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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Best Short Stories of 1920 + and the Yearbook of the American Short Story + +Author: Various + +Editor: Edward J. O'Brien + +Release Date: July 17, 2007 [EBook #22091] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1920 *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Jane Hyland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1920</h1> +<h3>AND THE</h3> +<h2>YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY</h2> +<h3>EDITED BY</h3> +<h2>EDWARD J. O'BRIEN</h2> +<h4>EDITOR OF "THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1915"<br /> +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1916"<br /> +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1917"<br /> +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1918"<br /> +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1919"<br /> +"THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH STORIES," ETC.</h4> + + +<h3>BOSTON<br /> +SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY<br /> +PUBLISHERS</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>Copyright 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons, The Pictorial Review +Company, The Curtis Publishing Company, and Harper & Brothers.</p> + +<p>Copyright, 1920, by The Boston Transcript Company.</p> + +<p>Copyright, 1920, by Margaret C, Anderson, Harper & Brothers, The Dial +Publishing Company, Inc., The Metropolitan Magazine Company, John T. +Frederick, P. F. Collier & Son, Inc., Charles Scribner's Sons, The +International Magazine Company, and The Pictorial Review Company.</p> + +<p>Copyright, 1921, by Sherwood Anderson, Edwina Stanton Babcock, Konrad +Bercovici, Edna Clare Bryner, Charles Wadsworth Camp, Helen Coale Crew, +Katharine Fullerton Gerould, Lee Foster Hartman, Rupert Hughes, Grace +Sartwell Mason, James Oppenheim, Arthur Somers Roche, Rose Sidney, Fleta +Campbell Springer, Wilbur Daniel Steele, Ethel Dodd Thomas, John T. +Wheelwright, Stephen French Whitman, Ben Ames Williams, and Frances +Gilchrist Wood.</p> + +<p>Copyright, 1921, by Small, Maynard & Company, Inc.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO SHERWOOD ANDERSON</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2>BY WAY OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT</h2> + + +<p>Grateful acknowledgment for permission to include the stories and other +material in this volume is made to the following authors, editors, and +publishers:</p> +<p>To Miss Margaret C. Anderson, the Editor of <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, the +Editor of <i>The Dial</i>, the Editor of <i>The Metropolitan</i>, Mr. John T. +Frederick, the Editor of <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>, the Editor of <i>Collier's +Weekly</i>, the Editor of <i>The Cosmopolitan Magazine</i>, the Editor of <i>The +Pictorial Review</i>, the <i>Curtis Publishing Company</i>, Mr. Sherwood +Anderson, Miss Edwina Stanton Babcock, Mr. Konrad Bercovici, Miss Edna +Clare Bryner, Mr. Wadsworth Camp, Mrs. Helen Coale Crew, Mrs. Katharine +Fullerton Gerould, Mr. Lee Foster Hartman, Major Rupert Hughes, Mrs. +Grace Sartwell Mason, Mr. James Oppenheim, Mr. Arthur Somers Roche, Mrs. +Rose Sidney, Mrs. Fleta Campbell Springer, Mr. Wilbur Daniel Steele, +Mrs. A. E. Thomas, Mr. John T. Wheelwright, Mr. Stephen French Whitman, +Mr. Ben Ames Williams, and Mrs. Frances Gilchrist Wood.</p> + +<p>Acknowledgments are specially due to <i>The Boston Evening Transcript</i> for +permission to reprint the large body of material previously published in +its pages.</p> + +<p>I shall be grateful to my readers for corrections, and particularly for +suggestions leading to the wider usefulness of this annual volume. In +particular, I shall welcome the receipt, from authors, editors, and +publishers, of stories printed during the period between October, 1920 +and September, 1921 inclusive, which have qualities of distinction, and +yet are not printed in periodicals falling under my regular notice. Such +communications may be addressed to me at <i>Forest Hill, Oxfordshire, +England</i>.</p> + +<p> +E. J. O.<br /> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2> +<div class="center"> +<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="8" border="0" summary="contents"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Introduction1">Introduction.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By the Editor</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Other_Woman2">The Other Woman.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Sherwood Anderson (From <i>The Little Review</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Gargoyle3">Gargoyle.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Edwina Stanton Babcock (From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Ghitza4">Ghitza.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Konrad Bercovici (From <i>The Dial</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Life_of_Five_Points5">The Life of Five Points.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Edna Clare Bryner (From <i>The Dial</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Signal_Tower6">The Signal Tower.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Wadsworth Camp (From <i>The Metropolitan</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Parting_Genius7">The Parting Genius.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Helen Coale Crew (From <i>The Midland</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Habakkuk8">Habakkuk.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Katharine Fullerton Gerould (From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Judgment_of_Vulcan9">The Judgment of Vulcan.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Lee Foster Hartman (From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Stick-in-the-Muds10">The Stick-in-the-Muds.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Rupert Hughes (From <i>Collier's Weekly</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#His_Job11">His Job.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Grace Sartwell Mason (From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Rending12">The Rending.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By James Oppenheim (From <i>The Dial</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Dummy-Chucker13">The Dummy-Chucker.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Arthur Somers Roche (From <i>The Cosmopolitan</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Butterflies14">Butterflies.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Rose Sidney (From <i>The Pictorial Review</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Rotter15">The Rotter.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Fleta Campbell Springer (From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Out_of_Exile16">Out of Exile.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Wilbur Daniel Steele (From <i>The Pictorial Review</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Three_Telegrams17">The Three Telegrams.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Ethel Storm (From <i>The Ladies' Home Journal</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Roman_Bath18">The Roman Bath.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By John T. Wheelwright (From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Amazement19">Amazement.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Stephen French Whitman (From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Sheener20">Sheener.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Ben Ames Williams (From <i>Collier's Weekly</i>)</td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Turkey_Red21">Turkey Red.</a></span></td> + <td align="left">By Frances Gilchrist Wood (From <i>The Pictorial Review</i>)</td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap"><a href="#The_Yearbook">The Yearbook of the American Short Story, October, 1919, to September, 1920</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#Addresses">Addresses of American Magazines Publishing Short Stories</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#The_Bibliographical">The Bibliographical Roll of Honor of American Short Stories</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#The_Roll">The Roll of Honor of Foreign Short Stories in American Magazines</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#The_Best_Books">The Best Books of Short Stories of 1920: A Critical Summary</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#Volumes">Volumes of Short Stories Published, October, 1919, to September, 1920: A Index</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#Articles">Articles on the Short Stories: An Index</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#Index">Index of Short Stories in Books, November, 1918, to September, 1920</a></span></td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em"><a href="#Index_of_Short">Index of Short Stories Published in American Magazines, October, 1919, to September, 1920</a></span></td></tr> +</tbody></table></div> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The order in which the stories in this volume are printed +is not intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors.</p></div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Introduction1" id="Introduction1"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>I suppose there is no one of us who can honestly deny that he is +interested in one way or another in the American short story. Indeed, it +is hard to find a man anywhere who does not enjoy telling a good story. +But there are some people born with the gift of telling a good story +better than others, and of telling it in such a way that a great many +people can enjoy its flavor. Most of you are acquainted with some one +who is a gifted story-teller, provided that he has an audience of not +more than one or two people. And if you chance to live in the same house +with such a man, I think you will find that, no matter how good his +story may have been when you first heard it, it tends to lose its savor +after he has become thoroughly accustomed to telling it and has added it +to his private repertory.</p> + +<p>A writer of good stories is really a man who risks telling the same +story to many thousand people. Did you ever take such a risk? Did you +ever start to tell a story to a stranger, and try to make your point +without knowing what sort of a man he was? If you did, what was your +experience? You decided, didn't you, that story-telling was an art, and +you wondered perhaps if you were ever going to learn it.</p> + +<p>The American story-teller in the magazines is in very much the same +position, except that we have much more patience with him. Usually he is +a man who has told his story a good many times before. The first time he +told it we clapped him on the back, as he deserved perhaps, and said +that he was a good fellow. His publishers said so too. And it <i>was</i> a +good story that he told. The trouble was that we wanted to hear it +again, and we paid him too well to repeat it. But just as your story +became rather less interesting the twenty-third time you told it, so +the stories I have been reading more often than not have made a similar +impression upon me. I find myself begging the author to think up another +story.</p> + +<p>Of course, you have not felt obliged to read so many stories, and I +cannot advise you to do so. But it has made it possible for me to see in +some sort of perspective, just where the American short story is going +as well as what it has already achieved. It has made me see how American +writers are weakening their substance by too frequent repetition, and it +has helped me to fix the blame where it really lies.</p> + +<p>Now this is a matter of considerable importance. One of the things we +should be most anxious to learn is the psychology of the American +reader. We want to know how he reacts to what he reads in the magazine, +whether it is a short story, an article, or an advertisement. We want to +know, for example, what holds the interest of a reader of the <i>Atlantic +Monthly</i>, and what holds the interest of the reader of the <i>Ladies' Home +Journal</i>.</p> + +<p>It is my belief that the difference between these various types of +readers is pretty largely an artificial difference, in so far as it +affects the quality of entertainment and imaginative interest that the +short story has to offer. Of course, there are exceptional cases, and I +have some of these in mind, but for the most part I can perceive no +essential difference between the best stories in the <i>Saturday Evening +Post</i> and the best stories in <i>Harper's Magazine</i> for example. The +difference that every one feels, and that exists, is one of emphasis +rather than of type. It is a difference which is shown by averages +rather than one which affects the best stories in either magazine. Human +nature is the same everywhere, and when an artist interprets it +sympathetically, the reader will respond to his feeling wherever he +finds it.</p> + +<p>It has been my experience that the reader is likely to find this warmly +sympathetic interpretation of human nature, its pleasures and its +sorrows, its humor and its tragedy, most often in the American magazines +that talk least about their own merit. We are all familiar with the +sort of magazine that contents itself with saying day in and day out +ceaselessly and noisily: "The <i>Planet Magazine</i> is the greatest magazine +in the universe. The greatest literary artists and the world's greatest +illustrators contribute to our pages." And it stops there. It has +repeated this claim so often that it has come to believe it. Such a +magazine is the great literary ostrich. It hides by burying its eyes in +the sand.