (18.) + Cupid Takes Up Advertising. S.E.P. Jul. 2. (10.) + Magic. Del. Nov., '20. (10.) + May Magic. S.E.P. Jul. 30. (12.) + Office Beauty. L.H.J. June. (8.) + Oh, yes--Nora Understood Men! Am. Nov., '20. (54.) + Phyllis Tills the Soil. L.H.J. Sept. (14.) + Red-Haired Girl Can Always Get a Man. L.H.J. Oct., '20. (14.) + Sunny Goes Home. S.E.P. May 7. (10.) + William Learns All About Women. Am. Aug. (21.) + +KILMAN, JULIAN. + Bookman. Atl. Feb. (127:214.) + +KING, ELIZABETH R. + Hard-Hearted Wretch. S.E.P. Oct. 16, '20. (20.) + +KIRK, R.G. (_See 1917._) + Malloy Campeador. S.E.P. Sept. 17. (3.) + +"KIRKLAND, JEANNE." (_See 1920._) + Boomerang of Conscience. Pag. Aug.-Sept. (24.) + +KITTREDGE, H.C. + *Undiscovered Country. Atl. Nov., '20. (126:646.) + +KLINE, BURTON. (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Another Football of Fate. Chic. Trib. Nov. 21. '20. + *Forgotten Goddess. Red Bk. Aug.(45) + +KLING, JOSEPH. + Discretion. Pag. Jan.-Feb. (31.) + +KOMROFF, MANUEL. (_See 1919, 1920._) + ***Little Master of the Sky. Dial. Apr. (70:386.) + +KORNGOLD, RALPH. + Father and Son. A.W. July, (1:166.) + +KOVEN, JOSEPH. + Hammid Hassan, Camel-Driver. Asia. Dec., '20. (20:1087.) + +KRAMER, EDGAR D. + *Hero. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '20. (29.) + +KRYSTO, CHRISTINA. (1887- .) (_See 1917, 1918._) + *Star-Dust. Atl. Mar. (127:315.) + +KUMMER, FREDERICK ARNOLD. (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1919._) (_H._) + Lantern of Diogenes. L.H.J. Nov., '20. (187.) + Other Wife. Cos. June. (22.) + Woman Outside. Cos. Apr. (65.) + Woman Who Ate Up a Man. Cos. July. (58.) + +KYNE, PETER BERNARD. (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) + Evil Genius. Cos. Oct., '20. (53.) + + +L + +LAINE, A.T. + Not "Seen." Met. June. (36.) + +LARDNER, RING W. (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Battle of Long Island. S.E.P. Nov. 27. '20. (12.) + Comic. S.E.P. May 14. (12.) + Frame-Up. S.E.P. June 18. (14.) + Only One. S.E.P. Feb. 12. (5.) + +LASKER, LOUISE. + Beatrice Henderson. Pict. R. July. (24.) + +LAUFERTY, LILIAN. (_See 1919._) + Cherry Ripe. Cos. Feb. (59.) + Some Men Are Like That. Cos. July. (99.) + +LAUGHLIN, CLARA ELIZABETH. (1873- .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + Junior and Junior's Mate. Met. May. (14.) + +LAWRENCE, EMMA. (MRS. JOHN S. LAWRENCE.) + *At Thirty. Atl. Sept. (128:364.) + +LAZAR, MAURICE. (_See 1917, 1920._) + Legal and Sufficient. S.S. Aug. (123.) + +LEA, FANNIE HEASLIP. (MRS. H.P. AGEE.) (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, + 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Beach-Comber. G.H. Jul. (20.) + Friendship at Least. S.E.P. Apr. 30. (5.) + Gleam. Del. Dec., '20. (15) + In Every Port. G.H. May. (53.) + Just the Right People. McC. Oct., '20. (16.) + Mary Is Here. Chic. Trib. Jan. 30. + Old Flame. G.H. Oct., '20 (8.) + One Flesh. Del. Aug. (12.) + One or Two Women. McC. Feb. (30.) + Something Afar. G.H. Feb. (15.) + Unstable. Harp. B. Dec., '20. (54.) + Wild Ginger. McCall. Sept. (9.) + +LEACH, PAUL R. (_See 1920._) + Taps. Col. May 28. (3.) + +LEE, JENNETTE (BARBOUR PERRY). (1860- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1919, 1920._) + **Uncle 'Bijah's Ghost. Pict. R. July. (10.) + +LEE, MUNA. (_See 1915, 1920._) + Quarrel. S.S. June. (63.) + +LENGEL, WILLIAM C. + Stopover Privileges. Hear. Aug. (45.) + +LEONARD, ORVILLE H. + *Alone at Tiger Gulch. W. St. June 18. (69.) + *Chef for the Yellow Bar. W. St. July 9. (76.) + *Drybones. W. St. Feb. 26. (34.) + *For Ridin' Like a Fool W. St. May 7. (76.) + *Hot Grit. W. St. June 4. (28.) + *In Spite of Himself. W. St. July 30. (77.) + *Lebaudy Starts for Lonesome Gulch. W. St. Apr. 23. (64.) + *Old-Timer's Hunch. W. St. Apr. 9. (127.) + *Rebranded. W. St. Mar. 5. (124.) + *Schooled in the West. W. St. Mar. 12. (130.) + *Soaked and Dried. W. St. Feb. 5. (120.) + *Water Boy. W. St. Apr. 30. (39.) + +"LESSING, BRUNO" (RUDOLPH BLOCK). (1870- .) (_See 1916, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Baron's Bridge. Hear. Apr. (50.) + Business Is Business. McC. Apr. (25.) + Cave Man Stuff. Hear. Oct.,'20. (48.) + Echo from Bohemia. Hear. Mar. (50.) + From Him That Hath Not. McC. Nov. '20. (29.) + Greatest Man In Kenashee. Hear. May (52.) + Honor of Poli. Hear. July. (54.) Aug. (56.) + Lure of Love and Lucre. Hear. Jan. (52.) + Nine and One. Hear. Sept. (50.) + One That Lost. Hear. Feb. (52.) + Peach by Any Other Name. Hear. Dec., '20. (52.) + Thoroughbred. Chic. Trib. May 8. + Truth or Nothing. Hear. Nov., '20. (52.) + +LEVICK, MILES. (_See 1919, 1920._) + *Calla Lillies. S.S. Feb. (121.) + *Gold Dragon. S.S. Dec., '20. (117.) + +LEVISON, ERIC. (_See 1917, 1918, 1920._) + *Coat for Jacob. T.T. Oct., '20. (85.) + +LEWARS, ELSIE SINGMASTER. _See_ SINGMASTER, ELSIE. + +LEWIS, ORLANDO FAULKLAND. (1873- .) (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Get-Away. Red Bk. Feb. (78.) + In the Midst of Life. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (58.) + It's a Long Lane. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (87.) + Sparks That Flash in the Night. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (53.) + +LEWIS, OSCAR. (_See 1916, 1920._) + Paula. S.S. Mar. (121.) + *Yesterday's Leaves. S.S. Aug. (69.) + +LEWIS, SINCLAIR. (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + *Citizen of the Mirage. Red Bk. May. (47.) + Good Sport. S.E.P. Dec. 11, '20. (9.) + Matter of Business. Harp. M. Mar. (142:419.) + Number Seven to Sagapoose. Am. May. (20.) + *Post-Mortem Murder. Cen. May. (102:1.) + +LIEBE, HAPSBURG. (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Pal to Jim Lane. Col. July 23. (11.) + Trimmed and Burning. Col. Sept. 10. (12.) + +LINCOLN, JOSEPH C(ROSBY). (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + "Injun" Control. Cos. Nov., '20. (57.) + +LISTER, WALTER B. + Courage. S.S. Aug. (87.) + +LIVINGSTONE, FLORENCE BINGHAM. (_See 1920._) + Christmas Dimes, Limited. McCall. Dec., '20. (14.) + Keep Your Ego, Jeremiah! McCall. June. (16.) + Lettie Clears the Decks. McCall. Nov., '20. (16.) + Lettie on the Firing Line. McCall. Feb. (18.) + Silk Hangings. McCall. Mar. (16.) + +LOCKWOOD, MARION WARD. + Unbuilt Houses. McCall. Mar. (8.) + +LOCKWOOD, SCAMMON. _(See 1916, 1920.)_ + **One Kiss in Paradise. Ain. Nov. '20. (48.) + +LONG, E. WALDO. + Old Sam and the Dollar Mule. Am. Aug. (46.) + +LORING, EMILIE. + Box from Nixon's. W.H.C. May. (9.) + +LOWE, CORINNE. (_See 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Psycho-Anne. S.E.P. May 21. (10.) + +LUDWIG, FRANCES A. (_See 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Doing Without Mother. Am. Oct., '20. (50.) + Girl Who Changed Her Mind. Am. Nov., '20. (21.) + +LUEHRMANN, ADELE. + Lurania Mystery. McCall. Nov., '20. (6.) + +LUTHER, MARK LEE. (1872- .) (_H._) + Something Different. Red Bk. Jan. (73.) + + +M + +MABIE, LOUISE KENNEDY. (_See 1915, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Bird of Paradise. L.H.J. Apr. (8.) + Does Mr. Broderick Fail? L.H.J. Oct., '20. (22.) + +MCCASLIN, DAVIDA. + *To Remove Mountains. Mid. Feb. (7:67.) + +MCCREA, MARION. (_See 1918, 1920._) + Advertise For Him! Met. May. (33.) + Use Crystalsweet. Cos. Dec., '20. (79.) + +MCCUTCHEON, GEORGE BARR. (1866- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Sporting Chance. Chic. Trib. Sept. 18. + +MCELLIOTT, MABEL. + Ennui. S.S. June. (107.) + Unlucky at Cards. Chic. Trib. Mar. 13. + +MACFARLANE, PETER CLARK. (1871- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Bulls and Buckers. Red Bk. July (84.) + Crossing Up Augustus. Red Bk. Apr. (76.) + Puss or Bear Cat. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (37.) + Taste of Revenge. Red Bk. Mar. (66.) + +MACGOWAN, ALICE (1858- .) _and_ GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE. (1863- .) + _See 1915 under_ COOKE, GRACE MACGOWAN; _1916, 1917 under_ + MACGOWAN, ALICE; _"H" under both heads._ + *Runt. Pict. R. Aug. (24.) + +MACHAR, AENGUS. + Grandmamma. Cath. W. July (113:524.) + +MACHARG, WILLIAM BRIGGS. (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + Mr. Cord. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (83.) + Price of a Party. Cos. Feb. (75.) + Rockhound. Cos. Jan. (58.) + Wildcatter. Cos. Dec., '20. (30.) + +MACKARNESS, KAY. + Happy the Bride. Hear. Dec., '20. (21.) + +MCKAIG, ALEXANDER. + "Picture-Picture." W.H.C. Mar. (19.) + +MACMANUS, SEUMAS. (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Donal o' the Moor. Mag. Nov., '20. (44.) + +MCNUTT, WILLIAM SLAVENS. (_H._) + Kind Deeds. Met. Sept. (29.) + +MACY, J. EDWARD. (_See 1920._) + *Out of the Hurricane. Scr. Aug. (70:232.) + +MAHONEY, JAMES. (_See 1920._) + Hairs of the Occasion. Cen. May. (102:89.) + Wilfred Reginald and the Dark Horse. Cen. Aug. (102:553.) + +MANNERS, GUY. + Man to Man. Red Bk. May. (81.) + +MANNING, MARIE (MRS. HERMAN E. GASCH). (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1920._) (_H._) + Love the Detective. L.H.J. Aug. (6.) + +MARKEY, GENE. (_See 1920._) + Cynthia of the Sonnets. Harp. B. Apr. (54.) + Toujours, Priscilla. Harp. B. Aug. (66.) + +MARQUAND, J.P. + Right That Failed. S.E.P. July 23. (12.) + +MARQUIS, DON (ROBERT PERRY). (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1920._) (_H._) + Healer and the Pentient. Pict. R. Feb. (23.) + *Looney the Mutt. Ev. Jan. 62. + Saddest Man. Red Bk. Aug. (79.) + +MARRIOTT, CRITTENDEN. (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1920._) (_H._) + Those Most Concerned. G.H. Oct., '20. (58.) + +MARSDEN, GRIFFIS. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Two Chairs. S.S. Feb. (85.) + +MARSH, GEORGE T. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *High Brotherhood. Red Bk. Jan. (78.) + Mistake of Mr. Bruette. Red Bk. Mar. (23.) + *Once at Drowning River, Red Bk. Sept. (70.) + +MARSHALL, EDISON. (1894- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) + *Heart of Little Shikara. Ev. Jan. (40.) + Never Kill a Porcupine. Am. Dec., '20. (23.) + +MARTYN, WYNDHAM. (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) + Samuel Perkins, Unable Mariner. Ev. Apr. (54.) + +MARZONI, PETTERSEN. + Kick at the End. Met. June. (34.) + +MASON, GRACE SARTWELL. (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Call It a Day! S.E.P. June 18. (12.) + Connecting Wire. L.H.J. Sept. (12.) + **Glory. Harp. M. Apr. (142:545.) + Peachy Walks the Weary. S.E.P. Apr. 16. (14.) + +MASON, LAURA KENT. + Engaged. S.S. Jan. (123.) + +MAXON, HARRIET. (MRS. GILBERT THAYER.) + ***Kindred. Mid. Jul. (7:260.) + +MAYER, EDWARD B. + Revolt. Pag. June-Jul. (17.) + +MAYNARD, RICHARD FIELD. + P.D.Q. Scr. Apr. (69:450.) + +MEANS, E(LDRED) K(URTZ). (1878- .) (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Head for Business. Mun. Nov., '20. (71:266.) + *Poisoned Pugilism. Mun. June. (73:181.) + *Who's Who and Why. Mun. Feb. (72:66.) + +MELLETT, BERTHE KNATVOLD. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) + Hi! Hippity! Col. Nov. 13, '20. (5.) + It is a Wise Daughter. Col. Feb. 19. (8.) + One Large Picture of Him. Col. Dec. 11, '20. (10.) + Red Mike. Col. Jan. 8. (8.) + Secret Sorrow. Col. Apr. 30. (7.) + Will o' the Wisp. Col. June 4. (14.) + +MERWIN, SAMUEL. (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1920._) (_H._) + Eva on the Ice. S.E.P. Nov. 6, '20. (10.) + Garage of Enchantment. Red Bk. Apr. (27.) + Little Matter of Living. S.E.P. Aug. 13. (5.) + New Platitude. Chic. Trib. Mar. 6. + Old Lost Stars. L.H.J. May. (14.) + Saving Sister. S.E.P. Nov., '20. (8.) + There Are Smiles. McC. Apr. (14.) + Time Out for Granberry. McC. Feb. (18.) + +MILHAM, C.G. + After Twenty Years. Ev. Sept. (147.) + +MILLER, ALICE DUER. (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Give Matrimony a Chance. Red Bk. Jul. (64.) + Protecting Instinct. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (48.) + Woman Who Hated Politics. Red Bk. Jan. (25.) + +MILLER, EVELYN DEWEY. + Highroad to Freedom. Ev. Mar. (71.) + +MILLER, HELEN TOPPING. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) + Fireflies. S.E.P. Feb. 12. (32.) + Marsh Light. S.E.P. Oct. 9, '20. (16.) + Signed--"T.F." W.H.C. Oct., '20. (23.) + *"Two Women ... at a Mill." G.H. May. (18.) + +MILLER, HUGH S. (See 1916.) + Spice of Danger. Scr. Feb. (69:222.) + +MILLER, WARREN H. (1876- .) (_See 1919._) + Ruler the Persistent. Red Bk. Feb. (64.) + +MILLEY, ELEANOR. + Janet's Face. S.S. Apr. (49.) + +MILLS, DOROTHY CULVER. (_See 1918, 1919._) + James to Anita With Love. Del. Dec., '20. (19.) + +MINNIGERODE, MEADE. (_See 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) + Hush Stuff. Col. Feb. 26. (10.) + "Saddest Tale." Col. May 28. (12.) + +MINOR, MARY HEATON VORSE O'BRIEN. _See_ VORSE, MARY (MARVIN) HEATON. + +MITCHELL, RUTH COMFORT. (MRS. SANBORN YOUNG.) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Nebber No Mo'. Del. Oct., '20. (15.) + Ringmaster. W.H.C. Feb. (17.) + Slip'ry Flies Out, L.H.J. Dec., '20. (20.) + Trap. Met. Mar. (16.) + +MONTAGUE, MARGARET PRESCOTT. (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + 'To Will to Go.' Atl. May. (127:650.) + +MOONEY, RALPH E. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Look Like a Million! Am. Jul. (44.) + +MOORE, ANNE. + *Their Expiation. Touch. Oct., '20. (8:28.) + +MORGAN, BYRON. (1889- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Hell Diggers. S.E.P. Oct. 2, '20. (8.) + Too Much Speed. S.E.P. May 28. (5.) + +MORLEY, CHRISTOPHER (DARLINGTON). (1890- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Curious Case of Kenelm Digby. Book. Mar. (53:10.) Apr. (53:157.) + Disappearance of Dunraven Bleak. Book. June. (53:312.) + +MOROSO, JOHN ANTONIO. (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + McCann's Danny. Ev. Aug. (53.) + Mary Two-Sides. Red Bk. Aug. (94.) + Old Detective Who Had Retired. Am. Dec., '20. (46.) + Storm-Cloud. Del. Feb. (8.) + +MORRIS, GOUVERNEUR. (1876- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *End of the Road. Harp. B. Oct., '19. (54.) + **Open Door. Cos. Apr. (25.) + *Silver Screen. McC. Aug. (28.) + +MORTON, JOHNSON. (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *Second Day of Spring. Harp. M. Feb. (142:350.) + +MOSELLE, ROSE. + Little Girl Named Jennie. Touch. Jan. (8:263.) + +MOTT, FRANK LUTHER. (_See 1918._) + ***Man with the Good Face. Mid. Dec., '20. (6:202.) + +MOUAT, HELEN. + **Aftermath. G.H. Sept. (38.) + +MOUNT, RICHARD. + Honour of an Artiste. S.S. May. (33.) + +MUILENBURG, WALTER J. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + **Peace. Mid. Apr. (7:159.) + +MULLETT, MARY B. (_See 1918._) (_H._) + Rivals. Am. Dec., '20. (39.) + +MUMFORD, ETHEL WATTS (MRS. ETHEL WATTS-MUMFORD GRANT.) (1878- .) + (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + "Aurore." Pict. R. Feb. (18.) + *Pupil of Raphael. Ain. Apr. (144.) + *Red Gulls. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (12.) + +MURRAY, ROY IRVING. (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919, 1920._) + Fixed Idea. Scr. Apr. (69:481.) + +MYGATT, GERALD. (_See 1920._) (_H._) + Alibi Absolute. Red Bk. May. (32.) + Strictly Legitimate. S.E.P. Dec. 11, '20. (18.) + +MYGATT, GERALD _and_ SMITH, GARRET. + Q.E.D. S.E.P. Mar. 19. (14.) + + +N + +NEIDIG, WILLIAM JONATHAN. (1870- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Firebug. Ev. Apr. (39.) + Wire Cutter. S.E.P. Apr. 2. (14.) + +NICHOLSON, MEREDITH. (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Campbells Are Coming. McC. Aug. (13.) + Poor Dear Papa. Red Bk. Apr. (62.) + What Would You Do? McC. Jan. (16.) + +NILES, BLAIR. (_See 1920._) + *Candles of Faith. Scr. Dec., '20. (68:725.) + Cheating the Jungle. Scr. Mar. (69:360.) + +NORRIS, KATHLEEN. (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Bluebeard's Closet. G.H. Jan. (43.) + Dam. G.H. Sept. (30.) + *Heart of a Mouse. G.H. June, '20. (36.) + Miss Mack of the Sixth. G.H. June. (20.) + Pioneers. G.H. Mar. (14.) + Truthful James. Cos. Sept. (75.) + +NOYES, FRANCES NEWBOLD. _See_ HART, FRANCES NOYES. + +NUGENT, ELLIOTT. + Larry Pyramids. S.S. Apr. (111.) + + +O + +O'HIGGINS, HARVEY JERROLD. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + *Dr. Adrian Hale Hellmuth. Cen. June. (102:179.) + ***Peter Quayle. McC. Oct.,'20. (25.) Nov., '20. (25.) + +OLIVER, OWEN. (_See 1915, 1920._) + Red Fisher. Chic. Trib. July 17. + Turning. Del. Jan. (13.) + +O'MAHONEY, JAMES. + Blind Alleys. Met. Oct., '20. (32.) + +O'MALLEY, ELEANOR. + Moral Woman. S.S. Sept. (33.) + +O'MALLEY, FRANK WARD. (1875- .) + Thence by Seagoing Hack. S.E.P. Nov. 27, '20. (8.) + +O'NEIL, LYDIA M.D. + Hearts and Clubs. Sun. Nov., '20. (30.) + +O'NEILL, AGNES BOULTON. _See_ BOULTON, AGNES. + +ONSLEY, CLARE. + Delinquents All. Touch. Jan. (8:280.) + +O'REILLY, EDWARD SINNOTT. (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + His Fortunate Face. Pict. R. Apr. (9.) + +ORFINGER, ESTHER. + Used Up. Pag. Mar.-Apr. (39.) + +ORMSBEE, HELEN. (_H._) + Long Shadow. W.H.C. Mar. (14.) + +OSBORNE, WILLIAM HAMILTON. (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Swift Work. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20 (36.) + Very Narrow Squeak. S.E.P. May 28. (10.) + +OSBOURNE, LLOYD. (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Man Who. S.E.P. Jan. 1. (3.) + +O'SULLIVAN, VINCENT. (1872- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) + ***Master of Fallen Years. S.S. Aug. (91.) + +OVERTON, JACQUELINE M. + Sahib. Scr. July. (70:102.) + +OWEN, PHILIP. + In Pleasant Places. S.S. Mar. (115.) + +"OXFORD, JOHN BARTON." _See_ SHELTON, (RICHARD) BARKER. + + +P + +PAINE, ALBERT BIGELOW. (1861- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Ordeal of Art. Harp. M. Oct., '20. (141:681.) + Reforming Julius. Harp. M. Dec., '20. (142:129.) + +PAINE, RALPH DELAHAYE. (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1920_.) (_H._) + Bound to the Westward. Ev. Oct., '20. (30.) + +PANGBORN, GEORGIA WOOD. (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1920._) (_H._) + Grasshoppers' Harvest. L.H.J. Nov., '20. (30.) + Orris Island. W.H.C. Dec., '20. (18.) + +PARADISE, VIOLA. (_See 1919._) + *Matches. Atl. Nov., '20. (126:608.) + +PARK, JAMES. + Preponderance of the Evidence. Atl. Dec., '20. (126:800.) + +PARMENTER, CHRISTINE WHITING. (1877- .) (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) + "For Better--For Worse--" Del. July. (12.) + Lynette--the Plain One. W.H.C. July. (25.) + Magic Wreath. Del. Dec., '20. (11.) + Mr. Piper of Hamlin. Am. Oct., '20. (45.) + "Old Enough to be Her Father." W.H.C. Oct., '20. (24.) + Things Worth While. Sun. Oct., '20. (43.) + +PATERSON, ISABEL. + What It Was Like. Del. Aug. (16.) + +PATRICK, JOHN. (_See 1916._) + Message to Santa. L.H.J. Dec., '20. (181.) + +PATTERSON, MARY. (_See 1916._) + Dropped Torch. Harp. B. Mar. (42.) + +PATTULLO, GEORGE. (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Catfish Kid. S.E.P. July 30. (10.) + Gasoline Gus. S.E.P. Dec. 4, '20. (10.) + Hard to Beat. S.E.P. Feb. 26. (6.) + Her Man. S.E.P. July 2. (8.) + K. I. K. S.E.P. May 21. (8.) + Kincaid's Angel Child. Red Bk. Mar. (76.) + +PAYNE, WILL. (1855- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Acquitted. Cos. July. (53.) + Judge's Fall. Chic. Trib. June 5. + Magic of Jewels. Cos. Sept. (69.) + +PELLEY, WILLIAM DUDLEY. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + *Dream Beautiful. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (81.) + "Hold It--Stradivarius!" Pict. R. Mar. (10.) + Last Dollar. Cos. June. (65.) + Plaid Moth. Cos. Mar. (81.) + Third-Speed Tarring. Ev. Dec., '20. (59.) + +PELTIER, FLORENCE. (_See 1920._) + *Left-Handed Jingors and the Builders of the Yomei Gate. Asia. + Jan. (21:41.) + +PERRY, LAWRENCE. (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Big Idea. S.E.P. June 4. (12.) + Girl Who Took the Bumps. Red Bk. Feb. (30.) + Holdout. S.E.P. May 21. (14.) + Man to Man. S.E.P. Nov. 20, '20. (26.) + Rocks of Avalon. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (71.) + Son of His Mother. Chic. Trib. Oct. 31, '20. + +PERRY, MONTANYE. (_See 1920._) + "Dear Neighbors." W.H.C. Feb. (26.) + +PHILLIPS, DOROTHY S. + "Practically Engaged." Am. Sept. (45.) + +PHILLIPS, MICHAEL JAMES. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Salome--Where She Danced. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (32.) + +PICKTHALL, MARJORIE L(OWRY) (CHRISTIE). (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Green Loco. Del. July. (9.) + +PITT, CHART. (_See 1917, 1918._) + Debt of the Snows. Sun. Apr. (30.) + +PLUMLEY, LADD. (_H._) + Doc Jenny. Scr. Sept. (70:362.) + +POPE, LAURA SPENCER PORTOR. _See_ PORTOR, LAURA SPENCER. + +PORTER, AGNES. + Who Was Robinson? Scr. Dec., '20. (68:748.) + +PORTER, HAROLD EVERETT. _See_ "HALL, HOLWORTHY." + +PORTER, REBECCA N. (_H._) + Wives of Xerxes. Scr. Jan. (69:49.) + +PORTERFIELD, ALEXANDER. + Bacchanale of the Boulevards. Harp. M. Aug. (143:316.) + +PORTOR, LAURA SPENCER. (LAURA SPENCER PORTOR POPE). (_See 1915, 1916, + 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Sightseers. Harp. M. Aug. (143:359.) + +POST, CHARLES JOHNSON. (1873- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Eve Incorporated. G.H. Sept. (23.) + Middals an' Houses. G.H. Dec., '20. (33.) + Pent an' Powdher. G.H. Jan. (52.) + +POST, MELVILLE DAVISSON. (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + **Expert Detective. Ev. Oct., '20. (15.) + *Girl in the Picture. Pict. R. Jan. (26.) + *Last Adventure. Hear. Sept. (9.) + *Man Who Threatened the World. Hear. Dec., '20. (8.) + *Man With Steel Fingers. Red Bk. Sept. (34.) + *Mottled Butterfly. Red Bk. Aug. (60.) + *"Mysterious Stranger." Defense. Ev. June. (32.) + ***Unknown Disciple. Pict. R. Dec., '20. (14.) + +POTTER, GRACE. (_See 1919._) + **Beginning. Lib. Aug. (11.) + +POTTLE, JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS. _See_ TOMPKINS, JULIET WILBOR. + +POWYS, LLEWELYN. + *In Africa the Dark. Met. May. (17.) + *Not Guilty. S.S. Jul. (118.) + **"Stunner." Free. Nov. 10, '20. (2:200.) + +PRATT, LUCY. (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Real Father. McCall. May. (8.) + +PULVER, MARY BRECHT. (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Annie Carey. S.E.P. Oct. 9, '20. (8.) + *Bitter Valley. G.H. Apr. (68.) + *Gus. G.H. Aug. (59.) + **Secret. G.H. Nov., '20. (16.) + Silent House. S.E.P. June 4. (16.) + +PUTNAM, NINA WILCOX. (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Fattening Calf. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20. (12.) + Hooch Owl. S.E.P. Feb. 26. (12.) + Little Drops of Water. S.E.P. Oct. 2, '20. (20.) + Men, the Brutes! S.E.P. Sept. 10. (10.) + Tall Money. S.E.P. Nov. 6, '20. (14.) + Two Weeks With Pay. S.E.P. Oct. 9. '20. (20.) + Vox Potpourri. S.E.P. Oct. 30, '20. (12.) + + +Q + +QUEEN, HELEN DUNCAN. (_H._) + High Hurdles. Sun. June. (24.) + + +R + +RABELL, DU VERNET. (_See 1920._) + Returning Prophet. Ev. Nov., '20. (29.) + +RALEY, HELEN. + *Posadas. Mag. Dec., '20. (73.) + +RANCK, REITA LAMBERT. (_See 1918, 1919._) + Withered Petals. Harp. M. June. (143:57.) + +RAPHAELSON, SAMPSON. (_See 1920._) + Romantic Realism of Rosalie. Hear. Oct., '20. (17.) + Rosalie and the Emotional Appeal. Hear. Feb. (21.) + +RASCOE, BURTON. + Caste. S.S. May. (117.) + +RAVENEL, BEATRICE WITTE. (1870- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) + *Maison Cadwallader. Harp. M. Sept. (143:429.) + +RAY, MARIE BEYNON. (_See 1920._) + Hostess of Tragedy. S.S. Apr. (119.) + Understanding Heart. Harp. B. Sept. (64.) + +RAYMOND, CLIFFORD. (_H._) + Oak from the Acorn. Chic. Trib. Jul 31. + +READ, MARION PUGH. (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + **Everlasting Grace. Atl. Mar. (127:343.) + +REAMER, LAWRENCE. (_H._) + "C in Alt." Cen. Jul. (102:377.) + Second Breakfast. S.S. Mar. (69.) + +REDINGTON, HELEN. + Winning Sister. Ev. Jul. (173.) + +REDINGTON, SARAH. (_See 1919, 1920._) + "Au Bonheur des Co-Eds." Scr. Nov., '20, (68:590.) + Matherson and the Spirit World. Scr. Aug. (70:200.) + +REELY, MARY KATHARINE. (_See 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Late Spring. Touch. Nov., '20. (93.) + +REESE, LOWELL OTUS. (1866- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Feminine Touch. Col. May 28. (7.) + Killer. S.E.P. Sept. 10. (8.) + Monkey Wrench. S.E.P. May 7. (24.) + When Weasel-Face Came Back. Col. Feb. 12. (10.) + Yellow Dog's Bone. Col. Mar. 12 (12.) + +REYHER, FERDINAND M. (1891- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) + Enchanted Mountain. McC. Aug. (18.) + +REYNOLDS, HARRY WAIT. + Man Who Fought But Once. Ev. June. (66.) + +RHODES, HARRISON (GARFIELD). (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + ***Miss Sunshine. Chic. Trib. May 29. + Night Life and Thomas Robinson. S.E.P. June 4. (8.) + Thomas Robinson--Man of the World. S.E.P. Apr. 23. (14.) + +RICHARDSON, NORVAL. (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *Man-Made Lady. Harp. B. Oct., '19. (84.) + +RICHMOND, GRACE (LOUISE) S(MITH). (1866- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + (_H._) + Bells of St. Johns. G.H. Dec., '20. (10.) + +RICHTER, CONRAD (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + "You're Too Contwisted Satisfied--Jim Ted!" Am. Feb. (39.) + +RIGGS, KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN. _See_ WIGGIN, KATE DOUGLAS. + +RITCHIE, ROBERT WELLES. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Birdie, the Heaven Hen. Sun. Mar. (28.) + +RITTENHOUSE, MARIAN F. + What Was "Too-Pay?" W.H.C. Dec., '20. (25.) + +ROBBINS, LEONARD H. (1877- .) (_See 1920._) + Betty's Painter. Ev. Mar. (29.) + Mr. Downey Sits Down. Ev. June. (61.) + +ROBBINS, TOD. (_See 1918._) + ***Toys of Fate. Mun. Jan. (71:597.) + +ROBERTS, CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS. (1860- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Cave of the Bear. Met. Mar. (22.) + Fishers of the Air. McC. Sept. (24.) + Mustela of the Lone Hand. McC. Apr. (22.) + Quills the Indifferent. McC. Feb. (19.) + Winged Scourge of the Dark. McC. Mar. (27.) + +ROBERTS, HELEN C. + Poise. S.S. Dec., '20. (123.) + +ROBERTSON, CLYDE. + On Nebo's Lonely Mountain. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '20. (13.) + +ROBIN, MAX. + Freedom. S.S. Nov., '20. (123.) + **Young School Teacher. Pag. May. (5.) + +ROCHE, ARTHUR SOMERS. (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Limit of the Christmas Kid. Cos. Apr. (75.) + +ROE, VINGIE E. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Eighteenth Leap. Ev. Mar. (23.) + Fuzzyface. Sun. Mar. (19.) + Jimmy Lee--A Colfax. G.H. Dec., '20. (32.) + Old Square Horns. Col. Sept. 24. (7.) + Princiep'--and True Love. Chic. Trib. Apr. 3. + Stuff o' Heroes. Sun. Jan. (26.) + +ROOF, KATHERINE METCALF. (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Vengeance of Arjan Dai. Hol. Mar. (20.) + +ROSENBLATT, BENJAMIN. (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Thinker. Lit. S. Apr. (8.) + +ROULET, MARIE ANTOINETTE DE. + Little Wooden Bowl. Cath. W. May. (113:228.) + +ROWLAND, HENRY C(OTTRELL). (1874- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + April Fool Candy. Red Bk. Apr. (81.) + Fury of the Sheep. Red Bk. Jul. (74.) + Playing Safe. Chic. Trib. Jul. 24. + +RUSSELL, JOHN. (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Shots. Cos. June. (53.) + +"RUTLEDGE, MARYSE," (MARYSE RUTLEDGE HALE). ("MARICE RUTLEDGE.") (MARIE + LOUISE GOETCHIUS.) (MARIE LOUISE VAN SAANEN.) (1884- .) (_See 1915, + 1916, 1917, 1918 under_ VAN SAANEN, MARIE LOUISE; _1920 under_ + "RUTLEDGE, MARYSE.") (_See "H." under_ GOETCHIUS, MARIE LOUISE.) + Sad Adventurers. S.E.P. Apr. 30. (8.) + +RYERSON, FLORENCE. (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Anna the Absolute. Am. Feb. 11. + Bargain Day for Babies. Am. Apr. (38.) + + +S + +SACHS, EMANIE N. + *Damned Nigger. S.S. Oct., '20. (21.) + +SANGSTER, MARGARET ELIZABETH, JR., (1894- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, + 1919, 1920._) + *Across the Years. G.H. June. (34.) + +SAPINSKY, RUTH _and_ SAPINSKY, JOSEPH. (_See 1915, 1916 under_ SAPINSKY, + ROSE; _1920 under_ SAPINSKY, JOSEPH.) + Exit Yourself. McCall. Oct., '20. (20.) + +SATUREN, PAUL. + *Witch-Face. Pag. Jan.