diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/pwsmn10.txt | 16541 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/pwsmn10.zip | bin | 0 -> 274125 bytes |
2 files changed, 16541 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/pwsmn10.txt b/old/pwsmn10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..269646e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/pwsmn10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16541 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext A Poor Wise Man, by Mary Roberts Rinehart +#12 in our series by Mary Roberts Rinehart + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +A Poor Wise Man + +by Mary Roberts Rinehart + +November, 1999 [Etext #1970] +[Date last updated: March 17, 2005] + + +Project Gutenberg Etext A Poor Wise Man, by Mary Roberts Rinehart +*******This file should be named pwsmn10.txt or pwsmn10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, pwsmn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, pwsmn10a.txt + + +This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any +of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text +files per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly +from Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an +assortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few +more years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we +don't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person. + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> +hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org +if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if +it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . + +We would prefer to send you this information by email. + +****** + +To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser +to view http://promo.net/pg. This site lists Etexts by +author and by title, and includes information about how +to get involved with Project Gutenberg. You could also +download our past Newsletters, or subscribe here. This +is one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com, +for a more complete list of our various sites. + +To go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any +Web browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror +sites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed +at http://promo.net/pg). + +Mac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better. + +Example FTP session: + +ftp sunsite.unc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + +*** + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** + +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. + + + + + +A POOR WISE MAN + +by Mary Roberts Rinehart + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +Raw material, for the crucible of the city, as potentially powerful +as the iron ore which entered the city by the same gate. + +The city took them in, gave them sanctuary, and forgot them. But +the shepherds with the cunning eyes remembered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Grace Cardew kissed her, and then held her off and looked at her. + +"Mercy, Lily!" she said, "you look as old as I do." + +"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. + +"I feel horribly old, but I didn't think I looked it." + +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. + +"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?" + +"He sent you all sorts of messages, and he'll see you at dinner." + +Lily laughed out at that. + +"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?" + +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. + +"You look tired," she said, "and you need attention. I wish you had +let me send Castle to you." + +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. + +"I couldn't have had Castle, mother. I didn't need anything. I've +been very happy, really, and very busy." + +"You have been very vague lately about your work." + +Lily faced her mother squarely. + +"I didn't think you'd much like having me do it, and I thought it +would drive grandfather crazy." + +"I thought you were in a canteen." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"But the baby isn't old," Lily had persisted, standing in front of +her mother with angry, accusing eyes. + +Grace was not an imaginative woman, but she turned it rather neatly, +as she told Howard later. + +"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." + +"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. + +Lily did not like to sing. + +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. + +"Why?" + +"She is sorry for Aunt Elinor." + +"Because her baby's gone to God? She ought to be glad, oughtn't +she?" + +"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. + +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. + +Grace's mind was sub-consciously remembering those things even when +she spoke. + +"I didn't know you were having to learn about that side of life," +she said, after a brief silence. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Poor mother!" she said, "I have made it hard for you, haven't I? +Is he as bad as ever?" + +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. + +"There is some sort of trouble at the mill. Your father is worried." + +And this time it was Lily who did not reply. She said, +inconsequentially: + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Yes, they had been a fighting family. And now-- + +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. + +"Welcome home, Miss Lily," he said. + +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. + +Not that she formulated such a thought. It was an emotion, rather. +She ran up the stairs and hugged Mademoiselle wildly. + +"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?" + +"It is so, God and the saints be praised!" said Mademoiselle, huskily. + +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. + +"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?" + +"A word or two," Grace had said, with no more warmth in her tone +than was in his. + +"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." + +"No, you wouldn't," Grace had said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What do you mean by 'queer'?" + +"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. + +"I wish you wouldn't call, dear." Grace looked anxious. "You know +how your grandfather--there's a bell for Ellen." + +"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?" + +"Willy!" squealed Ellen. "You met Willy? Isn't he a fine boy, Miss +Lily?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Lame?" Grace repeated, ignoring Ellen. + +"Just a little. You forget all about it when you know him. Don't +you, Ellen?" + +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. + +"Thank you, miss," she said. And went out, leaving Lily rather +chilled and openly perplexed. + +"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." + +"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. + +"I can't believe it," she added. + +Lily made a little gesture of half-amused despair. + +"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." + +Mademoiselle was deftly opening the girl's dressing case, but she +paused now and turned. It was to Grace that she spoke, however. + +"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." + +Grace hardly heard her. + +"Lily," she asked, "you are not in love with this Cameron person, +are you?" + +But Lily's easy laugh reassured her. + +"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." + +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. + +"Well?" she demanded. "Go out for a minute, Castle." + +Mademoiselle waited until the maid had gone. + +"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?" + +"It would be so dreadful, Mademoiselle. Her grandfather--" + +"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." + +Grace lay back, relieved, but not entirely comforted. + +"She is changed, isn't she, Mademoiselle?" + +Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders. + +"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." + +"Then you think this talk about marrying beneath her--" + +"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--" + +But Grace had, for a number of years, heard a great deal of +Mademoiselle's country. She settled herself on her pillows. + +"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?" + +"And lame, and not fond of women," corroborated Mademoiselle. "Ca +ne pourrait pas etre mieux, n'est-ce pas?" + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Old Anthony lived to see it. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +But he had been a great man. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But Howard never had a son. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +But she was not to speak of either of them to her grandfather. + +Lily was not born in the house on lower East Avenue. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Some convicts escaped from the penitentiary today, father." + +"Don't believe it," said Anthony Cardew. "Nothing about it in the +newspapers." + +"Fraulein saw the hole." + +Elinor had had an Alsatian governess. That was one reason why +Elinor's niece had a French one. + +"Hole? What do you mean by hole?" + +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." + +"Very probably," said Anthony Cardew. And he repeated, thoughtfully, +"Very probably." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +On one of the lists one day he found the word, added in Elinor's +hand: "Horse." + +"Horse?" he said, scowling up at Fraulein. "There are six horses +in the stable now." + +"Miss Elinor thought--a riding horse--" + +"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. + +"She can't ride around here." + +"Miss Elinor thought--there are bridle paths near the riding +academy." + +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. + +"I'll think about it," was his answer. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But Anthony had not turned her out. He took one comprehensive +glance at her thin face and distorted figure. Then he said: + +"So this is the way you come back." + +"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." + +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. + +She both hated him and loved him. And that leering Irish devil +knew it. + +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. + +"Do you know," she said to Howard that night, "I believe she is +quite mad about him still." + +"He ought to be drawn and quartered," said Howard, savagely. + +Anthony Cardew gave Elinor sanctuary, but he refused to see her +again. Except once. + +"Then, if it is a boy, you want me to leave him with you?" she asked, +bending over her sewing. + +"Leave him with me! Do you mean that you intend to go back to that +blackguard?" + +"He is my husband. He isn't always cruel." + +"Good God!" shouted Anthony. "How did I ever happen to have such +a craven creature for a daughter?" + +"Anyhow," said Elinor, "it will be his child, father." + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm blessed if I understand it," he would say. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Tell him yourself!" said Lily. + +He had smiled cheerfully. He had an engaging sort of smile. + +"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?" + +He had gazed at her with solemn anxiety through the smoke of his +pipe, and had grinned when she remained silent. + +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. + +"But you are doing your best for your country," she would say. + +"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." + +Once she had found him in the hut, with his head on a table. He +said he had a toothache. + +Well, that was all over. She was back in her grandfather's house, +and-- + +"He'll get me too, probably," she reflected, as she went down the +stairs, "just as he's got all the others." + +Mademoiselle was in Lily's small sitting room, while Castle was +unpacking under her supervision. The sight of her uniforms made +Lily suddenly restless. + +"How you could wear these things!" cried Mademoiselle. "You, who +have always dressed like a princess!" + +"I liked them," said Lily, briefly. "Mademoiselle, what am +I going to do with myself, now?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"That is very bad for discipline," Mademoiselle objected when the +maid had gone. "And it is not necessary for Mr. Anthony Cardew's +granddaughter." + +"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." + +"Why?" asked Mademoiselle, suspiciously. + +"Because I am possessed with a mad desire to sew on some buttons." + +A little later Lily looked up from her rather awkward but industrious +labors with a needle, and fixed her keen young eyes on Mademoiselle. + +"Is there any news about Aunt Elinor?" she asked. + +"She is with him," said Mademoiselle, shortly. "They are here now, +in the city. How he dared to come back!" + +"Does mother see her?" + +"No. Certainly not." + +"Why 'certainly' not? He is Aunt Elinor's husband. She isn't +doing anything wicked." + +"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!" + +"Does he really beat her? I don't quite believe that, Mademoiselle." + +"It is not a subject for a young girl." + +"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." + +Mademoiselle carefully cut a thread. + +"This--you were speaking to Ellen of a young man. Is he a--what +you term brutal?" + +Suddenly Lily laughed. + +"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?" + +"But is he brutal?" persisted Mademoiselle. + +"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." + +"An anarchist, then?" asked. Mademoiselle, extremely comforted. + +"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." + +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. + +"Wait a moment," said Lily, suddenly. "I have a picture of him +somewhere." + +She disappeared, and Mademoiselle heard her rummaging through the +drawers of her dressing table. She came back with a small +photograph in her hand. + +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. + +"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." + +"Not--seriously?" + +At the expression on Mademoiselle's face Lily laughed joyously. + +"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. + +"You are going to be a good girl, Lily, aren't you?" + +"If that means letting grandfather use me for a doormat, I don't +know." + +"Lily!" + +"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." + +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? + +"And how," said Mademoiselle, trying to smile, "do you propose to +assert this new independence of spirit?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"I thought he lived in the country." + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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: + +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. + +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. + +But they had refused him. + +"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." + +"I wish you wouldn't, Willy." + +He had been frightfully sorry then and had comforted her at some +length, but the fact remained. + +"And you the very best they've ever had for mixing prescriptions!" +she had said at last. "And a graduate in chemistry!" + +"Well," he said, "that's that, and we won't worry about it. There's +more than one way of killing a cat." + +"What do you mean, Willy? More than one way?" + +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." + +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. + +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." + +"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?" + +"Willy dear," said Lily Cardew, "did you take any money out of the +cigar box for anything this week?" + +"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--" + +"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." + +"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--" + +"You represent the people who never say anything," observed the +slightly flushed parasite of capital, "about as adequately as I +represent the idle rich." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + +"Isn't it amazing, when you are busy, how soon Friday night comes +along?" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"The Young People's Society is having an entertainment at the church +to-night, Willy." + +"Well, maybe I'll go," he agreed to her unspoken suggestion. "If +you insist on making me a society man--" + +But some time later he came downstairs with a book. + +"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--'" + +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. + +"As if that counted, in America," he reflected scornfully. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Why, Willy!" she said. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +The next morning she expressed a desire to spend a few months with +her brother in California. + +"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." + +He was frankly bewildered and a little hurt, to tell the truth. He +no more suspected her of design than of crime. + +"Of course you are going," he said, heartily. "It's the very thing. +But I like the way you desert your little son!" + +"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." + +He shot her a suspicious glance, but her face was without evidence +of guile. + +"What would I do in the city?" + +"They use chemists in the mills, don't they?" + +"A fat chance I'd have for that sort of job," he scoffed. "No city +for me, mother." + +But she knew. She read his hesitation accurately, the incredulous +pause of the bird whose cage door is suddenly opened. He would go. + +"I'd think about it, anyhow, Willy." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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? + +"Nothing at all, old man," he said cheerfully to the dog, "nothing +at all." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +"Well, grandfather," said Lily Cardew, "the last of the Cardews is +home from the wars." + +"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." + +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. + +"Well, Lily," he inquired, "how does it seem to be at home?" + +Lily eyed him almost warily. He was sometimes most dangerous in +these moods. + +"I'm not sure, grandfather." + +"Not sure about what?" + +"Well, I am glad to see everybody, of course. But what am I to do +with myself?" + +"Tut." He had an air of benignantly forgiving her. "You'll find +plenty. What did you do before you went away?" + +"That was different, grandfather." + +"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!" + +He had always managed to arouse a controversial spirit in the girl. + +"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. + +"Meaning what?" He fixed her with cold but attentive eyes. + +"Oh--conditions," she said vaguely. She was not at all sure what +she meant. And old Anthony realized it, and gave a sardonic chuckle. + +"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." + +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. + +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-- + +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. + +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. + +Anthony, who had a most unpleasant faculty of remembering things, +suddenly bent forward and observed to her, across the table: + +"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." + +"But I didn't say they were wrong, did I?" + +"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?" + +"Yes. Isn't it right?" + +"Right? The food is impossible." + +"He came from the club." + +"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--! + +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. + +"The old days of caste are gone, grandfather. And service, in your +sense of the word, went with them." + +"Really?" he eyed her. "Who said that? Because I daresay it is not +original." + +"A man I knew at camp." + +"What man?" + +"His name was Willy Cameron." + +"Willy Cameron! Was this--er--person qualified to speak? Does +he know anything about what he chooses to call caste?" + +"He thinks a lot about things." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Why won't you be elected, father?" + +"Partly because my name is Cardew." + +Old Anthony chuckled. + +"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?" + +"They are beginning to use them, sir." Howard, in his forties, still +addressed his father as "Sir!" + +"Then you admit your defeat beforehand." + +"You are rather a formidable antagonist." + +"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." + +He smiled and sipped his wine. + +"Good wine, this," he observed. "I'm buying all I can lay my hands +on, against the approaching drought." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Why, I've just come home!" + +"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." + +"I'd love them. Mother, why doesn't he want father to go into +politics?" + +Grace hesitated. + +"He doesn't like change, for one thing. But I don't know anything +about politics. Suzette says--" + +"Will he try to keep him from being elected?" + +"He won't support him. Of course I hardly think he would oppose +him. I really don't understand about those things." + +"You mean you don't understand him. Well, I do, mother. He has +run everything, including father, for so long--" + +"Lily!" + +"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?" + +Grace looked apprehensively toward the door. "You are not allowed +to visit her." + +"You do." + +"That's different. And I only go once or twice a year." + +"Just because she married a poor man, a man whose father--" + +"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." + +"What do you mean by terrible things, mother?" + +"Your father says it amounts to a revolution. I believe he calls +it a general strike. I don't really know much about it." + +Lily pondered that. + +"Socialism isn't revolution, mother, is it? But even then--is all +this because grandfather drove his father to--" + +"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." + +Lily remembered something else Willy Cameron had said, and promptly +repeated it. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +After she had undressed she rang her bell, and Castle answered it. + +"Please find out if Ellen has gone to bed," she said. "If she has +not, I would like to talk to her." + +The maid looked slightly surprised. + +"If it's your hair, Miss Lily, Mrs. Cardew has asked me to look +after you until she has engaged a maid for you." + +"Not my hair," said Lily, cheerfully. "I rather like doing it +myself. I just want to talk to Ellen." + +It was a bewildered and rather scandalized Castle who conveyed the +message to Ellen. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"I wish you'd stop whistling that thing," said Miss Boyd, irritably. +"It makes me low in my mind." + +"Sorry," said Willy Cameron. "I do it because I'm low in my mind." + +"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?" + +Willy Cameron glanced at her. + +"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." + +"They're awful, aren't they?" + +"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." + +"What d'you mean you haven't got a lady friend?