</p> + +<p>It is an axiom of human nature that the greatest men do not find it +necessary or possible to talk about their own greatness. They are so +busy that they have never had much time to think about it. And so it is +with the best magazines, and with the best short stories. The man who +wrote what I regard as the best short story published in 1915 was the +most surprised man in Brooklyn when I told him so.</p> + +<p>The truth of the matter is that we are changing very rapidly, and that a +new national sense in literature is accompanying that change. There was +a time, and in fact it is only now drawing to a close, when the short +story was exploited by interested moneymakers who made such a loud noise +that you could hear nothing else without great difficulty. The most +successful of these noisemakers are still shouting, but their heart is +in it no longer. The editor of one of the largest magazines in the +country said to me not long ago that he found the greatest difficulty +now in procuring short stories by writers for whom his magazine had +trained the public to clamor. The immediate reason which he ascribed for +this state of affairs was that the commercial rewards offered to these +writers by the moving picture companies were so great, and the +difference in time and labor between writing scenarios and developing +finished stories was so marked, that authors were choosing the more +attractive method of earning money. The excessive commercialisation of +literature in the past decade is now turned against the very magazines +which fostered it. The magazines which bought and sold fiction like soap +are beginning to repent of it all. They have killed the goose that laid +the golden eggs.</p> + +<p>This fight for sincerity in the short story is a fight that is worth +making. It is at the heart of all that for which I am striving. The +quiet sincere man who has something to tell you should not be talked +down by the noisemakers. He should have his hearing. He is real. And we +need him.</p> + +<p>That is why I have set myself the annual task of reading so many short +stories. I am looking for the man and woman with something to say,—who +cares very much indeed about how he says it. I am looking for the man +and woman with some sort of a dream, the man or woman who sees just a +little bit more in the pedlar he passes on the street than you or I do, +and who wishes to devote his life to telling us about it. I want to be +told my own story too, so that I can see myself as other people see me. +And I want to feel that the storyteller who talks to me about these +things is as much in earnest as a sincere clergyman, an unselfish +physician, or an idealistic lawyer. I want to feel that he belongs to a +profession that is a sort of priesthood, and not that he is holding down +a job or running a bucket shop.</p> + +<p>I have found this writer with a message in almost every magazine I have +studied during the year. He is just as much in earnest in <i>Collier's +Weekly</i> as he is in <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>. I do not find him often, but +he is there somewhere. And he is the only man for whom it is worth our +while to watch. I feel that it is none of my business whether I like and +agree with what he has to say or not. All that I am looking for is to +see whether he means what he says and makes it as real as he can to me. +I accept his substance at his own valuation, but I want to know what he +makes of it.</p> + +<p>Each race that forms part of the substance in our great melting pot is +bringing the richest of its traditions to add to our children's +heritage. That is a wonderful thing to think about. Here, for example, +is a young Jewish writer, telling in obscurity the stories of his people +with all the art of the great Russian masters. And Irishmen are bringing +to us the best of their heritage, and men and women of many other races +contribute to form the first national literature the world has ever seen +which is not based on a single racial feeling. Why are we not more +curious about the ragman's story and that of the bootblack and the man +who keeps the fruit store? Don't you suppose life is doing things to the +boy in the coat-room as interesting as anything in all the romances? +Isn't life changing us in the most extraordinary ways, and do we not +wish to know in what manner we are to meet and adapt ourselves to these +changes? There is a humble writer in an attic up there who knows all +about it, if you care to listen to him. The trouble is that he is so +much interested in talking about life that he forgets to talk about +himself, and we are too lazy to listen to any one who forgets to blow +his own trumpet. But the magazines are beginning to look for him, and, +wonderful to say, they are beginning to find him, and to discover that +he is more interesting and humanly popular than the professional chef +who may be always depended upon to cook his single dish in the same old +way, but who has never had time to learn anything else.</p> + +<p>Now what is the essential point of all that I have been trying to say? +It is simply this. If we are going to do anything as a nation, we must +be honest with ourselves and with everybody else. If we are story +writers or story readers, and practically every one is either one or the +other in these days, we must come to grips with life in the fiction we +write or read. Sloppy sentimentality and slapstick farce ought to bore +us frightfully, especially if we have any sense of humor. Life is too +real to go to sleep over it.</p> + +<p>To repeat what I have said in these pages in previous years, for the +benefit of the reader as yet unacquainted with my standards and +principles of selection, I shall point out that I have set myself the +task of disengaging the essential human qualities in our contemporary +fiction which, when chronicled conscientiously by our literary artists, +may fairly be called a criticism of life. I am not at all interested in +formulæ, and organised criticism at its best would be nothing more than +dead criticism, as all dogmatic interpretation of life is always dead. +What has interested me, to the exclusion of other things, is the fresh, +living current which flows through the best of our work, and the +psychological and imaginative reality which our writers have conferred +upon it.</p> + +<p>No substance is of importance in fiction, unless it is organic +substance, that is to say, substance in which the pulse of life is +beating. Inorganic fiction has been our curse in the past, and bids fair +to remain so, unless we exercise much greater artistic discrimination +than we display at present.</p> + +<p>The present record covers the period from October, 1919, to September, +1920, inclusive. During this period, I have sought to select from the +stories published in American magazines those which have rendered life +imaginatively in organic substance and artistic form. Substance is +something achieved by the artist in every act of creation, rather than +something already present, and accordingly a fact or group of facts in a +story only attain substantial embodiment when the artist's power of +compelling imaginative persuasion transforms them into a living truth. +The first test of a short story, therefore, in any qualitative analysis +is to report upon how vitally compelling the writer makes his selected +facts or incidents. This test may be conveniently called the test of +substance.</p> + +<p>But a second test is necessary if the story is to take rank above other +stories. The true artist will seek to shape this living substance into +the most beautiful and satisfying form, by skilful selection and +arrangement of his materials, and by the most direct and appealing +presentation of it in portrayal and characterization.</p> + +<p>The short stories which I have examined in this study, as in previous +years, have fallen naturally into four groups. The first group consists +of those stories which fail, in my opinion, to survive either the test +of substance or the test of form. These stories are listed in the +yearbook without comment or a qualifying asterisk. The second group +consists of those stories which may fairly claim that they survive +either the test of substance or the test of form. Each of these stories +may claim to possess either distinction of technique alone, or more +frequently, I am glad to say, a persuasive sense of life in them to +which a reader responds with some part of his own experience. Stories +included in this group are indicated in the yearbook index by a single +asterisk prefixed to the title.</p> + +<p>The third group, which is composed of stories of still greater +distinction, includes such narratives as may lay convincing claim to a +second reading, because each of them has survived both tests, the test +of substance and the test of form. Stories included in this group are +indicated in the yearbook index by two asterisks prefixed to the title.</p> + +<p>Finally, I have recorded the names of a small group of stories which +possess, I believe, an even finer distinction—the distinction of +uniting genuine substance and artistic form in a closely woven pattern +with such sincerity that these stories may fairly claim a position in +our literature. If all of these stories by American authors were +republished, they would not occupy more space than five novels of +average length. My selection of them does not imply the critical belief +that they are great stories. A year which produced one great story would +be an exceptional one. It is simply to be taken as meaning that I have +found the equivalent of five volumes worthy of republication among all +the stories published during the period under consideration. These +stories are indicated in the yearbook index by three asterisks prefixed +to the title, and are listed in the special "Roll of Honor." In +compiling these lists, I have permitted no personal preference or +prejudice to consciously influence my judgment. To the titles of certain +stories, however, in the "Rolls of Honor," an asterisk is prefixed, and +this asterisk, I must confess, reveals in some measure a personal +preference, for which, perhaps, I may be indulged. It is from this final +short list that the stories reprinted in this volume have been selected.</p> + +<p>It has been a point of honor with me not to republish an English story, +nor a translation from a foreign author. I have also made it a rule not +to include more than one story by an individual author in the volume. +The general and particular results of my study will be found explained +and carefully detailed in the supplementary part of the volume.</p> + +<p>As in past years it has been my pleasure and honor to associate this +annual with the names of Benjamin Rosenblatt, Richard Matthews Hallet, +Wilbur Daniel Steele, Arthur Johnson, and Anzia Yezierska, so it is my +wish to dedicate this year the best that I have found in the American +magazines as the fruit of my labors to Sherwood Anderson, whose stories, +"The Door of the Trap," "I Want to Know Why," "The Other Woman," and +"The Triumph of the Egg" seem to me to be among the finest imaginative +contributions to the short story made by an American artist during the +past year.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward J. O'Brien.</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Forest Hill, Oxon, England,</span><br /> +November 8, 1920.<br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1920</h1> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—The order in which the stories in this volume are printed is not +intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Other_Woman2" id="The_Other_Woman2"></a>THE OTHER WOMAN<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></h2> +<h3>BY SHERWOOD ANDERSON</h3> + +<h4>From <i>The Little Review</i></h4> + + +<p>"I am in love with my wife," he said—a superfluous remark, as I had not +questioned his attachment to the woman he had married. We walked for ten +minutes and then he said it again. I turned to look at him. He began to +talk and told me the tale I am now about to set down.</p> + +<p>The thing he had on his mind happened during what must have been the +most eventful week of his life. He was to be married on Friday +afternoon. On Friday of the week before he got a telegram announcing his +appointment to a government position. Something else happened that made +him very proud and glad. In secret he was in the habit of writing verses +and during the year before several of them had been printed in poetry +magazines. One of the societies that give prizes for what they think the +best poems published during the year put his name at the head of their +list. The story of his triumph was printed in the newspapers of his home +city, and one of them also printed his picture.</p> + +<p>As might have been expected, he was excited and in a rather highly +strung nervous state all during that week. Almost every evening he went +to call on his fiancée, the daughter of a judge. When he got there the +house was filled with people and many letters, telegrams and packages +were being received. He stood a little to one side and men and women +kept coming to speak with him. They congratulated him upon his success +in getting the government position and on his achievement as a poet. +Everyone seemed to be praising him, and when he went home to bed he +could not sleep. On Wednesday evening he went to the theatre and it +seemed to him that people all over the house recognized him. Everyone +nodded and smiled. After the first act five or six men and two women +left their seats to gather about him. A little group was formed. +Strangers sitting along the same row of seats stretched their necks and +looked. He had never received so much attention before, and now a fever +of expectancy took possession of him.</p> + +<p>As he explained when he told me of his experience, it was for him an +altogether abnormal time. He felt like one floating in air. When he got +into bed after seeing so many people and hearing so many words of praise +his head whirled round and round. When he closed his eyes a crowd of +people invaded his room. It seemed as though the minds of all the people +of his city were centered on himself. The most absurd fancies took +possession of him. He imagined himself riding in a carriage through the +streets of a city. Windows were thrown open and people ran out at the +doors of houses. "There he is. That's him," they shouted, and at the +words a glad cry arose. The carriage drove into a street blocked with +people. A hundred thousand pairs of eyes looked up at him. "There you +are! What a fellow you have managed to make of yourself!" the eyes +seemed to be saying.