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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: A Poor Wise Man + +Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart + +Release Date: November 3, 2008 [EBook #1970] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A POOR WISE MAN *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + A POOR WISE MAN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Mary Roberts Rinehart + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER LI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER LII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The city turned its dreariest aspect toward the railway on blackened + walls, irregular and ill-paved streets, gloomy warehouses, and over all a + gray, smoke-laden atmosphere which gave it mystery and often beauty. + Sometimes the softened towers of the great steel bridges rose above the + river mist like fairy towers suspended between Heaven and earth. And again + the sun tipped the surrounding hills with gold, while the city lay buried + in its smoke shroud, and white ghosts of river boats moved spectrally + along. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes it was ugly, sometimes beautiful, but always the city was + powerful, significant, important. It was a vast melting pot. Through its + gates came alike the hopeful and the hopeless, the dreamers and those who + would destroy those dreams. From all over the world there came men who + sought a chance to labor. They came in groups, anxious and dumb, carrying + with them their pathetic bundles, and shepherded by men with cunning eyes. + </p> + <p> + Raw material, for the crucible of the city, as potentially powerful as the + iron ore which entered the city by the same gate. + </p> + <p> + The city took them in, gave them sanctuary, and forgot them. But the + shepherds with the cunning eyes remembered. + </p> + <p> + Lily Cardew, standing in the train shed one morning early in March, + watched such a line go by. She watched it with interest. She had developed + a new interest in people during the year she had been away. She had seen, + in the army camp, similar shuffling lines of men, transformed in a few + hours into ranks of uniformed soldiers, beginning already to be actuated + by the same motive. These aliens, going by, would become citizens. Very + soon now they would appear on the streets in new American clothes of + extraordinary cut and color, their hair cut with clippers almost to the + crown, and surmounted by derby hats always a size too small. + </p> + <p> + Lily smiled, and looked out for her mother. She was suddenly unaccountably + glad to be back again. She liked the smoke and the noise, the movement, + the sense of things doing. And the sight of her mother, small, faultlessly + tailored, wearing a great bunch of violets, and incongruous in that + work-a-day atmosphere, set her smiling again. + </p> + <p> + How familiar it all was! And heavens, how young she looked! The limousine + was at the curb, and a footman as immaculately turned out as her mother + stood with a folded rug over his arm. On the seat inside lay a purple box. + Lily had known it would be there. They would be ostensibly from her + father, because he had not been able to meet her, but she knew quite well + that Grace Cardew had stopped at the florist's on her way downtown and + bought them. + </p> + <p> + A little surge of affection for her mother warmed the girl's eyes. The + small attentions which in the Cardew household took the place of loving + demonstrations had always touched her. As a family the Cardews were rather + loosely knitted together, but there was something very lovable about her + mother. + </p> + <p> + Grace Cardew kissed her, and then held her off and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, Lily!” she said, “you look as old as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Older, I hope,” Lily retorted. “What a marvel you are, Grace dear.” Now + and then she called her mother “Grace.” It was by way of being a small + joke between them, but limited to their moments alone. Once old Anthony, + her grandfather, had overheard her, and there had been rather a row about + it. + </p> + <p> + “I feel horribly old, but I didn't think I looked it.” + </p> + <p> + They got into the car and Grace held out the box to her. “From your + father, dear. He wanted so to come, but things are dreadful at the mill. I + suppose you've seen the papers.” Lily opened the box, and smiled at her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. But why the subterfuge about the flowers, mother dear? + Honestly, did he send them, or did you get them? But never mind about + that; I know he's worried, and you're sweet to do it. Have you broken the + news to grandfather that the last of the Cardews is coming home?” + </p> + <p> + “He sent you all sorts of messages, and he'll see you at dinner.” + </p> + <p> + Lily laughed out at that. + </p> + <p> + “You darling!” she said. “You know perfectly well that I am nothing in + grandfather's young life, but the Cardew women all have what he likes to + call savoir faire. What would they do, father and grandfather, if you + didn't go through life smoothing things for them?” + </p> + <p> + Grace looked rather stiffly ahead. This young daughter of hers, with her + directness and her smiling ignoring of the small subterfuges of life, + rather frightened her. The terrible honesty of youth! All these years of + ironing the wrinkles out of life, of smoothing the difficulties between + old Anthony and Howard, and now a third generation to contend with. A + pitilessly frank and unconsciously cruel generation. She turned and eyed + Lily uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “You look tired,” she said, “and you need attention. I wish you had let me + send Castle to you.” + </p> + <p> + But she thought that lily was even lovelier than she had remembered her. + Lovely rather than beautiful, perhaps. Her face was less childish than + when she had gone away; there was, in certain of her expressions, an + almost alarming maturity. But perhaps that was fatigue. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't have had Castle, mother. I didn't need anything. I've been + very happy, really, and very busy.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been very vague lately about your work.” + </p> + <p> + Lily faced her mother squarely. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think you'd much like having me do it, and I thought it would + drive grandfather crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were in a canteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Not lately. I've been looking after girls who had followed soldiers to + camps. Some of them were going to have babies, too. It was rather awful. + We married quite a lot of them, however.” + </p> + <p> + The curious reserve that so often exists between mother and daughter held + Grace Cardew dumb. She nodded, but her eyes had slightly hardened. So this + was what war had done to her. She had had no son, and had thanked God for + it during the war, although old Anthony had hated her all her married life + for it. But she had given her daughter, her clear-eyed daughter, and they + had shown her the dregs of life. + </p> + <p> + Her thoughts went back over the years. To Lily as a child, with + Mademoiselle always at her elbow, and life painted as a thing of beauty. + Love, marriage and birth were divine accidents. Death was a quiet sleep, + with heaven just beyond, a sleep which came only to age, which had wearied + and would rest. Then she remembered the day when Elinor Cardew, poor + unhappy Elinor, had fled back to Anthony's roof to have a baby, and after + a few rapturous weeks for Lily the baby had died. + </p> + <p> + “But the baby isn't old,” Lily had persisted, standing in front of her + mother with angry, accusing eyes. + </p> + <p> + Grace was not an imaginative woman, but she turned it rather neatly, as + she told Howard later. + </p> + <p> + “It was such a nice baby,” she said, feeling for an idea. “I think + probably God was lonely without it, and sent an angel for it again.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is still upstairs,” Lily had insisted. She had had a curious + instinct for truth, even then. But there Grace's imagination had failed + her, and she sent for Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle was a good Catholic, and + very clear in her own mind, but what she left in Lily's brain was a + confused conviction that every person was two persons, a body and a soul. + Death was simply a split-up, then. One part of you, the part that bathed + every morning and had its toe-nails cut, and went to dancing school in a + white frock and thin black silk stockings and carriage boots over pumps, + that part was buried and would only came up again at the Resurrection. But + the other part was all the time very happy, and mostly singing. + </p> + <p> + Lily did not like to sing. + </p> + <p> + Then there was the matter of tears. People only cried when they hurt + themselves. She had been told that again and again when she threatened + tears over her music lesson. But when Aunt Elinor had gone away she had + found Mademoiselle, the deadly antagonist of tears, weeping. And here + again Grace remembered the child's wide, insistent eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “She is sorry for Aunt Elinor.” + </p> + <p> + “Because her baby's gone to God? She ought to be glad, oughtn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that;” said Grace, and had brought a box of chocolates and given her + one, although they were not permitted save one after each meal. + </p> + <p> + Then Lily had gone away to school. How carefully the school had been + selected! When she came back, however, there had been no more questions, + and Grace had sighed with relief. That bad time was over, anyhow. But Lily + was rather difficult those days. She seemed, in some vague way, resentful. + Her mother found her, now and then, in a frowning, half-defiant mood. And + once, when Mademoiselle had ventured some jesting remark about young + Alston Denslow, she was stupefied to see the girl march out of the room, + her chin high, not to be seen again for hours. + </p> + <p> + Grace's mind was sub-consciously remembering those things even when she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you were having to learn about that side of life,” she + said, after a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + “That side of life is life, mother,” Lily said gravely. But Grace did not + reply to that. It was characteristic of her to follow her own line of + thought. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't tell your grandfather. You know he feels strongly + about some things. And he hasn't forgiven me yet for letting you go.” + </p> + <p> + Rather diffidently Lily put her hand on her mother's. She gave her rare + caresses shyly, with averted eyes, and she was always more diffident with + her mother than with her father. Such spontaneous bursts of affection as + she sometimes showed had been lavished on Mademoiselle. It was + Mademoiselle she had hugged rapturously on her small feast days, + Mademoiselle who never demanded affection, and so received it. + </p> + <p> + “Poor mother!” she said, “I have made it hard for you, haven't I? Is he as + bad as ever?” + </p> + <p> + She had not pinned on the violets, but sat holding them in her hands, now + and then taking a luxurious sniff. She did not seem to expect a reply. + Between Grace and herself it was quite understood that old Anthony Cardew + was always as bad as could be. + </p> + <p> + “There is some sort of trouble at the mill. Your father is worried.” + </p> + <p> + And this time it was Lily who did not reply. She said, inconsequentially: + </p> + <p> + “We're saved, and it's all over. But sometimes I wonder if we were worth + saving. It all seems such a mess, doesn't it?” She glanced out. They were + drawing up before the house, and she looked at her mother whimsically. + </p> + <p> + “The last of the Cardews returning from the wars!” she said. “Only she is + unfortunately a she, and she hasn't been any nearer the war than the State + of Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was gay enough, but she had a quick vision of the grim old house + had she been the son they had wanted to carry on the name, returning from + France. + </p> + <p> + The Cardews had fighting traditions. They had fought in every war from the + Revolution on. There had been a Cardew in Mexico in '48, and in that upper + suite of rooms to which her grandfather had retired in wrath on his son's + marriage, she remembered her sense of awe as a child on seeing on the wall + the sword he had worn in the Civil War. He was a small man, and the + scabbard was badly worn at the end, mute testimony to the long forced + marches of his youth. Her father had gone to Cuba in '98, and had almost + died of typhoid fever there, contracted in the marshes of Florida. + </p> + <p> + Yes, they had been a fighting family. And now— + </p> + <p> + Her mother was determinedly gay. There were flowers in the dark old hall, + and Grayson, the butler, evidently waiting inside the door, greeted her + with the familiarity of the old servant who had slipped her sweets from + the pantry after dinner parties in her little-girl years. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome home, Miss Lily,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle was lurking on the stairway, in a new lace collar over her + old black dress. Lily recognized in the collar a great occasion, for + Mademoiselle was French and thrifty. Suddenly a wave of warmth and + gladness flooded her. This was home. Dear, familiar home. She had come + back. She was the only young thing in the house. She would bring them + gladness and youth. She would try to make them happy. Always before she + had taken, but now she meant to give. + </p> + <p> + Not that she formulated such a thought. It was an emotion, rather. She ran + up the stairs and hugged Mademoiselle wildly. + </p> + <p> + “You darling old thing!” she cried. She lapsed into French. “I saw the + collar at once. And think, it is over! It is finished. And all your nice + French relatives are sitting on the boulevards in the sun, and sipping + their little glasses of wine, and rising and bowing when a pretty girl + passes. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so, God and the saints be praised!” said Mademoiselle, huskily. + </p> + <p> + Grace Cardew followed them up the staircase. Her French was negligible, + and she felt again, as in days gone by, shut from the little world of two + which held her daughter and governess. Old Anthony's doing, that. He had + never forgiven his son his plebeian marriage, and an early conversation + returned to her. It was on Lily's first birthday and he had made one of + his rare visits to the nursery. He had brought with him a pearl in a + velvet case. + </p> + <p> + “All our women have their own pearls,” he had said. “She will have her + grandmother's also when she marries. I shall give her one the first year, + two the second, and so on.” He had stood looking down at the child + critically. “She's a Cardew,” he said at last. “Which means that she will + be obstinate and self-willed.” He had paused there, but Grace had not + refuted the statement. He had grinned. “As you know,” he added. “Is she + talking yet?” + </p> + <p> + “A word or two,” Grace had said, with no more warmth in her tone than was + in his. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Get her a French governess. She ought to speak French before + she does English. It is one of the accomplishments of a lady. Get a good + woman, and for heaven's sake arrange to serve her breakfast in her room. I + don't want to have to be pleasant to any chattering French woman at eight + in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you wouldn't,” Grace had said. + </p> + <p> + Anthony had stamped out, but in the hall he smiled grimly. He did not like + Howard's wife, but she was not afraid of him. He respected her for that. + He took good care to see that the Frenchwoman was found, and at dinner, + the only meal he took with the family, he would now and then send for the + governess and Lily to come in for dessert. That, of course, was later on, + when the child was nearly ten. Then would follow a three-cornered + conversation in rapid French, Howard and Anthony and Lily, with + Mademoiselle joining in timidly, and with Grace, at the side of the table, + pretending to eat and feeling cut off, in a middle-class world of her own, + at the side of the table. Anthony Cardew had retained the head of his + table, and he had never asked her to take his dead wife's place. + </p> + <p> + After a time Grace realized the consummate cruelty of those hours, the + fact that Lily was sent for, not only because the old man cared to see + her, but to make Grace feel the outsider that she was. She made desperate + efforts to conquer the hated language, but her accent was atrocious. + Anthony would correct her suavely, and Lily would laugh in childish, + unthinking mirth. She gave it up at last. + </p> + <p> + She never told Howard about it. He had his own difficulties with his + father, and she would not add to them. She managed the house, checked over + the bills and sent them to the office, put up a cheerful and courageous + front, and after a time sheathed herself in an armor of smiling + indifference. But she thanked heaven when the time came to send Lily away + to school. The effort of concealing the armed neutrality between Anthony + and herself was growing more wearing. The girl was observant. And Anthony + had been right, she was a Cardew. She would have fought her grandfather + out on it, defied him, accused him, hated him. And Grace wanted peace. + </p> + <p> + Once again as she followed Lily and Mademoiselle up the stairs she felt + the barrier of language, and back of it the Cardew pride and traditions + that somehow cut her off. + </p> + <p> + But in Lily's rooms she was her sane and cheerful self again. Inside the + doorway the girl was standing, her eyes traveling over her little domain + ecstatically. + </p> + <p> + “How lovely of you not to change a thing, mother!” she said. “I was so + afraid—I know how you hate my stuff. But I might have known you + wouldn't. All the time I've been away, sleeping in a dormitory, and taking + turns at the bath, I have thought of my own little place.” She wandered + around, touching her familiar possessions with caressing hands. “I've a + good notion,” she declared, “to go to bed immediately, just for the + pleasure of lying in linen sheets again.” Suddenly she turned to her + mother. “I'm afraid you'll find I've made some queer friends, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by 'queer'?” + </p> + <p> + “People no proper Cardew would care to know.” She smiled. “Where's Ellen? + I want to tell her I met somebody she knows out there, the nicest sort of + a boy.” She went to the doorway and called lustily: “Ellen! Ellen!” The + rustling of starched skirts answered her from down the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't call, dear.” Grace looked anxious. “You know how your + grandfather—there's a bell for Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + “What we need around here,” said Lily, cheerfully, “is a little more + calling. And if grandfather thinks it is unbefitting the family dignity he + can put cotton in his ears. Come in, Ellen. Ellen, do you know that I met + Willy Cameron in the camp?” + </p> + <p> + “Willy!” squealed Ellen. “You met Willy? Isn't he a fine boy, Miss Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “He's wonderful,” said Lily. “I went to the movies with him every Friday + night.” She turned to her mother. “You would like him, mother. He couldn't + get into the army. He is a little bit lame. And—” she surveyed Grace + with amused eyes, “you needn't think what you are thinking. He is tall and + thin and not at all good-looking. Is he, Ellen?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a very fine young man,” Ellen said rather stiffly. “He's very + highly thought of in the town I come from. His father was a doctor, and + his buggy used to go around day, and night. When he found they wouldn't + take him as a soldier he was like to break his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Lame?” Grace repeated, ignoring Ellen. + </p> + <p> + “Just a little. You forget all about it when you know him. Don't you, + Ellen?” + </p> + <p> + But at Grace's tone Ellen had remembered. She stiffened, and became again + a housemaid in the Anthony Cardew house, a self-effacing, rubber-heeled, + pink-uniformed lower servant. She glanced at Mrs. Cardew, whose eyebrows + were slightly raised. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, miss,” she said. And went out, leaving Lily rather chilled and + openly perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” she said. Then she glanced at her mother. “I do believe you are a + little shocked, mother, because Ellen and I have a mutual friend in Mr. + William Wallace Cameron! Well, if you want the exact truth, he hadn't an + atom of use for me until he heard about Ellen.” She put an arm around + Grace's shoulders. “Brace up, dear,” she said, smilingly. “Don't you cry. + I'll be a Cardew bye-and-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you really go to the moving pictures with him?” Grace asked, rather + unhappily. She had never been inside a moving picture theater. To her they + meant something a step above the corner saloon, and a degree below the + burlesque houses. They were constituted of bad air and unchaperoned young + women accompanied by youths who dangled cigarettes from a lower lip, all + obviously of the lower class, including the cigarette; and of other women, + sometimes drab, dragged of breast and carrying children who should have + been in bed hours before; or still others, wandering in pairs, young, + painted and predatory. She was not imaginative, or she could not have + lived so long in Anthony Cardew's house. She never saw, in the long line + waiting outside even the meanest of the little theaters that had invaded + the once sacred vicinity of the Cardew house, the cry of every human heart + for escape from the sordid, the lure of romance, the call of adventure and + the open road. + </p> + <p> + “I can't believe it,” she added. + </p> + <p> + Lily made a little gesture of half-amused despair. + </p> + <p> + “Dearest,” she said, “I did. And I liked it. Mother, things have changed a + lot in twenty years. Sometimes I think that here, in this house, you don't + realize that—” she struggled for a phrase—“that things have + changed,” she ended, lamely. “The social order, and that sort of thing. + You know. Caste.” She hesitated. She was young and inarticulate, and when + she saw Grace's face, somewhat frightened. But she was not old Anthony's + granddaughter for nothing. “This idea of being a Cardew,” she went on, + “that's ridiculous, you know. I'm only half Cardew, anyhow. The rest is + you, dear, and it's got being a Cardew beaten by quite a lot.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle was deftly opening the girl's dressing case, but she paused + now and turned. It was to Grace that she spoke, however. + </p> + <p> + “They come home like that, all of them,” she said. “In France also. But in + time they see the wisdom of the old order, and return. It is one of the + fruits of war.” + </p> + <p> + Grace hardly heard her. + </p> + <p> + “Lily,” she asked, “you are not in love with this Cameron person, are + you?” + </p> + <p> + But Lily's easy laugh reassured her. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” she said. “I am not. I shall probably marry beneath me, as + you would call it, but not William Wallace Cameron. For one thing, he + wouldn't have grandfather in his family.” + </p> + <p> + Some time later Mademoiselle tapped at Grace's door, and entered. Grace + was reclining on a chaise longue, towels tucked about her neck and over + her pillows, while Castle, her elderly English maid, was applying ice in a + soft cloth to her face. Grace sat up. The towel, pinned around her hair + like a coif, gave a placid, almost nun-like appearance to her still lovely + face. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she demanded. “Go out for a minute, Castle.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle waited until the maid had gone. + </p> + <p> + “I have spoken to Ellen,” she said, her voice cautious. “A young man who + does not care for women, a clerk in a country pharmacy. What is that, Mrs. + Cardew?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be so dreadful, Mademoiselle. Her grandfather—” + </p> + <p> + “But not handsome,” insisted Mademoiselle, “and lame! Also, I know the + child. She is not in love. When that comes to her we shall know it.” + </p> + <p> + Grace lay back, relieved, but not entirely comforted. + </p> + <p> + “She is changed, isn't she, Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “A phase,” she said. She had got the word from old Anthony, who regarded + any mental attitude that did not conform with his own as a condition that + would pass. “A phase, only. Now that she is back among familiar things, + she will become again a daughter of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think this talk about marrying beneath her—” + </p> + <p> + “She 'as had liberty,” said Mademoiselle, who sometimes lost an aspirate. + “It is like wine to the young. It intoxicates. But it, too, passes. In my + country—” + </p> + <p> + But Grace had, for a number of years, heard a great deal of Mademoiselle's + country. She settled herself on her pillows. + </p> + <p> + “Call Castle, please,” she said. “And—do warn her not to voice those + ideas of hers to her grandfather. In a country pharmacy, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “And lame, and not fond of women,” corroborated Mademoiselle. “Ca ne + pourrait pas etre mieux, n'est-ce pas?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Shortly after the Civil War Anthony Cardew had left Pittsburgh and spent a + year in finding a location for the investment of his small capital. That + was in the very beginning of the epoch of steel. The iron business had + already laid the foundations of its future greatness, but steel was still + in its infancy. + </p> + <p> + Anthony's father had been an iron-master in a small way, with a monthly + pay-roll of a few hundred dollars, and an abiding faith in the future of + iron. But he had never dreamed of steel. But “sixty-five” saw the first + steel rail rolled in America, and Anthony Cardew began to dream. He went + to Chicago first, and from there to Michigan, to see the first successful + Bessemer converter. When he started east again he knew what he was to make + his life work. + </p> + <p> + He was very young and his capital was small. But he had an abiding faith + in the new industry. Not that he dreamed then of floating steel + battleships. But he did foresee steel in new and various uses. Later on he + was experimenting with steel cable at the very time Roebling made it a + commercial possibility, and with it the modern suspension bridge and the + elevator. He never quite forgave Roebling. That failure of his, the + difference only of a month or so, was one of the few disappointments of + his prosperous, self-centered, orderly life. That, and Howard's marriage. + And, at the height of his prosperity, the realization that Howard's + middle-class wife would never bear a son. + </p> + <p> + The city he chose was a small city then, yet it already showed signs of + approaching greatness. On the east side, across the river, he built his + first plant, a small one, with the blast heated by passing through cast + iron pipes, with the furnaceman testing the temperature with strips of + lead and zinc, and the skip hoist a patient mule. + </p> + <p> + He had ore within easy hauling distance, and he had fuel, and he had, as + time went on, a rapidly increasing market. Labor was cheap and plentiful, + too, and being American-born, was willing and intelligent. Perhaps Anthony + Cardew's sins of later years were due to a vast impatience that the labor + of the early seventies was no longer to be had. + </p> + <p> + The Cardew fortune began in the seventies. Up to that time there was a + struggle, but in the seventies Anthony did two things. He went to England + to see the furnaces there, and brought home a wife, a timid, tall + Englishwoman of irreproachable birth, who remained always an alien in the + crude, busy new city. And he built himself a house, a brick house in lower + East Avenue, a house rather like his tall, quiet wife, and run on English + lines. He soon became the leading citizen. He was one of the committee to + welcome the Prince of Wales to the city, and from the very beginning he + took his place in the social life. + </p> + <p> + He found it very raw at times, crude and new. He himself lived with + dignity and elegant simplicity. He gave now and then lengthy, ponderous + dinners, making out the lists himself, and handing them over to his timid + English wife in much the manner in which he gave the wine list and the key + to the wine cellar to the butler. And, at the head of his table, he let + other men talk and listened. They talked, those industrial pioneers, + especially after the women had gone. They saw the city the center of great + business and great railroads. They talked of its coal, its river, and the + great oil fields not far away which were then in their infancy. All of + them dreamed a dream, saw a vision. But not all of them lived to see their + dream come true. + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony lived to see it. + </p> + <p> + In the late eighties, his wife having been by that time decorously + interred in one of the first great mausoleums west of the mountains, + Anthony Cardew found himself already wealthy. He owned oil wells and coal + mines. His mines supplied his coke ovens with coal, and his own river + boats, as well as railroads in which he was a director, carried his steel. + </p> + <p> + He labored ably and well, and not for wealth alone. He was one of a group + of big-visioned men who saw that a nation was only as great as its + industries. It was only in his later years that he loved power for the + sake of power, and when, having outlived his generation, he had developed + a rigidity of mind that made him view the forced compromises of the new + regime as pusillanimous. + </p> + <p> + He considered his son Howard's quiet strength weakness. “You have no + stamina,” he would say. “You have no moral fiber. For God's sake, make a + stand, you fellows, and stick to it.” + </p> + <p> + He had not mellowed with age. He viewed with endless bitterness the + passing of his own day and generation, and the rise to power of younger + men; with their “shilly-shallying,” he would say. He was an aristocrat, an + autocrat, and a survival. He tied Howard's hands in the management of the + now vast mills, and then blamed him for the results. + </p> + <p> + But he had been a great man. + </p> + <p> + He had had two children, a boy and a girl. The girl had been the tragedy + of his middle years, and Howard had been his hope. + </p> + <p> + On the heights outside the city and overlooking the river he owned a farm, + and now and then, on Sunday afternoons in the eighties, he drove out + there, with Howard sitting beside him, a rangy boy in his teens, in the + victoria which Anthony considered the proper vehicle for Sunday + afternoons. The farmhouse was in a hollow, but always on those excursions + Anthony, fastidiously dressed, picking his way half-irritably through + briars and cornfields, would go to the edge of the cliffs and stand there, + looking down. Below was the muddy river, sluggish always, but a thing of + terror in spring freshets. And across was the east side, already a sordid + place, its steel mills belching black smoke that killed the green of the + hillsides, its furnaces dwarfed by distance and height, its rows of + unpainted wooden structures which housed the mill laborers. + </p> + <p> + Howard would go with him, but Howard dreamed no dreams. He was a sturdy, + dependable, unimaginative boy, watching the squirrels or flinging stones + over the palisades. Life for Howard was already a thing determined. He + would go to college, and then he would come back and go into the mill + offices. In time, he would take his father's place. He meant to do it well + and honestly. He had but to follow. Anthony had broken the trail, only by + that time it was no longer a trail, but a broad and easy way. + </p> + <p> + Only once or twice did Anthony Cardew give voice to his dreams. Once he + said: “I'll build a house out here some of these days. Good location. + Growth of the city is bound to be in this direction.” + </p> + <p> + What he did not say was that to be there, on that hill, overlooking his + activities, his very own, the things he had builded with such labor, gave + him a sense of power. “This below,” he felt, with more of pride than + arrogance, “this is mine. I have done it. I, Anthony Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + He felt, looking down, the pride of an artist in his picture, of a + sculptor who, secure from curious eyes, draws the sheet from the still + moist clay of his modeling, and now from this angle, now from that, + studies, criticizes, and exults. + </p> + <p> + But Anthony Cardew never built his house on the cliff. Time was to come + when great houses stood there, like vast forts, overlooking, almost + menacing, the valley beneath. For, until the nineties, although the city + distended in all directions, huge, ugly, powerful, infinitely rich, and + while in the direction of Anthony's farm the growth was real and rapid, it + was the plain people who lined its rapidly extending avenues with their + two-story brick houses; little homes of infinite tenderness and quiet, + along tree-lined streets, where the children played on the cobble-stones, + and at night the horse cars, and later the cable system, brought home + tired clerks and storekeepers to small havens, already growing dingy from + the smoke of the distant mills. + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew did not like the plain people. Yet in the end, it was the + plain people, those who neither labored with their hands nor lived by the + labor of others—it was the plain people who vanquished him. + Vanquished him and tried to protect him. But could not. A smallish man, + hard and wiry, he neither saved himself nor saved others. He had one + fetish, power. And one pride, his line. The Cardews were iron masters. + Howard would be an iron master, and Howard's son. + </p> + <p> + But Howard never had a son. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + All through her teens Lily had wondered about the mystery concerning her + Aunt Elinor. There was an oil portrait of her in the library, and one of + the first things she had been taught was not to speak of it. + </p> + <p> + Now and then, at intervals of years, Aunt Elinor came back. Her mother and + father would look worried, and Aunt Elinor herself would stay in her + rooms, and seldom appeared at meals. Never at dinner. As a child Lily used + to think she had two Aunt Elinors, one the young girl in the gilt frame, + and the other the quiet, soft-voiced person who slipped around the upper + corridors like a ghost. + </p> + <p> + But she was not to speak of either of them to her grandfather. + </p> + <p> + Lily was not born in the house on lower East Avenue. + </p> + <p> + In the late eighties Anthony built himself a home, not on the farm, but in + a new residence portion of the city. The old common, grazing ground of + family cows, dump and general eye-sore, had become a park by that time, + still only a potentially beautiful thing, with the trees that were to be + its later glory only thin young shoots, and on the streets that faced it + the wealthy of the city built their homes, brick houses of square + solidity, flush with brick pavements, which were carefully reddened on + Saturday mornings. Beyond the pavements were cobble-stoned streets. + Anthony Cardew was the first man in the city to have a rubber-tired + carriage. The story of Anthony Cardew's new home is the story of Elinor's + tragedy. Nor did it stop there. It carried on to the third generation, to + Lily Cardew, and in the end it involved the city itself. Because of the + ruin of one small home all homes were threatened. One small house, and one + undying hatred. + </p> + <p> + Yet the matter was small in itself. An Irishman named Doyle owned the site + Anthony coveted. After years of struggle his small grocery had begun to + put him on his feet, and now the new development of the neighborhood added + to his prosperity. He was a dried-up, sentimental little man, with two + loves, his wife's memory and his wife's garden, which he still tended + religiously between customers; and one ambition, his son. With the change + from common to park, and the improvement in the neighborhood, he began to + flourish, and he, too, like Anthony, dreamed a dream. He would make his + son a gentleman, and he would get a shop assistant and a horse and wagon. + Poverty was still his lot, but there were good times coming. He saved + carefully, and sent Jim Doyle away to college. + </p> + <p> + He would not sell to Anthony. When he said he could not sell his wife's + garden, Anthony's agents reported him either mad or deeply scheming. They + kept after him, offering much more than the land was worth. Doyle began by + being pugnacious, but in the end he took to brooding. + </p> + <p> + “He'll get me yet,” he would mutter, standing among the white phlox of his + little back garden. “He'll get me. He never quits.” + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew waited a year. Then he had the frame building condemned as + unsafe, and Doyle gave in. Anthony built his house. He put a brick stable + where the garden had been, and the night watchman for the property + complained that a little man, with wild eyes, often spent half the night + standing across the street, quite still, staring over. If Anthony gave + Doyle a thought, it was that progress and growth had their inevitable + victims. But on the first night of Anthony's occupancy of his new house + Doyle shot himself beside the stable, where a few stalks of white phlox + had survived the building operations. + </p> + <p> + It never reached the newspapers, nor did a stable-boy's story of hearing + the dying man curse Anthony and all his works. But nevertheless the story + of the Doyle curse on Anthony Cardew spread. Anthony heard it, and forgot + it. But two days later he was dragged from his carriage by young Jim + Doyle, returned for the older Doyle's funeral, and beaten insensible with + the stick of his own carriage whip. + </p> + <p> + Young Doyle did not run away. He stood by, a defiant figure full of + hatred, watching Anthony on the cobbles, as though he wanted to see him + revive and suffer. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't do it to revenge my father,” he said at the trial. “He was + nothing to me—I did it to show old Cardew that he couldn't get away + with it. I'd do it again, too.” + </p> + <p> + Any sentiment in his favor died at that, and he was given five years in + the penitentiary. He was a demoralizing influence there, already a + socialist with anarchical tendencies, and with the gift of influencing + men. A fluent, sneering youth, who lashed the guards to fury with his + unctuous, diabolical tongue. + </p> + <p> + The penitentiary had not been moved then. It stood in the park, a grim + gray thing of stone. Elinor Cardew, a lonely girl always, used to stand in + a window of the new house and watch the walls. Inside there were men who + were shut away from all that greenery around them. Men who could look up + at the sky, or down at the ground, but never out and across, as she could. + </p> + <p> + She was always hoping some of them would get away. She hated the sentries, + rifle on shoulder, who walked their monotonous beats, back and forward, + along the top of the wall. + </p> + <p> + Anthony's house was square and substantial, with high ceilings. It was + paneled with walnut and furnished in walnut, in those days. Its tables and + bureaus were of walnut, with cold white marble tops. And in the parlor was + a square walnut piano, which Elinor hated because she had to sit there + three hours each day, slipping on the top of the horsehair-covered stool, + to practice. In cold weather her German governess sat in the frigid room, + with a shawl and mittens, waiting until the onyx clock on the mantel-piece + showed that the three hours were over. + </p> + <p> + Elinor had never heard the story of old Michael Doyle, or of his son Jim. + But one night—she was seventeen then, and Jim Doyle had served three + years of his sentence—sitting at dinner with her father, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Some convicts escaped from the penitentiary today, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't believe it,” said Anthony Cardew. “Nothing about it in the + newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Fraulein saw the hole.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor had had an Alsatian governess. That was one reason why Elinor's + niece had a French one. + </p> + <p> + “Hole? What do you mean by hole?” + </p> + <p> + Elinor shrank back a little. She had not minded dining with her father + when Howard was at home, but Howard was at college. Howard had a way of + good-naturedly ignoring his father's asperities, but Elinor was a + suppressed, shy little thing, romantic, aloof, and filled with undesired + affections. “She said a hole,” she affirmed, diffidently. “She says they + dug a tunnel and got out. Last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Very probably,” said Anthony Cardew. And he repeated, thoughtfully, “Very + probably.” + </p> + <p> + He did not hear Elinor when she quietly pushed back her chair and said + “good-night.” He was sitting at the table, tapping on the cloth with + finger-tips that were slightly cold. That evening Anthony Cardew had a + visit from the police, and considerable fiery talk took place in his + library. As a result there was a shake-up in city politics, and a change + in the penitentiary management, for Anthony Cardew had a heavy hand and a + bitter memory. And a little cloud on his horizon grew and finally settled + down over his life, turning it gray. Jim Doyle was among those who had + escaped. For three months Anthony was followed wherever he went by + detectives, and his house was watched at night. But he was a brave man, + and the espionage grew hateful. Besides, each day added to his sense of + security. There came a time when he impatiently dismissed the police, and + took up life again as before. + </p> + <p> + Then one day he received a note, in a plain white envelope. It said: + “There are worse things than death.” And it was signed: “J. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + Doyle was not recaptured. Anthony had iron gratings put on the lower + windows of his house after that, and he hired a special watchman. But + nothing happened, and at last he began to forget. He was building the new + furnaces up the river by that time. The era of structural steel for tall + buildings was beginning, and he bought the rights of a process for making + cement out of his furnace slag. He was achieving great wealth, although he + did not change his scale of living. + </p> + <p> + Now and then Fraulein braved the terrors of the library, small + neatly-written lists in her hands. Miss Elinor needed this or that. He + would check up the lists, sign his name to them, and Elinor and Fraulein + would have a shopping excursion. He never gave Elinor money. + </p> + <p> + On one of the lists one day he found the word, added in Elinor's hand: + “Horse.” + </p> + <p> + “Horse?” he said, scowling up at Fraulein. “There are six horses in the + stable now.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Elinor thought—a riding horse—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” Then he thought a moment. There came back to him a picture of + those English gentlewomen from among whom he had selected his wife, + quiet-voiced, hard-riding, high-colored girls, who could hunt all day and + dance all night. Elinor was a pale little thing. Besides, every + gentlewoman should ride. + </p> + <p> + “She can't ride around here.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Elinor thought—there are bridle paths near the riding + academy.” + </p> + <p> + It was odd, but at that moment Anthony Cardew had an odd sort of vision. + He saw the little grocer lying stark and huddled among the phlox by the + stable, and the group of men that stooped over him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll think about it,” was his answer. + </p> + <p> + But within a few days Elinor was the owner of a quiet mare, stabled at the + academy, and was riding each day in the tan bark ring between its + white-washed fences, while a mechanical piano gave an air of festivity to + what was otherwise rather a solemn business. + </p> + <p> + Within a week of that time the riding academy had a new instructor, a + tall, thin young man, looking older than he was, with heavy dark hair and + a manner of repressed insolence. A man, the grooms said among themselves, + of furious temper and cold eyes. + </p> + <p> + And in less than four months Elinor Cardew ran away from home and was + married to Jim Doyle. Anthony received two letters from a distant city, a + long, ecstatic but terrified one from his daughter, and one line on a slip + of paper from her husband. The one line read: “I always pay my debts.” + </p> + <p> + Anthony made a new will, leaving Howard everything, and had Elinor's rooms + closed. Fraulein went away, weeping bitterly, and time went on. Now and + then Anthony heard indirectly from Doyle. He taught in a boys' school for + a time, and was dismissed for his radical views. He did brilliant + editorial work on a Chicago newspaper, but now and then he intruded his + slant-eyed personal views, and in the end he lost his position. Then he + joined the Socialist party, and was making speeches containing radical + statements that made the police of various cities watchful. But he managed + to keep within the letter of the law. + </p> + <p> + Howard Cardew married when Elinor had been gone less than a year. Married + the daughter of a small hotel-keeper in his college town, a pretty, + soft-voiced girl, intelligent and gentle, and because Howard was all old + Anthony had left, he took her into his home. But for many years he did not + forgive her. He had one hope, that she would give Howard a son to carry on + the line. Perhaps the happiest months of Grace Cardew's married life were + those before Lily was born, when her delicate health was safeguarded in + every way by her grim father-in-law. But Grace bore a girl child, and very + nearly died in the bearing. Anthony Cardew would never have a grandson. + </p> + <p> + He was deeply resentful. The proud fabric of his own weaving would descend + in the fullness of time to a woman. And Howard himself—old Anthony + was pitilessly hard in his judgments—Howard was not a strong man. A + good man. A good son, better than he deserved. But amiable, kindly, + without force. + </p> + <p> + Once the cloud had lifted, and only once. Elinor had come home to have a + child. She came at night, a shabby, worn young woman, with great eyes in a + chalk-white face, and Grayson had not recognized her at first. He got her + some port from the dining-room before he let her go into the library, and + stood outside the door, his usually impassive face working, during the + interview which followed. Probably that was Grayson's big hour, for if + Anthony turned her out he intended to go in himself, and fight for the + woman he had petted as a child. + </p> + <p> + But Anthony had not turned her out. He took one comprehensive glance at + her thin face and distorted figure. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “So this is the way you come back.” + </p> + <p> + “He drove me out,” she said dully. “He sent me here. He knew I had no + place else to go. He knew you wouldn't want me. It's revenge, I suppose. + I'm so tired, father.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, it was revenge, surely. To send back to him this soiled and broken + woman, bearing the mark he had put upon her—that was deviltry, + thought out and shrewdly executed. During the next hour Anthony Cardew + suffered, and made Elinor suffer, too. But at the end of that time he + found himself confronting a curious situation. Elinor, ashamed, humbled, + was not contrite. It began to dawn on Anthony that Jim Doyle's revenge was + not finished. For—Elinor loved the man. + </p> + <p> + She both hated him and loved him. And that leering Irish devil knew it. + </p> + <p> + He sent for Grace, finally, and Elinor was established in the house. Grace + and little Lily's governess had themselves bathed her and put her to bed, + and Mademoiselle had smuggled out of the house the garments Elinor had + worn into it. Grace had gone in the motor—one of the first in the + city—and had sent back all sorts of lovely garments for Elinor to + wear, and quantities of fine materials to be made into tiny garments. + Grace was a practical woman, and she disliked the brooding look in + Elinor's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she said to Howard that night, “I believe she is quite mad + about him still.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be drawn and quartered,” said Howard, savagely. + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew gave Elinor sanctuary, but he refused to see her again. + Except once. + </p> + <p> + “Then, if it is a boy, you want me to leave him with you?” she asked, + bending over her sewing. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him with me! Do you mean that you intend to go back to that + blackguard?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my husband. He isn't always cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” shouted Anthony. “How did I ever happen to have such a craven + creature for a daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” said Elinor, “it will be his child, father.” + </p> + <p> + “When he turned you out, like any drab of the streets!” bellowed old + Anthony. “He never cared for you. He married you to revenge himself on me. + He sent you back here for the same reason. He'll take your child, and + break its spirit and ruin its body, for the same reason. The man's a + maniac.” + </p> + <p> + But again, as on the night she came, he found himself helpless against + Elinor's quiet impassivity. He knew that, let Jim Doyle so much as raise a + beckoning finger, and she would go to him. He did not realize that Elinor + had inherited from her quiet mother the dog-like quality of love in spite + of cruelty. To Howard he stormed. He considered Elinor's infatuation + indecent. She was not a Cardew. The Cardew women had some pride. And + Howard, his handsome figure draped negligently against the library mantel, + would puzzle over it, too. + </p> + <p> + “I'm blessed if I understand it,” he would say. + </p> + <p> + Elinor's child had been a boy, and old Anthony found some balm in Gilead. + Jim Doyle had not raised a finger to beckon, and if he knew of his son, he + made no sign. Anthony still ignored Elinor, but he saw in her child the + third generation of Cardews. Lily he had never counted. He took steps to + give the child the Cardew name, and the fact was announced in the + newspapers. Then one day Elinor went out, and did not come back. It was + something Anthony Cardew had not counted on, that a woman could love a man + more than her child. + </p> + <p> + “I simply had to do it, father,” she wrote. “You won't understand, of + course. I love him, father. Terribly. And he loves me in his way, even + when he is unfaithful to me. I know he has been that. Perhaps if you had + wanted me at home it would have been different. But it kills me to leave + the baby. The only reason I can bring myself to do it is that, the way + things are, I cannot give him the things he ought to have. And Jim does + not seem to want him. He has never seen him, for one thing. Besides—I + am being honest—I don't think the atmosphere of the way we live + would be good for a boy.” + </p> + <p> + There was a letter to Grace, too, a wild hysterical document, filled with + instructions for the baby's care. A wet nurse, for one thing. Grace read + it with tears in her eyes, but Anthony saw in it only the ravings of a + weak and unbalanced woman. + </p> + <p> + He never forgave Elinor, and once more the little grocer's curse thwarted + his ambitions. For, deprived of its mother's milk, the baby died. Old + Anthony sometimes wondered if that, too, had been calculated, a part of + the Doyle revenge. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + While Grace rested that afternoon of Lily's return, Lily ranged over the + house. In twenty odd years the neighborhood had changed, and only a + handful of the old families remained. Many of the other large houses were + prostituted to base uses. Dingy curtains hung at their windows, dingy + because of the smoke from the great furnaces and railroads. The old Osgood + residence, nearby, had been turned into apartments, with bottles of milk + and paper bags on its fire-escapes, and a pharmacy on the street floor. + The Methodist Church, following its congregation to the vicinity of old + Anthony's farm, which was now cut up into city lots, had abandoned the + building, and it had become a garage. The penitentiary had been moved + outside the city limits, and near its old site was a small cement-lined + lake, the cheerful rendezvous in summer of bathing children and thirsty + dogs. + </p> + <p> + Lily was idle, for the first time in months. She wandered about, even + penetrating to those upper rooms sacred to her grandfather, to which he + had retired on Howard's marriage. How strangely commonplace they were now, + in the full light of day, and yet, when he was in them, the doors closed + and only Burton, his valet, in attendance, how mysterious they became! + </p> + <p> + Increasingly, in later years, Lily had felt and resented the domination of + the old man. She resented her father's acquiescence in that domination, + her mother's good-humored tolerance of it. She herself had accepted it, + although unwillingly, but she knew, rather vaguely, that the Lily Cardew + who had gone away to the camp and the Lily Cardew who stood that day + before her grandfather's throne-like chair under its lamp, were two + entirely different people. + </p> + <p> + She was uneasy rather than defiant. She meant to keep the peace. She had + been brought up to the theory that no price was too great to pay for + peace. But she wondered, as she stood there, if that were entirely true. + She remembered something Willy Cameron had said about that very thing. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong with your grandfather,” he had said, truculently, and waving + his pipe, “is that everybody gets down and lets him walk on them. If + everybody lets a man use them as doormats, you can't blame him for wiping + his feet on them. Tell him that sometime, and see what happens.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him yourself!” said Lily. + </p> + <p> + He had smiled cheerfully. He had an engaging sort of smile. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I will,” he said. “I am a rising young man, and my voice may some + day be heard in the land. Sometimes I feel the elements of greatness in + me, sweet child. You haven't happened to notice it yourself, have you?” + </p> + <p> + He had gazed at her with solemn anxiety through the smoke of his pipe, and + had grinned when she remained silent. + </p> + <p> + Lily drew a long breath. All that delightful fooling was over; the hard + work was over. The nights were gone when they would wander like children + across the parade grounds, or past the bayonet school, with its rows of + tripods upholding imitation enemies made of sacks stuffed with hay, and + showing signs of mortal injury with their greasy entrails protruding. + Gone, too, were the hours when Willy sank into the lowest abyss of + depression over his failure to be a fighting man. + </p> + <p> + “But you are doing your best for your country,” she would say. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not fighting for it, or getting smashed up for it. I don't want to be + a hero, but I'd like to have had one good bang at them before I quit.” + </p> + <p> + Once she had found him in the hut, with his head on a table. He said he + had a toothache. + </p> + <p> + Well, that was all over. She was back in her grandfather's house, and— + </p> + <p> + “He'll get me too, probably,” she reflected, as she went down the stairs, + “just as he's got all the others.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle was in Lily's small sitting room, while Castle was unpacking + under her supervision. The sight of her uniforms made Lily suddenly + restless. + </p> + <p> + “How you could wear these things!” cried Mademoiselle. “You, who have + always dressed like a princess!” + </p> + <p> + “I liked them,” said Lily, briefly. “Mademoiselle, what am I going to do + with myself, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Do?” Mademoiselle smiled. “Play, as you deserve, Cherie. Dance, and meet + nice young men. You are to make your debut this fall. Then a very charming + young man, and marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Lily, rather blankly. “I've got to come out, have I? I'd + forgotten people did such things. Please run along and do something else, + Castle. I'll unpack.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very bad for discipline,” Mademoiselle objected when the maid had + gone. “And it is not necessary for Mr. Anthony Cardew's granddaughter.” + </p> + <p> + “It's awfully necessary for her,” Lily observed, cheerfully. “I've been + buttoning my own shoes for some time, and I haven't developed a spinal + curvature yet.” She kissed Mademoiselle's perplexed face lightly. “Don't + get to worrying about me,” she added. “I'll shake down in time, and be + just as useless as ever. But I wish you'd lend me your sewing basket.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Mademoiselle, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am possessed with a mad desire to sew on some buttons.” + </p> + <p> + A little later Lily looked up from her rather awkward but industrious + labors with a needle, and fixed her keen young eyes on Mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any news about Aunt Elinor?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “She is with him,” said Mademoiselle, shortly. “They are here now, in the + city. How he dared to come back!” + </p> + <p> + “Does mother see her?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Why 'certainly' not? He is Aunt Elinor's husband. She isn't doing + anything wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman who would leave a home like this,” said Mademoiselle, “and a + distinguished family. Position. Wealth. For a brute who beats her. And + desert her child also!” + </p> + <p> + “Does he really beat her? I don't quite believe that, Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a subject for a young girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Because really,” Lily went on, “there is something awfully big about a + woman who will stick to one man like that. I am quite sure I would bite a + man who struck me, but—suppose I loved him terribly—” her + voice trailed off. “You see, dear, I have seen a lot of brutality lately. + An army camp isn't a Sunday school picnic. And I like strong men, even if + they are brutal sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle carefully cut a thread. + </p> + <p> + “This—you were speaking to Ellen of a young man. Is he a—what + you term brutal?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Lily laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You poor dear!” she said. “And mother, too, of course! You're afraid I'm + in love with Willy Cameron. Don't you know that if I were, I'd probably + never even mention his name?” + </p> + <p> + “But is he brutal?” persisted Mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you about him. He is a thin, blond young man, tall and a bit + lame. He has curly hair, and he puts pomade on it to take the curl out. He + is frightfully sensitive about not getting in the army, and he is + perfectly sweet and kind, and as brutal as a June breeze. You'd better + tell mother. And you can tell her he isn't in love with me, or I with him. + You see, I represent what he would call the monied aristocracy of America, + and he has the most fearful ideas about us.” + </p> + <p> + “An anarchist, then?” asked. Mademoiselle, extremely comforted. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. He says he belongs to the plain people. The people in + between. He is rather oratorical about them. He calls them the backbone of + the country.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle relaxed. She had been too long in old Anthony's house to + consider very seriously the plain people. Her world, like Anthony + Cardew's, consisted of the financial aristocracy, which invested money in + industries and drew out rich returns, while providing employment for the + many; and of the employees of the magnates, who had recently shown strong + tendencies toward upsetting the peace of the land, and had given old + Anthony one or two attacks of irritability when it was better to go up a + rear staircase if he were coming down the main one. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” said Lily, suddenly. “I have a picture of him somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + She disappeared, and Mademoiselle heard her rummaging through the drawers + of her dressing table. She came back with a small photograph in her hand. + </p> + <p> + It showed a young man, in a large apron over a Red Cross uniform, bending + over a low field range with a long-handled fork in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Frying doughnuts,” Lily explained. “I was in this hut at first, and I + mixed them and cut them, and he fried them. We made thousands of them. We + used to talk about opening a shop somewhere, Cardew and Cameron. He said + my name would be fine for business. He'd fry them in the window, and I'd + sell them. And a coffee machine—coffee and doughnuts, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Not—seriously?” + </p> + <p> + At the expression on Mademoiselle's face Lily laughed joyously. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” she demanded. “And you could be the cashier, like the ones in + France, and sit behind a high desk and count money all day. I'd rather do + that than come out,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to be a good girl, Lily, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “If that means letting grandfather use me for a doormat, I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily!” + </p> + <p> + “He's old, and I intend to be careful. But he doesn't own me, body and + soul. And it may be hard to make him understand that.” + </p> + <p> + Many times in the next few months Mademoiselle was to remember that + conversation, and turn it over in her shrewd, troubled mind. Was there + anything she could have done, outside of warning old Anthony himself? + Suppose she had gone to Mr. Howard Cardew? + </p> + <p> + “And how,” said Mademoiselle, trying to smile, “do you propose to assert + this new independence of spirit?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to see Aunt Elinor,” observed Lily. “There, that's eleven + buttons on, and I feel I've earned my dinner. And I'm going to ask Willy + Cameron to come here to see me. To dinner. And as he is sure not to have + any evening clothes, for one night in their lives the Cardew men are going + to dine in mufti. Which is military, you dear old thing, for the everyday + clothing that the plain people eat in, without apparent suffering!” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle got up. She felt that Grace should be warned at once. And + there was a look in Lily's face when she mentioned this Cameron creature + that made Mademoiselle nervous. + </p> + <p> + “I thought he lived in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then prepare yourself for a blow,” said Lily Cardew, cheerfully. “He is + here in the city, earning twenty-five dollars a week in the Eagle + Pharmacy, and serving the plain people perfectly preposterous patent + potions—which is his own alliteration, and pretty good, I say.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle went out into the hall. Over the house, always silent, there + had come a death-like hush. In the lower hall the footman was hanging up + his master's hat and overcoat. Anthony Cardew had come home for dinner. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Mr. William Wallace Cameron, that evening of Lily's return, took a walk. + From his boarding house near the Eagle Pharmacy to the Cardew residence + was a half-hour's walk. There were a number of things he had meant to do + that evening, with a view to improving his mind, but instead he took a + walk. He had made up a schedule for those evenings when he was off duty, + thinking it out very carefully on the train to the city. And the schedule + ran something like this: + </p> + <p> + Monday: 8-11. Read History. Wednesday: 8-11. Read Politics and Economics. + Friday: 8-9:30. Travel. 9:30-11. French. Sunday: Hear various prominent + divines. + </p> + <p> + He had cut down on the travel rather severely, because travel was with him + an indulgence rather than a study. The longest journey he had ever taken + in his life was to Washington. That was early in the war, when it did not + seem possible that his country would not use him, a boy who could tramp + incredible miles in spite of his lameness and who could shoot a frightened + rabbit at almost any distance, by allowing for a slight deflection to the + right in the barrel of his old rifle. + </p> + <p> + But they had refused him. + </p> + <p> + “They won't use me, mother,” he had said when he got home, home being a + small neat house on a tidy street of a little country town. “I tried every + branch, but the only training I've had—well, some smart kid said + they weren't planning to serve soda water to the army. They didn't want + cripples, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + He had been frightfully sorry then and had comforted her at some length, + but the fact remained. + </p> + <p> + “And you the very best they've ever had for mixing prescriptions!” she had + said at last. “And a graduate in chemistry!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “that's that, and we won't worry about it. There's more + than one way of killing a cat.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Willy? More than one way?” + </p> + <p> + There was no light of prophecy in William Wallace Cameron's gray eyes, + however, when he replied: “More than one way of serving my country. Don't + you worry. I'll find something.” + </p> + <p> + So he had, and he had come out of his Red Cross work in the camp with one + or two things in his heart that had not been there before. One was a + knowledge of men. He could not have put into words what he felt about men. + It was something about the fundamental simplicity of them, for one thing. + You got pretty close to them at night sometimes, especially when the + homesick ones had gone to bed, and the phonograph was playing in a corner + of the long, dim room. There were some shame-faced tears hidden under army + blankets those nights, and Willy Cameron did some blinking on his own + account. + </p> + <p> + Then, under all the blasphemy, the talk about women, the surface + sordidness of their daily lives and thoughts, there was one instinct + common to all, one love, one hidden purity. And the keyword to those + depths was “home.” + </p> + <p> + “Home,” he said one day to Lily Cardew. “Mostly it's the home they've + left, and maybe they didn't think so much of it then. But they do now. And + if it isn't that, it's the home they want to have some day.” He looked at + Lily. Sometimes she smiled at things he said, and if she had not been + grave he would not have gone on. “You know,” he continued, “there's mostly + a girl some place. All this talk about the nation, now—” He settled + himself on the edge of the pine table where old Anthony Cardew's + granddaughter had been figuring up her week's accounts, and lighted his + pipe, “the nation's too big for us to understand. But what is the nation, + but a bunch of homes?” + </p> + <p> + “Willy dear,” said Lily Cardew, “did you take any money out of the cigar + box for anything this week?” + </p> + <p> + “Dollar sixty-five for lard,” replied Willy dear. “As I was saying, we've + got to think of this country in terms of homes. Not palaces like yours—” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” said Lily, “I don't live in a palace. Get my pocket-book, + will you? I'm out three dollars somehow, and I'd rather make it up myself + than add these figures over again. Go on and talk, Willy. I love hearing + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not palaces like yours,” repeated Mr. Cameron, “and not hovels. But + mostly self-respecting houses, the homes of the plain people. The middle + class, Miss Cardew. My class. The people who never say anything, but are + squeezed between capital, represented by your grandfather, with its + parasites, represented by you, and—” + </p> + <p> + “You represent the people who never say anything,” observed the slightly + flushed parasite of capital, “about as adequately as I represent the idle + rich.” + </p> + <p> + Yet not even old Anthony could have resented the actual relationship + between them. Lily Cardew, working alone in her hut among hundreds of men, + was as without sex consciousness as a child. Even then her flaming + interest was in the private soldiers. The officers were able to amuse + themselves; they had money and opportunity. It was the doughboys she loved + and mothered. For them she organized her little entertainments. For them + she played and sang in the evenings, when the field range in the kitchen + was cold, and her blistered fingers stumbled sometimes over the keys of + the jingling camp piano. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, out of the chaos of her early impressions, she began to divide + the men in the army into three parts. There were the American born; they + took the war and their part in it as a job to be done, with as few words + as possible. And there were the foreigners to whom America was a religion, + a dream come true, whose flaming love for their new mother inspired them + to stuttering eloquence and awkward gestures. And then there was a third + division, small and mostly foreign born, but with a certain percentage of + native malcontents, who hated the war and sneered among themselves at the + other dupes who believed that it was a war for freedom. It was a + capitalists' war. They considered the state as an instrument of + oppression, as a bungling interference with liberty and labor; they felt + that wealth inevitably brought depravity. They committed both open and + overt acts against discipline, and found in their arrest and imprisonment + renewed grievances, additional oppression, tyranny. And one day a handful + of them, having learned Lily's identity, came into her hut and attempted + to bait her. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said one of them, “we have here an example of one of the idle + rich, sacrificing herself to make us happy. Now, boys, be happy. Are we + all happy?” He surveyed the group. “Here, you,” he addressed a sullen-eyed + squat Hungarian. “Smile when I tell you. You're a slave in one of old + Cardew's mills, aren't you? Well, aren't you grateful to him? Here he goes + and sends his granddaughter—” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron had entered the room with a platter of doughnuts in his + hand, and stood watching, his face going pale. Quite suddenly there was a + crash, and the gang leader went down in a welter of porcelain and fried + pastry. Willy Cameron was badly beaten up, in the end, and the beaters + were court-martialed. But something of Lily's fine faith in humanity was + gone. + </p> + <p> + “But,” she said to him, visiting him one day in the base hospital, where + he was still an aching, mass of bruises, “there must be something behind + it. They didn't hate me. They only hated my—well, my family.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said Willy Cameron, feeling very old and experienced, + and, it must be confessed, extremely happy, “of course there's something + behind it. But the most that's behind it is a lot of fellows who want + without working what the other fellow's worked to get.” + </p> + <p> + It was about that time that Lily was exchanged into the town near the + camp, and Willy Cameron suddenly found life a stale thing, and ashes in + the mouth. He finally decided that he had not been such a hopeless fool as + to fall in love with her, but that it would be as well not to see her too + much. + </p> + <p> + “The thing to do,” he reasoned to himself, “is, first of all, not to see + her. Or only on Friday nights, because she likes the movies, and it would + look queer to stop.” Thus Willy Cameron speciously to himself, and + deliberately ignoring the fact that some twenty-odd officers stood ready + to seize those Friday nights. “And then to work hard, so I'll sleep + better, and not lie awake making a fool of myself. And when I get a bit of + idiocy in the daytime, I'd better just walk it off. Because I've got to + live with myself a long time, probably, and I'm no love-sick Romeo.” + </p> + <p> + Which excellent practical advice had cost him considerable shoe-leather at + first. In a month or two, however, he considered himself quite cured, and + pretended to himself that he was surprised to find it Friday again. But + when, after retreat, the band marched back again to its quarters playing, + for instance, “There's a Long, Long Trail,” there was something inside him + that insisted on seeing the years ahead as a long, long trail, and that + the trail did not lead to the lands of his dreams. + </p> + <p> + He got to know that very well indeed during the winter that followed the + armistice. Because there was work to do he stayed and finished up, as did + Lily Cardew. But the hut was closed and she was working in the town, and + although they kept up their Friday evenings, the old intimacy was gone. + And one night she said: + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it amazing, when you are busy, how soon Friday night comes along?” + </p> + <p> + And on each day of the preceding week he had wakened and said to himself: + “This is Monday—“—or whatever it might be—“and in four + more days it will be Friday.” + </p> + <p> + In February he was sent home. Lily stayed on until the end of March. He + went back to his little village of plain people, and took up life again as + best he could. But sometimes it seemed to him that from behind every + fire-lit window in the evenings—he was still wearing out + shoe-leather, particularly at nights—somebody with a mandolin was + wailing about the long, long trail. + </p> + <p> + His mother watched him anxiously. He was thinner than ever, and oddly + older, and there was a hollow look about his eyes that hurt her. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you bring home a bottle of tonic from the store, Willy,” she + said, one evening when he had been feverishly running through the city + newspaper. He put the paper aside hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Tonic!” he said. “Why, I'm all right, mother. Anyhow, I wouldn't take any + of that stuff.” He caught her eye and looked away. “It takes a little time + to get settled again, that's all, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “The Young People's Society is having an entertainment at the church + to-night, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe I'll go,” he agreed to her unspoken suggestion. “If you + insist on making me a society man—” + </p> + <p> + But some time later he came downstairs with a book. + </p> + <p> + “Thought I'd rather read,” he explained. “Got a book here on the history + of steel. Talk about romances! Let me read some of it to you. You sit + there and close your eyes and just listen to this: 'The first Cardew + furnace was built in 1868. At that time—'” + </p> + <p> + Some time later he glanced up. His mother was quietly sleeping, her hands + folded in her lap. He closed the book and sat there, fighting again his + patient battle with himself. The book on his knee seemed to symbolize the + gulf between Lily Cardew and himself. But the real gulf, the unbridgeable + chasm, between Lily and himself, was neither social nor financial. + </p> + <p> + “As if that counted, in America,” he reflected scornfully. + </p> + <p> + No. It was not that. The war had temporarily broken down the old social + barriers. Some of them would never be erected again, although it was the + tendency of civilization for men to divide themselves, rather than to be + divided, into the high, the middle and the low. But in his generation + young Cameron knew that there would be no uncrossable bridge between old + Anthony's granddaughter and himself, were it not for one thing. + </p> + <p> + She did not love him. It hurt his pride to realize that she had never + thought of him in any terms but that of a pleasant comradeship. Hardly + even as a man. Men fought, in war time. They did not fry doughnuts and + write letters home for the illiterate. Any one of those boys in the ranks + was a better man than he was. All this talk about a man's soul being + greater than his body, that was rot. A man was as good as the weakest part + of him, and no more. + </p> + <p> + His sensitive face in the lamplight was etched with lines of tragedy. He + put the book on the table, and suddenly flinging his arms across it, + dropped his head on them. The slight movement wakened his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Willy!” she said. + </p> + <p> + After a moment he looked up. “I was almost asleep,” he explained, more to + protect her than himself. “I—I wish that fool Nelson kid would break + his mandolin—or his neck,” he said irritably. He kissed her and went + upstairs. From across the quiet street there came thin, plaintive, + occasionally inaccurate, the strains of the long, long trail. + </p> + <p> + There was the blood of Covenanters in Willy Cameron's mother, a high + courage of sacrifice, and an exceedingly shrewd brain. She lay awake that + night, carefully planning, and when everything was arranged in orderly + fashion in her mind, she lighted her lamp and carried it to the door of + Willy's room. He lay diagonally across his golden-oak bed, for he was very + long, and sleep had rubbed away the tragic lines about his mouth. She + closed his door and went back to her bed. + </p> + <p> + “I've seen too much of it,” she reflected, without bitterness. She stared + around the room. “Too much of it,” she repeated. And crawled heavily back + into bed, a determined little figure, rather chilled. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she expressed a desire to spend a few months with her + brother in California. + </p> + <p> + “I coughed all last winter, after I had the flu,” she explained, “and + James has been wanting me this long time. I don't want to leave you, + that's all, Willy. If you were in the city it would be different.” + </p> + <p> + He was frankly bewildered and a little hurt, to tell the truth. He no more + suspected her of design than of crime. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are going,” he said, heartily. “It's the very thing. But I + like the way you desert your little son!” + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking about that, too,” she said, pouring his coffee. “I—if + you were in the city, now, there would always be something to do.” + </p> + <p> + He shot her a suspicious glance, but her face was without evidence of + guile. + </p> + <p> + “What would I do in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “They use chemists in the mills, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “A fat chance I'd have for that sort of job,” he scoffed. “No city for me, + mother.” + </p> + <p> + But she knew. She read his hesitation accurately, the incredulous pause of + the bird whose cage door is suddenly opened. He would go. + </p> + <p> + “I'd think about it, anyhow, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + But for a long time after he had gone she sat quietly rocking in her + rocking chair in the bay window of the sitting room. It was a familiar + attitude of hers, homely, middle-class, and in a way symbolic. Had old + Anthony Cardew ever visualized so imaginative a thing as a Nemesis, he + would probably have summoned a vision of a huddled figure in his + stable-yard, dying, and cursing him as he died. Had Jim Doyle, cunningly + plotting the overthrow of law and order, been able in his arrogance to + conceive of such a thing, it might have been Anthony Cardew he saw. + Neither of them, for a moment, dreamed of it as an elderly Scotch + Covenanter, a plain little womanly figure, rocking in a cane-seated + rocking chair, and making the great sacrifice of her life. + </p> + <p> + All of which simply explains how, on a March Wednesday evening of the + great year of peace after much tribulation, Mr. William Wallace Cameron, + now a clerk at the Eagle Pharmacy, after an hour of Politics, and no + Economics at all, happened to be taking a walk toward the Cardew house. + Such pilgrimages has love taken for many years, small uncertain ramblings + where the fancy leads the feet and far outstrips them, and where + heart-hunger hides under various flimsy pretexts; a fine night, a paper to + be bought, a dog to be exercised. + </p> + <p> + Not that Willy Cameron made any excuses to himself. He had a sort of idea + that if he saw the magnificence that housed her, it would through her + sheer remoteness kill the misery in him. But he regarded himself with a + sort of humorous pity, and having picked up a stray dog, he addressed it + now and then. + </p> + <p> + “Even a cat can look at a king,” he said once. And again, following some + vague train of thought, on a crowded street: “The People's voice is a + queer thing. 'It is, and it is not, the voice of God.' The people's voice, + old man. Only the ones that count haven't got a voice.” + </p> + <p> + There were, he felt, two Lily Cardews. One lived in an army camp, and wore + plain clothes, and got a bath by means of calculation and persistency, and + went to the movies on Friday nights, and was quite apt to eat peanuts at + those times, carefully putting the shells in her pocket. + </p> + <p> + And another one lived inside this great pile of brick,—he was + standing across from it, by the park railing, by that time—where + motor cars drew up, and a footman with an umbrella against a light rain + ushered to their limousines draped women and men in evening clothes, their + strong blacks and whites revealed in the light of the street door. And + this Lily Cardew lived in state, bowed to by flunkeys in livery, dressed + and undressed—his Scotch sense of decorum resented this—by + serving women. This Lily Cardew would wear frivolous ball-gowns, such + things as he saw in the shop windows, considered money only as a thing of + exchange, and had traveled all over Europe a number of times. + </p> + <p> + He took his station against the park railings and reflected that it was a + good thing he had come, after all. Because it was the first Lily whom he + loved, and she was gone, with the camp and the rest, including war. What + had he in common with those lighted windows, with their heavy laces and + draperies? + </p> + <p> + “Nothing at all, old man,” he said cheerfully to the dog, “nothing at + all.” + </p> + <p> + But although the ache was gone when he turned homeward, the dog still at + his heels, he felt strangely lonely without it. He considered that very + definitely he had put love out of his life. Hereafter he would travel the + trail alone. Or accompanied only by History, Politics, Economics, and + various divines on Sunday evenings. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + “Well, grandfather,” said Lily Cardew, “the last of the Cardews is home + from the wars.” + </p> + <p> + “So I presume,” observed old Anthony. “Owing, however, to your mother's + determination to shroud this room in impenetrable gloom, I can only + presume. I cannot see you.” + </p> + <p> + His tone was less unpleasant than his words, however. He was in one of the + rare moods of what passed with him for geniality. For one thing, he had + won at the club that afternoon, where every day from four to six he played + bridge with his own little group, reactionaries like himself, men who + viewed the difficulties of the younger employers of labor with amused + contempt. For another, he and Howard had had a difference of opinion, and + he had, for a wonder, made Howard angry. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Lily,” he inquired, “how does it seem to be at home?” + </p> + <p> + Lily eyed him almost warily. He was sometimes most dangerous in these + moods. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure, grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “Not sure about what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am glad to see everybody, of course. But what am I to do with + myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Tut.” He had an air of benignantly forgiving her. “You'll find plenty. + What did you do before you went away?” + </p> + <p> + “That was different, grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm blessed,” said old Anthony, truculently, “if I understand what has + come over this country, anyhow. What is different? We've had a war. We've + had other wars, and we didn't think it necessary to change the + Constitution after them. But everything that was right before this war is + wrong after it. Lot of young idiots coming back and refusing to settle + down. Set of young Bolshevists!” + </p> + <p> + He had always managed to arouse a controversial spirit in the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, if it isn't right now, it wasn't right before.” Having said it, + Lily immediately believed it. She felt suddenly fired with an intense + dislike of anything that her grandfather advocated. + </p> + <p> + “Meaning what?” He fixed her with cold but attentive eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—conditions,” she said vaguely. She was not at all sure what she + meant. And old Anthony realized it, and gave a sardonic chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “I advise you to get a few arguments from your father, Lily. He is full of + them. If he had his way I'd have a board of my workmen running my mills, + while I played golf in Florida.” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was a relatively pleasant meal. In her gradual rehabilitation of + the house Grace had finally succeeded in doing over the dining room. Over + the old walnut paneling she had hung loose folds of faded blue Italian + velvet, with old silver candle sconces at irregular intervals along the + walls. The great table and high-backed chairs were likewise Italian, and + the old-fashioned white marble fireplace had been given an over-mantel, + also white, enclosing an old tapestry. For warmth of color there were + always flowers, and that night there were red roses. + </p> + <p> + Lily liked the luxury of it. She liked the immaculate dinner dress of the + two men; she liked her mother's beautiful neck and arms; she liked the + quiet service once more; she even liked herself, moderately, in a light + frock and slippers. But she watched it all with a new interest and a + certain detachment. She felt strange and aloof, not entirely one of them. + She felt very keenly that no one of them was vitally interested in this + wonder-year of hers. They asked her perfunctory questions, but Grace's + watchful eyes were on the service, Anthony was engrossed with his food, + and her father— + </p> + <p> + Her father was changed. He looked older and care-worn. For the first time + she began to wonder about her father. What was he, really, under that + calm, fastidiously dressed, handsome exterior? Did he mind the little man + with the sardonic smile and the swift unpleasant humor, whose glance + reduced the men who served into terrified menials? Her big, blond father, + with his rather slow speech, his honest eyes, his slight hesitation before + he grasped some of the finer nuances of his father's wit. No, he was not + brilliant, but he was real, real and kindly. Perhaps he was strong, too. + He looked strong. + </p> + <p> + With the same pitiless judgment she watched her mother. Either Grace was + very big, or very indifferent to the sting of old Anthony's tongue. + Sometimes women suffered much in silence, because they loved greatly. Like + Aunt Elinor. Aunt Elinor had loved her husband more than she had loved her + child. Quite calmly Lily decided that, as between her husband and herself, + her mother loved her husband. Perhaps that was as it should be, but it + added to her sense of aloofness. And she wondered, too, about these great + loves that seemed to feed on sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + Anthony, who had a most unpleasant faculty of remembering things, suddenly + bent forward and observed to her, across the table: + </p> + <p> + “I should be interested to know, since you regard present conditions as + wrong, and, I inferred, wrong because of my mishandling of them, just what + you would propose to do to right them.” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't say they were wrong, did I?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't answer a question with a question. It's a feminine form of evasion, + because you have no answer and no remedy. Yet, heaven save the country, + women are going to vote!” He pushed his plate away and glanced at Grace. + “Is that the new chef's work?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Isn't it right?” + </p> + <p> + “Right? The food is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “He came from the club.” + </p> + <p> + “Send him back,” ordered Anthony. And when Grace observed that it was + difficult to get servants, he broke into a cold fury. What had come over + the world, anyhow? Time was when a gentleman's servants stayed with the + family until they became pensioners, and their children took their places. + Now—! + </p> + <p> + Grace said nothing. Her eyes sought Howard's, and seemed to find some + comfort there. And Lily, sorry for her mother, said the first thing that + came into her head. + </p> + <p> + “The old days of caste are gone, grandfather. And service, in your sense + of the word, went with them.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” he eyed her. “Who said that? Because I daresay it is not + original.” + </p> + <p> + “A man I knew at camp.” + </p> + <p> + “What man?” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Willy Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + “Willy Cameron! Was this—er—person qualified to speak? Does he + know anything about what he chooses to call caste?” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks a lot about things.” + </p> + <p> + “A little less thinking and more working wouldn't hurt the country any,” + observed old Anthony. He bent forward. “As my granddaughter, and the last + of the Cardews,” he said, “I have a certain interest in the sources of + your political opinions. They will probably, like your father's, differ + from mine. You may not know that your father has not only opinions, but + ambitions.” She saw Grace stiffen, and Howard's warning glance at her. But + she saw, too, the look in her mother's eyes, infinitely loving and + compassionate. “Dear little mother,” she thought, “he is her baby, really. + Not I.” + </p> + <p> + She felt a vague stirring of what married love at its best must be for a + woman, its strange complex of passion and maternity. She wondered if it + would ever come to her. She rather thought not. But she was also conscious + of a new attitude among the three at the table, her mother's tense + watchfulness, her father's slightly squared shoulders, and across from her + her grandfather, fingering the stem of his wineglass and faintly smiling. + </p> + <p> + “It's time somebody went into city politics for some purpose other than + graft,” said Howard. “I am going to run for mayor, Lily. I probably won't + get it.” + </p> + <p> + “You can see,” said old Anthony, “why I am interested in your views, or + perhaps I should say, in Willy Cameron's. Does your father's passion for + uplift, for instance, extend to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why won't you be elected, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly because my name is Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he exclaimed, “after the bath-house and gymnasium you have built + at the mill? And the laundries for the women—which I believe they do + not use. Surely, Howard, you would not accuse the dear people of + ingratitude?” + </p> + <p> + “They are beginning to use them, sir.” Howard, in his forties, still + addressed his father as “Sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you admit your defeat beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + “You are rather a formidable antagonist.” + </p> + <p> + “Antagonist!” Anthony repeated in mock protest. “I am a quiet onlooker at + the game. I am amused, naturally. You must understand,” he said to Lily, + “that this is a matter of a principle with your father. He believes that + he should serve. My whole contention is that the people don't want to be + served. They want to be bossed. They like it; it's all they know. And + they're suspicious of a man who puts his hand into his own pocket instead + of into theirs.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled and sipped his wine. + </p> + <p> + “Good wine, this,” he observed. “I'm buying all I can lay my hands on, + against the approaching drought.” + </p> + <p> + Lily's old distrust of her grandfather revived. Why did people sharpen + like that with age? Age should be mellow, like old wine. And—what + was she going to do with herself? Already the atmosphere of the house + began to depress and worry her; she felt a new, almost violent impatience + with it. It was so unnecessary. + </p> + <p> + She went to the pipe organ which filled the space behind the staircase, + and played a little, but she had never been very proficient, and her own + awkwardness annoyed her. In the dining room she could hear the men + talking, Howard quietly, his father in short staccato barks. She left the + organ and wandered into her mother's morning room, behind the drawing + room, where Grace sat with the coffee tray before her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I'm going to be terribly on your hands, mother,” she said, “I + don't know what to do with myself, so how can you know what to do with + me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is going to be rather stupid for you at first, of course,” Grace said. + “Lent, and then so many of the men are not at home. Would you like to go + South?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I've just come home!” + </p> + <p> + “We can have some luncheons, of course. Just informal ones. And there will + be small dinners. You'll have to get some clothes. I saw Suzette + yesterday. She has some adorable things.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd love them. Mother, why doesn't he want father to go into politics?” + </p> + <p> + Grace hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't like change, for one thing. But I don't know anything about + politics. Suzette says—” + </p> + <p> + “Will he try to keep him from being elected?” + </p> + <p> + “He won't support him. Of course I hardly think he would oppose him. I + really don't understand about those things.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you don't understand him. Well, I do, mother. He has run + everything, including father, for so long—” + </p> + <p> + “Lily!” + </p> + <p> + “I must, mother. Why, out at the camp—” She checked herself. “All + the papers say the city is badly governed, and that he is responsible. And + now he is going to fight his own son! The more I think about it, the more + I understand about Aunt Elinor. Mother, where do they live?” + </p> + <p> + Grace looked apprehensively toward the door. “You are not allowed to visit + her.” + </p> + <p> + “You do.” + </p> + <p> + “That's different. And I only go once or twice a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Just because she married a poor man, a man whose father—” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. That is all dead and buried. He is a very dangerous man. He + is running a Socialist newspaper, and now he is inciting the mill men to + strike. He is preaching terrible things. I haven't been there for months.