-Feb. (10.) + +SAWHILL, MYRA. (_See 1917, 1919, 1920._) + Curing a Bully With His Own Medicine. Am. Feb. (50.) + Shirley Langdon Takes a Flyer. Am. Nov., '20. (48.) + *Wagon and the Star. Scr. Dec., '20. (68:735.) + +SAWYER, RUTH (MRS. ALBERT C. DURAND). (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, + 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Christopher Titmouse, B.B. G.H. May. (63.) + Heart of a Boy. Ev. Dec., '20. (13.) + *Mother. G.H. Nov., '20. (54.) + Pebbles of Pettingale's Point. Col. Apr. 16. (9.) + +SAXBY, CHARLES. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Beach of Jewels. Met. Nov., '20. (15.) + *Hole in the Film. Cen. Aug. (102:530.) + Proud Piece. Ev. Oct., '20. (23.) + Road of Hate. Chic. Trib. Sept. 11. + Singer of the Night. Ev. Feb. (5.); Mar. (16.) + *Walking Ann Fools the Sheriff. Am. Aug. (29.) + +SCHAUFFLER, MARGARET WIDDEMER. _See_ WIDDEMER, MARGARET. + +SCOBEE, BARRY. + ***The Wind. Adv. Jan. 3. (54.) + +SCOVILLE, JR., SAMUEL. (1872- .) (_See 1920._) (_H._) + Devil. L.H.J. Jan. (171.) + Sea Otter. L.H.J. Sept. (34.) + +SEABROOK, W.B. + *Won. S.S. Jan. (41.) + +SEDGWICK, JOHN HUNTER. + Miss Melby's Change of Heart. S.S. Dec., '20. (81.) + Pepperell Square. S.S. Jan. (81.) + +SEIFERT, SHIRLEY L. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Bittersweet. L.H.J. Jan. 22. + Blue Morning-Glories. L.H.J. Aug. (3.) Sept. (22.) + For the Sake of Phyllis. L.H.J. Nov., '20. (14.) + +SEIFFERT, MARJORIE ALLEN. (1885- .) (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) + *Woman From Over the Sky-Line. S.S. Mar. (97.) + +SERGEL, R.L. + **Glare of Circumstance. Mid. June. (7:223.) + +SEXTON, BERNARD. (_See 1920._) + *Parrots and the Lady. Asia. Nov., '20. (20:989.) + +SHANNON, JAMES. + Terrible Meek. S.S. Mar. (113.) + +SHELTON (RICHARD) BARKER. (_See 1916, 1917 under_ "OXFORD, JOHN BARTON.") + (_See 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Inspiration. S.E.P. Sept. 10. (22.) + Splendid Faith. Col. Apr. 9. (9.) + +SHERMAN, EDITH BISHOP. + *Seconds. Met. June. (60.) + +SHOLES, HELEN. + Still-Life. S.S. Feb. (117.) + +SHOLL, ANNA MCCLURE. (_See 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + Girdle. W.H.C. July. (26.) + +SHORE, VIOLA BROTHERS. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Heritage. S.E.P. Feb. 5. (16.) + O Tempora! O Mawruss! S.E.P. Oct. 30, '20. (16.) + They Always Do. L.H.J. July. (6.) + +SHOWERMAN, GRANT. (1870- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + **Country Benedict. Cen. Sept. (102:692.) + +SINGER, MARY. + He Who Gets--Has! Am. Dec., '20. (52.) + Lie That Waked Tom Up. Am. Aug. (40.) + +SINGMASTER, ELSIE (ELSIE SINGMASTER LENAR). (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, + 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Apple Country. W.H.C. July. (11.) + *Face in the Mirror. McCall. May. (16.) + *Noah's Ark. L.H.J. Dec., '20. (24.) + +SISK, HERMAN. + One Woman in a Million. Sun. Mar. (50.) + +SLADE, CHRISTINE JOPE. + Amateur Vamp. Met. Nov., '20. (7.) + Caretakers Within. S.E.P. Feb. 5. (12.) + Catchpenny Ann. Met. Apr. (28.) + Golden Idol. S.E.P. Apr. 16. (10.) + Grubstaking Cinderella. S.E.P. June 11. (12.) + Wild Lad from Wigan. Sun. July. (18.) + +SMITH, GARRET. (_See 1920._) _See also_ MYGATT, GERALD, _and_ + SMITH, GARRET. + Buccaneer Blood. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20. (26.) + +SMITH, GORDON ARTHUR. (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Aristocrat. Harp. M. Nov., '20 (141:759.) + Dreamlight. S.E.P. Aug. 20. (8.) + *Love Thy Neighbor. Dial. Jan. (70:29.) + +SMITH, MAXWELL. (_See 1919, 1920._) + Chigger. Ev. May. (45.) + Sheared Ears. Red Bk. Oct., '20 (48.) + +SMITH, W. EDSON. (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Big Top o' the World. Scr. Feb. (69:185.) + +SNEDDON, ROBERT W. (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + *Grease-paint and Tears. L. St. Dec., '20. (27.) + +SÖDERBERG, HJALMAR. + *Blue Anchor. Hear. July. (44.) + +SOLANO, SOLITA. (_See 1920._) + Vespers. S.S. Feb. (47.) + Virgin. S.S. Aug. (114.) + +SOLOMANS, THEODORE SEIXAS. (_See 1915, 1920._) + Little "Dame" on the Second Floor. Am. Oct., '20. (13.) + +SPEARS, RAYMOND SMILEY. (1876- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Revenge. Col. Dec. 18, '20. (10.) + Ten Thousand Dollars a Wag. Col. Mar. 5. (9.) + Trainer. Col. Oct. 30, '20. (10.) + +SPEYER, LEONORA. (_See 1919._) + Red Roses. S.S. Oct., '20. (77.) + +SPRINGER, FLETA CAMPBELL. (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918; see 1917 + under_ CAMPBELL, FLETA.) (_H._) + **Mountain of Jehovah. Harp. M. Mar. (142:470.) + ***Role of Madame Ravelles. Harp, M. Sept. (143:466.) + +SQUIER, EMMA LINDSEY. + Alfred the Seal. G.H. Aug. (46.) + Fairy Night. G.H. Mar. (8.) + Hector, the Hawk. G.H. Sept. (64.) + Henry, the Heron. G.H. May. (30.) + Leonard. G.H. Apr. (32.) + O'Henry, the Quail Baby. G H. July. (26.) + Skygak. G.H. Mar. (11.) + Timothy, the Dirty Bear. G.H. June. (29.) + U-Chu-Ka. G.H. Apr. (31.) + +STARKEY, MAY CHAPMAN. + His Second Wife. Del. June. (7.) + +STARRETT, VINCENT. (_See 1918, 1920._) + *Last Veteran. A.W. June. (1:136.) + Thirty Pieces of Silver. A.W. Feb. (1:53.) + +STEELE, ALICE GARLAND (MRS. T. AUSTIN-BALL). (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, + 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + "Ah! Moon of My Delight." W.H.C. Apr. (13.) + +STEELE, WILBUR DANIEL. (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + ***At Two-in-the-Bush. Harp. M. Oct., '20. (141:574.) + ***Footfalls. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (20.) + **Fouled Anchor. Harp. M. Apr. (142:591.) + ***Life. Pict. R. Aug. (5.) + ***Shame Dance. Harp. M. Dec., '20. (142:39.) + ***'Toinette of Maisonnoir. Pict. R. July. (13.) + +STEFFENS, (JOSEPH) LINCOLN. (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + (_H._) + *White Streak. Col. Jan. 15. (5.) + +STERNE, ELAINE. (1894- .) (_See 1919._) + Fluff. Met. Apr. (31.) + +STERRETT, FRANCES ROBERTA. (1869- .) (_H._) + Cozy Little Word. Met. Jan. (27.) + +STETSON, CUSHING. (_H._) + Spud's Secret. Met. Mar. (31.) + +"STEVENS, MARGARET DEAN." _See_ Aldrich, Bess Streeter. + +STEWART, WILLIAM R. + When the Rising Sun Went Down. Hear. Feb. (33.) + +STOCKVIS, GERALDINE. + **Christmas Eve at Brenner's Falls. Pict. R. Dec., '20. (28.) + +STOCKARD, WILLETT. (_See 1916._) + As Handsome Does. Ev. Feb. (72.) + +STORRS, MARGUERITE LUSK. + *Daughter of Romley. Harp. M. Jan. (142:216.) + +STRAHAN, KAY CLEAVER. (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Exception. Ev. July. (121.) + Jack and Jill, Revised. Del. Oct., '20. (12.) + With the Odds to the Gods. Del. Jan. (5.) + +STREET, JULIAN (LEONARD). (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + **Voice in the Hall. Harp. M. Sept. (143:409.) + +STREETER, EDWARD. (1891- .) (_See 1920._) + Break the Glass and Pull Down the Hook. S.E.P. Nov. 13, '20. (14.) + +STRIBLING, T.S. (_See 1920._) + What a Young Man Should Know. Ev. Jan. (71.) + +STRINGER, ARTHUR (JOHN ARBUTHNOTT). (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1920._) (_H._) + Gun-Play. McC. Feb. (21.) + Interception. Hear. Feb. (8.) + Lion Must Eat. McC. Mar. (19.) + Lost Titian. S.E.P. Oct. 30, '20. (5.) + Snowblind. Hear. Mar. (13.) + +STROBEL, MARION. + High Illusion. McC. Aug. (30.) + +SUCKOW, RUTH. + *Resurrection. Mid. June. (7:217.) + *Retired. Mid. Apr. (7:150.) + **Uprooted. Mid. Feb. (7:83.) + +SWORDS, F. JACQUELIN. + Between the Lines. Atl. Dec., '20. (126:761.) + +SYNON, MARY. (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Comes Now the Plaintiff. G.H. Jan. (15.) + *Common Ground. McCall. Aug. (15.) + *Heredity? Red Bk. Sept. (47.) + *Once in a Northern Twilight. Chic. Trib. Apr. 17. + *Saturday Afternoon. Pict. R. Jan. (41.) + *Second Round. Scr. Dec., '20. (68:654.) + + +T + +TARKINGTON, (NEWTON) BOOTH. (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + *Jeannette. Red Bk. May. (27.) + *Laurence and Roger. Red Bk. June. (32.) + *Party. Red Bk. July. (45.) + *Street of Bad Children. Red Bk. Aug. (40.) + *Tiger. Red Bk. Sept. (37.) + +TAYLOR, KATHARINE HAVILAND. (_See 1918._) + Mrs. Upton Has Her Fling. Pict. R. Jan. (12.) + Simply a Matter of Love. Pict. R. July. (8.) + +TERHUNE, ALBERT PAYSON. (1872- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Grand