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, him!" said Miss Boyd, with a self-conscious smile. "I'm +through with him. He's a Bolshevik!" + +"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--" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"She couldn't seem to keep that last stuff down, Mr. Cameron," he +would say. "I'll try something else." + +And he would stand before his shelves, eyes upturned, searching, +eliminating, choosing. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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?" + +"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?" + +"I was only talking." + +"No house has any business with a secret telephone," he said +virtuously. + +"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. + +"Well, how did you get to know about it?" + +"I tell you I was only talking." + +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. + +"Why do they hurry so?" he demanded, almost irritably. + +"Hurrying home, most of them, because they've got to get up in the +morning and go to work." + +"Do you ever wonder about the homes they are hurrying to?" + +"Me? I don't wonder. I know. Most of them have to move fast to +keep up with the rent." + +"I don't mean houses," he explained, patiently. "I mean-- A house +isn't a home." + +"You bet it isn't." + +"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--" + +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: + +"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." + +"I wish you'd let me forget him." + +"I will. The question is, will he?" But he saw that the subject +was unpleasant. + +"We'll have to do this again. It's been mighty nice of you to come." + +"You'll have to ask me, the next time." + +"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." + +"We're just--folks." + +"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." + +"You'll not be lonely long." She glanced up at him. + +"That's cheering. Why?" + +"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." + +"Great Scott! I suppose I've been orating all over the place!" + +"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." + +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." + +"You don't make speeches. I didn't mean that." + +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. + +Jinx, the little hybrid dog, occupied the seat of his one comfortable +chair. He eyed the animal somberly. + +"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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Sorry," he said. "I've got in the habit of thinking to the fool +thing. Won't do it again." + +"You must be thinking hard." + +"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: + +"Edie, where've you been all this time?" And she had lied. How +she had lied! + +"I'm through with all that," she resolved. "It wasn't any fun +anyhow. I'm sick of hating myself." + + +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. + +"No.... No, I think not.... Look here, Lou, I've said no twice." + +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?" + +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: + +"Oh, for mercy's sake, stop," she said. She was very pale. + +"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." + +"There's nothing the matter with me. And if the boss comes in +here and finds me--" + +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. + +"Drink that," he ordered. + +She shook her head. + +"I'm not sick," she said. "I'm only a fool." + +"If that fellow said anything over the telephone--!" + +She looked up drearily. + +"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." + +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. + +"You're pretty enough without all that, Miss Edith." + +"You mind your own business," she retorted acidly. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He wished at those times that he could sing. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes, sir," said the footman. "No, sir, they are lunching at home." + +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. + +"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. + +"See here, Lily," he had said. "Why do you bother your head about +such things, anyhow?" + +"Because I've got a head, and I want to use it." + +"Life's too short." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +She came in. The dear old girl! The beautiful, wonderful, dear +old girl! The-- + +"Pink!" + +"H--hello, Lily." + +"Why, Pink--you're a man!" + +"What'd you think I'd be? A girl?" + +"You've grown." + +"Oh, now see here, Lily. I quit growing years ago." + +"And to think you are back all right. I was so worried, Pink." + +He flushed at that. + +"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." + +"Why, Pink dear, I wouldn't laugh for anything. And it was the man +behind the lines who--" + +"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." + +"It was dear of you to remember." + +"Couldn't help remembering. No credit to me. I--you were always in +my mind." + +She was busily unwrapping the box. + +"Always," he repeated, unsteadily. + +"What gorgeous things!" she buried her face in them. + +"Did you hear what I said, Lily?" + +"Yes, and it's sweet of you. Now sit down and tell me about things. +I've got a lot to tell you, too." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Good Lord," he gasped, "Grayson's in the hall." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Thanks. I think not, Lily; I've got a lot to do to-day." + +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. + +"You're not angry, Pink dear?" + +"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--" + +"Everybody likes you, Pink." + +"Well, I'll trot along." He moved a step, hesitated. "Is there +anybody else, Lily?" + +"Nobody." + +"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." + +"Whoever does marry you, dear, will be a lucky woman." + +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. + +"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." + +"I'm not going to marry to please him, mother." + +"But you are fond of Alston." + +"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." + +"I wish," said Grace Cardew unhappily, "I wish you had never gone to +that camp." + +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. + +"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." + +Grace was shocked, and said so. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +It was a little Red Cross nurse who helped her, finally. + +"Very well," she said. "I see what you mean. But trees and flowers +are not God's most beautiful gift to the world." + +"I think they are." + +"No. It is love." + +"I am not talking about love," said Lily, flushing. + +"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." + +And again: + +"All bodies are not whole, and not all souls. It is wrong to judge +life by its exceptions, or love by its perversions, Lily." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Lily rose and buttoned her coat. Grace was fastening her sables, +and making a delayed decision in satins. + +"Mother, I've been thinking it over. I am going to see Aunt Elinor." + +Grace waited until the saleswoman had moved away. + +"I don't like it, Lily." + +"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." + +"That is rather silly, dear. They are not in want. I believe he is +quite flourishing." + +"She is father's sister. And she is a good woman. We treat her +like a leper." + +Grace was weakening. "If you take the car, your grandfather may +hear of it." + +"I'll take a taxi." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +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." + +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? + +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. + +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. + +She had braced herself to meet Aunt Elinor at the door, but an +elderly woman opened it. + +"Mrs. Doyle is in," she said; "just step inside." + +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. + +"I beg your pardon," Lily said. "I am calling on Mrs. Doyle, and +when I saw the firelight--" + +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. + +He was inspecting her intently. + +"Please come in," he said. "Did the maid take your name?" + +"No. I am Lily Cardew." + +"I see." He stood quite still, eyeing her. "You are Anthony's +granddaughter?" + +"Yes." + +"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. + +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. + +When he came in it was slowly, and with his head bent, as though he +still debated within himself. Then: + +"I think I have a right to ask what Anthony Cardew's granddaughter +is doing in my house." + +"Your wife's niece has come to call on her, Mr. Doyle." + +"Are you quite sure that is all?" + +"I assure you that is all," Lily said haughtily. "It had not +occurred to me that you would be here." + +"I dare say. Still, strangely enough, I do spend a certain amount +of time in my home." + +Lily picked up her muff. + +"If you have forbidden her to come down, I shall go." + +"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." + +She hated him. She loathed his cold eyes, his long, slim white +hands. She hated him until he fascinated her. + +"Sit down, and I will call Mrs. Doyle." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Lily, coldly. + +"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. + +"I wouldn't make too great an effort, then," she said. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Months later, when she learned all the truth, it was too late. + +"Of course you're being here won't keep me away, if you care to have +me come." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Suddenly Lily saw that the gulf between her family and herself was +just that, which was what he had intended. + +When Elinor came in they were absorbed in conversation, Lily flushed +and eager, and her husband smiling, urbane, and genial. + +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. + +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! + +"Lily, dear!" Elinor said, and kissed her. "Why, Lily, you are a +woman!" + +"I am twenty, Aunt Elinor." + +"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. + +"Is Louis coming to dinner, Jim?" + +"Yes." + +"I suppose you cannot stay, Lily?" + +"I ought to tell you, Aunt Elinor. Only mother knows that I am here." + +Aunt Elinor smiled her quiet smile. + +"I understand, dear. How are they all?" + +"Grandfather is very well. Father looks tired. There is some trouble +at the mill, I think." + +Elinor glanced at Doyle, but he said nothing. + +"And your mother?" + +"She is well." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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-- + +"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. + +"Dining out?" Lily glanced at him in surprise. + +"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." + +Elinor Doyle, unseen, made a little gesture of despair and surrender. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I thought I told you to be pleasant." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I can't use my family that way." + +"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. + +The doorbell rang, and was immediately followed by the opening and +closing of the front door. + +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. + +"Got company, I see." + +"My niece, Lily Cardew," said Doyle, dryly. + +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. + +"It's customary to greet your hostess, Louis." + +"Easiest thing I do," boasted the new arrival cheerily. "'Lo, Mrs. +Doyle. Is our niece going to dine with us?" + +"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. + +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. + +Elinor had gone out, and Akers sat down. + +"Well," he said, in a lowered tone. "I've written it." + +Doyle closed the door, and stood again with his head lowered, +considering. + +"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." + +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. + +"Do you know that that girl in the hall will be worth forty million +dollars some day?" + +"Some money," said Akers, calmly. "Which reminds me, Jim, that +I've got to have a raise. And pretty soon." + +"You get plenty, if you'd leave women alone." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +"All right, old dear," said Akers, without resentment. + +"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--" + +"Get Olga. I'm no kindergarten teacher." + +"You haven't seen her in the light yet." + +Louis Akers smiled and carefully settled his tie. + +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. + +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?" + +"Who told you that?" + +"Woslosky saw you coming out." + +"I had left something there," Akers said sullenly. "That's the +truth, whether you believe it or not. I wasn't there two minutes." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Are you a Socialist?" Lily demanded, in her direct way. + +"Well, you might call it that. I go a bit further." + +"Don't talk politics, Jim," Elinor hastily interposed. He caught +her eye and grinned. + +"I'm not talking politics, my dear." He turned to Lily, smiling. + +"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. + +"Will it be a lot?" Lily asked. "I thought I'd better keep him, +because--" She hesitated. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"Fighting?" + +"Per aspera ad astra," put in Louis Akers. "You cannot change a +world in a day, without revolution--" + +"But you don't believe that revolution is ever worth while, do you?" + +"If it would drive starvation and wretchedness from the world, yes." + +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. + +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. + +Lily tried to put that into words. + +"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." + +"And that is what you call revolution?" + +"Precisely." + +"But that's not revolution. It is a sort of justice, isn't it?" + +"You think very straight, young lady," said Jim Doyle. + +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. + +"Although," he added, urbanely, "I daresay it might be difficult to +convert Mr. Anthony Cardew to such a belief." + +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. + +"Well?" he said, when Akers returned. + +"Merry as a marriage bell. I'm to show her the Brunelleschi +drawings to-morrow." + +Slightly flushed, he smoothed his hair in front of the mirror over +the stand. + +"She's a nice child," he said. In his eyes was the look of the +hunting animal that scents food. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +"I've been so worried," she said, "I was afraid your grandfather +would get back before you did." + +"I'm sorry, mother dear. I know it was selfish. But I've had a +wonderful evening." + +"Wonderful?" + +"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." + +"I detest him." + +"But you don't know him, do you?" + +"I know he is stirring up all sorts of trouble for us. Lily, I +want you to promise not to go back there." + +There was a little silence. A small feeling of rebellion was +rising in the girl's heart. + +"I don't see why. She is my own aunt." + +"Will you promise?" + +"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." + +"Were there any other people there to dinner?" Grace asked, with +sudden suspicion. + +"Only one man. A lawyer named Akers." + +The name meant nothing to Grace Cardew. + +"A young man?" + +"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. + +"A gentleman?" + +"I hardly know," Lily said frankly. "In your sense of the word, +perhaps not, mother. But he is very clever." + +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. + +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. + +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? + +She rather thought she would be clearer about it if she talked to +Willy Cameron. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She was rather uncomfortable. + +"Why don't you like pictures?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was just before they left that he said: + +"I am going to see you again, you know. May I come in some +afternoon?" + +Lily had been foreseeing that for some moments, and she raised +frank eyes to his. + +"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." + +"What has that got to do with you and me?" Then he laughed. "Might +be unpleasant, I suppose. But you go to the Doyles'." + +She was very earnest. + +"My mother knows, but my grandfather wouldn't permit it if he knew." + +"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." + +"I'm not very comfortable about it." + +"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." + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I knew a lot of men. They were not so very interesting. There +was a little nurse--" + +"Men, Lily dear." + +"There was one awfully nice boy. He wasn't a soldier, but he was +very kind to the men. They adored him." + +"Did he fall in love with your?" + +"Not a particle." + +"Why wasn't he a soldier?" + +"He is a little bit lame. But he is awfully nice." + +"But what is extraordinary about him, then?" + +"Not a thing, except his niceness." + +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. + +"Don't be ridiculous, Lily. You're hiding some one behind this +kind person. You must have met somebody worth while." + +"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." + +That stirred them somewhat. She saw their interested faces turned +toward her. + +"With a bomb under his coat, of course, Lily." + +"He didn't bulge." + +"Good-looking?" + +"Well, rather." + +"How old is he, Lily?" one of them asked, suspiciously. + +"Almost fifty, I should say." + +"Good heavens!" + +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. + +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. + +It was now the sixth day, and she had not yet carried out that +absurd idea of asking Ellen's friend to dinner. + +Lily was, however, at that exact moment in process of carrying it +out. + +"Telephone for you, Mr. Cameron." + +"Thanks. Coming," sang out Willy Cameron. + +Edith Boyd sauntered toward his doorway. + +"It's a lady." + +"Woman," corrected Willy Cameron. "The word 'lady' is now obsolete, +since your sex has entered the economic world." He put on his coat. + +"I said 'lady' and that's what I mean," said Edith. "'May I speak +to Mr. Cameron?'" she mimicked. "Regular Newport accent." + +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-- + +"Hello," he said. + +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. + +"Why, yes," he said, in the unfamiliar voice. "I'd like to come, +of course." + +Edith Boyd watched and listened, with a slightly strained look in +her eyes. + +"To dinner? But--I don't think I'd better come to dinner." + +"Why not, Willy?" + +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. + +"May I come in a business suit?" + +"Why, of course. Why not?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Eight o'clock!" said Edith. "I wish you joy, waiting until eight +for supper." + +He had to come back a long, long way to her. + +"'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." + +Even through the radiant happiness that surrounded him like a mist, +he caught the bitterness under her raillery. It puzzled him. + +"It's a young lady I knew at camp. I was in an army camp, you know." + +"Is her name a secret?" + +"Why, no. It is Cardew. Miss Lily Cardew." + +"I believe you--not." + +"But it is," he said, genuinely concerned. "Why in the world should +I give you a wrong name?" + +Her eyes were fixed on his face. + +"No. You wouldn't. But it makes me laugh, because--well, it was +crazy, anyhow." + +"What was crazy?" + +"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--" + +She lifted her finger-tips and blew along them delicately. + +"Gone--like that," she finished. + +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. + +"I was sick to death of him. That's all," she had said. + +But on the night of Lily's invitation he was to hear more of Louis +Akers. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Doctor Smalley grinned. + +"He can read my writing, too, which is more than I can do myself. +What do you mean, watch him?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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: + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Revolution." + +The crowd laughed. + +"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." + +Willy Cameron took his pipe out of his mouth, but remained dumb. + +Mr. Hendricks nudged Doctor Smalley, who rose manfully to the +occasion. "What does he say?" + +"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." + +"In this town?" + +"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!" + +"Any of you men here dissatisfied with this form of government?" +inquired Willy, rather truculently. + +"Not so you could notice it," said Mr. Clarey. "And once the +Republican party gets in--" + +"Then there will never be a revolution." + +"Why?" + +"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." + +Mr. Hendricks was cheerfully unirritated. + +"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." + +"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!" + +Mr. Hendricks winked at the doctor. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Akers?" said Willy Cameron. "Do you know him?" + +"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. + +"Talk!" said the roundsman. "Where'd the police be, I'm asking?" + +"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." + +"The hell they are," said the roundsman aggressively. But Willy +Cameron was staring through the smoke from his pipe at the crowd. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Very well. If we're a representative group, they wouldn't need a +battery of eight-inch guns, would they?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + + Have suit pressed. + Buy new tie. + Shirts from laundry. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Going home that night Mr. Hendricks met Edith Boyd, and accompanied +her for a block or two. At his corner he stopped. + +"How's your mother, Edith?" + +It was Mr. Hendricks' business to know his ward thoroughly. + +"About the same. She isn't really sick, Mr. Hendricks. She's just +low spirited, but that's enough. I hate to go home." + +Hendricks hesitated. + +"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. + +"I've got to get some pleasure out of life, Mr. Hendricks." + +"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. + +"I'm sick of men." + +He turned at her tone and eyed her sharply. + +"Well, don't judge them all by Akers. This is my corner. Good-night. +Not afraid to go on by yourself, are you?" + +"If I ever was I've had a good many chances to get over it." + +He turned the corner, but stopped and called after her. + +"Tell Dan I'll be in to see him soon, Edith. Haven't seen him since +he came back from France." + +"All right." + +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. + +Almost at once she heard footsteps above, and a peevish voice. + +"That you, Edie?" + +"Yes." + +"D'you mind bringing up the chloroform liniment and rubbing my back?" + +"I'll bring it, mother." + +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. + +She lowered the gas and went upstairs. The hardness had, somehow, +gone out of her when she thought of Willy Cameron. + +"Back bad again, is it?" she asked. + +"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." + +"Never mind the dishes. I'm not tired. Now crawl into bed and let +me rub you." + +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. + +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. + +"Is that the place, mother?" + +"Yes." Edith's unwonted solicitude gave her courage. + +"Edie, I want to ask you something." + +"Well?" But the girl stiffened. + +"Lou hasn't been round, lately." + +"That's all over, mother." + +"You mean you've quarreled? Oh, Edie, and me planning you'd have a +nice home and everything." + +"He never meant to marry me, if that's what you mean." + +Mrs. Boyd turned on her back impatiently. + +"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--" + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +She hated the Cardews. + +On her way to her room she paused at her mother's door. + +"Asleep yet, mother?" + +"No. Feel like I'm not going to sleep at all." + +"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." + +She heard the thin figure twist impatiently. + +"I've never yet been reduced to taking roomers, and I'm not going +to let the neighbors begin looking down on me now." + +"Now, listen, mother--" + +"Go on away, Edie." + +"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." + +"I won't be bothered with any dog," said the querulous voice, from +the darkness. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"Had the headache," she said laconically. "Well?" + +"Want to play around this evening?" + +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. + +But he was going to dinner with Lily Cardew. + +"I might, depending on what you've got to offer." + +"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?" + +"If you want to know I'll call him out and let him tell you." + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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. + +Sometimes he was afraid that he was looking at Grace with his +father's eyes, rather than his own. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +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. + +"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." + +"Is there a dinner on? I didn't know it." + +"Not a dinner. A young man. I came to see what you are going to +wear." + +"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?" + +"Grayson says grandfather's dining out." + +"I believe so." + +"What a piece of luck! I mean--you know what he'd say if I asked +him not to dress for dinner." + +"Am I to gather that you are asking me?" + +"You wouldn't mind, would you? He hasn't any evening clothes." + +"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?" + +"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." + +He ignored that. + +"How about our liking him?" + +"Oh, you'll like him. Everybody does. You will try to make a good +impression, won't you, father?" + +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?" + +Lily laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"I see," he said slowly. "Like a puppy." + +"Not at all like a puppy." + +"I'm afraid I'm not subtle, my dear. Well, ring for Adams, and +--you think he wouldn't care for the medal?" + +"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." + +"You are making me extremely uneasy," was her father's shot. "I +only hope I acquit myself well." + +"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." + +"It is very good of you to let me come, sir." + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +In politics Willy Cameron was less satisfactory. + +"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--" + +He stopped. That terrible speech of Edith Boyd's still rankled. + +"Go on, Willy," said Lily. "I told them they'd love to you talk." + +"That's really all, sir," said Willy Cameron, unhappily. "I am a +Scot, and to start a Scot on reform is fatal." + +"Ah, you believe in reform?" + +"We are not doing very well as we are, sir." + +"I should like extremely to know how you feel about things," said +Howard, gravely. + +"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." + +"And the solution?" + +"Perhaps a new party. Or better still, a liberalizing of the +Republican." + +"Before long," said Lily suddenly, "there will be no state. There +will be enough for everybody, and nobody will have too much." + +Howard smiled at her indulgently. + +"How do you expect to accomplish this ideal condition?" + +"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." + +"Why, Lily!" Grace's voice was anxious. "That's Socialism." + +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. + +"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--" + +Grace was counting. + +"I forgot to tell you; I think she refused Pink Denslow the other +day." + +"I rather gathered, from the way she spoke of young Cameron, that +she isn't interested there either." + +"Not a bit," said Grace, complacently. "You needn't worry about him." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I'm all right," he said, evading her eyes. + +"Are you lonely? I don't mean now, of course." + +"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." + +"Why didn't you bring him along?" + +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. + +"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." + +Lily got up. + +"I am going to bring him in," she said. "And if you'll ring that +bell we'll get him some dinner." + +"I'll get him, while you ring." + +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." + +"You young fools want to go all the way." + +"Not at all. We'll meet them half-way, and stop." + +"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. + +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. + +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: + +"Tempora mutantur, Lily. The wise employer--" + +"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." + +"Very sorry, Mr. Cardew," Willy Cameron explained. "I didn't know. +I'll put it away, sir." + +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. + +"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." + +Grayson entered on that, however, and Anthony pointed to Jinx. + +"Put that dog out," he said, and left the room, his figure rigid +and uncompromising. + +"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?" + +"Haven't I made enough trouble?" asked Willy Cameron, unhappily. +"I can see her again, you know." + +"She's crazy to see you, Willy. And besides--" + +Grayson had gone, after a moment's hesitation. + +"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." + +"You must not do that, Lily." He was very grave. + +"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." + +She looked up at him, still angry, but rather amused with this new +conceit. + +"Don't!" + +She was startled by the look on his face. + +"You see," he said painfully, "what only amuses you in that idea +is--well, it doesn't amuse me, Lily." + +"I only meant--" she was very uncomfortable. "You are so real and +dependable and kind, and I--" + +"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." + +"Willy!" + +"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." + +And after a little silence: + +"You see, I know you are not in love with me. I cared from the +beginning, but I always knew that." + +"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. + +"You will remember that, won't you?" + +"I'll remember, Willy." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"What were you doing down there," she demanded. + +"Miss Lily sent for me, to see that young man I told you about." + +"How dare you go down? And into the library?" + +"I've just told you," said Ellen, her face setting. "She sent for +me." + +"Why didn't you say you were in bed?" + +"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." + +"You are a fool," said Mademoiselle, and turning clumped back in +her bedroom slippers to her room. + +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. + +Yet Ellen, with the true snobbishness of the servants' hall, +disapproved of Lily's course while she admired it. + +"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." + +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? + +Into Ellen's not very hard-working but monotonous life had comes +its first dream of romance. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"An attorney named Akers," she said. + +And at that Howard had scowled. + +"She'd better keep away altogether," he observed, curtly. "She +oughtn't to meet men like that." + +"Shall I tell her?" + +"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. + +"He's not the sort of man I want you to know," he finished. "That +ought to be sufficient. Have you seen him since?" + +Lily flushed, but she did not like to lie. + +"I had tea with him one afternoon. I often have tea with men, +father. You know that." + +"You knew I wouldn't approve, or you would have mentioned it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then, about the middle of April, she saw him again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"But I cannot sit by while he insults you, mother." + +"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." + +"Sometimes," Lily said slowly, "he makes me think Aunt Elinor's +husband was right. He believes a lot of things--" + +"What things?" Grace had asked, suspiciously. + +Lily hesitated. + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +But on that pleasant Monday she was determined to be happy. + +"Old world begins to look pretty, doesn't it?" said Pink, breaking +in on her thoughts. + +"Lovely." + +"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." + +"You are perfectly satisfied with things just as they are, aren't +you?" Lily asked, half enviously. + +"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." + +"Have you sent your ponies out?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Suddenly Pink stared ahead. + +"I say," he said, "have they changed the rule about that sort of +thing?" + +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. + +"I don't know, but it doesn't hurt anything." + +"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." + +"I wouldn't, Pink. They may be ugly." + +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. + +Yet her liking and real sympathy were with Pink. + +"Pink!" she called, "Come back here. Let them alone." + +He turned toward her a face slightly flushed with indignation and +set with purpose. + +"Sorry. Can't do it, Lily. This sort of thing's got to be stopped." + +She felt, rather hopelessly, that he was wrong, but that he was +right, too. The grounds were private property. She sat back and +watched. + +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. + +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. + +Pink was dead. Those brutes had killed him. Pink. + +He was not dead. He was moving his arms. + +Louis Akers straightened when he saw her and took off his hat. + +"Nothing to worry about, Miss Cardew," he said. "But what sort of +idiocy--! Hello, old man, all right now?" + +Pink sat up, then rose stiffly and awkwardly. He had a cut over one +eye, and he felt for his handkerchief. + +"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?" + +But he was suddenly very sick. He looked at Lily, his face drawn and +blanched. + +"Got me right," he muttered. "I--" + +"Get into my car," said Akers, not too amiably. "I'll drive you to +the stables. I'll be back, Miss Cardew." + +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. + +It was more important that a man be a man than that he be a gentleman. + +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. + +"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." + +He looked at her, his bold eyes challenging, belying the amiable +gentleness of his smile. + +"I'd better let him know." + +"I told him. He isn't strong for me. Always hate the fellow who +saves you, you know. But he didn't object." + +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. + +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-- + +"Bully engine in this car. Never have to change a gear." + +"You certainly made a road through the field." + +"They'll fix that, all right. Are you warm enough?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +"You have been treating me very badly, you know, Miss Cardew." + +"I have been frightfully busy." + +"That's not true, and you know it. You've been forbidden to see +me, haven't you?" + +"I have been forbidden to go back to Cardew Way." + +"They don't know about me, then?" + +"There isn't very much to know, is there?" + +"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?" + +"I think I would, Mr. Akers," she said honestly. + +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. + +"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. + +"I'm mad about you," he whispered. + +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. + +"Well?" he said, with a faint smile. + +"You will have to apologize for that, Mr. Akers." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +And when she said nothing: + +"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." + +"Then I can only say I'm sorry," Lily said slowly. + +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. + +"I'll be good now," he said. "Mind, I'm not sorry. But I don't +want to worry you." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Driving through the park he turned to her: + +"Please forgive me," he said, his mellow voice contrite and +supplicating. "You've been so fine about it that you make me +ashamed." + +"I would like to feel that it wouldn't happen again: That's all." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But it was Woslosky, the Americanized Pole; who had put the thing +in a more appealing form. + +"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." + +The Pole had smiled and shrugged his shoulders. + +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? + +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-- + +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. + +"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. + +When there was a knock at the door he did not turn. "Come in," +he said. + +But it was not the waiter. It was Edith Boyd. He saw her through +the mirror, and so addressed her. + +"Hello, sweetie," he said. Then he turned. "You oughtn't to come +here, Edith. I've told you about that." + +"I had to see you, Lou." + +"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. + +He stooped to kiss her, but although she accepted the caress, she +did not return it. + +"Not mad at me, Miss Boyd, are you?" + +"No. Lou, I'm frightened!" + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Then you are still forbidden to come here?" + +"Yes. As if what happened years ago matters now, Mr. Doyle." + +He eyed her. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"There are fires that purify," he had said, smilingly. + +She had gone home, discontented with her family's lack of vision, +and with herself. + +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. + +The thought that he had kissed her turned her hot with anger and +shame at such times, but the thought recurred. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +But it was not, and she knew it. She had never heard of his theory +about the mark on a woman. + +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. + +"I've promised Jinx one all day," he explained, "and we might as +well combine, if you are not busy." + +She smiled at that. + +"I'd love it," she said. "In the park?" + +"Wait a moment." Then: "Yes, Jinx says the park is right." + +His wholesome nonsense was good for her. She drew a long breath. + +"You are precisely the person I need to-day," she said. "And come +soon, because I shall have to be back at five." + +When he came he was very neat indeed, and most scrupulous as to his +heels being polished. He was also slightly breathless. + +"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." + +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. + +"What do you do with yourself, Willy?" she asked. "I mean when you +are free?" + +"Read and study. I want to take up metallurgy pretty soon. There's +a night course at the college." + +"We use metallurgists in the mill. When you are ready I know father +would be glad to have you." + +He flushed at that. + +"Thanks," he said. "I'd rather get in, wherever I go, by what I +know, and not who I know." + +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: + +"What do you do with yourself these days, Lily?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I suppose." + +"Isn't there anything you can do?" + +"They won't let me work, and I hate to study." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I knew it was an impulse, but it made me very proud, Willy." + +"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." + +In spite of herself she laughed, rather helplessly. + +"Is there anything I am to remember?" + +He smiled too, and straightened himself, like a man who has got +something off his chest. + +"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?" + +His cheerful tone reassured the girl. There was no real hurt, then. + +"That's nice of you, you know." + +"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?" + +"Yes. I ought to tell you, Willy. I think the men are right." + +He stared at her incredulously. + +"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." + +"A slave may be satisfied if he has never known freedom." + +"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." + +"This is a fight for a principle, Willy." + +"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." + +"If by anarchists you mean men like my uncle--" + +"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." + +"Mr. Akers is a friend of mine, Willy." + +He stared at her. + +"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." + +"I don't believe it." + +"How well do you know Louis Akers?" + +"Not very well." But there were spots of vivid color flaming in her +cheeks. He drew a long breath. + +"I can't retract it," he said. "I didn't know, of course. Shall we +start back?" + +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. + +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. + +"Do you mind if I say something?" + +"That sounds disagreeable. Is it?" + +"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." + +An impulse of honesty prevailed with her. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Perhaps I am more intelligent than you think I am." + +He was, of course, utterly wretched, impressed by the futility of +arguing with her. + +"Do your people know that you are seeing Louis Akers!" + +"You are being rather solicitous, aren't you?" + +"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--" + +"Thank you!" + +"And talks bunk to her and possibly makes love to her--" + +"Haven't we had enough of Mr. Akers?" Lily asked coldly. "If you +cannot speak of anything else, please don't talk." + +The result of which was a frozen silence until they reached the +house. + +"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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. Akers is calling, Miss Cardew," said the footman. "He is in +the drawing-room." + +Lily went in slowly. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I know," he said. "You didn't ask me, but I came anyhow." + +She held out her hand rather primly. + +"It is very good of you to come." + +"Good! I couldn't stay away." + +He took her outstretched hand, smiling down at her, and suddenly +made an attempt to draw her to him. + +"You know that, don't you?" + +"Please!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"Really? Would you like some tea?" + +"Thanks, yes. Do you dislike my telling you that?" + +She rang the bell, and then stood Lacing him. + +"I don't mind, no. But I am trying very hard to forget that ride, +and I don't want to talk about it." + +"When a beautiful thing comes into a man's life he likes to +remember it." + +"How can you call it beautiful?" + +"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?" + +"I don't know," she said uncertainly. "It just seemed all wrong, +somehow." + +"An honest impulse is never wrong." + +"I don't want to discuss it, Mr. Akers. It is over." + +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. + +"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?" + +She was still struggling, still remembering Willy Cameron, still +trying to remember all the things that Louis Akers was not. + +"I think I ought not to see you at all." + +"Then," he said slowly, "you are going to cut me off from the one +decent influence in my life." + +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. + +When the servant had gone, he said: + +"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." + +"They are not at home." + +"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." + +"How do you know that?" + +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." + +He bent toward her, as he sat behind the tea table. + +"You know how vital this is to me, don't you?" he said. "You're +not going to cut me off, are you?" + +He stood over her, big, compelling, dominant, and put his hand +under her chin. + +"I am insane about you," he whispered, and waited. + +Slowly, irresistibly, she lifted her face to his kiss. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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. + +He began to realize that something had to be done in the Boyd family +as soon as he had met Mrs. Boyd. + +"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." + +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." + +"It takes some time for the men who were over to get settled down +again, you know." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +It was later in the evening, however, that he said, over Edith's +bakery cakes and her atrocious coffee: + +"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." + +"Really?" said Mrs. Boyd. "Well, talk would be a change here. He +sounds kind of pleasant. Who is he?" + +"This paragon of beauty and intellect sits before you," said Willy +Cameron. + +"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." + +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. + +"I wouldn't come, if I were you," she said, unexpectedly. + +"Why, Edie, you've been thinking of asking him right along." + +"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." + +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. + +"Nice Jinx," she said, and stroked his head with a thin and stringy +hand. "Nice doggie." + +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. + +"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." + +"Maybe I'm going to bring you luck." + +"The best luck for me would be to fall down these stairs and break +my neck." + +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. + +"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--" + +"You're a dear, too," said Edith. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I wish you'd quit staring at me, Dan Boyd." + +"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." + +Willy spoke to him that night when they were setting out rows of +seedlings, under the supervision of Jinx. + +"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." + +Dan glanced at him quickly, but whatever he may have had in his mind, +he said nothing just then. However, later on he volunteered: + +"She's got something on her mind. I know her. But I won't have her +talking back to mother." + +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. + +"Oh, Cameron!" he bawled. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Whaffor?" inquired Willy Cameron, through his nose. + +"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." + +"I don't give a tinker's dam who's mayor of this town, so long as +he gives it honest government." + +"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." + +Willy Cameron took an admiring squint at his handiwork. + +"Sorry to refuse you, Mr. Hendricks, but I don't want to be mayor." + +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. + +"Great snakes!" he said. "Spargo's Bolshevism! Political Economy, +History of--. What are you planning to be? President?" + +"I haven't decided yet. It's a hard job, and mighty thankless. But +I won't be your mayor, even for you." + +Mr. Hendricks sat down. + +"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. + +"Well?" he said. + +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." + +"I think I do." + +"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." + +Willy Cameron was lighting his pipe. He nodded. Mr. Hendricks bent +forward and pointed a finger at him. + +"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." + +He got up and closed the door. + +"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. + +"Maybe you know that Cardew has a daughter?" + +"Yes." + +"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." + +Willy Cameron got up and closed the window. He stood there, with +his back to the light, for a full minute. Then: + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"We've got to lick Cardew," he said, "but I'm cursed if I want to +do it with Akers." + +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. + +"Sorry I said anything, Cameron. Didn't know you knew her." + +"That's all right. Of course I don't like to think she is being +talked about." + +"The Cardews are always being talked about. You couldn't drop her +a hint, I suppose?" + +"She knows what I think about Louis Akers." + +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." + +"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." + +Which was slightly mixed, owing to a repressed excitement now +making itself evident in Mr. Hendricks's voice. + +"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." + +"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." + +He stood up, and Willy Cameron rose also and held out his hand. + +"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--" + +"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." + +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: + +"I couldn't remember my own name before an audience, Mr. Hendricks." + +"You're fluent enough in that back room of yours." + +"That's different." + +"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." + +In the end the F.M. of M. capitulated. + +It was late when Mr. Hendricks left. He went away with all the +old envelopes in his pockets covered with memoranda. + +"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'?" + +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? + +He took to walking about the room, according to his old habit, and +obediently Jinx followed him. + +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. + +"I wish you would go to bed," she said, rather petulantly. "Are you +sick, or anything?" + +"I was thinking, Edith. I'm sorry. I'll go at once. Why aren't +you asleep?" + +"I don't sleep much lately." Their voices were cautious. "I never +go to sleep until you're settled down, anyhow." + +"Why not? Am I noisy?" + +"It's not that." + +She went away, a drooping, listless figure that climbed the stairs +slowly and left him in the doorway, puzzled and uncomfortable. + +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. + +"By God, it is time the plain people know their power." + +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. + +"All right, old top," he said, "but it is also time the plain +people got up." + +Then he flung the sponge and departed with extreme expedition. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +It was not until a week had passed after Louis Akers' visit to the +house that Lily's family learned of it. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Once she said: + +"Could you love a person you didn't entirely respect, father?" + +"Love is founded on respect, Lily." + +She pondered that. She felt that he was wrong. + +"But it does happen, doesn't it?" she had persisted. + +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: + +"There is a sort of infatuation that is based on something quite +different." + +"On what?" + +But he had rather floundered there. He could not discuss physical +attraction with her. + +"We're getting rather deep for eleven o'clock at night, aren't we?" + +After a short silence: + +"Do you mind speaking about Aunt Elinor, father?" + +"No, dear. Although it is rather a painful subject." + +"But if she is happy, why is it painful?" + +"Well, because Doyle is the sort of man he is." + +"You mean--because he is unfaithful to her? Or was?" + +He was very uncomfortable. + +"That is one reason for it, of course. There are others." + +"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?" + +"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." + +She lay awake almost all night, thinking that over. + +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. + +"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--" + +"I need not have seen him. I wanted to see him." + +Mademoiselle waved her hands despairingly. + +"If they find it out!" she wailed. + +"They will. I intend to tell them." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She did it rather gently. + +"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." + +"Friends!" sneered old Anthony. "A third-rate lawyer, a--" + +"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." + +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. + +"Very well," he said finally. "You have the arrogance of youth, +and its cruelty, Lily. And you are making us all suffer without +reason." + +"Don't you think I might say that too, father?" + +"Are you in love with this man?" + +"I have only seen him four times. If you would give me some reasons +for all this fuss--" + +"There are things I cannot explain to you. You wouldn't understand." + +"About his moral character?" + +Howard was rather shocked. He hesitated: + +"Yes." + +"Will you tell me what they are?" + +"Good heavens, no!" he exploded. "The man's a radical, too. That +in itself ought to be enough." + +"You can't condemn a man for his political opinions." + +"Political opinions!" + +"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?" + +It was then that Howard followed his father's example, and flung +out of the room. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Do be a little lady," Mademoiselle would say. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sometimes she thought about Willy Cameron. He had had very exalted +ideas about love. He used to be rather oratorical about it. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Practically," he had said. "It then becomes domestic contentment, +and expresses itself in the shape of butcher's bills and roast +chicken on Sundays." + +But that had been in the old care-free days, before Willy had +thought he loved her, and before she had met Louis. + +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. + +The moral in that, so obviously pointed at Louis Akers, invalidated +the rest of it for Lily. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What about the lean years?" some one asked. + +The government's share of all business was to form a contingent fund +for such emergencies, it seemed. + +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? + +She remembered something Jim Doyle had said: + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I just wanted to say good-night, grandfather," she said +breathlessly. "And that I am sorry." + +"Sorry for what?" + +"Sorry--" she hesitated. "Because we see things so differently." + +Lily was almost certain that she caught a flash of tenderness in his +eyes, and certainly his voice had softened. + +"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. + +"I would like to talk to you, Lily. Will you come upstairs?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Aunt Caroline! She doesn't care for me, grandfather. She never +has." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Is it a good thing to spend a lot of money now, grandfather, when +there is so much discontent?" + +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. + +"I consider it vitally important to the country to continue its +social life as before the war." + +"You mean, to show we are not frightened?" + +"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." + +He never called Doyle by name if he could avoid it. + +"I have been there several times." + +"After you were forbidden?" + +His tone roused every particle of antagonism in her. She flushed. + +"Perhaps because I was forbidden," she said, slowly. "Hasn't it +occurred to you that I may consider your attitude very unjust?" + +If she looked for an outburst from him it did not come. He stood +for a moment, deep in thought. + +"You understand that this Doyle once tried to assassinate me?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"I have only said that I see no reason why I should not visit +Aunt Elinor." + +"And that you intend to. Do I understand also that you refuse to +go to Newport?" + +"I daresay I shall have to go, if you send me. I don't want to go." + +"Very well. I am glad we have had this little talk. It makes my +own course quite plain. Good-night." + +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? + +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. + +"A long seance!" she said. "Your mother told me to-night. It is +Newport?" + +"He wants me to go. Unhook me, Mademoiselle, and then run off and +go to bed. You ought not to wait up like this." + +"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." + +"I am not going to Newport, Mademoiselle." + +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. + +"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." + +"C'est impossible!" cried Mademoiselle. + +But a glance at Lily's set face in the mirror told her it was true. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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'. + +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. + +"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." + +He met her eyes gravely. + +"Have you tried not forbidding her to go to the Doyles?" + +"I have forbidden her nothing. It is her grandfather." + +"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." + +He was very down-hearted when he left. Grace's last words placed +a heavy burden on him. + +"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." + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +"Perhaps the difficulty," Elinor had said quietly, "is because we +differ as to what really counts." + +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. + +"What did you wear at the country club dance last night?" she would +ask. + +"A rose-colored chiffon over yellow. It gives the oddest effect, +like an Ophelia rose." + +Or: + +"At the Mainwarings? George or Albert?" + +"The Alberts." + +"Did they ever have any children?" + +One day she told her about not going to Newport, and was surprised +to see Elinor troubled. + +"Why won't you go? It is a wonderful house." + +"I don't care to go away, Aunt Nellie." She called her that sometimes. + +Elinor had knitted silently for a little. Then: + +"Do you mind if I say something to you?" + +"Say anything you like, of course." + +"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." + +"That isn't enough to say, Aunt Nellie," she said gravely. "You +must have a reason." + +Elinor hesitated. + +"I don't like him. He is a man of very impure life." + +"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?" + + + "I don't know," Elinor said helplessly. "But there is something +else. It will cut you off from your family." + +"You did that. You couldn't stand it, either. You know what it's +like." + + + +"There must be some other way. That is no reason for marriage." + +"But--suppose I care for him?" Lily said, shyly. + +"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." + +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. + +"Mrs. Doyle's been talking to you," he said at last. "She hates me, +you know." + +"Why should she hate you?" + +"Because, with all her vicissitudes, she's still a snob," he said +roughly. "My family was nothing, so I'm nothing." + +"She wants me to be happy, Louis." + +"And she thinks you won't be with me." + +"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--" + +"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." + +In the end she capitulated + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The commune always followed long and costly wars. The people would +dance, but they revolted at paying the piper. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gompers, according to Doyle, had ceased to be a leader and become +a follower, into strange and difficult paths. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +Elinor half rose, terrified. + +"Not the police, Jim?" + +"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." + +"Do you mean that I am being followed?" + +"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--" + +"Don't talk like that, Jim," Elinor protested. She was very pale. +"Are you sure he is watching Lily?" + +He gave her an ugly look. + +"Who else?" he inquired suavely. + +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! + +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: + +"Louis is coming to dinner, isn't he?" + +"Yes." + +"If you don't mind, Aunt Nellie, I think I'll dine out with him +somewhere. I want to talk to him alone." + +"But the detective--" + +"If my grandfather uses low and detestable means to spy on me, Aunt +Nellie, he deserves what he gets, doesn't he?" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +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. + +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. + +He came in as early as possible, therefore, for he had had Doctor +Smalley in to see her, and the result had been unsatisfactory. + +"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." + +"What is there to do?" Willy asked, feeling helpless and extremely +shocked. "We might send her somewhere." + +"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." + +"Shall I tell the family?" + +"What's the use?" asked Doctor Smalley, philosophically. "If they +fuss over her she'll suspect something." + +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. + +"Nice little place you've got here," he observed. "I think I see +the fine hand of Miss Edith, eh?" + +"Yes," said Willy Cameron, gravely. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Now I made this for you, Willy, because I know country boys like +pies. Just see if that crust isn't nice." + +"You don't mean to say you made it!" + +"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. + +"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." + +"You don't eat anything, Edith." + +"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?" + +"She" in the vernacular of the house, was always Mrs. Boyd. + +"She forgot to make your bed, and she's doing it now." + +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. + +"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." + +Dan was at a meeting, and Willy dried the supper dishes for Edith. +She was silent and morose. Finally she said: + +"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." + +"She is very proud of you." + +"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." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk that way." + +"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." + +"You are a very good daughter." + +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. + +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. + +"I wish you'd let me alone," she said, and then swayed a little. +But she did not faint. + +"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." + +Nevertheless he had taken her home, Edith obstinately silent and +sullen, and Willy anxious and perplexed. At the door she said: + +"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." + +"I wish you'd see a doctor." + +She looked at him with suspicious eyes. "If you run Smalley in on +me I'll leave home." + +"Will you go to bed?" + +"I'll go to bed, all right." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Keep some of it out and bank it," he suggested, but Dan sneered. + +"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." + +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. + +"But I'm there, all right," he said. "I'm not playing golf or +riding in my automobile. I'm on the job." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +But he knew she was avoiding him. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Boyd was busily entertaining her. + +"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?" + +"Why, Miss Ellen!" he said. "And looking as though headed for a +journey!" + +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. + +"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." + +That told him she was in trouble, but Mrs. Boyd, amiably hospitable +and reveling in a fresh audience, showed no sign of departing. + +"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." + +She hitched the chair away from the fireplace, where it showed every +indication of going up the chimney. + +"I call that downright wasteful," she offered. + +Willy glanced at his watch, which had been his father's, and bore +the inscription: "James Duncan Cameron, 1876" inside the case. + +"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." + +"But, Willy--" + +"--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. + +"He's that domineering," she said to Ellen, "that I can't call my +soul my own." + +"Good-night," Ellen said briefly. + +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. + +"Good-night," he called. "Both windows open. I shall go outside +to see." + +Then he went back to Ellen, still standing primly over her Lares and +Penates. + +"Now tell me about it," he said. + +"I've left them. There has been a terrible fuss, and when Miss Lily +left to-night, I did too." + +"She left her home?" + +She nodded. + +"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." + +"Where did she go?" + +"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." + +"Did you notice the number of the taxicab?" + +"I never thought of it." + +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. + +"She shouldn't have left home, Ellen." + +"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?" + +He felt in his pocket, producing a handful of loose money. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Who is it?" demanded the figure blocking his way. + +"I want to see Mr. Doyle." + +"What about?" + +"I'll tell him that," said Willy Cameron. + +"What's your name?" + +"That's my business, too," said Mr. Cameron, with disarming +pleasantness. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" + +"Are you Mr. Doyle?" + +"I am." + +"My name is Cameron, Mr. Doyle. I have had a small difference with +your watch-dog, but he finally let me by." + +"I'm afraid I don't understand. I have no dog." + +"The sentry you keep posted, then." Mr. Cameron disliked fencing. + +"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." + +He was smiling, Mr. Cameron knew, and his anger rose afresh. + +"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." + +"Are you sent by her family?" + +"I have asked you if she is here." + +Jim Doyle apparently deliberated. + +"My niece is here, although just why you should interest yourself--" + +"May I see her?" + +"I regret to say she has retired." + +"I think she would see me." + +A door opened into the hall, throwing a shaft of light on the wall +across and letting out the sounds of voices. + +"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. + +"Yes," came a sullen voice, after a moment's hesitation. + +"Show this gentleman out." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And against it, what? + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I do not believe he is your enemy." + +"He is one of the band of anarchists who have repeatedly threatened +to kill me." + +"Oh, Lily, Lily!" said her mother. + +But it was to her father, standing grave and still, that Lily replied. + +"I don't believe that, father. He is not a murderer. If you would +let him come here--" + +"Never in this house," said old Anthony, savagely crushing notes in +his hand. "He will come here over my dead body." + +"You have no right to condemn a man unheard." + +"Unheard! I tell you I know all about him. The man is an +anarchist, a rake, a--dog." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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: + +"I am sorry you feel that way about it," and turned and left the +room. + +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. + +She had sent for Ellen. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I am afraid mother will grieve terribly." + +"I think she will," said Elinor, with her quiet gravity. "You are +all she has." + +"She has father. She cares more for him than for anything in the +world." + +"Would you like some ice-water, dear?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I am so sorry, Howard," she had said. The sight of him had set +her lips trembling. He patted her shoulder. + +"Poor Elinor," he said. "Poor old girl! We're a queer lot, aren't +we?" + +"All but you." + +"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." + +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. + +"Aunt Cornelia's!" she exclaimed. + +"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." + +"Does that mean he won't have me back, father?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You don't look unhappy, Nellie." + +"Things have been much better the last few years." + +"Is he kind to you?" + +"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. + +"Why don't you leave him?" + +"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. + +"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." + +She shook her head. + +"We'll manage all right," she said. "I'll make Lily comfortable +and as happy as I can." + +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. + +"I can't persuade you?" he finished. + +"No. But it is good of you to think of it." + +"You know what the actual trouble was last night? It was not her +coming here." + +"I know, Howard." + +"Don't let her marry him, Nellie! Better than any one, you ought +to know what that would mean." + +"I knew too, Howard, but I did it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +To destroy the chance of gain was to put a premium on inertia; to +kill ambition; to reduce the high without raising the low. + +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. + +"I meant to go, Willy," she finished. "I meant to go this morning. +But you see how things are." + +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." + +That rather hurt her. + +"What about my pride?" she asked. + +"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." + +"There is such a thing as liberty." + +"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." + +"You haven't had any luncheon?