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by terrible things, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Your father says it amounts to a revolution. I believe he calls it a + general strike. I don't really know much about it.” + </p> + <p> + Lily pondered that. + </p> + <p> + “Socialism isn't revolution, mother, is it? But even then—is all + this because grandfather drove his father to—” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't, Lily. Of course it is not that. I daresay he + believes what he preaches. He ought to be put into jail. Why the country + lets such men go around, preaching sedition, I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + Lily remembered something else Willy Cameron had said, and promptly + repeated it. + </p> + <p> + “We had a muzzled press during the war,” she said, “and now we've got free + speech. And one's as bad as the other. She must love him terribly, + mother,” she added. + </p> + <p> + But Grace harked back to Suzette, and the last of the Cardews harked with + her. Later on people dropped in, and Lily made a real attempt to get back + into her old groove, but that night, when she went upstairs to her + bedroom, with its bright fire, its bed neatly turned down, her dressing + gown and slippers laid out, the shaded lamps shining on the gold and ivory + of her dressing table, she was conscious of a sudden homesickness. + Homesickness for her bare little room in the camp barracks, for other + young lives, noisy, chattering, often rather silly, occasionally + unpleasant, but young. Radiantly, vitally young. The great house, with its + stillness and decorum, oppressed her. There was no youth in it, save hers. + </p> + <p> + She went to her window and looked out. Years ago, like Elinor, she had + watched the penitentiary walls from that window, with their endlessly + pacing sentries, and had grieved for those men who might look up at the + sky, or down at the earth, but never out and across, to see the spring + trees, for instance, or the children playing on the grass. She remembered + the story about Jim Doyle's escape, too. He had dug a perilous way to + freedom. Vaguely she wondered if he were not again digging a perilous way + to freedom. + </p> + <p> + Men seemed always to be wanting freedom, only they had so many different + ideas of what freedom was. At the camp it had meant breaking bounds, + balking the Military Police, doing forbidden things generally. Was that, + after all, what freedom meant, to do the forbidden thing? Those people in + Russia, for instance, who stole and burned and appropriated women, in the + name of freedom. Were law and order, then, irreconcilable with freedom? + </p> + <p> + After she had undressed she rang her bell, and Castle answered it. + </p> + <p> + “Please find out if Ellen has gone to bed,” she said. “If she has not, I + would like to talk to her.” + </p> + <p> + The maid looked slightly surprised. + </p> + <p> + “If it's your hair, Miss Lily, Mrs. Cardew has asked me to look after you + until she has engaged a maid for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not my hair,” said Lily, cheerfully. “I rather like doing it myself. I + just want to talk to Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + It was a bewildered and rather scandalized Castle who conveyed the message + to Ellen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + “I wish you'd stop whistling that thing,” said Miss Boyd, irritably. “It + makes me low in my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” said Willy Cameron. “I do it because I'm low in my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you low about?” Miss Boyd had turned toward the rear of the + counter, where a mirror was pasted to a card above a box of chewing gum, + and was carefully adjusting her hair net. “Lady friend turned you down?” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron glanced at her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm low because I haven't got a lady friend, Miss Boyd.” He held up a + sheet of prescription paper and squinted at it. “Also because the medical + profession writes with its feet, apparently. I've done everything to this + but dip it in acid. I've had it pinned to the wall, and tried glancing at + it as I went past. Sometimes you can surprise them that way. But it does + no good. I'm going to take it home and dream on it, like bride's cake.” + </p> + <p> + “They're awful, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “When I get into the Legislature,” said Willy Cameron, “I'm going to have + a bill passed compelling doctors to use typewriters. Take this now. Read + upside down, its horse liniment. Read right side up, it's poison. And it's + for internal use.” + </p> + <p> + “What d'you mean you haven't got a lady friend?” + </p> + <p> + “The exact and cruel truth.” He smiled at her, and had Miss Boyd been more + discerning she might have seen that the smile was slightly forced. Also + that his eyes were somewhat sunken in his head. Which might, of course, + have been due to too much political economy and history, and the eminent + divines on Sunday evenings. Miss Boyd, however, was not discerning, and + moreover, she was summoning her courage to a certain point. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you ask me to go to the movies some night?” she said. “I like + the movies, and I get sick of going alone.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” observed Willy Cameron, “if that young man in the sack + suit who comes in to see you every day were three inches shorter and + twenty pounds lighter, I'd ask you this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, him!” said Miss Boyd, with a self-conscious smile. “I'm through with + him. He's a Bolshevik!” + </p> + <p> + “He has the Bolshevist possessive eye,” agreed Willy Cameron, readily. + “Does he know you are through with him? Because that's important, too. You + may know it, and I may know it, but if he doesn't know it—” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you say right out you don't want to take me?” Willy Cameron's + chivalrous soul was suddenly shocked. To his horror he saw tears in Miss + Boyd's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'm just a plain idiot, Miss Edith,” he said. “I was only fooling. It + will mean a lot to me to have a nice girl go with me to the movies, or + anywhere else. We'll make it to-night, if that suits you, and I'll take a + look through the neighborhood at noon and see what's worth while.” + </p> + <p> + The Eagle Pharmacy was a small one in a quiet neighborhood. During the + entire day, and for three evenings a week, Mr. William Wallace Cameron ran + it almost single-handed, having only the preoccupied assistance of Miss + Boyd in the candy and fancy goods. At the noon and dinner hours, and four + evenings a week, he was relieved by the owner, Mr. Davis, a tired little + man with large projecting ears and worried, child-like eyes, who was + nursing an invalid wife at home. A pathetic little man, carrying home with + unbounded faith day after day bottles of liquid foods and beef capsules, + and making wistful comments on them when he returned. + </p> + <p> + “She couldn't seem to keep that last stuff down, Mr. Cameron,” he would + say. “I'll try something else.” + </p> + <p> + And he would stand before his shelves, eyes upturned, searching, + eliminating, choosing. + </p> + <p> + Miss Boyd attended to the general merchandise, sold stationery and + perfumes, candy and fancy soaps, and in the intervals surveyed the world + that lay beyond the plate glass windows with shrewd, sophisticated young + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That new doctor across the street is getting busier,” she would say. Or, + “The people in 42 have got a Ford. They haven't got room for a garage, + either. Probably have to leave it out at nights.” + </p> + <p> + Her sophistication was kindly in the main. She combined it with an easy + tolerance of weakness, and an invincible and cheery romanticism, as Willy + Cameron discovered the night they first went to a moving picture theater + together. She frankly wept and joyously laughed, and now and then, + delighted at catching some film subtlety and fearful that he would miss + it, she would nudge him with her elbow. + </p> + <p> + “What d'you think of that?” she would say. “D'you get it? He thinks he's + getting her—Alice Joyce, you know—on the telephone, and it's a + private wire to the gang.” She was rather quiet after that particular + speech. Then she added: “I know a place that's got a secret telephone.” + But he was absorbed in the picture, and made no comment on that. She + seemed rather relieved. + </p> + <p> + Once or twice she placed an excited hand on his knee. He was very + uncomfortable until she removed it, because he had a helpless sort of + impression that she was not quite so unconscious of it as she appeared. + Time had been, and not so long ago, when he might have reciprocated her + little advance in the spirit in which it was offered, might have taken the + hand and held it, out of the sheer joy of youth and proximity. But there + was nothing of the philanderer in the Willy Cameron who sat beside Edith + Boyd that night in body, while in spirit he was in another state, walking + with his slight limp over crisp snow and sodden mud, but through magic + lands, to the little moving picture theater at the camp. + </p> + <p> + Would he ever see her again? Ever again? And if he did, what good would it + be? He roused himself when they started toward her home. The girl was + chattering happily. She adored Douglas Fairbanks. She knew a girl who had + written for his picture but who didn't get one. She wouldn't do a thing + like that. “Did they really say things when they moved their lips?” + </p> + <p> + “I think they do,” said Willy Cameron. “When that chap was talking over + the telephone I could tell what he was saying by—Look here, what did + you mean when you said you knew of a place that has a secret telephone?” + </p> + <p> + “I was only talking.” + </p> + <p> + “No house has any business with a secret telephone,” he said virtuously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, forget it. I say a lot of things I don't mean.” He was a little + puzzled and rather curious, but not at all disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how did you get to know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I was only talking.” + </p> + <p> + He let it drop at that. The street crowds held and interested him. He + liked to speculate about them; what life meant to them, in work and love + and play; to what they were going on such hurrying feet. A country boy, + the haste of the city impressed him. + </p> + <p> + “Why do they hurry so?” he demanded, almost irritably. + </p> + <p> + “Hurrying home, most of them, because they've got to get up in the morning + and go to work.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever wonder about the homes they are hurrying to?” + </p> + <p> + “Me? I don't wonder. I know. Most of them have to move fast to keep up + with the rent.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean houses,” he explained, patiently. “I mean—A house + isn't a home.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet it isn't.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the families I'm talking about. In a small town you know all about + people, who they live with, and all that.” He was laboriously talking down + to her. “But here—” + </p> + <p> + He saw that she was not interested. Something he had said started an + unpleasant train of thought in her mind. She was walking faster, and + frowning slightly. To cheer her he said: + </p> + <p> + “I am keeping an eye out for the large young man in the sack suit, you + know. If he jumps me, just yell for the police, will you? Because I'll + probably not be able to.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd let me forget him.” + </p> + <p> + “I will. The question is, will he?” But he saw that the subject was + unpleasant. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to do this again. It's been mighty nice of you to come.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to ask me, the next time.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly will. But I think I'd better let your family look me over + first, just so they'll know that I don't customarily steal the silver + spoons when I'm asked out to dinner. Or anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + “We're just—folks.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I, awfully—folks! And pretty lonely folks at that. Something + like that pup that has adopted me, only worse. He's got me, but I haven't + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll not be lonely long.” She glanced up at him. + </p> + <p> + “That's cheering. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are the sort that makes friends,” she said, rather vaguely. + “That crowd that drops into the shop on the evenings you're there—they're + crazy about you. They like to hear you talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott! I suppose I've been orating all over the place!” + </p> + <p> + “No, but you've got ideas. You give them something to think about when + they go home. I wish I had a mind like yours.” + </p> + <p> + He was so astonished that he stopped dead on the pavement. “My Scottish + blood,” he said despondently. “A Scot is always a reformer and a preacher, + in his heart. I used to orate to my mother, but she liked it. She is a + Scot, too. Besides, it put her to sleep. But I thought I'd outgrown it.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't make speeches. I didn't mean that.” + </p> + <p> + But he was very crestfallen during the remainder of the way, and rather + silent. He wondered, that night before he went to bed, if he had been + didactic to Lily Cardew. He had aired his opinions to her at length, he + knew. He groaned as he took off his coat in his cold little room at the + boarding house which lodged and fed him, both indifferently, for the sum + of twelve dollars per week. + </p> + <p> + Jinx, the little hybrid dog, occupied the seat of his one comfortable + chair. He eyed the animal somberly. + </p> + <p> + “Hereafter, old man,” he said, “when I feel a spell of oratory coming on, + you will have to be the audience.” He took his dressing gown from a nail + behind the door, and commenced to put it on. Then he took it off again and + wrapped the dog in it. + </p> + <p> + “I can read in bed, which you can't,” he observed. “Only, I can't help + thinking, with all this town to pick from, you might have chosen a fellow + with two dressing gowns and two chairs.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + He was extremely quiet all the next day. Miss Boyd could hear him, behind + the partition with its “Please Keep Out” sign, fussing with bottles and + occasionally whistling to himself. Once it was the “Long, Long Trail,” and + a moment later he appeared in his doorway, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” he said. “I've got in the habit of thinking to the fool thing. + Won't do it again.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be thinking hard.” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” he replied, grimly, and disappeared. She could hear the slight + unevenness of his steps as he moved about, but there was no more + whistling. Edith Boyd leaned both elbows on the top of a showcase and fell + into a profound and troubled thought. Mostly her thoughts were of Willy + Cameron, but some of them were for herself. Up dreary and sordid by-paths + her mind wandered; she was facing ugly facts for the first time, and a + little shudder of disgust shook her. He wanted to meet her family. He was + a gentleman and he wanted to meet her family. Well, he could meet them all + right, and maybe he would understand then that she had never had a chance. + In all her young life no man had ever proposed letting her family look him + over. Hardly ever had they visited her at home, and when they did they + seemed always glad to get away. She had met them on street corners, and + slipped back alone, fearful of every creak of the old staircase, and her + mother's querulous voice calling to her: + </p> + <p> + “Edie, where've you been all this time?” And she had lied. How she had + lied! + </p> + <p> + “I'm through with all that,” she resolved. “It wasn't any fun anyhow. I'm + sick of hating myself.” + </p> + <p> + Some time later Willy Cameron heard the telephone ring, and taking pad and + pencil started forward. But Miss Boyd was at the telephone, conducting a + personal conversation. + </p> + <p> + “No.... No, I think not.... Look here, Lou, I've said no twice.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rather lengthy silence while she listened. Then: “You might as + well have it straight, Lou. I'm through.... No, I'm not sick. I'm just + through.... I wouldn't.... What's the use?” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron, retreating into his lair, was unhappily conscious that the + girl was on the verge of tears. He puzzled over the situation for some + time. His immediate instinct was to help any troubled creature, and it had + dawned on him that this composed young lady who manicured her nails out of + a pasteboard box during the slack portion of every day was troubled. In + his abstraction he commenced again his melancholy refrain, and a moment + later she appeared in the doorway: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for mercy's sake, stop,” she said. She was very pale. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Miss Edith, you come in here and tell me what's wrong. Here's + a chair. Now sit down and talk it out. It helps a lot to get things off + your chest.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing the matter with me. And if the boss comes in here and + finds me—” + </p> + <p> + Quite suddenly she put her head down on the back of the chair and began to + cry. He was frightfully distressed. He poured some aromatic ammonia into a + medicine glass and picking up her limp hand, closed her fingers around it. + </p> + <p> + “Drink that,” he ordered. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sick,” she said. “I'm only a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “If that fellow said anything over the telephone—!” + </p> + <p> + She looked up drearily. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't him. He doesn't matter. It's just—I got to hating + myself.” She stood up and carefully dabbed her eyes. “Heavens, I must be a + sight. Now don't you get to thinking things, Mr. Cameron. Girls can't go + out and fight off a temper, or get full and sleep it off. So they cry.” + </p> + <p> + Some time later he glanced out at her. She was standing before the little + mirror above the chewing gum, carefully rubbing her cheeks with a small + red pad. After that she reached into the show case, got out a lip pencil + and touched her lips. + </p> + <p> + “You're pretty enough without all that, Miss Edith.” + </p> + <p> + “You mind your own business,” she retorted acidly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Lily had known Alston Denslow most of her life. The children of that group + of families which formed the monied aristocracy of the city knew only + their own small circle. They met at dancing classes, where governesses and + occasionally mothers sat around the walls, while the little girls, in + handmade white frocks of exquisite simplicity, their shining hair drawn + back and held by ribbon bows, made their prim little dip at the door + before entering, and the boys, in white Eton collars and gleaming pumps, + bowed from the waist and then dived for the masculine corner of the long + room. + </p> + <p> + No little girl ever intruded on that corner, although now and then a brave + spirit among the boys would wander, with assumed unconsciousness but ears + rather pink, to the opposite corner where the little girls were grouped + like white butterflies milling in the sun. + </p> + <p> + The pianist struck a chord, and the children lined up, the girls on one + side, the boys on the other, a long line, with Mrs. Van Buren in the + center. Another chord, rather a long one. Mrs. Van Buren curtsied to the + girls. The line dipped, wavered, recovered itself. Mrs. Van Buren turned. + Another chord. The boys bent, rather too much, from the waist, while Mrs. + Van Buren swept another deep curtsey. The music now, very definite as to + time. Glide and short step to the right. Glide and short step to the left. + Dancing school had commenced. Outside were long lines of motors waiting. + The governesses chatted, and sometimes embroidered. Mademoiselle tatted. + </p> + <p> + Alton Denslow was generally known as Pink, but the origin of the name was + shrouded in mystery. As “Pink” he had learned to waltz at the dancing + class, at a time when he was more attentive to the step than to the music + that accompanied it. As Pink Denslow he had played on a scrub team at + Harvard, and got two broken ribs for his trouble, and as Pink he now paid + intermittent visits to the Denslow Bank, between the hunting season in + October and polo at eastern fields and in California. At twenty-three he + was still the boy of the dancing class, very careful at parties to ask his + hostess to dance, and not noticeably upset when she did, having arranged + to be cut in on at the end of the second round. + </p> + <p> + Pink could not remember when he had not been in love with Lily Cardew. + There had been other girls, of course, times when Lily seemed far away + from Cambridge, and some other fair charmer was near. But he had always + known there was only Lily. Once or twice he would have become engaged, had + it not been for that. He was a blond boy, squarely built, good-looking + without being handsome, and on rainy Sundays when there was no golf he + went quite cheerfully to St. Peter's with his mother, and watched a pretty + girl in the choir. + </p> + <p> + He wished at those times that he could sing. + </p> + <p> + A pleasant cumberer of the earth, he had wrapped his talents in a napkin + and buried them by the wayside, and promptly forgotten where they were. He + was to find them later on, however, not particularly rusty, and he + increased them rather considerably before he got through. + </p> + <p> + It was this pleasant cumberer of the earth, then, who on the morning after + Lily's return, stopped his car before the Cardew house and got out. + Immediately following his descent he turned, took a square white box from + the car, ascended the steps, settled his neck in his collar and his tie + around it, and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + The second man, hastily buttoned into his coat and with a faint odor of + silver polish about him, opened the door. Pink gave him his hat, but + retained the box firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Cardew and Miss Cardew at home?” he asked. “Yes? Then you might tell + Grayson I'm here to luncheon—unless the family is lunching out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said the footman. “No, sir, they are lunching at home.” + </p> + <p> + Pink sauntered into the library. He was not so easy as his manner + indicated. One never knew about Lily. Sometimes she was in a mood when she + seemed to think a man funny, and not to be taken seriously. And when she + was serious, which was the way he liked her—he rather lacked humor—she + was never serious about him or herself. It had been religion once, he + remembered. She had wanted to know if he believed in the thirty-nine + articles, and because he had seen them in the back of the prayer-book, + where they certainly would not be if there was not authority for them, he + had said he did. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't,” said Lily. And there had been rather a bad half-hour, + because he had felt that he had to stick to his thirty-nine guns, whatever + they were. He had finished on a rather desperate note of appeal. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Lily,” he had said. “Why do you bother your head about such + things, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I've got a head, and I want to use it.” + </p> + <p> + “Life's too short.” + </p> + <p> + “Eternity's pretty long. Do you believe in eternity?” And there they were, + off again, and of course old Anthony had come in after that, and had + wanted to know about his Aunt Marcia, and otherwise had shown every + indication of taking root on the hearth rug. + </p> + <p> + Pink was afraid of Anthony. He felt like a stammering fool when Anthony + was around. That was why he had invited himself to luncheon. Old Anthony + lunched at his club. + </p> + <p> + When he heard Lily coming down the stairs, Pink's honest heart beat + somewhat faster. A good many times in France, but particularly on the ship + coming back, he had thought about this meeting. In France a fellow had a + lot of distractions, and Lily had seemed as dear as ever, but extremely + remote. But once turned toward home, and she had filled the entire western + horizon. The other men had seen sunsets there, and sometimes a ship, or a + school of porpoises. But Pink had seen only Lily. + </p> + <p> + She came in. The dear old girl! The beautiful, wonderful, dear old girl! + The— + </p> + <p> + “Pink!” + </p> + <p> + “H—hello, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Pink—you're a man!” + </p> + <p> + “What'd you think I'd be? A girl?” + </p> + <p> + “You've grown.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now see here, Lily. I quit growing years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “And to think you are back all right. I was so worried, Pink.” + </p> + <p> + He flushed at that. + </p> + <p> + “Needn't have worried,” he said, rather thickly. “Didn't get to the front + until just before the end. My show was made a labor division in the south + of France. If you laugh, I'll take my flowers and go home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Pink dear, I wouldn't laugh for anything. And it was the man behind + the lines who—” + </p> + <p> + “Won the war,” he finished for her, rather grimly. “All right, Lily. We've + heard it before. Anyhow, it's all done and over, and—I brought + gardenias and violets. You used to like 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “It was dear of you to remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't help remembering. No credit to me. I—you were always in my + mind.” + </p> + <p> + She was busily unwrapping the box. + </p> + <p> + “Always,” he repeated, unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + “What gorgeous things!” she buried her face in them. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear what I said, Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and it's sweet of you. Now sit down and tell me about things. I've + got a lot to tell you, too.” + </p> + <p> + He had a sort of quiet obstinacy, however, and he did not sit down. When + she had done so he stood in front of her, looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “You've been in a camp. I know that. I heard it over there. Anne Devereaux + wrote me. It worried me because—we had girls in the camps over + there, and every one of them had a string of suitors a mile long.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't,” said Lily, spiritedly. Then she laughed. He had been + afraid she would laugh. “Oh, Pink, how dear and funny and masculine you + are! I have a perfectly uncontrollable desire to kiss you.” + </p> + <p> + Which she did, to his amazement and consternation. Nothing she could have + done would more effectually have shown him the hopelessness of his + situation than that sisterly impulse. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord,” he gasped, “Grayson's in the hall.” + </p> + <p> + “If he comes in I shall probably do it again. Pink, you darling child, you + are still the little boy at Mrs. Van Buren's and if you would only purse + your lips and count one—two—three—Are you staying to + luncheon?” + </p> + <p> + He was suffering terribly. Also he felt strangely empty inside, because + something that he had carried around with him for a long time seemed to + have suddenly moved out and left a vacancy. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I think not, Lily; I've got a lot to do to-day.” + </p> + <p> + She sat very still. She had had to do it, had had to show him, somehow, + that she loved him without loving him as he wanted her to. She had acted + on impulse, on an impulse born of intention, but she had hurt him. It was + in every line of his rigid body and set face. + </p> + <p> + “You're not angry, Pink dear?” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to be angry about,” he said, stolidly. “Things have been + going on, with me, and staying where they've always been, with you. That's + all. I'm not very keen, you know, and I used to think—Your people + like me. I mean, they wouldn't—” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody likes you, Pink.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll trot along.” He moved a step, hesitated. “Is there anybody + else, Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't mind if I hang around a bit, then? You can always send me off + when you are sick of me. Which you couldn't if you were fool enough to + marry me.” + </p> + <p> + “Whoever does marry you, dear, will be a lucky woman.” + </p> + <p> + In the end he stayed to luncheon, and managed to eat a very fair one. But + he had little lapses into silence, and Grace Cardew drew her own shrewd + conclusions. + </p> + <p> + “He's such a nice boy, Lily,” she said, after he had gone. “And your + grandfather would like it. In a way I think he expects it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to marry to please him, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are fond of Alston.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to marry a man, mother. Pink is a boy. He will always be a boy. He + doesn't think; he just feels. He is fine and loyal and honest, but I would + loathe him in a month.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Grace Cardew unhappily, “I wish you had never gone to that + camp.” + </p> + <p> + All afternoon Lily and Grace shopped. Lily was fitted into shining evening + gowns, into bright little afternoon frocks, into Paris wraps. The Cardew + name was whispered through the shops, and great piles of exotic things + were brought in for Grace's critical eye. Lily's own attitude was joyously + carefree. Long lines of models walked by, draped in furs, in satins and + velvet and chiffon, tall girls, most of them, with hair carefully dressed, + faces delicately tinted and that curious forward thrust at the waist and + slight advancement of one shoulder that gave them an air of languorous + indifference. + </p> + <p> + “The only way I could get that twist,” Lily confided to her mother, “would + be to stand that way and be done up in plaster of paris. It is the most + abandoned thing I ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + Grace was shocked, and said so. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, during the few hours since her arrival, Lily had wondered if + her year's experiences had coarsened her. There were so many times when + her mother raised her eyebrows. She knew that she had changed, that the + granddaughter of old Anthony Cardew who had come back from the war was not + the girl who had gone away. She had gone away amazingly ignorant; what + little she had known of life she had learned away at school. But even + there she had not realized the possibility of wickedness and vice in the + world. One of the girls had run away with a music master who was married, + and her name was forbidden to be mentioned. That was wickedness, like + blasphemy, and a crime against the Holy Ghost. + </p> + <p> + She had never heard of prostitution. Near the camp there was a district + with a bad name, and the girls of her organization were forbidden to so + much as walk in that direction. It took her a long time to understand, and + she suffered horribly when she did. There were depths of wickedness, then, + and of abasement like that in the world. It was a bad world, a cruel, + sordid world. She did not want to live in it. + </p> + <p> + She had had to reorganize all her ideas of life after that. At first she + was flamingly indignant. God had made His world clean and beautiful, and + covered it with flowers and trees that grew, cleanly begotten, from the + earth. Why had He not stopped there? Why had He soiled it with passion and + lust? + </p> + <p> + It was a little Red Cross nurse who helped her, finally. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she said. “I see what you mean. But trees and flowers are not + God's most beautiful gift to the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I think they are.” + </p> + <p> + “No. It is love.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not talking about love,” said Lily, flushing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you are. You have never loved, have you? You are talking of one + of the many things that go to make up love, and out of that one phase of + love comes the most wonderful thing in the world. He gives us the child.” + </p> + <p> + And again: + </p> + <p> + “All bodies are not whole, and not all souls. It is wrong to judge life by + its exceptions, or love by its perversions, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + It had been the little nurse finally who cured her, for she secured Lily's + removal to that shady house on a by-street, where the tragedies of unwise + love and youth sought sanctuary. There were prayers there, morning and + evening. They knelt, those girls, in front of their little wooden chairs, + and by far the great majority of them quite simply laid their burdens + before God, and with an equal simplicity, felt that He would help them + out. + </p> + <p> + “We have erred, and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep. We have + followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have + offended against Thy holy laws.... Restore Thou those who are penitent, + according to Thy promises.... And grant, Oh most merciful Father, that we + may hereafter live a godly, righteous and sober life.” + </p> + <p> + After a time Lily learned something that helped her. The soul was greater + and stronger than the body and than the mind. The body failed. It sinned, + but that did not touch the unassailable purity and simplicity of the soul. + The soul, which lived on, was always clean. For that reason there was no + hell. + </p> + <p> + Lily rose and buttoned her coat. Grace was fastening her sables, and + making a delayed decision in satins. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, I've been thinking it over. I am going to see Aunt Elinor.” + </p> + <p> + Grace waited until the saleswoman had moved away. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking, while we were ordering all that stuff. She is a Cardew, + mother. She ought to be having that sort of thing. And just because + grandfather hates her husband, she hasn't anything.” + </p> + <p> + “That is rather silly, dear. They are not in want. I believe he is quite + flourishing.” + </p> + <p> + “She is father's sister. And she is a good woman. We treat her like a + leper.” + </p> + <p> + Grace was weakening. “If you take the car, your grandfather may hear of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take a taxi.” + </p> + <p> + Grace followed her with uneasy eyes. For years she paid a price for peace, + and not a small price. She had placed her pride on the domestic altar, and + had counted it a worthy sacrifice for Howard's sake. And she had + succeeded. She knew Anthony Cardew had never forgiven her and would never + like her, but he gave her, now and then, the tribute of a grudging + admiration. + </p> + <p> + And now Lily had come home, a new and different Lily, with her father's + lovableness and his father's obstinacy. Already Grace saw in the girl the + beginning of a passionate protest against things as they were. Perhaps, + had Grace given to Lily the great love of her life, instead of to Howard, + she might have understood her less clearly. As it was, she shivered + slightly as she got into the limousine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Lily Cardew inspected curiously the east side neighborhood through which + the taxi was passing. She knew vaguely that she was in the vicinity of one + of the Cardew mills, but she had never visited any of the Cardew plants. + She had never been permitted to do so. Perhaps the neighborhood would have + impressed her more had she not seen, in the camp, that life can be + stripped sometimes to its essentials, and still have lost very little. But + the dinginess depressed her. Smoke was in the atmosphere, like a heavy + fog. Soot lay on the window-sills, and mingled with street dust to form + little black whirlpools in the wind. Even the white river steamers, + guiding their heavy laden coal barges with the current, were gray with + soft coal smoke. The foam of the river falling in broken cataracts from + their stern wheels was oddly white in contrast. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere she began to see her own name. “Cardew” was on the ore hopper + cars that were moving slowly along a railroad spur. One of the steamers + bore “Anthony Cardew” in tall black letters on its side. There was a + narrow street called “Cardew Way.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Elinor lived on Cardew Way. She wondered if Aunt Elinor found that + curious, as she did. Did she resent these ever-present reminders of her + lost family? Did she have any bitterness because the very grayness of her + skies was making her hard old father richer and more powerful? + </p> + <p> + Yet there was comfort, stability and a certain dignity about Aunt Elinor's + house when she reached it. It stood in the district, but not of it, + withdrawn from the street in a small open space which gave indication of + being a flower garden in summer. There were two large gaunt trees on + either side of a brick walk, and that walk had been swept to the last + degree of neatness. The steps were freshly scoured, and a small brass + door-plate, like a doctor's sign, was as bright as rubbing could make it. + “James Doyle,” she read. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she was glad she had come. The little brick house looked anything + but tragic, with its shining windows, its white curtains and its evenly + drawn shades. Through the windows on the right came a flickering light, + warm and rosy. There must be a coal fire there. She loved a coal fire. + </p> + <p> + She had braced herself to meet Aunt Elinor at the door, but an elderly + woman opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Doyle is in,” she said; “just step inside.” + </p> + <p> + She did not ask Lily's name, but left her in the dark little hall and + creaked up the stairs. Lily hesitated. Then, feeling that Aunt Elinor + might not like to find her so unceremoniously received, she pushed open a + door which was only partly closed, and made a step into the room. Only + then did she see that it was occupied. A man sat by the fire, reading. He + was holding his book low, to get the light from the fire, and he turned + slowly to glance at Lily. He had clearly expected some one else. Elinor, + probably. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” Lily said. “I am calling on Mrs. Doyle, and when I + saw the firelight—” + </p> + <p> + He stood up then, a tall, thin man, with close-cropped gray mustache and + heavy gray hair above a high, bulging forehead. She had never seen Jim + Doyle, but Mademoiselle had once said that he had pointed ears, like a + satyr. She had immediately recanted, on finding Lily searching in a book + for a picture of a satyr. This man had ears pointed at the top. Lily was + too startled then to analyze his face, but later on she was to know well + the high, intellectual forehead, the keen sunken eyes, the full but firmly + held mouth and pointed, satyr-like ears of that brilliant Irishman, cynic + and arch scoundrel, Jim Doyle. + </p> + <p> + He was inspecting her intently. + </p> + <p> + “Please come in,” he said. “Did the maid take your name?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I am Lily Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + “I see.” He stood quite still, eyeing her. “You are Anthony's + granddaughter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment.” He went out, closing the door behind him, and she heard + him going quickly up the stairs. A door closed above, and a weight settled + down on the girl's heart. He was not going to let her see Aunt Elinor. She + was frightened, but she was angry, too. She would not run away. She would + wait until he came down, and if he was insolent, well, she could be + haughty. She moved to the fire and stood there, slightly flushed, but very + straight. + </p> + <p> + She heard him coming down again almost immediately. He was outside the + door. But he did not come in at once. She had a sudden impression that he + was standing there, his hand on the knob, outlining what he meant to say + to her when he showed the door to a hated Cardew. Afterwards she came to + know how right that impression was. He was never spontaneous. He was a man + who debated everything, calculated everything beforehand. + </p> + <p> + When he came in it was slowly, and with his head bent, as though he still + debated within himself. Then: + </p> + <p> + “I think I have a right to ask what Anthony Cardew's granddaughter is + doing in my house.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wife's niece has come to call on her, Mr. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure that is all?” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that is all,” Lily said haughtily. “It had not occurred to + me that you would be here.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say. Still, strangely enough, I do spend a certain amount of time + in my home.” + </p> + <p> + Lily picked up her muff. + </p> + <p> + “If you have forbidden her to come down, I shall go.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he said slowly. “I haven't forbidden her to see you. I asked her + to wait. I wanted a few moments. You see, it is not often that I have a + Cardew in my house, and I am a selfish man.” + </p> + <p> + She hated him. She loathed his cold eyes, his long, slim white hands. She + hated him until he fascinated her. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, and I will call Mrs. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + He went out again, but this time it was the elderly maid who went up the + stairs. Doyle himself came back, and stood before her on the hearth rug. + He was slightly smiling, and the look of uncertainty was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Now that you've seen me, I'm not absolutely poisonous, am I, Miss Lily? + You don't mind my calling you that, do you? You are my niece. You have + been taught to hate me, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lily, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, the truth from a Cardew!” Then: “That's an old habit of mine, + damning the Cardews. I'll have to try to get over it, if they are going to + reestablish family relations.” He was laughing at her, Lily knew, and she + flushed somewhat. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't make too great an effort, then,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He smiled again, this time not unpleasantly, and suddenly he threw into + his rich Irish voice an unexpected softness. No one knew better than Jim + Doyle the uses of the human voice. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't mind me, Miss Lily. I have no reason to love your family, but + I am very happy that you came here to-day. My wife has missed her people. + If you'll run in like this now and then it will do her worlds of good. And + if my being here is going to keep you away I can clear out.” + </p> + <p> + She rather liked him for that speech. He was totally unlike what she had + been led to expect, and she felt a sort of resentment toward her family + for misleading her. He was a gentleman, on the surface at least. He had + not been over-cordial at first, but then who could have expected + cordiality under the circumstances? In Lily's defense it should be said + that the vicissitudes of Elinor's life with Doyle had been kept from her + always. She had but two facts to go on: he had beaten her grandfather as a + young man, for a cause, and he held views as to labor which conflicted + with those of her family. + </p> + <p> + Months later, when she learned all the truth, it was too late. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you're being here won't keep me away, if you care to have me + come.” + </p> + <p> + He was all dignity and charm then. They needed youth in that quiet place. + They ought all to be able to forget the past, which was done with, anyhow. + He showed the first genuine interest she had found in her work at the + camp, and before his unexpected geniality the girl opened like a flower. + </p> + <p> + And all the time he was watching her with calculating eyes. He was a + gambler with life, and he rather suspected that he had just drawn a + valuable card. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said gravely, when she had finished. “You have done a lot + to bridge the gulf that lies—I am sure you have noticed it—between + the people who saw service in this war and those who stayed at home.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Lily saw that the gulf between her family and herself was just + that, which was what he had intended. + </p> + <p> + When Elinor came in they were absorbed in conversation, Lily flushed and + eager, and her husband smiling, urbane, and genial. + </p> + <p> + To Lily, Elinor Doyle had been for years a figure of mystery. She had not + seen her for many years, and she had, remembered a thin, girlish figure, + tragic-eyed, which eternally stood by a window in her room, looking out. + But here was a matronly woman, her face framed with soft, dark hair, with + eyes like her father's, with Howard Cardew's ease of manner, too, but with + a strange passivity, either of repression or of fires early burned out and + never renewed. + </p> + <p> + Lily was vaguely disappointed. Aunt Elinor, in soft gray silk, matronly, + assured, unenthusiastically pleased to see her; Doyle himself, cheerful + and suave; the neat servant; the fire lit, comfortable room,—there + was no drama in all that, no hint of mystery or tragedy. All the hatred at + home for an impulsive assault of years ago, and—this! + </p> + <p> + “Lily, dear!” Elinor said, and kissed her. “Why, Lily, you are a woman!” + </p> + <p> + “I am twenty, Aunt Elinor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. I keep forgetting. I live so quietly here that the days + go by faster than I know.” She put Lily back in her chair, and glanced at + her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Is Louis coming to dinner, Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you cannot stay, Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to tell you, Aunt Elinor. Only mother knows that I am here.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Elinor smiled her quiet smile. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, dear. How are they all?” + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather is very well. Father looks tired. There is some trouble at + the mill, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor glanced at Doyle, but he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “And your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “She is well.” + </p> + <p> + Lily was commencing to have an odd conviction, which was that her Aunt + Elinor was less glad to have her there than was Jim Doyle. He seemed + inclined to make up for Elinor's lack of enthusiasm by his own. He built + up a larger fire, and moved her chair near it. + </p> + <p> + “Weather's raw,” he said. “Sure you are comfortable now? And why not have + dinner here? We have an interesting man coming, and we don't often have + the chance to offer our guests a charming young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily only came home yesterday, Jim,” Elinor observed. “Her own people + will want to see something of her. Besides, they do no know she is here.” + </p> + <p> + Lily felt slightly chilled. For years she had espoused her Aunt Elinor's + cause; in the early days she had painfully hemstitched a small + handkerchief each fall and had sent it, with much secrecy, to Aunt + Elinor's varying addresses at Christmas. She had felt a childish + resentment of Elinor Doyle's martyrdom. And now— + </p> + <p> + “Her father and grandfather are dining out to-night.” Had Lily looked up + she would have seen Doyle's eyes fixed on his wife, ugly and menacing. + </p> + <p> + “Dining out?” Lily glanced at him in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “There is a dinner to-night, for the—” He checked himself “The steel + manufacturers are having a meeting,” he finished. “I believe to discuss + me, among other things. Amazing the amount of discussion my simple + opinions bring about.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor Doyle, unseen, made a little gesture of despair and surrender. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will stay, Lily,” she said. “You can telephone, if you like. I + don't see you often, and there is so much I want to ask you.” + </p> + <p> + In the end Lily agreed. She would find out from Grayson if the men were + really dining out, and if they were Grayson would notify her mother that + she was staying. She did not quite know herself why she had accepted, + unless it was because she was bored and restless at home. Perhaps, too, + the lure of doing a forbidden thing influenced her sub-consciously, the + thought that her grandfather would detest it. She had not forgiven him for + the night before. + </p> + <p> + Jim Doyle left her in the back hall at the telephone, and returned to the + sitting room, dosing the door behind him. His face was set and angry. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I told you to be pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “I tried, Jim. You must remember I hardly know her.” She got up and placed + her hand on his arm, but he shook it off. “I don't understand, Jim, and I + wish you wouldn't. What good is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I've told you what I want. I want that girl to come here, and to like + coming here. That's plain, isn't it? But if you're going to sit with a + frozen face—She'll be useful. Useful as hell to a preacher.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't use my family that way.” + </p> + <p> + “You and your family! Now listen, Elinor. This isn't a matter o the + Cardews and me. It may be nothing, but it may be a big thing. I hardly + know yet—” His voice trailed off; he stood with his head bent, lost + in those eternal calculations with which Elinor Doyle was so familiar. + </p> + <p> + The doorbell rang, and was immediately followed by the opening and closing + of the front door. + </p> + <p> + From her station at the telephone Lily Cardew saw a man come in, little + more than a huge black shadow, which placed a hat on the stand and then, + striking a match, lighted the gas overhead. In the illumination he stood + before the mirror, smoothing back his shining black hair. Then he saw her, + stared and retreated into the sitting room. + </p> + <p> + “Got company, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “My niece, Lily Cardew,” said Doyle, dryly. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman seemed highly amused. Evidently he considered Lily's + presence in the house in the nature of a huge joke. He was conveying this + by pantomime, in deference to the open door, when Doyle nodded toward + Elinor. + </p> + <p> + “It's customary to greet your hostess, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “Easiest thing I do,” boasted the new arrival cheerily. “'Lo, Mrs. Doyle. + Is our niece going to dine with us?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know yet, Mr. Akers,” she said, without warmth. Louis Akers knew + quite well that Elinor did not like him, and the thought amused him, the + more so since as a rule women liked him rather too well. Deep in his heart + he respected Jim Doyle's wife, and sometimes feared her. He respected her + because she had behind her traditions of birth and wealth, things he + professed to despise but secretly envied. He feared her because he trusted + no woman, and she knew too much. + </p> + <p> + She loved Jim Doyle, but he had watched her, and he knew that sometimes + she hated Doyle also. He knew that could be, because there had been women + he had both loved and hated himself. + </p> + <p> + Elinor had gone out, and Akers sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, in a lowered tone. “I've written it.” + </p> + <p> + Doyle closed the door, and stood again with his head lowered, considering. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better look over it,” continued Lou. “I don't want to be jailed. + You're better at skating over thin ice than I am. And I've been thinking + over the Prohibition matter, Jim. In a sense you're right. It will make + them sullen and angry. But they won't go the limit without booze. I'd + advise cache-ing a lot of it somewhere, to be administered when needed.” + </p> + <p> + Doyle returned to his old place on the hearth-rug, still thoughtful. He + had paid no attention to Aker's views on Prohibition, nor to the paper + laid upon the desk in the center of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that that girl in the hall will be worth forty million + dollars some day?” + </p> + <p> + “Some money,” said Akers, calmly. “Which reminds me, Jim, that I've got to + have a raise. And pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + “You get plenty, if you'd leave women alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them to leave me alone, then,” said Akers, stretching out his long + legs. “All right. We'll talk about that, after dinner. What about this + forty millions?” + </p> + <p> + Doyle looked at him quickly. Akers' speech about women had crystallized + the vague plans which Lily's arrival had suddenly given rise to. He gave + the young man a careful scrutiny, from his handsome head to his feet, and + smiled. It had occurred to him that the Cardew family would loathe a man + of Louis Akers' type with an entire and whole-hearted loathing. + </p> + <p> + “You might try to make her have a pleasant evening,” he suggested dryly. + “And, to do that, it might be as well to remember a number of things, one + of which is that she is accustomed to the society of gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, old dear,” said Akers, without resentment. + </p> + <p> + “She hates her grandfather like poison,” Doyle went on. “She doesn't know + it, but she does. A little education, and it is just possible—” + </p> + <p> + “Get Olga. I'm no kindergarten teacher.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't seen her in the light yet.” + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers smiled and carefully settled his tie. + </p> + <p> + Like Doyle, Akers loved the game of life, and he liked playing for high + stakes. He had joined forces with Doyle because the game was dangerous and + exciting, rather than because of any real conviction. Doyle had a fanatic + faith, with all his calculation, but Louis Akers had only calculation and + ambition. A practicing attorney in the city, a specialist in union law + openly, a Red in secret, he played his triple game shrewdly and with zest. + </p> + <p> + Doyle turned to go, then stopped and came back. “I was forgetting + something,” he said, slowly. “What possessed you to take that Boyd girl to + the Searing Building the other night?” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Woslosky saw you coming out.” + </p> + <p> + “I had left something there,” Akers said sullenly. “That's the truth, + whether you believe it or not. I wasn't there two minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a fool, Louis,” Doyle said coldly. “You'll play that game once too + often. What happens to you is your own concern, but what may happen to me + is mine. And I'll take mighty good care it doesn't happen.” + </p> + <p> + Doyle was all unction and hospitality when he met Lily in the hall. At + dinner he was brilliant, witty, the gracious host. Akers played up to him. + At the foot of the table Elinor sat, outwardly passive, inwardly puzzled, + and watched Lily. She knew the contrast the girl must be drawing, between + the bright little meal, with its simple service and clever talk, and those + dreary formal dinners at home when old Anthony sometimes never spoke at + all, or again used his caustic tongue like a scourge. Elinor did not hate + her father; he was simply no longer her father. As for Howard, she had had + a childish affection for him, but he had gone away early to school, and + she hardly knew him. But she did not want his child here, drinking in as + she was, without clearly understanding what they meant, Doyle's theories + of unrest and revolution. + </p> + <p> + “You will find that I am an idealist, in a way,” he was saying. “That is, + if you come often. I hope you will, by the way. I am perpetually + dissatisfied with things as they are, and wanting them changed. With the + single exception of my wife”—he bowed to Elinor, “and this little + party, which is delightful.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a Socialist?” Lily demanded, in her direct way. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you might call it that. I go a bit further.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk politics, Jim,” Elinor hastily interposed. He caught her eye + and grinned. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not talking politics, my dear.” He turned to Lily, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “For one thing, I don't believe that any one should have a lot of money, + so that a taxicab could remain ticking away fabulous sums while a charming + young lady dines at her leisure.” He smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “Will it be a lot?” Lily asked. “I thought I'd better keep him, because—” + She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Because this neighborhood is unlikely to have a cab stand? You were + entirely right. But I can see that you won't like my idealistic community. + You see, in it everybody will have enough, and nobody will have too much.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't take him too seriously, Miss Cardew,” said Akers, bending forward. + “You and I know that there isn't such a thing as too much.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor changed the subject; as a girl she had drawn rather well, and she + had retained her interest in that form of art. There was an exhibition in + town of colored drawings. Lily should see them. But Jim Doyle countered + her move. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot to mention,” he said, “that in this ideal world we were + discussing the arts will flourish. Not at once, of course, because the + artists will be fighting—” + </p> + <p> + “Fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “Per aspera ad astra,” put in Louis Akers. “You cannot change a world in a + day, without revolution—” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't believe that revolution is ever worth while, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “If it would drive starvation and wretchedness from the world, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Lily found Louis Akers interesting. Certainly he was very handsome. And + after all, why should there be misery and hunger in the world? There must + be enough for all. It was hardly fair, for instance, that she should have + so much, and others scarcely anything. Only it was like thinking about + religion; you didn't get anywhere with it. You wanted to be good, and + tried to be. And you wanted to love God, only He seemed so far away, + mostly. And even that was confusing, because you prayed to God to be + forgiven for wickedness, but it was to His Son our Lord one went for help + in trouble. + </p> + <p> + One could be sorry for the poor, and even give away all one had, but that + would only help a few. It would have to be that every one who had too much + would give up all but what he needed. + </p> + <p> + Lily tried to put that into words. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Jim Doyle. “Only in my new world we realize that there + would be a few craven spirits who might not willingly give up what they + have. In that case it would be taken from them.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is what you call revolution?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “But that's not revolution. It is a sort of justice, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “You think very straight, young lady,” said Jim Doyle. + </p> + <p> + He had a fascinating theory of individualism, too; no man should impose + his will and no community its laws, on the individual. Laws were for + slaves. Ethics were better than laws, to control. + </p> + <p> + “Although,” he added, urbanely, “I daresay it might be difficult to + convert Mr. Anthony Cardew to such a belief.” + </p> + <p> + While Louis Akers saw Lily to her taxicab that night Doyle stood in the + hall, waiting. He was very content with his evening's work. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, when Akers returned. + </p> + <p> + “Merry as a marriage bell. I'm to show her the Brunelleschi drawings + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Slightly flushed, he smoothed his hair in front of the mirror over the + stand. + </p> + <p> + “She's a nice child,” he said. In his eyes was the look of the hunting + animal that scents food. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Lily did not sleep very well that night. She was repentant, for one thing, + for her mother's evening alone, and for the anxiety in her face when she + arrived. + </p> + <p> + “I've been so worried,” she said, “I was afraid your grandfather would get + back before you did.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, mother dear. I know it was selfish. But I've had a wonderful + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful?” + </p> + <p> + “All sorts of talk,” Lily said, and hesitated. After all, her mother would + not understand, and it would only make her uneasy. “I suppose it is rank + hearsay to say it, but I like Mr. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + “I detest him.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't know him, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know he is stirring up all sorts of trouble for us. Lily, I want you to + promise not to go back there.” + </p> + <p> + There was a little silence. A small feeling of rebellion was rising in the + girl's heart. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why. She is my own aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't ask me, mother. I—oh, don't you understand? It is + interesting there, that's all. It isn't wrong to go. And the moment you + forbid it you make me want to go back.” + </p> + <p> + “Were there any other people there to dinner?” Grace asked, with sudden + suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Only one man. A lawyer named Akers.” + </p> + <p> + The name meant nothing to Grace Cardew. + </p> + <p> + “A young man?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very young. In his thirties, I should think,” Lily hesitated again. + She had meant to tell her mother of the engagement for the next day, but + Grace's attitude made it difficult. To be absolutely forbidden to meet + Louis Akers at the gallery, and to be able to give no reason beyond the + fact that she had met him at the Doyle house, seemed absurd. + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know,” Lily said frankly. “In your sense of the word, perhaps + not, mother. But he is very clever.” + </p> + <p> + Grace Cardew sighed and picked up her book. She never retired until Howard + came in. And Lily went upstairs, uneasy and a little defiant. She must + live her own life, somehow; have her own friends; think her own thoughts. + The quiet tyranny of the family was again closing down on her. It would + squeeze her dry, in the end, as it had her mother and Aunt Elinor. + </p> + <p> + She stood for a time by her window, looking out at the city. Behind her + was her warm, luxurious room, her deep, soft bed. Yet all through the city + there were those who did not sleep warm and soft. Close by, perhaps, in + that deteriorated neighborhood, there were children that very night going + to bed hungry. + </p> + <p> + Because things had always been like that, should they always be so? Wasn't + Mr. Doyle right, after all? Only he went very far. You couldn't, for + instance, take from a man the thing he had earned. What about the people + who did not try to earn? + </p> + <p> + She rather thought she would be clearer about it if she talked to Willy + Cameron. + </p> + <p> + She went to bed at last, a troubled young thing in a soft white + night-gown, passionately in revolt against the injustice which gave to her + so much and to others so little. And against that quiet domestic tyranny + which was forcing her to her first deceit. + </p> + <p> + Yet the visit to the gallery was innocuous enough. Louis Akers met her + there, and carefully made the rounds with her. Then he suggested tea, and + chose a quiet tea-room, and a corner. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you something, now it's over,” he said, his bold eyes fixed on + hers. “I loathe galleries and pictures. I wanted to see you again. That's + all. You see, I am starting in by being honest with you.” + </p> + <p> + She was rather uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you like pictures?” + </p> + <p> + “Because they are only imitations of life. I like life.” He pushed his + teacup away. “I don't want tea either. Tea was an excuse, too.” He smiled + at her. “Perhaps you don't like honesty,” he said. “If you don't you won't + care for me.” + </p> + <p> + She was too inexperienced to recognize the gulf between frankness and + effrontery, but he made her vaguely uneasy. He knew so many things, and + yet he was so obviously not quite a gentleman, in her family's sense of + the word. He had a curious effect on her, too, one that she resented. He + made her insistently conscious of her sex. + </p> + <p> + And of his. His very deference had something of restraint about it. She + thought, trying to drink her tea quietly, that he might be very terrible + if he loved any one. There was a sort of repressed fierceness behind his + suavity. + </p> + <p> + But he interested her, and he was undeniably handsome, not in her father's + way but with high-colored, almost dramatic good looks. There could be no + doubt, too, that he was interested in her. He rarely took his eyes off + hers. Afterwards she was to know well that bold possessive look of his. + </p> + <p> + It was just before they left that he said: + </p> + <p> + “I am going to see you again, you know. May I come in some afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Lily had been foreseeing that for some moments, and she raised frank eyes + to his. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid not,” she said. “You see, you are a friend of Mr. Doyle's, + and you must know that my people and Aunt Elinor's husband are on bad + terms.” + </p> + <p> + “What has that got to do with you and me?” Then he laughed. “Might be + unpleasant, I suppose. But you go to the Doyles'.” + </p> + <p> + She was very earnest. + </p> + <p> + “My mother knows, but my grandfather wouldn't permit it if he knew.” + </p> + <p> + “And you put up with that sort of thing?” He leaned closer to her. “You + are not a baby, you know. But I will say you are a good sport to do it, + anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not very comfortable about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bosh,” he said, abruptly. “You go there as often as you can. Elinor + Doyle's a lonely woman, and Jim is all right. You pick your own friends, + my child, and live your own life. Every human being has that right.” + </p> + <p> + He helped her into a taxi at the door of the tea shop, giving her rather + more assistance than she required, and then standing bare-headed in the + March wind until the car had moved away. Lily, sitting back in her corner, + was both repelled and thrilled. He was totally unlike the men she knew, + those carefully repressed, conventional clean-cut boys, like Pink Denslow. + He was raw, vigorous and possibly brutal. She did not quite like him, but + she found herself thinking about him a great deal. + </p> + <p> + The old life was reaching out its friendly, idle hands toward her. The + next day Grace gave a luncheon for her at the house, a gay little affair + of color, chatter and movement. But Lily found herself with little to say. + Her year away had separated her from the small community of interest that + bound the others together, and she wondered, listening to them in her + sitting room later, what they would all talk about when they had exchanged + their bits of gossip, their news of this man and that. It would all be + said so soon. And what then? + </p> + <p> + Here they were, and here they would always be, their own small circle, + carefully guarded. They belonged together, they and the men who likewise + belonged. Now and then there would be changes. A new man, of + irreproachable family connections would come to live in the city, and + cause a small flurry. Then in time he would be appropriated. Or a girl + would come to visit, and by the same system of appropriation would come + back later, permanently. Always the same faces, the same small talk. + Orchids or violets at luncheons, white or rose or blue or yellow frocks at + dinners and dances. Golf at the country club. Travel, in the Cardew + private car, cut off from fellow travelers who might prove interesting. + Winter at Palm Beach, and a bit of a thrill at seeing moving picture stars + and theatrical celebrities playing on the sand. One never had a chance to + meet them. + </p> + <p> + And, in quiet intervals, this still house, and grandfather shut away in + his upstairs room, but holding the threads of all their lives as a spider + clutches the diverging filaments of its web. + </p> + <p> + “Get in on this, Lily,” said a clear young voice. “We're talking about the + most interesting men we met in our war work. You ought to have known a lot + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew a lot of men. They were not so very interesting. There was a + little nurse—” + </p> + <p> + “Men, Lily dear.” + </p> + <p> + “There was one awfully nice boy. He wasn't a soldier, but he was very kind + to the men. They adored him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he fall in love with your?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a particle.” + </p> + <p> + “Why wasn't he a soldier?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a little bit lame. But he is awfully nice.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is extraordinary about him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing, except his niceness.” + </p> + <p> + But they were surfeited with nice young men. They wanted something + dramatic, and Willy Cameron was essentially undramatic. Besides, it was + quite plain that, with unconscious cruelty, his physical handicap made him + unacceptable to them. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be ridiculous, Lily. You're hiding some one behind this kind + person. You must have met somebody worth while.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the camp. I know a perfectly nice Socialist, but he was not in the + army. Not a Socialist, really. Much worse. He believes in having a + revolution.” + </p> + <p> + That stirred them somewhat. She saw their interested faces turned toward + her. + </p> + <p> + “With a bomb under his coat, of course, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't bulge.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-looking?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, rather.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is he, Lily?” one of them asked, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Almost fifty, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” + </p> + <p> + Their interest died. She could have revived it, she knew, if she mentioned + Louis Akers; he would have answered to their prime requisite in an + interesting man. He was both handsome and young. But she felt curiously + disinclined to mention him. + </p> + <p> + The party broke up. By ones and twos luxuriously dressed little figures + went down the great staircase, where Grayson stood in the hall and the + footman on the doorstep signaled to the waiting cars. Mademoiselle, + watching from a point of vantage in the upper hall, felt a sense of + comfort and well-being after they had all gone. This was as it should be. + Lily would take up life again where she had left it off, and all would be + well. + </p> + <p> + It was now the sixth day, and she had not yet carried out that absurd idea + of asking Ellen's friend to dinner. + </p> + <p> + Lily was, however, at that exact moment in process of carrying it out. + </p> + <p> + “Telephone for you, Mr. Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Coming,” sang out Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + Edith Boyd sauntered toward his doorway. + </p> + <p> + “It's a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Woman,” corrected Willy Cameron. “The word 'lady' is now obsolete, since + your sex has entered the economic world.” He put on his coat. + </p> + <p> + “I said 'lady' and that's what I mean,” said Edith. “'May I speak to Mr. + Cameron?'” she mimicked. “Regular Newport accent.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Willy Cameron went rather pale. If it should be Lily Cardew—but + then of course it wouldn't be. She had been home for six days, and if she + had meant to call— + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he said. + </p> + <p> + It was Lily. Something that had been like a band around his heart suddenly + loosened, to fasten about his throat. His voice sounded strangled and + strange. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” he said, in the unfamiliar voice. “I'd like to come, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + Edith Boyd watched and listened, with a slightly strained look in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “To dinner? But—I don't think I'd better come to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not, Willy?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. William Wallace Cameron glanced around. There was no one about save + Miss Boyd, who was polishing the nails of one hand on the palm of the + other. + </p> + <p> + “May I come in a business suit?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know,” said Willy Cameron. “I didn't know what your people would + think. That's all. To-morrow at eight, then. Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + He hung up the receiver and walked to the door, where he stood looking out + and seeing nothing. She had not forgotten. He was going to see her. + Instead of standing across the street by the park fence, waiting for a + glimpse of her which never came, he was to sit in the room with her. There + would be—eight from eleven was three—three hours of her. + </p> + <p> + What a wonderful day it was! Spring was surely near. He would like to be + able to go and pick up Jinx, and then take a long walk through the park. + He needed movement. He needed to walk off his excitement or he felt that + he might burst with it. + </p> + <p> + “Eight o'clock!” said Edith. “I wish you joy, waiting until eight for + supper.” + </p> + <p> + He had to come back a long, long way to her. + </p> + <p> + “'May I come in a business suit?'” she mimicked him. “My evening clothes + have not arrived yet. My valet's bringing them up to town to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Even through the radiant happiness that surrounded him like a mist, he + caught the bitterness under her raillery. It puzzled him. + </p> + <p> + “It's a young lady I knew at camp. I was in an army camp, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Is her name a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no. It is Cardew. Miss Lily Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you—not.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is,” he said, genuinely concerned. “Why in the world should I give + you a wrong name?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were fixed on his face. + </p> + <p> + “No. You wouldn't. But it makes me laugh, because—well, it was + crazy, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “What was crazy?” + </p> + <p> + “Something I had in my mind. Just forget it. I'll tell you what will + happen, Mr. Cameron. You'll stay here about six weeks. Then you'll get a + job at the Cardew Mills. They use chemists there, and you will be—” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her finger-tips and blew along them delicately. + </p> + <p> + “Gone—like that,” she finished. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Willy Cameron wondered about Miss Boyd. The large young man, for + instance, whose name he had learned was Louis Akers, did not come any + more. Not since that telephone conversation. But he had been distinctly a + grade above that competent young person, Edith Boyd, if there were such + grades these days; fluent and prosperous-looking, and probably able to + offer a girl a good home. But she had thrown him over. He had heard her + doing it, and when he had once ventured to ask her about Akers she had cut + him off curtly. + </p> + <p> + “I was sick to death of him. That's all,” she had said. + </p> + <p> + But on the night of Lily's invitation he was to hear more of Louis Akers. + </p> + <p> + It was his evening in the shop. One day he came on at seven-thirty in the + morning and was off at six, and the next he came at ten and stayed until + eleven at night. The evening business was oddly increasing. Men wandered + in, bought a tube of shaving cream or a tooth-brush, and sat or stood + around for an hour or so; clerks whose families had gone to the movies, + bachelors who found their lodging houses dreary, a young doctor or two, + coming in after evening office hours to leave a prescription, and + remaining to talk and listen. Thus they satisfied their gregarious + instinct while within easy call of home. + </p> + <p> + The wealthy had their clubs. The workmen of the city had their balls and + sometimes their saloons. But in between was that vast, unorganized male + element which was neither, and had neither. To them the neighborhood + pharmacy, open in the evening, warm and bright, gave them a rendezvous. + They gathered there in thousands, the country over. During the war they + fought their daily battles there, with newspaper maps. After the war the + League of Nations, local politics, a bit of neighborhood scandal, washed + down with soft drinks from the soda fountain, furnished the evening's + entertainment. + </p> + <p> + The Eagle Pharmacy had always been the neighborhood club, but with the + advent of Willy Cameron it was attaining a new popularity. The roundsman + on the beat dropped in, the political boss of the ward, named Hendricks, + Doctor Smalley, the young physician who lived across the street, and + others. Back of the store proper was a room, with the prescription desk at + one side and reserve stock on shelves around the other three. Here were a + table and a half dozen old chairs, a war map, still showing with colored + pins the last positions before the great allied advance, and an ancient + hat-rack, which had held from time immemorial an umbrella with three + broken ribs and a pair of arctics of unknown ownership. + </p> + <p> + “Going to watch this boy,” Hendricks confided to Doctor Smalley a night or + two after Lily's return, meeting him outside. “He sure can talk.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Smalley grinned. + </p> + <p> + “He can read my writing, too, which is more than I can do myself. What do + you mean, watch him?” + </p> + <p> + But whatever his purposes Mr. Hendricks kept them to himself. A big, burly + man, with a fund of practical good sense a keen knowledge of men, he had + gained a small but loyal following. He was a retired master plumber, with + a small income from careful investments, and he had a curious, almost + fanatic love for the city. + </p> + <p> + “I was born here,” he would say, boastfully. “And I've seen it grow from + fifty thousand to what it's got now. Some folks say it's dirty, but it's + home to me, all right.” + </p> + <p> + But on the evening of Lily's invitation the drug store forum found Willy + Cameron extremely silent. He had been going over his weaknesses, for the + thought of Lily always made him humble, and one of them was that he got + carried away by things and talked too much. He did not intend to do that + the next night, at the Cardew's. + </p> + <p> + “Something's scared him off,” said Mr. Hendricks to Doctor Smalley, after + a half hour of almost taciturnity, while Willy Cameron smoked his pipe and + listened. “Watch him rise to this, though.” And aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you fellows drop the League of Nations, which none of you knows + a damn about anyhow, and get to the thing that's coming in this country?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll bite,” said Mr. Clarey, who sold life insurance in the daytime and + sometimes utilized his evenings in a similar manner. “What's coming to + this country?” + </p> + <p> + “Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd laughed. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Mr. Hendricks. “Laugh while you can. I saw the Chief of + Police to-day, and he's got a line of conversation that makes a man feel + like taking his savings out of the bank and burying them in the back + yard.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron took his pipe out of his mouth, but remained dumb. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks nudged Doctor Smalley, who rose manfully to the occasion. + “What does he say?” + </p> + <p> + “Says the Russians have got a lot of paid agents here. Not all Russians + either. Some of our Americans are in it. It's to begin with a general + strike.” + </p> + <p> + “In this town?” + </p> + <p> + “All over the country. But this is a good field for them. The crust's + pretty thin here, and where that's the case there is likely to be + earthquakes and eruptions. The Chief says they're bringing in a bunch of + gunmen, wobblies and Bolshevists from every industrial town on the map. + Did you get that, Cameron? Gunmen!” + </p> + <p> + “Any of you men here dissatisfied with this form of government?” inquired + Willy, rather truculently. + </p> + <p> + “Not so you could notice it,” said Mr. Clarey. “And once the Republican + party gets in—” + </p> + <p> + “Then there will never be a revolution.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “That's why,” said Willy Cameron. “Of course you are worthless now. You + aren't organized. You don't know how many you are or how strong you are. + You can't talk. You sit back and listen until you believe that this + country is only capital and labor. You get squeezed in between them. You + see labor getting more money than you, and howling for still more. You see + both capital and labor raising prices until you can't live on what you + get. There are a hundred times as many of you as represent capital and + labor combined, and all you do is loaf here and growl about things being + wrong. Why don't you do something? You ought to be running this country, + but you aren't. You're lazy. You don't even vote. You leave running the + country to men like Mr. Hendricks here.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks was cheerfully unirritated. + </p> + <p> + “All right, son,” he said, “I do my bit and like it. Go on. Don't stop to + insult me. You can do that any time.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been buying a seditious weekly since I came,” said Willy Cameron. + “It's preaching a revolution, all right. I'd like to see its foreign + language copies. They'll never overthrow the government, but they may try. + Why don't you fellows combine to fight them? Why don't you learn how + strong you are? Nine-tenths of the country, and milling like sheep with a + wolf around!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks winked at the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “What'd I tell you?” whispered Hendricks. “Got them, hasn't he? If he'd + suggest arming them with pop bottles and attacking that gang of anarchists + at the cobbler's down the street, they'd do it this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, son,” he offered. “We'll combine. Anything you say goes. And + we'll get the Jim Doyle-Woslosky-Louis Akers outfit first. I know a + first-class brick wall—” + </p> + <p> + “Akers?” said Willy Cameron. “Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Hendricks. “But that needn't prejudice you against me any. + He's a bad actor, and as smooth as butter. D'you know what their plan is? + They expect to take the city. This city! The—” Mr. Hendrick's voice + was lost in fury. + </p> + <p> + “Talk!” said the roundsman. “Where'd the police be, I'm asking?” + </p> + <p> + “The police,” said Mr. Hendricks, evidently quoting, “are as filled with + sedition as a whale with corset bones. Also the army. Also the state + constabulary.” + </p> + <p> + “The hell they are,” said the roundsman aggressively. But Willy Cameron + was staring through the smoke from his pipe at the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “They might do it, for a while,” he said thoughtfully. “There's a + tremendous foreign population in the mill towns around, isn't there? Does + anybody in the crowd own a revolver? Or know how to use it if he has one.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got one,” said the insurance agent. “Don't know how it would work. + Found my wife nailing oilcloth with it the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. If we're a representative group, they wouldn't need a battery + of eight-inch guns, would they?” + </p> + <p> + A little silence fell on the group. Around them the city went about its + business; the roar of the day had softened to muffled night sounds, as + though one said: “The city sleeps. Be still.” The red glare of the mills + was the fire on the hearth. The hills were its four protecting walls. And + the night mist covered it like a blanket. + </p> + <p> + “Here's one representative of the plain people,” said Mr. Hendricks, “who + is going home to get some sleep. And tomorrow I'll buy me a gun, and if I + can keep the children out of the yard I'll learn to use it.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time after he went home that night Willy Cameron paced the + floor of his upper room, paced it until an irate boarder below hammered on + his chandelier. Jinx followed him, moving sedately back and forth, now and + then glancing up with idolatrous eyes. Willy Cameron's mind was active and + not particularly coordinate. The Cardews and Lily; Edith Boyd and Louis + Akers; the plain people; an army marching to the city to loot and burn and + rape, and another army meeting it, saying: “You shall not pass”; Abraham + Lincoln, Russia, Lily. + </p> + <p> + His last thought, of course, was of Lily Cardew. He had neglected to cover + Jinx, and at last the dog leaped on the bed and snuggled close to him. He + threw an end of the blanket over him and lay there, staring into the + darkness. He was frightfully lonely. At last he fell asleep, and the March + wind, coming in through the open window, overturned a paper leaning + against his collar box, on which he had carefully written: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Have suit pressed. + Buy new tie. + Shirts from laundry. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Going home that night Mr. Hendricks met Edith Boyd, and accompanied her + for a block or two. At his corner he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “How's your mother, Edith?” + </p> + <p> + It was Mr. Hendricks' business to know his ward thoroughly. + </p> + <p> + “About the same. She isn't really sick, Mr. Hendricks. She's just low + spirited, but that's enough. I hate to go home.” + </p> + <p> + Hendricks hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Still, home's a pretty good place,” he said. “Especially for a pretty + girl.” There was unmistakable meaning in his tone, and she threw up her + head. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to get some pleasure out of life, Mr. Hendricks.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure you have,” he agreed affably. “But playing around with Louis Akers + is like playing with a hand-grenade, Edith.” She said nothing. “I'd cut + him out, little girl. He's poor stuff. Mind, I'm not saying he's a fool, + but he's a bad actor. Now if I was a pretty girl, and there was a nice + fellow around like this Cameron, I'd be likely to think he was all right. + He's got brains.” Mr. Hendricks had a great admiration for brains. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sick of men.” + </p> + <p> + He turned at her tone and eyed her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't judge them all by Akers. This is my corner. Good-night. Not + afraid to go on by yourself, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “If I ever was I've had a good many chances to get over it.” + </p> + <p> + He turned the corner, but stopped and called after her. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Dan I'll be in to see him soon, Edith. Haven't seen him since he + came back from France.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + She went on, her steps lagging. She hated going home. When she reached the + little house she did not go in at once. The March night was not cold, and + she sat the step, hoping to see her mother's light go out in the + second-story front windows. But it continued to burn steadily, and at + last, with a gesture of despair, she rose and unlocked the door. + </p> + <p> + Almost at once she heard footsteps above, and a peevish voice. + </p> + <p> + “That you, Edie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “D'you mind bringing up the chloroform liniment and rubbing my back?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll bring it, mother.” + </p> + <p> + She found it on the wainscoting in the untidy kitchen. She could hear the + faint scurrying of water beetles over the oilcloth-covered floor, and then + silence. She fancied myriads of tiny, watchful eyes on her, and something + crunched under her foot. She felt like screaming. That new clerk at the + store was always talking about homes. What did he know of squalid city + houses, with their insects and rats, their damp, moldy cellars, their + hateful plumbing? A thought struck her. She lighted the gas and stared + around. It was as she had expected. The dishes had not been washed. They + were piled in the sink, and a soiled dish-towel had been thrown over them. + </p> + <p> + She lowered the gas and went upstairs. The hardness had, somehow, gone out + of her when she thought of Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “Back bad again, is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It's always bad. But I've got a pain in my left shoulder and down my arm + that's driving me crazy. I couldn't wash the dishes.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the dishes. I'm not tired. Now crawl into bed and let me rub + you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd complied. She was a small, thin woman in her early fifties, who + had set out to conquer life and had been conquered by it. The hopeless + drab of her days stretched behind her, broken only by the incident of her + widowhood, and stretched ahead hopelessly. She had accepted Dan's going to + France resignedly, with neither protest nor undue anxiety. She had never + been very close to Dan, although she loved him more than she did Edith. + She was the sort of woman who has no fundamental knowledge of men. They + had to be fed and mended for, and they had strange physical wants that + made a great deal of trouble in the world. But mostly they ate and slept + and went to work in the morning, and came home at night smelling of sweat + and beer. + </p> + <p> + There had been one little rift in the gray fog of her daily life, however. + And through it she had seen Edith well married, with perhaps a girl to do + the house work, and a room where Edith's mother could fold her hands and + sit in the long silences without thought that were her sanctuary against + life. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the place, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Edith's unwonted solicitude gave her courage. + </p> + <p> + “Edie, I want to ask you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” But the girl stiffened. + </p> + <p> + “Lou hasn't been round, lately.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all over, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you've quarreled? Oh, Edie, and me planning you'd have a nice + home and everything.” + </p> + <p> + “He never meant to marry me, if that's what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd turned on her back impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “You could have had him. He was crazy about you. Trouble is with you, you + think you've got a fellow hard and fast, and you begin acting up. Then, + first thing you know—” + </p> + <p> + Some of that strange new tolerance persisted in the girl. “Listen, + mother,” she said. “I give you my word, Lou'd run a mile if he thought any + girl wanted to marry him. I know him better than you do. If any one ever + does rope him in, he'll stick about three months, and then beat it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why we have to have men, anyhow. Put out the gas, Edie. No, + don't open the window. The night air makes me cough.” + </p> + <p> + Edith started downstairs and set to work in the kitchen. Something would + have to be done about the house. Dan was taking to staying out at nights, + because the untidy rooms repelled him. And there was the question of food. + Her mother had never learned to cook, and recently more and more of the + food had been something warmed out of a tin. If only they could keep a + girl, one who would scrub and wash dishes. There was a room on the third + floor, an attic, full now of her mother's untidy harborings of years, that + might be used for a servant. Or she could move up there, and they could + get a roomer. The rent would pay a woman to come in now and then to clean + up. + </p> + <p> + She had played with that thought before, and the roomer she had had in + mind was Willy Cameron. But the knowledge that he knew the Cardews had + somehow changed all that. She couldn't picture him going from this sordid + house to the Cardew mansion, and worse still, returning to it afterwards. + She saw him there, at the Cardews, surrounded by bowing flunkies—a + picture of wealth gained from the movies—and by women who moved + indolently, trailing through long vistas of ball room and conservatory in + low gowns without sleeves, and draped with ropes of pearls. Women who + smoked cigarettes after dinner and played bridge for money. + </p> + <p> + She hated the Cardews. + </p> + <p> + On her way to her room she paused at her mother's door. + </p> + <p> + “Asleep yet, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Feel like I'm not going to sleep at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” she said, with a desperate catch in her voice, “we've got to + change things around here. It isn't fair to Dan, for one thing. We've got + to get a girl to do the work. And to do that we'll have to rent a room.” + </p> + <p> + She heard the thin figure twist impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I've never yet been reduced to taking roomers, and I'm not going to let + the neighbors begin looking down on me now.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen, mother—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on away, Edie.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose we could get a young man, a gentleman, who would be out all + but three evenings a week. I don't know, but Mr. Cameron at the store + isn't satisfied where he is. He's got a dog, and they haven't any yard. + We've got a yard.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't be bothered with any dog,” said the querulous voice, from the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + With a gesture of despair the girl turned away. What was the use, anyhow? + Let them go on, then, her mother and Dan. Only let them let her go on, + too. She had tried her best to change herself, the house, the whole rotten + mess. But they wouldn't let her. + </p> + <p> + Her mood of disgust continued the next morning. When, at eleven o'clock, + Louis Akers sauntered in for the first time in days, she looked at him + somberly but without disdain. Lou or somebody else, what did it matter? So + long as something took her for a little while away from the sordidness of + home, its stale odors, its untidiness, its querulous inmates. + </p> + <p> + “What's got into you lately, Edith?” he inquired, lowering his voice. “You + used to be the best little pal ever. Now the other day, when I called up—” + </p> + <p> + “Had the headache,” she said laconically. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Want to play around this evening?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. Then she remembered where Willy Cameron would be that + night, and her face hardened. Had any one told Edith that she was + beginning to care for the lame young man in the rear room, with his + exaggerated chivalry toward women, his belief in home, and his sentimental + whistling, she would have laughed. But he gave her something that the + other men she knew robbed her of, a sort of self-respect. It was perhaps + not so much that she cared for him, as that he enabled her to care more + for herself. + </p> + <p> + But he was going to dinner with Lily Cardew. + </p> + <p> + “I might, depending on what you've got to offer.