</p> + +<p>My friend could not explain whether the excitement of the people was due +to the fact that he had written a new poem or whether, in his new +government position, he had performed some notable act. The apartment +where he lived at that time was on a street perched along the top of a +cliff far out at the edge of the city and from his bedroom window he +could look down over trees and factory roofs to a river. As he could not +sleep and as the fancies that kept crowding in upon him only made him +more excited, he got out of bed and tried to think.</p> + +<p>As would be natural under such circumstances, he tried to control his +thoughts, but when he sat by the window and was wide awake a most +unexpected and humiliating thing happened. The night was clear and fine. +There was a moon. He wanted to dream of the woman who was to be his +wife, think out lines for noble poems or make plans that would affect +his career. Much to his surprise his mind refused to do anything of the +sort.</p> + +<p>At a corner of the street where he lived there was a small cigar store +and newspaper stand run by a fat man of forty and his wife, a small +active woman with bright grey eyes. In the morning he stopped there to +buy a paper before going down to the city. Sometimes he saw only the fat +man, but often the man had disappeared and the woman waited on him. She +was, as he assured me at least twenty times in telling me his tale, a +very ordinary person with nothing special or notable about her, but for +some reason he could not explain being in her presence stirred him +profoundly. During that week in the midst of his distraction she was the +only person he knew who stood out clear and distinct in his mind. When +he wanted so much to think noble thoughts, he could think only of her. +Before he knew what was happening his imagination had taken hold of the +notion of having a love affair with the woman.</p> + +<p>"I could not understand myself," he declared, in telling me the story. +"At night, when the city was quiet and when I should have been asleep, I +thought about her all the time. After two or three days of that sort of +thing the consciousness of her got into my daytime thoughts. I was +terribly muddled. When I went to see the woman who is now my wife I +found that my love for her was in no way affected by my vagrant +thoughts. There was but one woman in the world I wanted to live with me +and to be my comrade in undertaking to improve my own character and my +position in the world, but for the moment, you see, I wanted this other +woman to be in my arms. She had worked her way into my being. On all +sides people were saying I was a big man who would do big things, and +there I was. That evening when I went to the theatre I walked home +because I knew I would be unable to sleep, and to satisfy the annoying +impulse in myself I went and stood on the sidewalk before the tobacco +shop. It was a two story building, and I knew the woman lived upstairs +with her husband. For a long time I stood in the darkness with my body +pressed against the wall of the building and then I thought of the two +of them up there, no doubt in bed together. That made me furious.</p> + +<p>"Then I grew more furious at myself. I went home and got into bed shaken +with anger. There are certain books of verse and some prose writings +that have always moved me deeply, and so I put several books on a table +by my bed.</p> + +<p>"The voices in the books were like the voices of the dead. I did not +hear them. The words printed on the lines would not penetrate into my +consciousness. I tried to think of the woman I loved, but her figure had +also become something far away, something with which I for the moment +seemed to have nothing to do. I rolled and tumbled about in the bed. It +was a miserable experience.</p> + +<p>"On Thursday morning I went into the store. There stood the woman alone. +I think she knew how I felt. Perhaps she had been thinking of me as I +had been thinking of her. A doubtful hesitating smile played about the +corners of her mouth. She had on a dress made of cheap cloth, and there +was a tear on the shoulder. She must have been ten years older than +myself. When I tried to put my pennies on the glass counter behind which +she stood my hand trembled so that the pennies made a sharp rattling +noise. When I spoke the voice that came out of my throat did not sound +like anything that had ever belonged to me. It barely arose above a +thick whisper. 'I want you,' I said. 'I want you very much. Can't you +run away from your husband? Come to me at my apartment at seven +to-night.'</p> + +<p>"The woman did come to my apartment at seven. That morning she did not +say anything at all. For a minute perhaps we stood looking at each +other. I had forgotten everything in the world but just her. Then she +nodded her head and I went away. Now that I think of it I cannot +remember a word I ever heard her say. She came to my apartment at seven +and it was dark. You must understand this was in the month of October. I +had not lighted a light and I had sent my servant away.</p> + +<p>"During that day I was no good at all. Several men came to see me at my +office, but I got all muddled up in trying to talk with them. They +attributed my rattle-headedness to my approaching marriage and went away +laughing.</p> + +<p>"It was on that morning, just the day before my marriage, that I got a +long and very beautiful letter from my fiancée. During the night before +she also had been unable to sleep and had got out of bed to write the +letter. Everything she said in it was very sharp and real, but she +herself, as a living thing, seemed to have receded into the distance. It +seemed to me that she was like a bird, flying far away in distant skies, +and I was like a perplexed bare-footed boy standing in the dusty road +before a farm house and looking at her receding figure. I wonder if you +will understand what I mean?</p> + +<p>"In regard to the letter. In it she, the awakening woman, poured out her +heart. She of course knew nothing of life, but she was a woman. She lay, +I suppose, in her bed feeling nervous and wrought up as I had been +doing. She realized that a great change was about to take place in her +life and was glad and afraid too. There she lay thinking of it all. Then +she got out of bed and began talking to me on the bit of paper. She told +me how afraid she was and how glad too. Like most young women she had +heard things whispered. In the letter she was very sweet and fine. 'For +a long time, after we are married, we will forget we are a man and +woman,' she wrote. 'We will be human beings. You must remember that I am +ignorant and often I will be very stupid. You must love me and be very +patient and kind. When I know more, when after a long time you have +taught me the way of life, I will try to repay you. I will love you +tenderly and passionately. The possibility of that is in me, or I would +not want to marry at all. I am afraid but I am also happy. O, I am so +glad our marriage time is near at hand.'</p> + +<p>"Now you see clearly enough into what a mess I had got. In my office, +after I read my fiancée's letter, I became at once very resolute and +strong. I remember that I got out of my chair and walked about, proud of +the fact that I was to be the husband of so noble a woman. Right away I +felt concerning her as I had been feeling, about myself before I found +out what a weak thing I was. To be sure I took a strong resolution that +I would not be weak. At nine that evening I had planned to run in to see +my fiancée. 'I'm all right now,' I said to myself. 'The beauty of her +character has saved me from myself. I will go home now and send the +other woman away.' In the morning I had telephoned to my servant and +told him that I did not want him to be at the apartment that evening and +I now picked up the telephone to tell him to stay at home.</p> + +<p>"Then a thought came to me. 'I will not want him there in any event,' I +told myself. 'What will he think when he sees a woman coming to my place +on the evening before the day I am to be married?' I put the telephone +down and prepared to go home. 'If I want my servant out of the apartment +it is because I do not want him to hear me talk with the woman. I cannot +be rude to her. I will have to make some kind of an explanation,' I said +to myself.</p> + +<p>"The woman came at seven o'clock, and, as you may have guessed, I let +her in and forgot the resolution I had made. It is likely I never had +any intention of doing anything else. There was a bell on my door, but +she did not ring, but knocked very softly. It seems to me that +everything she did that evening was soft and quiet but very determined +and quick. Do I make myself clear? When she came I was standing just +within the door, where I had been standing and waiting for a half hour. +My hands were trembling as they had trembled in the morning when her +eyes looked at me and when I tried to put the pennies on the counter in +the store. When I opened the door she stepped quickly in and I took her +into my arms. We stood together in the darkness. My hands no longer +trembled. I felt very happy and strong.</p> + +<p>"Although I have tried to make everything clear I have not told you what +the woman I married is like. I have emphasized, you see, the other +woman. I make the blind statement that I love my wife, and to a man of +your shrewdness that means nothing at all. To tell the truth, had I not +started to speak of this matter I would feel more comfortable. It is +inevitable that I give you the impression that I am in love with the +tobacconist's wife. That's not true. To be sure I was very conscious of +her all during the week before my marriage, but after she had come to me +at my apartment she went entirely out of my mind.</p> + +<p>"Am I telling the truth? I am trying very hard to tell what happened to +me. I am saying that I have not since that evening thought of the woman +who came to my apartment. Now, to tell the facts of the case, that is +not true. On that evening I went to my fiancée at nine, as she had asked +me to do in her letter. In a kind of way I cannot explain the other +woman went with me. This is what I mean—you see I had been thinking +that if anything happened between me and the tobacconist's wife I would +not be able to go through with my marriage. 'It is one thing or the +other with me,' I had said to myself.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact I went to see my beloved on that evening filled +with a new faith in the outcome of our life together. I am afraid I +muddle this matter in trying to tell it. A moment ago I said the other +woman, the tobacconist's wife, went with me. I do not mean she went in +fact. What I am trying to say is that something of her faith in her own +desires and her courage in seeing things through went with me. Is that +clear to you? When I got to my fiancée's house there was a crowd of +people standing about. Some were relatives from distant places I had not +seen before. She looked up quickly when I came into the room. My face +must have been radiant. I never saw her so moved. She thought her letter +had affected me deeply, and of course it had. Up she jumped and ran to +meet me. She was like a glad child. Right before the people who turned +and looked inquiringly at us, she said the thing that was in her mind. +'O, I am so happy,' she cried. 'You have understood. We will be two +human beings. We will not have to be husband and wife.'</p> + +<p>"As you may suppose, everyone laughed, but I did not laugh. The tears +came into my eyes. I was so happy I wanted to shout. Perhaps you +understand what I mean. In the office that day when I read the letter my +fiancée had written I had said to myself, 'I will take care of the dear +little woman.' There was something smug, you see, about that. In her +house when she cried out in that way, and when everyone laughed, what I +said to myself was something like this: 'We will take care of +ourselves.' I whispered something of the sort into her ears. To tell you +the truth I had come down off my perch. The spirit of the other woman +did that to me. Before all the people gathered about I held my fiancée +close and we kissed. They thought it very sweet of us to be so affected +at the sight of each other. What they would have thought had they known +the truth about me God only knows!</p> + +<p>"Twice now I have said that after that evening I never thought of the +other woman at all. That is partially true but sometimes in the evening +when I am walking alone in the street or in the park as we are walking +now, and when evening comes softly and quickly as it has come to-night, +the feeling of her comes sharply into my body and mind. After that one +meeting I never saw her again. On the next day I was married and I have +never gone back into her street. Often however as I am walking along as +I am doing now, a quick sharp earthy feeling takes possession of me. It +is as though I were a seed in the ground and the warm rains of the +spring had come. It is as though I were not a man but a tree.</p> + +<p>"And now you see I am married and everything is all right. My marriage +is to me a very beautiful fact. If you were to say that my marriage is +not a happy one I could call you a liar and be speaking the absolute +truth. I have tried to tell you about this other woman. There is a kind +of relief in speaking of her. I have never done it before. I wonder why +I was so silly as to be afraid that I would give you the impression I am +not in love with my wife. If I did not instinctively trust your +understanding I would not have spoken. As the matter stands I have a +little stirred myself up. To-night I shall think of the other woman. +That sometimes occurs. It will happen after I have gone to bed. My wife +sleeps in the next room to mine and the door is always left open. There +will be a moon to-night, and when there is a moon long streaks of light +fall on her bed. I shall awake at midnight to-night. She will be lying +asleep with one arm thrown over her head.