Larceny. Cos. Dec., '20. (37.) + High Cost of Lying. Hear. Feb. (18.) + Not Guilty. L.H.J. Aug. (14.) + Old Man. S.E.P. Jan. 1. (12.) + She Always Wins. Cos. May. (43.) + Skin-Deep. S.E.P. Apr. 30. (12.) + Slobsy the Magnificent. Red Bk. Feb. (68.) + "Youth Will Be Served!" Harp. B. Jan. (52.) + +TERRILL, LUCY STONE. (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Grist of the Gods. Sun. Dec., '20. (24.) + +THAYER, MRS. GILBERT. _See_ MAXON, HARRIET. + +THOMAS, MARTHA BANNING. + Thin Slice of Romance. L.H.J. Dec., '20. (18.) + +THOMASON, CHRISTINE WASSON. + Baddy. A.W.O.L. Sun. Oct., '20. (116.) + +THOMPSON, LILLIAN BENNET -- _and_ HUBBARD, GEORGE. (_See 1916, 1917._) + White Dreams. Cen. July. (122:397.) + +THOMSON, CHARLES GOFF. + Mr. Stokes and the Eighth Ancestor. Pict. R. Aug. (14.) + +TILDEN, FREEMAN. (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + *Garments of Truth. Pict. R. May. (22.) + +TISDALE, ALICE. + **Letting in of the Wilderness. Cen. Oct., '20. (100:730.) + +TITUS, HAROLD. (1888- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Asphalt Sportsman. Del. Aug. (14.) + Built Upon a Rock. Red Bk. June. (87.) + Caution of Abner Rowland. Red Bk. Feb. (49.) + Courage of Number Two. Met. June. (11.) + Faith of Holy Joe. Red Bk. Apr. (32.) + +TOMPKINS, JULIET WILBOR. (JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS POTTLE.) (1871- .) + (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Eleanora Comes Back. Harp. M. May. (142:714.) + Eye of the Needle. W.H.C. July. (7.) + John Chinaman. L.H.J. June. (12.) + Mrs. Dutton and Mrs. Pine. G.H. Feb. (24.) + +TOOHEY, JOHN PETER. (1880- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) + Hook, Line and Sinker. Col. Aug. 13. (7.) + +TORREY, GRACE. (_See 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Deadly Usual. Ev. Nov., '20. (69.) + Story of a Day in June. Pict. R. June. (24.) + +TOWNE CHARLES HANSON. (1877- .) (_H._) + "Courtesy of Mr. Frohman." Met. Oct., '20. (19.) + *Man Behind the Screen. Ain. July. (47.) + ***Shelby. S.S. Oct., '20. (55.) + +TRAIN, ARTHUR (CHENEY). (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Blindfold Chess. S.E.P. Jan. 29. (12.) + Crooked Fairy. McCall. July. (6.) + In Witness Whereof. S.E.P. May 7. (18.) + Presumption of Innocence. S.E.P. Apr. 9. (18.) + Saving His Face. S.E.P. Aug. 6. (18.) + That Sort of Woman. S.E.P. Mar. 5. (16.) + Tutt and Mr. Tutt. S.E.P. Oct. 2, '20. (12.) + +TRAIN, ETHEL KISSAM (MRS. ARTHUR TRAIN). (1875- .) (_See 1916, 1917, + 1920._) + Child Who Came Back. S.E.P. July. 9. (14.) + +TRITES, WILLIAM BUDD. (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + (_H._) + Angels in an Almond Grove. Hear. June. (39.) + Lady Monica's Batman. S.E.P. Mar. 26. (30.) + One of Our Reds. Col. Dec. 18, '20 (5.) + Told in Two Letters. Hear. Nov., '20. (21.) + +TRUMBULL, WALTER. + Man Who Heard Everything. S.S. Apr. (27.) + Roses. Met. Aug. (16.) + +TUCKERMAN, ARTHUR. (_See 1920._) + Cynthia and the Crooked Street. Scr. Nov., '20. (68:573.) + *Winged Interlude. Scr. Aug. (70:223.) + +TUPPER, TRISTRAM. + **Grit. Met. Apr. (15.) + Man Who Knew Nothing on Earth. Met. Aug. (9.) + +TURNBULL, HECTOR. + Picture Stuff. Col. Apr. 30. (12.) + +TURNER, MAUDE SPERRY. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + She Criticized Her Husband. Del. July. (24.) + + +U + +UELAND, BRENDA. (_See 1920._) + Shooting Cooper. Met. Apr. (12.) + +UNDERHILL, RUTH MURRAY. (_See 1917, 1918, 1920._) + Atalanta-Jane. Ev. Mar. (66.) + +UNDERWOOD, SOPHIE KERR. _See_ KERR, SOPHIE. + +UPPER, JOSEPH. (_See 1920._) + Star Magic. S.S. Jan. (49.) + Vigil. S.S. Nov., '20. (59.) + Yesterdays. Pag. June-Jul. (31.) + + +V + +"VAKA, DEMETRA" (DEMETRA KENNETH BROWN). (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) + (_H._) + *Lady of the Stars. Asia. Mar. (21:199.) + +VAN DE WATER, VIRGINIA (BELLE) TERHUNE. (1865- .) (_See 1916, 1920._) + (_H._) + Ashes of Roses. Hear. Aug. (35.) + Down to Greenwich Village. Hear. Nov., '20. (11.) + I Show Faith the Village. Hear. Mar. (37.) + Paul and the Purple Pig. Hear. June. (36.) + Paul Goes to Greendale. Hear. Jan. (31.) + Stronger Than the Mighty. S.S. Feb. (99.) + +VAN SAANEN, MARIE LOUISE. _See_ "RUTLEDGE, MARYSE." + +VENABLE, EDWARD CARRINGTON. (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Madame Tichepin. Scr. Jan. (69:108.) + +VERMILYE, KATE JORDAN. _See_ JORDAN, KATE. + +"VERNON, MAX" (VERNON LYMAN KELLOGG.) (1867- .) + Deserter from the Brutus. Ev. Nov., '20. (54.) + +VORSE, MARY (MARVIN) HEATON. MARY HEATON VORSE O'BRIEN MINOR. (_See 1915, + 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Apple. Lib. Feb. (25.) + **Dollar. Lib. Apr. (22.) + Lucia Asks the World. W.H.C. May. (26.) June. (24.) + *Master Passion. W.H.C. Oct., '20. (13.) + This Astounding Generation. McCall. Oct., '20. (9.) + ***Wallow of the Sea. Harp. M. Aug. (143:340.) + + +W + +WAGNER, ROB. (_See 1919._) + Smudge. W.H.C. Oct., '20. (21.) + +WALDO, SIDNEY. + *Craggy Barren. Mun. Dec., '20. (71:452.) + +WALDRON, WEBB. + Little Brown Satchel. Col. Aug. 27. (7.) + +WALTON, EMMA LEE. (_See 1920._) (_H._) + Bethany Stage. Scr. May. (69:600.) + +WARREN, MAUDE (LAVINIA) RADFORD. (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + (_H._) + Firefly. S.E.P. May 21. (18.) + +WATERHOUSE, IRMA. (_See 1920._) + Rest of Their Lives. Cen. Oct., '20. (100:822.) + +WATSON, MARIAN ELIZABETH. + Blue Battalin--Transformer. L.H.J. Oct., '20. (10.) + **Bottle-Stoppers. Pict. R. June. (14.) + +WEAVER, BENNETT. + *Web on the Altar. Mid. Mar. (7:132.) + +WEAVER, JOHN VAN ALSTYNE. + Melodrama. Harp. B. Feb. (26.) + +WEIK, MARY H. + Return of Mary Rooney. Met. Sept. (13.) + +WEIMAN, RITA. (1889- .) (_See 1915, 1919, 1920._) + Lizard. S.E.P. Dec. 18, '20. (5.) + Stage Door. S.E.P. Nov. 27, '20. (16.) + Vengeance Is Mine. S.E.P. May 21. (16.) + +WEITZENKORN, LOUIS. (1893- .) (_See 1920._) + Adventure of a Private Wire. Met. Feb. (32.) + If Woman is X? Met. Nov., '20. (32.) + Table Stakes. Met. June. (31.) + +WELLES, HARRIET OGDEN DEEN. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Beyond Science. Scr. Dec., '20. (68:667.) + Cricket. Del. June. (13.) + *Her Excellent Excellency. L.H.J. Mar. (10.) + *Laninii. Scr. June. (69:702.) + +WESTON, GEORGE (T.). (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Blue Moon. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (62.) + Dangerous Game. S.E.P. Mar. 26. (12.) + Fat Angel. S.E.P. Aug. 6. (8.) + Finger of Fate. McCall. Jan. (14.) + Little Rain-in-the-Face. S.E.P. Jan. 15. (8.) + Open Door. S.E.P. Jan. 8. (5.) + People's Choice. S.E.P. Aug. 27. (11.) + Petrified Man. S.E.P. Dec. 18, '20. (8.) + Richelieu Diamonds. S.E.P. Feb. 12. (10.) + Young, Rich and Beautiful. S.E.P. June 25. (5.) + +WHEELER, ELEANOR P. + *Refusal. Touch. Oct., '20. (8:95.) + +WHEELER, GERTRUDE R. + Resurrection Window. Pag. June-July. (5.) + +WHITCOMB, JESSIE WRIGHT. + Thirty-Eight. W.H.C. May. (22.) + +WHITE, E.L. + Crushed Poppies. Met. June. (24.) + +WHITE, NELIA GARDNER. (_See 1920._) + *Man Who Wasn't Wanted. Am. July. (38.) + +WHITE, WILLIAM ALLEN. (1868- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + And the West is West. S.E.P. June 18. (10.) + Teaching Perkins to Play. S.E.P. Aug. 6. (12.) + +WHITE, WILLIAM PATTERSON. (_H._) + Rider of Golden Bar. Ev. Sept. (157.) + +WHITMAN, STEPHEN FRENCH. (_See 1915, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + **Many Kisses. Cen. Aug. (102:607.) + *Stronger Than Death. Jan. McC. (22.) + +WIDDEMER, MARGARET. (MARGARET WIDDEMER SCHAUFFLER.) (_See 1915, 1917, + 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Adjustment. Col. Nov. 20, '20. (9.) + As One Having Authority. Col. Aug. 6. (3.) + Dorothea, Pioneer. W.H.C. Feb. (13.) + Sporting. G.H. July. (72.) + +WIERMAN, FRANCIS. + Women of Our Block. S.S. Nov., '20. (17.) + +WIGGIN, KATE DOUGLAS. (KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN RIGGS.) (1859- .) (_See 1917._) + Creeping Jenny. McCall. Dec., '20. (5.) + Matt Milliken's Improvements, G.H. Mar. (47.) + +WILBER, W.C. + Biggest Man In Town. S.S. Sept. (67.) + Complete Bounder. S.S. June. (29.) + +WILCOX, UTHAI VINCENT. + Very Worst Boy. Sun. June. (43.) + +WILEY, HUGH. (1894- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + C.O.D. S.E.P. Jan. 8. (18.) + Fresh Fish. S.E.P. Dec., '20. (16.) + Release. Sun. Aug. (18.) + Roped. S.E.P. Oct. 30, '20. (10.) + Temple of Luck. S.E.P. July 9. (18.) + *Tong. S.E.P. Dec. 18, '20. (24.) + Wildcat Luck. S.E.P. Feb. 19. (16.) + +WILKES, ALLENE TUPPER. + Toop Goes Skating. W.H.C. Nov., '20. (11.) + +WILKINSON, LUPTON. + *Episode, Paris, 1794. Lit. S. Oct.-Nov., '20. (3.) + +WILLIAMS, BEN AMES. (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1910, 1920._) + *Buried Madness. Cos. Jan. (23.) + **Coward. Cos. Aug. (79.) + *His Honor. Cos. July. (40.) + *"Jeshurun Waxed Fat." Cen. Sept. (102:723.) + ***Man Who Looked Like Edison. Cos. May. (70.) + *"So My Luck Began." Col. Feb. 5. (5.) + +WILLS, SHELDON. + Hard Nut to Crack. Am. Sept. (40.) + +WILSON, JR., EDMUND. + *Death of a Soldier. Lib. Sept. (13.) + *Oppressor. Lib. May. (25.) + +WILSON, JOHN FLEMING. (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) + (_H._) + Golden Witch of Hollister. Hear. Apr. (6.) + Other Shoe. Chic. Trib. May 22. + +WILSON, MARGARET. _See_ "ELDERLY SPINSTER." + +WILSON, MARGARET ADELAIDE. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + Mr. Crump's Sunday. W.H.C. Apr. (19.) + +WILSON, RUTH DANENHOWER. + One Home-Grown Soviet. Scr. Oct., '20. (68:481.) + +WINSLOW, HELEN STERLING. (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Tytgat the Toy-Man. Scr. June. (69:723.) + +WINSLOW, THYRA SAMTER. (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Amy's Story. S.S. Jan. (25.) + Evelyn Tries Her Wings. S.S. Apr. (79.) + *Good Chance. S.S. Nov., '20. (49.) + *Her Own Room. Cen. Jan. (101:363.) + His Honeymoon. S.S. Oct., '20, (29.) + Last Will of Stephen Forsby. S.S. Sept. (119.) + Love Affair. S.S. Jul. (57.) + On a Pleasant Sunday Afternoon in August. S.S. Dec., '20. (107.) + Studies in Husbands Case 14. S.S. May. (47.) + +WINTHROP, ARTHUR. (_See 1920._) + **Study. Lit. R. Sept.-Dec., '20. (76.) + +WISEHART, M.K. + *Song of Autumn. Cen. Oct., '20. (100:753.) + +WITWER, HARRY CHARLES. (1890- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Art for Artie's Sake. Col. Sept. 24. (3.) + Chicasha Bone Crusher. Round IX of the Leather Pushers. Col. + Jan. 15. (15.) + Compleat Mangier. Col. June 11. (5.) + He Raised Kane. Round VIII of the Leather Pushers. Col. Dec. 11, + '20. (5.) + Joan of Newark. Col. Apr. 16. (5.) + Lovers' Handy Man. Col. Jul. 30. (5.) + Merchant of Venice, Cal. Col. Aug. 27. (3.) + Oliver's Twist. Col. Tune 25. (3.) + Strike Father, Strike Son! Col. Mar. 26. (5.) + When Kane Met Abel. Col. Feb. 19. (5.) + Whipsawed! Round VI of the Leather Pushers. Col. Oct. 16. '20. (7.) + Young King Cole. Round VII of the Leather Pushers. Col. Nov. 6, '20. (8.) + +WOLFF, WILLIAM ALMON, JR. (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Black Heart of Murray Broome. Col. Feb. 19. (15.) + Dobbin and the Star. Chic. Trib. Jan. 9. + "Every Blond is Silver Lined." Col. Oct. 23, '20. (8.) + Last Half of the Ninth. Met. Sept. (16.) + Man Who Never Was. Col. May 7. (7.) + Mud of Maytown. Col. Jan. 22. (10.) + Other Side of the Moon. McCall. June. (9.) + Stuck a Feather in His Hat. Chic. Trib. Jul. 3. + Thalassa! Thalassa! Ev. Jul. (129.) + +WONDERLY, W. CAREY. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + Field Lilies. Met. Dec., '20. (18.) + +WOOD, A.B.W. + Padre Settles Things. Cath. W. Feb. (112:618.) + +WOOD, FRANCES GILCHRIST. (_See 1918, 1920._) + *Price of the Prophets. Del. Sept. (16.) + +WOODROW, MRS. WILSON. (NANCY MANN WADDEL WOODROW.) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + By the Clock. Red Bk. Mar. (52.) + Counsel for the Defense. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (53.) + Every Man Has His Price. Red Bk. Apr. (52.) + Green Glass. Red Bk. Oct., '20. (37.) + Medium's Miniature. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (53.) + Never Deal With a Woman. Red Bk. Feb. (54.) + Peaches and Caviar. L.H.J. May. (8.) + Vanishing Violin. Red Bk. May (66.) + Widening Circle. Red Bk. Jan. (49.) + +WOODRUFF, HELEN S. (1888- .) + Asia the U.S. Post. W.H.C. Nov. '20. (14.) + +WOODSON, MARY BLAKE. + Happiest Day. W.H.C. Dec., '20. (21.) + +WOOLLEY, EDWARD MOTT. (1867- .) (_H._) + Disappearing Bed. Red Bk. Mar. (81.) + Ten Dollars a Day. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (48.) + Whispering Motives. Red Bk. May. (76.) + +WORMSER, GWENDOLYN RANGER (_See 1919, 1920._) + ***Gossamer. Pict. R. Mar. (12.) + ***Second-Hand. Pict. R. Nov., 20. (18.) + +WORTS, GEORGE FRANK. (1892- .) (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Detour--Road Washed Out. Ev. Apr. (32.) + F. O. B. Cambodia. Ev. Jul. (67.) + God of the Green Gulf. Ev. May. (20.) + Running Wild. Col. Jul. 30. (9.) + +WRATH, CALEB. + *Cobbler of Acanthus Alley. Book. May. (206.) + *Patch of Plaster. Call. Jan. 9. (10.) + *Smelted from the Same Ore. Scr. May. (69:586.) + +WRIGHT, RICHARDSON (LITTLE). (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Princess of Beacon Hill. S.S. Jul. (107.) + + +Y + +YATES, DORNFORD. + **Trick of Memory. Ev. Apr. (25.) + +YATES, L.B. (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Fox-Hunting Fairies. S.E.P. Jan. 29. (16.) + +YEZIERSKA, ANZIA. (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Brothers. Harp. M. Sept. (143:512.) + **How I Found America. Cen. Nov., '20. (101:73.) + ***My Own People. Met. Feb. (30.) + *To the Stars. Cen. May. (102:65.) + +YOUNG, MRS. SANBORN. _See_ MITCHELL RUTH COMFORT. + +YUST, WALTER. + Pound of Chocolates. S.S. Jan. (53.) + + +II. ENGLISH AND IRISH AUTHORS + + +A + +ANDREWS, JAMES C. + *Wolf's-Head and Eye-for-Bane. Cen. Apr. (101:695.) + +ARLEN, MICHAEL. + *Defeat of Mr. Theodore Sampson. Fol. Jul. (115.) + +ATKEY, BERTRAM. (1880- .) (_See 1919._) + Slave of the Pit. Ev. Aug. (35.) + Winnie and the Broken Heart. S.E.P. Feb. 26. (10.) + Winnie and the Tiger Man. S.E.P. Mar. 12. (12.) + Winnie and the Ultra-Superba. S.E.P. May 14. (14.) + Winnie and the Wolves. S.E.P. Oct. 23, '20. (8.) + Winnie O'Wynn and the Dark Horses. S.E.P. Sept. 24. (17.) + Winnie O'Wynn and the Silent Player. S.E.P. Jan. 15. (14.) + +AUMONIER, STACY. (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + ***Beautiful Merciless One. Pict. R. Sept. (14.) + *Business and Desires. S.E.P. Oct. 2, '20. (16.) + ***Little White Frock. Pict. R. Dec., '20. (20.) + *Old Iron. McCall. Jan. (5.) + *Where Was Wych Street? S.E.P. Feb. 26. (14.) + **White Flower of a Blameless Life. McCall. Apr. (2.) + +AUSTIN, FREDERICK BRITTEN. (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + Infernal Machine. Chic. Trib. Aug. 7. + Red Rays of Ahmed Hassan. Hear. Mar. (8.) + Return. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (83.) + *Siren of the Tropics. Col. Aug. 20. (3.) + When Wrong Was Right. The Strange Case of the Scatterthwaites. Hear. + Oct., '20. (13.) + **White Dog. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (43.) + + +B + +BAILEY, H(ENRY) C(HRISTOPHER). (1878- .) + Fool and the Queen. Ev. Jul. (165.) + *Tale of an Empress. Ev. May. (38.) + *Tale of the King's Heir. Ev. June. (54.) + Tale of a Triumph. Ev. Sept. (51.) + Tale of a Villein. Ev. Aug. (171.) + +BAILY, F(RANCIS) E(VANS). (1887- .) + Bargain's a Bargain. Hear. May. (17.) + Cecily the Panther. Hear. Aug. (53.) + If Three Should Play. Hear. Feb. (25.) + Patriotic Pamela. Hear. Sept. (43.) + Tangent Into Gilead. Hear. Apr. (46.) + Too-Perfect Barbara. Hear. June. (10.) + +BARRINTON, E. + *Fair Rosemonde. Atl. June. (127:799.) + **Walpole Beauty. Atl. Sept. (128:300.) + +BECHHOFER, C.E. + **Captain Valya. S.S. Nov., '20. (41.) + +BECK, L. ADAMS. (_See 1920._) + *Emperor and the Silk Goddess. Asia. Feb. (21:141.) + *Hatred of the Queen. Asia. May. (21:393.) + ***How Great is the Glory of Kwannon. Atl. Oct., '20. (126:484.) + ***Interpreter. Atl. Jul. (128:37.) Aug. (128:233.) + +BEERBOHM, MAX. (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) + ***F. Fenning Dodworth. Dial. Aug. (71:130.) + ***William and Mary. Cen. Dec., '20. (101:161.) + +BELL, J(OHN) J(OY). (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Jacobites. Chic. Trib. Jan. 16. + +BELL, JOHN KEBLE. _See_ "HOWARD, KEBLE." + +BENNETT, ARNOLD. (1867- .) (_H._) + *Mysterious Destruction of Mr. Lewis Apple. Harp. B. Aug. (27.) + +BENSON, EDWARD FREDERIC. (1867- .) (_See 1917._) + Dodo and the Maharajah. Hear. June. (45.) + Highness. Harp. B. Nov., '20. (82.) + +BERESFORD, JOHN DAVYS. (1873- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + ***Expiation. Harp. M. Jan. (142:179.) + *No Defense. Met. Mar. (15.) + *Successful Marriage. Harp. B. Jul. (54.) + *Wilderness. McCall. Nov., '20. (15.) + +BIANCO, MRS. FRANCESCO. _See_ WILLIAMS, MARGERY. + +BIBESCO, PRINCESS ANTOINE. + Successor. McCall. Jul. (7.) + +BLACKWOOD, ALGERNON. (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + ***Confession. Cen. Mar. (101:556.) + **Lane That Ran East and West. McCall. Sept. (10.) + +BOTTOME, PHYLLIS. (MRS. FORBES DENNIS.) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + *Archduke's Tapestry. S.E.P. Jul. 9. (8.) + **Tug of War. Cen. Nov., '20. (101:122.) + +BUCHAN, JOHN. (1875- .) (_See 1920._) (_H._) + *Eaucourt by the Waters. Adv. Apr. 3. (140.) + *End of the Road. Adv. May 18. (115.) + *Englishman. Adv. Feb. 18. (62.) + *Eyes of Youth. Adv. Mar. 3. (54.) + *Hidden City. Adv. Apr. 3. (150.) + *Hightown Under Sunfell. Adv. Feb. 18. (53.) + *In the Dark Land. Adv. May 3. (142.) + *Last Stage. Adv. May 18. (109.) + *Lighted Chamber. Adv. May 3. (135.) + *Maid. Adv. Mar. 18. (52.) + *Marplot. Adv. Apr. 18. (160.) + *Regiside. Adv. Apr. 18. (153.) + *Wife of Flanders. Adv. Mar. 3. (47.) + *Wood of Life. Adv. Mar. 18. (58.) + +BUCHANAN, MERIEL. (_See 1920._) + Idyl of the Shadows. McC. May. (31.) + +BURKE, THOMAS. (1887- .) (_See 1916, 1919, 1920._) + *Big Boy Blue. Cos. Nov., '20. (53.) + *Fools Keep Faith. Cos. Jan. (45.) + *Katie the Kid. Ain. Aug. (119.) + **Yellow Scarf. Sn. St. Dec. 25, '20. (27.) + + +C + +CAIRNS, WILLIAM. + Awful Miss Brown. Cen. Nov., '20. (101:14.) + +CARY, JOYCE. _See_ "JOYCE, THOMAS." + +CASTLE, AGNES (SWEETMAN), _and_ CASTLE, EGERTON. (1858-1920.) (_See 1917, + 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + Ivory Angel. Chic. Trib. Jan. 2. + +CHESTERTON, GILBERT KEITH. (1874- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + **Bottomless Well. Harp. M. Mar. (142:504.) + **Fad of the Fisherman. Harp. M. June. (143:9.) + *Fantastic Friends. Harp. B. Nov., '20. (47.) + *Finger of Stone. Harp. B. Dec., '20. (36.) + Home Wreckers of Humanity. Hear. Dec., '20. (32.) + *Man Who Shot the Fox. Hear. Mar. (11.) + **Yellow Bird. Harp. B. Feb. (66.) + +CHOLMONDELEY, MARY. (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + **Refuge. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (18.) + +CLOUSTON, J. STORER. (1870- .) + **Devil's House. Rom. Oct., '20. (94.) + +COLEM, PADRAIC. (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) + **Sad Sequel to Puss-In-Boots. Dial. Jul. (71:28.) + +COPPARD, ALFRED EDGAR. (1878- .) + ***Hurly-Burly. Dial. Apr. (70:369.) + ***Tiger. Met. Apr. (17.) + + +D + +DELL, ETHEL M. (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Odds. Del. Oct., '20. (10.) + Sacrifice. Col. June 11. (9.) + Tenth Point. Met. May. (11.) + +DENNIS, MRS. FORBES. _See_ BOTTOME, PHYLLIS. + +DUDENEY, MRS. HENRY E. (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + *Legacy. S.E.P. Apr. 9. (36.) + **"Two Together." Harp. M. Feb. (142:315.) + + +E + +EDGINTON, MAY. (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." Chic. Trib. Feb. 27. + *In Devon. Hol. Oct., '20. (11.) + Itinerant Lover. Chic. Trib. June 26. + +ERVINE, ST. JOHN. (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + *It Sometimes Happens So. G.H. June, '20. (29.) + +EVANS, C.S. (1883- .) + *Calf Love. Cen. Nov., '20. (101:34) + + +F + +FLETCHER, A. BYERS. (_See 1916, 1917, 1919, 1920._) + Little Deeds of Kindness. L.H.J. Feb. (165.) + +FLOWER, (WALTER) NEWMAN. (1879- .) (_H._) + Weeds. S.E.P. Jan. 22. (14.) + +FRANKUN, GILBERT. (1884- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) + Moth and the Star. Ev. Jul. (113.) + + +G + +GALSWORTHY, JOHN. (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + (_H._) + ***Awakening. Scr. Nov., '20. (68:515.) + ***Hedonist. Cen. Jul. (102:321.) + ***Timber. Ev. Dec., '20. (19.) + +GEORGE, W.L. (1882- .) (_See 1917, 1920._) + *Counter Attack. Red Bk. Aug. (84.) + *Education of Celia. Red Bk. May. (42.) + Green Parrot. Am. Mar. (8.) + *Husband of Mrs. Walton. Red Bk. Jul. (79.) + *Lady Alcuin Intervenes. S.E.P. Jul. 16. (8.) + *Postman of Cotterbury. Harp. B. Apr. (70.) + *Profiteer's Wife. Red Bk. June. (76.) + *Reprieve. S.E.P. Jan. 8. (10.) + Rosy Can't Fall in Love. Red Bk. Sept. (66.) + *Shadows. L.H.J. Jul. (14.) + Three Daughters of Cadriano. Hear. Jan. (8.) + *Through the Needle's Eye. Del. May. (11.) + *Winter Roses. Harp. B. Feb. (54.) + +GIBBON, PERCEVAL. (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + *Bad Companions. S.E.P. Nov. 27, '20. (14.) + *James. S.E.P. Jan. 15. (12.) + *Money's Worth. S.E.P. Dec. 4, '20. (18.) + **Rewards and Furies. S.E.P. Oct. 23, '20. (20.) + ***Statistics. S.E.P. Dec. 18, '20. (16.) + *Touching Pitch. Red Bk. Sept. (61.) + *When Gentlefolk Meet. Cos. Feb. (37.) + +GIBBS, SIR PHILIP. (_See 1915, 1919._) + Chateau in Picardy, S.E.P. Dec. 4,'20. (5.) + Escape to Geneva. S.E.P. Apr. 16. (8.) + *Lieutenant of the Marble Venus. S.E.P. Jan. 1. (16.) + Madonna of the Hungry Child. Cos. Mar. (23.) + Through Enchanted Seas. L.H.J. Dec. '20. (3.) + Return of a Rebel. S.E.P. Nov. 9, '20. (5.) + Venetian Lovers. S.E.P. Nov. 30, '20. (8.) + +GRIMSHAW, BEATRICE. (_See 1915, 1916, 1920._) (_H._) + *Beach of Vanalona. Ev. Apr. (18.) + Down to the Sea. Red Bk. Nov., '20. (73.) + *Lost Wings. Red Bk. May. (52.) + Treasure Hole. Red Bk. Sept. (75.) + + +H + +HAMILTON, COSMO. (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) + At the Gates of Delhi. Hear. Apr. (41.) + +HARKER, LIZZIE ALLEN. (1863- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Bribe. Scr. Sept. (70:305.) + +HARRINGTON, KATHERINE. (MRS. ROLF BENNETT.) (_See 1920._) + Unfit Survivor. Hear. May. (36.) + +HERBERT, A.P. (_See 1919._) + **Mouse Trap. Met. June. (26.) + +HORN, HOLLOWAY. (1886- .) + *Lie. Harp. B. May. (74.) + +HOWARD, FRANCIS MORTON. (1880- .) + *How He Got Her. Cen. Jan (101:391.) + +"HOWARD, KEBLE." (JOHN KEBLE BELL.) (1875- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Child Who Bought a Policeman. Harp. B. Dec., '20. (58.) + Hand maid to the Rumbelows. Harp. B. (46.) + +HUDSON, STEPHEN. + ***Southern Women. Lit. R. Sept. Dec., '20. (44.) + +HUTCHINSON, ARTHUR STUART MENTETH. (1880- .) (_See 1920._) (_H._) + **"Some Talk of Alexander." Ev. Nov., '20. (9.) + *Strike Breaker. Harp. M. Mar. (142:444.) + +HUXLEY, ALDOUS. + ***Tillotson Banquet. Cen. Jan. (101:297.) + + +J + +JACOBS, W(ILLIAM) W(YMARK). (1863- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, + 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Handsome Harry. Hear. Dec., '20. (18.) + +JEPSON, EDGAR. (1864- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) + Submerged Conflict. S.E.P. Sent. 3. (10.) + +"JOYCE, THOMAS." (JOYCE, GARY.) (_See 1920._) + Salute to Propriety. S.E.P. Oct. 9, '20. (40.) + + +K + +KINROSS, ALBERT. (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + **Disciple. Cen. Apr. (101:754.) + **Forbidden Fruit. Cen. July. (102:342.) + **Truth About Vignolles. Cen. Feb. (101:427.) + + +L + +LAWRENCE, DAVID HERBERT. (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Rex. Dial. Feb. (70:169.) + **Wintry Peacock. Met. Aug. (21.) + +LESLIE, SHANE. + *Study in Smoke. Scr. Sept. (70:369.) + +LYONS, A(LBERT MICHAEL) NEIL. (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Inefficient Mr. Jones. Ev. Oct., '20. (65.) + + +M + +MCFEE, WILLIAM. + ***Knights and Turcopoliers. Atl. Aug. (128:170.) + +MCKENNA, STEPHEN. (1888- .) + *Daughter of Pan. Chic. Trib. Aug. 14. + +"MALET, LUCAS." (MARY ST. LEGER HARRISON.) + *Fillingers. Harp. B. Mar. (34.) + +MAUGHAM, W. SOMERSET. (1874- .) + *Macintosh. Cos. Nov., '20. (15.) + *Pool. Cos. Sept. (58.) + *Red. Asia. Apr. (21:301.) + +MAXWELL, WILLIAM BABINGTON. (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *"All to Husband." Del. Apr. (19.) + Ghosts at Grosvenor Square. Hear. July. (45.) + Light Is Coming. Hear. May. (45.) + +MERRICK, LEONARD. (1864- .) (_See 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Girl Who Tired of Love. Harp. B. Jan. (40.) + +MORDAUNT, ELINOR. (EVELYN MAY.) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + **Ganymede. Met. Aug. (33.) + **Helen of the Town of Troy. Met. Feb. (21.) + *Hodge. Met. Apr. (9.) + *Rider in the King's Carriage. Met. May. (24.) + + +N + +NEWTON, W. DOUGLAS. (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1920._) + Menena. Cen. Apr. (101:711.) + +NIVEN, FREDERICK (JOHN). (1878- .) + *Excitement at Wind River Crossing. Mun. July. (73:357.) + *Injun Maid. Pop. Aug. 20. (145.) + +NOYES, ALFRED. (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1918. 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + *Immortal. Red Bk. June. (42.) + + +O + +ONIONS, MRS. OLIVER. _See_ "RUCK, BERTA." + +OPPENHEIM, E(DWARD) PHILLIPS. (1866- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Broad-Minded Marquis. Hear. Apr. (9.) + Cunning of Lord Felixstowe. Hear. July. (50.) + Customs of the Family. Hear. June. (50.) + Domville Case. Red Bk. Nov.,'20. (27.) + Duke's Dilemma. L.H.J. Apr. (18.) + Greatest Argument. L.H.J. May. (26.) + Invincible Truth. Red Bk. June. (47.) + Mischief. Red Bk. Jan. (35.) + Mr. Cray Comes Home. Red Bk. Aug. (75.) + Mr. Homer's Legacy. Red Bk. May. (57.) + Recalcitrant Mr. Cray. Red Bk. July. (55.) + Reckoning. Red Bk. Feb. (35.) + Rift. Red Bk. Mar. (48.) + Satan and the Spirit. Red Bk. Apr. (67.) + Tragedy at Greymarshes. L.H.J. Mar. (18.) + Two Philanthropists. Red Bk. Dec., '20. (33.) + +OWEN, H. COLLINSON. (_See 1920._) + **Blackmail for Two. Pict. R. Jan. (17.) + **King of Paris. Pict. R. Nov., '20. (30.) + **La Douloureuse. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (15.) + Studio in the Rue Tartarin. Pict. R. Feb. (30.) + *Villa at Neuilly. Pict. R. Apr. (26.) + + +P + +PERTWEE, ROLAND. (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) + Delicate Adjustment. S.E.P. Oct. 16, '20. (12.) + Only One in Queensbridge. Hear. Nov., '20. (31.) + Really Horrid Relation. L.H.J. Jan. 14. + *Respectable Girl. Hear. May. (40.) + *Silly Thing To Do. S.E.P. Nov. 20, '20. (16.) + Uncle From Australia. Hear. Dec., '20. (10.) + +PHILLPOTTS, EDEN. (1862- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + *Obi. Rom. Oct., '20. (147.) + *Thief. Chic. Trib. Nov. 14, '20. + *Three Dead Men. Chic. Trib. June 12. + +PRYCE, RICHARD. (_See 1915._) + ***Girl in the Omnibus. Harp. M. Nov., '20. (141:775.) + + +Q + +QUIRK, V. + *One of the Fools. T.T. Aug. (29.) + + +R + +ROBERTS, CECIL. (1892- .) + *Night of Glory. Col. Apr. 30. (3.) + ***Silver Pool. Pict. R. Jan. 8. + +ROBEY, GEORGE. + Beware of the Dog! Ev. Dec., '20. + **Double or Quits. Ev. Sept. (81.) + Special Effort. Ev. Jan. (49.) + +ROBINS, ELIZABETH. (MRS. GEORGE RICHMOND PARKS.) (_H._) + Little Man Monday. Met. Sept. (23.) + +"ROHMER, SAX." (ARTHUR SARSFIELD WARD.) (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, + 1920._) (_H._) + White Hat. Col. Nov. 13, '20. (8.) + +"RUCK, BERTA." (MRS. OLIVER ONIONS.) (_See 1919._) + Marriage That Was Arranged. Chic. Trib. May 1. + + +S + +SABATINI, RAFAEL. (1875- .) (_See 1920._) (_H._) + *Casanova's Alibi. Cen. June. (102:222.) + *While the Clock Ticked. Top. Nov. 15, '20. (133.) + +ST. MARS, F. (1883-1921.) (_See 1915._) + Kilfarn. Ev. July. (155.) + Pack. Ev. June. (38.) + +SINCLAIR, MAY. (_See 1915, 1917, 1920._) (_H._) + ***Lena Wrace. Dial. Jul. (71:50.) + ***Return. Harp. M. May. (142:693.) + +STACPOOLE, HENRY DE VERE. (1865- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + *End of the Road. Pop. Aug. 20. (139.) + *Magic. Pop. Dec. 7, '20. (73.) + Oh, Mommer! Del. Mar. (10.) + *Return. Cen. Feb. (101:451.) + +STEPHENS, JAMES. (_See 1915, 1918, 1920._) (_H._) + ***In the Beechwood. Dial. Dec.,'20. (69:559.) + +STOCK, RALPH. (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_H._) + We of Malita. Col. Feb. 12. (7.) + +SWINNERTON, FRANK (ARTHUR). (1884- .) (_See 1918._) + *Babies. Chic. Trib. Mar. 27. + **Boy. Ev. Feb. (7.) + *Restaurant of "The Silver Bells." Harp. M. July. (143:175.) + *Too Proud to Fight. Chic. Trib. Feb. 6. + + +V + +VACHELL, HORACE ANNESLEY. (1861- .) (_H._) + *Barbens of Barben-Lacy. L.H.J. Apr. (30.) + Jade Buddha. Chic. Trib. Oct. 3, '20. + *Paul Lamerie Cup. L.H.J. June. (14.) + + +W + +WADSLEY, OLIVE. (_See 1917._) + Pampered Young Man. Harp. B. Mar. (50.) + +WALPOLE, HUGH. (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1920._) + ***Bombastes Furioso. Pict. R. Dec., '20. (29.) + ***Critic. S.S. Dec., '20. (23.) + ***Lizzie Rand. Pict. R. Jan. (10.) + ***Lucy Moon. Pict. R. Nov., '20. (12.) + ***Nobody! Pict. R. Mar. (26.) + Peter Westcott's Nursery. Pict. R. Feb. (14.) + ***Strange Case of Mr. Nix. Pict. R. Oct., '20. (6.) + +WARD, ARTHUR SARSFIELD _See_ "ROHMER, SAX." + +WEBB, MARY. + **Caer Cariad. Book. Feb. (52:487.) + +*WHARTON, ANTHONY. (_See 1919, 1920._) + *Ann's Hat. S.E.P. Feb. 14, '20. (16.) + Needles and Pins. S.E.P. Nov. 6, '20. (8.) + +WILDRIDGE, OSWALD. + *Redemption. Col. Oct. 30, '20. (7.) + +WILLIAMS, MARGERY. (MRS. FRANCESCO BIANCO.) + *Candlestick. Harp. B. Aug. (52.) + Velveteen Rabbit. Harp. B. June. (72.) + +WILLIAMSON, CHARLES NORRIS. (1859- .), _and_ WILLIAMSON, ALICE MURIEL. + (_See 1916._) + Strange Case of Jessamine Lynd. Chic. Trib. Oct. 24, '20. + +WODEHOUSE, PELHAM GRENVILLE. (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, + 1920._) (_H._) + Bit of All Right. Cos. Nov., '20. (77.) + Coming of Gowf. McC. June-July. (13.) + First Aid for Loony Biddle. Cos. Dec., '20. (43.) + "Mother's Knee," Cos. Jan. (81.) + Rough Stuff. Chic. Trib. Oct. 10, '20. + Salvation of George Mackintosh. McC. Sept. (18.) + Sundered Hearts. McC. Dec., '20. (10.) + Washy Makes His Presence Felt. Cos. Oct., '20. (43.) + Wigmore-Venus. Cos. Feb. (81.) + +WYLIE, I(DA) A(LENA) R(OSS). (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Lord Bolshevik and Lady Circumstance. G.H. Aug. (22.) + *Silent Room. G.H. Mar. (62.) + *Way Home. G.H. Jan. (29.) + **Wonderful Story. G.H. Dec. '20. (60.) + + +III. TRANSLATIONS + + +B + +BERNHARDT, SARAH. (_French._) + Daughter of Normandy. McCall. Mar. (9.) + Heart of the Rose. McCall. Feb. (10.) + Hearts Unreasoning. McCall. Dec., '20. (8.) + Temptation. McCall. Jan. (8.) + Untold Story. McCall. May. (14.) + +"BERTHEROY, JEAN." (BERTHE CARIANNE LE BARILLIER.) (1860- .) (_See 1918, + 1919, 1920._) (_French._) + *Alcestis. N.Y. Trib. Dec. 5, '20. + Colette's Wish. N.Y. Trib. Mar. 20. + Lesson of the Deep. N.Y. Trib. Jan. 23. + Mars-En-Careme. N.Y. Trib. Sept. 4. + Marthe Lesner's Awakening. N.Y. Trib. June 5. + Peace Maker. N.Y. Trib. July 10. + Three Pigeons. N.Y. Trib. Oct. 10, '20. + +BLANCO-FOMBONA, RUFINO. (_Spanish._) + *Confession of a Cripple. Mid. Book. May. (13.) + **Election Eve at Camoruco. Free. July. 6. (3:391.) + +BLASCO IBÁÑEZ, VICENTE. (1867- .) (_See 1919 under_ IBÁÑEZ, VICENTE + BLASCO, _1920._) (_Spanish._) + *General's Automobile. Chic. Trib. Mar. 20. + **Hero. Chic. Trib. Dec. 5, '20. + +BOJER, JOHAN. (_Norwegian._) + *Fisherman's Christmas. Hear. Jan. (30.) + **Skobebf Was a Horse. Hear. May. (48.) + *When the Cuckoo Crowed. Hear. Oct., '20. (36.) + +BOUTET, FREDERIC. (_See 1917, 1918, 1920._) (_French._) + "At the End of the Route." N.Y. Trib. Dec. 28, '20. + Blackmailer. N.Y. Trib. Apr. 17. + *Bracelet. Par. June. (17.) + *Combatants. N.Y. Trib. Oct. 24, '20. + Cornerstone of Bliss. N.Y. Trib. Sept. 25. + *Godmother. Follies. Sept. (115.) + Her Wasted Evening. N.Y. Trib. Feb. 6. + His Admirer. N.Y. Trib. May 15. + Loan. N.Y. Trib. Aug. 21. + Memories. N.Y. Trib. Jan. 2. + *Orphan. Tod. Oct., '20. (3.) + Price of Her Silence. N.Y. Trib. July. 3. + Without Varnish. N.Y. Trib. Mar. 13. + +CLEMENCEAU, GEORGES. (_See 1920._) (_French._) + *Schlome the Fighter. Hear. Nov., '20. (14.) + Story of a Hungry Millionaire. Hear. Feb. (20.) + + +D + +DELARNE-MARDRUS, LUCIE. _See_ MARDRUS, LUCIE DELARNE. + +DUVERNOIS, HENRI. (_See 1919._) (_French._) + At the End of the Rainbow. N.Y. Trib. May 1. + *Hunger. N.Y. Trib. June 19. + *Inseparables. N.Y. Trib. Dec. 12, '20. + + +F + +FOMBONA, RUFINO BLANCO --. _See_ BLANCO -- FOMBONA, RUFINO. + + +G + +GINISTY, PAUL. (_French._) + Aladdin's Lamp. N.Y. Trib. Sept. 18. + Her Letters. N.Y. Trib. Feb. 13. + Step-Mother. N.Y. Trib. July. 31. + Vandamme's Christmas Eve. N.Y. Trib. Dec. 19, '20. + +"GORKY, MAXIM." (ALEXEI MAXIMOVITCH PYESHKOV.) (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, + 1918._) (_H._) (_Russian._) + ***Rivals. Met. Jan. (21.) + +Gourmont, Remy de. (1858- .) (_French._) + **Yellow. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '20. (5.) + + +H + +HARAUCOURT, EDMOND. (1856- .) (_See 1918, 1920._) (_H._) (_French._) + *Birth of a Sage. N.Y. Trib. July. 24. + Bonhomme Michel. N.Y. Trib. Jan. 30. + Honor of His Roof. N.Y. Trib. Apr. 24. + Madman in the Jungle. N.Y. Trib. Oct. 17, '20. + *Return. N.Y. Trib. Apr. 3. + + +I + +IBÁÑEZ, VICENTE BLASCO. _See_ BLASCO IBÁÑEZ, VICENTE. + + +J + +JALOUX, EDMOND. (_See 1918, 1920._) (_French._) + *Glory. S.S. May. (113.) + + +L + +LATZKO, ANDREAS. (_Austrian._) + *Scar. S.S. Aug. (31.) + +LE BARILLIER, BERTHE CARAINNE. _See_ "BERTHEROY, JEAN." + +LEMAITRE, JULES. (_See 1919._) (_French._) + **Marriage of Telemachus. Apropos. June. (11.) + +LEVEL, MAURICE. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_French._) + *One Evening in Autumn. Hear. May. (20.) + + +M + +MANN, THOMAS. (1875- .) (_German._) + ***Loulou. Dial. Apr. (70:428.) + +MARDRUS, LUCIE DELARNE --. (_See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_French._) + Crape Hanger. N.Y. Trib. June 12. + His Second Death. N.Y. Trib. Mar. 6. + *Medallion. N.Y. Trib. Aug. 14. + Mystic Waltz. N.Y. Trib. Jan. 16. + Peacemaker. N.Y. Trib. Nov. 21. '20. + +MENDES, CATULLE (ABRAHAM). (1841-1909.) (_H._) (_French._) + *Isoline--Isolin. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '20. (20.) + Le Pire Supplice. Pag. June-July. (38.) + +MILLE, PIERRE. (1864- .) _(See 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_French._) + *Bomb and the Judge. N.Y. Trib. Sept. 11. + *Francis Bacon. Cen. Aug. (102:525.) + *Ghostly Perfume. N.Y. Trib. Dec. 26, '20. + *Hat. N.Y. Trib. Feb. 20. + Invisible Ghost. N.Y. Trib. Aug. 7. + *Memory Cure. N.Y. Trib. Nov. 14, '20. + Shade of Byron. N.Y. Trib. June 26. + Shark. N.Y. Trib. May 8. + Third Party. N.Y. Trib. Apr. 10. + +MORAND, PAUL. (_French._) + **Hungarian Night. Dial. Nov., '20 (69:467.) + **Turkish Night. Dial. Sept. (71:281.) + + +R + +REMIZOV, ALEKSEI. (_Russian._) + ***White Heart. Dial. Jan. (70:65.) + +ROSNY, J.-H., AINE. (_See 1920._) (_French._) + *Bolshevists' Restitution. N.Y. Trib. Nov. 7, '20. + Desert Romance. N.Y. Trib. Mar. 27. + Dromedary. N.Y. Trib. May 29. + Easter Chimes. N.Y. Trib. Jan. 9. + Lesson of Reality. N.Y. Trib. Feb. 27. + + +S + +SANDOR, EMMERICH. (_German._) + September Tale. Pag. Mar.-Apr. (7.) + +SCHNITZLER, ARTHUR. (1862- .) (_See 1918, 1920._) (_Austrian._) + ***Greek Dancer. Dial. Sept. (71:253.) + +SWEDEN, PRINCE CARL WILHELM LUDWIG OF. (_Swedish._) + ***Pearls. Pict. R. Jan. (6.) + + +T + +TAGORE, RABINDRANATH. (RAVINDRANATHA THAKURA.) (1861- .) (_See 1916, + 1918._) (_H._) (_Hindustani._) + *Emancipation. Hear. July. (39.) + **Jagamohan the Atheist. Hear. Jan. (34.) + **On the Calcutta Road. Asia. Feb. (21:103.) + + +V + +VALDAGNE, PIERRE. (_See 1918, 1919, 1920._) (_French._) + Fatal Lie. N.Y. Trib. May 22. + *Deliverance. N.Y. Trib. Oct. 31, '20. + Intruder. N.Y. Trib. July. 17. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1921 AND +THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY*** + + +******* This file should be named 18709-8.txt or 18709-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/7/0/18709 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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