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got a car now, Edith. I'm not joking. There was a lot of outside + work, and the organization came over. I've been after it for six months. + We can have a ride, and supper somewhere. How's the young man with the + wooden leg?” + </p> + <p> + “If you want to know I'll call him out and let him tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick, aren't you?” He smiled down at where she stood, firmly entrenched + behind a show case. “Well, don't fall in love with him. That's all. I'm a + bad man when I'm jealous.” + </p> + <p> + He sauntered out, leaving Edith gazing thoughtfully after him. He did not + know, nor would have cared had he known, that her acceptance of his + invitation was a complex of disgust of home, of the call of youth, and of + the fact that Willy Cameron was dining at the Cardews that night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Howard Cardew was in his dressing room, sitting before the fire. His man + had put out his dinner clothes and retired, and Howard was sifting before + the fire rather listlessly. + </p> + <p> + In Grace's room, adjoining, he could hear movements and low voices. Before + Lily's return, now and then when he was tired Grace and he had dined by + the fire in her boudoir. It had been very restful. He was still in love + with his wife, although, as in most marriages, there was one who gave more + than the other. In this case it was Grace who gave, and Howard who + received. But he loved her. He never thought of other women. Only his + father had never let him forget her weaknesses. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he was afraid that he was looking at Grace with his father's + eyes, rather than his own. + </p> + <p> + He had put up a hard fight with his father. Not about Grace. That was over + and done with, although it had been bad while it lasted. But his real + struggle had been to preserve himself, to keep his faiths and his ideals, + and even his personality. In the inessentials he had yielded easily, and + so bought peace. Or perhaps a truce, of a sort. But for the essentials he + was standing with a sort of dogged conviction that if he lowered his flag + it would precipitate a crisis. He was not brilliant, but he was + intelligent, progressive and kindly. He knew that his father considered + him both stupid and obstinate. + </p> + <p> + There was going to be a strike. The quarrel now was between Anthony's curt + “Let them strike,” and his own conviction that a strike at this time might + lead to even worse things. The men's demands were exorbitant. No business, + no matter how big, could concede them and live. But Howard was debating + another phase of the situation. + </p> + <p> + Not all the mills would go down. A careful canvass of some of the other + independent concerns had shown the men eighty, ninety, even one hundred + per cent, loyal. Those were the smaller plants, where there had always + been a reciprocal good feeling between the owners and the men; there the + men knew the owners, and the owners knew the men, who had been with them + for years. + </p> + <p> + But the Cardew Mills would go down. There had been no liaison between the + Cardews and the workmen. The very magnitude of the business forbade that. + And for many years, too, the Cardews had shown a gross callousness to the + welfare of the laborers. Long ago he had urged on his father the + progressive attitude of other steel men, but Anthony had jeered, and when + Howard had forced the issue and gained concessions, it was too late. The + old grievances remained in too many minds. To hate the Cardews bad become + a habit. Their past sins would damn them now. The strike was wrong, a + wicked thing. It was without reason and without aim. The men were knocking + a hole in the boat that floated them. But— + </p> + <p> + There was a tap at his door, and he called “Come in.” From her babyhood + Lily had had her own peculiar method of signaling that she stood without, + a delicate rapid tattoo of finger nails on the panel. He watched smilingly + for her entrance. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” she said. “Thank goodness you haven't started to dress. I tried to + get here earlier, but my hair wouldn't go up, I want to make a good + impression to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there a dinner on? I didn't know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a dinner. A young man. I came to see what you are going to wear.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! Well, I haven't a great variety. The ordinary dinner dress of a + gentleman doesn't lend itself to any extraordinary ornamentation. If you + like, I'll pin on that medal from the Iron and Steel—Who's coming, + Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “Grayson says grandfather's dining out.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + “What a piece of luck! I mean—you know what he'd say if I asked him + not to dress for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to gather that you are asking me?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't mind, would you? He hasn't any evening clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Lily,” said her father, sitting upright. “Who is coming here + to-night? And why should he upset the habits of the entire family?” + </p> + <p> + “Willy Cameron. You know, father. And he has the queerest ideas about us. + Honestly. And I want him to like us, and it's such a good chance, with + grandfather out.” + </p> + <p> + He ignored that. + </p> + <p> + “How about our liking him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll like him. Everybody does. You will try to make a good + impression, won't you, father?” + </p> + <p> + He got up, and resting his hands on her shoulders, smiled down into her + upturned face. “I will,” he said. “But I think I should tell you that your + anxiety arouses deep and black suspicions in my mind. Am I to understand + that you have fixed your young affections on this Willy Cameron, and that + you want your family to help you in your dark designs?” + </p> + <p> + Lily laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I love him,” she said. “I really do. I could listen to him for hours. But + people don't want to marry Willy Cameron. They just love him.” + </p> + <p> + There was born in Howard's mind a vision of a nice pink and white young + man, quite sexless, whom people loved but did not dream of marrying. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said slowly. “Like a puppy.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all like a puppy.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I'm not subtle, my dear. Well, ring for Adams, and—you + think he wouldn't care for the medal?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he'd love it. He'd probably think some king gave it to you. I'm + sure he believes that you and grandfather habitually hobnob with kings.” + She turned to go out. “He doesn't approve of kings.” + </p> + <p> + “You are making me extremely uneasy,” was her father's shot. “I only hope + I acquit myself well.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry, then. He is sure to be exactly on the hour.” Howard was still + smiling slightly to himself when, a half-hour later, he descended the + staircase. But he had some difficulty first in reconciling his + preconceived idea of Willy with the tall young man, with the faint + unevenness of step, who responded to his greeting so calmly and so easily. + “We are always glad to see any of Lily's friends.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very good of you to let me come, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Why, the girl was blind. This was a man, a fine, up-standing fellow, with + a clean-cut, sensitive face, and honest, almost beautiful eyes. How did + women judge men, anyhow? + </p> + <p> + And, try as he would, Howard Cardew could find no fault with Willy Cameron + that night. He tried him out on a number of things. In religion, for + instance, he was orthodox, although he felt that the church had not come + up fully during the war. + </p> + <p> + “Religion isn't a matter only of churches any more,” said Mr. Cameron. “It + has to go out into the streets, I think, sir. It's a-well, Christ left the + tabernacle, you remember.” + </p> + <p> + That was all right. Howard felt that himself sometimes. He was a vestryman + at Saint Peter's, and although he felt very devout during the service, + especially during the offertory, when the music filled the fine old + building, he was often conscious that he shed his spirituality at the + door, when he glanced at the sky to see what were the prospects for an + afternoon's golf. + </p> + <p> + In politics Willy Cameron was less satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't decided, yet,” he said. “I voted for Mr. Wilson in 1916, but + although I suppose parties are necessary, I don't like to feel that I am + party-bound. Anyhow, the old party lines are gone. I rather look—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. That terrible speech of Edith Boyd's still rankled. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Willy,” said Lily. “I told them they'd love to you talk.” + </p> + <p> + “That's really all, sir,” said Willy Cameron, unhappily. “I am a Scot, and + to start a Scot on reform is fatal.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you believe in reform?” + </p> + <p> + “We are not doing very well as we are, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like extremely to know how you feel about things,” said Howard, + gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Only this: So long as one party is, or is considered, the representative + of capital, the vested interests, and the other of labor, the great mass + of the people who are neither the one nor the other cannot be adequately + represented.” + </p> + <p> + “And the solution?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps a new party. Or better still, a liberalizing of the Republican.” + </p> + <p> + “Before long,” said Lily suddenly, “there will be no state. There will be + enough for everybody, and nobody will have too much.” + </p> + <p> + Howard smiled at her indulgently. + </p> + <p> + “How do you expect to accomplish this ideal condition?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the difficulty about it,” said Lily, thoughtfully. “It means a + revolution. It would be peaceful, though. The thing to do is to convince + people that it is simple justice, and then they will divide what they + have.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Lily!” Grace's voice was anxious. “That's Socialism.” + </p> + <p> + But Howard only smiled tolerantly, and changed the subject. Every one had + these attacks of idealism in youth. They were the exaggerated altruism of + adolescence; a part of its dreams and aspirations. He changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “I like the boy,” he said to Grace, later, over the cribbage board in the + morning room. “He has character, and a queer sort of magnetism. It + mightn't be a bad thing—” + </p> + <p> + Grace was counting. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot to tell you; I think she refused Pink Denslow the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “I rather gathered, from the way she spoke of young Cameron, that she + isn't interested there either.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,” said Grace, complacently. “You needn't worry about him.” + </p> + <p> + Howard smiled. He was often conscious that after all the years of their + common life, his wife's mind and his traveled along parallel lines that + never met. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron was extremely happy. He had brought his pipe along, although + without much hope, but the moment they were settled by the library fire + Lily had suggested it. + </p> + <p> + “You know you can't talk unless you have it in your hand to wave around,” + she said. “And I want to know such a lot of things. Where you live, and + all that.” + </p> + <p> + “I live in a boarding house. More house than board, really. And the work's + all right. I'm going to study metallurgy some day. There are night courses + at the college, only I haven't many nights.” + </p> + <p> + He had lighted his pipe, and kept his eyes on it mostly, or on the fire. + He was afraid to look at Lily, because there was something he could not + keep out of his eyes, but must keep from her. It had been both better and + worse than he had anticipated, seeing her in her home. Lily herself had + not changed. She was her wonderful self, in spite of her frock and her + surroundings. But the house, her people, with their ease of wealth and + position, Grace's slight condescension, the elaborate simplicity of + dining, the matter-of-course-ness of the service. It was not that Lily was + above him. That was ridiculous. But she was far removed from him. + </p> + <p> + “There is something wrong with you, Willy,” she said unexpectedly. “You + are not happy, or you are not well. Which is it? You are awfully thin, for + one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right,” he said, evading her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Are you lonely? I don't mean now, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've got a dog. That helps. He's a helpless sort of mutt. I carry + his meat home from the shop in my pocket, and I feel like a butcher's + wagon, sometimes. But he's taken a queer sort of liking to me, and he is + something to talk to.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you bring him along?” + </p> + <p> + Dogs were forbidden in the Cardew house, by old Anthony's order, as were + pipes, especially old and beloved ones, but Lily was entirely reckless. + </p> + <p> + “He did follow me. He's probably sitting on the doorstep now. I tried to + send him back, but he's an obstinate little beast.” + </p> + <p> + Lily got up. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to bring him in,” she said. “And if you'll ring that bell + we'll get him some dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll get him, while you ring.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later Anthony Cardew entered his house. He had spent a + miserable evening. Some young whipper snapper who employed a handful of + men had undertaken to show him where he, Anthony Cardew, was a clog in the + wheel of progress. Not in so many words, but he had said: “Tempora + mutantur, Mr. Cardew. And the wise employer meets those changes half-way.” + </p> + <p> + “You young fools want to go all the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. We'll meet them half-way, and stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said Anthony Cardew, and had left the club in a temper. The club + was going to the dogs, along with the rest of the world. There was only a + handful of straight-thinking men like himself left in it. Lot of young + cravens, letting their men dominate them and intimidate them. + </p> + <p> + So he slammed into his house, threw off his coat and hat, and—sniffed. + A pungent, acrid odor was floating through a partly closed door. Anthony + Cardew flung open the door and entered. + </p> + <p> + Before the fire, on a deep velvet couch, sat his granddaughter. Beside her + was a thin young man in a gray suit, and the thin young man was waving an + old pipe about, and saying: + </p> + <p> + “Tempora mutantur, Lily. The wise employer—” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, sir,” said Anthony, in a terrible voice, “that you are not + acquainted with the rules of my house. I object to pipes. There are cigars + in the humidor behind you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very sorry, Mr. Cardew,” Willy Cameron explained. “I didn't know. I'll + put it away, sir.” + </p> + <p> + But Anthony was not listening. His eyes had traveled from an empty platter + on the hearth-rug to a deep chair where Jinx, both warm and fed at the + same time, and extremely distended with meat, lay sleeping. Anthony put + out a hand and pressed the bell beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to meet Mr. Cameron, grandfather.” Lily was rather pale, but + she had the Cardew poise. “He was in the camp when I was.” + </p> + <p> + Grayson entered on that, however, and Anthony pointed to Jinx. + </p> + <p> + “Put that dog out,” he said, and left the room, his figure rigid and + uncompromising. + </p> + <p> + “Grayson,” Lily said, white to the lips, “that dog is to remain here. He's + perfectly quiet. And, will you find Ellen and ask her to come here?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I made enough trouble?” asked Willy Cameron, unhappily. “I can + see her again, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “She's crazy to see you, Willy. And besides—” + </p> + <p> + Grayson had gone, after a moment's hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see?” she said. “The others have always submitted. I did, too. + But I can't keep it up, Willy. I can't live here and let him treat me like + that. Or my friends. I know what will happen. I'll run away, like Aunt + Elinor.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not do that, Lily.” He was very grave. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? They think she is unhappy. She isn't. She ran away and married a + man she cared about. I may call you up some day and ask you to marry me!” + she added, less tensely. “You would be an awfully good husband, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him, still angry, but rather amused with this new + conceit. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + She was startled by the look on his face. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said painfully, “what only amuses you in that idea is—well, + it doesn't amuse me, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “I only meant—” she was very uncomfortable. “You are so real and + dependable and kind, and I—” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean. Like Jinx, there. I'm sorry! I didn't mean that. + But you must not talk about marrying me unless you mean it. You see, I + happen to care.” + </p> + <p> + “Willy!” + </p> + <p> + “It won't hurt you to know, although I hadn't meant to tell you. And of + course, you know, I am not asking you to marry me. Only I'd like you to + feel that you can count on me, always. The one person a woman can count on + is the man who loves her.” + </p> + <p> + And after a little silence: + </p> + <p> + “You see, I know you are not in love with me. I cared from the beginning, + but I always knew that.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I did.” She was rather close to tears. She had not felt at all + like that with Pink. But, although she knew he was suffering, his + quietness deceived her. She had the theory of youth about love, that it + was a violent thing, tempestuous and passionate. She thought that love + demanded, not knowing that love gives first, and then asks. She could not + know how he felt about his love for her, that it lay in a sort of + cathedral shrine in his heart. There were holy days when saints left their + niches and were shown in city streets, but until that holy day came they + remained in the church. + </p> + <p> + “You will remember that, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll remember, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't be a nuisance, you know. I've never had any hope, so I won't make + you unhappy. And don't be unhappy about me, Lily. I would rather love you, + even knowing I can't have you, than be loved by anybody else.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, had he shown more hurt, he would have made it seem more real to + her. But he was frightfully anxious not to cause her pain. + </p> + <p> + “I'm really very happy, loving you,” he added, and smiled down at her + reassuringly. But he had for all that a wild primitive impulse which + almost overcame him for a moment, to pick her up in his arms and carry her + out the door and away with him. Somewhere, anywhere. Away from that grim + old house, and that despotic little man, to liberty and happiness and—William + Wallace Cameron. + </p> + <p> + Ellen came in, divided between uneasiness and delight, and inquired + painstakingly about his mother, and his uncle in California, and the + Presbyterian minister. But she was uncomfortable and uneasy and refused to + sit down, and Willy watched her furtively slipping out again with a slight + frown. It was not right, somehow, this dividing of the world into classes, + those who served and those who were served. But he had an idea that it was + those below who made the distinction, nowadays. It was the masses who + insisted on isolating the classes. They made kings, perhaps that they + might some day reach up and pull them off their thrones. At the top of the + stairs Ellen found Mademoiselle, who fixed her with cold eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What were you doing down there,” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lily sent for me, to see that young man I told you about.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you go down? And into the library?” + </p> + <p> + “I've just told you,” said Ellen, her face setting. “She sent for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you say you were in bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm no liar, Mademoiselle. Besides, I guess it's no crime to see a boy + I've known all his life, and his mother and me like sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a fool,” said Mademoiselle, and turning clumped back in her + bedroom slippers to her room. + </p> + <p> + Ellen went up to her room. Heretofore she had given her allegiance to + Mademoiselle and Mrs. Cardew, and in a more remote fashion, to Howard. But + Ellen, crying angry tears in her small white bed that night, sensed a new + division in the family, with Mademoiselle and Anthony and Howard and Grace + on one side, and Lily standing alone, fighting valiantly for the right to + live her own life, to receive her own friends, and the friends of her + friends, even though one of these latter might be a servant in her own + house. + </p> + <p> + Yet Ellen, with the true snobbishness of the servants' hall, disapproved + of Lily's course while she admired it. + </p> + <p> + “But they're all against her,” Ellen reflected. “The poor thing! And just + because of Willy Cameron. Well, I'll stand by her, if they throw me out + for it.” + </p> + <p> + In her romantic head there formed strange, delightful visions. Lily + eloping with Willy Cameron, assisted by herself. Lily in the little + Cameron house, astounding the neighborhood with her clothes and her charm, + and being sponsored by Ellen. The excitement of the village, and the + visits to Ellen to learn what to wear for a first call, and were cards + necessary? + </p> + <p> + Into Ellen's not very hard-working but monotonous life had comes its first + dream of romance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + For three weeks Lily did not see Louis Akers, nor did she go back to the + house on Cardew Way. She hated doing clandestine or forbidden things, and + she was, too, determined to add nothing to the tenseness she began to + realize existed at home. She went through her days, struggling to fit + herself again into the old environment, reading to her mother, lending + herself with assumed enthusiasm to such small gayeties as Lent permitted, + and doing penance in a dozen ways for that stolen afternoon with Louis + Akers. + </p> + <p> + She had been forbidden to see him again. It had come about by Grace's + confession to Howard as to Lily's visit to the Doyles. He had not objected + to that. + </p> + <p> + “Unless Doyle talks his rubbish to her,” he said. “She said something the + other night that didn't sound like her. Was any one else there?” + </p> + <p> + “An attorney named Akers,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And at that Howard had scowled. + </p> + <p> + “She'd better keep away altogether,” he observed, curtly. “She oughtn't to + meet men like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell her,” he said. And tell her he did, not too tactfully, and + man-like shielding her by not telling her his reasons. + </p> + <p> + “He's not the sort of man I want you to know,” he finished. “That ought to + be sufficient. Have you seen him since?” + </p> + <p> + Lily flushed, but she did not like to lie. + </p> + <p> + “I had tea with him one afternoon. I often have tea with men, father. You + know that.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew I wouldn't approve, or you would have mentioned it.” + </p> + <p> + Because he felt that he had been rather ruthless with her, he stopped in + at the jeweler's the next morning and sent her a tiny jeweled watch. Lily + was touched and repentant. She made up her mind not to see Louis Akers + again, and found a certain relief in the decision. She was conscious that + he had a peculiar attraction for her, a purely emotional appeal. He made + her feel alive. Even when she disapproved of him, she was conscious of + him. She put him resolutely out of her mind, to have him reappear in her + dreams, not as a lover, but as some one dominant and insistent, commanding + her to do absurd, inconsequential things. + </p> + <p> + Now and then she saw Willy Cameron, and they had gone back, apparently, to + the old friendly relationship. They walked together, and once they went to + the moving pictures, to Grace's horror. But there were no peanuts to eat, + and instead of the jingling camp piano there was an orchestra, and it was + all strangely different. Even Willy Cameron was different. He was very + silent, and on the way home he did not once speak of the plain people. + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers had both written and telephoned her, but she made excuses, and + did not see him, and the last time he had hung up the receiver abruptly. + She felt an odd mixture of relief and regret. + </p> + <p> + Then, about the middle of April, she saw him again. + </p> + <p> + Spring was well on by that time. Before the Doyle house on Cardew Way the + two horse-chestnuts were showing great red-brown buds, ready to fall into + leaf with the first warm day, and Elinor, assisted by Jennie, the elderly + maid, was finishing her spring house-cleaning. The Cardew mansion showed + window-boxes at each window, filled by the florist with spring flowers, to + be replaced later by summer ones. A potted primrose sat behind the plate + glass of the Eagle Pharmacy, among packets of flower seeds and spring + tonics, its leaves occasionally nibbled by the pharmacy cat, out of some + atavistic craving survived through long generations of city streets. + </p> + <p> + The children's playground near the Lily furnace was ready; Howard Cardew + himself had overseen the locations of the swings and chute-the-chutes. And + at Friendship an army of workers was sprinkling and tamping the turf of + the polo field. After two years of war, there was to be polo again that + spring and early summer. The Cherry Hill Hunt team was still intact, + although some of the visiting outfits had been badly shot to pieces by the + war. But the war was over. It lay behind, a nightmare to be forgotten as + soon as possible. It had left its train of misery and debt, but—spring + had come. + </p> + <p> + On a pleasant Monday, Lily motored out to the field with Pink Denslow. It + had touched her that he still wanted her, and it had offered an escape + from her own worries. She was fighting a sense of failure that day. It + seemed impossible to reconcile the warring elements at home. Old Anthony + and his son were quarreling over the strike, and Anthony was jibing + constantly at Howard over the playground. It was not so much her + grandfather's irritability that depressed her as his tyranny over the + household, and his attitude toward her mother roused her to bitter + resentment. + </p> + <p> + The night before she had left the table after one of his scourging + speeches, only to have what amounted to a scene with her mother afterward. + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot sit by while he insults you, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just his way. I don't mind, really. Oh, Lily, don't destroy what I + have built up so carefully. It hurts your father so.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” Lily said slowly, “he makes me think Aunt Elinor's husband + was right. He believes a lot of things—” + </p> + <p> + “What things?” Grace had asked, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + Lily hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, a sort of Socialism, for one thing, only it isn't exactly that. + It's individualism, really, or I think so; the sort of thing that this + house stifles.” Grace was too horrified for speech. “I don't want to hurt + you, mother, but don't you see? He tyrannizes over all of us, and it's bad + for our souls. Why should he bellow at the servants? Or talk to you the + way he did to-night?” She smiled faintly. “We're all drowning, and I want + to swim, that's all. Mr. Doyle—” + </p> + <p> + “You are talking nonsense,” said Grace sharply. “You have got a lot of + ideas from that wretched house, and now you think they are your own. Lily, + I warn you, if you insist on going back to the Doyles I shall take you + abroad.” + </p> + <p> + Lily turned and walked out of the room, and there was something suggestive + of old Anthony in the pitch of her shoulders. Her anger did not last long, + but her uneasiness persisted. Already she knew that she was older in many + ways than Grace; she had matured in the past year more than her mother in + twenty, and she felt rather like a woman obeying the mandates of a child. + </p> + <p> + But on that pleasant Monday she was determined to be happy. + </p> + <p> + “Old world begins to look pretty, doesn't it?” said Pink, breaking in on + her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Lovely.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not a bad place to live in, after all,” said Pink, trying to cheer + his own rather unhappy humor. “There is always spring to expect, when we + get low in winter. And there are horses and dogs, and—and blossoms + on the trees, and all that.” What he meant was, “If there isn't love.” + </p> + <p> + “You are perfectly satisfied with things just as they are, aren't you?” + Lily asked, half enviously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'd change some things.” He stopped. He wasn't going to go round + sighing like a furnace. “But it's a pretty good sort of place. I'm for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you sent your ponies out?” + </p> + <p> + “Only two. I want to show you one I bought from the Government almost for + nothing. Remount man piped me off. Light in flesh, rather, but fast. + Handy, light mouth—all he needs is a bit of training.” + </p> + <p> + They had been in the open country for some time, but now they were + approaching the Cardew's Friendship plant. The furnaces had covered the + fields with a thin deposit of reddish ore dust. Such blighted grass as + grew had already lost its fresh green, and the trees showed stunted + blossoms. The one oasis of freshness was the polo field itself, carefully + irrigated by underground pipes. The field, with its stables and + grandstand, had been the gift of Anthony Cardew, thereby promoting much + discussion with his son. For Howard had wanted the land for certain + purposes of his own, to build a clubhouse for the men at the plant, with a + baseball field. Finding his father obdurate in that, he had urged that the + field be thrown open to the men and their families, save immediately + preceding and during the polo season. But he had failed there, too. + Anthony Cardew had insisted, and with some reason, that to use the grounds + for band concerts and baseball games, for picnics and playgrounds, would + ruin the turf for its legitimate purpose. + </p> + <p> + Howard had subsequently found other land, and out of his own private means + had carried out his plans, but the location was less desirable. And he + knew what his father refused to believe, that the polo ground, taking up + space badly needed for other purposes, was a continual grievance. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Pink stared ahead. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said, “have they changed the rule about that sort of thing?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the field. A diamond had been roughly outlined on it with + bags of sand, and a ball-game was in progress, boys playing, but a long + line of men watching from the side lines. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, but it doesn't hurt anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Ruins the turf, that's all.” He stopped the car and got out. “Look at + this sign. It says 'ball-playing or any trespassing forbidden on these + grounds.' I'll clear them off.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't, Pink. They may be ugly.” + </p> + <p> + But he only smiled at her reassuringly, and went off. She watched him go + with many misgivings, his sturdy young figure, his careful dress, his air + of the young aristocrat, easy, domineering, unconsciously insolent. They + would resent him, she knew, those men and boys. And after all, why should + they not use the field? There was injustice in that sign. + </p> + <p> + Yet her liking and real sympathy were with Pink. + </p> + <p> + “Pink!” she called, “Come back here. Let them alone.” + </p> + <p> + He turned toward her a face slightly flushed with indignation and set with + purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry. Can't do it, Lily. This sort of thing's got to be stopped.” + </p> + <p> + She felt, rather hopelessly, that he was wrong, but that he was right, + too. The grounds were private property. She sat back and watched. + </p> + <p> + Pink was angry. She could hear his voice, see his gestures. He was shooing + them off like a lot of chickens, and they were laughing. The game had + stopped, and the side lines were pressing forward. There was a moment's + debate, with raised voices, a sullen muttering from the crowd, and the + line closing into a circle. The last thing she saw before it closed was a + man lunging at Pink, and his counter-feint. Then some one was down. If it + was Pink he was not out, for there was fighting still going on. The + laborers working on the grounds were running. + </p> + <p> + Lily stood up in the car, pale and sickened. She was only vaguely + conscious of a car that suddenly left the road, and dashed recklessly + across the priceless turf, but she did see, and recognize, Louis Akers as + he leaped from it and flinging men this way and that disappeared into the + storm center. She could hear his voice, too, loud and angry, and see the + quick dispersal of the crowd. Some of the men, foreigners, passed quite + near to her, and eyed her either sullenly or with mocking smiles. She was + quite oblivious of them. She got out and ran with shaking knees across to + where Pink lay on the grass, his profile white and sharply chiseled, with + two or three men bending over him. + </p> + <p> + Pink was dead. Those brutes had killed him. Pink. + </p> + <p> + He was not dead. He was moving his arms. + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers straightened when he saw her and took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to worry about, Miss Cardew,” he said. “But what sort of idiocy—! + Hello, old man, all right now?” + </p> + <p> + Pink sat up, then rose stiffly and awkwardly. He had a cut over one eye, + and he felt for his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Fouled me,” he said. “Filthy lot, anyhow. Wonder they didn't walk on me + when I was down.” He turned to the grounds-keeper, who had come up. “You + ought to know better than to let those fellows cut up this turf,” he said + angrily. “What're you here for anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + But he was suddenly very sick. He looked at Lily, his face drawn and + blanched. + </p> + <p> + “Got me right,” he muttered. “I—” + </p> + <p> + “Get into my car,” said Akers, not too amiably. “I'll drive you to the + stables. I'll be back, Miss Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + Lily went back to the car and sat down. She was shocked and startled, but + she was strangely excited. The crowd had beaten Pink, but it had obeyed + Louis Akers like a master. He was a man. He was a strong man. He must be + built of iron. Mentally she saw him again, driving recklessly over the + turf, throwing the men to right and left, hoarse with anger, tall, + dominant, powerful. + </p> + <p> + It was more important that a man be a man than that he be a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + After a little he drove back across the field, sending the car forward + again at reckless speed. Some vision of her grandfather, watching the + machine careening over the still soft and spongy turf and leaving deep + tracks behind it, made her smile. Akers leaped out. + </p> + <p> + “No need to worry about our young friend,” he said cheerfully. “He is + alternately being very sick at his stomach and cursing the poor working + man. But I think I'd better drive you back. He'll be poor company, I'll + say that.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, his bold eyes challenging, belying the amiable + gentleness of his smile. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better let him know.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him. He isn't strong for me. Always hate the fellow who saves you, + you know. But he didn't object.” + </p> + <p> + Lily moved into his car obediently. She felt a strange inclination to do + what this man wanted. Rather, it was an inability to oppose him. He went + on, big, strong, and imperious. And he carried one along. It was easy and + queer. But she did, unconsciously, what she had never done with Pink or + any other man; she sat as far away from him on the wide seat as she could. + </p> + <p> + He noticed that, and smiled ahead, over the wheel. He had been infuriated + over her avoidance of him, but if she was afraid of him— + </p> + <p> + “Bully engine in this car. Never have to change a gear.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly made a road through the field.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll fix that, all right. Are you warm enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been treating me very badly, you know, Miss Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been frightfully busy.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not true, and you know it. You've been forbidden to see me, + haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been forbidden to go back to Cardew Way.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't know about me, then?” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't very much to know, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't fence with me,” he said impatiently. “I told you once + I was frank. I want you to answer one question. If this thing rested with + you, would you see me again?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I would, Mr. Akers,” she said honestly. + </p> + <p> + Had she ever known a man like the one beside her, she would not have given + him that opportunity. He glanced sharply around, and then suddenly stopped + the car and turned toward her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm crazy about you, and you know it,” he said. And roughly, violently, + he caught her to him and kissed her again and again. Her arms were pinned + to her sides, and she was helpless. After a brief struggle to free herself + she merely shut her eyes and waited for him to stop. + </p> + <p> + “I'm mad about you,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Then he freed her. Lily wanted to feel angry, but she felt only humiliated + and rather soiled. There were men like that, then, men who gave way to + violent impulses, who lost control of themselves and had to apologize + afterwards. She hated him, but she was sorry for him, too. He would have + to be so humble. She was staring ahead, white and waiting for his + explanation, when he released the brake and started the car forward + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, with a faint smile. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to apologize for that, Mr. Akers.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm damned if I will. That man back there, Denslow—he's the sort + who would kiss a girl and then crawl about it afterwards. I won't. I'm not + sorry. A strong man can digest his own sins. I kissed you because I wanted + to. It wasn't an impulse. I meant to when we started. And you're only + doing the conventional thing and pretending to be angry. You're not angry. + Good God, girl, be yourself once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I don't understand you.” Her voice was haughty. “And I must + ask you to stop the car and let me get out.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do nothing of the sort, of course. Now get this straight, Miss + Cardew. I haven't done you any harm. I may have a brutal way of showing + that I'm crazy about you, but it's my way. I'm a man, and I'm no hand + kisser.” + </p> + <p> + And when she said nothing: + </p> + <p> + “You think I'm unrestrained, and I am, in a way. But if I did what I + really want to do, I'd not take you home at all. I'd steal you. You've + done something to me, God knows what.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can only say I'm sorry,” Lily said slowly. + </p> + <p> + She felt strangely helpless and rather maternal. With all his strength + this sort of man needed to be protected from himself. She felt no + answering thrill whatever to his passion, but as though, having told her + he loved her, he had placed a considerable responsibility in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be good now,” he said. “Mind, I'm not sorry. But I don't want to + worry you.” + </p> + <p> + He made no further overtures to her during the ride, but he was neither + sulky nor sheepish. He feigned an anxiety as to the threatened strike, and + related at great length and with extreme cleverness of invention his own + efforts to prevent it. + </p> + <p> + “I've a good bit of influence with the A.F.L.,” he said. “Doyle's in bad + with them, but I'm still solid. But it's coming, sure as shooting. And + they'll win, too.” + </p> + <p> + He knew women well, and he saw that she was forgiving him. But she would + not forget. He had a cynical doctrine, to the effect that a woman's first + kiss of passion left an ineradicable mark on her, and he was quite certain + that Lily had never been so kissed before. + </p> + <p> + Driving through the park he turned to her: + </p> + <p> + “Please forgive me,” he said, his mellow voice contrite and supplicating. + “You've been so fine about it that you make me ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + “I would like to feel that it wouldn't happen again: That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “That means you intend to see me again. But never is a long word. I'm + afraid to promise. You go to my head, Lily Cardew.” They were halted by + the traffic, and it gave him a chance to say something he had been + ingeniously formulating in his mind. “I've known lots of girls. I'm no + saint. But you are different. You're a good woman. You could do anything + you wanted with me, if you cared to.” + </p> + <p> + And because she was young and lovely, and because he was always the slave + of youth and beauty, he meant what he said. It was a lie, but he was lying + to himself also, and his voice held unmistakable sincerity. But even then + he was watching her, weighing the effect of his words on her. He saw that + she was touched. + </p> + <p> + He was very well pleased with himself on his way home. He left the car at + the public garage, and walked, whistling blithely, to his small bachelor + apartment. He was a self-indulgent man, and his rooms were comfortable to + the point of luxury. In the sitting room was a desk, as clean and orderly + as Doyle's was untidy. Having put on his dressing gown he went to it, and + with a sheet of paper before him sat for some time thinking. + </p> + <p> + He found his work irksome at times. True, it had its interest. He was the + liaison between organized labor, which was conservative in the main, and + the radical element, both in and out of the organization. He played a + double game, and his work was always the same, to fan the discontent + latently smoldering in every man's soul into a flame. And to do this he + had not Doyle's fanaticism. Personally, Louis Akers found the world a + pretty good place. He hated the rich because they had more than he had, + but he scorned the poor because they had less. And he liked the feeling of + power he had when, on the platform, men swayed to his words like wheat to + a wind. + </p> + <p> + Personal ambition was his fetish, as power was Anthony Cardew's. Sometimes + he walked past the exclusive city clubs, and he dreamed of a time when he, + too, would have the entree to them. But time was passing. He was + thirty-three years old when Jim Doyle crossed his path, and the clubs were + as far away as ever. It was Doyle who found the weak place in his armor, + and who taught him that when one could not rise it was possible to pull + others down. + </p> + <p> + But it was Woslosky, the Americanized Pole; who had put the thing in a + more appealing form. + </p> + <p> + “Our friend Doyle to the contrary,” he said cynically, “we cannot hope to + contend against the inevitable. The few will always govern the many, in + the end. It will be the old cycle, autocracy, anarchy, and then democracy; + but out of this last comes always the one man who crowns himself or is + crowned. One of the people. You, or myself, it may be.” + </p> + <p> + The Pole had smiled and shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Akers did not go to work immediately. He sat for some time, a cigarette in + his hand, his eyes slightly narrowed. He believed that he could marry Lily + Cardew. It would take time and all his skill, but he believed he could do + it. His mind wandered to Lily herself, her youth and charm, her soft red + mouth, the feel of her warm young body in his arms. He brought himself up + sharply. Where would such a marriage take him? + </p> + <p> + He pondered the question pro and con. On the one hand the Cardews, on the + other, Doyle and a revolutionary movement. A revolution would be + interesting and exciting, and there was strong in him the desire to pull + down. But revolution was troublesome. It was violent and bloody. Even if + it succeeded it would be years before the country would be stabilized. + This other, now— + </p> + <p> + He sat low in his chair, his long legs stretched out in his favorite + position, and dreamed. He would not play the fool like Doyle. He would + conciliate the family. In the end he would be put up at the clubs; he + might even play polo. His thoughts wandered to Pink Denslow at the polo + grounds, and he grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Young fool!” he reflected. “If I can't beat his time—” He ordered + dinner to be sent up, and mixed himself a cocktail, using the utmost care + in its preparation. Drinking it, he eyed himself complacently in the small + mirror over the mantel. Yes, life was not bad. It was damned interesting. + It was a game. No, it was a race where a man could so hedge his bets that + he stood to gain, whoever won. + </p> + <p> + When there was a knock at the door he did not turn. “Come in,” he said. + </p> + <p> + But it was not the waiter. It was Edith Boyd. He saw her through the + mirror, and so addressed her. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, sweetie,” he said. Then he turned. “You oughtn't to come here, + Edith. I've told you about that.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to see you, Lou.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take a good look, then,” he said. Her coming fitted in well with + the complacence of his mood. Yes, life was good, so long as it held power, + and drink, and women. + </p> + <p> + He stooped to kiss her, but although she accepted the caress, she did not + return it. + </p> + <p> + “Not mad at me, Miss Boyd, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Lou, I'm frightened!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + On clear Sundays Anthony Cardew played golf all day. He kept his religious + observances for bad weather, but at such times as he attended service he + did it with the decorum and dignity of a Cardew, who bowed to his God but + to nothing else. He made the responses properly and with a certain + unction, and sat during the sermon with a vigilant eye on the choir boys, + who wriggled. Now and then, however, the eye wandered to the great stained + glass window which was a memorial to his wife. It said beneath: “In + memoriam, Lilian Lethbridge Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + He thought there was too much yellow in John the Baptist. On the Sunday + afternoon following her ride into the city with Louis Akers, Lily found + herself alone. Anthony was golfing and Grace and Howard had motored out of + town for luncheon. In a small office near the rear of the hall the second + man dozed, waiting for the doorbell. There would be people in for tea + later, as always on Sunday afternoons; girls and men, walking through the + park or motoring up in smart cars, the men a trifle bored because they + were not golfing or riding, the girls chattering about the small + inessentials which somehow they made so important. + </p> + <p> + Lily was wretchedly unhappy. For one thing, she had begun to feel that + Mademoiselle was exercising over her a sort of gentle espionage, and she + thought her grandfather was behind it. Out of sheer rebellion she had gone + again to the house on Cardew Way, to find Elinor out and Jim Doyle writing + at his desk. He had received her cordially, and had talked to her as an + equal. His deferential attitude had soothed her wounded pride, and she had + told him something—very little—of the situation at home. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are still forbidden to come here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. As if what happened years ago matters now, Mr. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + He eyed her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let them break your spirit, Lily,” he had said. “Success can make + people very hard. I don't know myself what success would do to me. Plenty, + probably.” He smiled. “It isn't the past your people won't forgive me, + Lily. It's my failure to succeed in what they call success.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't that,” she had said hastily. “It is—they say you are + inflammatory. Of course they don't understand. I have tried to tell them, + but—” + </p> + <p> + “There are fires that purify,” he had said, smilingly. + </p> + <p> + She had gone home, discontented with her family's lack of vision, and with + herself. + </p> + <p> + She was in a curious frame of mind. The thought of Louis Akers repelled + her, but she thought of him constantly. She analyzed him clearly enough; + he was not fine and not sensitive. He was not even kind. Indeed, she felt + that he could be both cruel and ruthless. And if she was the first good + woman he had ever known, then he must have had a hateful past. + </p> + <p> + The thought that he had kissed her turned her hot with anger and shame at + such times, but the thought recurred. + </p> + <p> + Had she had occupation perhaps she might have been saved, but she had + nothing to do. The house went on with its disciplined service; Lent had + made its small demands as to church services, and was over. The weather + was bad, and the golf links still soggy with the spring rains. Her + wardrobe was long ago replenished, and that small interest gone. + </p> + <p> + And somehow there had opened a breach between herself and the little + intimate group that had been hers before the war. She wondered sometimes + what they would think of Louis Akers. They would admire him, at first, for + his opulent good looks, but very soon they would recognize what she knew + so well—the gulf between him and the men of their own world, so hard + a distinction to divine, yet so real for all that. They would know + instinctively that under his veneer of good manners was something coarse + and crude, as she did, and they would politely snub him. She had no name + and no knowledge for the urge in the man that she vaguely recognized and + resented. But she had a full knowledge of the obsession he was becoming in + her mind. + </p> + <p> + “If I could see him here,” she reflected, more than once, “I'd get over + thinking about him. It's because they forbid me to see him. It's sheer + contrariness.” + </p> + <p> + But it was not, and she knew it. She had never heard of his theory about + the mark on a woman. + </p> + <p> + She was hating herself very vigorously on that Sunday afternoon. + Mademoiselle and she had lunched alone in Lily's sitting-room, and + Mademoiselle had dozed off in her chair afterwards, a novel on her knee. + Lily was wandering about downstairs when the telephone rang, and she had a + quick conviction that it was Louis Akers. It was only Willy Cameron, + however, asking her if she cared to go for a walk. + </p> + <p> + “I've promised Jinx one all day,” he explained, “and we might as well + combine, if you are not busy.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at that. + </p> + <p> + “I'd love it,” she said. “In the park?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment.” Then: “Yes, Jinx says the park is right.” + </p> + <p> + His wholesome nonsense was good for her. She drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “You are precisely the person I need to-day,” she said. “And come soon, + because I shall have to be back at five.” + </p> + <p> + When he came he was very neat indeed, and most scrupulous as to his heels + being polished. He was also slightly breathless. + </p> + <p> + “Had to sew a button on my coat,” he explained. “Then I found I'd sewed in + one of my fingers and had to start all over again.” + </p> + <p> + Lily was conscious of a change in him. He looked older, she thought, and + thinner. His smile, when it came, was as boyish as ever, but he did not + smile so much, and seen in full daylight he was shabby. He seemed totally + unconscious of his clothes, however. + </p> + <p> + “What do you do with yourself, Willy?” she asked. “I mean when you are + free?” + </p> + <p> + “Read and study. I want to take up metallurgy pretty soon. There's a night + course at the college.” + </p> + <p> + “We use metallurgists in the mill. When you are ready I know father would + be glad to have you.” + </p> + <p> + He flushed at that. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” he said. “I'd rather get in, wherever I go, by what I know, and + not who I know.” + </p> + <p> + She felt considerably snubbed, but she knew his curious pride. After a + time, while he threw a stick into the park lake and Jinx retrieved it, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “What do you do with yourself these days, Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I've forgotten how to work, I'm afraid. And I'm not very happy, + Willy. I ought to be, but I'm just—not.” + </p> + <p> + “You've learned what it is to be useful,” he observed gravely, “and now it + hardly seems worth while just to live, and nothing else. Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there anything you can do?” + </p> + <p> + “They won't let me work, and I hate to study.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. Willy Cameron sat on the bench, bent and staring + ahead. Jinx brought the stick, and, receiving no attention, insinuated a + dripping body between his knees. He patted the dog's head absently. + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking about the night I went to dinner at your house,” he + said at last. “I had no business to say what I said then. I've got a + miserable habit of saying just what comes into my mind, and I've been + afraid, ever since, that it would end in your not wanting to see me again. + Just try to forget it happened, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it was an impulse, but it made me very proud, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said quietly. “And that's that. Now about your + grandfather. I've had him on my mind, too. He is an old man, and sometimes + they are peculiar. I am only sorry I upset him. And you are to forget + that, too.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself she laughed, rather helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I am to remember?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled too, and straightened himself, like a man who has got something + off his chest. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly there is, Miss Cardew. Me. Myself. I want you to know that I'm + around, ready to fetch and carry like Jinx here, and about as necessary, I + suppose. We are a good bit alike, Jinx and I. We're satisfied with a bone, + and we give a lot of affection. You won't mind a bone now and then?” + </p> + <p> + His cheerful tone reassured the girl. There was no real hurt, then. + </p> + <p> + “That's nice of you, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said slowly, “you know there are men who prefer a dream to + reality. Perhaps I'm like that. Anyhow, that's enough about me. Do you + know that there is a strike coming?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I ought to tell you, Willy. I think the men are right.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Right?” he said. “Why, my dear child, most of them want to strike about + as much as I want delirium tremens. I've talked to them, and I know.” + </p> + <p> + “A slave may be satisfied if he has never known freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fudge,” said Willy Cameron, rudely. “Where do you get all that? + You're quoting; aren't you? The strike, any strike, is an acknowledgment + of weakness. It is a resort to the physical because the collective + mentality of labor isn't as strong as the other side. Or labor thinks it + isn't, which amounts to the same thing. And there is a fine line between + the fellow who fights for a principle and the one who knocks people down + to show how strong he is.” + </p> + <p> + “This is a fight for a principle, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “Fine little Cardew you are!” he scoffed. “Don't make any mistake. There + have been fights by labor for a principle, and the principle won, as good + always wins over evil. But this is different. It's a direct play by men + who don't realize what they are doing, into the hands of a lot of—well, + we'll call them anarchists. It's Germany's way of winning the war. By + indirection.” + </p> + <p> + “If by anarchists you mean men like my uncle—” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” he said grimly. “That's a family accident and you can't help it. + But I do mean Doyle. Doyle and a Pole named Woslosky, and a scoundrel of + an attorney here in town, named Akers, among others.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Akers is a friend of mine, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “If they have been teaching you their dirty doctrines, Lily,” he said at + last, “I can only tell you this. They can disguise it in all the fine + terms they want. It is treason, and they are traitors. I know. I've had a + talk with the Chief of Police.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “How well do you know Louis Akers?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well.” But there were spots of vivid color flaming in her + cheeks. He drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “I can't retract it,” he said. “I didn't know, of course. Shall we start + back?” + </p> + <p> + They were very silent as they walked. Willy Cameron was pained and + anxious. He knew Akers' type rather than the man himself, but he knew the + type well. Every village had one, the sleek handsome animal who attracted + girls by sheer impudence and good humor, who made passionate, pagan love + promiscuously, and put the responsibility for the misery they caused on + the Creator because He had made them as they were. + </p> + <p> + He was agonized by another train of thought. For him Lily had always been + something fine, beautiful, infinitely remote. There were other girls, + girls like Edith Boyd, who were touched, some more, some less, with the + soil of life. Even when they kept clean they saw it all about them, and + looked on it with shrewd, sophisticated eyes. But Lily was—Lily. The + very thought of Louis Akers looking at her as he had seen him look at + Edith Boyd made him cold with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I say something?” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds disagreeable. Is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, but I'm going to anyhow, Lily. I don't like to think of you seeing + Akers. I don't know anything against him, and I suppose if I did I + wouldn't tell you. But he is not your sort.” + </p> + <p> + An impulse of honesty prevailed with her. + </p> + <p> + “I know that as well as you do. I know him better than you do. But, he + stands for something, at least,” she added rather hotly. “None of the + other men I know stand for anything very much. Even you, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “I stand for the preservation of my country,” he said gravely. “I mean, I + represent a lot of people who—well, who don't believe that change + always means progress, and who do intend that the changes Doyle and Akers + and that lot want they won't get. I don't believe—if you say you + want what they want—that you know what you are talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am more intelligent than you think I am.” + </p> + <p> + He was, of course, utterly wretched, impressed by the futility of arguing + with her. + </p> + <p> + “Do your people know that you are seeing Louis Akers!” + </p> + <p> + “You are being rather solicitous, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am being rather anxious. I wouldn't dare, of course, if we hadn't been + such friends. But Akers is wrong, wrong every way, and I have to tell you + that, even if it means that you will never see me again. He takes a + credulous girl—” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “And talks bunk to her and possibly makes love to her—” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't we had enough of Mr. Akers?” Lily asked coldly. “If you cannot + speak of anything else, please don't talk.” + </p> + <p> + The result of which was a frozen silence until they reached the house. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she said primly. “It was very nice of you to call me up. + Good-by, Jinx.” She went up the steps, leaving him bare-headed and rather + haggard, looking after her. + </p> + <p> + He took the dog and went out into the country on foot, tramping through + the mud without noticing it, and now and then making little despairing + gestures. He was helpless. He had cut himself off from her like a fool. + Akers. Akers and Edith Boyd. Other women. Akers and other women. And now + Lily. Good God, Lily! + </p> + <p> + Jinx was tired. He begged to be carried, planting two muddy feet on his + master's shabby trouser leg, and pleading with low whines. Willy Cameron + stooped and, gathering up the little animal, tucked him under his arm. + When it commenced to rain he put him under his coat and plunged his head + through the mud and wet toward home. + </p> + <p> + Lily had entered the house in a white fury, but a moment later she was + remorseful. For one thing, her own anger bewildered her. After all, he had + meant well, and it was like him to be honest, even if it cost him + something he valued. + </p> + <p> + She ran to the door and looked around for him, but he had disappeared. She + went in again, remorseful and unhappy. What had come over her to treat him + like that? He had looked almost stricken. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Akers is calling, Miss Cardew,” said the footman. “He is in the + drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + Lily went in slowly. + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers had been waiting for some time. He had lounged into the + drawing-room, with an ease assumed for the servant's benefit, and had + immediately lighted a cigarette. That done, and the servant departed, he + had carefully appraised his surroundings. He liked the stiff formality of + the room. He liked the servant in his dark maroon livery. He liked the + silence and decorum. Most of all, he liked himself in these surroundings. + He wandered around, touching a bowl here, a vase there, eyeing carefully + the ancient altar cloth that lay on a table, the old needle-work tapestry + on the chairs. + </p> + <p> + He saw himself fitted into this environment, a part of it; coming down the + staircase, followed by his wife, and getting into his waiting limousine; + sitting at the head of his table, while the important men of the city + listened to what he had to say. It would come, as sure as God made little + fishes. And Doyle was a fool. He, Louis Akers, would marry Lily Cardew and + block that other game. But he would let the Cardews know who it was who + had blocked it and saved their skins. They'd have to receive him after + that; they would cringe to him. + </p> + <p> + Then, unexpectedly, he had one of the shocks of his life. He had gone to + the window and through it he saw Lily and Willy Cameron outside. He + clutched at the curtain and cursed under his breath, apprehensively. But + Willy Cameron did not come in; Akers watched him up the street with + calculating, slightly narrowed eyes. The fact that Lily Cardew knew the + clerk at the Eagle Pharmacy was an unexpected complication. His surprise + was lost in anxiety. But Lily, entering the room a moment later, rather + pale and unsmiling, found him facing the door, his manner easy, his head + well up, and drawn to his full and rather overwhelming height. She found + her poise entirely gone, and it was he who spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said. “You didn't ask me, but I came anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand rather primly. + </p> + <p> + “It is very good of you to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! I couldn't stay away.” + </p> + <p> + He took her outstretched hand, smiling down at her, and suddenly made an + attempt to draw her to him. + </p> + <p> + “You know that, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Please!” + </p> + <p> + He let her go at once. He had not played his little game so long without + learning its fine points. There were times to woo a woman with a strong + arm, and there were other times that required other methods. + </p> + <p> + “Right-o,” he said, “I'm sorry. I've been thinking about you so much that + I daresay I have got farther in our friendship than I should. Do you know + that you haven't been out of my mind since that ride we had together?” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Would you like some tea?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, yes. Do you dislike my telling you that?” + </p> + <p> + She rang the bell, and then stood Lacing him. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind, no. But I am trying very hard to forget that ride, and I + don't want to talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + “When a beautiful thing comes into a man's life he likes to remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you call it beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it rather fine when two people, a man and a woman, suddenly find a + tremendous attraction that draws them together, in spite of the fact that + everything else is conspiring to keep them apart?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said uncertainly. “It just seemed all wrong, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “An honest impulse is never wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to discuss it, Mr. Akers. It is over.” + </p> + <p> + While he was away from her, her attraction for him loomed less than the + things she promised, of power and gratified ambition. But he found her, + with her gentle aloofness, exceedingly appealing, and with the tact of the + man who understands women he adapted himself to her humor. + </p> + <p> + “You are making me very unhappy; Miss Lily,” he said. “If you'll only + promise to let me see you now and then, I'll promise to be as mild as + dish-water. Will you promise?” + </p> + <p> + She was still struggling, still remembering Willy Cameron, still trying to + remember all the things that Louis Akers was not. + </p> + <p> + “I think I ought not to see you at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he said slowly, “you are going to cut me off from the one decent + influence in my life.” + </p> + <p> + She was still revolving that in her mind when tea came. Akers, having shot + his bolt, watched with interest the preparation for the little ceremony, + the old Georgian teaspoons, the Crown Derby cups, the bell-shaped Queen + Anne teapot, beautifully chased, the old pierced sugar basin. Almost his + gaze was proprietary. And he watched Lily, her casual handling of those + priceless treasures, her taking for granted of service and beauty, her + acceptance of quality because she had never known anything else, watched + her with possessive eyes. + </p> + <p> + When the servant had gone, he said: + </p> + <p> + “You are being very nice to me, in view of the fact that you did not ask + me to come. And also remembering that your family does not happen to care + about me.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not at home.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew that, or I should not have come. I don't want to make trouble for + you, child.” His voice was infinitely caressing. “As it happens, I know + your grandfather's Sunday habits, and I met your father and mother on the + road going out of town at noon. I knew they had not come back.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled down at her. “I have ways of knowing quite a lot of things. + Especially when they are as vital to me as this few minutes alone with + you.” + </p> + <p> + He bent toward her, as he sat behind the tea table. + </p> + <p> + “You know how vital this is to me, don't you?” he said. “You're not going + to cut me off, are you?” + </p> + <p> + He stood over her, big, compelling, dominant, and put his hand under her + chin. + </p> + <p> + “I am insane about you,” he whispered, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, irresistibly, she lifted her face to his kiss. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + On the first day of May, William Wallace Cameron moved his trunk, the + framed photograph of his mother, eleven books, an alarm clock and Jinx to + the Boyd house. He went for two reasons. First, after his initial call at + the dreary little house, he began to realize that something had to be done + in the Boyd family. The second reason was his dog. + </p> + <p> + He began to realize that something had to be done in the Boyd family as + soon as he had met Mrs. Boyd. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what's come over the children,” Mrs. Boyd said, fretfully. + She sat rocking persistently in the dreary little parlor. Her chair inched + steadily along the dull carpet, and once or twice she brought up just as + she was about to make a gradual exit from the room. “They act so queer + lately.” + </p> + <p> + She hitched the chair into place again. Edith had gone out. It was her + idea of an evening call to serve cakes and coffee, and a strong and acrid + odor was seeping through the doorway. “There's Dan come home from the war, + and when he gets back from the mill he just sits and stares ahead of him. + He won't even talk about the war, although he's got a lot to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “It takes some time for the men who were over to get settled down again, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's Edith,” continued the querulous voice. “You'd think the cat + had got her tongue, too. I tell you, Mr. Cameron, there are meals here + when if I didn't talk there wouldn't be a word spoken.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cameron looked up. It had occurred to him lately, not precisely that a + cat had got away with Edith's tongue, but that something undeniably had + got away with her cheerfulness. There were entire days in the store when + she neglected to manicure her nails, and stood looking out past the fading + primrose in the window to the street. But there were no longer any shrewd + comments on the passers-by. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, the house isn't very cheerful,” sighed Mrs. Boyd. “I'm a sick + woman, Mr. Cameron. My back hurts most of the time. It just aches and + aches.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Mr. Cameron. “My mother has that, sometimes. If you like + I'll mix you up some liniment, and Miss Edith can bring it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I've tried most everything. Edith wants to rent a room, so we can + keep a hired girl, but it's hard to get a girl. They want all the money on + earth, and they eat something awful. That's a nice friendly dog of yours, + Mr. Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps Jinx who decided Willy Cameron. Jinx was at that moment + occupying the only upholstered chair, but he had developed a strong liking + for the frail little lady with the querulous voice and the shabby black + dress. He had, indeed, insisted shortly after his entrance on leaping into + her lap, and had thus sat for some time, completely eclipsing his hostess. + </p> + <p> + “Just let him sit,” Mrs. Boyd said placidly. “I like a dog. And he can't + hurt this skirt I've got on. It's on its last legs.” + </p> + <p> + With which bit of unconscious humor Willy Cameron had sat down. Something + warm and kindly glowed in his heart. He felt that dogs have a curious + instinct for knowing what lies concealed in the human heart, and that Jinx + had discovered something worth while in Edith's mother. + </p> + <p> + It was later in the evening, however, that he said, over Edith's bakery + cakes and her atrocious coffee: + </p> + <p> + “If you really mean that about a roomer, I know of one.” He glanced at + Edith. “Very neat. Careful with matches. Hard to get up in the morning, + but interesting, highly intelligent, and a clever talker. That's his one + fault. When he is interested in a thing he spouts all over the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” said Mrs. Boyd. “Well, talk would be a change here. He sounds + kind of pleasant. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “This paragon of beauty and intellect sits before you,” said Willy + Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to excuse me. I didn't recognize you by the description,” + said Mrs. Boyd, unconsciously. “Well, I don't know. I'd like to have this + dog around.” + </p> + <p> + Even Edith laughed at that. She had been very silent all evening, sitting + most of the time with her hands in her lap, and her eyes on Willy Cameron. + Rather like Jinx's eyes they were, steady, unblinking, loyal, and with + something else in common with Jinx which Willy Cameron never suspected. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't come, if I were you,” she said, unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Edie, you've been thinking of asking him right along.” + </p> + <p> + “We don't know how to keep a house,” she persisted, to him. “We can't even + cook—you know that's rotten coffee. I'll show you the room, if you + like, but I won't feel hurt if you don't take it, I'll be worried if you + do.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd watched them perplexedly as they went out, the tall young man + with his uneven step, and Edith, who had changed so greatly in the last + few weeks, and blew hot one minute and cold the next. Now that she had + seen Willy Cameron, Mrs. Boyd wanted him to come. He would bring new life + into the little house. He was cheerful. He was not glum like Dan or + discontented like Edie. And the dog—She got up slowly and walked + over to the chair where Jinx sat, eyes watchfully on the door. + </p> + <p> + “Nice Jinx,” she said, and stroked his head with a thin and stringy hand. + “Nice doggie.” + </p> + <p> + She took a cake from the plate and fed it to him, bit by bit. She felt + happier than she had for a long time, since her children were babies and + needed her. + </p> + <p> + “I meant it,” said Edith, on the stairs. “You stay away. We're a poor lot, + and we're unlucky, too. Don't get mixed up with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I'm going to bring you luck.” + </p> + <p> + “The best luck for me would be to fall down these stairs and break my + neck.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her anxiously, and any doubts he might have had, born of the + dreariness, the odors of stale food and of the musty cellar below, of the + shabby room she proceeded to show him, died in an impulse to somehow, some + way, lift this small group of people out of the slough of despondency + which seemed to be engulfing them all. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the matter with the room?” he said. “Just wait until I've got + busy in it! I'm a paper hanger and a painter, and—” + </p> + <p> + “You're a dear, too,” said Edith. + </p> + <p> + So on the first of May he moved in, and for some evenings Political + Economy and History and Travel and the rest gave way to anxious cuttings + and fittings of wall paper, and a pungent odor of paint. The old house + took on new life and activity, the latter sometimes pernicious, as when + Willy Cameron fell down the cellar stairs with a pail of paint in his + hand, or Dan, digging up some bricks in the back yard for a border the + seeds of which were already sprouting in a flat box in the kitchen, ran a + pickaxe into his foot. + </p> + <p> + Some changes were immediate, such as the white-washing of the cellar and + the unpainted fence in the yard, where Willy Cameron visualized, later on, + great draperies of morning glories. He papered the parlor, and coaxed Mrs. + Boyd to wash the curtains, although she protested that, with the mill + smoke, it was useless labor. + </p> + <p> + But there were some changes that he knew only time would effect. Sometimes + he went to his bed worn out both physically and spiritually, as though the + burden of lifting three life-sodden souls was too much. Not that he + thought of that, however. What he did know was that the food was poor. No + servant had been found, and years of lack of system had left Mrs. Boyd's + mind confused and erratic. She would spend hours concocting expensive + desserts, while the vegetables boiled dry and scorched and meat turned to + leather, only to bring pridefully to the table some flavorless mixture + garnished according to a picture in the cook book, and totally unedible. + </p> + <p> + She would have ambitious cleaning days, too, starting late and leaving off + with beds unmade to prepare the evening meal. Dan, home from the mill and + newly adopting Willy Cameron's system of cleaning up for supper, would + turn sullen then, and leave the moment the meal was over. + </p> + <p> + “Hell of a way to live,” he said once. “I'd get married, but how can a + fellow know whether a girl will make a home for him or give him this? And + then there would be babies, too.” + </p> + <p> + The relations between Dan and Edith were not particularly cordial. Willy + Cameron found their bickering understandable enough, but he was puzzled, + sometimes, to find that Dan was surreptitiously watching his sister. Edith + was conscious of it, too, and one evening she broke into irritated speech. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd quit staring at me, Dan Boyd.” + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering what has come over you,” said Dan, ungraciously. “You + used to be a nice kid. Now you're an angel one minute and a devil the + next.” + </p> + <p> + Willy spoke to him that night when they were setting out rows of + seedlings, under the supervision of Jinx. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't worry her, Dan,” he said; “it is the spring, probably. It gets + into people, you know. I'm that way myself. I'd give a lot to be in the + country just now.” + </p> + <p> + Dan glanced at him quickly, but whatever he may have had in his mind, he + said nothing just then. However, later on he volunteered: + </p> + <p> + “She's got something on her mind. I know her. But I won't have her talking + back to mother.” + </p> + <p> + A week or so after Willy Cameron had moved, Mr. Hendricks rang the bell of + the Boyd house, and then, after his amiable custom, walked in. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cameron!” he bawled. + </p> + <p> + “Upstairs,” came Willy Cameron's voice, somewhat thickened with carpet + tacks. So Mr. Hendricks climbed part of the way, when he found his head on + a level with that of the young gentleman he sought, who was nailing a rent + in the carpet. + </p> + <p> + “Don't stop,” said Mr. Hendricks. “Merely friendly call. And for heaven's + sake don't swallow a tack, son. I'm going to need you.” + </p> + <p> + “Whaffor?” inquired Willy Cameron, through his nose. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know yet. Make speeches, probably. If Howard Cardew, or any Cardew, + thinks he's going to be mayor of this town, he's got to think again.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't give a tinker's dam who's mayor of this town, so long as he gives + it honest government.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said Mr. Hendricks approvingly. “Old Cardew's been running + it for years, and you could put all the honest government he's given us in + a hollow tooth. If you'll stop that hammering, I'd like to make a + proposition to you.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron took an admiring squint at his handiwork. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to refuse you, Mr. Hendricks, but I don't want to be mayor.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks chuckled, as Willy Cameron led the way to his room. He + wandered around the room while Cameron opened a window and slid the dog + off his second chair. + </p> + <p> + “Great snakes!” he said. “Spargo's Bolshevism! Political Economy, History + of—. What are you planning to be? President?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't decided yet. It's a hard job, and mighty thankless. But I won't + be your mayor, even for you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks sat down. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said. “Of course if you'd wanted it!” He took two large + cigars from the row in his breast pocket and held one out, but Willy + Cameron refused it and got his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendrick's face became serious and very thoughtful. “I don't know that + I have ever made it clear to you, Cameron,” he said, “but I've got a + peculiar feeling for this city. I like it, the way some people like their + families. It's—well, it's home to me, for one thing. I like to go + out in the evenings and walk around, and I say to myself: 'This is my + town.' And we, it and me, are sending stuff all over the world. I like to + think that somewhere, maybe in China, they are riding on our rails and + fighting with guns made from our steel. Maybe you don't understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the way I feel about it, anyhow. And this Bolshevist stuff + gets under my skin. I've got a home and a family here. I started in to + work when I was thirteen, and all I've got I've made and saved right here. + It isn't much, but it's mine.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron was lighting his pipe. He nodded. Mr. Hendricks bent forward + and pointed a finger at him. + </p> + <p> + “And to govern this city, who do you think the labor element is going to + put up and probably elect? We're an industrial city, son, with a big labor + vote, and if it stands together—they're being swindled into putting + up as an honest candidate one of the dirtiest radicals in the country. + That man Akers.” + </p> + <p> + He got up and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want Edith to hear me,” he said. “He's a friend of hers. But he's + a bad actor, son. He's wrong with women, for one thing, and when I think + that all he's got to oppose him is Howard Cardew—” Mr. Hendricks got + up, and took a nervous turn about the room. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you know that Cardew has a daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hear a good many things, one way and another, and my wife likes a + bit of gossip. She knows them both by sight, and she ran into them one day + in the tea room of the Saint Elmo, sitting in a corner, and the girl had + her back to the room. I don't like the look of that, Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron got up and closed the window. He stood there, with his back + to the light, for a full minute. Then: + </p> + <p> + “I think there must be some mistake about that, Mr. Hendricks. I have met + her. She isn't the sort of girl who would do clandestine things.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks looked up quickly. He had made it his business to study men, + and there was something in Willy Cameron's voice that caught his + attention, and turned his shrewd mind to speculation. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe,” he conceded. “Of course, anything a Cardew does is likely to be + magnified in this town. If she's as keen as the men in her family, she'll + get wise to him pretty soon.” Willy Cameron came back then, but Mr. + Hendricks kept his eyes on the tip of his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to lick Cardew,” he said, “but I'm cursed if I want to do it + with Akers.” + </p> + <p> + When there was no comment, he looked up. Yes, the boy had had a blow. Mr. + Hendricks was sorry. If that was the way the wind blew it was hopeless. It + was more than that; it was tragic. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry I said anything, Cameron. Didn't know you knew her.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. Of course I don't like to think she is being talked + about.” + </p> + <p> + “The Cardews are always being talked about. You couldn't drop her a hint, + I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “She knows what I think about Louis Akers.” + </p> + <p> + He made a violent effort and pulled himself together. “So it is Akers and + Howard Cardew, and one's a knave and one's a poor bet.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” said Mr. Hendricks. “And one's Bolshevist, if I know anything, + and the other is capital, and has about as much chance as a rich man to + get through the eye of a needle.” + </p> + <p> + Which was slightly mixed, owing to a repressed excitement now making + itself evident in Mr. Hendricks's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why not run an independent candidate?” Willy Cameron asked quietly. “I've + been shouting about the plain people. Why shouldn't they elect a mayor? + There is a lot of them.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the talk,” said Mr. Hendricks, letting his excitement have full + sway. “They could. They could run this town and run it right, if they'd + take the trouble. Now look here, son, I don't usually talk about myself, + but—I'm honest. I don't say I wouldn't get off a street-car without + paying my fare if the conductor didn't lift it! But I'm honest. I don't + lie. I keep my word. And I live clean—which you can't say for Lou + Akers. Why shouldn't I run on an independent ticket? I mightn't be + elected, but I'd make a damned good try.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up, and Willy Cameron rose also and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that my opinion is of any value, Mr. Hendricks. But I hope + you get it, and I think you have a good chance. If I can do anything—” + </p> + <p> + “Do anything! What do you suppose I came here for? You're going to elect + me. You're going to make speeches and kiss babies, and tell the ordinary + folks they're worth something after all. You got me started on this thing, + and now you've got to help me out.” + </p> + <p> + The future maker of mayors here stepped back in his amazement, and Jinx + emitted a piercing howl. When peace was restored the F.M. of M. had got + his breath, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't remember my own name before an audience, Mr. Hendricks.” + </p> + <p> + “You're fluent enough in that back room of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “That's different.” + </p> + <p> + “The people we're going after don't want oratory. They want good, straight + talk, and a fellow behind it who doesn't believe the country's headed + straight for perdition. We've had enough calamity bowlers. You've got the + way out. The plain people. The hope of the nation. And, by God, you love + your country, and not for what you can get out of it. That's a thing a + fellow's got to have inside him. He can't pretend it and get it over.” + </p> + <p> + In the end the F.M. of M. capitulated. + </p> + <p> + It was late when Mr. Hendricks left. He went away with all the old + envelopes in his pockets covered with memoranda. + </p> + <p> + “Just wait a minute, son,” he would say. “I've got to make some speeches + myself. Repeat that, now. 'Sins of omission are as great, even greater + than sins of commission. The lethargic citizen throws open the gates to + revolution.' How do you spell 'lethargic'?” + </p> + <p> + But it was not Hendricks and his campaign that kept the F.M. of M. awake + until dawn. He sat in front of his soft coal fire, and when it died to + gray-white ash he still sat there, unconscious of the chill of the spring + night. Mostly he thought of Lily, and of Louis Akers, big and handsome, of + his insolent eyes and his self-indulgent mouth. Into that curious + whirlpool that is the mind came now and then other visions: His mother + asleep in her chair; the men in the War Department who had turned him + down; a girl at home who had loved him, and made him feel desperately + unhappy because he could not love her in return. Was love always like + that? If it was what He intended, why was it so often without + reciprocation? + </p> + <p> + He took to walking about the room, according to his old habit, and + obediently Jinx followed him. + </p> + <p> + It was four by his alarm clock when Edith knocked at his door. She was in + a wrapper flung over her nightgown, and with her hair flying loose she + looked childish and very small. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would go to bed,” she said, rather petulantly. “Are you sick, + or anything?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking, Edith. I'm sorry. I'll go at once. Why aren't you + asleep?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't sleep much lately.” Their voices were cautious. “I never go to + sleep until you're settled down, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Am I noisy?” + </p> + <p> + “It's not that.” + </p> + <p> + She went away, a drooping, listless figure that climbed the stairs slowly + and left him in the doorway, puzzled and uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + At six that morning Dan, tip-toeing downstairs to warm his left-over + coffee and get his own breakfast, heard a voice from Willy Cameron's room, + and opened the door. Willy Cameron was sitting up in bed with his eyes + closed and his arms extended, and was concluding a speech to a dream + audience in deep and oratorical tones. + </p> + <p> + “By God, it is time the plain people know their power.” + </p> + <p> + Dan grinned, and, his ideas of humor being rather primitive, he edged his + way into the room and filled the orator's sponge with icy water from the + pitcher. + </p> + <p> + “All right, old top,” he said, “but it is also time the plain people got + up.” + </p> + <p> + Then he flung the sponge and departed with extreme expedition. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + It was not until a week had passed after Louis Akers' visit to the house + that Lily's family learned of it. + </p> + <p> + Lily's state of mind during that week had been an unhappy one. She + magnified the incident until her nerves were on edge, and Grace, finding + her alternating between almost demonstrative affection and strange + aloofness, was bewildered and hurt. Mademoiselle watched her secretly, + shook her head, and set herself to work to find out what was wrong. It + was, in the end, Mademoiselle who precipitated the crisis. + </p> + <p> + Lily had not intended to make a secret of the visit, but as time went on + she found it increasingly difficult to tell about it. She should, she + knew, have spoken at once, and it would be hard to explain why she had + delayed. + </p> + <p> + She meant to go to her father with it. It was he who had forbidden her to + see Akers, for one thing. And she felt nearer to her father than to her + mother, always. Since her return she had developed an almost passionate + admiration for Howard, founded perhaps on her grandfather's attitude + toward him. She was strongly partizan, and she watched her father, day + after day, fighting his eternal battles with Anthony, sometimes winning, + often losing, but standing for a principle like a rock while the seas of + old Anthony's wrath washed over and often engulfed him. + </p> + <p> + She was rather wistful those days, struggling with her own perplexities, + and blindly reaching out for a hand to help her. But she could not bring + herself to confession. She would wander into her father's dressing-room + before she went to bed, and, sitting on the arm of his deep chair, would + try indirectly to get him to solve the problems that were troubling her. + But he was inarticulate and rather shy with her. He had difficulty, + sometimes, after her long absence at school and camp, in realizing her as + the little girl who had once begged for his neckties to make into doll + frocks. + </p> + <p> + Once she said: + </p> + <p> + “Could you love a person you didn't entirely respect, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Love is founded on respect, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + She pondered that. She felt that he was wrong. + </p> + <p> + “But it does happen, doesn't it?” she had persisted. + </p> + <p> + He had been accustomed to her searchings for interesting abstractions for + years. She used to talk about religion in the same way. So he smiled and + said: + </p> + <p> + “There is a sort of infatuation that is based on something quite + different.” + </p> + <p> + “On what?” + </p> + <p> + But he had rather floundered there. He could not discuss physical + attraction with her. + </p> + <p> + “We're getting rather deep for eleven o'clock at night, aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + After a short silence: + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind speaking about Aunt Elinor, father?” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear. Although it is rather a painful subject.” + </p> + <p> + “But if she is happy, why is it painful?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because Doyle is the sort of man he is.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—because he is unfaithful to her? Or was?” + </p> + <p> + He was very uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “That is one reason for it, of course. There are others.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he is faithful to her now, father? Don't you think, whatever a man + has been, if he really cares for a woman it makes him over?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, not always.” The subject was painful to him. He did not want + his daughter to know the sordid things of life. But he added, gallantly: + “Of course a good woman can do almost anything she wants with a man, if he + cares for her.” + </p> + <p> + She lay awake almost all night, thinking that over. + </p> + <p> + On the Sunday following Louis Akers' call Mademoiselle learned of it, by + the devious route of the servants' hall, and she went to Lily at once, + yearning and anxious, and in her best lace collar. She needed courage, and + to be dressed in her best gave her moral strength. + </p> + <p> + “It is not,” she said, “that they wish to curtail your liberty, Lily. But + to have that man come here, when he knows he is not wanted, to force + himself on you—” + </p> + <p> + “I need not have seen him. I wanted to see him.