</p> + +<p>"What is that I am talking about? A man does not speak of his wife lying +in bed. What I am trying to say is that, because of this talk, I shall +think of the other woman to-night. My thoughts will not take the form +they did the week before I was married. I will wonder what has become of +the woman. For a moment I will again feel myself holding her close. I +will think that for an hour I was closer to her than I have ever been to +anyone else. Then I will think of the time when I will be as close as +that to my wife. She is still, you see, an awakening woman. For a moment +I will close my eyes and the quick, shrewd, determined eyes of that +other woman will look into mine. My head will swim and then I will +quickly open my eyes and see again the dear woman with whom I have +undertaken to live out my life. Then I will sleep and when I awake in +the morning it will be as it was that evening when I walked out of my +dark apartment after having had the most notable experience of my life. +What I mean to say, you understand, is that, for me, when I awake, the +other woman will be utterly gone."</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>Copyright, 1920, by Margaret C. Anderson.<br /> Copyright, 1921, by +Sherwood Anderson.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Gargoyle3" id="Gargoyle3"></a>GARGOYLE<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></h2> +<h3>By EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK</h3> +<h4>From <i>Harper's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>Gargoyle stole up the piazza steps. His arms were full of field flowers. +He stood there staring over his burden.</p> + +<p>A hush fell upon tea- and card-tables. The younger women on the Strang +veranda glanced at one another. The girl at the piano hesitated in her +light stringing of musical sentences.</p> + +<p>John Strang rose. "Not now, Gargoyle, old man." Taking the flowers from +the thin hands, he laid them on the rug at his wife's feet, then gently +motioned the intruder away. Gargoyle flitted contentedly down the broad +steps to the smooth drive, and was soon hidden by masses of rhododendron +on the quadrangle.</p> + +<p>Only one guest raised questioning eyebrows as Strang resumed his seat. +This girl glanced over his shoulder at the aimless child straying off +into the trees.</p> + +<p>"I should think an uncanny little person like that would get on Mrs. +Strang's nerves; he gives me the creeps!"</p> + +<p>"Yes? Mrs. Strang is hardly as sensitive as you might suppose. What do +you say of a lady who enjoys putting the worms on her shrinking +husband's hook? Not only that, but who banters the worms, telling them +it's all for their own good?"</p> + +<p>The mistress of Heartholm, looking over at the two, shook a deprecating +head. But Strang seemed to derive amusement from the guest's +disapproval.</p> + +<p>Mockwood, where the Strangs lived, had its impressiveness partly +accounted for by the practical American name of "residential park." +This habitat, covering many thousands of acres, gave evidence of the +usual New World compromise between fantastic wealth and over-reached +restraint. Polished automobiles gliding noiselessly through massed +purple and silver shrubberies, receded into bland glooms of +well-thought-out boscage. The architecture, a judicious mixture of +haughty roofs and opulent chimneys, preened itself behind exclusive +screens of wall and vine, and the entire frontage of Mockwood presented +a polished elegance which did not entirely conceal a silent plausibility +of expense.</p> + +<p>At Heartholm, the Strangs' place, alone, had the purely conventional +been smitten in its smooth face. The banker's country home was built on +the lines of his own physical height and mental breadth. Strang had +flung open his living-rooms to vistas of tree branches splashing against +the morning blue. His back stairs were as aspiring as the Apostles' +Creed, and his front stairs as soaring as the Canticle to the Sun. As he +had laid out his seven-mile drive on a deer track leading to a forest +spring, so had he spoken for his flowers the word, which, though it +freed them from the prunes and prisms of a landscape gardener, held +them, glorified vassals, to their original masters, sun and rain.</p> + +<p>Strang and his love for untrammeled nature were hard pills for +Mockwooders to swallow. Here was a man who, while he kept one on the +alert, was to be deplored; who homesteaded squirrels, gave rabbits their +own licentious ways, was whimsically tolerant of lichens, mushrooms, and +vagabond vines. This was also the man who, when his gardener's wife gave +birth to a deaf and dumb baby, encouraged his own wife to make a pet of +the unfortunate youngster, and when he could walk gave him his freedom +of the Heartholm acres.</p> + +<p>It was this sort of thing, Mockwooders agreed, that "explained" the +Strangs. It was the desultory gossip of fashionable breakfast tables how +Evelyn Strang was frequently seen at the gardener's cottage, talking to +the poor mother about her youngest. The gardener's wife had other +children, all strong and hearty. These went to school, survived the +rigors of "regents" examinations, and were beginning to talk of +"accepting" positions. There would never be any position for little +Gargoyle, as John Strang called him, to "accept."</p> + +<p>"Let the child run about," the village doctors had advised. "Let him run +about in the sun and make himself useful."</p> + +<p>But people who "run about in the sun" are seldom inclined to make +themselves useful, and no one could make Gargoyle so. It would have been +as well to try to train woodbine to draw water or to educate cattails to +write Greek. The little boy spent all of the day idling; it was a +curious, Oriental sort of idling. Callers at Heartholm grew +disapprovingly accustomed to the sight of the grotesque face and figure +peering through the shrubberies; they shrugged their shoulders +impatiently, coming upon the recumbent child dreamily gazing at his own +reflection in the lily-pond, looking necromantically out from the molten +purple of a wind-blown beech, or standing at gaze in a clump of iris.</p> + +<p>Strang with his amused laugh fended off all protest and neighborly +advice.</p> + +<p>"That's Gargoyle's special variety of hashish. He lives in a +flower-harem—in a five-year-old Solomon's Song. I've often seen the +irises kowtowing to him, and his attitude toward them is distinctly +personal and lover-like. If that little chap could only talk there would +be some fun, but what Gargoyle thinks would hardly fit itself to +words—besides, then"—Strang twinkled at the idea—"none of us would +fancy having him around with those natural eyes—that undressed little +mind."</p> + +<p>It was in good-humored explanations like this that the Strangs managed +to conceal their real interest in Gargoyle. They did not remind people +of their only child, the brave boy of seven, who died before they came +to Mockwood. Under the common sense that set the two instantly to work +building a new home, creating new associations, lay the everlasting pain +of an old life, when, as parents of a son, they had seemed to tread +springier soil, to breathe keener, more vital air. And, though the +Strangs adhered patiently to the recognized technicalities of Mockwood +existence, they never lost sight of a hope, of which, against the +increasing evidence of worldly logic, their human hearts still made +ceaseless frantic attestation.</p> + +<p>Very slowly, but very constructively, it had become a fierce though +governed passion with both—to learn something of the spiritual life +coursing back of the material universe. Equally slowly and inevitably +had the two come to believe that the little changeling at the lodge held +some wordless clue, some unconscious knowledge as to that outer sphere, +that surrounding, peopled ether, in which, under their apparent +rationality, the two had come to believe. Yet the banker and his wife +stood to Mockwooders for no special cult or fad; it was only between +themselves that their quest had become a slowly developing motive.</p> + +<p>"Gargoyle was under the rose-arbor this morning." It was according to +custom that Evelyn Strang would relate the child's latest phase. "He sat +there without stirring such a long time that I was fascinated. I noticed +that he never picked a rose, never smelled one. The early sun fell +slanting through their petals till they glowed like thin little wheels +of fire. John dear, it was that scalloped fire which Gargoyle was +staring at. The flowers seemed to lean toward him, vibrating color and +perfumes too delicate for me to hear. <i>I</i> only saw and smelled the +flowers; Gargoyle looked as if he <i>felt</i> them! Don't laugh; you know we +look at flowers because when we were little, people always said, 'See +the pretty flower, smell the pretty flower,' but no one said, 'Listen +and see if you can hear the flower grow; be still and see if you can +catch the flower speaking.'"</p> + +<p>Strang never did laugh, never brushed away these fantastic ideas. +Settling back in his piazza chair, his big hands locked together, he +would listen, amusing himself with his pet theory of Gargoyle's +"undressed mind."</p> + +<p>"By the way," he said once, "that reminds me, have you ever seen our +young Solomon of the flower-harem smile?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I haven't; neither have you." Young Mrs. Strang averred it +confidently. "He never has smiled, poor baby, nor cried—his mother +told me that long ago."</p> + +<p>The banker kept his eyes on the treetops; he had his finger-tips nicely +balanced before he remarked, with seeming irrelevance:</p> + +<p>"You know that nest in the tree we call the Siegfried tree?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"The other day a bird fell out of it, one of the young ones, pushed out +by a housecleaning mother, I suppose. It killed the poor little +feathered gawk. I saw Gargoyle run, quick as a flash, and pick it up. He +pushed open the closing eyes, tried to place the bird on a hollyhock +stalk, to spread its wings, in every way to give it motion. When, after +each attempt, he saw it fall to the ground, he stood still, looking at +it very hard. Suddenly, to my surprise, he seemed to understand +something, to <i>comprehend</i> it fully and delightedly. He laughed." Strang +stopped, looking intently at his wife.</p> + +<p>"I can imagine that laugh," she mused.</p> + +<p>Strang shook his head. "I don't think you can. It—it wasn't pleasant. +It was as uncanny as the rest of the little chap—a long, rattling, +eerie sound, as if a tree should groan or a butterfly curse; but +wait—there's more." In his earnestness Strang sat up, adding, "Then +Gargoyle got up and stretched out his hands, not to the sky, but to the +air all around him. It was as if—" Here Strang, the normal, healthy man +of the world, hesitated; it was only the father of the little boy who +had died who admitted in low tones: "You would have said—At least even +<i>I</i> could imagine that Gargoyle—well—that he <i>saw</i> something like a +released principle of life fly happily back to its main source—as if a +little mote like a sunbeam should detach itself from a clod and, +disembodied, dart back to its law of motion."</p> + +<p>For a long time they were silent, listening to the call of an oven-bird +far back in the spring trees. At last Strang got up, filled his pipe, +and puffed at it savagely before he said, "Of course the whole thing's +damned nonsense." He repeated that a little brutally to his wife's +silence before in softened voice he added, "Only, perhaps you're right, +Evelyn; perhaps we, too, should be seeing that kind of thing, +understanding what, God knows, we long to understand, if we had +'undressed minds,' if we hadn't from earliest infancy been smeared all +over with the plaster-of-Paris of 'normal thinking.'"</p> + +<p>Time flew swiftly by. The years at Heartholm were tranquil and happy +until Strang, taken by one of the swift maladies which often come to men +of his type, was mortally stricken. His wife at first seemed to feel +only the strange ecstasy that sometimes comes to those who have beheld +death lay its hand on a beloved body. She went coldly, rigidly, through +every detail of the final laying away of the man who had loved her to +the utmost power of his man's heart. Friends waited helplessly, dreading +the furious after-crash of this unnatural mental and bodily endurance. +Doctor Milton, Strang's life-long friend, who had fought for the +banker's life, watched her carefully, but there was no catalepsy, no +tranced woman held in a vise of endurance. Nothing Evelyn Strang did was +odd or unnatural, only she seemed, particularly before the burial, to be +waiting intently for some revelation, toward which her desire burned +consumingly, like a powerful flame.</p> + +<p>Just before the funeral Strang's sister came to Doctor Milton.</p> + +<p>"Evelyn!" in whispered response to his concerned look. "Oh, doctor, I +cannot think that this calmness is <i>right</i> for her——" The poor, +red-eyed woman, fighting hard for her own composure, motioned to the +room where, with the cool lattices drawn, and a wave of flowers breaking +on his everlasting sleep, the master of Heartholm lay. "She has gone in +there with that little deaf-and-dumb child. I saw her standing with him, +staring all about her. Somehow it seemed to me that Gargoyle was +smiling—that he <i>saw</i> something——!"