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"But not soon, Louis," she said, holding him off. "And--I ought +to tell you--I don't think we will be happy together." + +"Why not?" + +"Because--" she found it hard to put into words--"because love +with you is a sort of selfish thing, I think." + +"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. + +"I never seem to be able to see myself married to you." + +"Then the sooner the better, so you can." + +"You won't like being married, you know." + +"That's all you know about it, Lily. I'm mad about you. I'm mad +for you." + +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. + +"I want you now." + +"I want to be engaged a long time, Louis. We have so much to learn +about each other." + +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. + +"Come here," he would say, from the hearth rug, or by the window. + +"Certainly not." + +"Come here." + +Sometimes she went, to be smothered in his hot embrace; sometimes +she did not. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +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. + +Dan had already gone, and his half-empty cup of black coffee was on +the kitchen table. Ellen sniffed it and raised her eyebrows. + +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. + +"Enough to give him typhoid," she reflected. + +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. + +She met Edith's stare of surprise with one of thinly veiled hostility. + +"Hello!" said Edith. "When did you blow in, and where from?" + +"I came to see Mr. Cameron last night, and he made me stay." + +"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." + +But Ellen proceeded to turn the ham. + +"I'll do it," she said. "You might spoil your hands." + +But Edith showed no offense. + +"All right," she acceded indifferently. "If you're going to eat it +you'd better cook it. We're rotten housekeepers here." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Why don't you go into the dining-room to eat?" Ellen demanded. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I'm that short of breath!" she gasped. "I declare I could hardly +get back." + +"I'll give you some coffee, right off." + +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. + +"Why, yes, Miss Ellen." + +"Your mother would break her heart if she knew the way you're living." + +"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." + +"Does that girl work where you do?" + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Is she engaged to you? She calls you Willy." He smiled into her +eyes. + +"Not a bit of it, or thinking of it." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"I do not. I heard you going out last night, Willy. Did you find +her?" + +"She is at the Doyles'. I didn't see her." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"The way you talk is your business, not mine," said Ellen austerely. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +The weekly assets turned out to be his salary and Edith's. + +"Why, Willy," said Mrs. Boyd, "you can't turn all your money over +to us." + +"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." + +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. + +"What about your tuition at night school?" Edith asked suddenly. + +"Spring term ended this week." + +"But you said there was a summer one." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Where I come from girls don't stay out alone until all hours," she +said. + +"Oh, let me alone." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Edith, for God's sake!" + +The girl was only partially conscious. Ellen ran down the stairs +and into Willy's room. + +"Get up," she cried, shaking him. "That girl's killed herself." + +"Lily!" + +"No, Edith. Carbolic acid." + +Even then he remembered her mother. + +"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. + +"What's the matter, Willy?" she asked. "Is it a fire?" + +"Edith is sick. I don't want you to go up. It may be contagious. +It's her throat." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She never guessed the conspiracy against her. + +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. + +For at the end of a few days Ellen knew, and Edith knew she knew. + +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. + +"You needn't be frightened," she said. "When those scabs come off +the doctor says you'll hardly be marked at all." + +But Edith only glanced at herself, and threw the mirror aside. + +Another time she wrote: "Willy?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Poor little girl," he said. "We've got to make things very happy +for her, to make up for all this!" + +But Edith freed her hand, and reaching out for paper and pencil stub, +wrote something and gave it to Ellen. + +Ellen read it. + +"Tell him." + +"I don't want to, Edith. You wait and do it yourself." + +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. + +"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." + +"A child with no father," said Ellen, stonily. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I've got all the rest of the night." + +"Right-o!" said Pink, who had brought back a phrase or two from the +British. + +It was not until they were in the car that Pink said: + +"I think you're a friend of Miss Cardew's, aren't you?" + +"I know Miss Cardew," said Willy Cameron, guardedly. And they were +both rather silent for a time. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Looks like it's more than talk," Pink said, after a time. + +"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." + +"You think it's real, then?" + +"Some boils don't come to a head. But most do." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"The mob has done it before," urged the Chief of Police one day. +"They took Paris, and it was damned disagreeable." + +The Mayor was a trifle weak in history. + +"Maybe they did," he agreed. "But this is different. This is +America." + +He was rather uneasy after that. It had occurred to him that the +Chief might have referred to Paris, Illinois. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +There was no question in Willy Cameron's mind as to which it meant. + +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"? + +He roused, however, at a question. + +"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. + +"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." + +He had some of the translations Hendricks had brought him in his +pocket, and they circulated around the group. + +"Do you think they mean to attack the city?" + +"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." + +"Would you make it a secret organization?" + +"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." + +"Would you hold office?" Pink asked. + +Willy Cameron smiled. + +"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." + +"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." + +But Willy Cameron overruled that. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"--without title and without pay," he stipulated. "If you wish +a title on me, I'll resign." + +He went home that night very exalted and very humble. + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Did you lock the kitchen door?" he demanded, his tones thick with +fury. + +"Yes. Why not?" She tried to shake off his hand, but failed. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Sorry!" he said. "I get a bit emphatic at times. But there are +times when a locked door becomes a mighty serious matter." + +The next day he removed the key from the door, and substituted a +bolt. Elinor made no protest. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Lily! Where are you?" + +Sometimes he lifted her off her feet and held her to him. + +"You little whiffet!" he would say. "I could crush you to death in +my arms." + +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. + +"I love you, little girl," he would say. + +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. + +"I don't like your running against my father, Louis." + +"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." + +She ignored that. + +"I don't like the men who come here, Louis. I wish they were not +friends of yours." + +"Friends of mine! That bunch?" + +"You are always with them." + +"I draw a salary for being with them, honey." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it legal business?" + +"Partly that." + +"Louis, is there going to be a general strike?" + +"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." + +She drew her hands away. + +"Safe from what, Louis?" + +He sat back and looked up into her face. + +"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." + +"And you advocate brutality?" + +"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." + +"Not now!" + +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. + +"What the devil did you think all this talk meant?" he demanded. +"You've heard enough of it." + +"Does Aunt Elinor know?" + +"Of course." + +"And she approves?" + +"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." + +"You would?" + +He amended his offer somewhat. + +"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." + +"What will they do to you?" + +"Your people?" + +"The others." + +He drew himself to his full height, and laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"You can save me, honey," he whispered, and kneeling suddenly, he +kissed the toe of her small shoe. + +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?" + +"I'm crazy about you." + +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. + +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. + +"Got you cinched now, honey. Do you like it?" + +"It makes me feel that I don't belong to myself any longer." + +"Well, you've passed into good hands," he said, and laughed his +great, vibrant laugh. "Costing me money already, you mite!" + +A little of her exaltation died then. But perhaps men were like +that, shyly covering the things they felt deepest. + +She was rather surprised when he suggested keeping the engagement +a secret. + +"Except the Doyles, of course," he said. "I am not taking any +chances on losing you, child." + +"Not mother?" + +"Not unless you want to be kidnaped and taken home. It's only a +matter of a day or two, anyhow." + +"I want more time than that. A month, anyhow." + +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. + +"A month," she said, and stuck to it. + +He was rather sulky when he went away, and he had told her the exact +amount he had paid for her ring. + +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. + +She came downstairs that afternoon, dressed for the street. + +"I am going out for a little while, Aunt Nellie," she said, "and +when I come back I want to tell you something." + +"Perhaps. I can guess." + +"Perhaps you can." + +She was singing to herself as she went out the door. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I have not been away, Pink. I left home--it's a long story. I +am staying with my aunt, Mrs. Doyle." + +"Mrs. Doyle? You are staying there?" + +"Why not? My father's sister." + +His young face took on a certain sternness. + +"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." + +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. + +"Since you feel as you do, I'm afraid that's impossible. Mr. +Doyle's roof is the only roof I have." + +"You have a home," he said, sturdily. + +"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." + +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--! + +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. + +"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. + +"Well, it's my daily bread, and with bread costing what it does, I +cling to it like a limpet to a rock." + +"But I thought you were studying, so you could do something else." + +"I had to give up the night school. But I'll get back to it +sometime." + +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. + +"You still have Jinx, I suppose?" + +"Yes. I--" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Can you tell me about it?" + +"There is not very much to tell. It is Louis Akers." + +The middle-aged clerk had disappeared. + +"Of course you have thought over what that means, Lily." + +"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." + +"I am sure of that," he said, steadily. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Do they know at home?" + +"I am going to tell mother to-day." + +"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." + +"What has that got to do with it?" + +"Think a minute. Am I quite the same to you here, as I was in the +camp?" + +He saw her honest answer in her eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +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. + +Dan had joined. + +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. + +"Where'd you pick it up, Cusick?" + +"One of our men brought it into the store. Said you might want to +see it." + +The three men bent over it. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I hope so," said Willy Cameron. "What are you doing over there, +anyhow?" + +"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. + +"She's all right, Joe." + +"Seeing anybody yet?" + +"Not yet. In a day or so she'll be downstairs." + +"You might tell her I've been asking about her." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"All right." He closed the window and stood looking down at her. +"Are you sure you want me to hear it?" he asked gravely. + +"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." + +"Who are 'them'?" + +"You get the police to search the Myers Housecleaning Company, in +the Searing Building." + +"Don't you think you'd better tell me more than that? The police +will want something definite to go on." + +She hesitated. + +"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." + +"What makes you think the company is wrong? A hidden telephone +isn't much to go on." + +"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: + +"You won't tell me the name of the man you met there?" + +"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. + +"Have you ever thought," he said at last, "that this man, whoever +he is, ought to marry you?" + +Edith's face set like a flint. + +"I don't want to marry him," she said. "I wouldn't marry him if he +was the last man on earth." + +He knew very little of Edith's past. In his own mind he had fixed +on Louis Akers, but he could not be sure. + +"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." + +"You're a good girl now," he said gravely. + +Some time after he got his hat and came in to tell her he was +going out. + +"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." + +After that for an hour or two Edith sat alone, save when Ellen now +and then looked in to see if she was comfortable. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +But if they arrested Louis, Lily Cardew would fling him aside like +an old shoe. + +She closed her eyes. That opened a vista of possibilities she +would not face. + +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. + +She wondered why her mother did not want to die, to get away. + +"I'll soon be able to look after you a bit, mother," she said from +the doorway. "How's the pain down your arm?" + +"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?" + +Eternity was such a long time. Did she know? Could she know, and +still sit among her pillows, snipping? + +"I wonder," said Mrs. Boyd, "did anybody feed Jinx? That Ellen is +so saving that she grudges him a bone." + +"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-- + +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. + +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. + +"I'd only drag him down," she muttered bitterly. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"They won't talk?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +At a signal the mass was to arise, overthrow its masters and rule +itself. + +Mr. Hendricks stood in the doorway of the pharmacy and stared out +at the city he loved. + +"Just how far does that sort of stuff go, Cameron?" he asked. +"Will our people take it up? Is the American nation going crazy?" + +"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." + +"I could do that, with a bomb." + +"No, you couldn't. But you could make a fairly sizeable hole in +it. It's the hole we don't want." + +Mr. Hendricks went away, vaguely comforted. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +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. + +"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?" + +Senator Lovell lighted a cigarette. + +"Turned Bolshevist," he said, briefly. + +The Judge gazed at him. + +"That's a pretty serious indictment, isn't it?" + +"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?" + +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. + +But only anxiety held them together. + +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. + +Mr. Hendricks, hearing of it, was moved to a dry chuckle. + +"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." + +"Which would be?" inquired Willy Cameron. + +"'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." + +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. + +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. + +"You've got to keep your courage up, dear," he said. "I don't think +it will be long now." + +"Have you seen her?" + +"No. But something has happened. Don't look like that, Grace. It's +not--" + +"She hasn't married that man?" + +"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." + +Dinner was very silent, although Anthony delivered himself of one +speech rather at length. + +"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." + +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-- + +"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." + +"I can't get any one else. I have tried for weeks. There are no +servants anywhere." + +"Try New York." + +"I have tried--it is useless." + +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. + +"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." + +"I want to have a talk with you, father." + +"I don't want to talk." + +"You needn't. I want you to listen, and I want Grace to hear, too." + +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. + +"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?" + +"You evidently intend to." + +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. + +"Just what does that mean?" + +"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." + +"Strikers?" + +"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." + +"What terms?" + +"Well, the rule of the mob, I suppose. They intend to take over +the banks, for one thing." + +"I don't believe it. It's incredible." + +"They meant to do it in Seattle." + +"And didn't. Don't forget that." + +"They may have learned some things from Seattle," Howard said +quietly. + +"We have the state troops." + +"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?" + +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." + +"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." + +Old Anthony remained silent, but the small jagged vein on his +forehead swelled with anger. After a time: + +"I suppose Doyle is behind this?" he asked. "It sounds like him." + +"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." + +"I didn't send her there." + +"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?" + +"She is probably one of them now. God knows how much of his rotten +doctrine she has absorbed." + +Howard flushed, but he kept his temper. + +"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." + +Probably Anthony Cardew had never respected Howard more than at that +moment, or liked him less. + +"Both you and Grace are free to make a home where you please." + +"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." + +"I won't have that fellow Akers coming here." + +"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." + +"Revolt?" said old Anthony, raising his eyebrows. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Bring her home," he said, "but tell her about Akers. If she says +that is off, I'll forget the rest." + +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. + +"I wanted to see you, Mademoiselle," Grace said, not very steadily. +"I have good news for you." + +Mademoiselle began to tremble. "She is coming? Lily is coming?" + +"Yes. Will you have some fresh flowers put in her rooms in the +morning?" + +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. + +"We must try to make her very happy, Mademoiselle. I think things +will be different now." + +Mademoiselle stood back and wiped her eyes. + +"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." + +"The young are always headstrong, Mademoiselle." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The telephone in the library rang, and Grayson answered it, while +Grace stood in the doorway. + +"A message from Miss Lily," he said. "Mrs. Doyle has telephoned +that Miss Lily is on her way here." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I was about to start over when you telephoned, dear," she said. +"I--we want you to come home to us again." + +There was a queer, strained silence. + +"Who wants me?" Lily asked, unsteadily. + +"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." + +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. + +"It nearly kills me to hurt you," she said, "but--what about this?" + +She held out her hand. + +Grace seemed frozen in her chair. At the sight of her mother's +face Lily flung herself on her knees beside the chair. + +"Mother, mother," she said, "you must know how I love you. Love +you both. Don't look like that. I can't bear it." + +Grace turned away her face. + +"You don't love us. You can't. Not if you are going to marry that +man." + +"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." + +"I don't understand you," Grace said coldly. "What can a man like +that do, but wreck all our lives?" + +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?" + +"When you say half-way, you mean all the way, Lily." + +"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." + +"Your grandfather's condition was that you never see this Louis +Akers again." + +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. + +"That is a condition I cannot fulfill, mother. I am engaged to him." + +"Then you love him more than you do any of us, or all of us." + +"I don't know. It is different," she said vaguely. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Can you beat that, Henry?" said one. "Where the hell'd they come +from?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Going back to work, are you?" he sneered. "And how long do you +think you'll be able to work?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"I know who it is," Dan said, more quietly, "and he's got to marry +her, or I'll kill him." + +"You know, do you? Well, you don't," Edith said, "and I won't +marry him anyhow." + +"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?" + +All Edith's caution was forgotten in her shame and anger. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"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." + +"God!" Dan muttered. "With all the men in the world, to choose that +rotten anarchist!" + +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. + +Dan, huddled low in his chair, his legs sprawling, stared at +nothing with hopeless eyes. + +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. + +"Does he know how things are?" he asked. + +She nodded. "Yes." + +"Does he offer to do anything?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"You'll be down before long," he assured her. "And making me pies. +Remember those pies you used to bake?" + +"You always were a great one for my pies," she said, complacently. + +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. + +"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." + +"I don't think you hardly ever go to bed, Willy." + +"Me? Get too much sleep. I'm getting fat with it." + +The stale little joke was never stale with her. He left her smiling, +and went down the stairs and out into the street. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At eleven o'clock he went back to the Benedict, and was told that +Mr. Akers had come in. + +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. + +Akers' expression had changed from one of annoyance to watchfulness +when he opened the door. + +"Well!" he said. "Making a late call, aren't you?" + +"What I had to say wouldn't wait." + +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. + +"Sit down. Have a cigarette?" + +"No, thanks." He remained standing. + +"Or a high-ball? I still have some fairly good whiskey." + +"No. I came to ask you a question, Mr. Akers." + +"Well, answering questions is one of the best little things I do." + +"You know about Edith Boyd's condition. She says you are responsible. +Is that true?" + +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?" + +"You know. She says she has told you." + +"You're pretty thick with her yourself, aren't you?" + +"I happen to live at the Boyd house." + +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. + +"I have asked you a question, Mr. Akers." + +"You don't expect me to answer it, do you?" + +"I do." + +"If you have come here to talk to me about marrying her--" + +"She won't marry you," Willy Cameron said steadily. "That's not +the point I want your own acknowledgment of responsibility, that's +all." + +Akers was puzzled, suspicious, and yet relieved. He lighted a +cigarette and over the match stared at the other man's quiet face. + +"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." + +"I think you are lying." + +"All right. But I can produce the goods." + +Willy Cameron went very pale. His hands were clenched again, and +Akers eyed him warily. + +"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." + +Willy Cameron smiled. Much the sort of smile he had worn during +the rioting. + +"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." + +Akers lunged at him. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He wondered why Providence should so play into the hands of the +enemy. + +After a time he happened on Pink Denslow, wandering alone on the +outskirts of the crowd. + +"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. + +"How about the vaults? I suppose they are fireproof?" + +"Yes. Do you realize that every record we've got has gone? D'you +suppose those fellows knew about them?" + +Willy Cameron had been asking himself the same question. + +"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." + +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. + +"Come on," Pink said suddenly. "There were two explosions. It's +just possible--" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Do sit down, Louis, and be quiet," she said. "You have known their +attitude all along, haven't you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Not soon, Lily!" she said. "Oh, not soon. Wait a little--wait +two months." + +"Two months?" Lily said wonderingly. "Why two months?" + +"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?" + +"No," Lily said truthfully; "but you love him." + +Elinor sat, her eyes downcast and brooding. + +"You are different," she said finally. "You will break, where I +have only bent." + +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. + +Cardew Way was far from the center of town, and Lily knew nothing of +the bomb outrages of that night. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Everything is as happy as a May morning," Doyle sneered. "Your +Aunt Elinor has an unpleasant habit of weeping for joy." + +Lily stiffened, but Elinor touched her arm. + +"Sit down and eat your breakfast, Lily," she said, and left the room. + +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. + +"Don't bother your pretty head about politics," he said. + +Lily was equally cold. Her dislike of him had been growing for +weeks, coupled to a new and strange distrust. + +"Politics? You seem to take your politics very hard." + +"I do," he said urbanely. "Particularly when I am fighting my wife's +family. May I pour you some coffee?" + +And pour it he did, eyeing her furtively the while, and brought it +to her. + +"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." + +"If he cared to do that I shouldn't want him anyhow." + +"You're a self-sufficient child, aren't you? Well, the best of us +do it, sometimes." + +He had successfully changed the trend of her thoughts, and he went +out, carrying the newspaper with him. + +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. + +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. + +He was drunk with power. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Pink!" she said. "Why, what is the matter?" + +For the first time he was conscious of his appearance, and for the +first time in his life perhaps, entirely indifferent to it. + +"I've been digging in the ruins," he said. "Is that man Doyle in +the house?" + +Her color faded. Suddenly she noticed a certain wildness about +Pink's eyes, and the hard strained look of his mouth. + +"What ruins, Pink?" she managed to ask. + +"All the ruins," he said. "You know, don't you? The bank, our +bank, and the club?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Do you believe what they preach?" he demanded. "I've got to know, +Lily. I've suffered the tortures of the damned all night." + +"I didn't know it meant this." + +"Do you?" he repeated. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, no!" + +"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?" + +"It wouldn't be possible, Pink?" + +"It isn't possible now, but they'll make a try at it." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Willy Cameron?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +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. + +"Suppose," she said, hesitatingly, "suppose I tell you that I think +I am going to be able to help you before long?" + +"Help? I want you safe. This is not work for women." + +"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?" + +"One of them?" + +"He has been." + +"Is he selling his information?" + +"In a way, yes," said Lily, slowly. + +"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?" + +"I couldn't stay, could I?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +No, she could not face that. + +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. + +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. + +"I wish you would go away from here, Aunt Elinor," she said. + +Elinor glanced up, without surprise. + +"Where could I go?" + +"If you left him definitely, you could go home." + +Elinor shook her head, dumbly, and her passivity drove Lily suddenly +to desperation. + +"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." + +"I wish you had never come, Lily." + +"It's too late for that," Lily said, stonily. "But it is not too +late for you to get away." + +"I shall stay," Elinor said, with an air of finality. But Lily +made one more effort. + +"He is killing you." + +"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?" + +"Then come away. You have done all you could, and you have failed, +haven't you?" + +"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. + +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: + +"You said you had not understood before, but that now you do. What +did you mean?" + +"Pink Denslow was here." + +"What does he know?" + +"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." + +Elinor resumed her folding. + +"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." + +"Yes." + +"Do they--still live in the old house?" + +"Yes." + +Elinor continued her methodical work. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +So, that afternoon, Pink waited until the Committee had dispersed, +and then said, with some difficulty: + +"I saw her, Cameron. She has promised to leave." + +"To-day?" + +"This afternoon. I wanted to take her away, but she had some things +to do." + +"Then she hadn't known before?" + +"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." + +Pink started out, but Willy Cameron called him back. + +"Have any of your people any influence with the Cardews?" + +"No one has any influence with the Cardews, if you mean the Cardew +men. Why?" + +"Because Cardew has got to get out of the mayoralty campaign. +That's all." + +"That's a-plenty," said Pink, grinning. "Why don't you go and tell +him so?" + +"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." + +"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. + +Willy Cameron, having carefully filled his pipe, closed the door +into the shop, and opened a window. + +"Akers?" he inquired. + +"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?" + +"Yes," said Willy Cameron, reflectively. "Yes; he does, rather." + +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! + +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. + +If only Lily could have gone back to her, instead of to that great +house, full of curious eyes and whispering voices. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Anthony Cardew nodded to him grimly, but Howard shook hands and +offered him a chair. + +"I heard you speak some time ago, Mr. Cameron," he said. "You made +me wish I could have had your support." + +"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." + +"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." + +Willy Cameron smiled. + +"I don't think you will be put to that inconvenience, Mr. Cardew." + +"What's that?" Old Anthony's voice was incredulous. Here, in his +own house, this whipper-snapper-- + +"I am sure Mr. Howard Cardew realizes he cannot be elected." + +The small ragged vein on Anthony's forehead was the storm signal +for the family. Howard glanced at him, and said urbanely: + +"Will you have a cigar, Mr. Cameron? Or a liqueur?" + +"Nothing, thank you. If I can have a few minutes' talk with you--" + +"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." + +Willy Cameron kept his temper. + +"No," he said, slowly. "It wasn't a question of Mr. Hendricks +withdrawing. It was a question of Mr. Cardew getting out." + +Sheer astonishment held old Anthony speechless. + +"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." + +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." + +Old Anthony recovered his voice. + +"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!" + +"You'll get an anarchist," said Willy Cameron, slightly flushed. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +It was Howard who held out. + +"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." + +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. + +With Anthony gone, Howard dropped the discussion with the air of +a man who has made a final stand. + +"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." + +"I do know it. For that reason I am glad that Miss Lily has come +home." + +"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--" + +Willy Cameron got up. + +"Was that to-day?" he asked. + +"No." + +"But she was coming home to-day. She was to leave there this +afternoon." + +"How do you know that?" + +"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." + +"But--that's ridiculous. She can't be a prisoner in my sister's +house." + +"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-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He had suffered, and for her. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"No. She's a new one." + +"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." + +The hall boy grinned. + +"Then his limp didn't bother him any. Sam says y'ought to seen +that place." + +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. + +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. + +"I just saw about it in the newspaper," Lily said. "How dreadful, +Louis." + +He straightened himself and drew a deep breath. The game was +still his, if he played it right. + +"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." + +He made a move then to kiss her, but she drew back. + +"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?" + +"How do you know he knew?" + +"I do know. That's all. And I have left Aunt Elinor's." + +"No!" + +"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--" + +"Unless you give me up," he finished for her. "Well?" + +She hesitated. She hated making terms with him, and yet somehow +she must make terms. + +"Well?" he repeated. "Are you going to throw me over?" + +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. + +"Do you mean what you have said, Louis, about leaving them, if I +marry you, and doing all you can to stop them?" + +"You know I mean it." + +"Then--I'll not go home." + +"You are going to marry me? Now?" + +"Whenever you say." + +Suddenly she was trembling violently, and her lips felt dry and +stiff. He pushed her into a chair, and knelt down beside her. + +"You poor little kid," he said, softly. + +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. + +"My wife!" he said. "My wife." + +She stiffened in his arms. + +"I must go, Louis," she said. "I can't stay here. I felt very +queer downstairs. They all stared so." + +There was a clock on the mantel shelf, and he looked at it. It was +a quarter before five. + +"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." + +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. + +"I wish I hadn't come." + +"Why? We can fix that all right in a jiffy." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"I'm mad about you, girl," he said. "Mad. And now you are going +to be mine, until death do us part." + +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. + + +It was after nine o'clock when one of the Cardew cars stopped not +far from the Benedict Apartments, and Willy Cameron got out. + +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. + +"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. + +"I suppose Mr. Akers is in?" said Willy Cameron, politely. The girl +smiled up at him. + +"I'll say he ought to be, after last night! What're you going to +do now? Kill him?" + +In spite of his anxiety there was a faint twinkle in Willy Cameron's +eyes. + +"No," he said slowly. "No. I think not. I want to talk to him." + +"Sam," called the telephone girl, "take this gentleman up to +forty-three." + +"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." + +Willy Cameron took a step or two toward the cage. + +"You don't happen to be lying, I suppose?" + +"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." + +"I was getting my supper, Sam." + +Willy Cameron had gone very white. + +"Did the boy say where he was taking the things?" + +"To the Saint Elmo Hotel, sir." + +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-- + +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. + +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. + +He opened the door and went in. + +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. + +By the window, her back to the room, was Lily. + +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. + +"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." + +"I'm not hungry." + +"Come here." + +"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." + +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. + +"Hello, Cameron," he said. + +Willy Cameron ignored him. + +"Will you come?" he said to Lily. + +"I can't, Willy." + +"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." + +"Go on," said Akers, leering. "I like to hear you." + +"Especially," continued Willy Cameron, "with a man like this." + +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. + +"Louis!" Lily said sharply. + +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." + +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. + +"Go into the other room and close the door," he ordered. "When I've +thrown this fellow out, you can come back." + +But Lily's eyes were fixed on Willy Cameron's face. + +"It was you last night?" + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"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." + +Lily threw out both hands dizzily, as though catching for support. +But she steadied herself. Neither man moved. + +"It is too late, Willy," she said. "I have just married him." + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I heard you walking about," she said breathlessly. "May I come in +and talk to you?" + +"Come in," he said, with a sort of grave heaviness. "Shall I light +the other lamps?" + +"Please don't." + +"Will you sit down? No? Do you mind if I do? I am very tired. +I suppose it is about Lily?" + +"Yes. I can't stand it any longer. I can't." + +Sitting under the lamp she saw that he looked very old and very +weary. A tired little old man, almost a broken one. + +"She won't come back?" + +"Not under the conditions. But she must come back, father. To let +her stay on there, in that house, after last night--" + +She had never called him "father" before. It seemed to touch him. + +"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. + +"But--I must tell you--she refuses to give up that man." + +"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?" + +Grace made a little gesture of despair. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Suddenly Grace bent over and kissed him. He put up his hand, and +patted her on the shoulder. + +"A good woman, Grace," he said, "and a good daughter to me. I'm +sorry. I'll try to do better." + +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. + +"Where are you?" he asked, looking up. "Is father there?" + +"Yes." + +"I want you both to come down to the library, Grace." + +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. + +"Something has happened!" + +"I rather think so," said old Anthony, slowly. + +They went together down the stairs. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"But--it is German!" she had said. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +No problems troubled them. They had ceased to labor, and that was +enough. + +Had it not been for its leaders, the mass would have risen like a +tide, and ebbed again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You might show that to the last of the Cardews," he sneered. + +It was the paragraph about Louis Akers. Elinor read it. "Who were +the masked men?" she asked. "Do you know?" + +"I wish to God I did. I'd--Makes him a laughing stock, of course. +And just now, when--Where's Lily?" + +Elinor put down the paper. + +"She is not here. She went home this afternoon." + +He stared at her, angrily incredulous. + +"Home?" + +"This afternoon." + +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. + +"What made her go home?" + +"I don't know, Jim." + +"She didn't say?" + +"Don't hold me like that. No." + +She tried to free her arm, but he held her, his face angry and +suspicious. + +"You are lying to me," he snarled. "She gave you a reason. What +was it?" + +Elinor was frightened, but she had not lost her head. She was +thinking rapidly. + +"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." + +"You know he told her something, don't you?" + +"Yes." Elinor had cowered against the wall. "Jim, don't look like +that. You frighten me. I couldn't keep her here. I--" + +"What did he tell her?" + +"He accused you." + +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--" + +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. + +The elderly maid came running from the kitchen, and found him +half-way down the stairs, his eyes still calculating, but his body +shaking. + +"She fell," he said, still staring down. But the servant faced him, +her eyes full of hate. + +"You devil!" she said. "If she's dead, I'll see you hang for it." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"She was not at home," he said. "I had to take the servant's word +for it, but I think the girl was lying." + +"She may be ill. She almost never goes out." + +"What possible object could they have in concealing her illness?" +Howard said impatiently. + +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. + +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. + +On this occasion he had asked Lily to read to him. + +"And leave out the politics," he had said, "I get enough of that +wherever I go." + +As she read she felt him watching her, and in the middle of a +paragraph he suddenly said: + +"What's become of Cameron?" + +"He must be very busy. He is supporting Mr. Hendricks, you know." + +"Supporting him! He's carrying him on his back," grunted Anthony. +"What is it, Grayson?" + +"A lady--a woman--calling on Miss Cardew." + +Lily rose, but Anthony motioned her back. + +"Did she give any name?" + +"She said to say it was Jennie, sir." + +"Jennie! It must be Aunt Elinor's Jennie!" + +"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. + +It was the elderly servant from the Doyle house who came in, a tall +gaunt woman, looking oddly unfamiliar to Lily in a hat. + +"Why, Jennie!" she said. And then: "Is anything wrong?" + +"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." + +Old Anthony stiffened. + +"He threw Aunt Elinor downstairs?" + +"That's how she broke her leg." + +Sheer amazement made Lily inarticulate. + +"But they said--we didn't know--do you mean that she has been +there all this time, hurt?" + +"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." + +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. + +"You mustn't go alone," she said. "Let me go, too. Or take +Grayson--anybody." + +But he went alone; in the hall he picked up his hat and stick, and +drew on his gloves. + +"What is the house number?" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Why doesn't he say how much of that profit the government gets?" +he demanded. + +But the man only eyed him suspiciously. + +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." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +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. + +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. + +Jim Doyle was astounded when he saw his visitor. Astounded and +alarmed. But he recovered himself quickly, and smiled. + +"This is something I never expected to see," he said, "Mr. Anthony +Cardew on my doorstep." + +"I don't give a damn what you expected to see," said Mr. Anthony +Cardew. "I want to see my daughter." + +"Your daughter? You have said for a good many years that you have +no daughter." + +"Stand aside, sir. I didn't come here to quibble." + +"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." + +"I'll ask you a question," said old Anthony. "Is it true that my +daughter has been hurt?" + +"My wife is indisposed. I presume we are speaking of the same +person." + +"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. + +"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. + +"I am going to see my daughter, Paul," said Anthony Cardew. "Can +you open the door?" + +"Open it!" Paul observed truculently. "Watch me!" + +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. + +He made no move, offered no speech. + +"Is she upstairs?" + +"She is asleep. Do you intend to disturb her?" + +"I do," said old Anthony grimly. "I'll go first, Paul. You follow +me, but I'd advise you to come up backwards." + +Suddenly Doyle laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The key turned in the lock. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Taken away? Where?" she asked. + +"You don't want to stay here, do you?" he demanded bluntly. + +"This is my home, father." + +"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?" + +"I have no other home." + +"I am offering you one." + +Old Anthony was bewildered and angry. Elinor put out a hand to +touch him, but he drew back. + +"After he has thrown you downstairs and injured you--" + +"How did you hear that?" + +"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." + +Sheer terror for Anthony made her breathless. + +"But it isn't true," she said wildly. "You mustn't think that. I +fell. I slipped and fell." + +"Then," said Anthony, speaking slowly, "you are not a prisoner here?" + +"A prisoner? I'd be a prisoner anywhere, father. I can't walk." + +"That door was locked." + +She was fighting valiantly for him. + +"I can't walk, father. I don't require a locked door to keep me in." + +He was too confused and puzzled to notice the evasion. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"No." + +Her courage almost failed her. She lay back, her eyes closed and +her face colorless. The word itself was little more than a whisper. + +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. + +"So," he said, "you intend to give me the pleasure of your society +for some time, do you?" + +She said nothing. She was past any physical fear for herself. + +"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." + +"You would have killed him first." + +"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?" + +He was still smiling faintly when he brought up the pitcher, +some time later, and placed it on the stand beside the bed. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"But I don't want to go away, Edith." + +"Then you're a fool," she observed, bitterly. "You can't help me +any, and there's no use hanging mother around your neck." + +"She won't be around any one's neck very long, Edith dear." + +"After that, will you go away?" + +"Not if you still want me." + +"Want you!" + +Dan was out, and Ellen had gone up for the invalid's tray. They were +alone together, standing in the kitchen doorway. + +Suddenly Edith, beside him, ran her hand through his arm. + +"If I had been a different sort of girl, Willy, do you think--could +you ever have cared for me?" + +"I never thought about you that way," he said, simply. "I do care +for you. You know that." + +She dropped her hand. + +"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." + +He was most uncomfortable, but he drew her hand within his arm again +and held it there. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"I think mother suspects," she said at last. + +"I hope not, Edith." + +"I think she does. She watches me all the time, and she asked to +see Dan to-night. Only he didn't come home." + +"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." + +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. + +"I wish you weren't going out, Willy," she said querulously. "I want +to talk to you about something." + +"Can't we discuss it in the morning?" + +"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. + +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? + +At the end of the last meeting Willy Cameron decided to walk home. + +"I have some things to think over. Pink," he said. "Thanks for +the car. It saves a lot of time." + +Pink sat at the wheel, carefully scrutinizing Willy. It struck +him then that Cameron looked fagged and unhappy. + +"Nothing I can do, I suppose?" + +"Thanks, no." + +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. + +"I saw Lily Cardew this afternoon, Cameron." + +"Is she all right?" asked Willy Cameron, in a carefully casual tone. + +"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." + +"Thanks. Well, good-night, old man." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"She's not asleep. She's waiting for me to go up, Willy. She means +to call me in and ask me." + +"Then I'd better say what I have to say quickly. Edith, will you +marry me?" + +She drew off and looked at him. + +"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." + +"But you mean a real marriage?" + +"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." + +She gazed at him dazedly. Then something like suspicion came into +her face. + +"Is it because of what I told you to-night?" + +"I had thought of it before. That helped, of course." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +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. + +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. + +He ushered Mrs. Denslow into the drawing room, and coming out, +closed the doors. + +"My instructions, sir, are to say to you that the ladies are not at +home." + +But Akers held out his hat and gloves with so ugly a look that +Grayson took them. + +"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." + +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. + +"I do not recognize any one in the household by that name, sir." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"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." + +Mademoiselle turned to Lily. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Perhaps it is as well that you came, Louis," she said. "I suppose +we must talk it over some time." + +"Yes," he agreed, his eyes on her. "We must. I have married a +wife, and I want her, Lily." + +"You know that is impossible." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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-- + +"I am not going back to you, Louis. I think you know that. No +amount of talking about things can change that." + +"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." + +"No," she said, "you would mean to be, but you would not. You +have no foundation to build on." + +"Meaning that I am not a gentleman." + +"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." + +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. + +"You little devil!" he said. "You cold little devil!" + +"I don't love you. That's all. I think now that I never did." + +"You pretended damned well." + +"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." + +"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." + +Lily was very pale, but still calm. She made a movement toward the +bell, but he caught her hand before she could ring it. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Again, what was the answer? + +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. + +Old Anthony had had a drastic remedy for strikes. + +"Let all the storekeepers, the country over, refuse credit to the +strikers, and we'd have an end to this mess," he said. + +"We'd have an end to the storekeepers, too," Howard had replied, +grimly. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I'll make it up to him," she thought, humbly. "I'll make it up to +him somehow." + +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. + +"She's trying to get up!" Edith thought, panicky. "If she gets up +it will kill her." + +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. + +"Mother," she called, and ran in. "Mother." + +Mrs. Boyd glanced at her. + +"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." + +Edith dropped on her knees beside the bed, and caught her mother's +hand. + +"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." + +"You wouldn't lie to me, Edith?" + +"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." + +There was a sudden light in the sick woman's eyes, an eager light +that flared up and died away again. + +"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. + +"You can ask him when he comes home this evening." + +"Edie! Not Willy?" + +"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. + +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. + +Mrs. Boyd lay back and closed her eyes. + +"I haven't been so tickled since the day you were born," she said. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It's to save mother," said Edith, meekly. + +"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." + +"It's as good as done," Edith flashed. "I've told mother." + +"That you're going to be, or that you are?" + +"That we are married." + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Willy Cameron pondered that on his way up the street. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the end he did not tell Pink at all, for Pink came in with +excitement written large all over him. + +"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." + +"The barn wouldn't hold very many of them." + +"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." + +There was a short silence. Willy Cameron studied the rug. + +"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." + +"How about the county detectives?" + +"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." + +Willy Cameron smiled. + +"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." + +Pink had come armed for such surrender. He produced a road map of +the county and spread it on the desk. + +"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." + +"All right," said Willy Cameron. "We use that road, and get to the +farm, and what then? Surrender?" + +"Not on your life. We hide in the barn. That's all." + +"That's enough. They'll search the place, automatically. You're +talking suicide, you know." + +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. + +"When does he think they will meet again?" + +"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." + +"They'll leave somebody there. Their stock has to be looked after." + +"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." + +But Willy Cameron was a Scot, and hard-headed. + +"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. + +"What do we know about Cusick?" he asked, finally. + +"One of the best men we've got. They've fired his place once, and +he's keen to get them." + +"You're anxious to go?" + +"I'm going," said Pink, cheerfully. + +"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." + +Pink laughed joyously. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Like a house a-fire," said Cusick, complacently. + +"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." + +"Cameron is the brains of the outfit," Akers said sulkily. + +"How do you know Cameron will go?" + +Akers rose lazily and stretched himself. + +"I've got a hunch. That's all." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +Ellen was greatly disturbed. At three o'clock that afternoon she +found Edith and announced her intention of going out. + +"I guess you can get the supper for once," she said ungraciously. + +Edith looked up at her with wistful eyes. + +"I wish you didn't hate me so, Ellen." + +"I don't hate you." Ellen was slightly mollified. "But when I see +you trying to put your burdens on other people--" + +Edith got up then and rather timidly put her arms around Ellen's +neck. + +"I love him so, Ellen," she whispered, "and I'll try so hard to +make him happy." + +Unexpected tears came into Ellen's eyes. She stroked the girl's +fair hair. + +"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." + +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. + +Willy Cameron found her there. He told her of Mrs. Davis' death, +and then placed the license on the table at her side. + +"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. + +"I had to tell mother, Willy." + +"That's all right Did it cheer her any?" + +"Wonderfully. She's asleep now." + +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. + +"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." + +She loved doing things for him. She flushed slightly. + +"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." + +"Willy!" she gasped. "You are doing something dangerous!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You're not sick, are you, Ellen?" + +Ellen put down her gloves and slowly took off her hat, still with +the absorbed eyes of a sleep-walker. + +"I'm not sick," she said at last. "I've had bad news." + +"Sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea. Then maybe you'll feel +like talking about it." + +"I don't want any tea. Do you know that that man Akers has married +Lily Cardew?" + +"Married her!" + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"What made you tell that lie to mother?" he demanded, + +"She was worried, Dan. And it will be true to-morrow. You--Dan, +you didn't tell her it was a lie, did you?" + +"I should have, but I didn't. What do you mean, it will be true +to-morrow?" + +"We are going to be married to-morrow." + +"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?" + +She made no reply, but went on with a perfunctory laying of the +table. Her mouth had gone very dry. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"She looks bad to me," she said to Edith. "I think the doctor +ought to see her." + +"I'll go and send him." + +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. + +"How's your mother?" he asked. + +"She's not so well. I'm going to get the doctor." + +"Do you mind if I get my hat and walk there with you?" + +"I'm going somewhere else from there, Joe." + +"Well, I'll walk a block or two, anyhow." + +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. + +He came out almost immediately, followed by a string of little +Wilkinsons, clamoring to go along. + +"Do you mind?" he asked her. "They can trail along behind. The +poor kids don't get out much." + +"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." + +They moved down the street, with five little Wilkinsons trailing +along behind, and Edith was uncomfortably aware that Joe's eyes +were upon her. + +"You don't look well," he said at last. "You're wearing yourself +out taking care of your mother, Edith." + +"I don't do much for her." + +"You'd say that, of course. You're very unselfish." + +"Am I?" She laughed a little, but the words touched her. "Don't +think I'm better than I am, Joe." + +"You're the most wonderful girl in the world. I guess you know how +I feel about that." + +"Don't Joe!" + +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. + +"Can you beat it?" he said helplessly, "these darn kids--!" But +he held the child close. + +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. + +Life was queer. Queer and cruel. + +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. + +The chair at the telephone desk was empty, but Sam remembered her. + +"He's out, miss," he said. "He's out most all the time now, with +the election coming on." + +"What time does he usually get in?" + +"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. + +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. + +"You might go up and wait for him," Sam suggested. "That is, if +it's important." + +"It's very important." + +He threw open the gate of the elevator hospitably. + +At half past ten that night Louis Akers went back to his rooms. The +telephone girl watched him sharply as he entered. + +"There's a lady waiting for you, Mr. Akers." + +He swung toward her eagerly. + +"A lady? Did she give any name?" + +"No. Sam let her in and took her up. He said he thought you +wouldn't mind. She'd been here before." + +The thought of Edith never entered Akers' head. It was Lily, Lily +miraculously come back to him. Lily, his wife. + +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! + +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. + +Edith, listening for his step, was startled at the change in his +face when he saw her. + +"You!" he said thickly. "What are you doing here?" + +"I've been waiting all evening. I want to ask you something." + + He flung his hat into a chair and faced her. + +"Well?" + +"Is it true that you are married to Lily Cardew?" + +"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. + +"I only heard it to-day. I must know, Lou. It's awfully important." + +"What did you hear?" He was watching her closely. + +"I heard you were married, but that she had left you." + +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. + +He pulled himself together. + +"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." + +"I don't want revenge, Lou." + +He caught her by the arm. + +"Then what brought you here?" + +"I wanted to be sure Lily Cardew was married." + +"Well, she is. What about it?" + +"That's all." + +"That's not all. What about it?" + +She looked up at him gravely. + +"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." + +"And what," he said slowly, "has my wife to do with that?" + +"I wanted to be fair to him. And I think he is--I think he used +to be terribly in love with her." + +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. + +"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." + +"Lou!" + +"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." + +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. + +"If you mean that he is in danger, I don't believe it." + +"All right, old girl. I've told you." + +But the whiskey restored his equilibrium again. + +"That is," he added slowly, "I've warned you. You'd better warn +him. He's doing his best to get into trouble." + +She knew him well, saw the craftiness come back into his eyes, and +met it with equal strategy. + +"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!" + +She dared not seem to hurry. + +"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!" + +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. + +"I think--" he began. + +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. + +"Edith!" he called. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +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: + +"I'm still skeptical about Cusick, Pink. Do you think he's +straight?" + +"One of the best men we've got," Pink replied, confidently. "He's +put us on to several things." + +"He's foreign born, isn't he?" + +"That's his value. They don't suspect him for a minute." + +"But--what does he get out of it?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Listen!" Willy Cameron said, tensely. + +They stood on the alert, but only the evening sounds of country +and forest rewarded them. + +"What was it?" Pink inquired, after perhaps two minutes of waiting. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Very well. Then we'll both stay here. You are about as quiet as +a horse going through a corn patch." + +After some moments Pink spoke again. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Here?" + +Cameron considered. + +"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!" + +"If I hear any shooting, I'll come in," Pink said, still sulky. + +"Come in and welcome," said Willy Cameron, and Pink knew he was +smiling. + +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-- + +He moved carefully, and stood with his back against a tree. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Another shot was fired. They hadn't got him yet, or they wouldn't +be shooting. He raised his voice in a great call. + +"Cameron! Here! Cameron!" + +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. + + * * * * * + +For weeks Woslosky had known of the growing strength of the +Vigilance Committee, and that it was arming steadily. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It was haste lost Seattle," said Doyle, as unmoved as Woslosky +was excited. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"When there's a woman in it!" said the Pole, skeptically. + +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. + +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: + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +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. + +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. + +"I've got to go out," he said cautiously. "Don't you fools shoot +me when I come back." + +He slipped out into what was by that time complete blackness. + +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: + +"Got him, all right. Woslosky, you've got the rope, haven't you?" + +"You fool!" snarled Woslosky from the floor, "let me up. You've +half killed me. Didn't I tell you I was going out?" + +He scrambled to his feet, and to an astounded silence. + +"But you came in a couple of minutes ago. Somebody came in. You +heard him, Cusick, didn't you?" + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +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. + +"We've got him, boys," he said, without excitement. "Outside, and +call the others. He's on the roof." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then, out of the night, came a call from the direction of the woods, +and unintelligible at that distance. + +"What's that?" Cusick said hoarsely. + +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. + +He stepped inside the door of the barn and showed the light for a +moment. Soon after the sentry floundered in, breathless and excited. + +"I got one of them," he gasped. "Hit him with my gun. He's lying +back by the stone fence." + +"Did you call out, or did he?" + +"He did. That's how I knew it wasn't one of our fellows. He called +Cameron, so he's the other one." + +Woslosky drew a deep breath. Then it was Cameron on the roof. It +was Cameron they wanted. + +"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. + +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. + +He went out, and standing close against the wall for protection, +called up. + +"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." + +But he received no reply. + +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: + +"One more chance, Cameron, or we'll put a bullet through your friend +here. Come down, or we'll--" + +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. + +"All right," he said, "if that's the way you feel about it!" + +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. + +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. + +He delivered a final ultimatum from the shelter of the doorway. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +It took a moment to put him right. + +"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." + +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. + +"Straight ahead up there," he said. "You'll find--" + +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. + +"Something doing up there," he called suddenly. "Let's go." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Willy Cameron glanced at him, and for the first time that night, +smiled. + +"I have," he said; "I'll never trust a pigeon again." The Chief +thought him slightly unhinged by the night's experience. + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Don't worry about that, Dan, just now. There's nothing to do +until morning." + +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. + +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. + +"Where is Edith?" + +Dan's voice hardened. + +"She's out somewhere. It's like her, isn't it?" + +Willy Cameron roused himself. + +"Out?" he said incredulously. "Don't you know where she is?" + +"No. And I don't care." + +Willy Cameron was fully alert now, and staring down at Dan. + +"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." + +"She used to stay out to all hours. She hasn't done it lately, but +I thought--" + +Dan got up and reached for his hat. + +"Where'll I start to look for her?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ellen was looking at him in the mirror. + +"Your hair looks queer, Willy," she said. "And I declare your +clothes are a sight." She turned, sternly. "Where have you been?" + +"It's a long story, Ellen. Don't bother about it now. I'm worried +about Edith." + +Ellen's lips closed in a grim line. + +"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." + +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. + +"So soon passeth it away, and we are gone." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +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. + +She herself felt no sense of loss. Having never held her child in +her arms she did not feel them empty. + +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. + +"How do you feel?" she had asked, sitting down self-consciously +beside the bed. The ward had its eyes on her. + +"I'm weak, but I'm all right. Last night was awful, Ellen." + +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. + +"Willy!" she gasped. "Did he come home? Is he all right?" + +"He's all right. It was him that found you were here. You lie +back now; the nurse is looking." + +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. + +"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." + +"You've been all right," Edith said. + +Ellen kissed her when she went away. + +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-- + +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. + +"But I love him so," she would cry to herself. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ellen came and sat down beside her. + +"She's gone. Edith," she said; "we didn't tell you before, but you +have to know sometime. We buried her this afternoon." + +Suddenly Edith forgot Willy Cameron, and God, and Dan, and the years +ahead. She was a little girl again, and her mother was saying: + +"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." + +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. + +Suddenly grief and remorse overwhelmed her. + +"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-- + +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. + +"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--" + +There was always God. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +Three days before the election, Willy Cameron received a note from +Lily, sent by hand. + +"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." + +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. + +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-- + +Ellen came up when he was tying his tie. She stood behind him, +watching him in the mirror. + +"I don't know what you've done to your hair, Willy," she said; "it +certainly looks queer." + +"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. + +"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." + +"To go home and take a rest? That's what you need." + +"No. She wants me to tear up that marriage license." + +He said nothing for a moment. "I'll have to see her first." + +"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." + +"Somebody will have to look after her." + +"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?" + +He was putting on his coat, and she picked a bit of thread from it, +with nervous fingers. + +"Where are you going to-night, Willy?" + +"To the Cardews. Mr. Cardew has sent for me." + +She looked up at him. + +"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." + +"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'." + +But Ellen, glancing up swiftly, saw that although his tone was +light, there was pain in his eyes. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Ellen had repeated the message, watching him narrowly, but he had +only laughed. + +"Who are they?" she had persisted. + +"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. + +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. + +Joe, discovered, grinned sheepishly. + +"Thought that looked like your back," he said. "Nice evening for +a walk, isn't it?" + +"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?" + +"Making taffy. How--is Edith?" + +"Doing nicely." He avoided the boy's eyes. + +"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. + +"She isn't that sort of girl, Joe." + +"She did it. How could a fellow know she wouldn't do it again?" + +"She has had a pretty sad sort of lesson." + +Joe, his real business forgotten, walked on with eyes down and +shoulders drooping. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I'd like to kill the man," Joe said. But after a little, as they +neared the edge of the park, he looked up. + +"You mean, go on as if nothing had happened?" + +"Precisely," said Willy Cameron, "as though nothing had happened." + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +She was puzzled at her own state of mind. + +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. + +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." + +"And if he is," old Anthony put in, "he'll turn all the devils of +hell loose on us." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I have been waiting for you, Willy," she said. + +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. + +"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." + +"A long, hard trail," he assented. + +"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." + +"I didn't know you wanted me," he said bluntly. + +"Why shouldn't I want to see you?" + +"I couldn't help reminding you of things." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Then she has no one but you?" + +"She has a brother." + +"Tell me about her sending help that night. She really saved your +life, didn't she?" + +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. + +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. + +When he stopped she was silent. Then: + +"I wonder if you know how much you have told me that you did not +intend to tell?" + +"That I didn't intend to tell? I have made no reservations, Lily." + +"Are you sure? Or don't you realize it yourself?" + +"Realize what?" He was greatly puzzled. + +"I think, Willy," she said, quietly, "that you care a great deal +more for Edith Boyd than you think you do." + +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. + +"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. + +"She is in love with you." + +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. + +"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--" + +"Ellen told Mademoiselle you were going to marry her. That's true, +isn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"You always said that marriage without love was wicked, Willy." + +"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." + +She got up and held out her hand. + +"It was like you to try to save her," she said. + +"Does this mean I am to go?" + +"I am very tired, Willy." + +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. + +"You haven't asked me about him," she said unexpectedly. + +"I thought you would not care to talk about him. That's over and +done, Lily. I want to forget about it, myself." + +She looked up at him, and had he had Louis Akers' intuitive +knowledge of women he would have understood then. + +"I am never going back to him, Willy. You know that, don't you?" + +"I hoped it, of course." + +"I know now that I never loved him." + +But the hurt of her marriage was still too fresh in him for speech. +He could not discuss Louis Akers with her. + +"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." + +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. + +"You have been having rather a hard time, Willy, haven't you'?" +she said, suddenly. + +"I have been busy, of course." + +"And worried?" + +"Sometimes. But things are clearing up now." + +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. + +"I think it is patience," she said. And to his unspoken question: +"You are very patient, aren't you?" + +"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." + +He made a movement to leave, but she seemed oddly reluctant to let +him go. + +"Do you know that father says you have more influence than any +other man in the city?" + +"That's more kind than truthful." + +"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." + +Suddenly Willy Cameron laughed, and the tension was broken. + +"If he did it with his tongue they'd be pretty sharp," he said. + +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. + +"I love her. I like her. I adore her," was the cry in Willy +Cameron's heart when he started home that night. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Would they never wake to the situation? + +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. + +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. + +"I am going to be away all day, Mrs. Doyle," she said, in her +excellent English. "I have work to do." + +"Work?" said Elinor. "Isn't there work to do here?" + +"I am not a house-worker. I came to help Mr. Doyle. To-day I +shall make speeches." + +Elinor was playing the game carefully. "But--can you make +speeches?" she asked. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Is Olga going with me?" + +"No. Olga is needed here." + +"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." + +"You can understand what you like." + +"Am I to know where I am going?" + +"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." + +She gazed at him. It seemed unbelievable to her that she had once +lain in this man's arms. + +"Why don't you kill me, Jim? I know you've thought about it." + +"Yes, I've thought of it. But killing is a confession of fear, my +dear. I am not afraid of you." + +"I think you are. You are afraid now to tell me when you are going +to try to put this wild plan into execution." + +He smiled at her with mocking eyes. + +"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." + +Behind his mocking voice she knew the real fury of the man, kept +carefully in control by his iron will. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The girl was coming unsteadily toward the door. If she opened +it-- + +"I don't want anything, Olga," she called, "I knocked the bell +over accidentally." + +Olga hesitated, muttered, moved away again. Elinor was covered +with a cold sweat. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XLV + + +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. + +Mr. Hendricks, called upon for a speech, rose with his soda water +glass in his hand. + +"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. + +"Cameron! Cameron!" shouted the crowd. "Speech! Cameron!" + +But Willy shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +At the same time another group was meeting at the Benedict. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This was his time. + +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." + +"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." + +But they laughed at him. + +"You act like a whipped dog," Doyle said, "crawling under the +doorstep for fear somebody else with a strap comes along." + +"They're organized against us. We could have put it over six +months ago. Not now." + +"Then you'd better get out," Doyle said, shortly. + +"I'm thinking of it." + +But Doyle had no real fear of him. He was sulky. Well, let him +sulk. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +Lily had come to him once when he called. She might come again, +when he had earned her. + +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. + +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. + +Outside the building Doyle drew the Russian aside, and spoke to +him. Ross started, then grinned. + +"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." + +From that time on Louis Akers was under espionage. + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Cyclone struck you this morning, or anything?" + +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. + +"We're not straightened up yet, doctor," they would say. + +"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." + +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: + +"Ten minutes." + +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. + +While putting on his collar and tie the doctor stood again by the +window, and lustily called the garage across the narrow street. + +"Jim!" he yelled. "Annabelle breakfasted yet?" + +Annabelle was his shabby little car. + +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 stairrail, and +descended with the dignity of a man with a growing practice and +a possible patient in the waiting-room. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was incredible. + +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. + +"Why, Mrs. Doyle!" was all he could think to say. + +"I have broken my other leg, doctor," she said, "the rope gave way." + +"You come down that rope?" + +"I tried to. I was a prisoner. Don't take me back to the house, +doctor. Don't take me back!" + +"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?" + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +"My husband?" + +"Your own people," he said. "I have already telephoned to your +brother. And the leg's fixed. Everything's as right as rain." + +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. + +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. + +"Jim!" she said. And then: "You must go away, Jim. I warn you. +I am going to tell all I know." + +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. + +"I'm sorry, Nellie dear," he said, bending over her. "If we'd +only known--can you talk now?" + +Her mind was suddenly very clear. + +"I must. There is very little time." + +"I want to tell you something first, Nellie. I think we have +located the Russian woman, but we haven't got Doyle." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +"That's queer!" she said. "About thirty men, and not saying a word. +They walk like soldiers, but they're not in uniform." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Willy Cameron looked behind him and grinned. The entire guard was +piled in an ignoble mass on the floor. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Don't answer it, father," she begged. "You don't know what it +may be." + +Howard smiled, but went back and got his revolver. The visitor +was Willy Cameron. + +"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." + +"What sort of concerted action?" + +"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." + +"They wouldn't be such fools as to come to the city." + +"They've been made a lot of promises. They may be out of hand, +you know." + +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. + +Lily was in a soft negligee garment, her bare feet thrust into +slippers, but she was too anxious to be self-conscious. + +"Willy," she said, "there is trouble after all?" + +"Not in the city. Things are not so quiet up the river." + +She placed a hand on his arm. + +"Are you and father going up the river?" + +He explained, after a momentary hesitation. "It may crystallize +into something, or it may not," he finished. + +"You think it will, don't you?" + +"It will be nothing more, at the worst, than rioting." + +"But you may be hurt!" + +"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." + +"You don't really believe that, do you?" + +"I know they'll never get into the city." + +But as he moved away she called him back, more breathlessly than +ever, and quite white. + +"I don't want you to go without knowing-- Willy, do you remember +once that you said you cared for me?" + +"I remember." He stared straight ahead. + +"Are you--all over that?" + +"You know better than that, don't you?" + +"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?" + +Suddenly he caught up her hand and, bending over it, held it to +his lips. + +"Always," he said, huskily, "I love you, Lily. I shall always love +you." + + + +CHAPTER XLIX + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Always busy, Cameron," he said. "What'd the world do without +you, anyhow?" + +"Aren't you on the wrong side of this barricade?" + +"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." + +For a furious moment Willy Cameron thought he was referring to his +wife, but there was something strange in Akers' tone. + +"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." + +"What do you want to see him about?" + +"I'll tell him that." + +Willy Cameron hesitated. + +"I think it's a trick, Akers." + +"All right. Then go to the devil!" + +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. + +"Akers!" he called. + +Akers stopped, but he did not turn. + +"I've got a car here. If you mean what you say, and it's straight, +I'll take you." + +"Where's the car?" + +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. + +In the car Akers spoke only once. + +"Where is Howard Cardew?" he asked. + +"With the Mayor, probably. I left him there." + +It seemed to him that Akers found the answer satisfactory. He sat +back in the deep seat, and lighted a cigarette. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +As it marched it laughed. It was like a lion at play, ready to +leap at the first scratch that brought blood. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They turned, looked back, and went on. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You fool," he said, "I hate you, and you know it." + +But she only smiled faintly. "We'd better get away now, Jim," she +said. + +He got into the car. + + + + +CHAPTER L + + +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. + +"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." + +Joe said nothing. He was white and very tired, and a little sick. + +"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." + +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. + +"Bed and thugar," she had said, looking up with an ingratiating +smile. + +"You little beggar!" + +"Bed and thugar." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For the first time she wished that her child had lived. + +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. + +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. + +She felt very old. + +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. + +"I'll take her home in a minute," he said, still with the strange +eyes. + +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. + +"Don't, Joe!" + +He looked up. + +"I loved you so, Edith!" + +"Don't you love me now?" + +"God knows I do. I can't get over it. I can't. I've tried, Edith." + +He sat back on the floor and looked at her. + +"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--" + +"I know, Joe. No decent man would want me now." + +She was still strangely composed, peaceful, almost detached. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I could give you that," he said eagerly. + +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. + +"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." + +He never noticed that the kiss she gave him, over the sleeping baby, +was slightly tinged with granulated sugar. + + + +CHAPTER LI + + +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. + +"Shall I tell Lily?" she had asked, trembling. + +"Do you want to wait until I get back?" + +"I don't know how she will take it, Howard. I wish you could be +here, anyhow." + +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. + +"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." + +Willy Cameron flushed. + +"I feel rather like a meddler, sir." + +"Better go up and wash," Howard said. "I'll go up with you." + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Are you sure she did not?" + +"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." + +Howard nodded. + +"I wish you would tell her," he said. "I'm a blundering fool when +it comes to her. I suppose I care too much." + +He caught rather an odd look in Willy Cameron's face at that, and +pondered over it later. + +"I will tell her, if you wish." + +And Howard drew a deep breath of relief. It was shortly after that +he broached another matter, rather diffidently. + +"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. + +"I am only trained for one thing." + +"We use chemists in the mills." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Before he could catch her she had fallen to the floor, fainting for +the first time in her healthy young life. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Wherever you are, sir," he said, "you needn't worry any more. The +line will carry on, sir. The line will carry on." + +Upstairs in the little boudoir Willy Cameron knelt beside the couch, +and gathered Lily close in his arms. + + +CHAPTER LII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +But it saw more than that. + +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. + +After which he tied it up again and carried it upstairs. + +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. + +At seven-thirty came in a rush: + +(a)--Mr. Alston Denslow, in evening clothes and gardenia, and +feeling in his right waist-coat pocket nervously every few minutes. + +(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!") + +(c)--Mr. Davis, in a frock coat and white lawn tie, and taken +upstairs by Grayson, who mistook him for the bishop. + +(d)--Aunt Caroline, in her diamond dog collar and purple velvet, +and determined to make the best of things. + +(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.) + +(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. + +(g)--Set of silver table vases, belated. + +(h)--Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks, Mayor and Mayoress-elect. Extremely +dignified. + +(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. + +(j)--Doctor Smalley and Annabelle. He left Annabelle outside. + + * * * * * + +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. + +The city moved on about its business, and its business was homes. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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." + +What he actually said was to tell a house maid to stop sniveling. + +Over the house was the strange hush of waiting. It had waited +before this, for birth and for death, but never before-- + +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." + +The Bishop was as successful in his line as Anthony Cardew had been +in his. He cleared his throat. + +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. + +Grayson touched him on the arm. + +"All ready, sir," he said. + +***** + +Willy Cameron stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext A Poor Wise Man, by Mary Roberts Rinehart + diff --git a/old/pwsmn10.zip b/old/pwsmn10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..80c6cea --- /dev/null +++ b/old/pwsmn10.zip |