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle waved her hands despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “If they find it out!” she wailed. + </p> + <p> + “They will. I intend to tell them.” + </p> + <p> + But Mademoiselle made her error there. She was fearful of Grace's attitude + unless she forewarned her, and Grace, frightened, immediately made it a + matter of a family conclave. She had not intended to include Anthony, but + he came in on an excited speech from Howard, and heard it all. + </p> + <p> + The result was that instead of Lily going to them with her confession, she + was summoned, to find her family a unit for once and combined against her. + She was not to see Louis Akers again, or the Doyles. + </p> + <p> + They demanded a promise, but she refused. Yet even then, standing before + them, forced to a defiance she did not feel, she was puzzled as well as + angry. They were wrong, and yet in some strange way they were right, too. + She was Cardew enough to get their point of view. But she was Cardew + enough, too, to defy them. + </p> + <p> + She did it rather gently. + </p> + <p> + “You must understand,” she said, her hands folded in front of her, “that + it is not so much that I care to see the people you are talking about. It + is that I feel I have the right to choose my own friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends!” sneered old Anthony. “A third-rate lawyer, a—” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the point, grandfather. I went away to school when I was a + little girl. I have been away for five years. You cannot seem to realize + that I am a woman now, not a child. You bring me in here like a bad + child.” + </p> + <p> + In the end old Anthony had slammed out of the room. There were arguments + after that, tears on Grace's part, persuasion on Howard's; but Lily had + frozen against what she considered their tyranny, and Howard found in her + a sort of passive resistance, that drove him frantic. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said finally. “You have the arrogance of youth, and its + cruelty, Lily. And you are making us all suffer without reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think I might say that too, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in love with this man?” + </p> + <p> + “I have only seen him four times. If you would give me some reasons for + all this fuss—” + </p> + <p> + “There are things I cannot explain to you. You wouldn't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “About his moral character?” + </p> + <p> + Howard was rather shocked. He hesitated: + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me what they are?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, no!” he exploded. “The man's a radical, too. That in itself + ought to be enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't condemn a man for his political opinions.” + </p> + <p> + “Political opinions!” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” she said, looking at him with her direct gaze, “isn't there + some reason in what the radicals believe, father? Maybe it is a dream that + can't come true, but it is rather a fine dream, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Howard followed his father's example, and flung out of + the room. + </p> + <p> + After that Lily went, very deliberately and without secrecy, to the house + on Cardew Way. She found a welcome there, not so marked on her Aunt + Elinor's part as on Doyle's, but a welcome. She found approval, too, where + at home she had only suspicion and a solicitude based on anxiety. She + found a clever little circle there, and sometimes a cultured one; + underpaid, disgruntled, but brilliant professors from the college, a + journalist or two, a city councilman, even prosperous merchants, and now + and then strange bearded foreigners who were passing through the city and + who talked brilliantly of the vision of Lenine and the future of Russia. + </p> + <p> + She learned that the true League of Nations was not a political alliance, + but a union of all the leveled peoples of the world. She had no curiosity + as to how this leveling was to be brought about. All she knew was that + these brilliant dreamers made her welcome, and that instead of the dinner + chat at home, small personalities, old Anthony's comments on his food, her + father's heavy silence, here was world talk, vast in its scope, + idealistic, intoxicating. + </p> + <p> + Almost always Louis Akers was there; it pleased her to see how the other + men listened to him, deferred to his views, laughed at his wit. She did + not know the care exercised in selecting the groups she was to meet, the + restraints imposed on them. And she could not know that from her visits + the Doyle establishment was gaining a prestige totally new to it, an + almost respectability. + </p> + <p> + Because of those small open forums, sometimes noted in the papers, those + innocuous gatherings, it was possible to hold in that very room other + meetings, not open and not innocuous, where practical plans took the place + of discontented yearnings, and where the talk was more often of fighting + than of brotherhood. + </p> + <p> + She was, by the first of May, frankly infatuated with Louis Akers, yet + with a curious knowledge that what she felt was infatuation only. She + would lie wide-eyed at night and rehearse painfully the weaknesses she saw + so clearly in him. But the next time she saw him she would yield to his + arms, passively but without protest. She did not like his caresses, but + the memory of them thrilled her. + </p> + <p> + She was following the first uncurbed impulse of her life. Guarded and more + or less isolated from other youth, she had always lived a strong inner + life, purely mental, largely interrogative. She had had strong childish + impulses, sometimes of pure affection, occasionally of sheer contrariness, + but always her impulses had been curbed. + </p> + <p> + “Do be a little lady,” Mademoiselle would say. + </p> + <p> + She had got, somehow, to feel that impulse was wrong. It ranked with + disobedience. It partook of the nature of sin. People who did wicked + things did them on impulse, and were sorry ever after; but then it was too + late. + </p> + <p> + As she grew older, she added something to that. Impulses of the mind led + to impulses of the body, and impulse was wrong. Passion was an impulse of + the body. Therefore it was sin. It was the one sin one could not talk + about, so one was never quite clear about it. However, one thing seemed + beyond dispute; it was predominatingly a masculine wickedness. Good women + were beyond and above it, its victims sometimes, like those girls at the + camp, or its toys, like the sodden creatures in the segregated district + who hung, smiling their tragic smiles, around their doorways in the late + afternoons. + </p> + <p> + But good women were not like that. If they were, then they were not good. + They did not lie awake remembering the savage clasp of a man's arms, + knowing all the time that this was not love, but something quite + different. Or if it was love, that it was painful and certainly not + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she thought about Willy Cameron. He had had very exalted ideas + about love. He used to be rather oratorical about it. + </p> + <p> + “It's the fundamental principle of the universe,” he would say, waving his + pipe wildly. “But it means suffering, dear child. It feeds on martyrdom + and fattens on sacrifice. And as the h.c. of l. doesn't affect either + commodity, it lives forever.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it do, Willy, if it hasn't any martyrdom and sacrifice to feed + on? Do you mean to say that when it is returned and everybody is happy, it + dies?” + </p> + <p> + “Practically,” he had said. “It then becomes domestic contentment, and + expresses itself in the shape of butcher's bills and roast chicken on + Sundays.” + </p> + <p> + But that had been in the old care-free days, before Willy had thought he + loved her, and before she had met Louis. + </p> + <p> + She made a desperate effort one day to talk to her mother. She wanted, + somehow, to be set right in her own eyes. But Grace could not meet her + even half way; she did not know anything about different sorts of love, + but she did know that love was beautiful, if you met the right man and + married him. But it had to be some one who was your sort, because in the + end marriage was only a sort of glorified companionship. + </p> + <p> + The moral in that, so obviously pointed at Louis Akers, invalidated the + rest of it for Lily. + </p> + <p> + She was in a state of constant emotional excitement by that time, and it + was only a night or two after that she quarreled with her grandfather. + There had been a dinner party, a heavy, pompous affair, largely attended, + for although spring was well advanced, the usual May hegira to the country + or the coast had not yet commenced. Industrial conditions in and around + the city were too disturbed for the large employers to get away, and + following Lent there had been a sort of sporadic gayety, covering a vast + uneasiness. There was to be no polo after all. + </p> + <p> + Lily, doing her best to make the dinner a success, found herself + contrasting it with the gatherings at the Doyle house, and found it very + dull. These men, with their rigidity of mind, invited because they held + her grandfather's opinions, or because they kept their own convictions to + themselves, seemed to her of a bygone time. She did not see in them a safe + counterpoise to a people which in its reaction from the old order, was + ready to swing to anything that was new. She saw only a dozen or so + elderly gentlemen, immaculate and prosperous, peering through their + glasses after a world which had passed them by. + </p> + <p> + They were very grave that night. The situation was serious. The talk + turned inevitably to the approaching strike, and from that to a possible + attempt on the part of the radical element toward violence. The older men + pooh-poohed that, but the younger ones were uncertain. Isolated riotings, + yes. But a coordinated attempt against the city, no. Labour was greedy, + but it was law-abiding. Ah, but it was being fired by incendiary + literature. Then what were the police doing? They were doing everything. + They were doing nothing. The governor was secretly a radical. Nonsense. + The governor was saying little, but was waiting and watching. A general + strike was only another word for revolution. No. It would be attempted, + perhaps, but only to demonstrate the solidarity of labor. + </p> + <p> + After a time Lily made a discovery. She found that even into that + carefully selected gathering had crept a surprising spirit, based on the + necessity for concession; a few men who shared her father's convictions, + and went even further. One or two, even, who, cautiously for fear of old + Anthony's ears, voiced a belief that before long invested money would be + given a fixed return, all surplus profits to be divided among the workers, + the owners and the government. + </p> + <p> + “What about the lean years?” some one asked. + </p> + <p> + The government's share of all business was to form a contingent fund for + such emergencies, it seemed. + </p> + <p> + Lily listened attentively. Was it because they feared that if they did not + voluntarily divide their profits they would be taken from them? Enough for + all, and to none too much. Was that what they feared? Or was it a sense of + justice, belated but real? + </p> + <p> + She remembered something Jim Doyle had said: + </p> + <p> + “Labor has learned its weakness alone, its strength united. But capital + has not learned that lesson. It will not take a loss for a principle. It + will not unite. It is suspicious and jealous, so it fights its individual + battles alone, and loses in the end.” + </p> + <p> + But then to offset that there was something Willy Cameron had said one + day, frying doughnuts for her with one hand, and waving the fork about + with the other. + </p> + <p> + “Don't forget this, oh representative of the plutocracy,” he had said. + “Capital has its side, and a darned good one, too. It's got a sense of + responsibility to the country, which labor may have individually but + hasn't got collectively.” + </p> + <p> + These men at the table were grave, burdened with responsibility. Her + father. Even her grandfather. It was no longer a question of profit. It + was a question of keeping the country going. They were like men forced to + travel, and breasting a strong head wind. There were some there who would + turn, in time, and travel with the gale. But there were others like her + grandfather, obstinate and secretly frightened, who would refuse. Who + would, to change the figure, sit like misers over their treasure, an eye + on the window of life for thieves. + </p> + <p> + She went upstairs, perplexed and thoughtful. Some time later she heard the + family ascending, the click of her mother's high heels on the polished + wood of the staircase, her father's sturdy tread, and a moment or two + later her grandfather's slow, rather weary step. Suddenly she felt sorry + for him, for his age, for his false gods of power and pride, for the + disappointment she was to him. She flung open her door impulsively and + confronted him. + </p> + <p> + “I just wanted to say good-night, grandfather,” she said breathlessly. + “And that I am sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry for what?” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry—” she hesitated. “Because we see things so differently.” + </p> + <p> + Lily was almost certain that she caught a flash of tenderness in his eyes, + and certainly his voice had softened. + </p> + <p> + “You looked very pretty to-night,” he said. But he passed on, and she had + again the sense of rebuff with which he met all her small overtures at + that time. However, he turned at the foot of the upper flight. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to talk to you, Lily. Will you come upstairs?” + </p> + <p> + She had been summoned before to those mysterious upper rooms of his, where + entrance was always by request, and generally such requests presaged + trouble. But she followed him light-heartedly enough then. His rare + compliment had pleased and touched her. + </p> + <p> + The lamp beside his high-backed, almost throne-like chair was lighted, and + in the dressing-room beyond his valet was moving about, preparing for the + night. Anthony dismissed the man, and sat down under the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “You heard the discussion downstairs, to-night, Lily. Personally I + anticipate no trouble, but if there is any it may be directed at this + house.” He smiled grimly. “I cannot rely on my personal popularity to + protect me, I fear. Your mother obstinately refuses to leave your father, + but I have decided to send you to your grand-aunt Caroline.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Caroline! She doesn't care for me, grandfather. She never has.” + </p> + <p> + “That is hardly pertinent, is it? The situation is this: She intends to + open the Newport house early in June, and at my request she will bring you + out there. Next fall we will do something here; I haven't decided just + what.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden wild surge of revolt in Lily. She hated Newport. + Grand-aunt Caroline was a terrible person. She was like Anthony, + domineering and cruel, and with even less control over her tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I need not point out the advantages of the plan,” said Anthony suavely. + “There may be trouble here, although I doubt it. But in any event you will + have to come out, and this seems an excellent way.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a good thing to spend a lot of money now, grandfather, when there + is so much discontent?” + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony had a small jagged vein down the center of his forehead, and + in anger or his rare excitements it stood out like a scar. Lily saw it + now, but his voice was quiet enough. + </p> + <p> + “I consider it vitally important to the country to continue its social + life as before the war.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean, to show we are not frightened?” + </p> + <p> + “Frightened! Good God, nobody's frightened. It will take more than a + handful of demagogues to upset this government. Which brings me to a + subject you insist on reopening, by your conduct. I have reason to believe + that you are still going to that man's house.” + </p> + <p> + He never called Doyle by name if he could avoid it. + </p> + <p> + “I have been there several times.” + </p> + <p> + “After you were forbidden?” + </p> + <p> + His tone roused every particle of antagonism in her. She flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps because I was forbidden,” she said, slowly. “Hasn't it occurred + to you that I may consider your attitude very unjust?” + </p> + <p> + If she looked for an outburst from him it did not come. He stood for a + moment, deep in thought. + </p> + <p> + “You understand that this Doyle once tried to assassinate me?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that he tried to beat you, grandfather. I am sorry, but that was + long ago. And there was a reason for it, wasn't there?” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said, slowly. “What you are conveying to me, not too + delicately, is that you have definitely allied yourself with my enemies. + That, here in my own house, you intend to defy me. That, regardless of my + wishes or commands, while eating my food, you purpose to traffic with a + man who has sworn to get me, sooner or later. Am I correct?” + </p> + <p> + “I have only said that I see no reason why I should not visit Aunt + Elinor.” + </p> + <p> + “And that you intend to. Do I understand also that you refuse to go to + Newport?” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay I shall have to go, if you send me. I don't want to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I am glad we have had this little talk. It makes my own course + quite plain. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door for her and she went out and down the stairs. She felt + very calm, and as though something irrevocable had happened. With her + anger at her grandfather there was mixed a sort of pity for him, because + she knew that nothing he could do would change the fundamental situation. + Even if he locked her up, and that was possible, he would know that he had + not really changed things, or her. She felt surprisingly strong. All these + years that she had feared him, and yet when it came to a direct issue, he + was helpless! What had he but his wicked tongue, and what did that matter + to deaf ears? + </p> + <p> + She found her maid gone, and Mademoiselle waiting to help her undress. + Mademoiselle often did that. It made her feel still essential in Lily's + life. + </p> + <p> + “A long seance!” she said. “Your mother told me to-night. It is Newport?” + </p> + <p> + “He wants me to go. Unhook me, Mademoiselle, and then run off and go to + bed. You ought not to wait up like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Newport!” said Mademoiselle, deftly slipping off the white and silver + that was Lily's gown. “It will be wonderful, dear. And you will be a great + success. You are very beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to Newport, Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle broke into rapid expostulation, in French. Every girl wanted + to make her debut at Newport. Here it was all industry, money, dirt. Men + who slaved in offices daily. At Newport was gathered the real leisure + class of America, those who knew how to play, who lived. But Lily, taking + off her birthday pearls before the mirror of her dressing table, only + shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going,” she said. “I might as well tell you, for you'll hear + about it later. I have quarreled with him, very badly. I think he intends + to lock me up.” + </p> + <p> + “C'est impossible!” cried Mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + But a glance at Lily's set face in the mirror told her it was true. + </p> + <p> + She went away very soon, sadly troubled. There were bad times coming. The + old peaceful quiet days were gone, for age and obstinacy had met youth and + the arrogance of youth, and it was to be battle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + But there was a truce for a time. Lily came and went without interference, + and without comment. Nothing more was said about Newport. She motored on + bright days to the country club, lunched and played golf or tennis, rode + along the country lanes with Pink Denslow, accepted such invitations as + came her way cheerfully enough but without enthusiasm, and was very gentle + to her mother. But Mademoiselle found her tense and restless, as though + she were waiting. + </p> + <p> + And there were times when she disappeared for an hour or two in the + afternoons, proffering no excuses, and came back flushed, and perhaps a + little frightened. On the evenings that followed those small excursions + she was particularly gentle to her mother. Mademoiselle watched and waited + for the blow she feared was about to fall. She felt sure that the girl was + seeing Louis Akers, and that she would ultimately marry him. In her + despair she fell back on Willy Cameron and persuaded Grace to invite him + to dinner. It was meant to be a surprise for Lily, but she had telephoned + at seven o'clock that she was dining at the Doyles'. + </p> + <p> + It was that evening that Willy Cameron learned that Mr. Hendricks had been + right about Lily. He and Grace dined alone, for Howard was away at a + political conference, and Anthony had dined at his club. And in the + morning room after dinner Grace found herself giving him her confidence. + </p> + <p> + “I have no right to burden you with our troubles, Mr. Cameron,” Grace + said, “but she is so fond of you, and she has great respect for your + judgment. If you could only talk to her about the anxiety she is causing. + These Doyles, or rather Mr. Doyle—the wife is Mr. Cardew's sister—are + putting all sorts of ideas into her head. And she has met a man there, a + Mr. Akers, and—I'm afraid she thinks she is in love with him, Mr. + Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + He met her eyes gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Have you tried not forbidding her to go to the Doyles?” + </p> + <p> + “I have forbidden her nothing. It is her grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it seems to be Mr. Cardew who needs to be talked to, doesn't it?” he + said. “I wouldn't worry too much, Mrs. Cardew. And don't hold too tight a + rein.” + </p> + <p> + He was very down-hearted when he left. Grace's last words placed a heavy + burden on him. + </p> + <p> + “I simply feel,” she said, “that you can do more with her than we can, and + that if something isn't done she will ruin her life. She is too fine and + wonderful to have her do that.” + </p> + <p> + To picture Lily as willfully going her own gait at that period would be + most unfair. She was suffering cruelly; the impulse that led her to meet + Louis Akers against her family's wishes was irresistible, but there was a + new angle to her visits to the Doyle house. She was going there now, not + so much because she wished to go, as because she began to feel that her + Aunt Elinor needed her. + </p> + <p> + There was something mysterious about her Aunt Elinor, mysterious and very + sad. Even her smile had pathos in it, and she was smiling less and less. + She sat in those bright little gatherings, in them but not of them, + unbrilliant and very quiet. Sometimes she gave Lily the sense that like + Lily herself she was waiting. Waiting for what? + </p> + <p> + Lily had a queer feeling too, once or twice, that Elinor was afraid. But + again, afraid of what? Sometimes she wondered if Elinor Doyle was afraid + of her husband; certainly there were times, when they were alone, when he + dropped his unctuous mask and held Elinor up to smiling contempt. + </p> + <p> + “You can see what a clever wife I have,” he said once. “Sometimes I + wonder, Elinor, how you have lived with me so long and absorbed so little + of what really counts.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the difficulty,” Elinor had said quietly, “is because we differ + as to what really counts.” + </p> + <p> + Lily brought Elinor something she needed, of youth and irresponsible + chatter, and in the end the girl found the older woman depending on her. + To cut her off from that small solace was unthinkable. And then too she + formed Elinor's sole link with her former world, a world of dinners and + receptions, of clothes and horses and men who habitually dressed for + dinner, of the wealth and panoply of life. A world in which her interest + strangely persisted. + </p> + <p> + “What did you wear at the country club dance last night?” she would ask. + </p> + <p> + “A rose-colored chiffon over yellow. It gives the oddest effect, like an + Ophelia rose.” + </p> + <p> + Or: + </p> + <p> + “At the Mainwarings? George or Albert?” + </p> + <p> + “The Alberts.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they ever have any children?” + </p> + <p> + One day she told her about not going to Newport, and was surprised to see + Elinor troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Why won't you go? It is a wonderful house.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care to go away, Aunt Nellie.” She called her that sometimes. + </p> + <p> + Elinor had knitted silently for a little. Then: + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I say something to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Say anything you like, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I just—Lily, don't see too much of Louis Akers. Don't let him carry + you off your feet. He is good-looking, but if you marry him, you will be + terribly unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't enough to say, Aunt Nellie,” she said gravely. “You must have + a reason.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like him. He is a man of very impure life.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because he has never known any good women.” Lily rose valiantly to + his defense, but the words hurt her. “Suppose a good woman came into his + life? Couldn't she change him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Elinor said helplessly. “But there is something else. It + will cut you off from your family.” + </p> + <p> + “You did that. You couldn't stand it, either. You know what it's like.” + </p> + <p> + “There must be some other way. That is no reason for marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “But—suppose I care for him?” Lily said, shyly. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't live with him a year. There are different ways of caring, + Lily. There is such a thing as being carried away by a man's violent + devotion, but it isn't the violent love that lasts.” + </p> + <p> + Lily considered that carefully, and she felt that there was some truth in + it. When Louis Akers came to take her home that night he found her + unresponsive and thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Doyle's been talking to you,” he said at last. “She hates me, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should she hate you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, with all her vicissitudes, she's still a snob,” he said roughly. + “My family was nothing, so I'm nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “She wants me to be happy, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “And she thinks you won't be with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not at all sure that I would be.” She made an effort then to throw + off the strange bond that held her to him. “I should like to have three + months, Louis, to get a—well, a sort of perspective. I can't think + clearly when you're around, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm always around? Thanks.” But she had alarmed him. “You're hurting + me awfully, little girl,” he said, in a different tone. “I can't live + without seeing you, and you know it. You're all I have in life. You have + everything, wealth, friends, position. You could play for three months and + never miss me. But you are all I have.” + </p> + <p> + In the end she capitulated + </p> + <p> + Jim Doyle was very content those days. There had been a time when Jim + Doyle was the honest advocate of labor, a flaming partizan of those who + worked with their hands. But he had traveled a long road since then, from + dreamer to conspirator. Once he had planned to build up; now he plotted to + tear down. + </p> + <p> + His weekly paper had enormous power. To the workers he had begun to preach + class consciousness, and the doctrine of being true to their class. From + class consciousness to class hatred was but a step. Ostensibly he stood + for a vast equality, world wide and beneficent; actually he preached an + inflammable doctrine of an earth where the last shall be first. He + advocated the overthrow of all centralized government, and considered the + wages system robbery. Under it workers were slaves, and employers of + workers slave-masters. It was with such phrases that he had for months + been consistently inflaming the inflammable foreign element in and around + the city, and not the foreign element only. A certain percentage of + American-born workmen fell before the hammer-like blows of his words, + repeated and driven home each week. + </p> + <p> + He had no scruples, and preached none. He preached only revolt, and in + that revolt defiance of all existing laws. He had no religion; Christ to + him was a pitiful weakling, a historic victim of the same system that + still crucified those who fought the established order. In his new world + there would be no churches and no laws. He advocated bloodshed, arson, + sabotage of all sorts, as a means to an end. + </p> + <p> + Fanatic he was, but practical fanatic, and the more dangerous for that. He + had viewed the failure of the plan to capture a city in the northwest in + February with irritation, but without discouragement. They had acted + prematurely there and without sufficient secrecy. That was all. The plan + in itself was right. And he had watched the scant reports of the uprising + in the newspapers with amusement and scorn. The very steps taken to + suppress the facts showed the uneasiness of the authorities and left the + nation with a feeling of false security. + </p> + <p> + The people were always like that. Twice in a hundred years France had + experienced the commune. Each time she had been warned, and each time she + had waited too long. Ever so often in the life of every nation came these + periodic outbursts of discontent, economic in their origin, and ran their + course like diseases, contagious, violent and deadly. + </p> + <p> + The commune always followed long and costly wars. The people would dance, + but they revolted at paying the piper. + </p> + <p> + The plan in Seattle had been well enough conceived; the city light plant + was to have been taken over during the early evening of February 6, and at + ten o'clock that night the city was to have gone dark. But the reign of + terrorization that was to follow had revolted Jim Osborne, one of their + leaders, and from his hotel bedroom he had notified the authorities. Word + had gone out to “get” Osborne. + </p> + <p> + If it had not been for Osborne, and the conservative element behind him, a + flame would have been kindled at Seattle that would have burnt across the + nation. + </p> + <p> + Doyle watched Gompers cynically.. He considered his advocacy of patriotic + cooperation between labor and the Government during the war the skillful + attitude of an opportunist. Gompers could do better with public opinion + behind him than without it. He was an opportunist, riding the wave which + would carry him farthest. Playing both ends against the middle, and the + middle, himself. He saw Gompers, watching the release of tension that + followed the armistice and seeing the great child he had fathered, grown + now and conscious of its power,—watching it, fully aware that it had + become stronger than he. + </p> + <p> + Gompers, according to Doyle, had ceased to be a leader and become a + follower, into strange and difficult paths. + </p> + <p> + The war had made labor's day. No public move was made without consulting + organized labor, and a certain element in it had grown drunk with power. + To this element Doyle appealed. It was Doyle who wrote the carefully + prepared incendiary speeches, which were learned verbatim by his agents + for delivery. For Doyle knew one thing, and knew it well. Labor, thinking + along new lines, must think along the same lines. Be taught the same + doctrines. Be pushed in one direction. + </p> + <p> + There were, then, two Doyles, one the poseur, flaunting his outrageous + doctrines with a sardonic grin, gathering about him a small circle of the + intelligentsia, and too openly heterodox to be dangerous. And the other, + secretly plotting against the city, wary, cautious, practical and deadly, + waiting to overthrow the established order and substitute for it chaos. It + was only incidental to him that old Anthony should go with the rest. + </p> + <p> + But he found a saturnine pleasure in being old Anthony's Nemesis. He meant + to be that. He steadily widened the breach between Lily and her family, + and he watched the progress of her affair with Louis Akers with relish. He + had not sought this particular form of revenge, but Fate had thrust it + into his hands, and he meant to be worthy of the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + He was in no hurry. He had extraordinary patience, and he rather liked + sitting back and watching the slow development of his plans. It was like + chess; it was deliberate and inevitable. One made a move, and then sat + back waiting and watching while the other side countered it, or fell, with + slow agonizing, into the trap. + </p> + <p> + A few days after Lily had had her talk with Elinor, Doyle found a way to + widen the gulf between Lily and her grandfather. Elinor seldom left the + house, and Lily had done some shopping for her. The two women were in + Elinor's bedroom, opening small parcels, when he knocked and came in. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to disturb the serenity of this happy family group,” he + said, “but I am inclined to think that a certain gentleman, standing not + far from a certain young lady's taxicab, belongs to a certain department + of our great city government. And from his unflattering lack of interest + in me, that he—” + </p> + <p> + Elinor half rose, terrified. + </p> + <p> + “Not the police, Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” he said, in a tone Lily had never heard him use before. And to + Lily, more gently: “I am not altogether surprised. As a matter of fact, I + have known it for some time. Your esteemed grandfather seems to take a + deep interest in your movements these days.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that I am being followed?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so. You see, you are a very important person, and if you will + venture in the slums which surround the Cardew Mills, you should be + protected. At any time, for instance, Aunt Elinor and I may despoil you of + those pearls you wear so casually, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk like that, Jim,” Elinor protested. She was very pale. “Are you + sure he is watching Lily?” + </p> + <p> + He gave her an ugly look. + </p> + <p> + “Who else?” he inquired suavely. + </p> + <p> + Lily sat still, frozen with anger. So this was her grandfather's method of + dealing with her. He could not lock her up, but he would know, day by day, + and hour by hour, what she was doing. She could see him reading carefully + his wicked little notes on her day. Perhaps he was watching her mail, too. + Then when he had secured a hateful total he would go to her father, and + together they would send her away somewhere. Away from Louis Akers. If he + was watching her mail too he would know that Louis was in love with her. + They would rake up all the things that belonged in the past he was done + with, and recite them to her. As though they mattered now! + </p> + <p> + She went to the window and looked out. Yes, she had seen the detective + before. He must have been hanging around for days, his face unconsciously + impressing itself upon her. When she turned: + </p> + <p> + “Louis is coming to dinner, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind, Aunt Nellie, I think I'll dine out with him somewhere. + I want to talk to him alone.” + </p> + <p> + “But the detective—” + </p> + <p> + “If my grandfather uses low and detestable means to spy on me, Aunt + Nellie, he deserves what he gets, doesn't he?” + </p> + <p> + When Louis Akers came at half-past six, he found that she had been crying, + but she greeted him calmly enough, with her head held high. Elinor, + watching her, thought she was very like old Anthony himself just then. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Willy Cameron came home from a night class in metallurgy the evening after + the day Lily had made her declaration of independence, and let himself in + with his night key. There was a light in the little parlor, and Mrs. + Boyd's fragile silhouette against the window shade. + </p> + <p> + He was not surprised at that. She had developed a maternal affection for + him stronger than any she showed for either Edith or Dan. She revealed it + in rather touching ways, too, keeping accounts when he accused her of + gross extravagance, for she spent Dan's swollen wages wastefully; making + him coffee late at night, and forcing him to drink it, although it kept + him awake for hours; and never going to bed until he was safely closeted + in his room at the top of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + He came in as early as possible, therefore, for he had had Doctor Smalley + in to see her, and the result had been unsatisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “Heart's bad,” said the doctor, when they had retired to Willy's room. + “Leaks like a sieve. And there may be an aneurism. Looks like it, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there to do?” Willy asked, feeling helpless and extremely + shocked. “We might send her somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to do. Don't send her away; she'd die of loneliness. Keep her + quiet and keep her happy. Don't let her worry. She only has a short time, + I should say, and you can't lengthen it. It could be shortened, of course, + if she had a shock, or anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell the family?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use?” asked Doctor Smalley, philosophically. “If they fuss + over her she'll suspect something.” + </p> + <p> + As he went down the stairs he looked about him. The hall was fresh with + new paper and white paint, and in the yard at the rear, visible through an + open door, the border of annuals was putting out its first blossoms. + </p> + <p> + “Nice little place you've got here,” he observed. “I think I see the fine + hand of Miss Edith, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Willy Cameron, gravely. + </p> + <p> + He had made renewed efforts to get a servant after that, but the invalid + herself balked him. When he found an applicant Mrs. Boyd would sit, very + much the grande dame, and question her, although she always ended by + sending her away. + </p> + <p> + “She looked like the sort that would be running out at nights,” she would + say. Or: “She wouldn't take telling, and I know the way you like your + things, Willy. I could see by looking at her that she couldn't cook at + all.” + </p> + <p> + She cherished the delusion that he was improving and gaining flesh under + her ministrations, and there was a sort of jealousy in her care for him. + She wanted to yield to no one the right to sit proudly behind one of her + heavy, tasteless pies, and say: + </p> + <p> + “Now I made this for you, Willy, because I know country boys like pies. + Just see if that crust isn't nice.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say you made it!” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly did.” And to please her he would clear his plate. He rather + ran to digestive tablets those days, and Edith, surprising him with one at + the kitchen sink one evening, accused him roundly of hypocrisy. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why you stay anyhow,” she said, staring into the yard where + Jinx was burying a bone in the heliotrope bed. “The food's awful. I'm used + to it, but you're not.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't eat anything, Edith.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not hungry. Willy, I wish you'd go away. What right we got to tie you + up with us, anyhow? We're a poor lot. You're not comfortable and you know + it. D'you know where she is now?” + </p> + <p> + “She” in the vernacular of the house, was always Mrs. Boyd. + </p> + <p> + “She forgot to make your bed, and she's doing it now.” + </p> + <p> + He ran up the stairs, and forcibly putting Mrs. Boyd in a chair, made up + his own bed, awkwardly and with an eye on her chest, which rose and fell + alarmingly. It was after that that he warned Edith. + </p> + <p> + “She's not strong,” he said. “She needs care and—well, to be happy. + That's up to the three of us. For one thing, she must not have a shock. + I'm going to warn Dan against exploding paper bags; she goes white every + time.” + </p> + <p> + Dan was at a meeting, and Willy dried the supper dishes for Edith. She was + silent and morose. Finally she said: + </p> + <p> + “She's not very strong for me, Willy. You needn't look so shocked. She + loves Dan and you, but not me. I don't mind, you know. She doesn't know + it, but I do.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very proud of you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's different. You're right, though. Pride's her middle name. It + nearly killed her at first to take a roomer, because she is always + thinking of what the neighbors will say. That's why she hates me + sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't talk that way.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's true. That fool Hodge woman at the corner came here one day last + winter and filled her up with a lot of talk about me, and she's been queer + to me ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a very good daughter.” + </p> + <p> + She eyed him furtively. If only he wouldn't always believe in her! It was + almost worse than to have him know the truth. But he went along with his + head in the clouds; all women were good and all men meant well. Sometimes + it worked out; Dan, for instance. Dan was trying to live up to him. But it + was too late for her. Forever too late. + </p> + <p> + It was Willy Cameron's night off, and they went, the three of them, to the + movies that evening. To Mrs. Boyd the movies was the acme of dissipation. + She would, if warned in advance, spend the entire day with her hair in + curlers, and once there she feasted her starved romantic soul to + repletion. But that night the building was stifling, and without any + warning Edith suddenly got up and walked toward the door. There was + something odd about her walk and Willy followed her, but she turned on him + almost fiercely outside. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd let me alone,” she said, and then swayed a little. But she + did not faint. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going home,” she said. “You stay with her. And for heaven's sake + don't stare at me like that. I'm all right.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he had taken her home, Edith obstinately silent and sullen, + and Willy anxious and perplexed. At the door she said: + </p> + <p> + “Now go back to her, and tell her I just got sick of the picture. It was + the smells in that rotten place. They'd turn a pig's stomach.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd see a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with suspicious eyes. “If you run Smalley in on me I'll + leave home.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go to bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go to bed, all right.” + </p> + <p> + He had found things rather more difficult after that. Two women, both ill + and refusing to acknowledge it, and the prospect of Dan's being called out + by the union. Try as he would, he could not introduce any habit of thrift + into the family. Dan's money came and went, and on Saturday nights there + was not only nothing left, but often a deficit. Dan, skillfully worked + upon outside, began to develop a grievance, also, and on his rare evenings + at home or at the table he would voice his wrongs. + </p> + <p> + “It's just hand to mouth all the time,” he would grumble. “A fellow + working for the Cardews never gets ahead. What chance has he got, anyhow? + It takes all he can get to live.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron began to see that the trouble was not with Dan, but with his + women folks. And Dan was one of thousands. His wages went for food, too + much food, food spoiled in cooking. There were men, with able women behind + them, making less than Dan and saving money. + </p> + <p> + “Keep some of it out and bank it,” he suggested, but Dan sneered. + </p> + <p> + “And have a store bill a mile long! You know mother as well as I do. She + means well, but she's a fool with money.” + </p> + <p> + He counted his hours from the time he entered the mill until he left it, + but he revealed once that there were long idle periods when the heating + was going on, when he and the other men of the furnace crew sat and + waited, doing nothing. + </p> + <p> + “But I'm there, all right,” he said. “I'm not playing golf or riding in my + automobile. I'm on the job.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Willy Cameron, “I'm on the job about eleven hours a day, and + I wear out more shoe leather than trouser seats at that. But it doesn't + seem to hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a question of principle,” said Dan doggedly. “I've got no personal + kick, y'understand. Only I'm not getting anywhere, and something's got to + be done about it.” + </p> + <p> + So, on the evening of the day after Lily had made her declaration of + independence, Willy Cameron made his way rather heavily toward the Boyd + house. He was very tired. He had made one or two speeches for Hendricks + already, before local ward organizations, and he was working hard at his + night class in metallurgy. He had had a letter from his mother, too, and + he thought he read homesickness between the lines. He was not at all sure + where his duty lay, yet to quit now, to leave Mr. Hendricks and the Boyds + flat, seemed impossible. + </p> + <p> + He had tried to see Lily, too, and failed. She had been very gentle over + the telephone, but, attuned as he was to every inflection of her voice, he + had thought there was unhappiness in it. Almost despair. But she had + pleaded a week of engagements. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” she had said. “I'll call you up next week some time I have a + lot of things I want to talk over with you.” + </p> + <p> + But he knew she was avoiding him. + </p> + <p> + And he knew that he ought to see her. Through Mr. Hendricks he had learned + something more about Jim Doyle, the real Doyle and not the poseur, and he + felt she should know the nature of the accusations against him. Lily mixed + up with a band of traitors, Lily of the white flame of patriotism, was + unthinkable. She must not go to the house on Cardew Way. A man's loyalty + was like a woman's virtue; it could not be questionable. There was no + middle ground. + </p> + <p> + He heard voices as he entered the house, and to his amazement found Ellen + in the parlor. She was sitting very stiff on the edge of her chair, her + hat slightly crooked and a suit-case and brown paper bundle at her feet. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd was busily entertaining her. + </p> + <p> + “I make it a point to hold my head high,” she was saying. “I guess there + was a lot of talk when I took a boarder, but—Is that you, Willy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Ellen!” he said. “And looking as though headed for a journey!” + </p> + <p> + Ellen's face did not relax. She had been sitting there for an hour, + letting Mrs. Boyd's prattle pour over her like a rain, and thinking + meanwhile her own bitter thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “I am, Willy. Only I didn't wait for my money and the bank's closed, and I + came to borrow ten dollars, if you have it.” + </p> + <p> + That told him she was in trouble, but Mrs. Boyd, amiably hospitable and + reveling in a fresh audience, showed no sign of departing. + </p> + <p> + “She says she's been living at the Cardews,” she put in, rocking + valiantly. “I guess most any place would seem tame after that. I do hear, + Miss Hart, that Mrs. Howard Cardew only wears her clothes once and then + gives them away.” + </p> + <p> + She hitched the chair away from the fireplace, where it showed every + indication of going up the chimney. + </p> + <p> + “I call that downright wasteful,” she offered. + </p> + <p> + Willy glanced at his watch, which had been his father's, and bore the + inscription: “James Duncan Cameron, 1876” inside the case. + </p> + <p> + “Eleven o'clock,” he said sternly. “And me promising the doctor I'd have + you in bed at ten sharp every night! Now off with you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Willy—” + </p> + <p> + “—or I shall have to carry you,” he threatened. It was an old joke + between them, and she rose, smiling, her thin face illuminated with the + sense of being looked after. + </p> + <p> + “He's that domineering,” she said to Ellen, “that I can't call my soul my + own.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” Ellen said briefly. + </p> + <p> + Willy stood at the foot of the stairs and watched her going up. He knew + she liked him to do that, that she would expect to find him there when she + reached the top and looked down, panting slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” he called. “Both windows open. I shall go outside to see.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went back to Ellen, still standing primly over her Lares and + Penates. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me about it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I've left them. There has been a terrible fuss, and when Miss Lily left + to-night, I did too.” + </p> + <p> + “She left her home?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It's awful, Willy. I don't know all of it, but they've been having her + followed, or her grandfather did. I think there's a man in it. Followed! + And her a good girl! Her grandfather's been treating her like a dog for + weeks. We all noticed it. And to-night there was a quarrel, with all of + them at her like a pack of dogs, and her governess crying in the hall. I + just went up and packed my things.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did she go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I got her a taxicab, and she only took one bag. I went + right off to the housekeeper and told her I wouldn't stay, and they could + send my money after me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice the number of the taxicab?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of it.” + </p> + <p> + He saw it all with terrible distinctness, The man was Akers, of course. + Then, if she had left her home rather than give him up, she was really in + love with him. He had too much common sense to believe for a moment that + she had fled to Louis Akers' protection, however. That was the last thing + she would do. She would have gone to a hotel, or to the Doyle house. + </p> + <p> + “She shouldn't have left home, Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + “They drove her out, I tell you,” Ellen cried, irritably. “At least that's + what it amounted to. There are things no high-minded girl will stand. Can + you lend me some money, Willy?” + </p> + <p> + He felt in his pocket, producing a handful of loose money. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can have all I've got,” he said. “But you must not go + to-night, Miss Ellen. It's too late. I'll give you my room and go in with + Dan Boyd.” + </p> + <p> + And he prevailed over her protests, in the end. It was not until he saw + her settled there, hiding her sense of strangeness under an impassive + mask, that he went downstairs again and took his hat from its hook. + </p> + <p> + Lily must go back home, he knew. It was unthinkable that she should break + with her family, and go to the Doyles. He had too little + self-consciousness to question the propriety of his own interference, too + much love for her to care whether she resented that interference. And he + was filled with a vast anger at Jim Doyle. He saw in all this, somehow, + Doyle's work; how it would play into Doyle's plans to have Anthony + Cardew's granddaughter a member of his household. He would take her away + from there if he had to carry her. + </p> + <p> + He was a long time in getting to the mill district, and a longer time + still in finding Cardew Way. At an all-night pharmacy he learned which was + the house, and his determined movements took on a sort of uncertainty. It + was very late. Ellen had waited for him for some time. If Lily were in + that sinister darkened house across the street, the family had probably + retired. And for the first time, too, he began to doubt if Doyle would let + him see her. Lily herself might even refuse to see him. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, the urgency to get her away from there, if she were there, + prevailed at last, and a strip of light in an upper window, as from an + imperfectly fitting blind, assured him that some one was still awake in + the house. + </p> + <p> + He went across the street and opening the gate, strode up the walk. Almost + immediately he was confronted by the figure of a man who had been + concealed by the trunk of one of the trees. He lounged forward, huge, + menacing, yet not entirely hostile. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” demanded the figure blocking his way. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Mr. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + “What about?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell him that,” said Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” + </p> + <p> + “That's my business, too,” said Mr. Cameron, with disarming pleasantness. + </p> + <p> + “Damn private about your business, aren't you?” jeered the sentry, still + in cautious tones. “Well, you can write it down on a piece of paper and + mail it to him. He's busy now.” + </p> + <p> + “All I want to do,” persisted Mr. William Wallace Cameron, growing + slightly giddy with repressed fury, “is to ring that doorbell and ask him + a question. I'm going to do it, too.” + </p> + <p> + There was rather an interesting moment then, because the figure lunged at + Mr. Cameron, and Mr. Cameron, stooping low and swiftly, as well as to one + side, and at the same instant becoming a fighting Scot, which means a + cool-eyed madman, got in one or two rather neat effects with his fists. + The first took the shadow just below his breast-bone, and the left caught + him at that angle of the jaw where a small cause sometimes produces a + large effect. The figure sat down on the brick walk and grunted, and Mr. + Cameron, judging that he had about ten seconds' leeway, felt in the dazed + person's right hand pocket for the revolver he knew would be there, and + secured it. The sitting figure made puffing, feeble attempts to prevent + him, but there was no real struggle. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cameron himself was feeling extremely triumphant and as strong as a + lion. He was rather sorry no one had seen the affair, but that of course + was sub-conscious. And he was more cheerful than he had been for some + days. He had been up against so many purely intangible obstacles lately + that it was a relief to find one he could use his fists on. + </p> + <p> + “Now I'll have a few words with you, my desperate friend,” he said. “I've + got your gun, and I am hell with a revolver, because I've never fired one, + and there's a sort of homicidal beginner's luck about the thing. If you + move or speak, I'll shoot it into you first and when it's empty I'll choke + it down your throat and strangle you to death.” + </p> + <p> + After which ferocious speech he strolled up the path, revolver in hand, + and rang the doorbell. He put the weapon in his pocket then, but he kept + his hand upon it. He had read somewhere that a revolver was quite useable + from a pocket. There was no immediate answer to the bell, and he turned + and surveyed the man under the tree, faintly distinguishable in the + blackness. It had occurred to him that the number of guns a man may carry + is only limited to his pockets, which are about fifteen. + </p> + <p> + There were heavy, deliberate footsteps inside, and the door was flung + open. No glare of light followed it, however. There was a man there, + alarmingly tall, who seemed to stare at him, and then beyond him into the + yard. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you Mr. Doyle?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Cameron, Mr. Doyle. I have had a small difference with your + watch-dog, but he finally let me by.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I don't understand. I have no dog.” + </p> + <p> + “The sentry you keep posted, then.” Mr. Cameron disliked fencing. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Doyle, urbanely. “You have happened on one of my good + friends, I see. I have many enemies, Mr. Cameron—was that the name? + And my friends sometimes like to keep an eye on me. It is rather + touching.” + </p> + <p> + He was smiling, Mr. Cameron knew, and his anger rose afresh. + </p> + <p> + “Very touching,” said Mr. Cameron, “but if he bothers me going out you may + be short one friend. Mr. Doyle, Miss Lily Cardew left her home to-night. I + want to know if she is here.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sent by her family?” + </p> + <p> + “I have asked you if she is here.” + </p> + <p> + Jim Doyle apparently deliberated. + </p> + <p> + “My niece is here, although just why you should interest yourself—” + </p> + <p> + “May I see her?” + </p> + <p> + “I regret to say she has retired.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she would see me.” + </p> + <p> + A door opened into the hall, throwing a shaft of light on the wall across + and letting out the sounds of voices. + </p> + <p> + “Shut that door,” said Doyle, wheeling sharply. It was closed at once. + “Now,” he said, turning to his visitor, “I'll tell you this. My niece is + here.” He emphasized the “my.” “She has come to me for refuge, and I + intend to give it to her. You won't see her to-night, and if you come from + her people you can tell them she came here of her own free will, and that + if she stays it will be because she wants to. Joe!” he called into the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” came a sullen voice, after a moment's hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Show this gentleman out.” + </p> + <p> + All at once Willy Cameron was staring at a closed door, on the inner side + of which a bolt was being slipped. He felt absurd and futile, and not at + all like a lion. With the revolver in his hand, he went down the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Don't bother about the gate, Joe,” he said. “I like to open my own gates. + And—don't try any tricks, Joe. Get back to your kennel.” + </p> + <p> + Fearful mutterings followed that, but the shadow retired, and he made an + undisturbed exit to the street. Once on the street-car, the entire episode + became unreal and theatrical, with only the drag of Joe's revolver in his + coat pocket to prove its reality. + </p> + <p> + It was after midnight when, shoes in hand, he crept up the stairs to Dan's + room, and careful not to disturb him, slipped into his side of the double + bed. He did not sleep at all. He lay there, facing the fact that Lily had + delivered herself voluntarily into the hands of the enemy of her house, + and not only of her house, an enemy of the country. That conference that + night was a sinister one. Brought to book about it, Doyle might claim it + as a labor meeting. Organizers planning a strike might—did indeed—hold + secret conferences, but they did not post armed guards. They opened + business offices, and brought in the press men, and shouted their + grievances for the world to hear. + </p> + <p> + This was different. This was anarchy. And in every city it was going on, + this rallying of the malcontents, the idlers, the envious and the + dangerous, to the red flag. Organized labor gathered together the workmen, + but men like Doyle were organizing the riff-raff of the country. They + secured a small percentage of idealists and pseudo-intellectuals, and + taught them a so-called internationalism which under the name of + brotherhood was nothing but a raid on private property, a scheme of + pillage and arson. They allied with themselves imported laborers from + Europe, men with everything to gain and nothing to lose, and by magnifying + real grievances and inflaming them with imaginary ones, were building out + of this material the rank and file of an anarchist army. + </p> + <p> + And against it, what? + </p> + <p> + On toward morning he remembered something, and sat bolt upright in bed. + Edith had once said something about knowing of a secret telephone. She had + known Louis Akers very well. He might have told her what she knew, or have + shown her, in some braggart moment. A certain type of man was unable to + keep a secret from a woman. But that would imply—For the first time + he wondered what Edith's relations with Louis Akers might have been. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + The surface peace of the house on Cardew Way, the even tenor of her days + there, the feeling she had of sanctuary did not offset Lily's clear + knowledge that she had done a cruel and an impulsive thing. Even her + grandfather, whose anger had driven her away, she remembered now as a + feeble old man, fighting his losing battle in a changing world, and yet + with a sort of mistaken heroism hoisting his colors to the end. + </p> + <p> + She had determined, that first night in Elinor's immaculate guest room, to + go back the next day. They had been right at home, by all the tenets to + which they adhered so religiously. She had broken the unwritten law not to + break bread with an enemy of her house. She had done what they had + expressly forbidden, done it over and over. + </p> + <p> + “On top of all this,” old Anthony had said, after reading the tale of her + delinquencies from some notes in his hand, “you dined last night openly at + the Saint Elmo Hotel with this same Louis Akers, a man openly my enemy, + and openly of impure life.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe he is your enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “He is one of the band of anarchists who have repeatedly threatened to + kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lily, Lily!” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + But it was to her father, standing grave and still, that Lily replied. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe that, father. He is not a murderer. If you would let him + come here—” + </p> + <p> + “Never in this house,” said old Anthony, savagely crushing notes in his + hand. “He will come here over my dead body.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to condemn a man unheard.” + </p> + <p> + “Unheard! I tell you I know all about him. The man is an anarchist, a + rake, a—dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment, father,” Howard had put in, quietly. “Lily, do you care + for this man? I mean by that, do you want to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + “He has asked me. I have not given him any answer yet. I don't want to + marry a man my family will not receive. It wouldn't be fair to him.” + </p> + <p> + Which speech drove old Anthony into a frenzy, and led him to a bitterness + of language that turned Lily cold and obstinate. She heard him through, + with her father vainly trying to break in and save the situation; then she + said, coldly: + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you feel that way about it,” and turned and left the room. + </p> + <p> + She had made no plan, of course. She hated doing theatrical things. But + shut in her bedroom with the doors locked, Anthony's furious words came + back, his threats, his bitter sneers. She felt strangely alone, too. In + all the great house she had no one to support her. Mademoiselle, her + father and mother, even the servants, were tacitly aligned with the + opposition. Except Ellen. She had felt lately that Ellen, in her humble + way, had espoused her cause. + </p> + <p> + She had sent for Ellen. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the warmth of her greeting, Lily had felt a reserve in Aunt + Elinor's welcome. It was as though she was determinedly making the best of + a bad situation. + </p> + <p> + “I had to do it, Aunt Elinor,” she said, when they had gone upstairs. + There was a labor conference, Doyle had explained, being held below. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Elinor. “I understand. I'll pin back the curtains so you + can open your windows. The night air is so smoky here.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid mother will grieve terribly.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she will,” said Elinor, with her quiet gravity. “You are all she + has.” + </p> + <p> + “She has father. She cares more for him than for anything in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like some ice-water, dear?” + </p> + <p> + Some time later Lily roused from the light sleep of emotional exhaustion. + She had thought she heard Willy Cameron's voice. But that was absurd, of + course, and she lay back to toss uneasily for hours. Out of all her + thinking there emerged at last her real self, so long overlaid with her + infatuation. She would go home again, and make what amends she could. They + were wrong about Louis Akers, but they were right, too. + </p> + <p> + Lying there, as the dawn slowly turned her windows to gray, she saw him + with a new clarity. She had a swift vision of what life with him would + mean. Intervals of passionate loving, of boyish dependence on her, and + then—a new face. Never again was she to see him with such clearness. + He was incapable of loyalty to a woman, even though he loved her. He was + born to be a wanderer in love, an experimenter in passion. She even + recognized in him an incurable sensuous curiosity about women, that would + be quite remote from his love for her. He would see nothing wrong in his + infidelities, so long as she did not know and did not suffer. And he would + come back to her from them, watchful for suspicion, relieved when he did + not find it, and bringing her small gifts which would be actually burnt + offerings to his own soul. + </p> + <p> + She made up her mind to give him up. She would go home in the morning, + make her peace with them all, and never see Louis Akers again. + </p> + <p> + She slept after that, and at ten o'clock Elinor wakened her with the word + that her father was downstairs. Elinor was very pale. It had been a shock + to her to see her brother in her home after all the years, and a still + greater one when he had put his arm around her and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry, Howard,” she had said. The sight of him had set her lips + trembling. He patted her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Elinor,” he said. “Poor old girl! We're a queer lot, aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + “All but you.” + </p> + <p> + “An obstinate, do-and-be-damned lot,” he said slowly. “I'd like to see my + little girl, Nellie. We can't have another break in the family.” + </p> + <p> + He held Lily in much the same way when she came down, an arm around her, + his big shoulders thrown back as though he would guard her against the + world. But he was very uneasy and depressed, at that. He had come on a + difficult errand, and because he had no finesse he blundered badly. It was + some time before she gathered the full meaning of what he was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Cornelia's!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Or, if you and your mother want to go to Europe,” he put in hastily, + seeing her puzzled face, “I think I can arrange about passports.” + </p> + <p> + “Does that mean he won't have me back, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Lily, dear,” he said, hoarse with anxiety, “we simply have to remember + that he is a very old man, and that his mind is not elastic. He is feeling + very bitter now, but he will get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am to travel around waiting to be forgiven! I was ready to go back, + but—he won't have me. Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Only just for the present.” He threw out his hands. “I have tried + everything. I suppose, in a way, I could insist, make a point of it, but + there are other things to be considered. His age, for one thing, and then—the + strike. If he takes an arbitrary stand against me, no concession, no + argument with the men, it makes it very difficult, in many ways.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. It is wicked that any one man should have such power. The city, + the mills, his family—it's wicked.” But she was conscious of no deep + anger against Anthony now. She merely saw that between them, they, she and + her grandfather, had dug a gulf that could not be passed. And in Howard's + efforts she saw the temporizing that her impatient youth resented. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it is a final break, father,” she said. “And if he shuts me + out I must live my own life. But I am not going to run away to Aunt + Cornelia or Europe. I shall stay here.” + </p> + <p> + He had to be content with that. After all, his own sister—but he + wished it were not Jim Doyle's house. Not that he regarded Lily's shift + toward what he termed Bolshevism very seriously; all youth had a slant + toward socialism, and outgrew it. But he went away sorely troubled, after + a few words with Elinor Doyle alone. + </p> + <p> + “You don't look unhappy, Nellie.” + </p> + <p> + “Things have been much better the last few years.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he kind to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not always, Howard. He doesn't drink now, so that is over. And I think + there are no other women. But when things go wrong I suffer, of course.” + She stared past him toward the open window. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you leave him?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't go home, Howard. You know what it would be. Worse than Lily. + And I'm too old to start out by myself. My habits are formed, and besides, + I—” She checked herself. + </p> + <p> + “I could take a house somewhere for both of you, Lily and yourself,” he + said eagerly; “that would be a wonderful way out for everybody.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “We'll manage all right,” she said. “I'll make Lily comfortable and as + happy as I can.” + </p> + <p> + He felt that he had to make his own case clear, or he might have noticed + with what care she was choosing her words. His father's age, his + unconscious dependence on Grace, his certainty to retire soon from the + arbitrary stand he had taken. Elinor hardly heard him. Months afterwards + he was to remember the distant look in her eyes, a sort of half-frightened + determination, but he was self-engrossed just then. + </p> + <p> + “I can't persuade you?” he finished. + </p> + <p> + “No. But it is good of you to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You know what the actual trouble was last night? It was not her coming + here.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Howard.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let her marry him, Nellie! Better than any one, you ought to know + what that would mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew too, Howard, but I did it.” + </p> + <p> + In the end he went away not greatly comforted, to fight his own battles, + to meet committees from the union, and having met them, to find himself + facing the fact that, driven by some strange urge he could not understand, + the leaders wished a strike. There were times when he wondered what would + happen if he should suddenly yield every point, make every concession. + They would only make further demands, he felt. They seemed determined to + put him out of business. If only he could have dealt with the men + directly, instead of with their paid representatives, he felt that he + would get somewhere. But always, interposed between himself and his + workmen, was this barrier of their own erecting. + </p> + <p> + It was like representative government. It did not always represent. It, + too, was founded on representation in good faith; but there was not always + good faith. The union system was wrong. It was like politics. The few + handled the many. The union, with its all-powerful leaders, was only + another form of autocracy. It was Prussian. Yet the ideal behind the union + was sound enough. + </p> + <p> + He had no quarrel with the union. He puzzled it out, traveling + unaccustomed mental paths. The country was founded on liberty. All men + were created free and equal. Free, yes, but equal? Was not equality a long + way ahead along a thorny road? Men were not equal in the effort they made, + nor did equal efforts bring equal result. If there was class antagonism + behind all this unrest, would there not always be those who rose by dint + of ceaseless effort? Equality of opportunity, yes. Equality of effort and + result, no. + </p> + <p> + To destroy the chance of gain was to put a premium on inertia; to kill + ambition; to reduce the high without raising the low. + </p> + <p> + At noon on the same day Willy Cameron went back to the house on Cardew + Way, to find Lily composed and resigned, instead of the militant figure he + had expected. He asked her to go home, and she told him then that she had + no longer a home to go to. + </p> + <p> + “I meant to go, Willy,” she finished. “I meant to go this morning. But you + see how things are.” + </p> + <p> + He had stood for a long time, looking at nothing very hard. “I see,” he + said finally. “Of course your grandfather will be sorry in a day or two, + but he may not swallow his pride very soon.” + </p> + <p> + That rather hurt her. + </p> + <p> + “What about my pride?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You can afford to be magnanimous with all your life before you.” Then he + faced her. “Besides, Lily, you're wrong. Dead wrong. You've hurt three + people, and all you've got out of it has been your own way.” + </p> + <p> + “There is such a thing as liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know about that. And a good many crimes have been committed in + its name.” Even in his unhappiness he was controversial. “We are never + really free, so long as we love people, and they love us. Well—” He + picked up his old felt hat and absently turned down the brim; it was + raining. “I'll have to get back. I've overstayed my lunch hour as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't had any luncheon?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't hungry,” he had said, and had gone away, his coat collar turned + up against the shower. Lily had had a presentiment that he was taking + himself out of her life, that he had given her up as a bad job. She felt + depressed and lonely, and not quite so sure of herself as she had been; + rather, although she did not put it that way, as though something fine had + passed her way, like Pippa singing, and had then gone on. + </p> + <p> + She settled down as well as she could to her new life, making no plans, + however, and always with the stricken feeling that she had gained her own + point at the cost of much suffering. She telephoned to her mother daily, + broken little conversations with long pauses while Grace steadied her + voice. Once her mother hung up the receiver hastily, and Lily guessed that + her grandfather had come in. She felt very bitter toward him. + </p> + <p> + But she found the small oneage interesting, in a quiet way; to make her + own bed and mend her stockings—Grace had sent her a trunkful of + clothing; and on the elderly maid's afternoon out, to help Elinor with the + supper. She seldom went out, but Louis Akers came daily, and on the sixth + day of her stay she promised to marry him. + </p> + <p> + She had not meant to do it, but it was difficult to refuse him. She had + let him think she would do it ultimately, for one thing. And, however + clearly she might analyze him in his absences, his strange attraction + reasserted itself when he was near. But her acceptance of him was almost + stoical. + </p> + <p> + “But not soon, Louis,” she said, holding him off. “And—I ought to + tell you—I don't think we will be happy together.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—” she found it hard to put into words—“because love + with you is a sort of selfish thing, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll lie down now and let you tramp on me,” he said exultantly, and held + out his arms. But even as she moved toward him she voiced her inner + perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “I never seem to be able to see myself married to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the sooner the better, so you can.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't like being married, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all you know about it, Lily. I'm mad about you. I'm mad for you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a new air of maturity about Lily those days, and sometimes a + sort of aloofness that both maddened him and increased his desire to + possess her. She went into his arms, but when he held her closest she + sometimes seemed farthest away. + </p> + <p> + “I want you now.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to be engaged a long time, Louis. We have so much to learn about + each other.” + </p> + <p> + He thought that rather childish. But whatever had been his motive in the + beginning, he was desperately in love with her by that time, and because + of that he frightened her sometimes. He was less sure of himself, too, + even after she had accepted him, and to prove his continued dominance over + her he would bully her. + </p> + <p> + “Come here,” he would say, from the hearth rug, or by the window. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Come here.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she went, to be smothered in his hot embrace; sometimes she did + not. + </p> + <p> + But her infatuation persisted, although there were times when his + inordinate vitality and his caresses gave her a sense of physical + weariness, times when sheer contact revolted her. He seemed always to want + to touch her. Fastidiously reared, taught a sort of aloofness from + childhood, Lily found herself wondering if all men in love were like that, + always having to be held off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + Ellen was staying at the Boyd house. She went downstairs the morning after + her arrival, and found the bread—bakery bread—toasted and + growing cold on the table, while a slice of ham, ready to be cooked, was + not yet on the fire, and Mrs. Boyd had run out to buy some milk. + </p> + <p> + Dan had already gone, and his half-empty cup of black coffee was on the + kitchen table. Ellen sniffed it and raised her eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + She rolled up her sleeves, put the toast in the oven and the ham in the + frying pan, with much the same grimness with which she had sat the night + before listening to Mrs. Boyd's monologue. If this was the way they looked + after Willy Cameron, no wonder he was thin and pale. She threw out the + coffee, which she suspected had been made by the time-saving method of + pouring water on last night's grounds, and made a fresh pot of it. After + that she inspected the tea towels, and getting a tin dishpan, set them to + boil in it on the top of the range. + </p> + <p> + “Enough to give him typhoid,” she reflected. + </p> + <p> + Ellen disapproved of her surroundings; she disapproved of any woman who + did not boil her tea towels. And when Edith came down carefully dressed + and undeniably rouged she formed a disapproving opinion of that young + lady, which was that she was trying to land Willy Cameron, and that he + would be better dead than landed. + </p> + <p> + She met Edith's stare of surprise with one of thinly veiled hostility. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Edith. “When did you blow in, and where from?” + </p> + <p> + “I came to see Mr. Cameron last night, and he made me stay.” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Willy's! Well, I guess you needn't pay for your breakfast by + cooking it. Mother's probably run out for something—she never has + anything in the house—and is talking somewhere. I'll take that + fork.” + </p> + <p> + But Ellen proceeded to turn the ham. + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it,” she said. “You might spoil your hands.” + </p> + <p> + But Edith showed no offense. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” she acceded indifferently. “If you're going to eat it you'd + better cook it. We're rotten housekeepers here.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think, if you're going to keep boarders, somebody would learn to + cook. Mr. Cameron's mother is the best housekeeper in town, and he was + raised on good food and plenty of it.” + </p> + <p> + Her tone was truculent. Ellen's world, the world of short hours and easy + service, of the decorum of the Cardew servants' hall, of luxury and + dignity and good pay, had suddenly gone to pieces about her. She was + feeling very bitter, especially toward a certain chauffeur who had + prophesied the end of all service. He had made the statement that before + long all people would be equal. There would be no above and below-stairs, + no servants' hall. + </p> + <p> + “They'll drive their own cars, then, damn them,” he had said once, “if + they can get any to drive. And answer their own bells, if they've got any + to ring. And get up and cook their own breakfasts.” + </p> + <p> + “Which you won't have any to cook,” Grayson had said irritably, from the + head of the long table. “Just a word, my man. That sort of talk is + forbidden here. One word more and I go to Mr. Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur had not sulked, however. “All right, Mr. Grayson,” he said + affably. “But I can go on thinking, I daresay. And some of these days + you'll be wishing you'd climbed on the band wagon before it's too late.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen, turning the ham carefully, was conscious that her revolt had been + only partially on Lily's account. It was not so much Lily's plight as the + abuse of power, although she did not put it that way, that had driven her + out. Ellen then had carried out her own small revolution, and where had it + put her? She had lost a good home, and what could she do? All she knew was + service. + </p> + <p> + Edith poured herself a cup of coffee, and taking a piece of toast from the + oven, stood nibbling it. The crumbs fell on the not over-clean floor. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you go into the dining-room to eat?” Ellen demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Got out of the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?” Edith asked. “Willy's + bed, I suppose. I'm not hungry, and I always eat breakfast like this. I + wish he would hurry. We'll be late.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen stared. It was her first knowledge that this girl, this painted + hussy, worked in Willy's pharmacy, and her suspicions increased. She had a + quick vision, as she had once had of Lily, of Edith in the Cameron house; + Edith reading or embroidering on the front porch while Willy's mother + slaved for her; Edith on the same porch in the evening, with all the boys + in town around her. She knew the type, the sort that set an entire village + by the ears and in the end left home and husband and ran away with a + traveling salesman. + </p> + <p> + Ellen had already got Willy married and divorced when Mrs. Boyd came in. + She carried the milk pail, but her lips were blue and she sat down in a + chair and held her hand to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “I'm that short of breath!” she gasped. “I declare I could hardly get + back.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you some coffee, right off.” + </p> + <p> + When Willy Cameron had finished his breakfast she followed him into the + parlor. His pallor was not lost on her, or his sunken eyes. He looked + badly fed, shabby, and harassed, and he bore the marks of his sleepless + night on his face. “Are you going to stay here?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, Miss Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother would break her heart if she knew the way you're living.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very comfortable. We've tried to get a ser—” He changed color + at that. In the simple life of the village at home a woman whose only + training was the town standard of good housekeeping might go into service + in the city and not lose caste. But she was never thought of as a servant. + “—help,” he substituted. “But we can't get any one, and Mrs. Boyd is + delicate. It is heart trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Does that girl work where you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Is she engaged to you? She calls you Willy.” He smiled into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it, or thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what she's thinking? It's all over her. It's Willy this + and Willy that—and men are such fools.” + </p> + <p> + There flashed into his mind certain things that he had tried to forget; + Edith at his doorway, with that odd look in her eyes; Edith never going to + sleep until he had gone to bed; and recently, certain things she had said, + that he had passed over lightly and somewhat uncomfortably. + </p> + <p> + “That's ridiculous, Miss Ellen. But even if it were true, which it isn't, + don't you think it would be rather nice of her?” He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I do not. I heard you going out last night, Willy. Did you find her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is at the Doyles'. I didn't see her.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll finish it,” Ellen prophesied, somberly. She glanced around the + parlor, at the dust on the furniture, at the unwashed baseboard, at the + unwound clock on the mantel shelf. + </p> + <p> + “If you're going to stay here I will,” she announced abruptly. “I owe that + much to your mother. I've got some money. I'll take what they'd pay some + foreigner who'd throw out enough to keep another family.” Then, seeing + hesitation in his eyes: “That woman's sick, and you've got to be looked + after. I could do all the work, if that—if the girl would help in + the evenings.” + </p> + <p> + He demurred at first. She would find it hard. They had no luxuries, and + she was accustomed to luxury. There was no room for her. But in the end he + called Edith and Mrs. Boyd, and was rather touched to find Edith offering + to share her upper bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “It's a hole,” she said, “cold in winter and hot as blazes in summer. But + there's room for a cot, and I guess we can let each other alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd let me move up there, Edith,” he said for perhaps the + twentieth time since he had found out where she slept, “and you would take + my room.” + </p> + <p> + “No chance,” she said cheerfully. “Mother would raise the devil if you + tried it.” She glanced at Ellen's face. “If that word shocks you, you're + due for a few shocks, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “The way you talk is your business, not mine,” said Ellen austerely. + </p> + <p> + When they finally departed on a half-run Ellen was established as a + fixture in the Boyd house, and was already piling all the cooking utensils + into a wash boiler and with grim efficiency was searching for lye with + which to clean them. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks later, the end of June, the strike occurred. It was not, in + spite of predictions, a general walk-out. Some of the mills, particularly + the smaller plants, did not go down at all, and with reduced forces kept + on, but the chain of Cardew Mills was closed. There was occasional rioting + by the foreign element in outlying districts, but the state constabulary + handled it easily. + </p> + <p> + Dan was out of work, and the loss of his pay was a serious matter in the + little house. He had managed to lay by a hundred dollars, and Willy + Cameron had banked it for him, but there was a real problem to be faced. + On the night of the day the Cardew Mills went down Willy called a meeting + of the household after supper, around the dining room table. He had been + in to see Mr. Hendricks, who had been laid up with bronchitis, and Mr. + Hendricks had predicted a long strike. + </p> + <p> + “The irresistible force and the immovable body, son,” he said. “They'll + stay set this time. And unless I miss my guess that is playing Doyle's + hand for him, all right. His chance will come when the men have used up + their savings and are growing bitter. Every strike plays into the hands of + the enemy, son, and they know it. The moment production ceases prices go + up, and soon all the money in the world won't pay them wages enough to + live on.” + </p> + <p> + He had a store of homely common sense, and a gift of putting things into + few words. Willy Cameron, going back to the little house that evening, + remembered the last thing he had said. + </p> + <p> + “The only way to solve this problem of living,” he said, “is to see how + much we can work, and not how little. Germany's working ten hours a day, + and producing. We're talking about six, and loafing and fighting while we + talk.” + </p> + <p> + So Willy went home and called his meeting, and knowing Mrs. Boyd's regard + for figures, set down and added or subtracted, he placed a pad and pencil + on the table before him. It was an odd group: Dan sullen, resenting the + strike and the causes that had led to it; Ellen, austere and competent; + Mrs. Boyd with a lace fichu pinned around her neck, now that she had + achieved the dignity of hired help, and Edith. Edith silent, morose and + fixing now and then rather haggard eyes on Willy Cameron's unruly hair. + She seldom met his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “First of all,” said Willy, “we'll take our weekly assets. Of course Dan + will get something temporarily, but we'll leave that out for the present.” + </p> + <p> + The weekly assets turned out to be his salary and Edith's. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Willy,” said Mrs. Boyd, “you can't turn all your money over to us.” + </p> + <p> + “You are all the family I have just now. Why not? Anyhow, I'll have to + keep out lunch money and carfare, and so will Edith. Now as to expenses.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen had made a great reduction in expenses, but food was high. And there + was gas and coal, and Dan's small insurance, and the rent. There was + absolutely no margin, and a sort of silence fell. + </p> + <p> + “What about your tuition at night school?” Edith asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Spring term ended this week.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said there was a summer one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you about that,” Willy said, feeling for words. “I'm + going to be busy helping Mr. Hendricks in his campaign. Then next fall—well, + I'll either go back or Hendricks will make me chief of police, or + something.” He smiled around the table. “I ought to get some sort of graft + out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” Edith protested. “He mustn't sacrifice himself for us. What are + we to him anyhow? A lot of stones hung around his neck. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + It was after Willy had declared that this was his home now, and he had a + right to help keep it going, and after Ellen had observed that she had + some money laid by and would not take any wages during the strike, that + the meeting threatened to become emotional. Mrs. Boyd shed a few tears, + and as she never by any chance carried a handkerchief, let them flow over + her fichu. And Dan shook Willy's hand and Ellen's, and said that if he'd + had his way he'd be working, and not sitting round like a stiff letting + other people work for him. But Edith got up and went out into the little + back garden, and did not come back until the meeting was both actually and + morally broken up. When she heard Dan go out, and Ellen and Mrs. Boyd go + upstairs, chatting in a new amiability brought about by trouble and + sacrifice, she put on her hat and left the house. + </p> + <p> + Ellen, rousing on her cot in Edith's upper room, heard her come in some + time later, and undress and get into bed. Her old suspicion of the girl + revived, and she sat upright. + </p> + <p> + “Where I come from girls don't stay out alone until all hours,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let me alone.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen fell asleep, and in her sleep she dreamed that Mrs. Boyd had taken + sick and was moaning. The moaning was terrible; it filled the little + house. Ellen wakened suddenly. It was not moaning; it was strange, heavy + breathing, strangling; and it came from Edith's bed. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sick?” she called, and getting up, her knees hardly holding her, + she lighted the gas at its unshaded bracket on the wall and ran to the + other bed. + </p> + <p> + Edith was lying there, her mouth open, her lips bleached and twisted. Her + stertorous breathing filled the room, and over all was the odor of + carbolic acid. + </p> + <p> + “Edith, for God's sake!” + </p> + <p> + The girl was only partially conscious. Ellen ran down the stairs and into + Willy's room. + </p> + <p> + “Get up,” she cried, shaking him. “That girl's killed herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Edith. Carbolic acid.” + </p> + <p> + Even then he remembered her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let her hear anything, It will kill her,” he said, and ran up the + stairs. Almost immediately he was down again, searching for alcohol; he + found a small quantity and poured that down the swollen throat. He roused + Dan then, and sent him running madly for Doctor Smalley, with a warning to + bring him past Mrs. Boyd's door quietly, and to bring an intubation set + with him in case her throat should close. Then, on one of his innumerable + journeys up and down the stairs he encountered Mrs. Boyd herself, in her + nightgown, and terrified. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Willy?” she asked. “Is it a fire?” + </p> + <p> + “Edith is sick. I don't want you to go up. It may be contagious. It's her + throat.” + </p> + <p> + And from that Mrs. Boyd deduced diphtheria; she sat on the stairs in her + nightgown, a shaken helpless figure, asking countless questions of those + that hurried past. But they reassured her, and after a time she went + downstairs and made a pot of coffee. Ensconced with it in the lower hall, + and milk bottle in hand, she waylaid them with it as they hurried up and + down. + </p> + <p> + Upstairs the battle went on. There were times when the paralyzed muscles + almost stopped lifting the chest walls, when each breath was a new + miracle. Her throat was closing fast, too, and at eight o'clock came a + brisk young surgeon, and with Willy Cameron's assistance, an operation was + performed. After that, and for days, Edith breathed through a tube in her + neck. + </p> + <p> + The fiction of diphtheria was kept up, and Mrs. Boyd, having a childlike + faith in medical men, betrayed no anxiety after the first hour or two. She + saw nothing incongruous in Ellen going down through the house while she + herself was kept out of that upper room where Edith lay, conscious now but + sullen, disfigured, silent. She was happy, too, to have her old domain + hers again, while Ellen nursed; to make again her flavorless desserts, her + mounds of rubberlike gelatine, her pies. She brewed broths daily, and when + Edith could swallow she sent up the results of hours of cooking which + Ellen cooled, skimmed the crust of grease from the top, and heated again + over the gas flame. + </p> + <p> + She never guessed the conspiracy against her. + </p> + <p> + Between Ellen and Edith there was no real liking. Ellen did her duty, and + more; got up at night; was gentle with rather heavy hands; bathed the girl + and brushed and braided her long hair. But there were hours during that + simulated quarantine when a brooding silence held in the sick-room, and + when Ellen, turning suddenly, would find Edith's eyes on her, full of + angry distrust. At those times Ellen was glad that Edith could not speak. + </p> + <p> + For at the end of a few days Ellen knew, and Edith knew she knew. + </p> + <p> + Edith could not speak. She wrote her wants with a stub of pencil, or made + signs. One day she motioned toward a mirror and Ellen took it to her. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be frightened,” she said. “When those scabs come off the + doctor says you'll hardly be marked at all.” + </p> + <p> + But Edith only glanced at herself, and threw the mirror aside. + </p> + <p> + Another time she wrote: “Willy?” + </p> + <p> + “He's all right. They've got a girl at the store to take your place, but I + guess you can go back if you want to.” Then, seeing the hunger in the + girl's eyes: “He's out a good bit these nights. He's making speeches for + that Mr. Hendricks. As if he could be elected against Mr. Cardew!” + </p> + <p> + The confinement told on Ellen. She would sit for hours, wondering what had + become of Lily. Had she gone back home? Was she seeing that other man? + Perhaps her valiant loyalty to Lily faded somewhat during those days, + because she began to guess Willy Cameron's secret. If a girl had no eyes + in her head, and couldn't see that Willy Cameron was the finest gentleman + who ever stepped in shoe leather, that girl had something wrong about her. + </p> + <p> + Then, sometimes, she wondered how Edith's condition was going to be kept + from her mother. She had measured Mrs. Boyd's pride by that time, her + almost terrible respectability. She rather hoped that the sick woman would + die some night, easily and painlessly in her sleep, because death was + easier than some things. She liked Mrs. Boyd; she felt a slightly + contemptuous but real affection for her. + </p> + <p> + Then one night Edith heard Willy's voice below, and indicated that she + wanted to see him. He came in, stooping under the sheet which Mrs. Boyd + had heard belonged in the doorway of diphtheria, and stood looking down at + her. His heart ached. He sat down on the bed beside her and stroked her + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little girl,” he said. “We've got to make things very happy for her, + to make up for all this!” + </p> + <p> + But Edith freed her hand, and reaching out for paper and pencil stub, + wrote something and gave it to Ellen. + </p> + <p> + Ellen read it. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to, Edith. You wait and do it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + But Edith made an insistent gesture, and Ellen, flushed and wretched, had + to tell. He made no sign, but sat stroking Edith's hand, only he stared + rather fixedly at the wall, conscious that the girl's eyes were watching + him for a single gesture of surprise or anger. He felt no anger, only a + great perplexity and sadness, an older-brother grief. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, little sister,” he said, and did the kindest thing he could + think of, bent over and kissed her on the forehead. “Of course I know how + you feel, but it is a big thing to bear a child, isn't it? It is the only + miracle we have these days.” + </p> + <p> + “A child with no father,” said Ellen, stonily. + </p> + <p> + “Even then,” he persisted, “it's a big thing. We would have this one come + under happier circumstances if we could, but we will welcome and take care + of it, anyhow. A child's a child, and mighty valuable. And,” he added—“I + appreciate your wanting me to know, Edith.” + </p> + <p> + He stayed a little while after that, but he read aloud, choosing a + humorous story and laughing very hard at all the proper places. In the end + he brought a faint smile to Edith's blistered lips, and a small lift to + the cloud that hung over her now, day and night. + </p> + <p> + He made a speech that night, and into it he put all of his aching, anxious + soul; Edith and Dan and Lily were behind it. Akers and Doyle. It was at a + meeting in the hall over the city market, and the audience a new men's + non-partisan association. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” he said, “I am asked what it is that we want, we men who are + standing behind Hendricks as an independent candidate.” He was supposed to + bring Mr. Hendricks' name in as often as possible. “I answer that we want + honest government, law and order, an end to this conviction that the + country is owned by the unions and the capitalists, a fair deal for the + plain people, which is you and I, my friends. But I answer still further, + we want one thing more, a greater thing, and that thing we shall have. All + through this great country to-night are groups of men hoping and planning + for an incredible thing. They are not great in numbers; they are, however, + organized, competent, intelligent and deadly. They plow the land with + discord to sow the seeds of sedition. And the thing they want is civil + war. + </p> + <p> + “And against them, what? The people like you and me; the men with homes + they love; the men with little businesses they have fought and labored to + secure; the clerks; the preachers; the doctors, the honest laborers, the + God-fearing rich. I tell you, we are the people, and it is time we knew + our power. + </p> + <p> + “And this is the thing we want, we the people; the greater thing, the + thing we shall have; that this government, this country which we love, + which has three times been saved at such cost of blood, shall survive.” + </p> + <p> + It was after that speech that he met Pink Denslow for the first time. A + square, solidly built young man edged his way through the crowd, and shook + hands with him. + </p> + <p> + “Name's Denslow,” said Pink. “Liked what you said. Have you time to run + over to my club with me and have a high-ball and a talk?” + </p> + <p> + “I've got all the rest of the night.” + </p> + <p> + “Right-o!” said Pink, who had brought back a phrase or two from the + British. + </p> + <p> + It was not until they were in the car that Pink said: + </p> + <p> + “I think you're a friend of Miss Cardew's, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know Miss Cardew,” said Willy Cameron, guardedly. And they were both + rather silent for a time. + </p> + <p> + That night proved to be a significant one for them both, as it happened. + They struck up a curious sort of friendship, based on a humble admiration + on Pink's part, and with Willy Cameron on sheer hunger for the society of + his kind. He had been suffering a real mental starvation. He had been + constantly giving out and getting nothing in return. + </p> + <p> + Pink developed a habit of dropping into the pharmacy when he happened to + be nearby. He was rather wistfully envious of that year in the camp, when + Lily Cardew and Cameron had been together, and at first it was the bond of + Lily that sent him to the shop. In the beginning the shop irritated him, + because it seemed an incongruous background for the fiery young orator. + But later on he joined the small open forum in the back room, and perhaps + for the first time in his idle years he began to think. He had made the + sacrifice of his luxurious young life to go to war, had slept in mud and + risked his body and been hungry and cold and often frightfully homesick. + And now it appeared that a lot of madmen were going to try to undo all + that he had helped to do. He was surprised and highly indignant. Even a + handful of agitators, it seemed, could do incredible harm. + </p> + <p> + One night he and Willy Cameron slipped into a meeting of a Russian + Society, wearing old clothes, which with Willy was not difficult, and + shuffling up dirty stairs without molestation. They came away thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like it's more than talk,” Pink said, after a time. + </p> + <p> + “They're not dangerous,” Willy Cameron said. “That's talk. But it shows a + state of mind. The real incendiaries don't show their hand like that.” + </p> + <p> + “You think it's real, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Some boils don't come to a head. But most do.” + </p> + <p> + It was after a mob of foreigners had tried to capture the town of + Donesson, near Pittsburgh, and had been turned back by a hastily armed + body of its citizens, doctors, lawyers and shop-keepers, that a nebulous + plan began to form in Willy Cameron's active mind. + </p> + <p> + If one could unite the plain people politically, or against a foreign war, + why could they not be united against an enemy at home? The South had had a + similar problem, and the result was the Ku Klux Klan. + </p> + <p> + The Chief of Police was convinced that a plan was being formulated to + repeat the Seattle experiment against the city. The Mayor was dubious. He + was not a strong man; he had a conviction that because a thing never had + happened it never could happen. + </p> + <p> + “The mob has done it before,” urged the Chief of Police one day. “They + took Paris, and it was damned disagreeable.” + </p> + <p> + The Mayor was a trifle weak in history. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they did,” he agreed. “But this is different. This is America.” + </p> + <p> + He was rather uneasy after that. It had occurred to him that the Chief + might have referred to Paris, Illinois. + </p> + <p> + Now and then Pink coaxed Willy Cameron to his club, and for those rare + occasions he provided always a little group of men like themselves, young, + eager, loyal, and struggling with the new problems of the day. In this + environment Willy Cameron received as well as gave. + </p> + <p> + Most of the men had been in the army, and he found in them an eager + anxiety to face the coming situation and combat it. In the end the nucleus + of the new Vigilance Committee was formed there. + </p> + <p> + Not immediately. The idea was of slow growth even with its originator, and + it only reached the point of speech when Mr. Hendricks stopped in one day + at the pharmacy and brought a bundle which he slapped down on the + prescription desk. + </p> + <p> + “Read that dynamite,” he said, his face flushed and lowering. “A man I + know got it translated for me. Read it and then tell me whether I'm an + alarmist and a plain fool, or if it means trouble around here.” + </p> + <p> + There was no question in Willy Cameron's mind as to which it meant. + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers had by that time announced his candidacy for Mayor, and + organized labor was behind him to an alarming extent. When Willy Cameron + went with Pink to the club that afternoon, he found Akers under + discussion, and he heard some facts about that gentleman's private life + which left him silent and morose. Pink knew nothing of Lily's friendship + with Akers. Indeed, Pink did not know that Lily was in the city, and Willy + Cameron had not undeceived him. It had pleased Anthony Cardew to announce + in the press that Lily was making a round of visits, and the secret was + not his to divulge. But the question which was always in his mind rose + again. What did she see in the man? How could she have thrown away her + home and her family for a fellow who was so obviously what Pink would have + called “a wrong one”? + </p> + <p> + He roused, however, at a question. + </p> + <p> + “He may,” he said; “with three candidates we're splitting the vote three + ways, and it's hard to predict. Mr. Cardew can't be elected, but he + weakens Hendricks. One thing's sure. Where's my pipe?” Silence while Mr. + Cameron searched for his pipe, and took his own time to divulge the sure + thing. “If Hendricks is elected he'll clear out the entire bunch of + anarchists. The present man's afraid. But if Akers can hypnotize labor + into voting for him, and he gets it, it will be up to the city to protect + itself, for he won't. He'll let them hold their infamous meetings and + spread their damnable doctrine, and—you know what they've tried to + do in other places.” He explained what he had in mind then, finding them + expectant and eager. There ought to be some sort of citizen organization, + to supplement the state and city forces. Nothing spectacular; indeed, the + least said about it the better. He harked back then to his idea of the + plain people, with homes to protect. + </p> + <p> + “That needn't keep you fellows out,” he said, with his whimsical smile. + “But the rank and file will have to constitute the big end. We don't want + a lot of busybodies, pussy-footing around with guns and looking for + trouble. We had enough of that during the war. We would want some men who + would answer a riot call if they were needed. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + He had some of the translations Hendricks had brought him in his pocket, + and they circulated around the group. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think they mean to attack the city?” + </p> + <p> + “That looks like it, doesn't it? And they are getting that sort of stuff + all the time. There are a hundred thousand of them in this end of the + state.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you make it a secret organization?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I like doing things in the open myself, but you've got to fight a + rat in his hole, if he won't come out.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you hold office?” Pink asked. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a good bit like the boy who dug post holes in the daytime and took in + washing at night to support the family. But I'll work, if that's what you + mean.” + </p> + <p> + “We'd better have a constitution and all that, don't you think?” Pink + asked. “We can draw up a tentative one, and then fix it up at the first + meeting. This is going to be a big thing. It'll go like a fire.” + </p> + <p> + But Willy Cameron overruled that. + </p> + <p> + “We don't need that sort of stuff,” he said, “and if we begin that we + might as well put it in the newspapers. We want men who can keep their + mouths shut, and who will sign some sort of a card agreeing to stand by + the government and to preserve law and order. Then an office and a filing + case, and their addresses, so we can get at them in a hurry if we need + them. Get me a piece of paper, somebody.” + </p> + <p> + Then and there, in twenty words, Willy Cameron wrote the now historic oath + of the new Vigilance Committee, on the back of an old envelope. It was a + promise, an agreement rather than an oath. There was a little hush as the + paper passed from hand to hand. Not a man there but felt a certain + solemnity in the occasion. To preserve the Union and the flag, to fight + all sedition, to love their country and support it; the very simplicity of + the words was impressive. And the mere putting of it into visible form + crystallized their hitherto vague anxieties, pointed to a real enemy and a + real danger. Yet, as Willy Cameron pointed out, they might never be + needed. + </p> + <p> + “Our job,” he said, “is only as a last resort. Only for real trouble. + Until the state troops can get here, for instance, and if the constabulary + is greatly outnumbered. It's their work up to a certain point. We'll fight + if they need us. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + It was very surprising to him to find the enterprise financed immediately. + Pink offered an office in the bank building. Some one agreed to pay a + clerk who should belong to the committee. It was practical, businesslike, + and—done. And, although he had protested, he found himself made the + head of the organization. + </p> + <p> + “—without title and without pay,” he stipulated. “If you wish a + title on me, I'll resign.” + </p> + <p> + He went home that night very exalted and very humble. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + For a time Lily remained hidden in the house on Cardew Way, walking out + after nightfall with Louis occasionally, but shrinkingly keeping to quiet + back streets. She had a horror of meeting some one she knew, of + explanations and of gossip. But after a time the desire to see her mother + became overwhelming. She took to making little flying visits home at an + hour when her grandfather was certain to be away, going in a taxicab, and + reaching the house somewhat breathless and excited. She was driven by an + impulse toward the old familiar things; she was homesick for them all, for + her mother, for Mademoiselle, for her own rooms, for her little toilet + table, for her bed and her reading lamp. For the old house itself. + </p> + <p> + She was still an alien where she was. Elinor Doyle was a perpetual enigma + to her; now and then she thought she had penetrated behind the gentle mask + that was Elinor's face, only to find beyond it something inscrutable. + There was a dead line in Elinor's life across which Lily never stepped. + Whatever Elinor's battles were, she fought them alone, and Lily had begun + to realize that there were battles. + </p> + <p> + The atmosphere of the little house had changed. Sometimes, after she had + gone to bed, she heard Doyle's voice from the room across the hall, raised + angrily. He was nervous and impatient; at times he dropped the + unctuousness of his manner toward her, and she found herself looking into + a pair of cold blue eyes which terrified her. + </p> + <p> + The brilliant little dinners had entirely ceased, with her coming. A sort + of early summer lethargy had apparently settled on the house. Doyle wrote + for hours, shut in the room with the desk; the group of intellectuals, as + he had dubbed them, had dispersed on summer vacations. But she discovered + that there were other conferences being held in the house, generally late + at night. + </p> + <p> + She learned to know the nights when those meetings were to occur. On those + evenings Elinor always made an early move toward bed, and Lily would + repair to her hot low-ceiled room, to sit in the darkness by the window + and think long, painful thoughts. + </p> + <p> + That was how she learned of the conferences. She had no curiosity about + them at first. They had something to do with the strike, she considered, + and with that her interest died. Strikes were a symptom, and ultimately, + through great thinkers like Mr. Doyle, they would discover the cure for + the disease that caused them. She was quite content to wait for that time. + </p> + <p> + Then, one night, she went downstairs for a glass of ice water, and found + the lower floor dark, and subdued voices coming from the study. The + kitchen door was standing open, and she closed and locked it, placing the + key, as was Elinor's custom, in a table drawer. The door was partly glass, + and Elinor had a fear of the glass being broken and thus the key turned in + the lock by some intruder. + </p> + <p> + On toward morning there came a violent hammering at her bedroom door, and + Doyle's voice outside, a savage voice that she scarcely recognized. When + she had thrown on her dressing gown and opened the door he had instantly + caught her by the shoulder, and she bore the imprints of his fingers for + days. + </p> + <p> + “Did you lock the kitchen door?” he demanded, his tones thick with fury. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why not?” She tried to shake off his hand, but failed. + </p> + <p> + “None of your business why not,” he said, and gave her an angry shake. + “Hereafter, when you find that door open, you leave it that way. That's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Take your hands off me!” She was rather like her grandfather at that + moment, and his lost caution came back. He freed her at once and laughed a + little. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry!” he said. “I get a bit emphatic at times. But there are times when + a locked door becomes a mighty serious matter.” + </p> + <p> + The next day he removed the key from the door, and substituted a bolt. + Elinor made no protest. + </p> + <p> + Another night Elinor was taken ill, and Lilly had been forced to knock at + the study door and call Doyle. She had an instant's impression of the room + crowded with strange figures. The heavy odors of sweating bodies, of + tobacco, and of stale beer came through the half-open door and revolted + her. And Doyle had refused to go upstairs. + </p> + <p> + She began to feel that she could not remain there very long. The + atmosphere was variable. It was either cynical or sinister, and she hated + them both. She had a curious feeling, too, that Doyle both wanted her + there and did not want her, and that he was changing his attitude toward + her Aunt Elinor. Sometimes she saw him watching Elinor from under + half-closed eyelids. + </p> + <p> + But she could not fill her days with anxieties and suspicions, and she + turned to Louis Akers as a flower to the open day. He at least was what he + appeared to be. There was nothing mysterious about him. + </p> + <p> + He came in daily, big, dominant and demonstrative, filling the house with + his presence, and demanding her in a loud, urgent voice. Hardly had the + door slammed before he would call: + </p> + <p> + “Lily! Where are you?” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he lifted her off her feet and held her to him. + </p> + <p> + “You little whiffet!” he would say. “I could crush you to death in my + arms.” + </p> + <p> + Had his wooing all been violent she might have tired sooner, because those + phases of his passion for her tired her. But there were times when he put + her into a chair and sat on the floor at her feet, his handsome face + uplifted to hers in a sort of humble adoration, his arms across her knees. + It was not altogether studied. He was a born wooer, but he had his hours + of humility, of vague aspirations. His insistent body was always greater + than his soul, but now and then, when he was physically weary, he had a + spiritual moment. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, little girl,” he would say. + </p> + <p> + It was in one of those moments that she extracted a promise from him. He + had been, from his position on the floor, telling her about the campaign. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like your running against my father, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't have got it, anyhow. And he doesn't want it. I do, honey. I + need it in my business. When the election's over you're going to marry + me.” + </p> + <p> + She ignored that. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like the men who come here, Louis. I wish they were not friends + of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends of mine! That bunch?” + </p> + <p> + “You are always with them.” + </p> + <p> + “I draw a salary for being with them, honey.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you draw a salary for?” He was immediately on the alert, but + her eyes were candid and unsuspicious. “They are strikers, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it legal business?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly that.” + </p> + <p> + “Louis, is there going to be a general strike?” + </p> + <p> + “There may be some bad times coming, honey.” He bent his head and kissed + her hands, lying motionless in her lap. “I wish you would marry me soon. I + want you. I want to keep you safe.” + </p> + <p> + She drew her hands away. + </p> + <p> + “Safe from what, Louis?” + </p> + <p> + He sat back and looked up into her face. + </p> + <p> + “You must remember, dear, that for all your theories, which are very + sweet, this is a man's world, and men have rather brutal methods of + settling their differences.” + </p> + <p> + “And you advocate brutality?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the war was brutal, wasn't it? And you were in a white heat + supporting it, weren't you? How about another war,”—he chose his + words carefully—“just as reasonable and just? You've heard Doyle. + You know what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Not now!” + </p> + <p> + He was amazed at her horror, a horror that made her recoil from him and + push his hands away when he tried to touch her. He got up angrily and + stood looking down at her, his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil did you think all this talk meant?” he demanded. “You've + heard enough of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Aunt Elinor know?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “And she approves?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know and I don't care.” Suddenly, with one of the quick changes + she knew so well, he caught her hands and drawing her to her feet, put his + arms around her. “All I know is that I love you, and if you say the word + I'll cut the whole business.” + </p> + <p> + “You would?” + </p> + <p> + He amended his offer somewhat. + </p> + <p> + “Marry me, honey,” he begged. “Marry me now. Do you think I'll let + anything in God's world come between us? Marry me, and I'll do more than + leave them.” He was whispering to her, stroking her hair. “I'll cut the + whole outfit. And on the day I go into your house as your husband I'll + tell your people some things they want to know. That's a promise.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they do to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Your people?” + </p> + <p> + “The others.” + </p> + <p> + He drew himself to his full height, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “They'll try to do plenty, old girl,” he said, “but I'm not afraid of + them, and they know it. Marry me, Lily,” he urged. “Marry me now. And + we'll beat them out, you and I.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her a sense of power, over him and over evil. She felt suddenly an + enormous responsibility, that of a human soul waiting to be uplifted and + led aright. + </p> + <p> + “You can save me, honey,” he whispered, and kneeling suddenly, he kissed + the toe of her small shoe. + </p> + <p> + He was strong. But he was weak too. He needed her. “I'll do it, Louis,” + she said. “You—you will be good to me, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm crazy about you.” + </p> + <p> + The mood of exaltation upheld her through the night, and into the next + day. Elinor eyed her curiously, and with some anxiety. It was a long time + since she had been a girl, going about star-eyed with power over a man, + but she remembered that lost time well. + </p> + <p> + At noon Louis came in for a hasty luncheon, and before he left he drew + Lily into the little study and slipped a solitaire diamond on her + engagement finger. To Lily the moment was almost a holy one, but he seemed + more interested in the quality of the stone and its appearance on her hand + than in its symbolism. + </p> + <p> + “Got you cinched now, honey. Do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “It makes me feel that I don't belong to myself any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've passed into good hands,” he said, and laughed his great, + vibrant laugh. “Costing me money already, you mite!” + </p> + <p> + A little of her exaltation died then. But perhaps men were like that, + shyly covering the things they felt deepest. + </p> + <p> + She was rather surprised when he suggested keeping the engagement a + secret. + </p> + <p> + “Except the Doyles, of course,” he said. “I am not taking any chances on + losing you, child.” + </p> + <p> + “Not mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you want to be kidnaped and taken home. It's only a matter of + a day or two, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “I want more time than that. A month, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + And he found her curiously obstinate and determined. She did not quite + know herself why she demanded delay, except that she shrank from + delivering herself into hands that were so tender and might be so cruel. + It was instinctive, purely. + </p> + <p> + “A month,” she said, and stuck to it. + </p> + <p> + He was rather sulky when he went away, and he had told her the exact + amount he had paid for her ring. + </p> + <p> + Having forced him to agree to the delay, she found her mood of exaltation + returning. As always, it was when he was not with he that she saw him most + clearly, and she saw his real need for her. She had a sense of peace, too, + now that at last something was decided. Her future, for better or worse, + would no longer be that helpless waiting which had been hers for so long. + And out of her happiness came a desire to do kind things, to pat children + on the head, to give alms to beggars, and—to see Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + She came downstairs that afternoon, dressed for the street. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out for a little while, Aunt Nellie,” she said, “and when I + come back I want to tell you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. I can guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you can.” + </p> + <p> + She was singing to herself as she went out the door. + </p> + <p> + Elinor went back heavy-hearted to her knitting. It was very difficult + always to sit by and wait. Never to raise a hand. Just to wait and watch. + And pray. + </p> + <p> + Lily was rather surprised, when she reached the Eagle Pharmacy, to find + Pink Denslow coming out. It gave her a little pang, too; he looked so + clean and sane and normal, so much a part of her old life. And it hurt + her, too, to see him flush with pleasure at the meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Lily!” he said, and stood there, gazing at her, hat in hand, the sun + on his gleaming, carefully brushed hair. He was quite inarticulate with + happiness. “I—when did you get back?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not been away, Pink. I left home—it's a long story. I am + staying with my aunt, Mrs. Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Doyle? You are staying there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? My father's sister.” + </p> + <p> + His young face took on a certain sternness. + </p> + <p> + “If you knew what I suspect about Doyle, Lily, you wouldn't let the same + roof cover you.” But he added, rather wistfully, “I wish I might see you + sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Lily's head had gone up a trifle. Why did her old world always try to put + her in the wrong? She had had to seek sanctuary, and the Doyle house had + been the only sanctuary she knew. + </p> + <p> + “Since you feel as you do, I'm afraid that's impossible. Mr. Doyle's roof + is the only roof I have.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a home,” he said, sturdily. + </p> + <p> + “Not now. I left, and my grandfather won't have me back. You mustn't blame + him, Pink. We quarreled and I left. I was as much responsible as he was.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment after she turned and disappeared inside the pharmacy door he + stood there, then he put on his hat and strode down the street, unhappy + and perplexed. If only she had needed him, if she had not looked so + self-possessed and so ever so faintly defiant, as though she dared him to + pity her, he would have known what to do. All he needed was to be needed. + His open face was full of trouble. It was unthinkable that Lily should be + in that center of anarchy; more unthinkable that Doyle might have filled + her up with all sorts of wild ideas. Women were queer; they liked + theories. A man could have a theory of life and play with it and boast + about it, but never dream of living up to it. But give one to a woman, and + she chewed on it like a dog on a bone. If those Bolshevists had got hold + of Lily—! + </p> + <p> + The encounter had hurt Lily, too. The fine edge of her exaltation was + gone, and it did not return during her brief talk with Willy Cameron. He + looked much older and very thin; there were lines around his eyes she had + never seen before, and she hated seeing him in his present surroundings. + But she liked him for his very unconsciousness of those surroundings. One + always had to take Willy Cameron as he was. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like it, Willy?” she asked. It had dawned on her, with a sort of + panic, that there was really very little to talk about. All that they had + had in common lay far in the past. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's my daily bread, and with bread costing what it does, I cling + to it like a limpet to a rock.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you were studying, so you could do something else.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to give up the night school. But I'll get back to it sometime.” + </p> + <p> + She was lost again. She glanced around the little shop, where once Edith + Boyd had manicured her nails behind the counter, and where now a + middle-aged woman stood with listless eyes looking out over the street. + </p> + <p> + “You still have Jinx, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I—” + </p> + <p> + Lily glanced up as he stopped. She had drawn off her gloves, and his eyes + had fallen on her engagement ring. To Lily there had always been a feeling + of unreality about his declaration of love for her. He had been so + restrained, so careful to ask nothing in exchange, so without expectation + of return, that she had put it out of her mind as an impulse. She had not + dreamed that he could still care, after these months of silence. But he + had gone quite white. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to be married, Willy,” she said, in a low tone. It is doubtful + if he could have spoken, just then. And as if to add a finishing touch of + burlesque to the meeting, a small boy with a swollen jaw came in just then + and demanded something to “make it stop hurting.” + </p> + <p> + He welcomed the interruption, she saw. He was very professional instantly, + and so absorbed for a moment in relieving the child's pain that he could + ignore his own. + </p> + <p> + “Let's see it,” he said in a businesslike, slightly strained voice. + “Better have it out, old chap. But I'll give you something just to ease it + up a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Which he proceeded to do. When he came back to Lily he was quite calm and + self-possessed. As he had never thought of dramatizing himself, nor + thought of himself at all, it did not occur to him that drama requires + setting, that tragedy required black velvet rather than tooth-brushes, and + that a small boy with an aching tooth was a comedy relief badly + introduced. + </p> + <p> + All he knew was that he had somehow achieved a moment in which to steady + himself, and to find that a man can suffer horribly and still smile. He + did that, very gravely, when he came back to Lily. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me about it?” + </p> + <p> + “There is not very much to tell. It is Louis Akers.” + </p> + <p> + The middle-aged clerk had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you have thought over what that means, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “He wants me to marry him. He wants it very much, Willy. And—I know + you don't like him, but he has changed. Women always think they have + changed men, I know. But he is very different.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of that,” he said, steadily. + </p> + <p> + There was something childish about her, he thought. Childish and + infinitely touching. He remembered a night at the camp, when some of the + troops had departed for over-seas, and he had found her alone and crying + in her hut. “I just can't let them go,” she had sobbed. “I just can't. + Some of them will never come back.” + </p> + <p> + Wasn't there something of that spirit in her now, the feeling that she + could not let Akers go, lest worse befall him? He did not know. All he + knew was that she was more like the Lily Cardew he had known then than she + had been since her return. And that he worshiped her. + </p> + <p> + But there was anger in him, too. Anger at Anthony Cardew. Anger at the + Doyles. And a smoldering, bitter anger at Louis Akers, that he should take + the dregs of his life and offer them to her as new wine. That he should + dare to link his scheming, plotting days to this girl, so wise and yet so + ignorant, so clear-eyed and yet so blind. + </p> + <p> + “Do they know at home?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell mother to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily,” he said, slowly, “there is one thing you ought to do. Go home, + make your peace there, and get all this on the right footing. Then have + him there. You have never seen him in that environment, yet that is the + world he will have to live in, if you marry him. See how he fits there.” + </p> + <p> + “What has that got to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Think a minute. Am I quite the same to you here, as I was in the camp?” + </p> + <p> + He saw her honest answer in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + The new movement was growing rapidly, and with a surprising catholicity of + range. Already it included lawyers and doctors, chauffeurs, butchers, + clergymen, clerks of all sorts, truck gardeners from the surrounding + county, railroad employees, and some of the strikers from the mills, men + who had obeyed their union order to quit work, but had obeyed it + unwillingly; men who resented bitterly the invasion of the ranks of labor + by the lawless element which was fomenting trouble. + </p> + <p> + Dan had joined. + </p> + <p> + On the day that Lily received her engagement ring from Louis Akers, one of + the cards of the new Vigilance Committee was being inspected with cynical + amusement by two clerks in a certain suite of offices in the Searing + Building. They studied it with interest, while the man who had brought it + stood by. + </p> + <p> + “Where'd you pick it up, Cusick?” + </p> + <p> + “One of our men brought it into the store. Said you might want to see it.” + </p> + <p> + The three men bent over it. + </p> + <p> + The Myers Housecleaning Company had a suite of three rooms. During the day + two stenographers, both men, sat before machines and made a pretense of + business at such times as the door opened, or when an occasional client, + seeing the name, came in to inquire for rates. At such times the clerks + were politely regretful. The firm's contracts were all they could handle + for months ahead. + </p> + <p> + There was a constant ebb and flow of men in the office, presumably + professional cleaners. They came and went, or sat along the walls, + waiting. A large percentage were foreigners but the clerks proved to be + accomplished linguists. They talked, with more or less fluency, with + Croats, Serbs, Poles and Slavs. + </p> + <p> + There was a supply room off the office, a room filled with pails and + brushes, soap and ladders. But there was a great safe also, and its + compartments were filled with pamphlets in many tongues, a supply + constantly depleted and yet never diminishing. Workmen, carrying out the + pails of honest labor, carried them loaded down with the literature it was + their only business to circulate. + </p> + <p> + Thus, openly, and yet with infinite caution, was spread the doctrine of no + God; of no government, and of no church; of the confiscation of private + property; of strikes and unrest; of revolution, rape, arson and pillage. + </p> + <p> + And around this social cancer the city worked and played. Its theatres + were crowded, its expensive shops, its hotels. Two classes of people were + spending money prodigally; women with shawls over their heads, women who + in all their peasant lives had never owned a hat, drove in automobiles to + order their winter supply of coal, and vast amounts of liquors were being + bought by the foreign element against the approaching prohibition law, and + stored in untidy cellars. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, the social life of the city was gay with reaction from + war. The newspapers were filled with the summer plans of the wealthy, and + with predictions of lavish entertaining in the fall. Among the list of + debutantes Lily's name always appeared. + </p> + <p> + And, in between the upper and the nether millstone, were being ground the + professional and salaried men with families, the women clerks, the vast + army who asked nothing but the right to work and live. They went through + their days doggedly, with little anxious lines around their eyes, + suffering a thousand small deprivations, bewildered, tortured with + apprehension of to-morrow, and yet patiently believing that, as things + could not be worse, they must soon commence to improve. + </p> + <p> + “It's bound to clear up soon,” said Joe Wilkinson over the back fence one + night late in June, to Willy Cameron. Joe supported a large family of + younger brothers and sisters in the house next door, and was employed in a + department store. “I figure it this way—both sides need each other, + don't they? Something like marriage, you know. It'll all be over in six + months. Only I'm thanking heaven just now it's summer, because our kids + are hell on shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said Willy Cameron. “What are you doing over there, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait and see,” said Joe, cryptically. “If you think you're going to be + the only Central Park in this vicinity you've got to think again.” He + hesitated and glanced around, but the small Wilkinsons were searching for + worms in the overturned garden mold. “How's Edith?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She's all right, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “Seeing anybody yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. In a day or so she'll be downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell her I've been asking about her.” + </p> + <p> + There was something in Joel's voice that caught Willy Cameron's attention. + He thought about Joe a great deal that night. Joe was another one who must + never know about Edith's trouble. The boy had little enough, and if he had + built a dream about Edith Boyd he must keep his dream. He was rather + discouraged that night, was Willy Cameron, and he began to think that + dreams were the best things in life. They were a sort of sanctuary to + which one fled to escape realities. Perhaps no reality was ever as + beautiful as one's dream of it. + </p> + <p> + Lily had passed very definitely out of his life. Sometimes during his rare + leisure he walked to Cardew Way through the warm night, and past the Doyle + house, but he never saw her, and because it did not occur to him that she + might want to see him he never made an attempt to call. Always after those + futile excursions he was inclined to long silences, and only Jinx could + have told how many hours he sat in his room at night, in the second-hand + easy chair he had bought, pipe in hand and eyes on nothing in particular, + lost in a dream world where the fields bore a strong resemblance to the + parade ground of an army camp, and through which field he and Lily + wandered like children, hand in hand. + </p> + <p> + But he had many things to think of. So grave were the immediate problems, + of food and rent, of Mrs. Boyd and Edith, that a little of his fine frenzy + as to the lurking danger of revolution departed from him. The meetings in + the back room at the pharmacy took on a political bearing, and Hendricks + was generally the central figure. The ward felt that Mr. Hendricks was + already elected, and called him “Mr. Mayor.” At the same time the steel + strike pursued a course of comparative calm. At Friendship and at Baxter + there had been rioting, and a fatality or two, but the state constabulary + had the situation well in hand. On a Sunday morning Willy Cameron went out + to Baxter on the trolley, and came home greatly comforted. The cool-eyed + efficiency of the state police reassured him. He compared them, + disciplined, steady, calm with the calmness of their dangerous calling, + with the rabble of foreigners who shuffled along the sidewalks, and he + felt that his anxiety had been rather absurd. + </p> + <p> + He was still making speeches, and now and then his name was mentioned in + the newspapers. Mrs. Boyd, now mostly confined to her room, spent much + time in searching for these notices, and then in painfully cutting them + out and pasting them in a book. On those days when there was nothing about + him she felt thwarted, and was liable to sharp remarks on newspapers in + general, and on those of the city in particular. + </p> + <p> + Then, just as he began to feel that the strike would pass off like other + strikes, and that Doyle and his crowd, having plowed the field for + sedition, would find it planted with healthier grain, he had a talk with + Edith. + </p> + <p> + She came downstairs for the first time one Wednesday evening early in + July, the scars on her face now only faint red blotches, and he placed + her, a blanket over her knees, in the small parlor. Dan had brought her + down and had made a real effort to be kind, but his suspicion of the + situation made it difficult for him to dissemble, and soon he went out. + Ellen was on the doorstep, and through the open window came the shrieks of + numerous little Wilkinsons wearing out expensive shoe-leather on the brick + pavement. + </p> + <p> + They sat in the dusk together, Edith very quiet, Willy Cameron talking + with a sort of determined optimism. After a time he realized that she was + not even listening. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd close the window,” she said at last. “Those crazy Wilkinson + kids make such a racket. I want to tell you something.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” He closed the window and stood looking down at her. “Are you + sure you want me to hear it?” he asked gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is not about myself. I've been reading the newspapers while I've + been shut away up there, Willy. It kept me from thinking. And if things + are as bad as they say I'd better tell you, even if I get into trouble + doing it. I will, probably. Murder's nothing to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are 'them'?” + </p> + <p> + “You get the police to search the Myers Housecleaning Company, in the + Searing Building.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think you'd better tell me more than that? The police will want + something definite to go on.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know very much. I met somebody there, once or twice, at night. + And I know there's a telephone hidden in the drawer of the desk in the + back room. I swore not to tell, but that doesn't matter now. Tell them to + examine the safe, too. I don't know what's in it. Dynamite, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think the company is wrong? A hidden telephone isn't much + to go on.” + </p> + <p> + “When a fellow's had a drink or two, he's likely to talk,” she said + briefly, and before that sordid picture Willy Cameron was silent. After a + time he said: + </p> + <p> + “You won't tell me the name of the man you met there?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Don't ask me, Willy. That's between him and me.” He got up and took a + restless turn or two about the little rooms. Edith's problem had begun to + obsess him. Not for long would it be possible to keep her condition from + Mrs. Boyd. He was desperately at a loss for some course to pursue. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever thought,” he said at last, “that this man, whoever he is, + ought to marry you?” + </p> + <p> + Edith's face set like a flint. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to marry him,” she said. “I wouldn't marry him if he was the + last man on earth.” + </p> + <p> + He knew very little of Edith's past. In his own mind he had fixed on Louis + Akers, but he could not be sure. + </p> + <p> + “I won't tell you his name, either,” Edith added, shrewishly. Then her + voice softened. “I will tell you this, Willy,” she said wistfully. “I was + a good girl until I knew him. I'm not saying that to let myself out. It's + the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a good girl now,” he said gravely. + </p> + <p> + Some time after he got his hat and came in to tell her he was going out. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell what you've told me to Mr. Hendricks,” he said. “And we may go + on and have a talk with the Chief of Police. If you are right it may be + important.” + </p> + <p> + After that for an hour or two Edith sat alone, save when Ellen now and + then looked in to see if she was comfortable. + </p> + <p> + Edith's mind was chaotic. She had spoken on impulse, a good impulse at + that. But suppose they trapped Louis Akers in the Searing Building? + </p> + <p> + Ellen went now and then to the Cardew house, and brought back with her the + news of the family. At first she had sternly refused to talk about the + Cardews to Edith, but the days in the sick room had been long and + monotonous, and Edith's jealousy of Lily had taken the form, when she + could talk, of incessant questions. + </p> + <p> + So Edith knew that Louis Akers had been the cause of Lily's leaving home, + and called her a poor thing in her heart. Quite lately she had heard that + if Lily was not already engaged she probably would be, soon. Now her + motives were mixed, and her emotions confused. She had wanted to tell + Willy Cameron what she knew, but she wanted Lily to marry Louis Akers. She + wanted that terribly. Then Lily would be out of the way, and—Willy + was not like Dan; he did not seem to think her forever lost. He had always + been thoughtful, but lately he had been very tender with her. Men did + strange things sometimes. He might be willing to forget, after a long + time. She could board the child out somewhere, if it lived. Sometimes they + didn't live. + </p> + <p> + But if they arrested Louis, Lily Cardew would fling him aside like an old + shoe. + </p> + <p> + She closed her eyes. That opened a vista of possibilities she would not + face. + </p> + <p> + She stopped in her mother's room on her slow progress upstairs, moved to + sudden pity for the frail life now wearing to its close. If that were life + she did not want it, with its drab days and futile effort, its incessant + deprivations, its hands, gnarled with work that got nowhere, its greatest + blessing sleep and forgetfulness. + </p> + <p> + She wondered why her mother did not want to die, to get away. + </p> + <p> + “I'll soon be able to look after you a bit, mother,” she said from the + doorway. “How's the pain down your arm?” + </p> + <p> + “Bring me the mucilage, Edie,” requested Mrs. Boyd. She was propped up in + bed and surrounded by newspapers. “I've found Willy's name again. I've got + fourteen now. Where's the scissors?” + </p> + <p> + Eternity was such a long time. Did she know? Could she know, and still sit + among her pillows, snipping? + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Mrs. Boyd, “did anybody feed Jinx? That Ellen is so + saving that she grudges him a bone.” + </p> + <p> + “He looks all right,” said Edith, and went on up to bed. Maybe the Lord + did that for people, when they reached a certain point. Maybe He took away + the fear of death, by showing after years of it that life was not so + valuable after all. She remembered her own facing of eternity, and her + dread of what lay beyond. She had prayed first, because she wanted to have + some place on the other side. She had prayed to be received young and + whole and without child. And her mother— + </p> + <p> + Then she had a flash of intuition. There was something greater than life, + and that was love. Her mother was upheld by love. That was what the + eternal cutting and pasting meant. She was lavishing all the love of her + starved days on Willy Cameron; she was facing death, because his hand was + close by to hold to. + </p> + <p> + For just a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed, Edith Boyd saw what + love might be, and might do. She held out both hands in the darkness, but + no strong and friendly clasp caught them close. If she could only have him + to cling to, to steady her wavering feet along the gray path that + stretched ahead, years and years of it. Youth. Middle age. Old age. + </p> + <p> + “I'd only drag him down,” she muttered bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron, meanwhile, had gone to Mr. Hendricks with Edith's story, + and together late that evening they saw the Chief of Police at his house. + Both Willy Cameron and Mr. Hendricks advocated putting a watch on the + offices of the Myers Housecleaning Company and thus ultimately getting the + heads of the organization. But the Chief was unwilling to delay. + </p> + <p> + “Every day means more of their infernal propaganda,” he said, “and if this + girl's telling a straight story, the thing to do is to get the outfit now. + Those clerks, for instance—we'll get some information out of them. + That sort always squeals. They're a cheap lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Going to ball it up, of course,” Mr. Hendricks said disgustedly, on the + way home. “Won't wait, because if Akers gets in he's out, and he wants to + make a big strike first. I'll drop in to-morrow evening and tell you + what's happened.” + </p> + <p> + He came into the pharmacy the next evening, with a bundle of red-bound + pamphlets under his arm, and a look of disgust on his face. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you, Cameron?” he demanded, breathing heavily. “Yes, they + got them all right. Got a safe full of stuff so inflammable that, since + I've read some of it, I'm ready to blow up myself. It's worse than that + first lot I showed you. They got the two clerks, and a half-dozen + foreigners, too. And that's all they got.” + </p> + <p> + “They won't talk?” + </p> + <p> + “Talk? Sure they'll talk. They say they're employed by the Myers + Housecleaning Company, that they never saw the inside of the vault, and + they're squealing louder than two pigs under a gate about false arrest. + They'll have to let them go, son. Here. You can do most everything. Can + you read Croatian? No? Well, here's something in English to cut your + wisdom teeth on. Overthrowing the government is where these fellows + start.” + </p> + <p> + It was intelligent, that propaganda. Willy Cameron thought he saw behind + it Jim Doyle and other men like Doyle, men who knew the discontents of the + world, and would fatten by them; men who, secretly envious of the upper + classes and unable to attain to them, would pull all men to their own + level, or lower. Men who cloaked their own jealousies with the garb of + idealism. Intelligent it was, dangerous, and imminent. + </p> + <p> + The pamphlets spoke of “the day.” It was a Prussian phrase. The revolution + was Prussian. And like the Germans, they offered loot as a reward. They + appealed to the ugliest passions in the world, to lust and greed and + idleness. + </p> + <p> + At a signal the mass was to arise, overthrow its masters and rule itself. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks stood in the doorway of the pharmacy and stared out at the + city he loved. + </p> + <p> + “Just how far does that sort of stuff go, Cameron?” he asked. “Will our + people take it up? Is the American nation going crazy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,” said Willy Cameron stoutly. “They're about as able to + overthrow the government as you are to shove over the Saint Elmo Hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “I could do that, with a bomb.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you couldn't. But you could make a fairly sizeable hole in it. It's + the hole we don't want.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks went away, vaguely comforted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + To old Anthony the early summer had been full of humiliations, which he + carried with an increased arrogance of bearing that alienated even his own + special group at his club. + </p> + <p> + “Confound the man,” said Judge Peterson, holding forth on the golf links + one Sunday morning while Anthony Cardew, hectic with rage, searched for a + lost ball and refused to drop another. “He'll hold us up all morning, for + that ball, just as he tries to hold up all progress.” He lowered his + voice. “What's happened to the granddaughter, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + Senator Lovell lighted a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Turned Bolshevist,” he said, briefly. + </p> + <p> + The Judge gazed at him. + </p> + <p> + “That's a pretty serious indictment, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's what I hear. She's living in Jim Doyle's house. I guess + that's the answer. Hey, Cardew! D'you want these young cubs behind us to + play through, or are you going to show some sense and come on?” + </p> + <p> + Howard, fighting his father tooth and nail, was compelled to a reluctant + admiration of his courage. But there was no cordiality between them. They + were in accord again, as to the strike, although from different angles. + Both of them knew that they were fighting for very life; both of them felt + that the strikers' demands meant the end of industry, meant that the man + who risked money in a business would eventually cease to control that + business, although if losses came it would be he, and not the workmen, who + bore them. Howard had gone as far as he could in concessions, and the + result was only the demand for more. The Cardews, father and son, stood + now together, their backs against a wall, and fought doggedly. + </p> + <p> + But only anxiety held them together. + </p> + <p> + His father was now backing Howard's campaign for the mayoralty, but he was + rather late with his support, and in private he retained his cynical + attitude. He had not come over at all until he learned that Louis Akers + was an opposition candidate. At that his wrath knew no bounds and the next + day he presented a large check to the campaign committee. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks, hearing of it, was moved to a dry chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you hear him?” he demanded. “He'd stalk into headquarters as + important as an office boy who's been sent to the bank for money, and he'd + slam down his check and say just two words.” + </p> + <p> + “Which would be?” inquired Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “'Buy 'em',” quoted Mr. Hendricks. “The old boy doesn't know that things + have changed since the 80's. This city has changed, my lad. It's voting + now the way it thinks, right or wrong. That's why these foreign language + papers can play the devil with us. The only knowledge the poor wretches + have got of us is what they're given to read. And most of it stinks of + sedition. Queer thing, this thinking. A fellow can think himself into + murder.” + </p> + <p> + The strike was going along quietly enough. There had been rioting through + the country, but not of any great significance. It was in reality a sort + of trench warfare, with each side dug in and waiting for the other to show + himself in the open. The representatives of the press, gathered in the + various steel cities, with automobiles arranged for to take them quickly + to any disturbance that might develop, found themselves with little news + for the telegraph, and time hung heavy on their hands. + </p> + <p> + On an evening in July, Howard found Grace dressing for dinner, and + realized with a shock that she was looking thin and much older. He kissed + her and then held her off and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “You've got to keep your courage up, dear,” he said. “I don't think it + will be long now.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen her?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But something has happened. Don't look like that, Grace. It's not—” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn't married that man?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Not that. It only touches her indirectly. But she can't stay there. + Even Elinor—” he checked himself. “I'll tell you after dinner.” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was very silent, although Anthony delivered himself of one speech + rather at length. + </p> + <p> + “So far as I can make out, Howard,” he said, “this man Hendricks is + getting pretty strong. He has a young fellow talking for him who gets over + pretty well. It's my judgment that Hendricks had better be bought off. He + goes around shouting that he's a plain man, after the support of the plain + people. Although I'm damned if I know what he means by that.” + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew was no longer comfortable in his own house. He placed the + blame for it on Lily, and spent as many evenings away from home as + possible. He considered that life was using him rather badly. Tied to the + city in summer by a strike, his granddaughter openly gone over to his + enemy, his own son, so long his tool and his creature, merely staying in + his house to handle him, an income tax law that sent him to his lawyers + with new protests almost daily! A man was no longer master even in his own + home. His employees would not work for him, his family disobeyed him, his + government held him up and shook him. In the good old days— + </p> + <p> + “I'm going out,” he said, as he rose from the table. “Grace, that chef is + worse than the last. You'd better send him off.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't get any one else. I have tried for weeks. There are no servants + anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Try New York.” + </p> + <p> + “I have tried—it is useless.” + </p> + <p> + No cooks, either. No servants. Even Anthony recognized that, with the + exception of Grayson, the servants in his house were vaguely hostile to + the family. They gave grudging service, worked short hours, and, the only + class of labor to which the high cost of food was a negligible matter, + demanded wages he considered immoral. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what the world's coming to,” he snarled. “Well, I'm off. + Thank God, there are still clubs for a man to go to.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to have a talk with you, father.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't. I want you to listen, and I want Grace to hear, too.” + </p> + <p> + In the end he went unwillingly into the library, and when Grayson had + brought liqueurs and coffee and had gone, Howard drew the card from his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I met young Denslow to-day,” he said. “He came in to see me. As a matter + of fact, I signed a card he had brought along, and I brought one for you, + sir. Shall I read it?” + </p> + <p> + “You evidently intend to.” + </p> + <p> + Howard read the card slowly. Its very simplicity was impressive, as + impressive as it had been when Willy Cameron scrawled the words on the + back of an old envelope. Anthony listened. + </p> + <p> + “Just what does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “That the men behind this movement believe that there is going to be a + general strike, with an endeavor to turn it into a revolution. Perhaps + only local, but these things have a tendency to spread. Denslow had some + literature which referred to an attempt to take over the city. They have + other information, too, all pointing the same way.” + </p> + <p> + “Strikers?” + </p> + <p> + “Foreign strikers, with the worst of the native born. Their plans are + fairly comprehensive; they mean to dynamite the water works, shut down the + gas and electric plants, and cut off all food supplies. Then when they + have starved and terrorized us into submission, we'll accept their terms.” + </p> + <p> + “What terms?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the rule of the mob, I suppose. They intend to take over the banks, + for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it. It's incredible.” + </p> + <p> + “They meant to do it in Seattle.” + </p> + <p> + “And didn't. Don't forget that.” + </p> + <p> + “They may have learned some things from Seattle,” Howard said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “We have the state troops.” + </p> + <p> + “What about a half dozen similar movements in the state at the same time? + Or rioting in other places, carefully planned to draw the troops and + constabulary away?” + </p> + <p> + In the end old Anthony was impressed, if not entirely convinced. But he + had no faith in the plain people, and said so. “They'll see property + destroyed and never lift a hand,” he said. “Didn't I stand by in + Pittsburgh during the railroad riots, and watch them smile while the yards + burned? Because the railroads meant capital to them, and they hate + capital.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Howard, “but after twenty-four hours they were fighting + like demons to restore law and order. It is”—he fingered the card—“to + save that twenty-four hours that this organization is being formed. It is + secret. Did I tell you that? And the idea originated with the young man + you spoke about as supporting Hendricks—you met him here once, a + friend of Lily's. His name is Cameron—William Wallace Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony remained silent, but the small jagged vein on his forehead + swelled with anger. After a time: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Doyle is behind this?” he asked. “It sounds like him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the supposition. But they have nothing on him yet; he is too + shrewd for that. And that leads to something else. Lily cannot continue to + stay there.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't send her there.” + </p> + <p> + “Actually, no. In effect—but we needn't go into that now. The + situation is very serious. I can imagine that nothing could fit better + into his plans than to have her there. She gives him a cachet of + respectability. Do you want that?” + </p> + <p> + “She is probably one of them now. God knows how much of his rotten + doctrine she has absorbed.” + </p> + <p> + Howard flushed, but he kept his temper. + </p> + <p> + “His theories, possibly. His practice, no. She certainly has no idea... it + has come to this, father. She must have a home somewhere, and if it cannot + be here, Grace and I must make one for her elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + Probably Anthony Cardew had never respected Howard more than at that + moment, or liked him less. + </p> + <p> + “Both you and Grace are free to make a home where you please.” + </p> + <p> + “We prefer it here, but you must see yourself that things cannot go on as + they are. We have waited for you to see that, all three of us, and now + this new situation makes it imperative to take some action.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't have that fellow Akers coming here.” + </p> + <p> + “He would hardly come, under the circumstances. Besides, her friendship + with him is only a part of her revolt. If she comes home it will be with + the understanding that she does not see him again.” + </p> + <p> + “Revolt?” said old Anthony, raising his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “That is what it actually was. She found her liberty interfered with, and + she staged her own small rebellion. It was very human, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very Cardew,” said old Anthony, and smiled faintly. He had, to + tell the truth, developed a grudging admiration for his granddaughter in + the past two months. He saw in her many of his own qualities, good and + bad. And, more than he cared to own, he had missed her and the young life + she had brought into the quiet house. Most important of all, she was the + last of the Cardews. Although his capitulation when it came was curt, he + was happier than he had been for weeks. + </p> + <p> + “Bring her home,” he said, “but tell her about Akers. If she says that is + off, I'll forget the rest.” + </p> + <p> + On her way to her room that night Grace Cardew encountered Mademoiselle, a + pale, unhappy Mademoiselle, who seemed to spend her time mostly in Lily's + empty rooms or wandering about corridors. Whenever the three members of + the family were together she would retire to her own quarters, and there + feverishly with her rosary would pray for a softening of hearts. She did + not comprehend these Americans, who were so kind to those beneath them and + so hard to each other. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see you, Mademoiselle,” Grace said, not very steadily. “I + have good news for you.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle began to tremble. “She is coming? Lily is coming?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Will you have some fresh flowers put in her rooms in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Mademoiselle forgot her years of repression, and flinging her + arms around Grace's neck she kissed her. Grace held her for a moment, + patting her shoulder gently. + </p> + <p> + “We must try to make her very happy, Mademoiselle. I think things will be + different now.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle stood back and wiped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But she must be different, too,” she said. “She is sweet and good, but + she is strong of will, too. The will to do, to achieve, that is one thing, + and very good. But the will to go one's own way, that is another.” + </p> + <p> + “The young are always headstrong, Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + But, alone later on, her rosary on her knee, Mademoiselle wondered. If + youth were the indictment against Lily, was she not still young? It took + years, or suffering, or sometimes both, to break the will of youth and + chasten its spirit. God grant Lily might not have suffering. + </p> + <p> + It was Grace's plan to say nothing to Lily, but to go for her herself, and + thus save her the humiliation of coming back alone. All morning housemaids + were busy in Lily's rooms. Rugs were shaken, floors waxed and rubbed, the + silver frames and vases in her sitting room polished to refulgence. And + all morning Mademoiselle scolded and ran suspicious fingers into corners, + and arranged and re-arranged great boxes of flowers. + </p> + <p> + Long before the time she had ordered the car Grace was downstairs, dressed + for the street, and clad in cool shining silk, was pacing the shaded hall. + There was a vague air of expectation about the old house. In a room off + the pantry the second man was polishing the buttons of his livery, using a + pasteboard card with a hole in it to save the fabric beneath. Grayson + pottered about in the drawing room, alert for the parlor maid's sins of + omission. + </p> + <p> + The telephone in the library rang, and Grayson answered it, while Grace + stood in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “A message from Miss Lily,” he said. “Mrs. Doyle has telephoned that Miss + Lily is on her way here.” + </p> + <p> + Grace was vaguely disappointed. She had wanted to go to Lily with her good + news, to bring her home bag and baggage, to lead her into the house and to + say, in effect, that this was home, her home. She had felt that they, and + not Lily, should take the first step. + </p> + <p> + She went upstairs, and taking off her hat, smoothed her soft dark hair. + She did not want Lily to see how she had worried; she eyed herself + carefully for lines. Then she went down, to more waiting, and for the + first time, to a little doubt. + </p> + <p> + Yet when Lily came all was as it should have been. There was no doubt + about her close embrace of her mother, her happiness at seeing her. She + did not remove her gloves, however, and after she had put Grace in a chair + and perched herself on the arm of it, there was a little pause. Each was + preparing to tell something, each hesitated. Because Grace's task was the + easier it was she who spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “I was about to start over when you telephoned, dear,” she said. “I—we + want you to come home to us again.” + </p> + <p> + There was a queer, strained silence. + </p> + <p> + “Who wants me?” Lily asked, unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + “All of us. Your grandfather, too. He expects to find you here to-night. I + can explain to your Aunt Elinor over the telephone, and we can send for + your clothes.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Lily got up and walked the length of the room. When she came back + her eyes were filled with tears, and her left hand was bare. + </p> + <p> + “It nearly kills me to hurt you,” she said, “but—what about this?” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + Grace seemed frozen in her chair. At the sight of her mother's face Lily + flung herself on her knees beside the chair. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, mother,” she said, “you must know how I love you. Love you both. + Don't look like that. I can't bear it.” + </p> + <p> + Grace turned away her face. + </p> + <p> + “You don't love us. You can't. Not if you are going to marry that man.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” Lily begged, desperately, “let me come home. Let me bring him + here. I'll wait, if you'll only do that. He is different; I know all that + you want to say about his past. He has never had a real chance in all his + life. He won't belong at first, but—he's a man, mother, a strong + man. And it's awfully important. He can do so much, if he only will. And + he says he will, if I marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” Grace said coldly. “What can a man like that do, + but wreck all our lives?” + </p> + <p> + Resentment was rising fast in Lily, but she kept it down. “I'll tell you + about that later,” she said, and slowly got to her feet. “Is that all, + mother? You won't see him? I can't bring him here? Isn't there any + compromise? Won't you meet me half-way?” + </p> + <p> + “When you say half-way, you mean all the way, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted you so,” Lily said, drearily, “I need you so just now. I am + going to be married, and I have no one to go to. Aunt Elinor doesn't + understand, either. Every way I look I find—I suppose I can't come + back at all, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Your grandfather's condition was that you never see this Louis Akers + again.” + </p> + <p> + Lily's resentment left her. Anger was a thing for small matters, trivial + affairs. This that was happening, an irrevocable break with her family, + was as far beyond anger as it was beyond tears. She wondered dully if any + man were worth all this. Perhaps she knew, sub-consciously, that Louis + Akers was not. All her exaltation was gone, and in its stead was a sort of + dogged determination to see the thing through now, at any cost; to re-make + Louis into the man he could be, to build her own house of life, and having + built it, to live in it as best she could. + </p> + <p> + “That is a condition I cannot fulfill, mother. I am engaged to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you love him more than you do any of us, or all of us.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. It is different,” she said vaguely. + </p> + <p> + She kissed her mother very tenderly when she went away, but there was a + feeling of finality in them both. Mademoiselle, waiting at the top of the + stairs, heard the door close and could not believe her ears. Grace went + upstairs, her face a blank before the servants, and shut herself in her + room. And in Lily's boudoir the roses spread a heavy, funereal sweetness + over the empty room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + The strike had been carried on with comparatively little disorder. In some + cities there had been rioting, but half-hearted and easily controlled. + Almost without exception it was the foreign and unassimilated element that + broke the peace. Alien women spat on the state police, and flung stones at + them. Here and there property was destroyed. A few bomb outrages filled + the newspapers with great scare-heads, and sent troops and a small army of + secret service men here and there. + </p> + <p> + In the American Federation of Labor a stocky little man grimly fought to + oppose the Radical element, which was slowly gaining ground, and at the + same time to retain his leadership. The great steel companies, united at + last by a common danger and a common fate if they yielded, stood doggedly + and courageously together, waiting for a return of sanity to the world. + The world seemed to have gone mad. Everywhere in the country production + was reduced by the cessation of labor, and as a result the cost of living + was mounting. + </p> + <p> + And every strike lost in the end. Labor had yet to learn that to cease to + labor may express a grievance, but that in itself it righted no wrongs. + Rather, it turned that great weapon, public opinion, without which no + movement may succeed, against it. And that to stand behind the country in + war was not enough. It must stand behind the country in peace. + </p> + <p> + It had to learn, too, that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. + The weak link in the labor chain was its Radical element. Rioters were + arrested with union cards in their pockets. In vain the unions protested + their lack of sympathy with the unruly element. The vast respectable + family of union labor found itself accused of the sins of the minority, + and lost standing thereby. + </p> + <p> + At Friendship the unruly element was very strong. For a time it held its + meetings in a hall. When that was closed it resorted to the open air. + </p> + <p> + On the fifteenth of July it held an incendiary meeting on the unused polo + field, and the next day awakened to the sound of hammers, and to find a + high wooden fence, reenforced with barbed wire, being built around the + field, with the state police on guard over the carpenters. In a few days + the fence was finished, only to be partly demolished the next night, + secretly and noiselessly. But no further attempts were made to hold + meetings there. It was rumored that meetings were being secretly held in + the woods near the town, but the rendezvous was not located. + </p> + <p> + On the restored fence around the polo grounds a Red flag was found one + morning, and two nights later the guard at the padlocked gate was shot + through the heart, from ambush. + </p> + <p> + Then, about the first of August, out of a clear sky, sporadic riotings + began to occur. They seemed to originate without cause, and to end as + suddenly as they began. Usually they were in the outlying districts, but + one or two took place in the city itself. The rioters were not all foreign + strikers from the mills. They were garment workers, hotel waiters, a + rabble of the discontented from all trades. The riots were to no end, + apparently. They began with a chance word, fought their furious way for an + hour or so, and ended, leaving a trail of broken heads and torn clothing + behind them. + </p> + <p> + On toward the end of July one such disturbance grew to considerable size. + The police were badly outnumbered, and a surprising majority of the + rioters were armed, with revolvers, with wooden bludgeons, lengths of pipe + and short, wicked iron bars. Things were rather desperate until the police + found themselves suddenly and mysteriously reenforced by a cool-headed + number of citizens, led by a tall thin man who limped slightly, and who + disposed his heterogeneous support with a few words and considerable + skill. + </p> + <p> + The same thin young man, stopping later in an alley way to investigate an + arm badly bruised by an iron bar, overheard a conversation between two + roundsmen, met under a lamppost after the battle, for comfort and a little + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Can you beat that, Henry?” said one. “Where the hell'd they come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Search me,” said Henry. “D'you see the skinny fellow? Limped, too. D'you + notice that? Probably hurt in France. But he hasn't forgotten how to + fight, I'll tell the world.” + </p> + <p> + The outbreaks puzzled the leaders of the Vigilance Committee. Willy + Cameron was inclined to regard them as without direction or intention, + purely as manifestations of hate, and as such contrary to the plans of + their leaders. And Mr. Hendricks, nursing a black eye at home after the + recent outburst, sized up the situation shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + “You can boil a kettle too hard,” he said, “and then the lid pops off. + Doyle and that outfit of his have been burning the fire a little high, + that's all. They'll quit now, because they want to get us off guard later. + You and your committee can take a vacation, unless you can set them to + electioneering for me. They've had enough for a while, the devils. They'll + wait now for Akers to get in and make things easy for them. Mind my words, + boy. That's the game.” + </p> + <p> + And the game it seemed to be. Small violations of order still occurred, + but no big ones. To the headquarters in the Denslow Bank came an + increasing volume of information, to be duly docketed and filed. Some of + it was valueless. Now and then there came in something worth following up. + Thus one night Pink and a picked band, following a vague clew, went in + automobiles to the state borderline, and held up and captured two trucks + loaded with whiskey and destined for Friendship and Baxter. He reported to + Willy Cameron late that night. + </p> + <p> + “Smashed it all up and spilled it in the road,” he said. “Hurt like sin to + do it, though. Felt like the fellow who shot the last passenger pigeon.” + </p> + <p> + But if the situation in the city was that of armed neutrality, in the Boyd + house things were rapidly approaching a climax, and that through Dan. He + was on edge, constantly to be placated and watched. The strike was on his + nerves; he felt his position keenly, resented Willy Cameron supporting the + family, and had developed a curious jealousy of his mother's affection for + him. + </p> + <p> + Toward Edith his suspicions had now become certainty, and an open break + came on an evening when she said that she felt able to go to work again. + They were at the table, and Ellen was moving to and from the kitchen, + carrying in the meal. Her utmost thrift could not make it other than + scanty, and finally Dan pushed his plate away. + </p> + <p> + “Going back to work, are you?” he sneered. “And how long do you think + you'll be able to work?” + </p> + <p> + “You keep quiet,” Edith flared at him. “I'm going to work. That's all you + need to know. I can't sit here and let a man who doesn't belong to us + provide every bite we eat, if you can.” Willy Cameron got up and closed + the door, for Mrs. Boyd an uncanny ability to hear much that went on + below. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said when he came back, “we might as well have this out. Dan has + a right to be told, Edith, and he can help us plan something.” He turned + to Dan. “It must be kept from your mother, Dan.” + </p> + <p> + “Plan something!” Dan snarled. “I know what to plan, all right. I'll find + the—” he broke into foul, furious language, but suddenly Willy + Cameron rose, and there was something threatening in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I know who it is,” Dan said, more quietly, “and he's got to marry her, or + I'll kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “You know, do you? Well, you don't,” Edith said, “and I won't marry him + anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “You will marry him. Do you think I'm going to see mother disgraced, sick + as she is, and let you get away with it? Where does Akers live? You know, + don't you? You've been there, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + All Edith's caution was forgotten in her shame and anger. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” she said, hysterically, “but I won't tell you. And I won't + marry him. I hate him. If you go to him he'll beat you to death.” Suddenly + the horrible picture of Dan in Akers' brutal hands overwhelmed her. “Dan, + you won't go?” she begged. “He'll kill you.” + </p> + <p> + “A lot you'd care,” he said, coldly. “As if we didn't have enough already! + As if you couldn't have married Joe Wilkinson, next door, and been a + decent woman. And instead, you're a—” + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet, Dan,” Willy Cameron interrupted him. “That sort of talk doesn't + help any. Edith is right. If you go to Akers there will be a fight. And + that's no way to protect her.” + </p> + <p> + “God!” Dan muttered. “With all the men in the world, to choose that rotten + anarchist!” + </p> + <p> + It was sordid, terribly tragic, the three of them sitting there in the + badly lighted little room around the disordered table, with Ellen grimly + listening in the doorway, and the odors of cooking still heavy in the air. + Edith sat there, her hands on the table, staring ahead, and recounted her + wrongs. She had never had a chance. Home had always been a place to get + away from. Nobody had cared what became of her. And hadn't she tried to + get out of the way? Only they all did their best to make her live. She + wished she had died. + </p> + <p> + Dan, huddled low in his chair, his legs sprawling, stared at nothing with + hopeless eyes. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards Willy Cameron could remember nothing of the scene in detail. He + remembered its setting, but of all the argument and quarreling only one + thing stood out distinctly, and that was Edith's acceptance of Dan's + accusation. It was Akers, then. And Lily Cardew was going to marry him. + Was in love with him. + </p> + <p> + “Does he know how things are?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he offer to do anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Him? He does not. And don't you go to him and try to get him to marry me. + I tell you I'd die first.” + </p> + <p> + He left them there, sitting in the half light, and going out into the hall + picked up his hat. Mrs. Boyd heard him and called to him, and before he + went out he ran upstairs to her room. It seemed to him, as he bent over + her, that her lips were bluer than ever, her breath a little shallower and + more difficult. Her untouched supper tray was beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't hungry,” she explained. “Seems to me, Willy, if you'd let me go + downstairs so I could get some of my own cooking I'd eat better. Ellen's + all right, but I kind o' crave sweet stuff, and she don't like making + desserts.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be down before long,” he assured her. “And making me pies. + Remember those pies you used to bake?” + </p> + <p> + “You always were a great one for my pies,” she said, complacently. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her when he left. He had always marveled at the strange lack of + demonstrativeness in the household, and he knew that she valued his small + tendernesses. + </p> + <p> + “Now remember,” he said, “light out at ten o'clock, and no going + downstairs in the middle of the night because you smell smoke. When you + do, it's my pipe.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you hardly ever go to bed, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “Me? Get too much sleep. I'm getting fat with it.” + </p> + <p> + The stale little joke was never stale with her. He left her smiling, and + went down the stairs and out into the street. + </p> + <p> + He had no plan in his mind except to see Louis Akers, and to find out from + him if he could what truth there was in Edith Boyd's accusation. He + believed Edith, but he must have absolute certainty before he did + anything. Girls in trouble sometimes shielded men. If he could get the + facts from Louis Akers—but he had no idea of what he would do then. + He couldn't very well tell Lily, but her people might do something. Or + Mrs. Doyle. + </p> + <p> + He knew Lily well enough to know that she would far rather die than marry + Akers, under the circumstances. That her failure to marry Louis Akers + would mean anything as to his own relationship with her he never even + considered. All that had been settled long ago, when she said she did not + love him. + </p> + <p> + At the Benedict he found that his man had not come home, and for an hour + or two he walked the streets. The city seemed less majestic to him than + usual; its quiet by-streets were lined with homes, it is true, but those + very streets hid also vice and degradation, and ugly passions. They + sheltered, but also they concealed. + </p> + <p> + At eleven o'clock he went back to the Benedict, and was told that Mr. + Akers had come in. + </p> + <p> + It was Akers himself who opened the door. Because the night was hot he had + shed coat and shirt, and his fine torso, bare to the shoulders and at the + neck, gleamed in the electric light. Willy Cameron had not seen him since + those spring days when he had made his casual, bold-eyed visits to Edith + at the pharmacy, and he had a swift insight into the power this man must + have over women. He himself was tall; but Akers was taller, fully muscled, + his head strongly set on a neck like a column. But he surmised that the + man was soft, out of condition. And he had lost the first elasticity of + youth. + </p> + <p> + Akers' expression had changed from one of annoyance to watchfulness when + he opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he said. “Making a late call, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “What I had to say wouldn't wait.” + </p> + <p> + Akers had, rather unwillingly, thrown the door wide, and he went in. The + room was very hot, for a small fire, littered as to its edges with papers, + burned in the grate. Although he knew that Akers had guessed the meaning + of his visit at once and was on guard, there was a moment or two when each + sparred for an opening. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down. Have a cigarette?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks.” He remained standing. + </p> + <p> + “Or a high-ball? I still have some fairly good whiskey.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I came to ask you a question, Mr. Akers.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, answering questions is one of the best little things I do.” + </p> + <p> + “You know about Edith Boyd's condition. She says you are responsible. Is + that true?” + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers was not unprepared. Sooner or later he had known that Edith + would tell. But what he had not counted on was that she would tell any one + who knew Lily. He had felt that her leaving the pharmacy had eliminated + that chance. “What do you mean, her condition?” + </p> + <p> + “You know. She says she has told you.” + </p> + <p> + “You're pretty thick with her yourself, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I happen to live at the Boyd house.” + </p> + <p> + He was keeping himself well under control, but Akers saw his hand clench, + and resorted to other tactics. He was not angry himself, but he was wary + now; he considered that life was unnecessarily complicated, and that he + had a distinct grievance. + </p> + <p> + “I have asked you a question, Mr. Akers.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't expect me to answer it, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “If you have come here to talk to me about marrying her—” + </p> + <p> + “She won't marry you,” Willy Cameron said steadily. “That's not the point + I want your own acknowledgment of responsibility, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Akers was puzzled, suspicious, and yet relieved. He lighted a cigarette + and over the match stared at the other man's quiet face. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said suddenly. “I'm damned if I'll take the responsibility. She + knew her way around long before I ever saw her. Ask her. She can't lie + about it. I can produce other men to prove what I say. I played around + with her, but I don't know whose child that is, and I don't believe she + does.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are lying.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But I can produce the goods.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron went very pale. His hands were clenched again, and Akers + eyed him warily. + </p> + <p> + “None of that,” he cautioned. “I don't know what interest you've got in + this, and I don't give a God-damn. But you'd better not try any funny + business with me.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron smiled. Much the sort of smile he had worn during the + rioting. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to soil my hands on you,” he said, “but I don't mind telling + you that any man who ruins a girl's life and then tries to get out of it + by defaming her, is a skunk.” + </p> + <p> + Akers lunged at him. + </p> + <p> + Some time later Mr. William Wallace Cameron descended to the street. He + wore his coat collar turned up to conceal the absence of certain articles + of wearing apparel which he had mysteriously lost. And he wore, too, a + somewhat distorted, grim and entirely complacent smile. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + The city had taken the rioting with a weary philosophy. It was tired of + fighting. For two years it had labored at high tension for the European + war. It had paid taxes and bought bonds, for the war. It had saved and + skimped and denied itself, for the war. And for the war it had made steel, + steel for cannon and for tanks, for ships and for railroads. It had + labored hard and well, and now all it wanted was to be allowed to get back + to normal things. It wanted peace. + </p> + <p> + It said, in effect: “I have both fought and labored, sacrificed and + endured. Give me now my rest of nights, after a day's work. Give me + marriage and children. Give me contentment. Give me the things I have + loved long since, and lost awhile.” + </p> + <p> + And because the city craved peace, it was hard to rouse it to its danger. + It was war-weary, and its weariness was not of apathy, but of exhaustion. + It was not yet ready for new activity. + </p> + <p> + Then, the same night that had seen Willy Cameron's encounter with Akers, + it was roused from its lethargy. A series of bomb outrages shook the + downtown district. The Denslow Bank was the first to go. Willy Cameron, + inspecting a cut lip in his mirror, heard a dull explosion, and ran down + to the street. There he was joined by Joe Wilkinson, in trousers over his + night shirt, and as they looked, a dull red glare showed against the sky. + Joe went back for more clothing, but Willy Cameron ran down the street. At + the first corner he heard a second explosion, further away and to the + east, but apparently no fire followed it. That, he learned later, was the + City Club, founded by Anthony Cardew years before. + </p> + <p> + The Denslow Bank was burning. The facade had been shattered and from the + interior already poured a steady flow of flame and smoke. He stood among + the crowd, while the engines throbbed and the great fire hose lay along + the streets, and watched the little upper room where the precious records + of the Committee were burning brightly. The front wall gone, the small + office stood open to the world, a bright and shameless thing, flaunting + its nakedness to the crowd below. + </p> + <p> + He wondered why Providence should so play into the hands of the enemy. + </p> + <p> + After a time he happened on Pink Denslow, wandering alone on the outskirts + of the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Just about kill the governor, this,” said Pink, heavily. “Don't suppose + the watchmen got out, either. Not that they'd care,” he added, savagely. + </p> + <p> + “How about the vaults? I suppose they are fireproof?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you realize that every record we've got has gone? D'you suppose + those fellows knew about them?” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron had been asking himself the same question. + </p> + <p> + “Trouble is,” Pink went on, “you don't know who to trust. They're not all + foreigners. Let's get away from here; it makes me sick.” + </p> + <p> + They wandered through the night together, almost unconsciously in the + direction of the City Club, but within a block of it they realized that + something was wrong. A hospital ambulance dashed by, its gong ringing + wildly, and a fire engine, not pumping, stood at the curb. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” Pink said suddenly. “There were two explosions. It's just + possible—” + </p> + <p> + The club was more sinister than the burning bank; it was a mass of grim + wreckage, black and gaping, with now and then the sound of settling + masonry, and already dotted with the moving flash-lights of men who + searched. + </p> + <p> + To Pink this catastrophe was infinitely greater than that of the bank. Men + he knew had lived there. There were old club servants who were like family + retainers; one or two employees were ex-service men for whom he had found + employment. He stood there, with Willy Cameron's hand on his arm, with a + new maturity and a vast suffering in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Before God,” he said solemnly, “I swear never to rest until the fellows + behind this are tried, condemned and hanged. You've heard it, Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + The death list for that night numbered thirteen, the two watchmen at the + bank and eleven men at the club, two of them members. Willy Cameron, going + home at dawn, exhausted and covered with plaster dust, bought an extra and + learned that a third bomb, less powerful, had wrecked the mayor's house. + It had been placed under the sleeping porch, and but for the accident of a + sick baby the entire family would have been wiped out. + </p> + <p> + Even his high courage began to waver. His records were gone; that was all + to do over again. But what seemed to him the impasse was this fighting in + the dark. An unseen enemy, always. And an enemy which combined with skill + a total lack of any rules of warfare, which killed here, there and + everywhere, as though for the sheer joy of killing. It struck at the high + but killed the low. And it had only begun. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Dominant family traits have a way of skipping one generation and appearing + in the next. Lily Cardew at that stage of her life had a considerable + amount of old Anthony's obstinacy and determination, although it was + softened by a long line of Cardew women behind her, women who had loved, + and suffered dominance because they loved. Her very infatuation for Louis + Akers, like Elinor's for Doyle, was possibly an inheritance from her + fore-mothers, who had been wont to overlook the evil in a man for the + strength in him. Only Lily mistook physical strength for moral fibre, + insolence and effrontery for courage. + </p> + <p> + In both her virtues and her faults, however, irrespective of heredity, + Lily represented very fully the girl of her position and period. With no + traditions to follow, setting her course by no compass, taught to think + but not how to think, resentful of tyranny but unused to freedom, she + moved ahead along the path she had elected to follow, blindly and + obstinately, yet unhappy and suffering. + </p> + <p> + Her infatuation for Louis Akers had come to a new phase of its rapid + development. She had reached that point where a woman realizes that the + man she loves is, not a god of strength and wisdom, but a great child who + needs her. It is at that point that one of two things happens: the weak + woman abandons him, and follows her dream elsewhere. The woman of + character, her maternal instinct roused, marries him, bears him children, + is both wife and mother to him, and finds in their united weaknesses such + strength as she can. + </p> + <p> + In her youth and self-sufficiency Lily stood ready to give, rather than to + receive. She felt now that he needed her more than she needed him. There + was something unconsciously patronizing those days in her attitude toward + him, and if he recognized it he did not resent it. Women had always been + “easy” for him. Her very aloofness, her faint condescension, her air of a + young grande dame, were a part of her attraction for him. + </p> + <p> + Love sees clearly, and seeing, loves on. But infatuation is blind; when it + gains sight, it dies. Already Lily was seeing him with the critical eyes + of youth, his loud voice, his over-fastidious dress, his occasional + grossnesses. To offset these she placed vast importance on his promise to + leave his old associates when she married him. + </p> + <p> + The time was very close now. She could not hold him off much longer, and + she began to feel, too, that she must soon leave the house on Cardew Way. + Doyle's attitude to her was increasingly suspicious and ungracious. She + knew that he had no knowledge of Louis's promise, but he began to feel + that she was working against him, and showed it. + </p> + <p> + And in Louis Akers too she began to discern an inclination not to pull out + until after the election. He was ambitious, and again and again he urged + that he would be more useful for the purpose in her mind if he were + elected first. + </p> + <p> + That issue came to a climax the day she had seen her mother and learned + the terms on which she might return home. She was alarmed by his noisy + anger at the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Do sit down, Louis, and be quiet,” she said. “You have known their + attitude all along, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll show them,” he said, thickly. “Damned snobs!” He glanced at her then + uneasily, and her expression put him on his guard. “I didn't mean that, + little girl. Honestly I didn't. I don't care for myself. It's you.” + </p> + <p> + “You must understand that they think they are acting for my good. And I am + not sure,” she added, her clear eyes on him, “that they are not right. You + frighten me sometimes, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + But a little later he broke out again. If he wasn't good enough to enter + their house, he'd show them something. The election would show them + something. They couldn't refuse to receive the mayor of the city. She saw + then that he was bent on remaining with Doyle until after the election. + </p> + <p> + Lily sat back, listening and thinking. Sometimes she thought that he did + not love her at all. He always said he wanted her, but that was different. + </p> + <p> + “I think you love yourself more than you love me, Louis,” she said, when + he had exhausted himself. “I don't believe you know what love is.” + </p> + <p> + That brought him to his knees, his arms around her, kissing her hands, + begging her not to give him up, and once again her curious sense of + responsibility for him triumphed. + </p> + <p> + “You will marry me soon, dear, won't you?” he implored her. But she + thought of Willy Cameron, oddly enough, even while his arms were around + her; of the difference in the two men. Louis, big, crouching, suppliant + and insistent; Willy Cameron, grave, reserved and steady, taking what she + now knew was the blow of her engagement like a gentleman and a soldier. + </p> + <p> + They represented, although she did not know it, the two divisions of men + in love, the men who offer much and give little, the others who, out of a + deep humility, offer little and give everything they have. + </p> + <p> + In the end, nothing was settled. After he had gone Lily, went up to + Elinor's room. She had found in Elinor lately a sort of nervous tension + that puzzled her, and that tension almost snapped when Lily told her of + her visit home, and of her determination to marry Louis within the next + few days. Elinor had dropped her sewing and clenched her hands in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Not soon, Lily!” she said. “Oh, not soon. Wait a little—wait two + months.” + </p> + <p> + “Two months?” Lily said wonderingly. “Why two months?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, at the end of two months, nothing would make you marry him,” + Elinor said, almost violently. “I have sat by and waited, because I + thought you would surely see your mistake. But now—Lily, do you envy + me my life?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Lily said truthfully; “but you love him.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor sat, her eyes downcast and brooding. + </p> + <p> + “You are different,” she said finally. “You will break, where I have only + bent.” + </p> + <p> + But she said no more about a delay. She had been passive too long to be + able to take any strong initiative now. And all her moral and physical + courage she was saving for a great emergency. + </p> + <p> + Cardew Way was far from the center of town, and Lily knew nothing of the + bomb outrages of that night. + </p> + <p> + When she went down to breakfast the next morning she found Jim Doyle + pacing the floor of the dining room in a frenzy of rage, a newspaper + clenched in his hand. By the window stood Elinor, very pale and with + slightly reddened eyes. They had not heard her, and Doyle continued a + furious harangue. + </p> + <p> + “The fools!” he said. “Damn such material as I have to work with! This + isn't the time, and they know it. I've warned them over and over. The + fools!” + </p> + <p> + Elinor saw her then, and made a gesture of warning. But it was too late. + Lily had a certain quality of directness, and it did not occur to her to + dissemble. + </p> + <p> + “Is anything wrong?” she asked, and went at once to Elinor. She had once + or twice before this stood between them for Elinor's protection. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is as happy as a May morning,” Doyle sneered. “Your Aunt + Elinor has an unpleasant habit of weeping for joy.” + </p> + <p> + Lily stiffened, but Elinor touched her arm. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down and eat your breakfast, Lily,” she said, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + Doyle stood staring at Lily angrily. He did not know how much she had + heard, how much she knew. At the moment he did not care. He had a reckless + impulse to tell her the truth, but his habitual caution prevailed. He + forced a cold smile. + </p> + <p> + “Don't bother your pretty head about politics,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lily was equally cold. Her dislike of him had been growing for weeks, + coupled to a new and strange distrust. + </p> + <p> + “Politics? You seem to take your politics very hard.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” he said urbanely. “Particularly when I am fighting my wife's + family. May I pour you some coffee?” + </p> + <p> + And pour it he did, eyeing her furtively the while, and brought it to her. + </p> + <p> + “May I give you a word of advice, Lily?” he said. “Don't treat your + husband to tears at breakfast—unless you want to see him romping off + to some other woman.” + </p> + <p> + “If he cared to do that I shouldn't want him anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a self-sufficient child, aren't you? Well, the best of us do it, + sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + He had successfully changed the trend of her thoughts, and he went out, + carrying the newspaper with him. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, he began to feel that her presence in the house was a + menace. With all her theories he knew that a word of the truth would send + her flying, breathless with outrage, out of his door. He could quite + plainly visualize that home-coming of hers. The instant steps that would + be taken against him, old Anthony on the wire appealing to the governor, + Howard closeted with the Chief of Police, an instant closing of the net. + And he was not ready for the clash. + </p> + <p> + No. She must stay. If only Elinor would play the game, instead of puling + and mouthing! In the room across the hall where his desk stood he paced + the floor, first angrily, then thoughtfully, his head bent. He saw, and + not far away now, himself seated in the city hall, holding the city in the + hollow of his hand. From that his dreams ranged far. He saw himself the + head, not of the nation—there would be no nation, as such—but + of the country. The very incidents of the night before, blundering as they + were, showed him the ease with which the new force could be applied. + </p> + <p> + He was drunk with power. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <p> + Lily had an unexpected visitor that afternoon, in the person of Pink + Denslow. She had assumed some of Elinor's cares for the day, for Elinor + herself had not been visible since breakfast. It soothed the girl to + attend to small duties, and she was washing and wiping Elinor's small + stock of fine china when the bell rang. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Denslow is calling,” said Jennie. “I didn't know if you'd see him, so + I said I didn't know if you were in.” + </p> + <p> + Lily's surprise at Pink's visit was increased when she saw him. He was + covered with plaster dust, even to the brim of his hat, and his hands were + scratched and rough. + </p> + <p> + “Pink!” she said. “Why, what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time he was conscious of his appearance, and for the first + time in his life perhaps, entirely indifferent to it. + </p> + <p> + “I've been digging in the ruins,” he said. “Is that man Doyle in the + house?” + </p> + <p> + Her color faded. Suddenly she noticed a certain wildness about Pink's + eyes, and the hard strained look of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “What ruins, Pink?” she managed to ask. + </p> + <p> + “All the ruins,” he said. “You know, don't you? The bank, our bank, and + the club?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her afterwards that she knew before he told her, saw it all, + a dreadful picture which had somehow superimposed upon it a vision of Jim + Doyle with the morning paper, and the thing that this was not the time + for. + </p> + <p> + “That's all,” he finished. “Eleven at the club, two of them my own + fellows. In France, you know. I found one of them myself, this morning.” + He stared past her, over her head. “Killed for nothing, the way the + Germans terrorized Belgium. Haven't you seen the papers?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they wouldn't let you see them, of course. Lily, I want you to leave + here. If you don't, if you stay now, you're one of them, whether you + believe what they preach or not. Don't you see that?” + </p> + <p> + She was not listening. Her faith was dying hard, and the mental shock had + brought her dizziness and a faint nausea. He stood watching her, and when + she glanced up at him it seemed to her that Pink was hard. Hard and + suspicious, and the suspicion was for her. It was incredible. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe what they preach?” he demanded. “I've got to know, Lily. + I've suffered the tortures of the damned all night.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know it meant this.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “No. You ought to know me better than that. But I don't believe that it + started here, Pink. He was very angry this morning, and he wouldn't let me + see the paper.” + </p> + <p> + “He's behind it all right,” Pink said grimly. “Maybe he didn't plant the + bombs, but his infernal influence did it, just the same. Do you mean to + say you've lived here all this time and don't know he is plotting a + revolution? What if he didn't authorize these things last night? He is + only waiting, to place a hundred bombs instead of three. A thousand, + perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “We've got their own statements. Department of Justice found them. The + fools, to think they can overthrow the government! Can you imagine men + planning to capture this city and hold it?” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be possible, Pink?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't possible now, but they'll make a try at it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short pause, with Lily struggling to understand. Pink's set + face relaxed somewhat. All that night he had been fighting for his belief + in her. + </p> + <p> + “I never dreamed of it, Pink. I suppose all the talk I've heard meant + that, but I never—are you sure? About Jim Doyle, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “We know he is behind it. We haven't got the goods on him yet, but we + know. Cameron knows. You ask him and he'll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Willy Cameron?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He's had some vision, while the rest of us—! He's got a lot of + us working now, Lily. We are on the right trail, too, although we lost + some records last night that put us back a couple of months. We'll get + them, all right. We'll smash their little revolution into a cocked hat.” + It occurred to him, then, that this house was a poor place for such a + confidence. “I'll tell you about it later. Get your things now, and let me + take you home.” + </p> + <p> + But Lily's problem was too complex for Pink's simple remedy. She was + stricken with sudden conviction; the very mention of Willy Cameron gave + Pink's statements authority. But to go like that, to leave Elinor in that + house, with all that it implied, was impossible. And there was her own + private problem to dispose of. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go this afternoon, Pink. I'll promise you that. But I can't go with + you now. I can't. You'll have to take my word, that's all. And you must + believe I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you didn't know,” he said, sturdily. “But I hate like thunder + to go and leave you here.” He picked up his hat, reluctantly. “If I can do + anything—” + </p> + <p> + Lily's mind was working more clearly now. This was the thing Louis Akers + had been concerned with, then, a revolution against his country. But it + was the thing, too, that he had promised to abandon. He was not a killer. + She knew him well, and he was not a killer. He had got to a certain point, + and then the thing had sickened him. Even without her he would never have + gone through with it. But it would be necessary now to get his information + quickly. Very quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” she said, hesitatingly, “suppose I tell you that I think I am + going to be able to help you before long?” + </p> + <p> + “Help? I want you safe. This is not work for women.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose I can bring you a very valuable ally?” she persisted. “Some + one who knows all about certain plans, and has changed his views about + them?” + </p> + <p> + “One of them?” + </p> + <p> + “He has been.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he selling his information?” + </p> + <p> + “In a way, yes,” said Lily, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Ware the fellow who sells information,” Pink said. “But we'll be glad to + have it. We need it, God knows. And—you'll leave?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't stay, could I?” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her hand when he went away, doing it awkwardly and + self-consciously, but withal reverently. She wondered, rather dully, why + she could not love Pink. A woman would be so safe with him, so sure. + </p> + <p> + She had not even then gathered the full force of what he had told her. But + little by little things came back to her; the man on guard in the garden; + the incident of the locked kitchen door; Jim Doyle once talking angrily + over a telephone in his study, although no telephone, so far as she knew, + was installed in the room; his recent mysterious absences, and the + increasing visits of the hateful Woslosky. + </p> + <p> + She went back to Louis. This was what he had meant. He had known all + along, and plotted with them; even if his stomach had turned now, he had + been a party to this infamy. Even then she did not hate him; she saw him, + misled as she had been by Doyle's high-sounding phrases, lured on by one + of those wild dreams of empire to which men were sometimes given. She did + not love him any more; she was sorry for him. + </p> + <p> + She saw her position with the utmost clearness. To go home was to abandon + him, to lose him for those who needed what he could give, to send him back + to the enemy. She had told Pink she could secure an ally for a price, and + she was the price. There was not an ounce of melodrama in her, as she + stood facing the situation. She considered, quite simply, that she had + assumed an obligation which she must carry out. Perhaps her pride was + dictating to her also. To go crawling home, bowed to the dust, to admit + that life had beaten her, to face old Anthony's sneers and her mother's + pity—that was hard for any Cardew. + </p> + <p> + She remembered Elinor's home-comings of years ago, the strained air of the + household, the whispering servants, and Elinor herself shut away, or + making her rare, almost furtive visits downstairs when her father was out + of the house. + </p> + <p> + No, she could not face that. + </p> + <p> + Her own willfulness had brought her to this pass; she faced that + uncompromisingly. She would marry Louis, and hold him to his promise, and + so perhaps out of all this misery some good would come. But at the thought + of marriage she found herself trembling violently. With no love and no + real respect to build on, with an intuitive knowledge of the man's + primitive violences, the reluctance toward marriage with him which she had + always felt crystallized into something very close to dread. + </p> + <p> + But a few minutes later she went upstairs, quite steady again, and fully + determined. At Elinor's door she tapped lightly, and she heard movements + within. Then Elinor opened the door wide. She had been lying on her bed, + and automatically after closing the door she began to smooth it. Lily felt + a wave of intense pity for her. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would go away from here, Aunt Elinor,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Elinor glanced up, without surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Where could I go?” + </p> + <p> + “If you left him definitely, you could go home.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor shook her head, dumbly, and her passivity drove Lily suddenly to + desperation. + </p> + <p> + “You know what is going on,” she said, her voice strained. “You don't + believe it is right; you know it is wicked. Clothe it in all the fine + language in the world, Aunt Elinor, and it is still wicked. If you stay + here you condone it. I won't. I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had never come, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too late for that,” Lily said, stonily. “But it is not too late for + you to get away.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall stay,” Elinor said, with an air of finality. But Lily made one + more effort. + </p> + <p> + “He is killing you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he is killing himself.” Suddenly Elinor flared into a passionate + outburst. “Don't you think I know where all this is leading? Do you + believe for a moment that I think all this can lead to anything but death? + It is a madness, Lily; they are all mad, these men. Don't you know that I + have talked and argued and prayed, against it?” + </p> + <p> + “Then come away. You have done all you could, and you have failed, haven't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not time for me to go,” Elinor said. And Lily, puzzled and baffled, + found herself again looking into Elinor's quiet, inscrutable eyes. + </p> + <p> + Elinor had taken it for granted that the girl was going home, and together + they packed almost in silence. Once Elinor looked up from folding a + garment, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You said you had not understood before, but that now you do. What did you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Pink Denslow was here.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he know?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I ought to tell you, Aunt Elinor? It isn't that I don't + trust you. You must believe that, but don't you see that so long as you + stay here—he said that to me—you are one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor resumed her folding. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose I am one of them,” she said quietly. “And you are right. + You must not tell me anything. Pink is Henry Denslow's son, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they—still live in the old house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor continued her methodical work. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + Willy Cameron was free that evening. Although he had not slept at all the + night before, he felt singularly awake and active. The Committee had made + temporary quarters of his small back room at the pharmacy, and there had + sat in rather depressed conclave during a part of the afternoon. Pink + Denslow had come in late, and had remained, silent and haggard, through + the debate. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to do but to start again in an attempt to get files and + card indexes. Greater secrecy was to be preserved and enjoined, the + location of the office to be known only to a small inner circle, and + careful policing of it and of the building which housed it to be + established. As a further safeguard, two duplicate files would be kept in + other places. The Committee groaned over its own underestimate of the + knowledge of the radicals. + </p> + <p> + The two buildings chosen for destruction were, respectively, the bank + building where their file was kept, and the club, where nine-tenths of the + officers of the Committee were members. The significance of the double + outrage was unquestionable. + </p> + <p> + When the meeting broke up Pink remained behind. He found it rather + difficult to broach the matter in his mind. It was always hard for him to + talk about Lily Cardew, and lately he had had a growing conviction that + Willy Cameron found it equally difficult. He wondered if Cameron, too, was + in love with Lily. There had been a queer look in his face on those rare + occasions when Pink had mentioned her, a sort of exaltation, and an odd + difficulty afterwards in getting back to the subject in hand. + </p> + <p> + Pink had developed an enormous affection and admiration for Willy Cameron, + a strange, loyal, half wistful, totally unselfish devotion. It had + steadied him, when the loss of Lily might have made him reckless, and had + taken the form in recent weeks of finding innumerable business + opportunities, which Willy Cameron cheerfully refused to take. + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay here until this other thing is settled,” was Willy's invariable + answer. “I have a certain amount of time here, and the fellows can drop in + to see me without causing suspicion. In an office it would be different. + And besides, I can't throw Mr. Davis down. His wife is in bad shape.” + </p> + <p> + So, that afternoon, Pink waited until the Committee had dispersed, and + then said, with some difficulty: + </p> + <p> + “I saw her, Cameron. She has promised to leave.” + </p> + <p> + “To-day?” + </p> + <p> + “This afternoon. I wanted to take her away, but she had some things to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she hadn't known before?” + </p> + <p> + “No. She thought it was just talk. And they'd kept the papers from her. + She hadn't heard about last night. Well, that's all. I thought you'd want + to know.” + </p> + <p> + Pink started out, but Willy Cameron called him back. + </p> + <p> + “Have any of your people any influence with the Cardews?” + </p> + <p> + “No one has any influence with the Cardews, if you mean the Cardew men. + Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because Cardew has got to get out of the mayoralty campaign. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a-plenty,” said Pink, grinning. “Why don't you go and tell him + so?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking of it. He hasn't a chance in the world, but he'll defeat + Hendricks by splitting the vote, and let the other side in. And you know + what that means.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” Pink observed, “but Mr. Cardew doesn't, and he won't after + you've told him. They've put a lot of money in, and once a Cardew has + invested in a thing he holds on like death. Especially the old man. + Wouldn't wonder he was the fellow who pounded the daylights out of Akers + last night,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron, having carefully filled his pipe, closed the door into the + shop, and opened a window. + </p> + <p> + “Akers?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Noon edition has it,” Pink said. “Claims to have been attacked in his + rooms by two masked men. Probably wouldn't have told it, but the doctor + talked. Looks as though he could wallop six masked men, doesn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Willy Cameron, reflectively. “Yes; he does, rather.” + </p> + <p> + He felt more hopeful than he had for days. Lily on her way home, clear + once more of the poisonous atmosphere of Doyle and his associates; Akers + temporarily out of the way, perhaps for long enough to let the normal + influences of her home life show him to her in a real perspective; and a + rather unholy but very human joy that he had given Akers a part of what + was coming to him—all united to cheer him. He saw Lily going home, + and a great wave of tenderness flooded him. If only they would be tactful + and careful, if only they would be understanding and kind. If they would + only be normal and every-day, and accept her as though she had never been + away. These people were so hedged about with conventions and restrictions, + they put so much emphasis on the letter and so little on the spirit. If + only—God, if only they wouldn't patronize her! + </p> + <p> + His mother would have known how to receive her. He felt, that afternoon, a + real homesickness for his mother. He saw her, ample and comfortable and + sane, so busy with the comforts of the body that she seemed to ignore the + soul, and yet bringing healing with her every matter-of-fact movement. + </p> + <p> + If only Lily could have gone back to her, instead of to that great house, + full of curious eyes and whispering voices. + </p> + <p> + He saw Mr. Hendricks that evening on his way home to supper. Mr. Hendricks + had lost flesh and some of his buoyancy, but he was persistently + optimistic. + </p> + <p> + “Up to last night I'd have said we were done, son,” he observed. “But this + bomb business has settled them. The labor vote'll split on it, sure as + whooping cough.” + </p> + <p> + “They've bought a half-page in all the morning papers, disclaiming all + responsibility and calling on all citizens to help them in protecting + private property.” + </p> + <p> + “Have they, now,” said Hendricks, with grudging admiration. “Can you beat + that? Where do they get the money, anyhow? If I lost my watch these days + I'd have to do some high-finance before I'd be able to advertise for it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, see Cardew,” were his parting words. “But he doesn't want this + election any more than I want my right leg. He'll stick. You can talk, + Cameron, I'll say it. But you can't pry him off with kind words, any more + than you can a porous plaster.” + </p> + <p> + Behind Mr. Hendricks' colloquialisms there was something sturdy and fine. + His very vernacular made him popular; his honesty was beyond suspicion. If + he belonged to the old school in politics, he had most of its virtues and + few of its vices. He would take care of his friends, undoubtedly, but he + was careful in his choice of friends. He would make the city a good place + to live in. Like Willy Cameron, he saw it, not a center of trade so much + as a vast settlement of homes. Business supported the city in his mind, + not the city business. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless the situation was serious, and it was with a sense of a + desperate remedy for a desperate disease that Willy Cameron, after a + careful toilet, rang the bell of the Cardew house that night. He had no + hope of seeing Lily, but the mere thought that they were under one roof + gave him a sense of nearness and of comfort in her safety. + </p> + <p> + Dinner was recently over, and he found both the Cardews, father and son, + in the library smoking. He had arrived at a bad moment, for the bomb + outrage, coming on top of Lily's refusal to come home under the given + conditions, had roused Anthony to a cold rage, and left Howard with a + feeling of helplessness. + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew nodded to him grimly, but Howard shook hands and offered + him a chair. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you speak some time ago, Mr. Cameron,” he said. “You made me wish + I could have had your support.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to talk about that. I am sorry to have to come in the evening, but + I am not free at any other time.” + </p> + <p> + “When we go into politics,” said old Anthony in his jibing voice, “the + ordinary amenities have to go. When you are elected, Howard, I shall live + somewhere else.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you will be put to that inconvenience, Mr. Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Old Anthony's voice was incredulous. Here, in his own + house, this whipper-snapper— + </p> + <p> + “I am sure Mr. Howard Cardew realizes he cannot be elected.” + </p> + <p> + The small ragged vein on Anthony's forehead was the storm signal for the + family. Howard glanced at him, and said urbanely: + </p> + <p> + “Will you have a cigar, Mr. Cameron? Or a liqueur?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, thank you. If I can have a few minutes' talk with you—” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean that as a request for me to go out, I will remind you that I + am heavily interested in this matter myself,” said old Anthony. “I have + put in a great deal of money. If you people are going to drop out, I want + to hear it. You've played the devil with us already, with your independent + candidate who can't talk English.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron kept his temper. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, slowly. “It wasn't a question of Mr. Hendricks withdrawing. + It was a question of Mr. Cardew getting out.” + </p> + <p> + Sheer astonishment held old Anthony speechless. + </p> + <p> + “It's like this,” Willy Cameron said. “Your son knows it. Even if we drop + out he won't get it. Justly or unjustly—and I mean that—nobody + with the name of Cardew can be elected to any high office in this city. + There's no reflection on anybody in my saying that. I am telling you a + fact.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had listened attentively and without anger. “For a long time, Mr. + Cameron,” he said, “I have been urging men of—of position in the + city, to go into politics. We have needed to get away from the + professional politician. I went in, without much hope of election, to—well, + you can say to blaze a trail. It is not being elected that counts with me, + so much as to show my willingness to serve.” + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony recovered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “The Cardews made this town, sir,” he barked. “Willingness to serve, + piffle! We need a business man to run the city, and by God, we'll get it!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get an anarchist,” said Willy Cameron, slightly flushed. + </p> + <p> + “If you want my opinion, young man, this is a trick, a political trick. + And how do we know that your Vigilance Committee isn't a trick, too? You + try to tell us that there is an organized movement here to do heaven knows + what, and by sheer terror you build up a machine which appeals to the + public imagination. You don't say anything about votes, but you see that + they vote for your man. Isn't that true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If they can keep an anarchist out of office. Akers is an anarchist. + He calls himself something else, but that's what it amounts to. And those + bombs last night were not imaginary.” + </p> + <p> + The introduction of Louis Akers' name had a sobering effect on Anthony + Cardew. After all, more than anything else, he wanted Akers defeated. The + discussion slowly lost its acrimony, and ended, oddly enough, in Willy + Cameron and Anthony Cardew virtually uniting against Howard. What Willy + Cameron told about Jim Doyle fed the old man's hatred of his daughter's + husband, and there was something very convincing about Cameron himself. + Something of fearlessness and honesty that began, slowly, to dispose + Anthony in his favor. + </p> + <p> + It was Howard who held out. + </p> + <p> + “If I quit now it will look as though I didn't want to take a licking,” he + said, quietly obstinate. “Grant your point, that I'm defeated. All right, + I'll be defeated—but I won't quit.” + </p> + <p> + And Anthony Cardew, confronted by that very quality of obstinacy which had + been his own weapon for so many years, retired in high dudgeon to his + upper rooms. He was living in a strange new world, a reasonable soul on an + unreasonable earth, an earth where a man's last sanctuary, his club, was + blown up about him, and a man's family apparently lived only to thwart + him. + </p> + <p> + With Anthony gone, Howard dropped the discussion with the air of a man who + has made a final stand. + </p> + <p> + “What you have said about Mr. Doyle interests me greatly,” he observed, + “because—you probably do not know this—my sister married him + some years ago. It was a most unhappy affair.” + </p> + <p> + “I do know it. For that reason I am glad that Miss Lily has come home.” + </p> + <p> + “Has come home? She has not come home, Mr. Cameron. There was a condition + we felt forced to make, and she refused to agree to it. Perhaps we were + wrong. I—” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron got up. + </p> + <p> + “Was that to-day?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But she was coming home to-day. She was to leave there this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Denslow saw her there this afternoon. She agreed to leave at once. He had + told her of the bombs, and of other things. She hadn't understood before, + and she was horrified. It is just possible Doyle wouldn't let her go.” + </p> + <p> + “But—that's ridiculous. She can't be a prisoner in my sister's + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you telephone and find out if she is there?” Howard went to the + telephone at once. It seemed to Willy Cameron that he stood there for + uncounted years, and as though, through all that eternity of waiting, he + knew what the answer would be. And that he knew, too, what that answer + meant, where she had gone, what she had done. If only she had come to him. + If only she had come to him. He would have saved her from herself. He— + </p> + <p> + “She is not there,” Howard Cardew said, in a voice from which all life had + gone. “She left this afternoon, at four o'clock. Of course she has + friends. Or she may have gone to a hotel. We had managed to make it + practically impossible for her to come home.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron glanced at his watch. He had discounted the worst before it + came, and unlike the older man, was ready for action. It was he who took + hold of the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Order a car, Mr. Cardew, and go to the hotels,” he said. “And if you will + drop me downtown—I'll tell you where—I'll follow up something + that has just occurred to me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <p> + In one way Howard had been correct in his surmise. It had been Lily's idea + to go to a hotel until she had made some definite plan. She would + telephone Louis then, and the rest—she did not think beyond that. + She called a taxi and took a small bag with her, but in the taxicab she + suddenly realized that she could not go to any of the hotels she knew. She + would be recognized at once. + </p> + <p> + She wanted a little time to herself, time to think. And before it was + discovered that she had left Cardew Way she must see Louis, and judge + again if he intended to act in good faith. While he was with her, + reiterating his promises, she believed him, but when he was gone, she + always felt, a curious doubt. + </p> + <p> + She thought then of finding a quiet room somewhere, and stopping the cab, + bought a newspaper. It was when she was searching for the “rooms for rent” + column that she saw he had been attacked and slightly injured. + </p> + <p> + They had got him. He had said that if they ever suspected him of playing + them false they would get him, and now they had done so. That removed the + last doubt of his good faith from her mind. She felt indignation and + dismay, and a sort of aching consciousness that always she brought only + trouble to the people who cared for her; she felt that she was going + through her life, leaving only unhappiness behind her. + </p> + <p> + He had suffered, and for her. + </p> + <p> + She told the chauffeur to go to the Benedict Apartments, and sitting back + read the notice again. He had been attacked by two masked men and badly + bruised, after putting up a terrific resistance. They would wear masks, of + course. They loved the theatrical. Their very flag was theatrical. And he + had made a hard fight That was like him, too; he was a fighter. + </p> + <p> + She was a Cardew, and she loved strength. There were other men, men like + Willy Cameron, for instance, who were lovable in many ways, but they were + not fighters. They sat back, and let life beat them, and they took the + hurt bravely and stoically. But they never got life by the throat and + shook it until it gave up what they wanted. + </p> + <p> + She had never been in a bachelors' apartment house before, and she was + both frightened and self-conscious. The girl at the desk eyed her + curiously while she telephoned her message, and watched her as she moved + toward the elevator. “Ever seen her before?” she said to the hall boy. + </p> + <p> + “No. She's a new one.” + </p> + <p> + “Face's kind of familiar to me,” said the telephone girl, reflectively. + “Looks worried, doesn't she? Two masked men! Huh! All Sam took up there + last night was a thin fellow with a limp.” + </p> + <p> + The hall boy grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Then his limp didn't bother him any. Sam says y'ought to seen that + place.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, outside the door of Akers' apartment, Lily's fine courage + almost left her. Had it not been for the eyes of the elevator man, fixed + on her while he lounged in his gateway, she might have gone away, even + then. But she stood there, committed to a course of action, and rang. + </p> + <p> + Louis himself admitted her, an oddly battered Louis, in a dressing gown + and slippers; an oddly watchful Louis, too, waiting, after the manner of + men of his kind the world over, to see which way the cat would jump. He + had had a bad day, and his nerves were on edge. All day he had sat there, + unable to go out, and had wondered just when Cameron would see her and + tell her about Edith Boyd. For, just as Willy Cameron rushed him for the + first time, there had been something from between clenched teeth about + marrying another girl, under the given circumstances. Only that had not + been the sort of language in which it was delivered. + </p> + <p> + “I just saw about it in the newspaper,” Lily said. “How dreadful, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + He straightened himself and drew a deep breath. The game was still his, if + he played it right. + </p> + <p> + “Bad enough, dear,” he said, “but I gave them some trouble, too.” He + pushed a chair toward her. “It was like you to come. But I don't like your + seeing me all mussed up, little girl.” + </p> + <p> + He made a move then to kiss her, but she drew back. + </p> + <p> + “Please!” she said. “Not here. And I can't sit down. I can't stay. I only + came because I wanted to tell you something and I didn't want to telephone + it. Louis, Jim Doyle knew about those bombs last night. He didn't want it + to happen before the election, but—that doesn't alter the fact, does + it?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know he knew?” + </p> + <p> + “I do know. That's all. And I have left Aunt Elinor's.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't stay, could I?” She looked up at him, the little wistful + glance that Willy always found so infinitely touching, like the appeal of + a willful but lovable child, that has somehow got into trouble. “And I + can't go home, Louis, unless I—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you give me up,” he finished for her. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. She hated making terms with him, and yet somehow she must + make terms. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he repeated. “Are you going to throw me over?” + </p> + <p> + Apparently merely putting the thought into words crystallized all his + fears of the past hours; seeing her there, too, had intensified his want + of her. She stood there, where he had so often dreamed of seeing her, but + still holding him off with the aloofness that both chilled and inflamed + him, and with a question in her eyes. He held out his arms, but she drew + back. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean what you have said, Louis, about leaving them, if I marry + you, and doing all you can to stop them?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—I'll not go home.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to marry me? Now?” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you say.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she was trembling violently, and her lips felt dry and stiff. He + pushed her into a chair, and knelt down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “You poor little kid,” he said, softly. + </p> + <p> + Through his brain were racing a hundred thoughts; Lily his, in his arms, + in spite of that white-faced drug clerk with the cold eyes; himself in the + Cardew house, one of them, beating old Anthony Cardew at his own cynical + game; and persistently held back and often rising again to the surface, + Woslosky and Doyle and the others, killers that they were, pursuing him + with their vengeance over the world. They would have to be counted in; + they were his price, as he, had he known it, was Lily's. + </p> + <p> + “My wife!” he said. “My wife.” + </p> + <p> + She stiffened in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “I must go, Louis,” she said. “I can't stay here. I felt very queer + downstairs. They all stared so.” + </p> + <p> + There was a clock on the mantel shelf, and he looked at it. It was a + quarter before five. + </p> + <p> + “One thing is sure, Lily,” he said. “You can't wander about alone, and you + are right—you can't stay here. They probably recognized you + downstairs. You are pretty well known.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time it occurred to her that she had compromised herself, + and that the net, of her own making, was closing fast about her. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I hadn't come.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? We can fix that all right in a jiffy.” + </p> + <p> + But when he suggested an immediate marriage she made a final struggle. In + a few days, even to-morrow, but not just then. He listened, impatiently, + his eyes on the clock. Beside it in the mirror he saw his own marred face, + and it added to his anger. In the end he took control of the situation; + went into his bedroom, changed into a coat, and came out again, ready for + the street. He telephoned down for a taxicab, and then confronted her, his + face grim. + </p> + <p> + “I've let you run things pretty much to suit yourself, Lily,” he said. + “Now I'm in charge. It won't be to-morrow or next week or next month. It + will be now. You're here. You've given them a chance to talk downstairs. + You've nowhere to go, and you're going to marry me at once.” + </p> + <p> + In the cab he explained more fully. They would get a license, and then go + to one of the hotels. There they could be married, in their own suite. + </p> + <p> + “All regularly and in order, honey,” he said, and kissed her hand. She had + hardly heard. She was staring ahead, not thinking, not listening, not + seeing, fighting down a growing fear of the man before her, of his sheer + physical proximity, of his increasing exuberance. + </p> + <p> + “I'm mad about you, girl,” he said. “Mad. And now you are going to be + mine, until death do us part.” + </p> + <p> + She shivered and drew away, and he laughed a little. Girls were like that, + at such times. They always took a step back for every two steps forward. + He let her hand go, and took a careful survey of his face in the mirror of + the cab. The swelling had gone down, but that bruise below his eye would + last for days. He cursed under his breath. + </p> + <p> + It was after nine o'clock when one of the Cardew cars stopped not far from + the Benedict Apartments, and Willy Cameron got out. + </p> + <p> + He was quite certain that Louis Akers would know where Lily was, and he + anticipated the interview with a sort of grim humor. There might be + another fight; certainly Akers would try to get back at him for the night + before. But he set his jaw. He would learn where Lily was if he had to + choke the knowledge out of that leering devil's thick white throat. His + arrival in the foyer of the Benedict Apartments caused more than a ripple + of excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Well, look who's here!” muttered the telephone girl, and watched his + approach, with its faint limp, over the top of her desk. Behind, from his + cage, the elevator man was staring with avid interest. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Mr. Akers is in?” said Willy Cameron, politely. The girl smiled + up at him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll say he ought to be, after last night! What're you going to do now? + Kill him?” + </p> + <p> + In spite of his anxiety there was a faint twinkle in Willy Cameron's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said slowly. “No. I think not. I want to talk to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sam,” called the telephone girl, “take this gentleman up to forty-three.” + </p> + <p> + “Forty-three's out.” Sam partly shut the elevator door; he had seen + Forty-three's rooms the night before, and he had the discretion of his + race. “Went out with a lady at quarter to five.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron took a step or two toward the cage. + </p> + <p> + “You don't happen to be lying, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” said Sam. “I'll take you up to look, if you like. And about an + hour ago he sent a boy here with a note, to get some of his clothes. The + young lady at the desk was out at the movies at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “I was getting my supper, Sam.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron had gone very white. + </p> + <p> + “Did the boy say where he was taking the things?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Saint Elmo Hotel, sir.” + </p> + <p> + On the street again Willy Cameron took himself fiercely in hand. There + were a half-dozen reasons why Akers might go to the Saint Elmo. He might, + for one thing, have thought that he, Cameron, would go back to the + Benedict. He might be hiding from Dan, or from reporters. But there had + been, apparently, no attempt to keep his new quarters secret. If Lily was + at the Saint Elmo— + </p> + <p> + He found a taxicab, and as it drew up at the curb before the hotel he saw + the Cardew car moving away. It gave him his first real breath for twenty + minutes. Lily was not there. + </p> + <p> + But Louis Akers was. He got his room number from a clerk and went up, + still determinedly holding on to himself. Afterwards he had no clear + recollection of any interval between the Benedict and the moment he found + himself standing outside a door on an upper floor of the Saint Elmo. From + that time on it was as clear as crystal, his own sudden calm, the + overturning of a chair inside, a man's voice, slightly raised, which he + recognized, and then the thin crash of a wineglass dropped or thrown to + the floor. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and went in. + </p> + <p> + In the center of the sitting room a table was set, and on it the remains + of a dinner for two. Akers was standing by the table, his chair overturned + behind him, a splintered glass at his feet, staring angrily at the window. + Even then Willy Cameron saw that he had had too much to drink, and that he + was in an ugly mood. He was in dinner clothes, but with his bruised face + and scowling brows he looked a sinister imitation of a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + By the window, her back to the room, was Lily. + </p> + <p> + Neither of them glanced at the door. Evidently the waiter had been moving + in and out, and Akers considered him as little as he would a dog. + </p> + <p> + “Come and sit down,” he said angrily. “I've quit drinking, I tell you. + Good God, just because I've had a little wine—and I had the hell of + a time getting it—you won't eat and won't talk. Come here.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Come here.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay where you are, Lily,” said Willy Cameron, from inside the closed + door. “Or perhaps you'd better get your wraps. I came to take you home.” + </p> + <p> + Akers had wheeled at the voice, and now stood staring incredulously. First + anger, and then a grin of triumph, showed in his face. Drink had made him + not so much drunk as reckless. He had lost last night, but to-day he had + won. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Cameron,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron ignored him. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come?” he said to Lily. + </p> + <p> + “I can't, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Lily dear,” he said gravely. “Your father is searching the city + for you. Do you know what that means? Don't you see that you must go home + at once? You can't dine here in a private suite, like this, and not expose + yourself to all sorts of talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Akers, leering. “I like to hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially,” continued Willy Cameron, “with a man like this.” + </p> + <p> + Akers took a step toward him, but he was not too sure of himself, and he + knew now that the other man had a swing to his right arm like the driving + rod of a locomotive. He retreated again to the table, and his hand closed + over a knife there. + </p> + <p> + “Louis!” Lily said sharply. + </p> + <p> + He picked up the knife and smiled at her, his eyes cunning. “Not going to + kill him, my dear,” he said. “Merely to give him a hint that I'm not as + easy as I was last night.” + </p> + <p> + That was a slip, and he knew it. Lily had left the window and come + forward, a stricken slip of a girl, and he turned to her angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Go into the other room and close the door,” he ordered. “When I've thrown + this fellow out, you can come back.” + </p> + <p> + But Lily's eyes were fixed on Willy Cameron's face. + </p> + <p> + “It was you last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” Willy Cameron said steadily, “he had got a girl into trouble, + and then insulted her. I wouldn't tell you, but you've got to know the + truth before it's too late.” + </p> + <p> + Lily threw out both hands dizzily, as though catching for support. But she + steadied herself. Neither man moved. + </p> + <p> + “It is too late, Willy,” she said. “I have just married him.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <p> + At midnight Howard Cardew reached home again, a tired and broken man. + Grace had been lying awake in her bedroom, puzzled by his unexplained + absence, and brooding, as she now did continually, over Lily's absence. + </p> + <p> + At half past eleven she heard Anthony Cardew come in and go upstairs, and + for some time after that she heard him steadily pacing back and forth + overhead. Sometimes Grace felt sorry for Anthony. He had made himself at + such cost, and now when he was old, he had everything and yet nothing. + </p> + <p> + They had never understood women, these Cardews. Howard was gentle with + them where Anthony was hard, but he did not understand, either. She + herself, of other blood, got along by making few demands, but the Cardew + women were as insistent in their demands as the men. Elinor, Lily—She + formed a sudden resolution, and getting up, dressed feverishly. She had no + plan in her mind, nothing but a desperate resolution to put Lily's case + before her grandfather, and to beg that she be brought home without + conditions. + </p> + <p> + She was frightened as she went up the stairs. Never before had she + permitted things to come to an issue between herself and Anthony. But now + it must be done. She knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew opened it. The room was dark, save for one lamp burning + dimly on a great mahogany table, and Anthony's erect figure was little + more than a blur of black and white. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you walking about,” she said breathlessly. “May I come in and + talk to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” he said, with a sort of grave heaviness. “Shall I light the + other lamps?” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you sit down? No? Do you mind if I do? I am very tired. I suppose it + is about Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I can't stand it any longer. I can't.” + </p> + <p> + Sitting under the lamp she saw that he looked very old and very weary. A + tired little old man, almost a broken one. + </p> + <p> + “She won't come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Not under the conditions. But she must come back, father. To let her stay + on there, in that house, after last night—” + </p> + <p> + She had never called him “father” before. It seemed to touch him. + </p> + <p> + “You're a good woman, Grace,” he said, still heavily. “We Cardews all + marry good women, but we don't know how to treat them. Even Howard—” + His voice trailed off. “No, she can't stay there,” he said, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “But—I must tell you—she refuses to give up that man.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a woman, Grace. You ought to know something about girls. Does she + actually care for him, or is it because he offers the liberty she thinks + we fail to give her? Or”—he smiled faintly—“is it Cardew + pig-headedness?” + </p> + <p> + Grace made a little gesture of despair. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. She wanted to come home. She begged—it was dreadful.” + Grace hesitated. “Even that couldn't be as bad as this, father,” she said. + “We have all lived our own lives, you and Howard and myself, and now we + won't let her do it.” + </p> + <p> + “And a pretty mess we have made of them!” His tone was grim. “No, I can't + say that we offer her any felicitous examples. But the fellow's plan is + transparent enough. He is ambitious. He sees himself installed here, one + of us. Mark my words, Grace, he may love the child, but his real actuating + motive is that. He's a Radical, because since he can't climb up, he'll + pull down. But once let him get his foot on the Cardew ladder, and he'll + climb, over her, over all of us.” + </p> + <p> + He sat after that, his head dropped on his chest, his hands resting on the + arms of his chair, in a brooding reverie. Grace waited. + </p> + <p> + “Better bring her home,” he said finally. “Tell her I surrender. I want + her here. Let her bring that fellow here, too, if she has to see him. But + for God's sake, Grace,” he added, with a flash of his old fire, “show her + some real men, too.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Grace bent over and kissed him. He put up his hand, and patted + her on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “A good woman, Grace,” he said, “and a good daughter to me. I'm sorry. + I'll try to do better.” + </p> + <p> + As Grace straightened she heard the door close below, and Howard's voice. + Almost immediately she heard him coming up the staircase, and going out + into the hall she called softly to him. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you?” he asked, looking up. “Is father there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you both to come down to the library, Grace.” + </p> + <p> + She heard him turn and go slowly down the stairs. His voice had been + strained and unnatural. As she turned she found Anthony behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened!” + </p> + <p> + “I rather think so,” said old Anthony, slowly. + </p> + <p> + They went together down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + In the library Lily was standing, facing the door, a quiet figure, + listening and waiting. Howard had dropped into a chair and was staring + ahead. And beyond the circle of lights was a shadowy figure, vaguely + familiar, tall, thin, and watchful. Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <p> + The discovery that Lily had left his house threw Jim Doyle into a frenzy. + The very manner of her going filled him with dark suspicion. Either she + had heard more that morning than he had thought, or—In his cunning + mind for weeks there had been growing a smoldering suspicion of his wife. + She was too quiet, too acquiescent. In the beginning, when Woslosky had + brought the scheme to him, and had promised it financial support from + Europe, he had taken a cruel and savage delight in outlining it to her, in + seeing her cringe and go pale. + </p> + <p> + He had not feared her then. She had borne with so much, endured, + tolerated, accepted, that he had not realized that she might have a + breaking point. + </p> + <p> + The plan had appealed to his cynical soul from the first. It was the + apotheosis of cynicism, this reducing of a world to its lowest level. And + it had amused him to see his wife, a gentlewoman born, bewildered before + the chaos he depicted. + </p> + <p> + “But—it is German!” she had said. + </p> + <p> + “I bow before intelligence. It is German. Also it is Russian. Also it is + of all nations. All this talk now, of a League of Nations, a few dull + diplomats acting as God over the peoples of the earth!” His eyes blazed. + “While the true league, of the workers of the world, is already in + effect!” + </p> + <p> + But he watched her after that, not that he was afraid of her, but because + her re-action as a woman was important. He feared women in the movement. + It had its disciples, fervent and eloquent, paid and unpaid women + agitators, but he did not trust them. They were invariably women without + home ties, women with nothing to protect, women with everything to gain + and nothing to lose. The woman in the home was a natural anti-radical. Not + the police, not even the army, but the woman in the home was the deadly + enemy of the great plan. + </p> + <p> + He began to hate Elinor, not so much for herself, as for the women she + represented. She became the embodiment of possible failure. She stood in + his path, passively resistant, stubbornly brave. + </p> + <p> + She was not a clever woman, and she was slow in gathering the full + significance of a nation-wide general strike, that with an end of all + production the non-producing world would be beaten to its knees. And then + she waited for a world movement, forgetting that a flame must start + somewhere and then spread. But she listened and learned. There was a great + deal of talk about class and mass. She learned that the mass, for + instance, was hungry for a change. It would welcome any change. Woslosky + had been in Russia when the Kerensky regime was overthrown, and had seen + that strange three days when the submerged part of the city filled the + streets, singing, smiling, endlessly walking, exalted and without guile. + </p> + <p> + No problems troubled them. They had ceased to labor, and that was enough. + </p> + <p> + Had it not been for its leaders, the mass would have risen like a tide, + and ebbed again. + </p> + <p> + Elinor had struggled to understand. This was not Socialism. Jim had been a + Socialist for years. He had believed that the gradual elevation of the + few, the gradual subjection of the many, would go on until the majority + would drag the few down to their own level. But this new dream was + something immediate. At her table she began to hear talk of substituting + for that slow process a militant minority. She was a long time, months, in + discovering that Jim Doyle was one of the leaders of that militant + minority, and that the methods of it were unspeakably criminal. + </p> + <p> + Then had begun Elinor Doyle's long battle, at first to hold him back, and + that failing, the fight between her duty to her husband and that to her + country. He had been her one occupation and obsession too long to be + easily abandoned, but she was sturdily national, too. In the end she made + her decision. She lived in his house, mended his clothing, served his + food, met his accomplices, and—watched. + </p> + <p> + She hated herself for it. Every fine fiber of her revolted. But as time + went on, and she learned the full wickedness of the thing, her days became + one long waiting. She saw one move after another succeed, strike after + strike slowing production, and thus increasing the cost of living. She saw + the growing discontent and muttering, the vicious circle of labor striking + for more money, and by its own ceasing of activity making the very + increases they asked inadequate. And behind it all she saw the ceaseless + working, the endless sowing, of a grim-faced band of conspirators. + </p> + <p> + She was obliged to wait. A few men talking in secret meetings, a hidden + propaganda of crime and disorder—there was nothing to strike at. And + Elinor, while not clever, had the Cardew shrewdness. She saw that, like + the crisis in a fever, the thing would have to come, be met, and defeated. + </p> + <p> + She had no hope that the government would take hold. Government was aloof, + haughty, and secure in its own strength. Just now, too, it was objective, + not subjective. It was like a horse set to win a race, and unconscious of + the fly on its withers. But the fly was a gadfly. + </p> + <p> + Elinor knew Doyle was beginning to suspect her. Sometimes she thought he + would kill her, if he discovered what she meant to do. She did not greatly + care. She waited for some inkling of the day set for the uprising in the + city, and saved out of her small house allowance by innumerable economies + and subterfuges. When she found out the time she would go to the Governor + of the State. He seemed to be a strong man, and she would present him + facts. Facts and names. Then he must act—and quickly. + </p> + <p> + Cut off from her own world, and with no roots thrown out in the new, she + had no friends, no one to confide in or of whom to ask assistance. And she + was afraid to go to Howard. He would precipitate things. The leaders would + escape, and a new group would take their places. Such a group, she knew, + stood ready for that very emergency. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon of Lily's departure she heard Doyle come in. He had not + recovered from his morning's anger, and she heard his voice, raised in + some violent reproof to Jennie. He came up the stairs, his head sagged + forward, his every step deliberate, heavy, ominous. He had an evening + paper in his hand, and he gave it to her with his finger pointing to a + paragraph. + </p> + <p> + “You might show that to the last of the Cardews,” he sneered. + </p> + <p> + It was the paragraph about Louis Akers. Elinor read it. “Who were the + masked men?” she asked. “Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I did. I'd—Makes him a laughing stock, of course. And + just now, when—Where's Lily?” + </p> + <p> + Elinor put down the paper. + </p> + <p> + “She is not here. She went home this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her, angrily incredulous. + </p> + <p> + “Home?” + </p> + <p> + “This afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + She passed him and went out into the hall. But he followed her and caught + her by the arm as she reached the top of the staircase. + </p> + <p> + “What made her go home?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't say?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't hold me like that. No.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to free her arm, but he held her, his face angry and suspicious. + </p> + <p> + “You are lying to me,” he snarled. “She gave you a reason. What was it?” + </p> + <p> + Elinor was frightened, but she had not lost her head. She was thinking + rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “She had a visitor this afternoon, a young man. He must have told her + something about last night. She came up and told me she was going.” + </p> + <p> + “You know he told her something, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Elinor had cowered against the wall. “Jim, don't look like that. + You frighten me. I couldn't keep her here. I—” + </p> + <p> + “What did he tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “He accused you.” + </p> + <p> + He was eyeing her coldly, calculatingly. All his suspicions of the past + weeks suddenly crystallized. “And you let her go, after that,” he said + slowly. “You were glad to have her go. You didn't deny what she said. You + let her run back home, with what she had guessed and what you told her + to-day. You—” + </p> + <p> + He struck her then. The blow was as remorseless as his voice, as + deliberate. She fell down the staircase headlong, and lay there, not + moving. + </p> + <p> + The elderly maid came running from the kitchen, and found him half-way + down the stairs, his eyes still calculating, but his body shaking. + </p> + <p> + “She fell,” he said, still staring down. But the servant faced him, her + eyes full of hate. + </p> + <p> + “You devil!” she said. “If she's dead, I'll see you hang for it.” + </p> + <p> + But Elinor was not dead. Doctor Smalley, making rounds in a nearby + hospital and answering the emergency call, found her lying on her bed, + fully conscious and in great pain, while her husband bent over her in + seeming agony of mind. She had broken her leg. He sent Doyle out during + the setting. It was a principle of his to keep agonized husbands out of + the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <p> + Life had beaten Lily Cardew. She went about the house, pathetically + reminiscent of Elinor Doyle in those days when she had sought sanctuary + there; but where Elinor had seen those days only as interludes in her + stormy life, Lily was finding a strange new peace. She was very tender, + very thoughtful, insistently cheerful, as though determined that her own + ill-fortune should not affect the rest of the household. + </p> + <p> + But to Lily this peace was not an interlude, but an end. Life for her was + over. Her bright dreams were gone, her future settled. Without so putting + it, even to herself, she dedicated herself to service, to small + kindnesses, and little thoughtful acts. She was, daily and hourly, making + reparation to them all for what she had cost them, in hope. + </p> + <p> + That was the thing that had gone out of life. Hope. Her loathing of Louis + Akers was gone. She did not hate him. Rather she felt toward him a sort of + numbed indifference. She wished never to see him again, but the revolt + that had followed her knowledge of the conditions under which he had + married her was gone. She tried to understand his viewpoint, to make + allowances for his lack of some fundamental creed to live by. But as the + days went on, with that healthy tendency of the mind to bury pain, she + found him, from a figure that bulked so large as to shut out all the + horizon of her life, receding more and more. + </p> + <p> + But always he would shut off certain things. Love, and marriage, and of + course the hope of happiness. Happiness was a thing one earned, and she + had not earned it. + </p> + <p> + After the scene at the Saint Elmo, when he had refused to let her go, and + when Willy Cameron had at last locked him in the bedroom of the suite and + had taken her away, there had followed a complete silence. She had waited + for some move or his part, perhaps an announcement of the marriage in the + newspapers, but nothing had appeared. He had commenced a whirlwind + campaign for the mayoralty and was receiving a substantial support from + labor. + </p> + <p> + The months at the house on Cardew Way seemed more and more dream-like, and + that quality of remoteness was accentuated by the fact that she had not + been able to talk to Elinor. She had telephoned more than once during the + week, but a new maid had answered. Mrs. Doyle was out. Mrs. Doyle was + unable to come to the telephone. The girl was a foreigner, with something + of Woslosky's burr in her voice. + </p> + <p> + Lily had not left the house since her return. During that family conclave + which had followed her arrival, a stricken thing of few words and long + anxious pauses, her grandfather had suggested that. He had been curiously + mild with her, her grandfather. He had made no friendly overtures, but he + had neither jibed nor sneered. + </p> + <p> + “It's done,” he had said briefly. “The thing now is to keep her out of his + clutches.” He had turned to her. “I wouldn't leave the house for few days, + Lily.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Willy Cameron had gone. Afterwards she thought that he + must have been waiting, patiently protective, to see how the old man + received her. + </p> + <p> + Her inability to reach Elinor began to dismay her, at last. There was + something sinister about it, and finally Howard himself went to the Doyle + house. Lily had come back on Thursday, and on the following Tuesday he + made his call, timing it so that Doyle would probably be away from home. + But he came back baffled. + </p> + <p> + “She was not at home,” he said. “I had to take the servant's word for it, + but I think the girl was lying.” + </p> + <p> + “She may be ill. She almost never goes out.” + </p> + <p> + “What possible object could they have in concealing her illness?” Howard + said impatiently. + </p> + <p> + But he was very uneasy, and what Lily had told him since her return only + increased his anxiety. The house was a hotbed of conspiracy, and for her + own reasons Elinor was remaining there. It was no place for a sister of + his. But Elinor for years had only touched the outer fringes of his life, + and his days were crowded with other things; the increasing arrogance of + the strikers, the utter uselessness of trying to make terms with them, his + own determination to continue to fight his futile political campaign. He + put her out of his mind. + </p> + <p> + Then, at the end of another week, a curious thing happened. Anthony and + Lily were in the library. Old Anthony without a club was Old Anthony lost, + and he had developed a habit, at first rather embarrassing to the others, + of spending much of his time downstairs. He was no sinner turned saint. He + still let the lash of his tongue play over the household, but his old zest + in it seemed gone. He made, too, small tentative overtures to Lily, + intended to be friendly, but actually absurdly self-conscious. Grace, + watching him, often felt him rather touching. It was obvious to her that + he blamed himself, rather than Lily, for what had happened. + </p> + <p> + On this occasion he had asked Lily to read to him. + </p> + <p> + “And leave out the politics,” he had said, “I get enough of that wherever + I go.” + </p> + <p> + As she read she felt him watching her, and in the middle of a paragraph he + suddenly said: + </p> + <p> + “What's become of Cameron?” + </p> + <p> + “He must be very busy. He is supporting Mr. Hendricks, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Supporting him! He's carrying him on his back,” grunted Anthony. “What is + it, Grayson?” + </p> + <p> + “A lady—a woman—calling on Miss Cardew.” + </p> + <p> + Lily rose, but Anthony motioned her back. + </p> + <p> + “Did she give any name?” + </p> + <p> + “She said to say it was Jennie, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Jennie! It must be Aunt Elinor's Jennie!” + </p> + <p> + “Send her in,” said Anthony, and stood waiting Lily noticed his face + twitching; it occurred to her then that this strange old man might still + love his daughter, after all the years, and all his cruelty. + </p> + <p> + It was the elderly servant from the Doyle house who came in, a tall gaunt + woman, looking oddly unfamiliar to Lily in a hat. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Jennie!” she said. And then: “Is anything wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “There is and there isn't,” Jennie said, somberly. “I just wanted to tell + you, and I don't care if he kills me for it. It was him that threw her + downstairs. I heard him hit her.” + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony stiffened. + </p> + <p> + “He threw Aunt Elinor downstairs?” + </p> + <p> + “That's how she broke her leg.” + </p> + <p> + Sheer amazement made Lily inarticulate. + </p> + <p> + “But they said—we didn't know—do you mean that she has been + there all this time, hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean just that,” said Jennie, stolidly. “I helped set it, with him + pretending to be all worked up, for the doctor to see. He got rid of me + all right. He's got one of his spies there now, a Bolshevik like himself. + You can ask the neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was out, and when the woman had gone Anthony ordered his car. Lily, + frightened by the look on his face, made only one protest. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't go alone,” she said. “Let me go, too. Or take Grayson—anybody.” + </p> + <p> + But he went alone; in the hall he picked up his hat and stick, and drew on + his gloves. + </p> + <p> + “What is the house number?” + </p> + <p> + Lily told him and he went out, moving deliberately, like a man who has + made up his mind to follow a certain course, but to keep himself well in + hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + Acting on Willy Cameron's suggestion, Dan Boyd retained his membership in + the union and frequented the meetings. He learned various things, that the + strike vote had been padded, for instance, and that the Radicals had taken + advantage of the absence of some of the conservative leaders to secure + such support as they had received. He found the better class of workmen + dissatisfied and unhappy. Some of them, men who loved their tools, had + resented the order to put them down where they were and walk out, and this + resentment, childish as it seemed, was an expression of their general + dissatisfaction with the autocracy they had themselves built up. + </p> + <p> + Finally Dan's persistent attendance and meek acquiescence, added to his + war record, brought him reward. He was elected member of a conference to + take to the Central Labor Council the suggestion for a general strike. It + was arranged that the delegates take the floor one after the other, and + hold it for as long as possible. Then they were to ask the President of + the Council to put the question. + </p> + <p> + The arguments were carefully prepared. The general strike was to be urged + as the one salvation of the labor movement. It would prove the solidarity + of labor. And, at the Council meeting a few days later, the rank and file + were impressed by the arguments. Dan, gnawing his nails and listening, + watched anxiously. The idea was favorably received, and the delegates went + back to their local unions, to urge, coerce and threaten. + </p> + <p> + Not once, during the meeting, had there been any suggestion of violence, + but violence was in the air, nevertheless. The quantity of revolutionary + literature increased greatly during the following ten days, and now it was + no longer furtively distributed. It was sold or given away at all + meetings; it flooded the various headquarters with its skillful compound + of lies and truth. The leaders notified of the situation, pretended that + it was harmless raving, a natural and safe outlet for suppressed + discontents. + </p> + <p> + Dan gathered up an armful of it and took it home. On a Sunday following, + there was a mass meeting at the Colosseum, and a business agent of one of + the unions made an impassioned speech. He recited old and new grievances, + said that the government had failed to live up to its promises, that the + government boards were always unjust to the workers, and ended with a + statement of the steel makers' profits. Dan turned impatiently to a man + beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't he say how much of that profit the government gets?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + But the man only eyed him suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + Dan fell silent. He knew it was wrong, but he had no gift of tongue. It + was at that meeting that for the first time he heard used the word + “revolution.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + Old Anthony's excursion to his daughter's house had not prospered. During + the drive to Cardew Way he sat forward on the edge of the seat of his + limousine, his mouth twitching with impatience and anger, his stick + tightly clutched in his hand. Almost before the machine stopped he was out + on the pavement, scanning the house with hostile eyes. + </p> + <p> + The building was dark. Paul, the chauffeur, watching curiously, for the + household knew that Anthony Cardew had sworn never to darken his + daughter's door, saw his erect, militant figure enter the gate and lose + itself in the shadow of the house. There followed a short interval of + nothing in particular, and then a tall man appeared in the rectangle of + light which was the open door. + </p> + <p> + Jim Doyle was astounded when he saw his visitor. Astounded and alarmed. + But he recovered himself quickly, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “This is something I never expected to see,” he said, “Mr. Anthony Cardew + on my doorstep.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't give a damn what you expected to see,” said Mr. Anthony Cardew. + “I want to see my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Your daughter? You have said for a good many years that you have no + daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Stand aside, sir. I didn't come here to quibble.” + </p> + <p> + “But I love to quibble,” sneered Doyle. “However, if you insist—I + might as well tell you, I haven't the remotest intention of letting you + in.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll ask you a question,” said old Anthony. “Is it true that my daughter + has been hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “My wife is indisposed. I presume we are speaking of the same person.” + </p> + <p> + “You infernal scoundrel,” shouted Anthony, and raising his cane, brought + it down with a crack on Doyle's head. The chauffeur was half-way up the + walk by that time, and broke into a run. He saw Doyle, against the light, + reel, recover and raise his fist, but he did not bring it down. + </p> + <p> + “Stop that!” yelled the chauffeur, and came on like a charging steer. When + he reached the steps old Anthony was hanging his stick over his left + forearm, and Doyle was inside the door, trying to close it. This was + difficult, however, because Anthony had quietly put his foot over the + sill. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to see my daughter, Paul,” said Anthony Cardew. “Can you open + the door?” + </p> + <p> + “Open it!” Paul observed truculently. “Watch me!” + </p> + <p> + He threw himself against the door, but it gave suddenly, and sent him + sprawling inside at Doyle's feet. He was up in an instant, squared to + fight, but he only met Jim Doyle's mocking smile. Doyle stood, arms + folded, and watched Anthony Cardew enter his house. Whatever he feared he + covered with the cynical mask that was his face. + </p> + <p> + He made no move, offered no speech. + </p> + <p> + “Is she upstairs?” + </p> + <p> + “She is asleep. Do you intend to disturb her?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said old Anthony grimly. “I'll go first, Paul. You follow me, but + I'd advise you to come up backwards.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Doyle laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he said, “Mr. Anthony Cardew paying his first visit to my humble + home, and anticipating violence! You underestimate the honor you are doing + me.” + </p> + <p> + He stood like a mocking devil at the foot of the staircase until the two + men had reached the top. Then he followed them. The mask had dropped from + his face, and anger and watchfulness showed in it. If she talked, he would + kill her. But she knew that. She was not a fool. + </p> + <p> + Elinor lay in the bed, listening. She had recognized her father's voice, + and her first impulse was one of almost unbearable relief. They had found + her. They had come to take her away. For she knew now that she was a + prisoner; even without the broken leg she would have been a prisoner. The + girl downstairs was one of them, and her jailer. A jailer who fed her, and + gave her grudgingly the attention she required, but that was all. + </p> + <p> + Just when Doyle had begun to suspect her she did not know, but on the + night after her injury he had taken pains to verify his suspicions. He had + found first her little store of money, and that had angered him. In the + end he had broken open a locked trinket box and found a notebook in which + for months she had kept her careful records. Here and there, scattered + among house accounts, were the names of the radical members of The Central + Labor Council, and other names, spoken before her and carefully + remembered. He had read them out to her as he came to them, suffering as + she was, and she had expected death then. But he had not killed her. He + had sent Jennie away and brought in this Russian girl, a mad-eyed fanatic + named Olga, and from that time on he visited her once daily. In his anger + and triumph over her he devised the most cunning of all punishments; he + told her of the movement's progress, of its ingeniously contrived + devilments in store, of its inevitable success. What buildings and homes + were to be bombed, the Cardew house first among them; what leading + citizens were to be held as hostages, with all that that implied; and + again the Cardews headed the list. + </p> + <p> + When Doctor Smalley came he or the Russian were always present, solicitous + and attentive. She got out of her bed one day, and dragging her splinted + leg got to her desk, in the hope of writing a note and finding some + opportunity of giving it to the doctor. Only to discover that they had + taken away her pen, pencils and paper. + </p> + <p> + She had been found there by Olga, but the girl had made no comment. Olga + had helped her back into bed without a word, but from that time on had + spent most of her day on the upper floor. Not until Doyle came in would + she go downstairs to prepare his food. + </p> + <p> + Elinor lay in her bed and listened to her father coming up the stairs. She + knew, before he reached the top, that Doyle would never let her be taken + away. He would kill her first. He might kill Anthony Cardew. She had a + sickening sense of tragedy coming up the staircase, tragedy which took the + form of her father's familiar deliberate step. Perhaps had she known of + the chauffeur's presence she might have chanced it, for every fiber of her + tired body was crying for release. But she saw only her father, alone in + that house with Doyle and the smoldering Russian. + </p> + <p> + The key turned in the lock. + </p> + <p> + Anthony Cardew stood in the doorway, looking at her. With her long hair in + braids, she seemed young, almost girlish. She looked like the little girl + who had gone to dancing school in short white frocks and long black silk + stockings, so many years ago. + </p> + <p> + “I've just learned about it, Elinor,” he said. He moved to the bed and + stood beside it, looking down, but he did not touch her. “Are you able to + be taken away from here?” + </p> + <p> + She knew that Doyle was outside, listening, and she hardened her heart for + the part she had to play. It was difficult; she was so infinitely moved by + her father's coming, and in the dim light he, too, looked like himself of + years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Taken away? Where?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You don't want to stay here, do you?” he demanded bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “This is my home, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God, home! Do you mean to tell me that, with all you must know about + this man, you still want to stay with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no other home.” + </p> + <p> + “I am offering you one.” + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony was bewildered and angry. Elinor put out a hand to touch him, + but he drew back. + </p> + <p> + “After he has thrown you downstairs and injured you—” + </p> + <p> + “How did you hear that?” + </p> + <p> + “The servant you had here came to see me to-night, Elinor. She said that + that blackguard outside there had struck you and you fell down the stairs. + If you tell me that's the truth I'll break every bone in his body.” + </p> + <p> + Sheer terror for Anthony made her breathless. + </p> + <p> + “But it isn't true,” she said wildly. “You mustn't think that. I fell. I + slipped and fell.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Anthony, speaking slowly, “you are not a prisoner here?” + </p> + <p> + “A prisoner? I'd be a prisoner anywhere, father. I can't walk.” + </p> + <p> + “That door was locked.” + </p> + <p> + She was fighting valiantly for him. + </p> + <p> + “I can't walk, father. I don't require a locked door to keep me in.” + </p> + <p> + He was too confused and puzzled to notice the evasion. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you won't let me have you taken home? You are + still going to stay with this man? You know what he is, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you think he is.” She tried to smile, and he looked away from + her quickly and stared around the room, seeing nothing, however. Suddenly + he turned and walked to the door; but he stopped there, his hand on the + knob, and us face twitching. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, Elinor,” he said, “I ask you if you will let me take you back + with me. This is the last time. I have come, after a good many years of + bad feeling, to make my peace with you and to offer you a home. Will you + come?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Her courage almost failed her. She lay back, her eyes closed and her face + colorless. The word itself was little more than a whisper. + </p> + <p> + Her father opened the door and went out. She heard him going down the + stairs, heard other footsteps that followed him, and listened in an agony + of fear that Doyle would drop him in the hall below. But nothing happened. + The outside door closed, and after a moment she opened her eyes. Doyle was + standing by the bed. + </p> + <p> + “So,” he said, “you intend to give me the pleasure of your society for + some time, do you?” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing. She was past any physical fear for herself. + </p> + <p> + “You liar!” he said softly. “Do you think I don't understand why you want + to remain here? You are cleverer than I thought you were, but you are not + as clever as I am. You'd have done better to have let him take you away.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have killed him first.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I would.” He lighted a cigarette. “But it is a pleasant thought + to play with, and I shall miss it when the thing is fait accompli. I see + Olga has left you without ice water. Shall I bring you some?” + </p> + <p> + He was still smiling faintly when he brought up the pitcher, some time + later, and placed it on the stand beside the bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV + </h2> + <p> + In the Boyd house things went on much as before, but with a new heaviness. + Ellen, watching keenly, knew why the little house was so cheerless and + somber. It had been Willy Cameron who had brought to it its gayer moments, + Willy determinedly cheerful, slamming doors and whistling; Willy racing up + the stairs with something hot for Mrs. Boyd's tray; Willy at the table, + making them forget the frugality of the meals with campaign anecdotes; + Willy, lamenting the lack of a chance to fish, and subsequently eliciting + a rare smile from Edith by being discovered angling in the kitchen sink + with a piece of twine on the end of his umbrella. + </p> + <p> + Rather forced, some of it, but eminently good for all of them. And then + suddenly it ceased. He made an effort, but there was no spontaneity in + him. He came in quietly, never whistled, and ate very little. He began to + look almost gaunt, too, and Edith, watching him with jealous, loving eyes, + gave voice at last to the thought that was in her mind. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd go away,” she said, “and let us fight this thing out + ourselves. Dan would have to get something to do, then, for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to go away, Edith.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you're a fool,” she observed, bitterly. “You can't help me any, and + there's no use hanging mother around your neck.” + </p> + <p> + “She won't be around any one's neck very long, Edith dear.” + </p> + <p> + “After that, will you go away?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you still want me.” + </p> + <p> + “Want you!” + </p> + <p> + Dan was out, and Ellen had gone up for the invalid's tray. They were alone + together, standing in the kitchen doorway. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Edith, beside him, ran her hand through his arm. + </p> + <p> + “If I had been a different sort of girl, Willy, do you think—could + you ever have cared for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought about you that way,” he said, simply. “I do care for you. + You know that.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her hand. + </p> + <p> + “You are in love with Lily Cardew. That's why you don't—I've known + it all along, Willy. I used to think you'd get over it, never seeing her + and all that. But you don't, do you?” She looked up at him. “The real + thing lasts, I suppose. It will with me. I wish to heaven it wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + He was most uncomfortable, but he drew her hand within his arm again and + held it there. + </p> + <p> + “Don't get to thinking that you care anything about me,” he said. “There's + not as much love in the world as there ought to be, and we all need to + hold hands, but—don't fancy anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to tell you. If I hadn't known about her I wouldn't have told + you, but—you said it when you said there's not as much love as there + ought to be. I'm gone, but I guess my caring for you hasn't hurt me any. + It's the only reason I'm alive to-day.” + </p> + <p> + She freed her hand, and stood staring out over the little autumn garden. + There was such brooding trouble in her face that he watched her anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I think mother suspects,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, Edith.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she does. She watches me all the time, and she asked to see Dan + to-night. Only he didn't come home.” + </p> + <p> + “You must deny it, Edith,” he said, almost fiercely. “She must not know, + ever. That is one thing we can save her, and must save her.” + </p> + <p> + But, going upstairs as usual before he went out, he realized that Edith + was right, and that matters had reached a crisis. The sick woman had eaten + nothing, and her eyes were sunken and anxious. There was an unspoken + question in them, too, as she turned them on him. Most significant of all, + the little album was not beside her, nor the usual litter of newspapers on + the bed. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you weren't going out, Willy,” she said querulously. “I want to + talk to you about something.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't we discuss it in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “I won't sleep till I get it off my mind, Willy.” But he could not face + that situation then. He needed time, for one thing. Surely there must be + some way out, some way to send this frail little woman dreamless to her + last sleep, life could not be so cruel that death would seem kind. + </p> + <p> + He spoke at three different meetings that night, for the election was + close at hand. Pink Denslow took him about in his car, and stood waiting + for him at the back of the crowd. In the intervals between hall and hall + Pink found Willy Cameron very silent and very grave, but he could not know + that the young man beside him was trying to solve a difficult question. + Which was: did two wrongs ever make a right? + </p> + <p> + At the end of the last meeting Willy Cameron decided to walk home. + </p> + <p> + “I have some things to think over. Pink,” he said. “Thanks for the car. It + saves a lot of time.” + </p> + <p> + Pink sat at the wheel, carefully scrutinizing Willy. It struck him then + that Cameron looked fagged and unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing I can do, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, no.” + </p> + <p> + Pink knew nothing of Lily's marriage, nor of the events that had followed + it. To his uninquiring mind all was as it should be with her; she was at + home again, although strangely quiet and very sweet, and her small world + was at peace with her. It was all right with her, he considered, although + all wrong with him. Except that she was strangely subdued, which rather + worried him. It was not possible, for instance, to rouse her to one of + their old red-hot discussions on religion, or marriage, or love. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Lily Cardew this afternoon, Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she all right?” asked Willy Cameron, in a carefully casual tone. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” Pink's honest voice showed perplexity. “She looks all + right, and the family's eating out of her hand.. But she's changed + somehow. She asked for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Well, good-night, old man.