</p> + +<p>For long weeks Doctor Milton stayed on at Heartholm, caring for Mrs. +Strang. From time to time the physician also studied and questioned +Gargoyle. Questioned in verity, for the practised hand could feel rigid +muscles and undeveloped glands that answered more truthfully than +words. Whatever conclusions Milton arrived at, he divulged to no one but +Mrs. Strang. What he had to say roused the desolate woman as nothing +else could have done. To the rest of the world little or nothing was +explained. But, after the consent of the mother at the gardener's +cottage had been gained, Doctor Milton left Heartholm, taking Gargoyle +with him.</p> + +<p>In the office of Dr. Pauli Mach, the professional tongue was freed. +Milton, with the half-quizzical earnestness habitual to him, told his +story, which was followed by the exchange of much interesting data.</p> + +<p>The two fell back on the discussion of various schools where Gargoyle +might be put under observation. At last, feeling in the gravely polite +attention of the more eminent man a waning lack of interest, Milton +reluctantly concluded the interview.</p> + +<p>"I'll write to Mrs. Strang and tell her your conclusions; she won't +accept them—her own husband humored her in the thing. What John Strang +himself believed I never really knew, but I think he had wisdom in his +generation."</p> + +<p>Milton stood there, hesitating; he looked abstractedly at the apathetic +little figure of Gargoyle sitting in the chair.</p> + +<p>"We talk of inherent human nature," said the doctor, slowly, "as if we +had all knowledge concerning the <i>possibilities</i> of that nature's best +and worst. Yet I have sometimes wondered if what we call mentally askew +people are not those that possess attributes which society is not wise +enough to help them use wisely—mightn't such people be like +fine-blooded animals who sniff land and water where no one else suspects +any? Given a certain kink in a human brain, and there might result +capacity we ought to consider, even if we can't, in our admittably +systematized civilization, utilize it."</p> + +<p>The Swiss doctor nodded, magnetic eyes and mouth smiling.</p> + +<p>"Meanwhile"—in his slow, careful speech—"meanwhile we do what we can +to preserve the type which from long experience we know <i>wears</i> best."</p> + +<p>Milton nodded. He moved to go, one hand on Gargoyle's unresponsive +shoulder, when the office door swung open.</p> + +<p>"Now this is real trouble," laughed a woman's fresh, deep-chested voice. +"Doctor Mach, it means using one of your tall measuring-glasses or +permitting these lovely things to wilt; some one has inundated us with +flowers. I've already filled one bath-tub; I've even used the buckets in +the operating-room."</p> + +<p>The head nurse stood there, white-frocked, smiling, her stout arms full +of rosy gladioli and the lavender and white of Japanese iris. The two +doctors started to help her with the fragrant burden, but not before +Gargoyle sprang out of his chair. With a start, as if shocked into +galvanic motion, the boy sat upright. With a throttled cry he leaped at +the surprised woman. He bore down upon her flowers as if they had been a +life-preserver, snatching at them as if to prevent himself from being +sucked under by some strange mental undertow. The softly-colored bloom +might have had some vital magnetizing force for the child's blood, to +which his whole feeble nature responded. Tearing the colored mass from +the surprised nurse's arms, Gargoyle sank to the floor. He sat there +caressing the flowers, smiling, making uncouth efforts to speak. The +arms that raised him were gentle enough. They made no attempt to take +from him his treasures. They sat him on the table, watching the little +thin hands move ardently, yet with a curious deftness and delicacy, amid +the sheaf of color. As the visionary eyes peered first into one +golden-hearted lily, then into another, Milton felt stir, in spite of +himself, Strang's old conviction of the "undressed mind." He said +nothing, but stole a glance at the face of his superior. Doctor Mach was +absorbed. He stood the boy on the table before him. The nurse stripped +Gargoyle, then swiftly authoritative fingers traveled up and down the +small, thin frame.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Life at Heartholm went on very much the same. The tender-hearted +observer might have noted that the gardens held the same flowers year +after year, all the perennials and hardy blooms John Strang had loved. +No matter what had been his widow's courageous acceptance of modern +stoicism, the prevailing idea that incurable grief is merely "morbid," +yet, in their own apartments where their own love had been lived, was +every mute image and eloquent trifle belonging to its broken arc. Here, +with Strang's books on occult science, with other books of her own +choosing, the wife lived secretly, unknown of any other human being, the +long vigil of waiting for some sign or word from the spirit of one who +by every token of religion and faith she could not believe dead—only to +her wistful earthly gaze, hidden. She also hid in her heart one +strangely persistent hope—namely, Gargoyle! Letters from Doctor Milton +had been full of significance. The last letter triumphantly concluded:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Your young John Strang Berber, alias Gargoyle, can talk now, with +only one drawback: as yet he doesn't know any words!</p></div> + +<p>The rapidly aging mother at the gardener's cottage took worldly pride in +what was happening to her youngest.</p> + +<p>"I allus knowed he was smart," the woman insisted. "My Johnny! To think +of him speaking his mind out like any one else! I allus took his part—I +could ha' told 'em he had his own notions!"</p> + +<p>There was no doubt as to Gargoyle's having the "notions." As the slow +process of speech was taught and the miracle of fitting words to things +was given unto John Berber, alias Gargoyle, it was hard for those +watching over him to keep the riotous perceptions from retarding the +growing mechanistics. Close-mouthed the boy was, and, they said, always +would be; but watchful eyes and keen intuitions penetrated to the silent +orgies going on within him. So plainly did the fever of his education +begin to wear on his physical frame that wary Doctor Mach shook his +head. "Here I find too many streams of thought coursing through one +field," said the careful Swiss. "The field thus grows stony and bears +nothing. Give this field only one stream that shall be nourishing."</p> + +<p>For other supernormal developments that "one stream" might have been +music or sports. For Gargoyle it happened to be flowers. The botanist +with whom he was sent afield not only knew his science, but guessed at +more than his science. His were the beatitudes of the blue sky; water, +rocks, and trees his only living testament. Under his tutelage, with the +eyes of Doctor Mach ever on his growing body, and with his own special +gifts of concentration and perception, at last came to Gargoyle the +sudden whisper of academic sanction—namely, "genius."</p> + +<p>He himself seemed never to hear this whisper. What things—superimposed +on the new teeming world of material actualities—he <i>did</i> hear, he +never told. Few could reach Berber; among fellow-students he was gay, +amiable, up to a certain point even frivolous; then, as each companion +in turn complained, a curtain seemed to drop, a colorless wrap of +unintelligibility enveloped him like a chameleon's changing skin; the +youth, as if he lived another life on another plane, walked apart.</p> + +<p>Doctor Milton, dropping into the smoking-room of a popular confrère, got +a whiff of the prevailing gossip about his protégé.</p> + +<p>"I'll be hanged if I can associate psychics with a biceps like Berber's; +somehow those things seem the special prerogative of anemic women in +white cheese-cloth fooling with 'planchette' and 'currents.'"</p> + +<p>"You've got another guess," a growling neurologist volunteered. "Why +shouldn't psychic freaks have biceps? We keep forgetting that we've +dragged our fifty-year-old carcasses into an entirely new age—a +wireless, horseless, man-flying, star-chasing age. Why, after shock upon +shock of scientific discovery, shouldn't the human brain, like a +sensitive plate, be thinned down to keener, more sensitive, +perceptions?"</p> + +<p>Some one remarked that in the case of Berber, born of a simple country +woman and her uneducated husband, this was impossible.</p> + +<p>Another man laughed. "Berber may be a Martian, or perhaps he was +originally destined to be the first man on Jupiter. He took the wrong +car and landed on this globe. Why not? How do we know what agency +carries pollen of human life from planet to planet?"</p> + +<p>Milton, smiling at it all, withdrew. He sat down and wrote a +long-deferred letter to Mrs. Strang.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I have asked John Berber if he would care to revisit his old home. +It seemed never to have occurred to him that he <i>had</i> a home! When +I suggested the thing he followed it up eagerly, as he does every +new idea, asking me many keen questions as to his relatives, who +had paid for his education, etc. Of the actual facts of his cure he +knows little except that there was special functioning out of gear, +and that now the wheels have been greased. Doctor Mach is +desperately proud of him, especially of the way in which he +responds to <i>normal diversion-environments</i> and <i>friendships</i>. You +must instruct his mother very carefully as to references to his +former condition. It is best that he should not dwell upon the +former condition. Your young friend, Gargoyle, sees no more spooks. +He is rapidly developing into a very remarkable and unconceited +horticulturist!</p></div> + +<p>The first few days at Mockwood were spent at the little gardener's +cottage, from which the other youngsters had flown. Berber, quietly +moving about the tiny rooms, sitting buried in a scientific book or +taking long trips afield, was the recipient of much maternal flattery. +He accepted it all very gently; the young culturist had an air of quiet +consideration for every one and absolutely no consciousness of himself. +He presumed upon no special prerogatives, but set immediately to work to +make himself useful. It was while he was weeding the box borders leading +to the herb-gardens of Heartholm that Mrs. Strang first came upon him. +Her eyes, suddenly confronted with his as he got to his feet, dropped +almost guiltily, but when they sought his face a second time, Evelyn +Strang experienced a disappointment that was half relief. The sunburnt +youth, in khaki trousers and brown-flannel shirt, who knelt by the +border before her was John Strang Berber, Doctor Mach's human +masterpiece; this was not "Gargoyle."</p> + +<p>"That is hardly suitable work for a distinguished horticulturist," the +mistress of Heartholm smiled at the wilting piles of pusley and sorrel.</p> + +<p>White teeth flashed, deep eyes kindled. Berber rose and, going to a +garden seat, took up some bits of glass and a folded paper. He showed +her fragments of weed pressed upon glass plates, envelopes of seeds +preserved for special analyzation. "There's still a great undiscovered +country in weed chemistry," he eagerly explained, "perhaps an anodyne +for every pain and disease."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and deadly poisons, too, for every failure and grief." The +mistress of Heartholm said it lightly as she took the garden seat, +thinking how pleasant it was to watch the resolute movements and +splendid physical development of the once weazened Gargoyle. She began +sorting out her embroidery silks as Berber, the bits of glass still in +his hand, stood before her. He was smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, deadly poisons, too," agreeing with a sort of exultation, so +blithely, indeed, that the calmly moving fingers of the mistress of +Heartholm were suddenly arrested. A feeling as powerful and associative +as the scent of a strong perfume stole over Evelyn Strang.</p> + +<p>Before she could speak Berber had resumed his weeding. "It's good to get +dictatorship over all this fight of growing," looking up for her +sympathy with hesitance, which, seen in the light of his acknowledged +genius, was the more significant. "You don't mind my taking Michael's +place? He was very busy this morning. I have no credentials, but my +mother seems to think I am a born gardener."</p> + +<p>This lack of conceit, this unassuming practicality, the sort of thing +with which Gargoyle's mind had been carefully inoculated for a long +time, baffled, while it reassured Mrs. Strang. Also the sense of sacred +trust placed in her hands made her refrain from any psychic probing.</p> + +<p>For a long while she found it easy to exert this self-control. The +lonely woman, impressed by the marvelous "cure" of John Berber, +magnetized by his youth and sunny enthusiasms back to the old dreaming +pleasure in the Heartholm gardens, might in the absorbed days to come +have forgotten—only there was a man's photograph in her bedroom, placed +where her eyes always rested on it, her hand could bring it to her lips; +the face looking out at her seemed to say but one thing:</p> + +<p>"<i>You knew me—I knew you. What we knew and were to each other had not +only to do with our bodies. Men call me 'dead' but you know that I am +not. Why do you not study and work and pray to learn what I am become, +that you may turn to me, that I may reach to you?</i>"</p> + +<p>Mockwooders, dropping in at Heartholm for afternoon tea, began to +accustom themselves to finding Mrs. Strang sitting near some flower-bed +where John Berber worked, or going with him over his great books of +specimens. The smirk the fashionable world reserves for anything not +usual in its experience was less marked in this case than it might have +been in others. Even those who live in "residential parks" are sometimes +forced (albeit with a curious sense of personal injury) to accept the +idea that they who have greatly suffered find relief in "queer" ways. +Mockwooders, assisting at the Heartholm tea-hour, and noting Berber +among other casual guests, merely felt aggrieved and connoted +"queerness."