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron was facing the decision of his life that night, as he walked + home. Lily was gone, out of his reach and out of his life. But then she + had never been within either. She was only something wonderful and far + away, like a star to which men looked and sometimes prayed. Some day she + would be free again, and then in time she would marry. Some one like Pink, + her own sort, and find happiness. + </p> + <p> + But he knew that he would always love her, to the end of his days, and + even beyond, in that heaven in which he so simply believed. All the things + that puzzled him would be straightened out there, and perhaps a man who + had loved a woman and lost her here would find her there, and walk hand in + hand with her, through the bright days of Paradise. + </p> + <p> + Not that that satisfied him. He was a very earthly lover, with the hungry + arms of youth. He yearned unspeakably for her. He would have died for her + as easily as he would have lived for her, but he could do neither. + </p> + <p> + That was one side of him. The other, having put her away in that warm + corner of his heart which was hers always, was busy with the practical + problem of the Boyds. He saw only one way out, and that way he had been + seeing with increasing clearness for several days. Edith's candor that + night, and Mrs. Boyd's suspicions, clearly pointed to it. There was one + way by which to save Edith and her child, and to save the dying woman the + agony of full knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Edith was sitting on the doorstep, alone. He sat down on the step below + her, rather silent, still busy with his problem. Although the night was + warm, the girl shivered. + </p> + <p> + “She's not asleep. She's waiting for me to go up, Willy. She means to call + me in and ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'd better say what I have to say quickly. Edith, will you marry + me?” + </p> + <p> + She drew off and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better explain what I mean,” he said, speaking with some difficulty. + “I mean—go through the ceremony with me. I don't mean actual + marriage. That wouldn't be fair to either of us, because you know that I + care for some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “But you mean a real marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Your child has the right to a name, dear. And, if you don't + mind telling a lie to save our souls, and for her peace of mind, we can + say that it took place some time ago.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him dazedly. Then something like suspicion came into her + face. + </p> + <p> + “Is it because of what I told you to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I had thought of it before. That helped, of course.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed so surprisingly simple, put into words, and the light on the + girl's face was his answer. A few words, so easily spoken, and two lives + were saved. No, three, for Edith's child must be considered. + </p> + <p> + “You are like God,” said Edith, in a low voice. “Like God.” And fell to + soft weeping. She was unutterably happy and relieved. She sat there, not + daring to touch him, and looked out into the quiet street. Before her she + saw all the things that she had thought were gone; honor, a place in the + world again, the right to look into her mother's eyes; she saw marriage + and happy, golden days. He did not love her, but he would be hers, and + perhaps in His own good time the Manager of all destinies would make him + love her. She would try so hard to deserve that. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd was asleep when at last Edith went up the staircase, and Ellen, + lying sleepless on her cot in the hot attic room, heard the girl softly + humming to herself as she undressed, and marveled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI + </h2> + <p> + When Lily had been at home for some time, and Louis Akers had made no + attempt to see her, or to announce the marriage, the vigilance of the + household began to relax. Howard Cardew had already consulted the family + lawyer about an annulment, and that gentleman had sent a letter to Akers, + which had received no reply. + </p> + <p> + Then one afternoon Grayson, whose instructions had been absolute as to + admitting Akers to the house, opened the door to Mrs. Denslow, who was + calling, and found behind that lady Louis Akers himself. He made an effort + to close the door behind the lady, but Akers was too quick for him, and a + scene at the moment was impossible. + </p> + <p> + He ushered Mrs. Denslow into the drawing room, and coming out, closed the + doors. + </p> + <p> + “My instructions, sir, are to say to you that the ladies are not at home.” + </p> + <p> + But Akers held out his hat and gloves with so ugly a look that Grayson + took them. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to see my wife,” he said. “Tell her that, and that if she + doesn't see me here I'll go upstairs and find her.” + </p> + <p> + When Grayson still hesitated he made a move toward the staircase, and the + elderly servant, astounded at the speech and the movement, put down the + hat and faced him. + </p> + <p> + “I do not recognize any one in the household by that name, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't, don't you? Very well. Tell Miss Cardew I am here, and that + either she will come down or I'll go up. I'll wait in the library.” + </p> + <p> + He watched Grayson start up the stairs, and then went into the library. He + was very carefully dressed, and momentarily exultant over the success of + his ruse, but he was uneasy, too, and wary, and inclined to regard the + house as a possible trap. He had made a gambler's venture, risking + everything on the cards he held, and without much confidence in them. His + vanity declined to believe that his old power over Lily was gone, but he + had held a purely physical dominance over so many women that he knew both + his strength and his limitations. + </p> + <p> + What he could not understand, what had kept him awake so many nights since + he had seen her, was her recoil from him on Willy Cameron's announcement. + She had known he had led the life of his sort; he had never played the + plaster saint to her. And she had accepted her knowledge of his connection + with the Red movement, on his mere promise to reform. But this other, this + accident, and she had turned from him with a horror that made him furious + to remember. These silly star-eyed virgins, who accepted careful + abstractions and then turned sick at life itself, a man was a fool to put + himself in their hands. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle was with Lily in her boudoir when Grayson came up, a thin, + tired-faced, suddenly old Mademoiselle, much given those days to early + masses, during which she prayed for eternal life for the man who had + ruined Lily's life, and that soon. To Mademoiselle marriage was a final + thing and divorce a wickedness against God and His establishment on earth. + </p> + <p> + Lily, rather like Willy Cameron, was finding on her spirit at that time a + burden similar to his, of keeping up the morale of the household. + </p> + <p> + Grayson came in and closed the door behind him. Anger and anxiety were in + his worn old face, and Lily got up quickly. “What is it, Grayson?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Miss Lily. He was in the vestibule behind Mrs. Denslow, and I + couldn't keep him out. I think he had waited for some one to call, knowing + I couldn't make a scene.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle turned to Lily. + </p> + <p> + “You must not see him,” she said in rapid French. “Remain here, and I + shall telephone for your father. Lock your door. He may come up. He will + do anything, that man.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going down,” Lily said quietly. “I owe him that. You need not be + frightened. And don't tell mother; it will only worry her and do no good.” + </p> + <p> + Her heart was beating fast as she went down the stairs. From the drawing + room came the voices of Grace and Mrs. Denslow, chatting amiably. The + second man was carrying in tea, the old silver service gleaming. Over all + the lower floor was an air of peace and comfort, the passionless + atmosphere of daily life running in old and easy grooves. + </p> + <p> + When Lily entered the library she closed the door behind her. She had, on + turning, a swift picture of Grayson, taking up his stand in the hall, and + it gave her a sense of comfort. She knew he would remain there, + impassively waiting, so long as Akers was in the house. + </p> + <p> + Then she faced the man standing by the center table. He made no move + toward her, did not even speak at once. It left on her the burden of the + opening, of setting the key of what was to come. She was steady enough + now. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is as well that you came, Louis,” she said. “I suppose we must + talk it over some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he agreed, his eyes on her. “We must. I have married a wife, and I + want her, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Because of something that happened before I knew you? I never made any + pretensions about my life before we met. But I did promise to go straight + if you'd have me, and I have. I've lived up to my bargain. What about + you?” + </p> + <p> + “It was not a part of my bargain to marry you while you—I have + thought and thought, Louis. There is only one thing to be done. You will + have to divorce me, and marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “Marry her? A girl of the streets, who chooses to say that I am the father + of her child! It's the oldest trick in the word. Besides—” He played + his best card—“she won't marry me. Ask Cameron, who chose to make + himself so damned busy about my affairs. He's in love with her. Ask him.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself Lily winced. Out of the wreckage of the past few weeks + one thing had seemed to remain, something to hold to, solid and dependable + and fine, and that had been Willy Cameron. She had found, in these last + days, something infinitely comforting in the thought that he cared for + her. It was because he had cared that he had saved her from herself. But, + if this were true— + </p> + <p> + “I am not going back to you, Louis. I think you know that. No amount of + talking about things can change that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you face life and try to understand it?” he demanded, brutally. + “Men are like that. Women are like that—sometimes. You can't measure + human passions with a tape line. That's what you good women try to do, and + you make life a merry little hell.” He made an effort, and softened his + voice. “I'll be true to you, Lily, if you'll come back.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “you would mean to be, but you would not. You have no + foundation to build on.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning that I am not a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that. I know you, that's all. I understand so much that I didn't + before. What you call love is only something different. When that was gone + there would be the same thing again. You would be sorry, but I would be + lost.” + </p> + <p> + Her coolness disconcerted him. Two small triangular bits of color showed + in his face. He had been prepared for tears, even for a refusal to return, + but this clear-eyed appraisal of himself, and the accuracy of it, confused + him. He took refuge in the only method he knew; he threw himself on her + pity; he made violent, passionate love to her, but her only expression was + one of distaste. When at last he caught her to him she perforce submitted, + a frozen thing that told him, more than any words, how completely he had + lost her. He threw her away from him, then, baffled and angry. + </p> + <p> + “You little devil!” he said. “You cold little devil!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't love you. That's all. I think now that I never did.” + </p> + <p> + “You pretended damned well.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think you'd better go?” Lily said wearily. “I don't like to + hurt you. I am to blame for a great deal. But there is no use going on, is + there? I'll give you your freedom as soon as I can. You will want that, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “My freedom! Do you think I am going to let you go like that? I'll fight + you and your family in every court in the country before I give you up. + You can't bring Edith Boyd up against me, either. If she does that I'll + bring up other witnesses, other men, and she knows it.” + </p> + <p> + Lily was very pale, but still calm. She made a movement toward the bell, + but he caught her hand before she could ring it. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get your Willy Cameron, too,” he said, his face distorted with + anger. “I'll get him good. You've done a bad thing for your friends and + your family to-day, Lily. I'll go the limit on getting back at them. I've + got the power, and by God, I'll use it.” + </p> + <p> + He flung out into the hall, and toward the door. There he encountered + Grayson, who reminded him of his hat and gloves, or he would have gone + without them. + </p> + <p> + Grayson, going into the library a moment later, found Lily standing there, + staring ahead and trembling violently. He brought her a cup of tea, and + stood by, his old face working, while she drank it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII + </h2> + <p> + The strike had apparently settled down to the ordinary run of strikes. The + newspaper men from New York were gradually recalled, as the mill towns + became orderly, and no further acts of violence took place. Here and there + mills that had gone down fired their furnaces again and went back to work, + many with depleted shifts, however. + </p> + <p> + But the strikers had lost, and knew it. Howard Cardew, facing the + situation with his customary honesty, saw in the gradual return of the men + to work only the urgency of providing for their families, and realized + that it was not peace that was coming, but an armed neutrality. The Cardew + Mills were still down, but by winter he was confident they would be open + again. To what purpose? To more wrangling and bickering, more strikes? + Where was the middle ground? He was willing to give the men a percentage + of the profits they made. He did not want great wealth, only an honest + return for his invested capital. But he wanted to manage his own business. + It was his risk. + </p> + <p> + The coal miners were going out. The Cardews owned coal mines. The miners + wanted to work a minimum day for a maximum wage, but the country must have + coal. Shorter hours meant more men for the mines, and they would have to + be imported. But labor resented the importation of foreign workers. + </p> + <p> + Again, what was the answer? + </p> + <p> + Still, he was grateful for peace. The strike dragged on, with only + occasional acts of violence. From the hill above Baxter a sniper daily + fired with a long range rifle at the toluol tank in the center of one of + the mills, and had so far escaped capture, as the tank had escaped damage. + But he knew well enough that a long strike was playing into the hands of + the Reds. It was impossible to sow the seeds of revolution so long as a + man's dinner-pail was full, his rent paid, and his family contented. But a + long strike, with bank accounts becoming exhausted and credit curtailed, + would pave the way for revolution. + </p> + <p> + Old Anthony had had a drastic remedy for strikes. + </p> + <p> + “Let all the storekeepers, the country over, refuse credit to the + strikers, and we'd have an end to this mess,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “We'd have an end to the storekeepers, too,” Howard had replied, grimly. + </p> + <p> + One good thing had come out of the bomb outrages. They had had a salutary + effect on the honest labor element. These had no sympathy with such + methods and said so. But a certain element, both native and foreign born, + secretly gloated and waited. + </p> + <p> + One thing surprised and irritated Howard. Public sentiment was not so much + with the strikers, as against the mill owners. The strike worked a + hardship to the stores and small businesses dependent on the great mills; + they forgot the years when the Cardews had brought them prosperity, had + indeed made them possible, and they felt now only bitter resentment at the + loss of trade. In his anger Howard saw them as parasites, fattening on the + conceptions and strength of those who had made the city. They were men who + built nothing, originated nothing. Men who hated the ladder by which they + had climbed, who cared little how shaky its foundation, so long as it + stood. + </p> + <p> + In September, lured by a false security, the governor ordered the + demobilization of the state troops, save for two companies. The men at the + Baxter and Friendship plants, owned by the Cardews, had voted to remain + out, but their leaders appeared to have them well in hand, and no trouble + was anticipated. The agents of the Department of Justice, however, were + still suspicious. The foreigners had plenty of money. Given as they were + to hoarding their savings in their homes, the local banks were unable to + say if they were drawing on their reserves or were being financed from the + outside. + </p> + <p> + Shortly before the mayoralty election trouble broke out in the western end + of the state, and in the north, in the steel towns. There were ugly + riotings, bombs were sent through the mails, the old tactics of night + shootings and destruction of property began. In the threatening chaos + Baxter and Friendship, and the city nearby, stood out by contrast for + their very orderliness. The state constabulary remained in diminished + numbers, a still magnificent body of men but far too few for any real + emergency, and the Federal agents, suspicious but puzzled, were removed to + more turbulent fields. + </p> + <p> + The men constituting the Vigilance Committee began to feel a sense of + futility, almost of absurdity. They had armed and enrolled themselves—against + what? The growth of the organization slowed down, but it already numbered + thousands of members. Only its leaders retained their faith in its + ultimate necessity, and they owed perhaps more than they realized to Willy + Cameron's own conviction. + </p> + <p> + It was owing to him that the city was divided into a series of zones, so + that notification of an emergency could be made rapidly by telephone and + messenger. Owing to him, too, was a new central office, with some one on + duty day and night. Rather ironically, the new quarters were the + dismantled rooms of the Myers Housecleaning Company. + </p> + <p> + On the day after his proposal to Edith, Willy Cameron received an + unexpected holiday. Mrs. Davis, the invalid wife of the owner of the Eagle + Pharmacy, died and the store was closed. He had seen Edith for only a few + moments that morning, but it was understood then that the marriage would + take place either that day or the next. + </p> + <p> + He had been physically so weary the night before that he had slept, but + the morning found him with a heaviness of spirit that he could not throw + off. The exaltation of the night before was gone, and all that remained + was a dogged sense of a duty to be done. Although he smiled at Edith, his + face remained with her all through the morning. + </p> + <p> + “I'll make it up to him,” she thought, humbly. “I'll make it up to him + somehow.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with Ellen out doing her morning marketing, she heard the feeble + thump of a cane overhead which was her mother's signal. She was determined + not to see her mother again until she could say that she was married, but + the thumping continued, and was followed by the crash of a broken glass. + </p> + <p> + “She's trying to get up!” Edith thought, panicky. “If she gets up it will + kill her.” + </p> + <p> + She stood at the foot of the stairs, scarcely breathing, and listened. + There was a dreadful silence above. She stole up, finally, to where she + could see her mother. Mrs. Boyd was still in her bed, but lying with open + eyes, unmoving. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” she called, and ran in. “Mother.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd glanced at her. + </p> + <p> + “I thought that glass would bring you,” she said sharply, but with + difficulty. “I want you to stand over there and let me look at you.” + </p> + <p> + Edith dropped on her knees beside the bed, and caught her mother's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Don't! Don't talk like that, mother,” she begged. “I know what you mean. + It's all right, mother. Honestly it is. I—I'm married, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't lie to me, Edith?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I'm telling you. I've been married a long time. You—don't you + worry, mother. You just lie there and quit worrying. It's all right.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden light in the sick woman's eyes, an eager light that + flared up and died away again. + </p> + <p> + “Who to?” she asked. “If it's some corner loafer, Edie—” Edith had + gained new courage and new facility. Anything was right that drove the + tortured look from her mother's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You can ask him when he comes home this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Edie! Not Willy?” + </p> + <p> + “You've guessed it,” said Edith, and burying her face in the bed clothing, + said a little prayer, to be forgiven for the lie and for all that she had + done, to be more worthy thereafter, and in the end to earn the love of the + man who was like God to her. + </p> + <p> + There are lies and lies. Now and then the Great Recorder must put one on + the credit side of the balance, one that has saved intolerable suffering, + or has made well and happy a sick soul. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd lay back and closed her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been so tickled since the day you were born,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She put out a thin hand and laid it on the girl's bowed head. When Edith + moved, a little later, her mother was asleep, with a new look of peace on + her face. + </p> + <p> + It was necessary before Ellen saw her mother to tell her what she had + done. She shrank from doing it. It was one thing for Willy to have done + it, to have told her the plan, but Edith was secretly afraid of Ellen. And + Ellen's reception of the news justified her fears. + </p> + <p> + “And you'd take him that way!” she said, scornfully. “You'd hide behind + him, besides spoiling his life for him! It sounds like him to offer, and + it's like you to accept.” + </p> + <p> + “It's to save mother,” said Edith, meekly. + </p> + <p> + “It's to save yourself. You can't fool me. And if you think I'm going to + sit by and let him do it, you can think again.” + </p> + <p> + “It's as good as done,” Edith flashed. “I've told mother.” + </p> + <p> + “That you're going to be, or that you are?” + </p> + <p> + “That we are married.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” Ellen said triumphantly. “She's quiet and peaceful now, isn't + she? You don't have to get married now, do you? You take my advice, and + let it go at that.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Edith realized what she had done. He would still marry + her, of course, but behind all his anxiety to save her had been the real + actuating motive of his desire to relieve her mother's mind. That was done + now. Then, could she let him sacrifice himself for her? + </p> + <p> + She could. She could and she would. She set her small mouth firmly, and + confronted the future; she saw herself, without his strength to support + her, going down and down. She remembered those drabs of the street on whom + she had turned such cynical eyes in her virtuous youth, and she saw + herself one of that lost sisterhood, sodden, hectic, hopeless. + </p> + <p> + When Willy Cameron left the pharmacy that day it was almost noon. He went + to the house of mourning first, and found Mr. Davis in a chair in a closed + room, a tired little man in a new black necktie around a not over-clean + collar, his occupation of years gone, confronting a new and terrible + leisure that he did not know how to use. + </p> + <p> + “You know how it is, Willy,” he said, blinking his reddened eyelids. “You + kind of wish sometimes that you had somebody to help you bear your burden, + and then it's taken away, but you're kind of bent over and used to it. And + you'd give your neck and all to have it back.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron pondered that on his way up the street. + </p> + <p> + There was one great longing in him, to see Lily again. In a few hours now + he would have taken a wife, and whatever travesty of marriage resulted, he + would have to keep away from Lily. He meant to play square with Edith. + </p> + <p> + He wondered if it would hurt Lily to see him, remind her of things she + must be trying to forget. He decided in the end that it would hurt her, so + he did not go. But he walked, on his way to see Pink Denslow at the + temporary bank, through a corner of the park near the house, and took a + sort of formal and heart-breaking farewell of her. + </p> + <p> + Time had been when life had seemed only a long, long trail, with Lily at + the end of it somewhere, like water to the thirsty traveler, or home to + the wanderer; like a camp fire at night. But now, life seemed to him a + broad highway, infinitely crowded, down which he must move, surrounded yet + alone. + </p> + <p> + But at least he could walk in the middle of the road, in the sunlight. It + was the weaklings who were crowded to the side. He threw up his head. + </p> + <p> + It had never occurred to him that he was in any, danger, either from Louis + Akers or from the unseen enemy he was fighting. He had a curious lack of + physical fear. But once or twice that day, as he went about, he happened + to notice a small man, foreign in appearance and shabbily dressed. He saw + him first when he came out of the marriage license office, and again when + he entered the bank. + </p> + <p> + He had decided to tell Pink of his approaching marriage and to ask him to + be present. He meant to tell him the facts. The intimacy between them was + now very close, and he felt that Pink would understand. He neither wanted + nor expected approval, but he did want honesty between them. He had based + his life on honesty. + </p> + <p> + Yet the thing was curiously hard to lead up to. It would be hard to set + before any outsider the conditions at the Boyd house, or his own sense of + obligation to help. Put into everyday English the whole scheme sounded + visionary and mock-heroic. + </p> + <p> + In the end he did not tell Pink at all, for Pink came in with excitement + written large all over him. + </p> + <p> + “I sent for you,” he said, “because I think we've got something at last. + One of our fellows has just been in, that storekeeper I told you about + from Friendship, Cusick. He says he has found out where they're meeting, + back in the hills. He's made a map of it. Look, here's the town, and + here's the big hill. Well, behind it, about a mile and a half, there's a + German outfit, a family, with a farm. They're using the barn, according to + this chap.” + </p> + <p> + “The barn wouldn't hold very many of them.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the point. It's the leaders. The family has an alibi. It goes in + to the movies in the town on meeting nights. The place has been searched + twice, but he says they have a system of patrols that gives them warning. + The hills are heavily wooded there, and he thinks they have rigged up + telephones in the trees.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence. Willy Cameron studied the rug. + </p> + <p> + “I had to swear to keep it to ourselves,” Pink said at last. “Cusick won't + let the Federal agents in on it. They've raided him for liquor twice, and + he's sick as a poisoned pup.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the county detectives?” + </p> + <p> + “You know them. They'll go in and fight like hell when the time comes, but + they're likely to gum the game where there's any finesse required. We'd + better find out for ourselves first.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron smiled. + </p> + <p> + “What you mean is, that it's too good a thing to throw to the other + fellow. Well, I'm on, if you want me. But I'm no detective.” + </p> + <p> + Pink had come armed for such surrender. He produced a road map of the + county and spread it on the desk. + </p> + <p> + “Here's the main road to Friendship,” he said, “and here's the road they + use. But there's another way, back of the hills. Cusick said it was a dirt + lane, but dry. It's about forty miles by it to a point a mile or so behind + the farm. He says he doesn't think they use that road. It's too far + around.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Willy Cameron. “We use that road, and get to the farm, + and what then? Surrender?” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life. We hide in the barn. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's enough. They'll search the place, automatically. You're talking + suicide, you know.” + </p> + <p> + But his mind was working rapidly. He was a country boy, and he knew barns. + There would be other outbuildings, too, probably a number of them. The + Germans always had plenty of them. And the information was too detailed to + be put aside lightly. + </p> + <p> + “When does he think they will meet again?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the point,” Pink said eagerly. “The family has been all over the + town this morning. It is going on a picnic, and he says those picnics of + theirs last half the night. What he got from the noise they were making + was that they were raising dust again, and something's on for to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll leave somebody there. Their stock has to be looked after.” + </p> + <p> + “This fellow says they drop everything and go. The whole outfit. They're + as busy raising an alibi as the other lot is raising the devil.” + </p> + <p> + But Willy Cameron was a Scot, and hard-headed. + </p> + <p> + “It looks too simple, Pink,” he said reflectively. He sat for some time, + filling and lighting his pipe, and considering as he did so. He was older + than Pink; not much, but he felt extremely mature and very responsible. + </p> + <p> + “What do we know about Cusick?” he asked, finally. + </p> + <p> + “One of the best men we've got. They've fired his place once, and he's + keen to get them.” + </p> + <p> + “You're anxious to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going,” said Pink, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'd better go along and look after you. But I tell you how I see it. + After I've done that I'll go as far as you like. Either there is nothing + to it and we're fools for our pains, or there's a lot to it, and in that + case we are a pair of double-distilled lunatics to go there alone.” + </p> + <p> + Pink laughed joyously. + </p> + <p> + Life had been very dull for him since his return from France. He had done + considerable suffering and more thinking than was usual with him, but he + had had no action. But behind his boyish zest there was something more, + something he hid as he did the fact that he sometimes said his prayers; a + deep and holy thing, that always gave him a lump in his throat at Retreat, + when the flag came slowly down and the long lines of men stood at + attention. Something he was half ashamed and half proud of, love of his + country. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + At the same time another conversation was going on in the rear room of a + small printing shop in the heart of the city. It went on to the + accompaniment of the rhythmic throb of the presses, and while two + printers, in their shirt sleeves, kept guard both at the front and rear + entrances. + </p> + <p> + Doyle sat with his back to the light, and seated across from him, smoking + a cheap cigar, was the storekeeper from Friendship, Cusick. In a corner on + the table, scowling, sat Louis Akers. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why you're so damned suspicious, Jim,” he was saying. + “Cusick says the stall about the Federal agents went all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Like a house a-fire,” said Cusick, complacently. + </p> + <p> + “I think, Akers,” Doyle observed, eyeing his subordinate, “that you are + letting your desire to get this Cameron fellow run away with your + judgment. If we get him and Denslow, there are a hundred ready to take + their places.” + </p> + <p> + “Cameron is the brains of the outfit,” Akers said sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know Cameron will go?” + </p> + <p> + Akers rose lazily and stretched himself. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a hunch. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + A girl came in from the composing room, a bundle of proofs in her hand. + With one hand Akers took the sheets from her; with the other he settled + his tie. He smiled down at her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII + </h2> + <p> + Ellen was greatly disturbed. At three o'clock that afternoon she found + Edith and announced her intention of going out. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you can get the supper for once,” she said ungraciously. + </p> + <p> + Edith looked up at her with wistful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you didn't hate me so, Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't hate you.” Ellen was slightly mollified. “But when I see you + trying to put your burdens on other people—” + </p> + <p> + Edith got up then and rather timidly put her arms around Ellen's neck. + </p> + <p> + “I love him so, Ellen,” she whispered, “and I'll try so hard to make him + happy.” + </p> + <p> + Unexpected tears came into Ellen's eyes. She stroked the girl's fair hair. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” she said. “The Good Man's got a way of fixing things to suit + Himself. And I guess He knows best. We do what it's foreordained we do, + after all.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boyd was sleeping. Edith went back to her sewing. She had depended + all her life on her mother's needle, and now that that had failed her she + was hastily putting some clothing into repair. In the kitchen near the + stove the suit she meant to be married in was hung to dry, after pressing. + She was quietly happy. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron found her there. He told her of Mrs. Davis' death, and then + placed the license on the table at her side. + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be better to-morrow, Edith,” he said. He glanced down at + the needle in her unaccustomed fingers; she seemed very appealing, with + her new task and the new light in her eyes. After all, it was worth while, + even if it cost a lifetime, to take a soul out of purgatory. + </p> + <p> + “I had to tell mother, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right Did it cheer her any?” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderfully. She's asleep now.” + </p> + <p> + He went up to his room, and for some time she heard him moving about. Then + she heard the scraping of his chair as he drew it to his desk, and vaguely + wondered. When he came down he had a sealed envelope in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out, Edith,” he said. “I shall be late getting back, and—I + am going to ask you to do something for me.” + </p> + <p> + She loved doing things for him. She flushed slightly. + </p> + <p> + “If I am not back here by two o'clock to-night,” he said, “I want you to + open that letter and read it. Then go to the nearest telephone, and call + up the number I've written down. Ask for the man whose name is given, and + read him the message.” + </p> + <p> + “Willy!” she gasped. “You are doing something dangerous!” + </p> + <p> + “What I really expect,” he said, smiling down at her, “is to be back, + feeling more or less of a fool, by eleven o'clock. I'm providing against + an emergency that will almost surely never happen, and I am depending on + the most trustworthy person I know.” + </p> + <p> + Very soon after that he went away. She sat for some time after he had + gone, fingering the blank white envelope and wondering, a little + frightened but very proud of his trust. + </p> + <p> + Dan came in and went up the stairs. That reminded her of the dinner, and + she sat down in the kitchen with a pan of potatoes on her knee. As she + pared them she sang. She was still singing when Ellen came back. + </p> + <p> + Something had happened to Ellen. She stood in the kitchen, her hat still + on, drawing her cotton gloves through her fingers and staring at Edith + without seeing her. + </p> + <p> + “You're not sick, are you, Ellen?” + </p> + <p> + Ellen put down her gloves and slowly took off her hat, still with the + absorbed eyes of a sleep-walker. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sick,” she said at last. “I've had bad news.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea. Then maybe you'll feel like + talking about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any tea. Do you know that that man Akers has married Lily + Cardew?” + </p> + <p> + “Married her!” + </p> + <p> + “The devil out of hell that he is.” Ellen's voice was terrible. “And all + the time knowing that you—She's at home, the poor child, and + Mademoiselle just sat and cried when she told me. It's a secret,” she + added, fiercely. “You keep your mouth shut about it. She never lived with + him. She left him right off. I wouldn't know it now but the servants were + talking about the house being forbidden to him, and I went straight to + Mademoiselle. I said: 'You keep him away from Miss Lily, because I know + something about him.' It was when I told her that she said they were + married.” + </p> + <p> + She went out and up the stairs, moving slowly and heavily. Edith sat + still, the pan on her knee, and thought. Did Willy know? Was that why he + was willing to marry her? She was swept with bitter jealousy, and added to + that came suspicion. Something very near the truth flashed into her mind + and stayed there. In her bitterness she saw Willy telling Lily of Akers + and herself, and taking her away, or having her taken. It must have been + something like that, or why had she left him? + </p> + <p> + But her anger slowly subsided; in the end she began to feel that the new + situation rendered her own position more secure, even justified her own + approaching marriage. Since Lily was gone, why should she not marry Willy + Cameron? If what Ellen had said was true she knew him well enough to know + that he would deliberately strangle his love for Lily. If it were true, + and if he knew it. + </p> + <p> + She moved about the kitchen, making up the fire, working automatically in + that methodless way that always set Ellen's teeth on edge, and thinking. + But subconsciously she was listening, too. She had heard Dan go into his + mother's room and close the door. She was bracing herself against his + coming down. + </p> + <p> + Dan was difficult those days, irritable and exacting. Moody, too, and much + away from home. He hated idleness at its best, and the strike was idleness + at its worst. Behind the movement toward the general strike, too, he felt + there was some hidden and sinister influence at work, an influence that + was determined to turn what had commenced as a labor movement into a class + uprising. + </p> + <p> + That very afternoon, for the first time, he had heard whispered the + phrase: “when the town goes dark.” There was a diabolical suggestion in it + that sent him home with his fists clenched. + </p> + <p> + He did not go to his mother's room at once. Instead, he drew a chair to + his window and sat there staring out on the little street. When the town + went dark, what about all the little streets like this one? + </p> + <p> + After an hour or so of ominous quiet Edith heard him go into his mother's + room. Her hands trembled as she closed her door. + </p> + <p> + She heard him coming down at last, and suddenly remembering the license, + hid it in a drawer. She knew that he would destroy it if he saw it. And + Dan's face justified the move. He came in and stood glowering at her, his + hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “What made you tell that lie to mother?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “She was worried, Dan. And it will be true to-morrow. You—Dan, you + didn't tell her it was a lie, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have, but I didn't. What do you mean, it will be true + to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “We are going to be married to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll lock you up first,” he said, angrily. “I've been expecting something + like that. I've watched you, and I've seen you watching him. You'll not do + it, do you hear? D'you think I'd let you get away with that? Isn't it + enough that he's got to support us, without your coaxing him to marry + you?” + </p> + <p> + She made no reply, but went on with a perfunctory laying of the table. Her + mouth had gone very dry. + </p> + <p> + “The poor fish,” Dan snarled. “I thought he had some sense. Letting + himself in for a nice life, isn't he? We're not his kind, and you know it. + He knows more in a minute than you'll know all your days. In about three + months he'll hate the very sight of you, and then where'll you be?” + </p> + <p> + When she made no reply, he called to the dog and went out into the yard. + She saw him there, brooding and sullen, and she knew that he had not + finished. He would say no more to her, but he would wait and have it out + with Willy himself. + </p> + <p> + Supper was silent. No one ate much, and Ellen, coming down with the tray, + reported Mrs. Boyd as very tired, and wanting to settle down early. + </p> + <p> + “She looks bad to me,” she said to Edith. “I think the doctor ought to see + her.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go and send him.” + </p> + <p> + Edith was glad to get out of the house. She had avoided the streets + lately, but as it was the supper hour the pavements were empty. Only Joe + Wilkinson, bare-headed, stood in the next doorway, and smiled and flushed + slightly when he saw her. + </p> + <p> + “How's your mother?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She's not so well. I'm going to get the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I get my hat and walk there with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going somewhere else from there, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll walk a block or two, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + She waited impatiently. She liked Joe, but she did not want him then. She + wanted to think and plan alone and in the open air, away from the little + house with its odors and its querulous thumping cane upstairs; away from + Ellen's grim face and Dan's angry one. + </p> + <p> + He came out almost immediately, followed by a string of little Wilkinsons, + clamoring to go along. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind?” he asked her. “They can trail along behind. The poor kids + don't get out much.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring them along, of course,” she said, somewhat resignedly. And with a + flash of her old spirit: “I might have brought Jinx, too. Then we'd have + had a real procession.” + </p> + <p> + They moved down the street, with five little Wilkinsons trailing along + behind, and Edith was uncomfortably aware that Joe's eyes were upon her. + </p> + <p> + “You don't look well,” he said at last. “You're wearing yourself out + taking care of your mother, Edith.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't do much for her.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd say that, of course. You're very unselfish.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I?” She laughed a little, but the words touched her. “Don't think I'm + better than I am, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “You're the most wonderful girl in the world. I guess you know how I feel + about that.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't Joe!” + </p> + <p> + But at that moment a very little Wilkinson fell headlong and burst into + loud, despairing wails. Joe set her on her feet, brushed her down with a + fatherly hand, and on her refusal to walk further picked her up and + carried her. The obvious impossibility of going on with what he had been + saying made him smile sheepishly. + </p> + <p> + “Can you beat it?” he said helplessly, “these darn kids—!” But he + held the child close. + </p> + <p> + At the next corner he turned toward home. Edith stopped and watched his + valiant young back, his small train of followers. He was going to be very + sad when he knew, poor Joe, with his vicarious fatherhood, his cluttered, + noisy, anxious life. + </p> + <p> + Life was queer. Queer and cruel. + </p> + <p> + From the doctor's office, the waiting room lined with patient figures, she + went on. She had a very definite plan in mind, but it took all her courage + to carry it through. Outside the Benedict Apartments she hesitated, but + she went in finally, upheld by sheer determination. + </p> + <p> + The chair at the telephone desk was empty, but Sam remembered her. + </p> + <p> + “He's out, miss,” he said. “He's out most all the time now, with the + election coming on.” + </p> + <p> + “What time does he usually get in?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes early, sometimes late,” said Sam, watching her. Everything + pertaining to Louis Akers was of supreme interest those days to the + Benedict employees. The beating he had received, the coming election, the + mysterious young woman who had come but once, and the black days that had + followed his return from the St. Elmo—out of such patchwork they + were building a small drama of their own. Sam was trying to fit in Edith's + visit with the rest. + </p> + <p> + The Benedict was neither more moral nor less than its kind. An unwritten + law kept respectable women away, but the management showed no inclination + to interfere where there was no noise or disorder. Employees were supposed + to see that no feminine visitors remained after midnight, that was all. + </p> + <p> + “You might go up and wait for him,” Sam suggested. “That is, if it's + important.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very important.” + </p> + <p> + He threw open the gate of the elevator hospitably. + </p> + <p> + At half past ten that night Louis Akers went back to his rooms. The + telephone girl watched him sharply as he entered. + </p> + <p> + “There's a lady waiting for you, Mr. Akers.” + </p> + <p> + He swung toward her eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “A lady? Did she give any name?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Sam let her in and took her up. He said he thought you wouldn't mind. + She'd been here before.” + </p> + <p> + The thought of Edith never entered Akers' head. It was Lily, Lily + miraculously come back to him. Lily, his wife. + </p> + <p> + Going up in the elevator he hastily formulated a plan of action. He would + not be too ready to forgive; she had cost him too much. But in the end he + would take her in his arms and hold her close. Lily! Lily! + </p> + <p> + It was the bitterness of his disappointment that made him brutal. Wicked + and unscrupulous as he was with men, with women he was as gentle as he was + cruel. He put them from him relentlessly and kissed them good-by. It was + his boast that any one of them would come back to him if he wanted her. + </p> + <p> + Edith, listening for his step, was startled at the change in his face when + he saw her. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he said thickly. “What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been waiting all evening. I want to ask you something.” + </p> + <p> + He flung his hat into a chair and faced her. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true that you are married to Lily Cardew?” + </p> + <p> + “If I am, what are you going to do about it?” His eyes were wary, but his + color was coming back. He was breathing more easily. + </p> + <p> + “I only heard it to-day. I must know, Lou. It's awfully important.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you hear?” He was watching her closely. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you were married, but that she had left you.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him incredible that she had come there to taunt him, she who + was responsible for the shipwreck of his marriage. That she could come + there and face him, and not expect him to kill her where she stood. + </p> + <p> + He pulled himself together. + </p> + <p> + “It's true enough.” He swore under his breath. “She didn't leave me. She + was taken away. And I'll get her back if I—You little fool, I ought + to kill you. If you wanted a cheap revenge, you've got it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want revenge, Lou.” + </p> + <p> + He caught her by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Then what brought you here?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to be sure Lily Cardew was married.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she is. What about it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not all. What about it?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Because, if she is, I am going to marry Mr. Cameron tomorrow.” At the + sight of his astounded face she went on hastily: “He knows, Lou, and he + offered anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “And what,” he said slowly, “has my wife to do with that?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to be fair to him. And I think he is—I think he used to be + terribly in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + Quite apart from his increasing fear of Willy Cameron and his Committee, + there had been in Akers for some time a latent jealousy of him. In a flash + he saw the room at the Saint Elmo, and a cold-eyed man inside the doorway. + The humiliation of that scene had never left him, of his own maudlin + inadequacy, of hearing from beyond a closed and locked door, the closing + of another door behind Lily and the man who had taken her away from him. A + mad anger and jealousy made him suddenly reckless. + </p> + <p> + “So,” he said, “he is terribly in love with my wife, and he intends to + marry you. That's—interesting. Because, my sweet child, he's got a + damn poor chance of marrying you, or anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Lou!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said deliberately. “Men who stick their heads into the lion's + jaws are apt to lose them. Our young friend Cameron has done that. I'll + change the figure. When a man tries to stop a great machine by putting his + impudent fingers into the cog wheels, the man's a fool. He may lose his + hand, or he may lose his life.” + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for Edith he moved on that speech to the side table, and mixed + himself a highball. It gave her a moment to summon her scattered wits, to + decide on a plan of action. Her early training on the streets, her recent + months of deceit, helped her now. If he had expected any outburst from her + it did not come. + </p> + <p> + “If you mean that he is in danger, I don't believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, old girl. I've told you.” + </p> + <p> + But the whiskey restored his equilibrium again. + </p> + <p> + “That is,” he added slowly, “I've warned you. You'd better warn him. He's + doing his best to get into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + She knew him well, saw the craftiness come back into his eyes, and met it + with equal strategy. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell him,” she said, moving toward the door. “You haven't scared me + for a minute and you won't scare him. You and your machine!” + </p> + <p> + She dared not seem to hurry. + </p> + <p> + “You're a boaster,” she said, with the door open. “You always were. And + you'll never lay a hand on him. You're like all bullies; you're a coward!” + </p> + <p> + She was through the doorway by that time, and in terror for fear, having + told her so much, he would try to detain her. She saw the idea come into + his face, too, just as she slipped outside. He made a move toward her. + </p> + <p> + “I think—” he began. + </p> + <p> + She slammed the door and ran down the hallway toward the stairs. She heard + him open the door and come out into the hall, but she was well in advance + and running like a deer. + </p> + <p> + “Edith!” he called. + </p> + <p> + She stumbled on the second flight of stairs and fell a half-dozen steps, + but she picked herself up and ran on. At the bottom of the lower flight + she stopped and listened, but he had gone back. She heard the slam of his + door as he closed it. + </p> + <p> + But the insistent need of haste drove her on, headlong. She shot through + the lobby, past the staring telephone girl, and into the street, and there + settled down into steady running, her elbows close to her sides, trying to + remember to breathe slowly and evenly. She must get home somehow, get the + envelope and follow the directions inside. Her thoughts raced with her. It + was almost eleven o'clock and Willy had been gone for hours. She tried to + pray, but the words did not come. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX + </h2> + <p> + At something after seven o'clock that night Willy Cameron and Pink Denslow + reached that point on the Mayville Road which had been designated by the + storekeeper, Cusick. They left the car there, hidden in a grove, and + struck off across country to the west. Willy Cameron had been thoughtful + for some time, and as they climbed a low hill, going with extreme caution, + he said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm still skeptical about Cusick, Pink. Do you think he's straight?” + </p> + <p> + “One of the best men we've got,” Pink replied, confidently. “He's put us + on to several things.” + </p> + <p> + “He's foreign born, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “That's his value. They don't suspect him for a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “But—what does he get out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Good citizen,” said Pink, with promptness. “You've got to remember, + Cameron, that a lot of these fellows are better Americans than we are. + They're like religious converts, stronger than the ones born in the fold. + They're Americans because they want to be. Anyhow, you ought to be strong + for him, Cameron. He said to tell you, but no one else.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you how strong I am for him later,” Willy Cameron said, grimly. + “Just at this minute I'm waiting to be shown.” + </p> + <p> + They advanced with infinite caution, for the evening was still light. + Going slowly, it was well after eight and fairly dark before they came + within sight of the farm buildings in the valley below. Long unpainted, + they were barely discernable in the shadows of the hills. The land around + had been carefully cleared, and both men were dismayed at the difficulty + of access without being seen. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't look very good, does it?” Pink observed. “I will say this, for + seclusion and keeping away unwanted visitors, it has it all over any + dug-out I ever saw in France.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” Willy Cameron said, tensely. + </p> + <p> + They stood on the alert, but only the evening sounds of country and forest + rewarded them. + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” Pink inquired, after perhaps two minutes of waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Plain scare on my part, probably. I don't so much mind this little + excursion, Pink, as I hate the idea that a certain gentleman named Cusick + may have a chance to come to our funerals and laugh himself to death.” + </p> + <p> + When real darkness had fallen, they had reached the lower fringe of the + woods. Pink had the fault of the city dweller, however, of being unable to + step lightly in the dark, and their progress had been less silent than it + should have been. In spite of his handicap, Willy Cameron made his way + with the instinctive knowledge of the country bred boy, treading like a + cat. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty poor,” Pink said in a discouraged whisper, after a twig had burst + under his foot with a report like the shot of a pistol. “You travel like a + spook, while I—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Pink. I'm going in alone to look around. Stop muttering and + listen to me. It's poor strategy not to have a reserve somewhere, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a poor prune at the best,” Pink said stubbornly, “but I am not going + to let you go into that place alone. You can rave all you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Then we'll both stay here. You are about as quiet as a horse + going through a corn patch.” + </p> + <p> + After some moments Pink spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “If you insist on stealing the whole show,” he said, sulkily, “what am I + to do? Run to town for help, if you need it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to round up the outfit, if there is one. I haven't lost my + mind. I'll see what is going on, or about to go on. Then I'll come back.” + </p> + <p> + “Here?” + </p> + <p> + Cameron considered. + </p> + <p> + “Better meet at the machine,” he decided, after a glance at the sky. “In + half an hour you won't be able to see your hand in front of you. Wait here + for a half-hour or so, and then start back, and for heaven's sake don't + shoot at anything you see moving. As a matter of fact, I might as well + have your revolver. I won't need it, but it may avoid any accidental + shooting by a youth I both love and admire!” + </p> + <p> + “If I hear any shooting, I'll come in,” Pink said, still sulky. + </p> + <p> + “Come in and welcome,” said Willy Cameron, and Pink knew he was smiling. + </p> + <p> + He took the revolver and slipped away into the darkness, leaving Pink both + melancholy and disturbed. Unaccustomed to night in the woods, he found his + nerves twitching at every sound. In the war there had been a definite + enemy, definitely placed. Even when he had gone into that vile strip + between the trenches, there had been a general direction for the inimical. + Here— + </p> + <p> + He moved carefully, and stood with his back against a tree. + </p> + <p> + Not a sound came from the farm buildings. Willy Cameron's progress, too, + was noiseless. With no way to tell the lapse of time, and gauging it by + his war experience, when an hour had apparently passed by, he knew that + Cameron had been gone about ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + Time dragged on. A cow, unmilked, lowed plaintively once or twice. A + September night breeze set the dying leaves on the trees to rustling, and + stirred the dried ones about his feet. Pink's mind, gradually reassured, + turned to other things. He thought of Lily Cardew, for one. Like Willy + Cameron, he knew he would always love her, but unlike Willy, the first + pain of her loss was gone. He was glad that time was over. He was glad + that she was at home again, safe from those—Some one was moving near + him, passing within twenty feet. Whoever it was was stepping cautiously + but blunderingly. It was not Cameron, then. He was a footfall only, not + even an outline. Before Pink could decide on a line of action, the sound + was lost. + </p> + <p> + Every sense acute, he waited. He had decided that if the incident were + repeated, he would make an effort to get the fellow from behind, but there + was no return. The wind had died again, and there was no longer even the + rustling of the leaves to break the utter stillness. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he saw a red flash near the barn, and an instant later heard the + report of a pistol. Came immediately after that a brief fusillade of + shots, a pause, then two or three scattering ones. + </p> + <p> + With the first shot Pink started running. He was vaguely conscious of + other steps near him, running also, but he could see nothing. His whole + mind was set on finding Willy Cameron. Alone he had not a chance, but two + of them together could put up a fight. He pelted along, stumbling, + recovering, stumbling again. + </p> + <p> + Another shot was fired. They hadn't got him yet, or they wouldn't be + shooting. He raised his voice in a great call. + </p> + <p> + “Cameron! Here! Cameron!” + </p> + <p> + He ran into a low fence then, and it threw him. He had hardly got to his + knees before the other running figure had hurled itself on him, and struck + him with the butt of a revolver. He dropped flat and lay still. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + For weeks Woslosky had known of the growing strength of the Vigilance + Committee, and that it was arming steadily. + </p> + <p> + It threatened absolutely the success of his plans. Even the election of + Akers and the changes he would make in the city police; even the ruse of + other strikes and machine-made riotings to call away the state troops,—none + of these, or all of them, would be effectual against an organized body of + citizens, duly called to the emergency. + </p> + <p> + And such an organization was already effected. Within a week, when the + first card reached his hands, it had grown to respectable proportions. + Woslosky went to Doyle, and they made their counter-moves quickly. No more + violence. A seemingly real but deceptive orderliness. They were dealing + with inflammatory material, however, and now and then it got out of hand. + Unlike Doyle the calculating, who made each move slowly and watched its + results with infinite zest, the Pole chafed under delay. + </p> + <p> + “We can't hold them much longer,” he complained, bitterly. “This thing of + holding them off until after the election—and until Akers takes + office—it's got too many ifs in it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was haste lost Seattle,” said Doyle, as unmoved as Woslosky was + excited. + </p> + <p> + Woslosky did not like Louis Akers. What was more important, he distrusted + him. When he heard of his engagement to Lily Cardew he warned Doyle about + him. + </p> + <p> + “He's in this thing for what he can get out of it,” he said. “He'll go as + far as he can, with safety, to be accepted by the Cardews.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” was Doyle's dry comment, “with safety, you said. Well, he knows + you and he knows me, and he'll he straight because he's afraid not to be.” + </p> + <p> + “When there's a woman in it!” said the Pole, skeptically. + </p> + <p> + But Doyle only smiled. He had known many women and loved none of them, and + he was temperamentally unable to understand the type of man who saw the + world through a woman's eyes and in them. + </p> + <p> + So Woslosky was compelled to watch the growth of Willy Cameron's + organization, and to hold in check the violent passions he had himself + roused, and to wait, gnawing his nails with inaction and his heart with + rage. But these certain things he discovered: + </p> + <p> + That the organization's growth was coincident with a new interest in local + politics, as though some vital force had wakened the plain people to a + sense of responsibility. + </p> + <p> + That a drug clerk named Cameron was the founder and moving spirit of the + league, and that he was, using Hendricks' candidacy as a means, rousing + the city to a burning patriotic activity that Mr. Woslosky regarded as + extremely pernicious. + </p> + <p> + And that this same Willy Cameron had apparently a knowledge of certain + plans, which was rather worse than pernicious. Mr. Woslosky's name for it + was damnable. + </p> + <p> + For instance, there were the lists of the various city stores and their + estimated contents, missing from Mr. Woslosky's own inconspicuous trunk in + a storage house. On that had been based the plan for feeding the + revolution, by the simple expedient of exchanging by organized pillage the + contents of the city stores for food stuffs from the farmers in outlying + districts. + </p> + <p> + Revolution, according to Mr. Woslosky, could only be starved out. He had + no anxiety as to troops which would be sent against them, because he had a + cynical belief that a man's country was less to him than various other + things, including his stomach. He believed that all armies were riddled + with sedition and fundamentally opposed to law. + </p> + <p> + Copies of other important matters, too, were missing. Lists of officials + for the revolutionary city government and of deputies to take the places + of the disbanded police, plans for manning, by the radicals, the city + light, water and power plants; a schedule of public eating houses to take + the place of the restaurants. + </p> + <p> + Woslosky began to find this drug clerk with the ridiculous given name + getting on his nerves. He considered him a dangerous enemy to progress, + that particular form of progress which Mr. Woslosky advocated, and he + suspected him of a lack of ethics regarding trunks in storage. Mr. + Woslosky had the old-world idea that the best government was a despotism + tempered by assassination. He thought considerably about Willy Cameron. + </p> + <p> + But the plan concerning the farm house was, in the end, devised by Louis + Akers. Woslosky was skeptical. It was true that Cameron might stick his + head into the lion's jaws, but precautions had been known to be taken at + such times to prevent their closing. However, the Pole was desperate. + </p> + <p> + He took six picked men with him that afternoon to the farm, and made a + strategic survey of the situation. The house was closed and locked, but he + was not concerned with the house. Cusick had told Denslow the meetings + were held late at night in the barn, and to the barn Woslosky repaired, + sawed-off shotgun under his coat and cigarette in mouth, and inspected it + with his evil smile. Two men, young and reckless, might easily plan to + conceal themselves under the hay in the loft, and— + </p> + <p> + Woslosky put down his gun and went down into the cow barn below, whistling + softly to himself. He began to enjoy the prospect. He gathered some eggs + from the feed boxes, carrying them in his hat, and breaking the lock of + the kitchen door he and his outfit looted the closet there and had an + early supper, being careful to extinguish the fire afterwards. + </p> + <p> + Not until dusk was falling did he post his men, three outside among the + outbuildings, one as a sentry near the woods, and two in the barn itself. + He himself took up his station inside the barn door, sitting on the floor + with his gun across his knees. Looking out from there, he saw the sharp + flash of a hastily extinguished match, and snarled with anger. He had + forbidden smoking. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to go out,” he said cautiously. “Don't you fools shoot me when I + come back.” + </p> + <p> + He slipped out into what was by that time complete blackness. + </p> + <p> + Some five minutes later he came back, still noiselessly, and treading like + a cat. He could only locate the barn door by feeling for it, and above the + light scraping of his fingers he could hear, inside, cautious footsteps + over the board floor. He scowled again. Damn this country quiet, anyhow! + But he had found the doorway, and was feeling his way through when he + found himself caught and violently thrown. The fall and the surprise + stunned him. He lay still for an infuriated helpless second, with a knee + on his chest and both arms tightly held, to hear one of his own men above + him saying: + </p> + <p> + “Got him, all right. Woslosky, you've got the rope, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “You fool!” snarled Woslosky from the floor, “let me up. You've half + killed me. Didn't I tell you I was going out?” + </p> + <p> + He scrambled to his feet, and to an astounded silence. + </p> + <p> + “But you came in a couple of minutes ago. Somebody came in. You heard him, + Cusick, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Woslosky whirled and closed and fastened the barn doors, and almost with + the same movement drew a searchlight and flashed it over the place. It was + apparently empty. + </p> + <p> + The Pole burst into blasphemous anger, punctuated with sharp questions. + Both men had heard the cautious entrance they had taken for his own, both + men had remained silent and unsuspicious, and both were positive whoever + had come in had not gone out again. + </p> + <p> + He stationed one man at the door, and commenced a merciless search. The + summer's hay filled one end, but it was closely packed below and offered + no refuge. Armed with the shotgun, and with the flash in his pocket, + Woslosky climbed the ladder to the loft, going softly. He listened at the + top, and then searched it with the light, holding it far to the left for a + possible bullet. The loft was empty. He climbed into it and walked over + it, gun in one hand and flash in the other, searching for some buried + figure. But there was nothing. The loft was fragrant with the newly dried + hay, sweet and empty. Woslosky descended the ladder again, the flash + extinguished, and stood again on the barn floor, considering. Cusick was a + man without imagination, and he had sworn that some one had come in. Then— + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a whirr of wings outside and above, excited flutterings + first, and then a general flight of the pigeons who roosted on the roof. + Woslosky listened and slowly smiled. + </p> + <p> + “We've got him, boys,” he said, without excitement. “Outside, and call the + others. He's on the roof.” + </p> + <p> + Cusick whistled shrilly, and as the Pole ran out he met the others coming + pell-mell toward him. He flung a guard of all five of them around the + barn, and himself walked off a hundred feet or so and gazed upward. The + very outline of the ridge pole was indistinguishable, and he swore softly. + In the hope of drawing an answering flash he fired, but without result. + The explosion echoed and reechoed, died away. + </p> + <p> + He called to Cusick, and had him try the same experiment, following the + line of the gutter as nearly as possible in the darkness, on that side, + and emptying his revolver. Still silence. + </p> + <p> + Woslosky began to doubt. The pigeons might have seen his flashlight, might + have heard his own stealthy movements. He was intensely irritated. The + shooting, if the alarm had been false, had ruined everything. He saw, as + in a vision, Doyle's sneering face when he told him. Beside him Cusick was + reloading his revolver in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Then, out of the night, came a call from the direction of the woods, and + unintelligible at that distance. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Cusick said hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + Woslosky made no reply. He was listening. Some one was approaching, now + running, now stopping as though confused. Woslosky held his gun ready, and + waited. Then, from a distance, he heard his name called. + </p> + <p> + He stepped inside the door of the barn and showed the light for a moment. + Soon after the sentry floundered in, breathless and excited. + </p> + <p> + “I got one of them,” he gasped. “Hit him with my gun. He's lying back by + the stone fence.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you call out, or did he?” + </p> + <p> + “He did. That's how I knew it wasn't one of our fellows. He called + Cameron, so he's the other one.” + </p> + <p> + Woslosky drew a deep breath. Then it was Cameron on the roof. It was + Cameron they wanted. + </p> + <p> + “He'll sleep for an hour or two, if he ever wakes up,” Pink's assailant + boasted. But Woslosky was taking no chances that night. He sent two men + after Pink, and began to pace the floor thoughtfully. If he could have + waited for daylight it would have been simple enough, but he did not know + how much time he had. He did not underestimate young Cameron's + intelligence, and it had occurred to him that that young Scot might + cannily have provided against his failure to return. Then, too, the state + constabulary had an uncomfortable habit of riding lonely back roads at + night, and shots could be heard a long distance off. + </p> + <p> + He had never surveyed the barn roof closely, but he knew that it was + steeply pitched. Cameron, then, was probably braced somewhere in the + gutter. The departure of the two men had left him short-handed, and he + waited impatiently for their return. With a ladder, provided it could be + quietly placed, a man could shoot from a corner along two sides of the + roof. With two ladders, at diagonal corners, they could get him. But a + careful search discovered no ladders on the place. + </p> + <p> + He went out, and standing close against the wall for protection, called + up. + </p> + <p> + “We know you're there, Cameron,” he said. “If you come down we won't hurt + you. If you don't, we'll get you, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + But he received no reply. + </p> + <p> + Soon after that the two men carried in Pink Denslow, and laid him on the + floor of the barn. Then Woslosky tried again, more reckless this time with + anger. He stood out somewhat from the wall and called: + </p> + <p> + “One more chance, Cameron, or we'll put a bullet through your friend here. + Come down, or we'll—” + </p> + <p> + Something struck him heavily and he fell, with a bullet in the shoulder. + He struggled to his feet and gained the shelter of the wall, his face + twisted with pain. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, “if that's the way you feel about it!” + </p> + <p> + He regained the barn and had his arm supported in an extemporized sling. + Then he ordered Pink to be tied, and fighting down his pain considered the + situation. Cameron was on the roof, and armed. Even if he had no extra + shells he still had five shots in reserve, and he would not waste any of + them. Whoever tried to scale the walls would be done in at once; whoever + attempted to follow him to the roof by way of the loft would be shot + instantly. And his own condition demanded haste; the bullet, striking from + above, had broken his arm. Every movement was torture. + </p> + <p> + He thought of setting fire to the barn. Then Cameron would have the choice + of two things, to surrender or to be killed. He might get some of them + first, however. Well, that was a part of the game. + </p> + <p> + He delivered a final ultimatum from the shelter of the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “I've just thought of something, Cameron,” he called. “We're going to fire + the barn. Your young friend is here, tied, and we'll leave him here. Do + you get that? Either throw down that gun of yours, and come down, or I'm + inclined to think you'll be up against it. I'll give you a minute or so to + think it over.” + </p> + <p> + At half-past eleven o'clock that night the first of four automobiles drove + into Friendship. It was driven by a hatless young man in a raincoat over a + suit of silk pajamas, and it contained four County detectives and the city + Chief of Police. Behind it, but well outdistanced, came the other cars, + some of them driven by leading citizens in a state of considerable + deshabille. + </p> + <p> + At a cross street in Friendship the lead car drew up, and flashlights were + turned on a road map in the rear of the car. There was some argument over + the proper road, and a member of the state constabulary, riding up to + investigate, showed a strong inclination to place them under arrest. + </p> + <p> + It took a moment to put him right. + </p> + <p> + “Wish I could go along,” he said, wistfully. “The place you want is back + there. I can't leave the town, but I'll steer you out. You'll probably run + into some of our fellows back there.” + </p> + <p> + He rode on ahead, his big black horse restive in the light from the lamps + behind him. At the end of a lane he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Straight ahead up there,” he said. “You'll find—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off and stared ahead to where a dull red glare, reflected on the + low hanging clouds, had appeared over the crest of the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Something doing up there,” he called suddenly. “Let's go.” + </p> + <p> + He jerked his revolver free, dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, + and was off on a dead run. Half way up the hill the car passed him, the + black going hard, and its rider's face, under the rim of his uniform hat, + a stern profile. His reins lay loose on the animal's neck, and he was + examining his gun. + </p> + <p> + The road mounted to a summit, and dipped again. They were in a long + valley, and the burning barn was clearly outlined at the far end of it. + One side was already flaming, and tongues of fire leaped out through the + roof. The men in the car were standing now, doors open, ready to leap, + while the car lurched and swayed over the uneven road. Behind them they + heard the clatter of the oncoming horse. + </p> + <p> + As they drew nearer they could see three watching figures against the + burning building, and as they turned into the lane which led to the + barnyard a shot rang out and one of the figures dropped and lay still. + There was a cry of warning from somewhere, and before the detectives could + leap from the car, the group had scattered, running wildly. The state + policeman threw his horse back on its hunches, and fired without + apparently taking aim at one of the running shadows. The man threw up his + arms and fell. The state policeman galloped toward him, dismounted and + bent over him. + </p> + <p> + Firing as they ran, detectives leaped out of the car and gave chase, and + so it was that the young gentleman in bedroom slippers and pajamas, + standing in his car and shielding his eyes against the glare, saw a + curious thing. + </p> + <p> + First of all, the roof blazed up brightly, and he perceived a human + figure, hanging by its hands from the eaves and preparing to drop. The + young gentleman in pajamas was feeling rather out of things by that time, + so he made a hasty exit from his car toward the barn, losing a slipper as + he did so, and yelling in a slightly hysterical manner. It thus happened + that he and the dropping figure reached the same spot at almost the same + moment, one result of which was that the young gentleman in pajamas found + himself struck a violent blow with a doubled-up fist, and at the same + moment his bare right foot was tramped on with extreme thoroughness. + </p> + <p> + The young gentleman in pajamas reeled back dizzily and gave tongue, while + standing on one foot. The person he addressed was the state constable, and + his instructions were to get the fugitive and kill him. But the fugitive + here did a very strange thing. Through the handkerchief which it was now + seen he wore tied over his mouth, he told the running policeman to go to + perdition, and then with seeming suicidal intent rushed into the burning + barn. From it he emerged a moment later, dragging a figure bound hand and + foot, blackened with smoke, and with its clothing smoldering in a dozen + places; a figure which alternately coughed and swore in a strangled + whisper, but which found breath for a loud whoop almost immediately after, + on its being immersed, as it promptly was, in a nearby horse-trough. + </p> + <p> + Very soon after that the other cars arrived. They drew up and men emerged + from them, variously clothed and even more variously armed, but all they + saw was the ruined embers of the barn, and in the glow five figures. Of + the five one lay, face up to the sky, as though the prostrate body + followed with its eyes the unkillable traitor soul of one Cusick, lately + storekeeper at Friendship. Woslosky, wounded for the second time, lay on + an automobile rug on the ground, conscious but sullenly silent. On the + driving seat of an automobile sat a young gentleman with an overcoat over + a pair of silk pajamas, carefully inspecting the toes of his right foot by + the light of a match, while another young gentleman with a white + handkerchief around his head was sitting on the running board of the same + car, dripping water and rather dazedly staring at the ruins. + </p> + <p> + And beside him stood a gaunt figure, blackened of face, minus eyebrows and + charred of hair, and considerably torn as to clothing. A figure which + seemed disinclined to talk, and which gave its explanations in short, + staccato sentences. Having done which, it relapsed into uncompromising + silence again. + </p> + <p> + Some time later the detectives returned. They had made no further + captures, for the refugees had known the country, and once outside the + light from the burning barn search was useless. The Chief of Police + approached Willy Cameron and stood before him, eyeing him severely. + </p> + <p> + “The next time you try to raid an anarchist meeting, Cameron,” he said, + “you'd better honor me with your confidence. You've probably learned a + lesson from all this.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron glanced at him, and for the first time that night, smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I have,” he said; “I'll never trust a pigeon again.” The Chief thought + him slightly unhinged by the night's experience. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL + </h2> + <p> + Edith Boyd's child was prematurely born at the Memorial Hospital early the + next morning. It lived only a few moments, but Edith's mother never knew + either of its birth or of its death. + </p> + <p> + When Willy Cameron reached the house at two o'clock that night he found + Dan in the lower hall, a new Dan, grave and composed but very pale. + </p> + <p> + “Mother's gone, Willy,” he said quietly. “I don't think she knew anything + about it. Ellen heard her breathing hard and went in, but she wasn't + conscious.” He sat down on the horse-hair covered chair by the stand. “I + don't know anything about these things,” he observed, still with that + strange new composure. “What do you do now?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry about that, Dan, just now. There's nothing to do until + morning.” + </p> + <p> + He looked about him. The presence of death gave a new dignity to the + little house. Through the open door he could see in the parlor Mrs. Boyd's + rocking chair, in which she had traveled so many conversational miles. + Even the chair had gained dignity; that which it had once enthroned had + now penetrated the ultimate mystery. + </p> + <p> + He was shaken and very weary. His mind worked slowly and torpidly, so that + even grief came with an effort. He was grieved; he knew that. Some one who + had loved him and depended on him was gone; some one who loved life had + lost it. He ran his hand over his singed hair. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Edith?” + </p> + <p> + Dan's voice hardened. + </p> + <p> + “She's out somewhere. It's like her, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Out?” he said incredulously. “Don't you know where she is?” + </p> + <p> + “No. And I don't care.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron was fully alert now, and staring down at Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you something, Dan. She probably saved my life to-night. I'll + tell you how later. And if she is still out there is something wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “She used to stay out to all hours. She hasn't done it lately, but I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + Dan got up and reached for his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Where'll I start to look for her?” + </p> + <p> + But Willy Cameron had no suggestion to make. He was trying to think + straight, but it was not easy. He knew that for some reason Edith had not + waited until midnight to open the envelope. She had telephoned her message + clearly, he had learned, but with great excitement, saying that there was + a plot against his life, and giving the farmhouse and the message he had + left in full; and she had not rung off until she knew that a posse would + start at once. And that had been before eleven o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Three hours. He looked at his watch. Either she had been hurt or was a + prisoner, or—he came close to the truth then. He glanced at Dan, + standing hat in hand. + </p> + <p> + “We'll try the hospitals first, Dan,” he said. “And the best way to do + that is by telephone. I don't like Ellen being left alone here, so you'd + better let me do that.” + </p> + <p> + Dan acquiesced unwillingly. He resumed his seat in the hail, and Willy + Cameron went upstairs. Ellen was moving softly about, setting in order the + little upper room. The windows were opened, and through them came the soft + night wind, giving a semblance of life and movement under it to the sheet + that covered the quiet figure on the bed. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron stood by it and looked down, with a great wave of + thankfulness in his heart. She had been saved much, and if from some new + angle she was seeing them now it would be with the vision of eternity, and + its understanding. She would see how sometimes the soul must lose here to + gain beyond. She would see the world filled with its Ediths, and she would + know that they too were a part of the great plan, and that the breaking of + the body sometimes freed the soul. + </p> + <p> + He was shy of the forms of religion, but he voiced a small inarticulate + prayer, standing beside the bed while Ellen straightened the few toilet + articles on the dresser, that she might have rest, and then a long and + placid happiness. And love, he added. There would be no Heaven without + love. + </p> + <p> + Ellen was looking at him in the mirror. + </p> + <p> + “Your hair looks queer, Willy,” she said. “And I declare your clothes are + a sight.” She turned, sternly. “Where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a long story, Ellen. Don't bother about it now. I'm worried about + Edith.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen's lips closed in a grim line. + </p> + <p> + “The less said about her the better. She came back in a terrible state + about something or other, ran in and up to your room, and out again. I + tried to tell her her mother wasn't so well, but she looked as if she + didn't hear me.” + </p> + <p> + It was four o'clock in the morning when Willy Cameron located Edith. He + had gone to the pharmacy and let himself in, intending to telephone, but + the card on the door, edged with black, gave him a curious sense of being + surrounded that night by death, and he stood for a moment, unwilling to + begin for fear of some further tragedy. In that moment, what with reaction + from excitement and weariness, he had a feeling of futility, of struggling + to no end. One fought on, and in the last analysis it was useless. + </p> + <p> + “So soon passeth it away, and we are gone.” + </p> + <p> + He saw Mr. Davis, sitting alone in his house; he saw Ellen moving about + that quiet upper room; he saw Cusick lying on the ground beside the + smoldering heap that had been the barn, and staring up with eyes that saw + only the vast infinity that was the sky. All the struggling and the + fighting, and it came to that. + </p> + <p> + He picked up the telephone book at last, and finding the hospital list in + the directory began his monotonous calling of numbers, and still the + revolt was in his mind. Even life lay through the gates of death; daily + and hourly women everywhere laid down their lives that some new soul be + born. But the revulsion came with that, a return to something nearer the + normal. Daily and hourly women lived, having brought to pass the miracle + of life. + </p> + <p> + At half-past four he located Edith at the Memorial, and learned that her + child had been born dead, but that she was doing well. He was suddenly + exhausted; he sat down on a stool before the counter, and with his arms + across it and his head on them, fell almost instantly asleep. When he + waked it was almost seven and the intermittent sounds of early morning + came through the closed doors, as though the city stirred but had not + wakened. + </p> + <p> + He went to the door and opened it, looking out. He had been wrong before. + Death was a beginning and not an end; it was the morning of the spirit. + Tired bodies lay down to sleep and their souls wakened to the morning, + rested; the first fruits of them that slept. + </p> + <p> + From the chimneys of the houses nearby small spirals of smoke began to + ascend, definite promise of food and morning cheer behind the closed + doors, where the milk bottles stood like small white sentinels and the + morning paper was bent over the knob. Morning in the city, with children + searching for lost stockings and buttoning little battered shoes; with + women hurrying about, from stove to closet, from table to stove; with all + burdens a little lighter and all thoughts a little kinder. Morning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI + </h2> + <p> + In her bed in the maternity ward Edith at first lay through the days, + watching the other women with their babies, and wondering over the strange + instinct that made them hover, like queer mis-shaped ministering angels, + over the tiny quivering bundles. Some of them were like herself, or + herself as she might have been, bearing their children out of wedlock. Yet + they faced their indefinite futures impassively, content in relief from + pain, in the child in their arms, in present peace and security. She could + not understand. + </p> + <p> + She herself felt no sense of loss. Having never held her child in her arms + she did not feel them empty. + </p> + <p> + She had not been told of her mother's death; men were not admitted to the + ward, but early on that first morning, when she lay there, hardly + conscious but in an ecstasy of relief from pain, Ellen had come. A tired + Ellen with circles around her eyes, and a bag of oranges in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel?” she had asked, sitting down self-consciously beside the + bed. The ward had its eyes on her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm weak, but I'm all right. Last night was awful, Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + She had roused herself with an effort. Ellen reminded her of something, + something that had to do with Willy Cameron. Then she remembered, and + tried to raise herself in the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Willy!” she gasped. “Did he come home? Is he all right?” + </p> + <p> + “He's all right. It was him that found you were here. You lie back now; + the nurse is looking.” + </p> + <p> + Edith lay down and closed her eyes, and the ecstasy of relief and peace + gave to her pale face an almost spiritual look. Ellen saw it, and patted + her arm with a roughened hand. + </p> + <p> + “You poor thing!” she said. “I've been as mean to you as I knew how to be. + I'm going to be different, Edith. I'm just a cross old maid, and I guess I + didn't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You've been all right,” Edith said. + </p> + <p> + Ellen kissed her when she went away. + </p> + <p> + So for three days Edith lay and rested. She felt that God had been very + good to her, and she began to think of God as having given her another + chance. This time He had let her off, but He had given her a warning. He + had said, in effect, that if she lived straight and thought straight from + now on He would forget this thing she had done. But if she did not— + </p> + <p> + Then what about Willy Cameron? Did He mean her to hold him to that now? + Willy did not love her. Perhaps he would grow to love her, but she was + seeing things more clearly than she had before, and one of the things she + saw was that Willy Cameron was a one-woman man, and that she was not the + woman. + </p> + <p> + “But I love him so,” she would cry to herself. + </p> + <p> + The ward moved in its orderly routine around her. The babies were carried + out, bathed and brought back, their nuzzling mouths open for the waiting + mother-breast. The nurses moved about, efficient, kindly, whimsically + maternal. Women went out when their hour came, swollen of feature and + figure, and were wheeled back later on, etherealized, purified as by fire, + and later on were given their babies. Their faces were queer then, + frightened and proud at first, and later watchful and tenderly brooding. + </p> + <p> + For three days Edith's struggle went on. She had her strong hours and her + weak ones. There were moments when, exhausted and yet exalted, she + determined to give him up altogether, to live the fiction of the marriage + until her mother's death, and then to give up the house and never see him + again. If she gave him up she must never see him again. At those times she + prayed not to love him any longer, and sometimes, for a little while after + that, she would have peace. It was almost as though she did not love him. + </p> + <p> + But there were the other times, when she lay there and pictured them + married, and dreamed a dream of bringing him to her feet. He had offered a + marriage that was not a marriage, but he was a man, and human. He did not + want her now, but in the end he would want her; young as she was she knew + already the strength of a woman's physical hold on a man. + </p> + <p> + Late on the afternoon of the third day Ellen came again, a swollen-eyed + Ellen, dressed in black with black cotton gloves, and a black veil around + her hat. Ellen wore her mourning with the dogged sense of duty of her + class, and would as soon have gone to the burying ground in her kitchen + apron as without black. She stood in the doorway of the ward, hesitating, + and Edith saw her and knew. + </p> + <p> + Her first thought was not of her mother at all. She saw only that the God + who had saved her had made her decision for her, and that now she would + never marry Willy Cameron. All this time He had let her dream and + struggle. She felt very bitter. + </p> + <p> + Ellen came and sat down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone. Edith,” she said; “we didn't tell you before, but you have to + know sometime. We buried her this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Edith forgot Willy Cameron, and God, and Dan, and the years + ahead. She was a little girl again, and her mother was saying: + </p> + <p> + “Brush your teeth and say your prayers, Edie. And tomorrow's Saturday. So + you don't need to get up until you're good and ready.” + </p> + <p> + She lay there. She saw her mother growing older and more frail, the house + more untidy, and her mother's bright spirit fading to the drab of her + surroundings. She saw herself, slipping in late at night, listening always + for that uneasy querulous voice. And then she saw those recent months, + when her mother had bloomed with happiness; she saw her struggling with + her beloved desserts, cheerfully unconscious of any failure in them; she + saw her, living like a lady, as she had said, with every anxiety kept from + her. There had been times when her thin face had been almost illuminated + with her new content and satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly grief and remorse overwhelmed her. + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” she said, huskily. And lay there, crying quietly, with Ellen + holding her hand. All that was hard and rebellious in Edith Boyd was swept + away in that rush of grief, and in its place there came a new courage and + resolution. She would meet the future alone, meet it and overcome it. But + not alone, either; there was always— + </p> + <p> + It was a Sunday afternoon, and the nurse had picked up the worn ward Bible + and was reading from it, aloud. In their rocking chairs in a semi-circle + around her were the women, some with sleeping babies in their arms, others + with tense, expectant faces. + </p> + <p> + “Let not your heart be troubled,” read the nurse, in a grave young voice. + “Ye believe in God. Believe also in Me. In my Father's house—” + </p> + <p> + There was always God. + </p> + <p> + Edith Boyd saw her mother in the Father's house, pottering about some + small celestial duty, and eagerly seeking and receiving approval. She saw + her, in some celestial rocking chair, her tired hands folded, slowly + rocking and resting. And perhaps, as she sat there, she held Edith's child + on her knee, like the mothers in the group around the nurse. Held it and + understood at last. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII + </h2> + <p> + It was at this time that Doyle showed his hand, with his customary + fearlessness. He made a series of incendiary speeches, the general theme + being that the hour was close at hand for putting the fear of God into the + exploiting classes for all time to come. His impassioned oratory, coming + at the psychological moment, when the long strike had brought its train of + debt and evictions, made a profound impression. Had he asked for a general + strike vote then, he would have secured it. + </p> + <p> + As it was, it was some time before all the unions had voted for it. And + the day was not set. Doyle was holding off, and for a reason. Day by day + he saw a growth of the theory of Bolshevism among the so-called + intellectual groups of the country. Almost every university had its + radicals, men who saw emerging from Russia the beginning of a new earth. + Every class now had its Bolshevists. They found a ready market for their + propaganda, intelligent and insidious as it was, among a certain liberal + element of the nation, disgruntled with the autocracy imposed upon them by + the war. + </p> + <p> + The reaction from that autocracy was a swinging to the other extreme, and, + as if to work into the hands of the revolutionary party, living costs + remained at the maximum. The cry of the revolutionists, to all enough and + to none too much, found a response not only in the anxious minds of honest + workmen, but among an underpaid intelligentsia. Neither political party + offered any relief; the old lines no longer held, and new lines of + cleavage had come. Progressive Republicans and Democrats had united + against reactionary members of both parties. There were no great leaders, + no men of the hour. + </p> + <p> + The old vicious cycle of empires threatened to repeat itself, the old + story of the many led by the few. Always it had come, autocracy, the too + great power of one man; then anarchy, the overthrow of that power by the + angry mob. Out of that anarchy the gradual restoration of order by the + people themselves, into democracy. And then in time again, by that steady + gravitation of the strong up and the weak down, some one man who emerged + from the mass and crowned himself, or was crowned. And there was autocracy + again, and again the vicious circle. + </p> + <p> + But such movements had always been, in the last analysis, the work of the + few. It had always been the militant minority which ruled. Always the + great mass of the people had submitted. They had fought, one way or the + other when the time came, but without any deep conviction behind them. + They wanted peace, the right to labor. They warred, to find peace. Small + concern was it, to the peasant plowing his field, whether one man ruled + over him or a dozen. He wanted neither place nor power. + </p> + <p> + It came to this, then, Willy Cameron argued to himself. This new world + conflict was a struggle between the contented and the discontented. In + Europe, discontent might conquer, but in America, never. There were too + many who owned a field or had the chance to labor. There were too many + ways legitimately to aspire. Those who wanted something for nothing were + but a handful to those who wanted to give that they might receive. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Three days before the election, Willy Cameron received a note from Lily, + sent by hand. + </p> + <p> + “Father wants to see you to-night,” she wrote, “and mother suggests that + as you are busy, you try to come to dinner. We are dining alone. Do come, + Willy. I think it is most important.” + </p> + <p> + He took the letter home with him and placed it in a locked drawer of his + desk, along with a hard and shrunken doughnut, tied with a bow of + Christmas ribbon, which had once helped to adorn the Christmas tree they + had trimmed together. There were other things in the drawer; a postcard + photograph, rather blurred, of Lily in the doorway of her little hut, + smiling; and the cigar box which had been her cash register at the camp. + </p> + <p> + He stood for some time looking down at the post card; it did not seem + possible that in the few months since those wonderful days, life could + have been so cruel to them both. Lily married, and he himself— + </p> + <p> + Ellen came up when he was tying his tie. She stood behind him, watching + him in the mirror. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you've done to your hair, Willy,” she said; “it + certainly looks queer.” + </p> + <p> + “It usually looks queer, so why worry, heart of my heart?” But he turned + and put an arm around her shoulders. “What would the world be without + women like you, Ellen?” he said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't done anything but my duty,” Ellen said, in her prim voice. + “Listen, Willy. I saw Edith again to-day, and she told me to do + something.” + </p> + <p> + “To go home and take a rest? That's what you need.” + </p> + <p> + “No. She wants me to tear up that marriage license.” + </p> + <p> + He said nothing for a moment. “I'll have to see her first.” + </p> + <p> + “She said it wouldn't be any good, Willy. She's made up her mind.” She + watched him anxiously. “You're not going to be foolish, are you? She says + there's no need now, and she's right.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody will have to look after her.” + </p> + <p> + “Dan can do that. He's changed, since she went.” Ellen glanced toward Mrs. + Boyd's empty room. “You've done enough, Willy. You've seen them through, + all of them. I—isn't it time you began to think about yourself?” + </p> + <p> + He was putting on his coat, and she picked a bit of thread from it, with + nervous fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to-night, Willy?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Cardews. Mr. Cardew has sent for me.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Willy, I want to tell you something. The Cardews won't let that marriage + stand, and you know it. I think she cares for you. Don't look at me like + that. I do.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because you are fond of me,” he said, smiling down at her. “I'm + not the sort of man girls care about, Ellen. Let's face that. The General + Manager said when he planned me, 'Here's going to be a fellow who is to + have everything in the world, health, intelligence, wit and the beauty of + an Adonis, but he has to lack something, so we'll make it that'.” + </p> + <p> + But Ellen, glancing up swiftly, saw that although his tone was light, + there was pain in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + He reflected on Edith's decision as he walked through the park toward the + Cardew house. It had not surprised him, and yet he knew it had cost her an + effort. How great an effort, man-like, he would never understand, but + something of what she had gone through he realized. He wondered vaguely + whether, had there never been a Lily Cardew in his life, he could ever + have cared for Edith. Perhaps. Not the Edith of the early days, that was + certain. But this new Edith, with her gentleness and meekness, her clear, + suffering eyes, her strange new humility. + </p> + <p> + She had sent him a message of warning about Akers, and from it he had + reconstructed much of the events of the night she had taken sick. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to watch Louis Akers,” she had said. “I don't know how near + Willy was to trouble the other night, Ellen, but they're going to try to + get him.” + </p> + <p> + Ellen had repeated the message, watching him narrowly, but he had only + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” she had persisted. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you all about it some day,” he had said. But he had told Dan + the whole story, and, although he did not know it, Dan had from that time + on been his self-constituted bodyguard. During his campaign speeches Dan + was always near, his right hand on a revolver in his coat pocket, and for + hours at a time he stood outside the pharmacy, favoring every seeker for + drugs or soap or perfume with a scowling inspection. When he could not do + it, he enlisted Joe Wilkinson in the evenings, and sometimes the two of + them, armed, policed the meeting halls. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, Joe Wilkinson was following him that night. On his + way to the Cardews Willy Cameron, suddenly remembering the uncanny ability + of Jinx to escape and trail him, remaining meanwhile at a safe distance in + the rear, turned suddenly and saw Joe, walking sturdily along in + rubber-soled shoes, and obsessed with his high calling of personal + detective. + </p> + <p> + Joe, discovered, grinned sheepishly. + </p> + <p> + “Thought that looked like your back,” he said. “Nice evening for a walk, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me look at you, Joe,” said Willy Cameron. “You look strange to me. + Ah, now I have it. You look like a comet without a tail. Where's the + family?” + </p> + <p> + “Making taffy. How—is Edith?” + </p> + <p> + “Doing nicely.” He avoided the boy's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'd better tell you. Dan's told me about her. I—” Joe + hesitated. Then: “She never seemed like that sort of a girl,” he finished, + bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “She isn't that sort of girl, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “She did it. How could a fellow know she wouldn't do it again?” + </p> + <p> + “She has had a pretty sad sort of lesson.” + </p> + <p> + Joe, his real business forgotten, walked on with eyes down and shoulders + drooping. + </p> + <p> + “I might as well finish with it,” he said, “now I've started. I've always + been crazy about her. Of course now—I haven't slept for two nights.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it's rather like this, Joe,” Willy Cameron said, after a pause. + “We are not one person, really. We are all two or three people, and all + different. We are bad and good, depending on which of us is the strongest + at the time, and now and then we pay so much for the bad we do that we + bury that part. That's what has happened to Edith. Unless, of course,” he + added, “we go on convincing her that she is still the thing she doesn't + want to be.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to kill the man,” Joe said. But after a little, as they neared + the edge of the park, he looked up. + </p> + <p> + “You mean, go on as if nothing had happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Willy Cameron, “as though nothing had happened.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII + </h2> + <p> + The atmosphere of the Cardew house was subtly changed and very friendly. + Willy Cameron found himself received as an old friend, with no tendency to + forget the service he had rendered, or that, in their darkest hour, he had + been one of them. + </p> + <p> + To his surprise Pink Denslow was there, and he saw at once that Pink had + been telling them of the night at the farm house. Pink was himself again, + save for a small shaved place at the back of his head, covered with + plaster. + </p> + <p> + “I've told them, Cameron,” he said. “If I could only tell it generally I'd + be the most popular man in the city, at dinners.” + </p> + <p> + “Pair of young fools,” old Anthony muttered, with his sardonic smile. But + in his hand-clasp, as in Howard's, there was warmth and a sort of envy, + envy of youth and the adventurous spirit of youth. + </p> + <p> + Lily was very quiet. The story had meant more to her than to the others. + She had more nearly understood Pink's reference to the sealed envelope + Willy Cameron had left, and the help sent by Edith Boyd. She connected + that with Louis Akers, and from that to Akers' threat against Cameron was + only a step. She was frightened and somewhat resentful, that this other + girl should have saved him from a revenge that she knew was directed at + herself. That she, who had brought this thing about, had sat quietly at + home while another woman, a woman who loved him, had saved him. + </p> + <p> + She was puzzled at her own state of mind. + </p> + <p> + Dinner was almost gay. Perhaps the gayety was somewhat forced, with Pink + keeping his eyes from Lily's face, and Howard Cardew relapsing now and + then into abstracted silence. Because of the men who served, the + conversation was carefully general. It was only in the library later, the + men gathered together over their cigars, that the real reason for Willy + Cameron's summons was disclosed. + </p> + <p> + Howard Cardew was about to withdraw from the contest. “I'm late in coming + to this decision,” he said. “Perhaps too late. But after a careful canvas + of the situation, I find you are right, Cameron. Unless I withdraw, Akers”—he + found a difficulty in speaking the name—“will be elected. At least + it looks that way.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he is,” old Anthony put in, “he'll turn all the devils of hell + loose on us.” + </p> + <p> + It was late; very late. The Cardews stood ready to flood the papers with + announcements of Howard's withdrawal, and urging his supporters to vote + for Hendricks, but the time was short. Howard had asked his campaign + managers to meet there that night, and also Hendricks and one or two of + his men, but personally he felt doubtful. + </p> + <p> + And, as it happened, the meeting developed more enthusiasm than optimism. + Cardew's withdrawal would be made the most of by the opposition. They + would play it up as the end of the old regime, the beginning of new and + better things. + </p> + <p> + Before midnight the conference broke up, to catch the morning editions. + Willy Cameron, detained behind the others, saw Lily in the drawing-room + alone as he passed the door, and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I have been waiting for you, Willy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + But when he went in she seemed to have nothing to say. She sat in a low + chair, in a soft dark dress which emphasized her paleness. To Willy + Cameron she had never seemed more beautiful, or more remote. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember how you used to whistle 'The Long, Long Trail,' Willy?” + she said at last. “All evening I have been sitting here thinking what a + long trail we have both traveled since then.” + </p> + <p> + “A long, hard trail,” he assented. + </p> + <p> + “Only you have gone up, Willy. And I have gone down, into the valley. I + wish”—she smiled faintly—“I wish you would look down from your + peak now and then. You never come to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you wanted me,” he said bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't I want to see you?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help reminding you of things.” + </p> + <p> + “But I never forget them, anyhow. Sometimes I almost go mad, remembering. + It isn't quite as selfish as it sounds. I've hurt them all so. Willy, do + you mind telling me about the girl who opened that letter and sent you + help?” + </p> + <p> + “About Edith Boyd? I'd like to tell you, Lily. Her mother is dead, and she + lost her child. She is in the Memorial Hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she has no one but you?” + </p> + <p> + “She has a brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about her sending help that night. She really saved your life, + didn't she?” + </p> + <p> + While he was telling her she sat staring straight ahead, her fingers + interlaced in her lap. She was telling herself that all this could not + possibly matter to her, that she had cut herself off, finally and forever, + from the man before her; that she did not even deserve his friendship. + </p> + <p> + Quite suddenly she knew that she did not want his friendship. She wanted + to see again in his face the look that had been there the night he had + told her, very simply, that he loved her. And it would never be there; it + was not there now. She had killed his love. All the light in his face was + for some one else, another girl, a girl more unfortunate but less wicked + than herself. + </p> + <p> + When he stopped she was silent. Then: + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if you know how much you have told me that you did not intend to + tell?” + </p> + <p> + “That I didn't intend to tell? I have made no reservations, Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure? Or don't you realize it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Realize what?” He was greatly puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “I think, Willy,” she said, quietly, “that you care a great deal more for + Edith Boyd than you think you do.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her in stupefaction. How could she say that? How could she + fail to know better than that? And he did not see the hurt behind her + careful smile. + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong about that. I—” He made a little gesture of despair. + He could not tell her now that he loved her. That was all over. + </p> + <p> + “She is in love with you.” + </p> + <p> + He felt absurd and helpless. He could not deny that, yet how could she sit + there, cool and faintly smiling, and not know that as she sat there so she + sat enshrined in his heart. She was his saint, to kneel and pray to; and + she was his woman, the one woman of his life. More woman than saint, he + knew, and even for that he loved her. But he did not know the barbarous + cruelty of the loving woman. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what to say to you, Lily,” he said, at last. “She—it + is possible that she thinks she cares, but under the circumstances—” + </p> + <p> + “Ellen told Mademoiselle you were going to marry her. That's true, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You always said that marriage without love was wicked, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + “Her child had a right to a name. And there were other things. I can't + very well explain them to you. Her mother was ill. Can't you understand, + Lily? I don't want to throw any heroics.” In his excitement he had lapsed + into boyish vernacular. “Here was a plain problem, and a simple way to + solve it. But it is off now, anyhow; things cleared up without that.” + </p> + <p> + She got up and held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It was like you to try to save her,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Does this mean I am to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I am very tired, Willy.” + </p> + <p> + He had a mad impulse to take her in his arms, and holding her close to + rest her there. She looked so tired. For fear he might do it he held his + arms rigidly at his sides. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't asked me about him,” she said unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would not care to talk about him. That's over and done, + Lily. I want to forget about it, myself.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him, and had he had Louis Akers' intuitive knowledge of + women he would have understood then. + </p> + <p> + “I am never going back to him, Willy. You know that, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I hoped it, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I know now that I never loved him.” + </p> + <p> + But the hurt of her marriage was still too fresh in him for speech. He + could not discuss Louis Akers with her. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, after a moment, “I don't think you ever did. I'll come in + some evening, if I may, Lily. I must not keep you up now.” + </p> + <p> + How old he looked, for him! How far removed from those busy, cheerful days + at the camp! And there were new lines of repression in his face; from the + nostrils to the corners of his mouth. Above his ears his hair showed a + faint cast of gray. + </p> + <p> + “You have been having rather a hard time, Willy, haven't you'?” she said, + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I have been busy, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “And worried?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes. But things are clearing up now.” + </p> + <p> + She was studying him with the newly opened eyes of love. What was it he + showed that the other men she knew lacked? Sensitiveness? Kindness? But + her father was both sensitive and kind. So was Pink, in less degree. In + the end she answered her own question, and aloud. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is patience,” she said. And to his unspoken question: “You are + very patient, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought about it. For heaven's sake don't turn my mind in on + myself, Lily. I'll be running around in circles like a pup chasing his + tail.” + </p> + <p> + He made a movement to leave, but she seemed oddly reluctant to let him go. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that father says you have more influence than any other man + in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “That's more kind than truthful.” + </p> + <p> + “And—I think he and grandfather are planning to try to get you, when + the mills reopen. Father suggested it, but grandfather says you'd have the + presidency of the company in six months, and he'd be sharpening your lead + pencils.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Willy Cameron laughed, and the tension was broken. + </p> + <p> + “If he did it with his tongue they'd be pretty sharp,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For just a moment, before he left, they were back to where they had been + months ago, enjoying together their small jokes and their small mishaps. + The present fell away, with its hovering tragedy, and they were boy and + girl together. Exaltation and sacrifice were a part of their love, as of + all real and lasting passion, but there was always between them also that + soundest bond of all, liking and comradeship. + </p> + <p> + “I love her. I like her. I adore her,” was the cry in Willy Cameron's + heart when he started home that night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV + </h2> + <p> + Elinor Doyle was up and about her room. She walked slowly and with + difficulty, using crutches, and she spent most of the time at her window, + watching and waiting. From Lily there came, at frequent intervals, notes, + flowers and small delicacies. The flowers and food Olga brought to her, + but the notes she never saw. She knew they came. She could see the car + stop at the curb, and the chauffeur, his shoulders squared and his face + watchful, carrying a white envelope up the walk, but there it ended. + </p> + <p> + She felt more helpless than ever. The doctor came less often, but the + vigilance was never relaxed, and she had, too, less and less hope of being + able to give any warning. Doyle was seldom at home, and when he was he had + ceased to give her his taunting information. She was quite sure now of his + relations with the Russian girl, and her uncertainty as to her course was + gone. She was no longer his wife. He held another woman in his rare + embraces, a traitor like himself. It was sordid. He was sordid. + </p> + <p> + Woslosky had developed blood poisoning, and was at the point of death, + with a stolid policeman on guard at his bedside. She knew that from the + newspapers she occasionally saw. And she connected Doyle unerringly with + the tragedy at the farm behind Friendship. She recognized, too, since that + failure, a change in his manner to her. She saw that he now both hated her + and feared her, and that she had become only a burden and a menace to him. + He might decide to do away with her, to kill her. He would not do it + himself; he never did his own dirty work, but the Russian girl—Olga + was in love with Jim Doyle. Elinor knew that, as she knew many things, by + a sort of intuition. She watched them in the room together, and she knew + that to Doyle the girl was an incident, the vehicle of his occasional + passion, a strumpet and a tool. He did not even like her; she saw him + looking at her sometimes with a sort of amused contempt. But Olga's somber + eyes followed him as he moved, lit with passion and sometimes with anger, + but always they followed him. + </p> + <p> + She was afraid of Olga. She did not care particularly about death, but it + must not come before she had learned enough to be able to send out a + warning. She thought if it came it might be by poison in the food that was + sent up, but she had to eat to live. She took to eating only one thing on + her tray, and she thought she detected in the girl an understanding and a + veiled derision. + </p> + <p> + By Doyle's increasing sullenness she knew things were not going well with + him, and she found a certain courage in that, but she knew him too well to + believe that he would give up easily. And she drew certain deductions from + the newspapers she studied so tirelessly. She saw the announcement of the + unusual number of hunting licenses issued, for one thing, and she knew the + cover that such licenses furnished armed men patrolling the country. The + state permitted the sale of fire-arms without restriction. Other states + did the same, or demanded only the formality of a signature, never + verified. + </p> + <p> + Would they never wake to the situation? + </p> + <p> + She watched the election closely. She knew that if Akers were elected the + general strike and the chaos to follow would be held back until he had + taken office and made the necessary changes in the city administration, + but that if he went down to defeat the Council would turn loose its + impatient hordes at once. + </p> + <p> + She waited for election day with burning anxiety. When it came it so + happened that she was left alone all day in the house. Early in the + morning Olga brought her a tray and told her she was going out. She was + changed, the Russian; she had dropped the mask of sodden servility and + stood before her, erect, cunningly intelligent and oddly powerful. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to be away all day, Mrs. Doyle,” she said, in her excellent + English. “I have work to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Work?” said Elinor. “Isn't there work to do here?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a house-worker. I came to help Mr. Doyle. To-day I shall make + speeches.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor was playing the game carefully. “But—can you make speeches?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Me? That is my work, here, in Russia, everywhere. In Russia it is the + women who speak, the men who do what the women tell them to do. Here some + day it will be the same.” + </p> + <p> + Always afterwards Elinor remembered the five minutes that followed, for + Olga, standing before her, suddenly burst into impassioned oratory. She + cited the wrongs of the poor under the old regime. She painted in glowing + colors the new. She was excited, hectic, powerful. Elinor in her chair, an + aristocrat to the finger-tips, was frightened, interested, thrilled. + </p> + <p> + Long after Olga had gone she sat there, wondering at the real conviction, + the intensity of passion, of hate and of revenge that actuated this newest + tool of Doyle's. Doyle and his associates might be actuated by + self-interest, but the real danger in the movement lay not with the Doyles + of the world, but with these fanatic liberators. They preached to the poor + a new religion, not of creed or of Church, but of freedom. Freedom without + laws of God or of man, freedom of love, of lust, of time, of all + responsibility. And the poor, weighted with laws and cares, longed to + throw off their burdens. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was not the doctrine itself that was wrong. It was its + imposition by force on a world not yet ready for it that was wrong; its + imposition by violence. It might come, but not this way. Not, God + preventing, this way. + </p> + <p> + There was a polling place across the street, in the basement of a school + house. The vote was heavy and all day men lounged on the pavements, + smoking and talking. Once she saw Olga in the crowd, and later on Louis + Akers drove up in an open automobile, handsome, apparently confident, and + greeted with cheers. But Elinor, knowing him well, gained nothing from his + face. + </p> + <p> + Late that night she heard Doyle come in and move about the lower floor. + She knew every emphasis of his walk, and when in the room underneath she + heard him settle down to steady, deliberate pacing, she knew that he was + facing some new situation, and, after his custom, thinking it out alone. + </p> + <p> + At midnight he came up the stairs and unlocked her door. He entered, + closing the door behind him, and stood looking at her. His face was so + strange that she wondered if he had decided to do away with her. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” he said, in an inflectionless voice, “you will be moved by + automobile to a farm I have selected in the country. You will take only + such small luggage as the car can carry.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Olga going with me?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Olga is needed here.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I am to understand from this that Louis has been defeated and + there is no longer any reason for delay in your plans.” + </p> + <p> + “You can understand what you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to know where I am going?” + </p> + <p> + “You will find that out when you get there. I will tell you this: It is a + lonely place, without a telephone. You'll be cut off from your family, I + am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him. It seemed unbelievable to her that she had once lain in + this man's arms. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you kill me, Jim? I know you've thought about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've thought of it. But killing is a confession of fear, my dear. I + am not afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are. You are afraid now to tell me when you are going to try + to put this wild plan into execution.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her with mocking eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he agreed again. “I am afraid. You have a sort of diabolical + ingenuity, not intelligence so much as cunning. But because I always do + the thing I'm afraid to do, I'll tell you. Of course, if you succeed in + passing it on—” He shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, then. With + your usual logic of deduction, you have guessed correctly. Louis Akers has + been defeated. Your family—and how strangely you are a Cardew!—lost + its courage at the last moment, and a gentleman named Hendricks is now + setting up imitation beer and cheap cigars to his friends.” + </p> + <p> + Behind his mocking voice she knew the real fury of the man, kept carefully + in control by his iron will. + </p> + <p> + “As you have also correctly surmised,” he went on, “there is now nothing + to be gained by any delay. A very few days, three or four, and—” His + voice grew hard and terrible—“the first stone in the foundation of + this capitalistic government will go. Inevitable law, inevitable + retribution—” His voice trailed off. He turned like a man asleep and + went toward the door. There he stopped and faced her. + </p> + <p> + “I've told you,” he said darkly. “I am not afraid of you. You can no more + stop this thing than you can stop living by ceasing to breathe. It has + come.” + </p> + <p> + She heard him in his room for some time after that, and she surmised from + the way he moved, from closet to bed and back again, that he was packing a + bag. At two o'clock she heard Olga coming in; the girl was singing in + Russian, and Elinor had a sickening conviction that she had been drinking. + She heard Doyle send her off to bed, his voice angry and disgusted, and + resume his packing, and ten minutes later she heard a car draw up on the + street, and knew that he was off, to begin the mobilization of his + heterogeneous forces. + </p> + <p> + Ever since she had been able to leave her bed Elinor had been formulating + a plan of escape. Once the door had been left unlocked, but her clothing + had been removed from the room, and then, too, she had not learned the + thing she was waiting for. Now she had clothing, a dark dressing gown and + slippers, and she had the information. But the door was securely locked. + </p> + <p> + She had often thought of the window, In the day time it frightened her to + look down, although it fascinated her, too. But at night it seemed much + simpler. The void below was concealed in the darkness, a soft darkness + that hid the hard, inhospitable earth. A darkness one could fall into and + onto. + </p> + <p> + She was not a brave woman. She had moral rather than physical courage. It + was easier for her to face Doyle in a black mood than the gulf below the + window-sill, but she knew now that she must get away, if she were to go at + all. She got out of bed, and using her crutches carefully moved to the + sill, trying to accustom herself to the thought of going over the edge. + The plaster cast on her leg was a real handicap. She must get it over + first. How heavy it was, and unwieldy! + </p> + <p> + She found her scissors, and, stripping the bed, sat down to cut and tear + the bedding into strips. Prisoners escaped that way; she had read about + such things. But the knots took up an amazing amount of length. It was + four o'clock in the morning when she had a serviceable rope, and she knew + it was too short. In the end she tore down the window curtains and added + them, working desperately against time. + </p> + <p> + She began to suspect, too, that Olga was not sleeping. She smelled faintly + the odor of the long Russian cigarettes the girl smoked. She put out her + light and worked in the darkness, a strange figure of adventure, this + middle-aged woman with her smooth hair and lined face, sitting in her + cambric nightgown with her crutches on the floor beside her. + </p> + <p> + She secured the end of the rope to the foot of her metal bed, pushing the + bed painfully and cautiously, inch by inch, to the window. And in so doing + she knocked over the call-bell on the stand, and almost immediately she + heard Olga moving about. + </p> + <p> + The girl was coming unsteadily toward the door. If she opened it— + </p> + <p> + “I don't want anything, Olga,” she called, “I knocked the bell over + accidentally.” + </p> + <p> + Olga hesitated, muttered, moved away again. Elinor was covered with a cold + sweat. + </p> + <p> + She began to think of the window as a refuge. Surely nothing outside could + be so terrible as this house itself. The black aperture seemed friendly; + it beckoned to her with friendly hands. + </p> + <p> + She dropped her crutches. They fell with two soft thuds on the earth below + and it seemed to her that they were a long time in falling. She listened + after that, but Olga made no sign. Then slowly and painfully she worked + her injured leg over the sill, and sat there looking down and breathing + with difficulty. Then she freed her dressing gown around her, and slid + over the edge. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV + </h2> + <p> + Election night found various groups in various places. In the back room of + the Eagle Pharmacy was gathered once again the neighborhood forum, a + wildly excited forum, which ever and anon pounded Mr. Hendricks on the + back, and drank round after round of soda water and pop. Doctor Smalley, + coming in rather late found them all there, calling Mr. Hendricks “Mr. + Mayor” or “Your Honor,” reciting election anecdotes, and prophesying the + end of the Reds. Only Willy Cameron, sitting on a table near the window, + was silent. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hendricks, called upon for a speech, rose with his soda water glass in + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a toast for you, boys,” he said. “You've been talking all + evening about my winning this election. Well, I've been elected, but I + didn't win it. It was the plain people of this town who elected me, and + they did it because my young friend on the table yonder told them to.” He + raised his glass. “Cameron!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Cameron! Cameron!” shouted the crowd. “Speech! Cameron!” + </p> + <p> + But Willy shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any voice left,” he said, “and you've heard me say all I know a + dozen times. The plain truth is that Mr. Hendricks got the election + because he was the best man, and enough people knew it. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Hendricks the night was one of splendid solemnity. He felt at once + very strong and very weak, very proud and very humble. He would do his + best, and if honesty meant anything, the people would have it, but he knew + that honesty was not enough. The city needed a strong man; he hoped that + the Good Man who made cities as He made men, both evil and good, would + lend him a hand with things. As prayer in his mind was indissolubly + connected with church, he made up his mind to go to church the next Sunday + and get matters straightened out. + </p> + <p> + At the same time another group was meeting at the Benedict. + </p> + <p> + Louis Akers had gone home early. By five o'clock he knew that the chances + were against him, but he felt a real lethargy as to the outcome. He had + fought, and fought hard, but it was only the surface mind of him that + struggled. Only the surface mind of him hated, and had ambitions, dreamed + revenge. Underneath that surface mind was a sore that ate like a cancer, + and that sore was his desertion by Lily Cardew. For once in his life he + suffered, who had always inflicted pain. + </p> + <p> + At six o'clock Doyle had called him on the telephone and told him that + Woslosky was dead, but the death of the Pole had been discounted in + advance, and already his place had been filled by a Russian agent, who had + taken the first syllable of his name and called himself Ross. Louis Akers + heard the news apathetically, and went back to his chair again. + </p> + <p> + By eight o'clock he knew that he had lost the election, but that, too, + seemed relatively unimportant. He was not thinking coherently, but certain + vague ideas floated through his mind. There was a law of compensation in + the universe: it was all rot to believe that one was paid or punished in + the hereafter for what one did. Hell was real, but it was on earth and its + place was in a man's mind. He couldn't get away from it, because each man + carried his own hell around with him. It was all stored up there; nothing + he had done was left out, and the more he put into it the more he got out, + when the time came. + </p> + <p> + This was his time. + </p> + <p> + Ross and Doyle, with one or two others, found him there at nine o'clock, + an untasted meal on the table, and the ends of innumerable cigarettes on + the hearth. In the conference that followed he took but little part. The + Russian urged immediate action, and Doyle by a saturnine silence tacitly + agreed with him. But Louis only half heard them. His mind was busy with + that matter of hell. Only once he looked up. Ross was making use of the + phrase: “Militant minority.” + </p> + <p> + “Militant minority!” he said scornfully, “you overwork that idea, Ross. + What we've got here now is a militant majority, and that's what elected + Hendricks. You're licked before you begin. And my advice is, don't begin.” + </p> + <p> + But they laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + “You act like a whipped dog,” Doyle said, “crawling under the doorstep for + fear somebody else with a strap comes along.” + </p> + <p> + “They're organized against us. We could have put it over six months ago. + Not now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'd better get out,” Doyle said, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + But Doyle had no real fear of him. He was sulky. Well, let him sulk. + </p> + <p> + Akers relapsed into silence. His interest in the conspiracy had always + been purely self-interest; he had never had Woslosky's passion, or Doyle's + cold fanaticism. They had carried him off his feet with their promises, + but how much were they worth? They had failed to elect him. Every bit of + brains, cunning and resource in their organization had been behind him, + and they had failed. + </p> + <p> + This matter of hell, now? Suppose one put by something on the other + account? Suppose one turned square? Wouldn't that earn something? Suppose + that one went to the Cardews and put all his cards on the table, asking + nothing in return? Suppose one gave up the by-paths of life, and love in a + hedgerow, and did the other thing? Wouldn't that earn something? + </p> + <p> + He roused himself and took a perfunctory part in the conversation, but his + mind obstinately returned to itself. He knew every rendezvous of the Red + element in the country; he knew where their literature was printed; he + knew the storehouses of arms and ammunition, and the plans for carrying on + the city government by the strikers after the reign of terrorization which + was to subdue the citizens. + </p> + <p> + Suppose he turned informer? Could he set a price, and that price Lily? But + he discarded that. He was not selling now, he was earning. He would set + himself right first, and—provided the government got the leaders + before those leaders got him, as they would surely try to do—he + would have earned something, surely. + </p> + <p> + Lily had come to him once when he called. She might come again, when he + had earned her. + </p> + <p> + Doyle sat back in his chair and watched him. He saw that he had gone to + pieces under defeat, and men did strange things at those times. With + uncanny shrewdness he gauged Akers' reaction; his loss of confidence and, + he surmised, his loyalty. He would follow his own interest now, and if he + thought that it lay in turning informer, he might try it. But it would + take courage. + </p> + <p> + When the conference broke up Doyle was sure of where his man stood. He was + not worried. They did not need Akers any longer. He had been a presentable + tool, a lay figure to give the organization front, and they had over-rated + him, at that. He had failed them. Doyle, watching him contemptuously, + realized in him his own fallacious judgment, and hated Akers for proving + him wrong. + </p> + <p> + Outside the building Doyle drew the Russian aside, and spoke to him. Ross + started, then grinned. + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong,” he said. “He won't try it. But of course he may, and we'll + see that he doesn't get away with it.” + </p> + <p> + From that time on Louis Akers was under espionage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVI + </h2> + <p> + DOCTOR Smalley was by way of achieving a practice. During his morning and + evening office hours he had less and less time to read the papers and the + current magazines in his little back office, or to compare the month's + earnings, visit by visit, with the same month of the previous year. + </p> + <p> + He took to making his hospital rounds early in the morning, rather to the + outrage of various head nurses, who did not like the staff to come + a-visiting until every counterpane was drawn stiff and smooth, every bed + corner a geometrical angle, every patient washed and combed and + temperatured, and in the exact center of the bed. + </p> + <p> + Interns were different. They were like husbands. They came and went, + seeing things at their worst as well as at their best, but mostly at their + worst. Like husbands, too, they developed a sort of philosophy as to the + early morning, and would only make occasional remarks, such as: + </p> + <p> + “Cyclone struck you this morning, or anything?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Smalley, being a bachelor, was entirely blind to the early morning + deficiencies of his wards. Besides, he was young and had had a cold shower + and two eggs and various other things, and he saw the world at eight A.M. + as a good place. He would get into his little car, whistling, and driving + through the market square he would sometimes stop and buy a bag of apples + for the children's ward, or a bunch of fall flowers. Thus armed, it was + impossible for the most austere of head nurses to hate him. + </p> + <p> + “We're not straightened up yet, doctor,” they would say. + </p> + <p> + “Looks all right to me,” he would reply cheerfully, and cast an eager eye + over the ward. To him they were all his children, large and small, and if + he did not exactly carry healing in his wings, having no wings, he brought + them courage and a breath of fresh morning air, slightly tinged with bay + rum, and the feeling that this was a new day. A new page, on which to + write such wonderful things (in the order book) as: “Jennie may get up + this afternoon.” Or: “Lizzie Smith, small piece of beef steak.” + </p> + <p> + On the morning after the election Doctor Smalley rose unusually early, and + did five minutes of dumb bells, breathing very deep before his window, + having started the cold water in the tub first. At the end of that time he + padded in his bare feet to the top of the stairs and called in a huge, + deep-breathing voice: + </p> + <p> + “Ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + These two cryptic words seeming to be perfectly understood below, followed + the sound of a body plunging into water, a prolonged “Wow!” from the + bathroom, and noisy hurried splashing. Dressing was a rapid process, due + to a method learned during college days, which consists of wearing as + little as possible, and arranging it at night so that two thrusts + (trousers and under-drawers), one enveloping gesture (shirt and + under-shirt), and a gymnastic effort of standing first on one leg and then + on the other (socks and shoes), made a fairly completed toilet. + </p> + <p> + While putting on his collar and tie the doctor stood again by the window, + and lustily called the garage across the narrow street. + </p> + <p> + “Jim!” he yelled. “Annabelle breakfasted yet?” + </p> + <p> + Annabelle was his shabby little car. + </p> + <p> + Annabelle had breakfasted, on gasoline, oil and water. The doctor finished + tying his tie, singing lustily, and went to the door. At the door he + stopped singing, put on a carefully professional air, restrained an + impulse to slide down the stair-rail, and descended with the dignity of a + man with a growing practice and a possible patient in the waiting-room. + </p> + <p> + At half-past seven he was on his way to the hospital. He stopped at the + market and bought three dozen oranges out of a ten-dollar bill he had won + on the election, and almost bought a live rabbit because it looked so + dreary in its slatted box. He restrained himself, because his housekeeper + had a weakness for stewed rabbit, and turned into Cardew Way. He passed + the Doyle house slowly, inspecting it as he went, because he had a patient + there, and because he had felt that there was something mysterious about + the household, quite aside from the saturnine Doyle himself. He knew all + about Doyle, of course; all, that is, that there was to know, but he was a + newcomer to the city, and he did not know that Doyle's wife was a Cardew. + Sometimes he had felt that he was under a sort of espionage all the time + he was in the house. But that was ridiculous, wasn't it? Because they + could not know that he was on the Vigilance Committee. + </p> + <p> + There was something curious about one of the windows. He slowed Annabelle + and gazed at it. That was strange; there was a sort of white rope hanging + from Mrs. Doyle's window. + </p> + <p> + He stopped Annabelle and stared. Then he drew up to the curb and got out + of the car. He was rather uneasy when he opened the gate and started up + the walk, but there was no movement of life in the house. At the foot of + the steps he saw something, and almost stopped breathing. Behind a clump + of winter-bare shrubbery was what looked like a dark huddle of clothing. + </p> + <p> + It was incredible. + </p> + <p> + He parted the branches and saw Elinor Doyle lying there, conscious and + white with pain. Perhaps never in his life was Doctor Smalley to be so + rewarded as with the look in her eyes when she saw him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mrs. Doyle!” was all he could think to say. + </p> + <p> + “I have broken my other leg, doctor,” she said, “the rope gave way.” + </p> + <p> + “You come down that rope?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to. I was a prisoner. Don't take me back to the house, doctor. + Don't take me back!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll not take you back,” he said, soothingly. “I'll carry you + out to my car. It may hurt, but try to be quiet. Can you get your arms + around my neck?” + </p> + <p> + She managed that, and he raised her slowly, but the pain must have been + frightful, for a moment later he felt her arms relax and knew that she had + fainted. He got to the car somehow, kicked the oranges into the gutter, + and placed her, collapsed, on the seat. It was only then that he dared to + look behind him, but the house, like the street, was without signs of + life. As he turned the next corner, however, he saw Doyle getting off a + streetcar, and probably never before had Annabelle made such speed as she + did for the next six blocks. + </p> + <p> + Hours later Elinor Cardew wakened in a quiet room with gray walls, and + with the sickening sweet odor of ether over everything. Instead of Olga a + quiet nurse sat by her bed, and standing by a window, in low-voiced + conversation, were two men. One she knew, the doctor. The other, a tall + young man with a slight limp as he came toward her, she had never seen + before. A friendly young man, thin, and grave of voice, who put a hand + over hers and said: + </p> + <p> + “You are not to worry about anything, Mrs. Doyle. You understand me, don't + you? Everything is all right. I am going now to get your people.” + </p> + <p> + “My husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Your own people,” he said. “I have already telephoned to your brother. + And the leg's fixed. Everything's as right as rain.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor closed her eyes. She felt no pain and no curiosity. Only there was + something she had to do, and do quickly. What was it? But she could not + remember, because she felt very sleepy and relaxed, and as though + everything was indeed as right as rain. + </p> + <p> + It was evening when she looked up again, and the room was dark. The doctor + had gone, and the grave young man was still in the room. There was another + figure there, tall and straight, and at first she thought it was Jim + Doyle. + </p> + <p> + “Jim!” she said. And then: “You must go away, Jim. I warn you. I am going + to tell all I know.” + </p> + <p> + But the figure turned, and it was Howard Cardew, a tense and strained + Howard Cardew, who loomed amazingly tall and angry, but not with her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Nellie dear,” he said, bending over her. “If we'd only known—can + you talk now?” + </p> + <p> + Her mind was suddenly very clear. + </p> + <p> + “I must. There is very little time.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to tell you something first, Nellie. I think we have located the + Russian woman, but we haven't got Doyle.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was not very subtle, but Willy Cameron saw her face and understood. + It was strange beyond belief, he felt, this loyalty of women to their men, + even after love had gone; this feeling that, having once lain in a man's + arms, they have taken a vow of protection over that man. It was not so + much that they were his as that he was theirs. Jim Doyle had made her a + prisoner, had treated her brutally, was a traitor to her and to his + country, but—he had been hers. She was glad that he had got away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVII + </h2> + <p> + It was dark when Howard Cardew and Willy Cameron left the hospital. + Elinor's information had been detailed and exact. Under cover of the + general strike the radical element intended to take over the city. On the + evening of the first day of the strike, armed groups from the + revolutionary party would proceed first to the municipal light plant, and, + having driven out any employees who remained at their posts, or such + volunteers as had replaced them, would plunge the city into darkness. + </p> + <p> + Elinor was convinced that following this would come various bomb outrages, + perhaps a great number of them, but of this she had no detailed + information. What she did know, however, was the dependence that Doyle and + the other leaders were placing in the foreign element in the nearby mill + towns and from one or two mining districts in the county. + </p> + <p> + Around the city, in the mill towns, there were more than forty thousand + foreign laborers. Subtract from that the loyal aliens, but add a certain + percentage of the native-born element, members of seditious societies and + followers of the red flag, and the Reds had a potential army of dangerous + size. + </p> + <p> + As an actual fighting force they were much less impressive. Only a small + percentage, she knew and told them, were adequately armed. There were a + few machine guns, and some long-range rifles, but by far the greater + number had only revolvers. The remainder had extemporized weapons, bars of + iron, pieces of pipe, farm implements, lances of wood tipped with iron and + beaten out on home forges. + </p> + <p> + They were a rabble, not an army, without organization and with few + leaders. Their fighting was certain to be as individualistic as their + doctrines. They had two elements in their favor only, numbers and + surprise. + </p> + <p> + To oppose them, if the worst came, there were perhaps five thousand armed + men, including the city and county police, the state constabulary, and the + citizens who had signed the cards of the Vigilance Committee. The local + post of the American Legion stood ready for instant service, and a few + national guard troops still remained in the vicinity. “What they expect,” + she said, looking up from her pillows with tragic eyes, “is that the + police and the troops will join them. You don't think they will, do you?” + </p> + <p> + They reassured her, and after a time she slept again. When she wakened, at + midnight, the room was empty save for a nurse reading under a night lamp + behind a screen. Elinor was not in pain. She lay there, listening to the + night sounds of the hospital, the watchman shuffling along the corridor in + slippers, the closing of a window, the wail of a newborn infant far away. + </p> + <p> + There was a shuffling of feet in the street below, the sound of many men, + not marching but grimly walking, bent on some unknown errand. The nurse + opened the window and looked out. + </p> + <p> + “That's queer!” she said. “About thirty men, and not saying a word. They + walk like soldiers, but they're not in uniform.” + </p> + <p> + Elinor pondered that, but it was not for some days that she knew that Pink + Denslow and a picked number of volunteers from the American Legion had + that night, quite silently and unemotionally, broken into the printing + office where Doyle and Akers had met Cusick, and had, not so silently but + still unemotionally, destroyed the presses and about a ton of inflammatory + pamphlets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVIII + </h2> + <p> + There was a little city, and few men within it; And there came a great + king against it, and besieged it, And built great bulwarks against it; Now + there was found in it a Poor Wise Man, And he by his wisdom delivered the + city.—Ecclesiastes IX:14, 15. + </p> + <p> + The general strike occurred two days later, at mid-day. During the + interval a joint committee representing the workers, the employers and the + public had held a protracted sitting, but without result, and by one + o'clock the city was in the throes of a complete tie-up. Laundry and + delivery wagons were abandoned where they stood. Some of the street cars + had been returned to the barns, but others stood in the street where the + crews had deserted them. + </p> + <p> + There was no disorder, however, and the city took its difficulties with a + quiet patience and a certain sense of humor. Bulletins similar to the ones + used in Seattle began to appear. + </p> + <p> + “Strikers, the world is the workers' for the taking, and the workers are + the vast majority in society. Your interests are paramount to those of a + small, useless band of parasites who exploit you to their advantage. You + have nothing to lose but your chains and you have a world to gain. The + world for the workers.” + </p> + <p> + There was one ray of light in the darkness, however. The municipal + employees had refused to strike, and only by force would the city go dark + that night. It was a blow to the conspirators. In the strange psychology + of the mob, darkness was an essential to violence, and by three o'clock + that afternoon the light plant and city water supply had been secured + against attack by effectual policing. The power plant for the car lines + was likewise protected, and at five o'clock a line of street cars, stalled + on Amanda Street, began to show signs of life. + </p> + <p> + The first car was boarded by a half dozen youngish men, unobtrusively + ready for trouble, and headed by a tall youth who limped slightly and wore + an extremely anxious expression. He went forward and commenced a series of + experiments with levers and brake, in which process incidentally he + liberated a quantity of sand onto the rails. A moment later the car + lurched forward, and then stopped with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron looked behind him and grinned. The entire guard was piled in + an ignoble mass on the floor. + </p> + <p> + By six o'clock volunteer crews were running a number of cars, and had been + subjected to nothing worse than abuse. Strikers lined the streets and + watched them, but the grim faces of the guards kept them back. They jeered + from the curbs, but except for the flinging of an occasional stone they + made no inimical move. + </p> + <p> + By eight o'clock it was clear that the tie-up would be only partial. + Volunteers from all walks of life were in line at the temporary + headquarters of the Vigilance Committee and were being detailed, for + police duty, to bring in the trains with the morning milk, to move street + cars and trucks. The water plant and the reservoirs were protected. Willy + Cameron, abandoning his car after the homeward rush of the evening, found + a line before the Committee Building which extended for blocks down the + street. + </p> + <p> + Troops had been sent for, but it took time to mobilize and move them. It + would be morning before they arrived. And the governor, over the long + distance wire to the mayor, was inclined to be querulous. + </p> + <p> + “We'll send them, of course,” he said. “But if the strikers are keeping + quiet—I don't know what the country's coming to. We're holding a + conference here now. There's rioting breaking out all over the state.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + There was a conference held in the Mayor's office that night: Cameron and + Cardew and one or two others of the Vigilance Committee, two agents of the + government secret service, the captains of the companies of state troops + and constabulary, the Chief of Police, the Mayor himself, and some + representatives of the conservative element of organized labor. Quiet men, + these last, uneasy and anxious, as ignorant as the others of which way the + black cat, the symbol of sabotage and destruction, would jump. The + majority of their men would stand for order, they declared, but there were + some who would go over. They urged, to offset that reflection on their + organization that the proletariat of the city might go over, too. + </p> + <p> + But, by midnight, it seemed as though the situation was solving itself. In + the segregated district there had been a small riot, and another along the + river front, disturbances quickly ended by the police and the volunteer + deputies. The city had not gone dark. The bombs had not exploded. Word + came in that by back roads and devious paths the most rabid of the + agitators were leaving town. And before two o'clock Howard Cardew and some + of the others went home to bed. + </p> + <p> + At three o'clock the Cardew doorbell rang, and Howard, not asleep, flung + on his dressing gown and went out into the hall. Lily was in her doorway, + intent and anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Don't answer it, father,” she begged. “You don't know what it may be.” + </p> + <p> + Howard smiled, but went back and got his revolver. The visitor was Willy + Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to waken you,” he said, “but word has come in of suspicious + movements at Baxter and Friendship, and one or two other places. It looks + like concerted action of some sort.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of concerted action?” + </p> + <p> + “They still have one card to play. The foreign element outside hasn't been + heard from. It looks as though the fellows who left town to-night have + been getting busy up the river.” + </p> + <p> + “They wouldn't be such fools as to come to the city.” + </p> + <p> + “They've been made a lot of promises. They may be out of hand, you know.” + </p> + <p> + While Howard was hastily dressing, Willy Cameron waited below. He caught a + glimpse of himself in the big mirror and looked away. His face was drawn + and haggard, his eyes hollow and his collar a wilted string. He was dusty + and shabby, too, and to Lily, coming down the staircase, he looked almost + ill. + </p> + <p> + Lily was in a soft negligee garment, her bare feet thrust into slippers, + but she was too anxious to be self-conscious. + </p> + <p> + “Willy,” she said, “there is trouble after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the city. Things are not so quiet up the river.” + </p> + <p> + She placed a hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Are you and father going up the river?” + </p> + <p> + He explained, after a momentary hesitation. “It may crystallize into + something, or it may not,” he finished. + </p> + <p> + “You think it will, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be nothing more, at the worst, than rioting.” + </p> + <p> + “But you may be hurt!” + </p> + <p> + “I may have one chance to fight for my country,” he said, rather grimly. + “Don't begrudge me that.” But he added: “I'll not be hurt. The thing will + blow up as soon as it starts.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't really believe that, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know they'll never get into the city.” + </p> + <p> + But as he moved away she called him back, more breathlessly than ever, and + quite white. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want you to go without knowing—Willy, do you remember once + that you said you cared for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember.” He stared straight ahead. + </p> + <p> + “Are you—all over that?” + </p> + <p> + “You know better than that, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “But I've done so many things,” she said, wistfully. “You ought to hate + me.” And when he said nothing, for the simple reason that he could not + speak: “I've ruined us both, haven't I?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he caught up her hand and, bending over it, held it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Always,” he said, huskily, “I love you, Lily. I shall always love you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIX + </h2> + <p> + Howard went back to the municipal building, driving furiously through the + empty streets. The news was ominous. Small bodies of men, avoiding the + highways, were focusing at different points in the open country. The state + police had been fired at from ambush, and two of them had been killed. + They had ridden into and dispersed various gatherings in the darkness, but + only to have them re-form in other places. The enemy was still shadowy, + elusive; it was apparently saving its ammunition. It did little shooting, + but reports of the firing of farmhouses and of buildings in small, + unprotected towns began to come in rapidly. + </p> + <p> + In a short time the messages began to be more significant, indicating that + the groups were coalescing and that a revolutionary army, with the city + its objective, was coming down the river, evidently making for the bridge + at Chester Street. + </p> + <p> + “They've lighted a fire they can't put out,” was Howard's comment. His + mouth was very dry and his face twitching, for he saw, behind the frail + barrier of the Chester Street bridge, the quiet houses of the city, the + sleeping children. He saw Grace and Lily, and Elinor. He was among the + first to reach the river front. + </p> + <p> + All through the dawn volunteers labored at the bridge head. Members of the + Vigilance Committee, policemen and firemen, doctors, lawyers, clerks, + shop-keepers, they looted the river wharves with willing, unskillful + hands. They turned coal wagons on their sides, carried packing cases and + boxes, and, under the direction of men who wore the Legion button, built + skillfully and well. Willy Cameron toiled with the others. He lifted and + pulled and struggled, and in the midst of his labor he had again that old + dream of the city. The city was a vast number of units, and those units + were homes. Behind each of those men there was, somewhere, in some quiet + neighborhood, a home. It was for their homes they were fighting, for the + right of children to play in peaceful streets, for the right to go back at + night to the rest they had earned by honest labor, for the right of the + hearth, of lamp-light and sunlight, of love, of happiness. + </p> + <p> + Then, in the flare of a gasoline torch, he came face to face with Louis + Akers. The two men confronted each other, silently, with hostility. + Neither moved aside, but it was Akers who spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Always busy, Cameron,” he said. “What'd the world do without you, + anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you on the wrong side of this barricade?” + </p> + <p> + “Smart as ever,” Akers observed, watching him intently. “As it happens, + I'm here because I want to be, and because I can't get where I ought to + be.” + </p> + <p> + For a furious moment Willy Cameron thought he was referring to his wife, + but there was something strange in Akers' tone. + </p> + <p> + “I could be useful to you fellows,” he was saying, “but it seems you don't + want help. I've been trying to see the Mayor all night.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to see him about?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell him that.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I think it's a trick, Akers.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Then go to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + He turned away sullenly, leaving Willy Cameron still undecided. It would + be like the man as he knew him, this turning informer when he saw the + strength of the defense, and Cameron had a flash of intuition, too, that + Akers might see, in this new role, some possible chance to win back with + Lily Cardew. He saw how the man's cheap soul might dramatize itself. + </p> + <p> + “Akers!” he called. + </p> + <p> + Akers stopped, but he did not turn. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a car here. If you mean what you say, and it's straight, I'll + take you.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the car?” + </p> + <p> + On their way to it, threading in and out among the toiling crowd, Willy + Cameron had a chance to observe the change in the other man, his drooping + shoulders and the almost lassitude of his walk. He went ahead, charging + the mass and going through it by sheer bulk and weight, his hands in his + coat pockets, his soft hat pulled low over his face. Neither of them + noticed that one of the former clerks of the Myers Housecleaning Company + followed close behind, or that, holding to a tire, he rode on the rear of + the Cardew automobile as it made its way into the center of the city. + </p> + <p> + In the car Akers spoke only once. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Howard Cardew?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “With the Mayor, probably. I left him there.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him that Akers found the answer satisfactory. He sat back in + the deep seat, and lighted a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + The Municipal Building was under guard. Willy Cameron went up the steps + and spoke to the sentry there. It was while his back was turned that the + sharp crack of a revolver rang out, and he whirled, in time to see Louis + Akers fall forward on his face and lie still. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The shadowy groups through the countryside had commenced to coalesce. + Groups of twenty became a rabble of five hundred. The five hundred grew, + and joined other five hundreds. From Baxter alone over two thousand + rioters, mostly foreigners, started out, and by daylight the main body of + the enemy reached the outskirts of the city, a long, irregular line of + laughing, jostling, shouting men, constantly renewed at the rear until the + procession covered miles of roadway. They were of all races and all types; + individually they were, many of them, like boys playing truant from + school, not quite certain of themselves, smiling and yet uneasy, not + entirely wicked in intent. But they were shepherded by men with cunning + eyes, men who knew well that a mob is greater than the sum of its parts, + more wicked than the individuals who compose it, more cruel, more + courageous. + </p> + <p> + As it marched it laughed. It was like a lion at play, ready to leap at the + first scratch that brought blood. + </p> + <p> + Where the street car line met the Friendship Road the advance was met by + the Chief of Police, on horseback and followed by a guard of mounted men, + and ordered back. The van hesitated, but it was urged ahead, pushed on by + the irresistible force behind it, and it came on no longer singing, but + slowly, inevitably, sullenly protesting and muttering. Its good nature was + gone. + </p> + <p> + As the Chief turned his horse was shot under him. He took another horse + from one of his guard, and they retired, moving slowly and with drawn + revolvers. There was no further shooting at that time, nothing but the + irresistible advance. The police could no more have held the armed rabble + than they could have held the invading hordes in Belgium. At the end of + the street the Chief stopped and looked back. They had passed over his + dead horse as though it were not there. + </p> + <p> + In the mill district, which they had now reached, they received + reenforcements, justifying the judgment of the conference that to have + erected their barricades there would have been to expose the city's + defenders to attack from the rear. And the mill district suffered + comparatively little. It was the business portion of the city toward which + they turned their covetous eyes, the great stores, the hotels and + restaurants, the homes of the wealthy. + </p> + <p> + Pleased by the lack of opposition the mob grew more cheerful. The lion + played. They pressed forward, wanton and jeering, firing now and then at + random, breaking windows as they passed, looting small shops which they + stripped like locusts. Their pockets bulging, and the taste of pillage + forecasting what was to come, they moved onward more rapidly, shooting at + upper windows or into the air, laughing, yelling, cursing, talking. From + the barricades, long before the miles-long column came into view, could be + heard the ominous far-off muttering of the mob. + </p> + <p> + It was when they found the bridge barricaded on the far side, however, + that the lion bared its teeth and snarled. Temporarily checked by the play + of machine guns which swept the bridge and kept it clear for a time, they + commenced wild, wasteful firing, from the bridge-head and from along the + Cardew wharves. Their leaders were prepared, and sent snipers into the + bridge towers, but the machine guns continued to fire. + </p> + <p> + That the struggle would be on the bridge Doyle and his Council had + anticipated from the reports of the night before. They were prepared to + take a heavy loss on the bridges, but they had not prepared for the thing + that defeated them; that as the mob is braver than the individual, so also + it is more cowardly. + </p> + <p> + Pushed forward from the rear and unable to retreat through the dense mass + behind that was every moment growing denser, a few hundreds found + themselves facing the steady machine-gun fire from behind the barricades, + and unable either to advance or to retire. Thus trapped, they turned on + their own forces behind them, and tried to fight their way to safety, but + the inexorable pressure kept on, and the defenders, watching and + powerless, saw men fling themselves from the bridges and disappear in the + water below, rather than advance into the machine-gun zone. The guns were + not firing into the rioters, but before them, to hold them back, and into + that leaden stream there were no brave spirits to hurl themselves. + </p> + <p> + The trapped men turned on their own and battled for escape. With the same + violence which had been directed toward the city they now fought each + other, and the bridge slowly cleared. But the mob did not disperse. + </p> + <p> + It spread out on the bank across, a howling, frustrated, futile mass, + disorganized and demoralized, which fired its useless guns across the + river, which seethed and tossed and struggled, and spent itself in its own + wild fury. And all the time cool-eyed men, on the wharves across, watched + and waited for the time to attack. + </p> + <p> + “They're sick at their stomachs now,” said an old army sergeant, watching, + to Willy Cameron. “The dirty devils! They'll be starting their filthy work + over there soon, and that's the zero hour.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron nodded. He had seen one young Russian boy with a child-like + face venture forward alone into the fire zone and drop. He still lay + there, on the bridge. And all of Willy Cameron was in revolt. What had he + been told, that boy, that had made him ready to pour out his young life + like wine? There were others like him in that milling multitude on the + river bank across, young men who had come to America with a dream in their + hearts, and America had done this to them. Or had she? She had taken them + in, but they were not her own, and now, since she would not take them, + they would take her. Was that it? Was it that America had made them her + servants, but not her children? He did not know. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Robbed of the city proper, the mob turned on the mill district it had + invaded. Its dream of lust and greed was over, but it could still destroy. + </p> + <p> + Like a battle charge, as indeed it was, the mounted city and state police + crossed the bridge. It was followed by the state troops on foot, by city + policemen in orderly files, and then by the armed citizens. The bridge + vibrated to the step of marching men, going out to fight for their homes. + The real battle was fought there, around the Cardew mills, a battle where + the loyalists were greatly outnumbered, and where the rioters fought, + according to their teaching, with every trick they could devise. Posted in + upper windows they fired down from comparative safety; ambulances crossed + and re-crossed the bridges. The streets were filled with rioting men, + striking out murderously with bars and spikes. Fires flamed up and burned + themselves out. In one place, eight blocks of mill-workers' houses, with + their furnishings, went in a quarter of an hour. + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron was fighting like a demon. Long ago his reserve of + ammunition had given out, and he was fighting with the butt end of his + revolver. Around him had rallied some of the men he knew best, Pink and + Mr. Hendricks, Doctor Smalley, Dan and Joe Wilkinson, and they stayed + together as, street by street, the revolutionists were driven back. There + were dead and wounded everywhere, injured men who had crawled into the + shelter of doorways and sat or lay there, nursing their wounds. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, to his amazement, Willy saw old Anthony Cardew. He had somehow + achieved an upper window of the mill office building, and he was showing + himself fearlessly, a rifle in his hands; in his face was a great anger, + but there was more than that. Willy Cameron, thinking it over later, + decided that it was perplexity. He could not understand. + </p> + <p> + He never did understand. For other eyes also had seen old Anthony Cardew. + Willy Cameron, breasting the mob and fighting madly toward the door of the + building, with Pink behind him, heard a cheer and an angry roar, and, + looking up, saw that the old man had disappeared. They found him there + later on, the rifle beside him, his small and valiant figure looking, with + eyes no longer defiant, toward the Heaven which puts, for its own strange + purpose, both evil and good into the same heart. + </p> + <p> + By eleven o'clock the revolution was over. Sodden groups of men, + thoroughly cowed and frightened, were on their way by back roads to the + places they had left a few hours before. They had no longer dreams of + empire. Behind them they could see, on the horizon, the city itself, the + smoke from its chimneys, the spires of its churches. Both, homes and + churches, they had meant to destroy, but behind both there was the + indestructible. They had failed. + </p> + <p> + They turned, looked back, and went on. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + On the crest of a hill-top overlooking the city a man was standing, + looking down to where the softened towers of the great steel bridges rose + above the river mist like fairy towers. Below him lay the city, powerful, + significant, important. + </p> + <p> + The man saw the city only as a vast crucible, into which he had flung his + all, and out of which had come only defeat and failure. But the city was + not a crucible. The melting pot of a nation is not a thing of cities, but + of the human soul. + </p> + <p> + The city was not a melting pot. It was a sanctuary. The man stood silent + and morose, his chin dropped on his chest, and stared down. + </p> + <p> + Beside and somewhat behind him stood a woman, a somber, passionate figure, + waiting passively. His eyes traveled from the city to her, and rested on + her, contemptuous, thwarted, cynical. + </p> + <p> + “You fool,” he said, “I hate you, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + But she only smiled faintly. “We'd better get away now, Jim,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He got into the car. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER L + </h2> + <p> + Late that afternoon Joe Wilkinson and Dan came slowly up the street, + toward the Boyd house. The light of battle was still in Dan's eyes, his + clothes were torn and his collar missing, and he walked with the fine + swagger of the conqueror. + </p> + <p> + “Y'ask me,” he said, “and I'll tell the world this thing's done for. It + was just as well to let them give it a try, and find out it won't work.” + </p> + <p> + Joe said nothing. He was white and very tired, and a little sick. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind I'll go in your place and wash up,” he remarked, as + they neared the house. “I'll scare the kids to death if they see me like + this.” + </p> + <p> + Edith was in the parlor. She had sat there almost all day, in an agony of + fear. At four o'clock the smallest Wilkinson had hammered at the front + door, and on being admitted had made a shameless demand. + </p> + <p> + “Bed and thugar,” she had said, looking up with an ingratiating smile. + </p> + <p> + “You little beggar!” + </p> + <p> + “Bed and thugar.” + </p> + <p> + Edith had got the bread and sugar, and, having lured the baby into the + parlor, had held her while she ate, receiving now and then an exceedingly + sticky kiss in payment. After a little the child's head began to droop, + and Edith drew the small head down onto her breast. She sat there, rocking + gently, while the chair slowly traveled, according to its wont, about the + room. + </p> + <p> + The child brought her comfort. She began to understand those grave rocking + figures in the hospital ward, women who sat, with eyes that seemed to look + into distant places, with a child's head on their breasts. + </p> + <p> + After all, that was life for a woman. Love was only a part of the scheme + of life, a means to an end. And that end was the child. + </p> + <p> + For the first time she wished that her child had lived. + </p> + <p> + She felt no bitterness now, and no anger. He was dead. It was hard to + think of him as dead, who had been so vitally alive. She was sorry he had + had to die, but death was like love and children, it was a part of some + general scheme of things. Suppose this had been his child she was holding? + Would she so easily have forgiven him? She did not know. + </p> + <p> + Then she thought of Willy Cameron. The bitterness had strangely gone out + of that, too. Perhaps, vaguely, she began to realize that only young love + gives itself passionately and desperately, when there is no hope of a + return, and that the agonies of youth, although terrible enough, pass with + youth itself. + </p> + <p> + She felt very old. + </p> + <p> + Joe found her there, the chair displaying its usual tendency to climb the + chimney flue, and stood in the doorway, looking at her with haunted, + hungry eyes. There was a sort of despair in Joe those days, and now he was + tired and shaken from the battle. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take her home in a minute,” he said, still with the strange eyes. + </p> + <p> + He came into the room, and suddenly he was kneeling beside the chair, his + head buried against the baby's warm, round body. His bent shoulders shook, + and Edith, still with the maternal impulse strong within her, put her hand + on his bowed head. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Joe!” + </p> + <p> + He looked up. + </p> + <p> + “I loved you so, Edith!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you love me now?” + </p> + <p> + “God knows I do. I can't get over it. I can't. I've tried, Edith.” + </p> + <p> + He sat back on the floor and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “I can't,” he repeated. “And when I saw you like that just now, with the + kid in your arms—I used to think that maybe you and I—” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Joe. No decent man would want me now.” + </p> + <p> + She was still strangely composed, peaceful, almost detached. + </p> + <p> + “That!” he said, astonished. “I don't mean that, Edith. I've had my fight + about that, and got it over. That's done with. I mean—” he got up + and straightened himself. “You don't care about me.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do care for you. Perhaps not quite the way you care, Joe, but I've + been through such a lot. I can't seem to feel anything terribly. I just + want peace.” + </p> + <p> + “I could give you that,” he said eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Edith smiled. Peace, in that noisy house next door, with children and + kittens and puppies everywhere! And yet it would be peace, after all, a + peace of the soul, the peace of a good man's love. After a time, too, + there might come another peace, the peace of those tired women in the + ward, rocking. + </p> + <p> + “If you want me, I'll marry you,” she said, very simply. “I'll be a good + wife, Joe. And I want children. I want the right to have them.” + </p> + <p> + He never noticed that the kiss she gave him, over the sleeping baby, was + slightly tinged with granulated sugar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LI + </h2> + <p> + OLD Anthony's body had been brought home, and lay in state in his great + bed. There had been a bad hour; death seems so strangely to erase faults + and leave virtues. Something strong and vital had gone from the house, and + the servants moved about with cautious, noiseless steps. In Grace's + boudoir, Howard was sitting, his arms around his wife, telling her the + story of the day. At dawn he had notified her by telephone of Akers' + murder. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell Lily?” she had asked, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to wait until I get back?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how she will take it, Howard. I wish you could be here, + anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + But then had come the battle and his father's death, and in the end it was + Willy Cameron who told her. He had brought back all that was mortal of + Anthony Cardew, and, having seen the melancholy procession up the stairs, + had stood in the hall, hating to intrude but hoping to be useful. Howard + found him there, a strange, disheveled figure, bearing the scars of + battle, and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to thank you, Cameron,” he said; “you seem to be always about + when we need help. And”—he paused—“we seem to have needed it + considerably lately.” + </p> + <p> + Willy Cameron flushed. + </p> + <p> + “I feel rather like a meddler, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Better go up and wash,” Howard said. “I'll go up with you.” + </p> + <p> + It happened, therefore, that it was in Howard Cardew's opulent + dressing-room that Howard first spoke to Willy Cameron of Akers' death, + pacing the floor as he did so. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't told her, Cameron.” He was anxious and puzzled. “She'll have to + be told soon, of course. I don't know anything about women. I don't know + how she'll take it.” + </p> + <p> + “She has a great deal of courage. It will be a shock, but not a grief. But + I have been thinking—” Willy Cameron hesitated. “She must not feel + any remorse,” he went on. “She must not feel that she contributed to it in + any way. If you can make that clear to her—” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure she did not?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't facts that matter now. We can't help those. And no one can tell + what actually led to his change of heart. It is what she is to think the + rest of her life.” + </p> + <p> + Howard nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would tell her,” he said. “I'm a blundering fool when it comes + to her. I suppose I care too much.” + </p> + <p> + He caught rather an odd look in Willy Cameron's face at that, and pondered + over it later. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell her, if you wish.” + </p> + <p> + And Howard drew a deep breath of relief. It was shortly after that he + broached another matter, rather diffidently. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether you realize it or not, Cameron,” he said, “but this + thing to-day might have been a different story if it had not been for you. + And—don't think I'm putting this on a reward basis. It's nothing of + the sort—but I would like to feel that you were working with me. I'd + hate like thunder to have you working against me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I am only trained for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “We use chemists in the mills.” + </p> + <p> + But the discussion ended there. Both men knew that it would be taken up + later, at some more opportune time, and in the meantime both had one + thought, Lily. + </p> + <p> + So it happened that Lily heard the news of Louis Akers' death from Willy + Cameron. She stood, straight and erect, and heard him through, watching + him with eyes sunken by her night's vigil and by the strain of the day. + But it seemed to her that he was speaking of some one she had known long + ago, in some infinitely remote past. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” she said, when he finished. “I didn't want him to die. You + know that, don't you? I never wished him—Willy, I say I am sorry, + but I don't really feel anything. It's dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + Before he could catch her she had fallen to the floor, fainting for the + first time in her healthy young life. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + An hour later Mademoiselle went down to the library door. She found Willy + Cameron pacing the floor, a pipe clenched in his teeth, and a look of wild + despair in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle took a long breath. She had changed her view-point somewhat + since the spring. After all, what mattered was happiness. Wealth and + worldly ambition were well enough, but they brought one, in the end, to + the thing which waited for all in some quiet upstairs room, with the + shades drawn and the heavy odors of hot-house flowers over everything. + </p> + <p> + “She is all right, quite, Mr. Cameron,” she said. “It was but a crisis of + the nerves, and to be expected. And now she demands to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Grayson, standing in the hall, had a swift vision of a tall figure, which + issued with extreme rapidity from the library door, and went up the + stairs, much like a horse taking a series of hurdles. But the figure lost + momentum suddenly at the top, hesitated, and apparently moved forward on + tiptoe. Grayson went into the library and sniffed at the unmistakable odor + of a pipe. Then, having opened a window, he went and stood before a great + portrait of old Anthony Cardew. Tears stood in the old man's eyes, but + there was a faint smile on his lips. He saw the endless procession of + life. First, love. Then, out of love, life. Then death. Grayson was old, + but he had lived to see young love in the Cardew house. Out of love, life. + He addressed a little speech to the picture. + </p> + <p> + “Wherever you are, sir,” he said, “you needn't worry any more. The line + will carry on, sir. The line will carry on.” + </p> + <p> + Upstairs in the little boudoir Willy Cameron knelt beside the couch, and + gathered Lily close in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LII + </h2> + <p> + Thanksgiving of the year of our Lord 1919 saw many changes. It saw, slowly + emerging from the chaos of war, new nations, like children, taking their + first feeble steps. It saw a socialism which, born at full term might have + thrived, prematurely and forcibly delivered, and making a valiant but + losing fight for life. It saw that war is never good, but always evil; + that war takes everything and gives nothing, save that sometimes a man may + lose the whole world and gain his own soul. + </p> + <p> + It saw old Anthony Cardew gone to his fathers, into the vast democracy of + heaven, and Louis Akers passed through the Traitors' Gate of eternity to + be judged and perhaps reprieved. For a man is many men, good and bad, and + the Judge of the Tower of Heaven is a just Judge. + </p> + <p> + It saw Jim Doyle a fugitive, Woslosky dead, and the Russian, Ross, bland, + cunning and eternally plotting, in New England under another name. And Mr. + Hendricks ordering a new suit for the day of taking office. And Doctor + Smalley tying a bunch of chrysanthemums on Annabelle, against a football + game, and taking a pretty nurse to see it. + </p> + <p> + It saw Ellen roasting a turkey, and a strange young man in the Eagle + Pharmacy, a young man who did not smoke a pipe, and allowed no visitors in + the back room. And it saw Willy Cameron in the laboratory of the reopened + Cardew Mills, dealing in tons instead of grains and drams, and learning to + touch any piece of metal in the mill with a moistened fore-finger before + he sat down upon it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + But it saw more than that. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of Thanksgiving Day there was an air of repressed + excitement about the Cardew house. Mademoiselle, in a new silk dress, ran + about the lower floor, followed by an agitated Grayson with a cloth, for + Mademoiselle was shifting ceaselessly and with trembling hands vases of + flowers, and spilling water at each shift. At six o'clock had arrived a + large square white box, which the footman had carried to the rear and + there exhibited, allowing a palpitating cook, scullery maid and divers + other excitable and emotional women to peep within. + </p> + <p> + After which he tied it up again and carried it upstairs. + </p> + <p> + At seven o'clock Elinor Cardew, lovely in black satin, was carried down + the stairs and placed in a position which commanded both the hall and the + drawing-room. For some strange reason it was essential that she should see + both. + </p> + <p> + At seven-thirty came in a rush: + </p> + <p> + (a)—Mr. Alston Denslow, in evening clothes and gardenia, and feeling + in his right waist-coat pocket nervously every few minutes. + </p> + <p> + (b)—An excited woman of middle age, in a black silk dress still + faintly bearing the creases of five days in a trunk, and accompanied by a + mongrel dog, both being taken upstairs by Grayson, Mademoiselle, Pink, and + Howard Cardew. (“He said Jinx was to come,” she explained breathlessly to + her bodyguard. “I never knew such a boy!”) + </p> + <p> + (c)—Mr. Davis, in a frock coat and white lawn tie, and taken + upstairs by Grayson, who mistook him for the bishop. + </p> + <p> + (d)—Aunt Caroline, in her diamond dog collar and purple velvet, and + determined to make the best of things. + </p> + <p> + (e)—The real bishop this time, and his assistant, followed by a + valet with a suitcase, containing the proper habiliments for a prince of + the church while functioning. (A military term, since the Bishop had been + in the army.) + </p> + <p> + (f)—A few unimportant important people, very curious, and the women + uncertain about the proper garb for a festive occasion in a house of + mourning. + </p> + <p> + (g)—Set of silver table vases, belated. + </p> + <p> + (h)—Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks, Mayor and Mayoress-elect. Extremely + dignified. + </p> + <p> + (i)—An overfull taxicab, containing inside it Ellen, Edith, Dan and + Joe. The overflow, consisting of a tall young man, displaying repressed + excitement and new evening clothes, with gardenia, sat on the seat outside + beside the chauffeur and repeated to himself a sort of chant accompanied + by furious searchings of his pockets. “Money. Checkbook. Tickets. Trunk + checks,” was the burden of his song. + </p> + <p> + (j)—Doctor Smalley and Annabelle. He left Annabelle outside. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The city moved on about its business. In thousands of homes the lights + shone down on little family groups, infinitely tender little groups. The + workers of the city were there, the doors shut, the fires burning. To each + man the thing he had earned, not the thing that he took. To all men the + right to labor, to love, and to rest. To children, the right to play. To + women, the hearth, and the peace of the hearth. To lovers, love, and + marriage, and home. + </p> + <p> + The city moved on about its business, and its business was homes. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + At the great organ behind the staircase the organist sat. In stiff rows + near him were the Cardew servants, marshaled by Grayson and in their best. + </p> + <p> + Grayson stood, very rigid, and waited. And as he waited he kept his eyes + on the portrait of old Anthony, in the drawing-room beyond. There was a + fixed, rapt look in Grayson's eyes, and there was reassurance. It was as + though he would say to the portrait: “It has all come out very well, you + see, sir. It always works out somehow. We worry and fret, we old ones, but + the young come along, and somehow or other they manage, sir.” + </p> + <p> + What he actually said was to tell a house maid to stop sniveling. + </p> + <p> + Over the house was the strange hush of waiting. It had waited before this, + for birth and for death, but never before— + </p> + <p> + The Bishop was waiting also, and he too had his eyes fixed on old + Anthony's portrait, a straight, level-eyed gaze, as of man to man, as of + prince of the church to prince of industry. The Bishop's eyes said: “All + shall be done properly and in order, and as befits the Cardews, Anthony.” + </p> + <p> + The Bishop was as successful in his line as Anthony Cardew had been in + his. He cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + The organist sat at the great organ behind the staircase, waiting. He was + playing very softly, with his eyes turned up. He had played the same music + many times before, and always he felt very solemn, as one who makes + history. He sighed. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was only an + accompaniment to life, to which others sang and prayed, were christened, + confirmed and married. But what was the song without the music? He wished + the scullery maid would stop crying. + </p> + <p> + Grayson touched him on the arm. + </p> + <p> + “All ready, sir,” he said. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Willy Cameron stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Poor Wise Man, by Mary Roberts Rinehart + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A POOR WISE MAN *** + +***** This file should be named 1970-h.htm or 1970-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/7/1970/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer, and David Widger + +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. 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