</p> + +<p>For almost a year, with the talking over of plans for John Strang's +long-cherished idea of a forest garden at Heartholm, there had been no +allusion between mistress and gardener to that far-off fantasy, the life +of little Gargoyle. During the autumn the two drew plans together for +those spots which next spring were to blossom in the beech glade. They +sent to far-off countries for bulbs, experimented in the Heartholm +greenhouses with special soils and fertilizers, and differences of heat +and light; they transplanted, grafted, and redeveloped this and that +woodland native. Unconsciously all formal strangeness wore away, +unconsciously the old bond between Gargoyle and his mistress was +renewed.</p> + +<p>Thus it was, without the slightest realization as to what it might lead, +that Evelyn Strang one afternoon made some trifling allusion to Berber's +association with the famous Doctor Mach. As soon as she had done so, +fearing from habit for some possible disastrous result, she tried +immediately to draw away from the subject. But the forbidden spring had +been touched—a door that had long been closed between them swung open. +Young Berber, sorting dahlia bulbs into numbered boxes, looked up; he +met her eyes unsuspiciously.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," thoughtfully, "that that is the man to whom I should feel +more grateful than to any other human being."</p> + +<p>The mistress of Heartholm did not reply. In spite of her tranquil air, +Evelyn Strang was gripped with a sudden apprehension. How much, how +little, did Berber know? She glanced swiftly at him, then bent her head +over her embroidery. The colored stream of Indian summer flowed around +them. A late bird poured out his little cup of song.</p> + +<p>"My mother will not answer my questions." Young Berber, examining two +curiously formed bulbs, shook the earth from them; he stuffed them into +his trousers pocket. "But Michael got talking yesterday and told me—Did +you know, Mrs. Strang? I was thought to be an idiot until I was twelve +years old—born deaf and dumb?"</p> + +<p>It was asked so naturally, with a scientific interest as impersonal as +if he were speaking of one of the malformed bulbs in his pocket, that at +first his mistress felt no confusion. Her eyes and hands busying +themselves with the vivid silks, she answered.</p> + +<p>"I remember you as a little pale boy who loved flowers and did such odd, +interesting things with them. Mr. Strang and I were attracted to your +mysterious plays.... No, you never spoke, but we were not sure you could +not hear—and"—drawing a swift little breath—"we were always +interested in what—in what—you seemed—to <i>see</i>!"</p> + +<p>There was a pause. He knelt there, busily sorting the bulbs. Suddenly +to the woman sitting on the garden bench the sun-bathed October gardens +seemed alive with the myriad questioning faces of the fall flowers; +wheels and disks like aureoled heads leaned toward her, mystical fire in +their eyes, the colored flames of their being blown by passionate desire +of revelation. "This is your moment," the flowers seemed to say to her. +"Ask him <i>now</i>."</p> + +<p>But that she might not yet speak out her heart to John Berber his +mistress was sure. She was reminded of what Strang had so often said, +referring to their lonely quest—that actual existence was like a +forlorn shipwreck of some other life, a mere raft upon which, like grave +buffoons, the ragged survivors went on handing one another watersoaked +bread of faith, glassless binoculars of belief, oblivious of what +radiant coasts or awful headlands might lie beyond the enveloping mists. +Soon, the wistful woman knew, she would be making some casual +observations about the garden, the condition of the soil. Yet, if ever +the moment had come to question him who had once been "Gargoyle," that +moment was come now!</p> + +<p>Berber lifted on high a mass of thickly welded bulbs clinging to a +single dahlia stalk. He met her gaze triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Michael says he planted only a few of this variety, the soft, +gold-hearted lavender. See what increase." The youth plunged supple +fingers into the balmy-scented loam, among the swelling tuber forms. "A +beautiful kind of ugliness," he mused. "I remember I used to think——" +The young gardener, as if he felt that the eyes fixed upon him were +grown suddenly too eager, broke abruptly off.</p> + +<p>"Go on, John Berber. What you have to say is always interesting."</p> + +<p>It was said calmly, with almost maternal encouragement, but the fingers +absorbed in the bright silks fumbled and erred. "Used to think"—words +such as these filtered like sunlight to the hope lying deep in Evelyn +Strang's heart.</p> + +<p>But young Berber leaned upon his garden fork, looking past her. Over the +youth's face crept a curious expression of wrapt contemplation, of +super-occupation, whether induced by her words or not she could not +tell. Furtively Mrs. Strang studied him.... How soon would he drop that +mystical look and turn to her with the casual "educated" expression she +had come to know so well?</p> + +<p>Suddenly, nervousness impelling her, she broke in upon his revery:</p> + +<p>"How wonderful, with such dreams as you must have had, to be educated! +How very grateful you must be to Doctor Mach."</p> + +<p>She heard her own words helplessly, as if in a dream, and, if the +unwisdom of this kind of conversation had impressed the mistress of +Heartholm before, now she could have bitten off her tongue with that +needless speech on it. Young Berber, however, seemed hardly to have +heard her; he stood there, the "Gargoyle" look still in his eyes, gazing +past his mistress into some surrounding mystery of air element. It was +to her, watching him, as if those brooding, dilated pupils might behold, +besides infinitesimal mystery of chemical atoms, other +mysteries—colorless pools of air where swam, like sea anemones, radiant +forms of released spirit; invisible life-trees trembling with luminous +fruit of occult being!</p> + +<p>When Berber turned this look, naked as a sword, back to Evelyn Strang, +she involuntarily shivered. But the boy's face was unconscious. His +expression changed only to the old casual regard as he said, very +simply:</p> + +<p>"You see, I wish they had not educated me!"</p> + +<p>The confession came with inevitable shock. If she received it with +apparent lightness, it was that she might, with all the powers a woman +understands, rise to meet what she felt was coming. The barrier down, it +was comparatively easy to stand in the breach, making her soft note of +deprecation, acknowledging playfully that the stress of so-called +"normal" life must indeed seem a burden to one who had hitherto talked +with flowers, played with shadows. Berber, however, seemed hardly to +hear her; there was no tenseness in the youth's bearing; he merely +gazed thoughtfully past her efforts, repeating:</p> + +<p>"No—I wish they had not taught me. I have not really gained <i>knowledge</i> +by being taught."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Strang was genuinely puzzled. Yet she understood; it was merely +<i>theories about life</i> that he had gained. Again she called to mind a +sentence in Doctor Milton's letter: "I know that you have followed the +case in such a way as to understand what would be your responsibility +toward this <i>newly made</i> human soul." Was it right to question Berber? +Could it be actually harmful to him to go on? And yet was it not her +only chance, after years of faithful waiting?</p> + +<p>Trying to keep her voice steady, she reproached him:</p> + +<p>"No? With all that being educated means, all the gift for humanity?"</p> + +<p>The young fellow seemed not to get her meaning. He picked up the garden +fork. Thoughtfully scraping the damp earth from its prongs, he repeated, +"All that it means for humanity?"</p> + +<p>"Why not"—urging the thing a little glibly—"why not? You can do your +part now; you will help toward the solving of age-long mysteries. You +must be steward of—of"—Mrs. Strang hesitated, then continued, +lamely—"of your special insight. Why—already you have begun—Think of +the weed chemistry." Had he noticed it? There was in her voice a curious +note, almost of pleading, though she tried to speak with authority.</p> + +<p>John Berber, once called "Gargoyle," listened. The youth stood there, +his foot resting upon the fork but not driving it into the ground. He +caught her note of anxiety, laughing in light, spontaneous reassurance, +taking her point with ease.</p> + +<p>"Oh—I know," shrugging his shoulders in true collegian's style. "I +understand my lesson." Berber met her look. "I had the gift of mental +<i>unrestraint</i>, if you choose to call it that," he summed up, "and was of +no use in the world. Now I have the curse of <i>mental restraint</i> and can +participate with others in their curse." Suddenly aware of her helpless +dismay and pain, the boy laughed again, but this time with a slight +nervousness she had never before seen in him. "Why, we are not in +earnest, dear Mrs. Strang." It was with coaxing, manly respect that he +reminded her of that. "We are only joking, playing with an idea.... I +think you can trust me," added John Berber, quietly.</p> + +<p>The surprised woman felt that she could indeed "trust" him; that Berber +was absolutely captain of the self which education had given him; but +that from time to time he had been conscious of another self he had been +unwise enough to let her see. She silently struggled with her own +nature, knowing that were she judicious she would take that moment to +rise and leave him. Such action, however, seemed impossible now. Here +was, perhaps, revelation, discovery! All the convictions of her lonely, +brooding life were on her. Temptation again seized her. With her longing +to have some clue to that spirit world she and her husband had believed +in, it seemed forewritten, imperative, inevitable, that she remain. +Trying to control herself, she fumbled desperately on:</p> + +<p>"When you were little, Mr. Strang and I used to notice—we grew to +think—that because you had been shut away from contact with other +minds, because you had never been told <i>what</i> to see, as children are +told, 'Look at the fire,' 'See the water,' and so forever regard those +things in just that way, not seeing—other things—Oh, we thought that +perhaps—perhaps——"</p> + +<p>It was futile, incoherent; her tongue seemed to dry in her mouth. +Besides, the abashed woman needs must pause before a silence that to her +strained sense seemed rebuking. She glanced furtively up at the youth +standing there. It troubled the mistress of Heartholm to realize that +her protégé was staring gravely at her, as if she had proposed some +guilty and shameful thing.</p> + +<p>At last Berber, with a boyish sigh, seemed to shake the whole matter +off. He turned to his bulbs; half at random he caught up a +pruning-knife, cutting vindictively into one of them. For the moment +there was silence, then the young gardener called his mistress's +attention to the severed root in his hand.</p> + +<p>"A winy-looking thing, isn't it? See those red fibers? Why shouldn't +such roots, and nuts like those great, burnished horse-chestnuts +there—yes, and cattails, and poke-berries, and skunk cabbages, give +forth an entirely new outfit of fruits and vegetables?" Berber smiled +his young ruminating smile; then, with inevitable courtesy, he seemed to +remember that he had not answered her question. "I am not surprised that +you and Mr. Strang thought such things about me. I wonder that you have +not questioned me before—only you see <i>now</i>—I can't answer!" The boy +gave her his slow, serious smile, reminding her.</p> + +<p>"You must remember that I am like a foreigner—only worse off, for +foreigners pick up a few words for their most vital needs, and I have no +words at all—for what—for what vital things I used to know—so that +perhaps in time I shall come to forget that I ever knew anything +different from—other persons' knowledge." Berber paused, regarding his +mistress intently, as if wistfully trying to see what she made of all +this. Then he continued:</p> + +<p>"One of our professors at college died, and the men of his class were +gloomy; some even cried, others could not trust themselves to speak of +him.... I noticed that they all called him 'poor' Landworth.... I could +see that they felt something the way I do when I miss out on a chemical +experiment, or spoil a valuable specimen—only more so—a great deal +more." The boy knit his brows, puzzling it all out. "Well, it's queer. I +liked that professor, too; he was very kind to me—but when I saw him +dead I felt glad—glad! Why"—Berber looked at her searchingly—"I grew +to be afraid some one would find out <i>how</i> glad!"</p> + +<p>The young fellow, still anxiously searching her face, dropped his voice. +"You are the only person I dare tell this to—for I understand the +world—" She noted that he spoke as if "the world" were a kind of plant +whose needs he had fathomed. "But after that," concluded Berber, +speaking as if quite to himself—"after that I somehow came to see that +I had been—well, educated <i>backward</i>."</p> + +<p>She moved impatiently; the youth, seeing the question in her face, +answered the demand of its trembling eagerness, explaining:</p> + +<p>"Do you not see—I have—sometimes <i>known</i>, not 'guessed' nor +'believed,' but <i>known</i> that death was a wonderful, happy thing—a +fulfilment, a satisfaction to him who dies—but I have been educated +backward into a life where people cannot seem to help regarding it as a +sad thing. And——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?—Yes?" breathed the eager woman. "Tell me—tell me——"</p> + +<p>But he had come suddenly to a full stop. As if appalled to find only +empty words, or no words at all, for some astounding knowledge he would +communicate to her, he stammered painfully; then, as if he saw himself +caught in guilt, colored furiously. Evelyn Strang could see the +inevitable limitations of his world training creep slowly over him like +cement hardening around the searching roots of his mind. She marveled. +She remembered Strang's pet phrase, "the plaster of Paris of so-called +'normal thinking.'" Then the youth's helpless appeal came to her:</p> + +<p>"Do you not think that I am doing wrong to speak of these things?" +Berber asked, with dignity.</p> + +<p>The mistress of Heartholm was silent. Recklessly she put by all Doctor +Mach's prophecies. She could not stop here; her whole soul demanded that +she go further. There were old intuitions—the belief that she and +Strang had shared together, that, under rationalized schemes of thought, +knowledge of inestimable hope was being hidden from the world. Here was +this boy of the infinite vision, of the "<i>backward educated</i>" mind, +ready to tell miraculous things of a hidden universe. Could she strike +him dumb? It would be as if Lazarus had come forth from the open grave +and men were to bandage again his ecstatic lips!</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as if in answer to her struggle, Berber spoke. She was aware +that he looked at her curiously with a sort of patient disdain.</p> + +<p>"The world is so sure, so contented, isn't it?" the youth demanded of +her, whether in innocence or irony she could not tell. "People are +trained, or they train themselves, by the millions, to think of things +in exactly one way." He who had once been "Gargoyle" looked piercingly +into the eyes of this one being to whom at least he was not afraid to +speak.</p> + +<p>"Anything you or I might guess outside of what other people might +accept," the boy reminded her, austerely, "could be called by just one +unpleasant name." He regarded the face turned to his, recognizing the +hunger in it, with a mature and pitying candor, concluding: "After +to-day we must never speak of these things. I shall never dare, you must +never dare—and so—" He who had once been "Gargoyle" suddenly dropped +his head forward on his breast, muttering—"and so, that is all."</p> + +<p>Evelyn Strang rose. She stood tall and imperious in the waning afternoon +light. She was bereaved mother, anguished wife; she was a dreamer driven +out of the temple of the dream, and what she had to do was desperate. +Her voice came hard and resolute.</p> + +<p>"It is <i>not</i> all," the woman doggedly insisted. The voiceless woe of one +who had lost a comrade by death was on her. In her eyes was fever let +loose, a sob, like one of a flock of imprisoned wild birds fluttered out +from the cage of years. "Oh no—no!" the woman pleaded, more as if to +some hidden power of negation than to the boy before her—"Oh no—no, +this <i>cannot</i> be all, not for me! The world must never be told—it could +not understand; but <i>I</i> must know, I <i>must</i> know." She took desperate +steps back and forth.</p> + +<p>"John Berber, if there is anything in your memory, your knowledge; even +if it is only that you have <i>imagined</i> things—if they are so beautiful +or so terrible that you can never speak of them—for fear—for fear no +one would understand, you might, you might, even then, tell me—Do you +not hear? You might tell <i>me</i>. I authorize it, I command it."</p> + +<p>The woman standing in the autumn gardens clenched her hands. She looked +round her into the clear air at the dense green and gold sunshine +filtering through the colored trees, the softly spread patens of the +cosmos, the vivid oriflammes of the chrysanthemums. Her voice was +anguished, as if they two stood at a secret door of which Berber alone +had the key, which for some reason he refused to use.</p> + +<p>"I—of all the world," her whisper insisted. "If you might never speak +again—I should understand."</p> + +<p>Berber, his face grown now quite ashen, looked at her. Something in her +expression seemed to transfix and bind him. Suddenly shutting his teeth +together, he stood up, his arms folded on his broad chest. The afternoon +shadows spread pools of darkness around their feet, the flowers seemed +frozen in shapes of colored ice, as his dark, controlled eyes fixed +hers.</p> + +<p>"You—you dare?" the youth breathed, thickly.</p> + +<p>She faced him in her silent daring. Then it seemed to her as if the sky +must roll up like a scroll and the earth collapse into a handful of dust +falling through space, for she knew that little Gargoyle of the +"undressed mind"—little Gargoyle, looking out of John Berber's trained +eyes as out of windows of ground glass, was flitting like a shadow +across her own intelligence, trying to tell her what things he had +always known about life and death, and the myriads of worlds spinning +back in their great circles to the Power which had set them spinning.</p> + +<p>Not until after the first halting, insufficient words, in which the boy +sought to give his secret to the woman standing there, did she +comprehend anything of the struggle that went on within him. But when +suddenly Berber's arms dropped to his sides and she saw how he shivered, +as if at some unearthly touch on his temples, she was alert. Color was +surging into his face; his features, large, irregular, took on for the +instant a look of speechless, almost demoniac power; he seemed to be +swimming some mental tide before his foot touched the sands of language +and he could helplessly stammer:</p> + +<p>"I cannot—It—it will not come—It is as I told you—I have been taught +no <i>words</i>—I <i>cannot</i> say <i>what I know</i>."</p> + +<p>His powerful frame stood placed among the garden surroundings like that +of a breathing statue, and his amazed companion witnessed this miracle +of physical being chained by the limitations of one environment, while +the soul of that being, clairaudient, clairvoyant, held correspondence +with another environment. She saw Berber smile as if with some exquisite +sense of beauty and rapture that he understood, but could not +communicate, then helplessly motion with his hands. But even while she +held her breath, gazing at him, a change came over the radiant features. +He looked at her again, his face worked; at last John Berber with a +muffled groan burst into terrible human tears.</p> + +<p>She stood there helpless, dumfounded at his agony.</p> + +<p>"You—you cannot speak?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>For answer he dropped his face into his strong hands. He stood there, +his tall body quivering. And she knew that her dream was over.</p> + +<p>She was forced to understand. John Berber's long and perfect world +training held him in a vise. His lips were closed upon his secret, and +she knew that they would be closed for evermore.</p> + +<p>They remained, silently questioning each other, reading at last in each +other's speechlessness some comfort in this strange common knowledge, +for which, indeed, there were no human words, which must be forever +borne dumbly between them. Then slowly, with solemn tenderness, the +obligation of that unspoken knowledge came into Evelyn Strang's face. +She saw the youth standing there with grief older than the grief of the +world stabbing his heart, drowning his eyes. She laid a quiet hand on +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I understand." With all the mother, all the woman in her, she tried to +say it clearly and calmly. "I understand; you need never fear me—and we +have the whole world of flowers to speak for us." She gazed pitifully +into the dark, storming eyes where for that one fleeting instant the +old look of "Gargoyle" had risen, regarding her, until forced back by +the trained intelligence Of "John Berber," which had always dominated, +and at last, she knew, had killed it. "We will make the flowers +speak—for us." Again she tried to speak lightly, comfortingly, but +something within the woman snapped shut like a door. Slowly she returned +to the garden seat. For a moment she faltered, holding convulsively to +it, then her eyes, blinded from within, closed.</p> + +<p>Yet, later, when the mistress of Heartholm went back through the +autumnal garden to the room where were the books and treasures of John +Strang, she carried something in her hand. It was a lily bulb from which +she and Berber hoped to bring into being a new and lovely flower. She +took it into that room where for so many years the pictured eyes of her +husband had met hers in mute questioning, and stood there for a moment, +looking wistfully about her. Outside a light breeze sprang up, a single +dried leaf rustled against the window-pane. Smiling wistfully upon the +little flower-pot, Mrs. Strang set it carefully away in the dark.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers.<br /> Copyright, 1921, by +Edwina Stanton Babcock.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Ghitza4" id="Ghitza4"></a>GHITZA<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> KONRAD BERCOVICI</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Dial</i></h4> + + +<p>That winter had been a very severe one in Roumania. The Danube froze +solid a week before Christmas and remained tight for five months. It was +as if the blue waters were suddenly turned into steel. From across the +river, from the Dobrudja, on sleds pulled by long-horned oxen, the +Tartars brought barrels of frozen honey, quarters of killed lambs, +poultry and game, and returned heavily laden with bags of flour and +rolls of sole leather. The whole day long the crack of whips and the +curses of the drivers rent the icy atmosphere. Whatever their +destination, the carters were in a hurry to reach human habitation +before nightfall—before the dreaded time when packs of wolves came out +to prey for food.</p> + +<p>In cold, clear nights, when even the wind was frozen still, the +lugubrious howling of the wolf permitted no sleep. The indoor people +spent the night praying for the lives and souls of the travellers.</p> + +<p>All through the winter there was not one morning but some man or animal +was found torn or eaten in our neighbourhood. The people of the village +at first built fires on the shores to scare the beasts away, but they +had to give it up because the thatched roofs of the huts in the village +were set on fire in windy nights by flying sparks. The cold cowed the +fiercest dogs. The wolves, crazed by hunger, grew more daring from day +to day. They showed their heads even in daylight. When Baba Hana, the +old gypsy fortune-teller, ran into the school-house one morning and +cried, "Wolf, wolf in the yard," the teacher was inclined to attribute +her scare to a long drink the night before. But that very night, Stan, +the horseshoer, who had returned late from the inn and had evidently not +closed the door as he entered the smithy, was eaten up by the beasts. +And the smithy stood in the centre of the village! A stone's throw from +the inn, and the thatch-roofed school, and the red painted church! He +must have put up a hard fight, Stan. Three huge dark brown beasts, as +big as cows' yearlings, were found brained. The body of big Stan had +disappeared in the stomachs of the rest of the pack. The high leather +boots and the hand that still gripped the handle of the sledgehammer +were the only remains of the man. There was no blood, either. It had +been lapped dry. That stirred the village. Not even enough to bury +him—and he had been a good Christian! But the priest ordered that the +slight remains of Stan be buried, Christian-like. The empty coffin was +brought to the church and all the rites were carried out as if the body +of Stan were there rather than in the stomachs of wild beasts.</p> + +<p>But after Stan's death the weather began to clear as if it had been +God's will that such a price be paid for His clemency. The cold +diminished daily and in a few days reports were brought from everywhere +on the shore that the bridge of ice was giving way. Two weeks before +Easter Sunday it was warm enough to give the cows an airing. The air +cleared and the rays of the sun warmed man and beast. Traffic on the +frozen river had ceased. Suddenly one morning a whip cracked, and from +the bushes on the opposite shore of the Danube there appeared following +one another six tent wagons, such as used by travelling gypsies, each +wagon drawn by four horses harnessed side by side.</p> + +<p>The people on our side of the Danube called to warn the travellers that +the ice was not thick enough to hold them. In a few minutes the whole +village was near the river, yelling and cursing like mad. But after they +realized that the intention was to cross the Danube at any cost, the +people settled down to watch what was going to happen. In front of the +first wagon walked a tall, grey-bearded man trying the solidity of the +ice with a heavy stick. Flanking the last wagon, in open lines, walked +the male population of the tribe. Behind them came the women and +children. No one said a word. The eyes of the whole village were on the +travellers, for every one felt that they were tempting Providence. Yet +each one knew that Murdo, the chief of the tribe, who was well known to +all, in fact to the whole Dobrudja, would not take such risks with his +people without good reason.</p> + +<p>They had crossed to the middle of the frozen river in steady fashion, +when Murdo shouted one word and the feet of every man and beast stopped +short. The crossing of the river had been planned to the slightest +detail. The people on the shore were excited. The women began to cry and +the children to yell. They were driven inland by the men, who remained +to watch what was going on. No assistance was possible.</p> + +<p>The tall chief of the gypsies walked to the left and chose another path +on the ice. The movement continued. Slowly, slowly, in silence the +gypsies approached the shore. Again they halted. Murdo was probing the +ice with his stick. We could see that the feet of the horses were +wrapped in bags, and instead of being shod each hoof was in a cushion +made of straw. As Murdo felt his way, a noise at first as of the tearing +of paper, but more distinct with every moment, came from somewhere in +the distance.</p> + +<p>"Whoa, whoa, Murdo, the ice is breaking!" every one began to shout +excitedly. The noise grew louder and louder as it approached. One could +hear it coming steadily and gauge how much nearer it was. The ice was +splitting lengthwise in numberless sheets which broke up in smaller +parts and submerged gaily in the water, rising afterwards and climbing +one on top of the other, as in a merry embrace.</p> + +<p>"Whoa, whoa, Murdo ... " but there was no time to give warning. With one +gesture Murdo had given his orders. The wagons spread as for a frontal +attack; the men seized the children and with the women at their heels +they ran as fast as their legs could take them. On the shore every one +fell to his knees in prayer. The strongest men closed their eyes, too +horrified to watch the outcome. The noise of the cracking of the ice +increased. A loud report, as of a dozen cannon, and the Danube was a +river again—and all, all the gypsies had saved themselves.</p> + +<p>It was a gay afternoon, that afternoon, and a gay night also for the +whole village. It drank the inn out of everything. The gypsies had a +royal welcome. To all questions of why he had dared Providence, Murdo +answered, "There was no food for my people and horses. The Tartars have +none to sell."</p> + +<p>Murdo and his tribe became the guests of the village. His people were +all lean. The men hardly carried themselves on their legs. Each one of +them had something to nurse. The village doctor amputated toes and +fingers; several women had to be treated for gangrene. The children of +the tribe were the only ones that had not suffered much. It was Murdo's +rule: "Children first, the horses next." The animals were stabled and +taken charge of by the peasants. The gypsies went to live in the huts of +the people in order to warm themselves back to life. Father liked Murdo, +and so the old chief came to live with us. The nights were long. After +supper we all sat in a semicircle around the large fireplace in which a +big log of seasoned oak was always burning.</p> + +<p>I had received some books from a friend of the family who lived in the +capital of the country, Bucharest. Among them was Carlyle's Heroes and +Hero-Worship, translated into French. I was reading it when Murdo +approached the table and said, "What a small Bible my son is reading."</p> + +<p>"It is not a Bible, it is a book of stories, Murdo."</p> + +<p>"Stories! Well, that's another thing."</p> + +<p>He looked over my shoulders into the book. As I turned the page he +asked:</p> + +<p>"Is everything written in a book? I mean, is it written what the hero +said and what she answered and how they said it? Is it written all +about him and the villain? I mean are there signs, letters for +everything; for laughter, cries, love gestures? Tell me."</p> + +<p>I explained as best I could and he marvelled. I had to give an example, +so I read a full page from a storybook.</p> + +<p>"And is all that written in the book, my son? It is better than I +thought possible, but not so good as when one tells a story.... It is +like cloth woven by a machine, nice and straight, but it is not like the +kind our women weave on the loom—but it is good; it is better than I +thought possible. What are the stories in the book you are reading? Of +love or of sorrow?"</p> + +<p>"Of neither, Murdo. Only about all the great heroes that have lived in +this world of cowards."</p> + +<p>"About every one of them?" he asked again. "That's good. It is good to +tell the stories of the heroes."</p> + +<p>He returned to the fireplace to light his pipe; then he came to me +again.</p> + +<p>"If it is written in this book about all the great heroes, then there +must also be the record of Ghitza—the great Ghitza, our hero. The +greatest that ever lived. See, son, what is there said about him?"</p> + +<p>I turned the pages one by one to the end of the book and then reported, +"Nothing, Murdo. Not even his name is mentioned."</p> + +<p>"Then this book is not a good book. The man who wrote it did not know +every hero ... because not Alexander of Macedon and not even Napoleon +was greater than Ghitza...."</p> + +<p>I sat near him at the fireplace and watched his wrinkled face while +Murdo told me the story of Ghitza as it should be written in the book of +heroes where the first place should be given to the greatest of them +all....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About the birth of people, I, Murdo, the chief of the gypsy tribe which +was ruled by the forefathers of my great-grandfather (who each ruled +close to a hundred years)—about the birth of people, I, Murdo, can say +this: That the seed of an oak gives birth to an oak, and that of a pine +to a pine. No matter where the seed be carried by the winds, if it is +the seed of an oak, an oak will grow; if it is the seed of a pine, a +pine. So though it never was known who was the father of Ghitza, we knew +him through his son. Ghitza's mother died because she bore him, the son +of a white man—she, the daughter of the chief of our tribe. It was +Lupu's rule to punish those who bore a child begotten from outside the +tribe. But the child was so charming that he was brought up in the tent +of one of our people. When Ghitza was ten years old, he worked alongside +the men; and there was none better to try a horse before a customer than +Ghitza. The oldest and slowest gathered all the strength it had and +galloped and ran when it felt the bare boy on its back. Old mares +frisked about like yearlings when he approached to mount them.</p> + +<p>In his fifteenth summer he was a man, tall, broad, straight and lissom +as a locust tree. His face was like rich milk and his eyes as black as +the night. When he laughed or sang—and he laughed and sang all the +time—his mouth was like a rose in the morning, when the dewdrops hang +on its outer petals. And he was strong and good. If it happened that a +heavy cart was stuck in the mud of the road and the oxen could not budge +it, Ghitza would crawl under the cart, get on all fours, and lift the +cart clear of the mud. Never giving time to the driver to thank him, his +work done, he walked quickly away, whistling a song through a trembling +leaf between his lips. And he was loved by everybody; and the women died +just for the looks of him. The whole tribe became younger and happier +because of Ghitza. We travelled very much those days. Dobrudja belonged +yet to the Turks and was inhabited mostly by Tartars. The villages were +far apart and very small, so we could not stay long in any place.</p> + +<p>When Ghitza was twenty, our tribe, which was then ruled by my mighty +grandfather, Lupu, happened to winter near Cerna Voda, a village on the +other side of the Danube. We sold many horses to the peasants that +winter. They had had a fine year. So our people had to be about the inn +a good deal. Ghitza, who was one of the best traders, was in the inn the +whole day. He knew every one. He knew the major and his wife and the two +daughters and chummed with his son. And they all loved Ghitza, because +he was so strong, so beautiful, and so wise. They never called him +"tzigan" because he was fairer than they were. And there was quite a +friendship between him and Maria, the smith's daughter. She was glad to +talk to him and to listen to his stories when he came to the smithy. She +helped her father in his work. She blew the bellows and prepared the +shoes for the anvil. Her hair was as red as the fire and her arms round +and strong. She was a sweet maid to speak to, and even the old priest +liked to pinch her arms when she kissed his hand.</p> + +<p>Then came spring and the first Sunday dance in front of the inn. The +innkeeper had brought a special band of musicians. They were seated on a +large table between two trees, and all around them the village maidens +and the young men, locked arm in arm in one long chain of youth, danced +the Hora, turning round and round.</p> + +<p>Ghitza had been away to town, trading. When he came to the inn, the +dance was already on. He was dressed in his best, wearing his new broad, +red silken belt with his snow-white pantaloons and new footgear with +silver bells on the ankles and tips. His shirt was as white and thin as +air. On it the deftest fingers of our tribe had embroidered figures and +flowers. On his head Ghitza wore a high black cap made of finest +Astrakhan fur. And he had on his large ear-rings of white gold. Ghitza +watched the dance for a while. Maria's right arm was locked with the arm +of the smith's helper, and her left with the powerful arm of the mayor's +son. Twice the long chain of dancing youths had gone around, and twice +Ghitza had seen her neck and bare arms, and his blood boiled. When she +passed him the third time, he jumped in, broke the hold between Maria +and the smith's helper, and locked his arm in hers.</p> + +<p>Death could not have stopped the dance more suddenly. The musicians +stopped playing. The feet stopped dancing. The arms freed themselves and +hung limply.</p> + +<p>The smith's helper faced Ghitza with his arm uplifted.</p> + +<p>"You cursed tzigan! You low-born gypsy! How dare you break into our +dance? Our dance!" Other voices said the same.</p> + +<p>Everybody expected blows, then knives and blood. But Ghitza just laughed +aloud and they were all calmed. He pinned the smith's helper's arm and +laughed. Then he spoke to the people as follows:</p> + +<p>"You can see on my face that I am fairer than any of you. I love Maria, +but I will not renounce the people I am with. I love them. The smith's +helper knows that I could kill him with one blow. But I shall not do it. +I could fight a dozen of you together. You know I can. But I shall not +do it. Instead I shall outdance all of you. Dance each man and woman of +the village until she or he falls tired on the ground. And if I do this +I am as you are, and Maria marries me without word of shame from you."</p> + +<p>And as he finished speaking he grasped the smith's helper around the +waist and called to the musicians:</p> + +<p>"Play, play."</p> + +<p>For a full hour he danced around and around with the man while the +village watched them and called to the white man to hold out. But the +smith's helper was no match for Ghitza. He dragged his feet and fell. +Ghitza, still fresh and vigorous, grasped another man and called to the +musicians to play an even faster dance than before. When that one had +fallen exhausted to the ground, Ghitza took on a third and a fourth. +Then he began to dance with the maidens. The fiddler's string broke and +the guitar player's fingers were numb. The sun went to rest behind the +mountains and the moon rose in the sky to watch over her little +children, the stars.</p> + +<p>But Ghitza was still dancing. There was no trace of fatigue on his face +and no signs of weariness in his steps. The more he danced, the fresher +he became. When he had danced half of the village tired, and they were +all lying on the ground, drinking wine from earthen urns to refresh +themselves, the last string of the fiddle snapped and the musician +reeled from his chair. Only the flute and the guitar kept on.</p> + +<p>"Play on, play on, you children of sweet angels, and I shall give to +each of you a young lamb in the morning," Ghitza urged them. But soon +the breath of the flutist gave way. His lips swelled and blood spurted +from his nose. The guitar player's fingers were so numb he could no +longer move them. Then some of the people beat the rhythm of the dance +with their open palms. Ghitza was still dancing on. They broke all the +glasses of the inn and all the bottles beating time to his dance.</p> + +<p>The night wore away. The cock crew. Early dogs arose and the sun woke +and started to climb from behind the eastern range of mountains. Ghitza +laughed aloud as he saw all the dancers lying on the ground. Even Maria +was asleep near her mother. He entered the inn and woke the innkeeper, +who had fallen asleep behind the counter.</p> + +<p>"Whoa, whoa, you old swindler! Wake up! Day is come and I am thirsty."</p> + +<p>After a long drink, he went to his tent to play with the dogs, as he did +early every morning.</p> + +<p>A little later, toward noon, he walked over to the smith's shop, shook +hands with Maria's father and kissed the girl on the mouth even as the +helper looked on.</p> + +<p>"She shall be your wife, son," the smith said. "She will be waiting for +you when your tribe comes to winter here. And no man shall ever say my +daughter married an unworthy one."</p> + +<p>The fame of our tribe spread rapidly. The tale of Ghitza's feat spread +among all the villages and our tribe was respected everywhere. People no +longer insulted us, and many another of our tribe now danced on Sundays +at the inn—yea, our girls and our boys danced with the other people of +the villages. Our trade doubled and tripled. We bartered more horses in +a month than we had at other times in a year. Ghitza's word was law +everywhere. He was so strong his honesty was not doubted. And he was +honest. An honest horse-trader! He travelled far and wide. But if Cerna +Voda was within a day's distance, Ghitza was sure to be there on Sunday +to see Maria.</p> + +<p>To brighten such days, wrestling matches were arranged and bets were +made as to how long the strongest of them could stay with Ghitza. And +every time Ghitza threw the other man. Once in the vise of his two arms, +a man went down like a log.</p> + +<p>And so it lasted the whole summer. But in whatever village our tribe +happened to be, the women were running after the boy. Lupu, the chief of +the tribe, warned him; told him that life is like a burning candle and +that one must not burn it from both ends at the same time. But Ghitza +only laughed and made merry.</p> + +<p>"Lupu, old chief, didst thou not once say that I was an oak? Why dost +thou speak of candles now?"</p> + +<p>And he carried on as before. And ever so good, and ever so merry, and +ever such a good trader.</p> + +<p>Our tribe returned to Cerna Voda early that fall. We had many horses and +we felt that Cerna was the best place for them. Most of them were of the +little Tartar kind, so we thought it well for them to winter in the +Danube's valley.</p> + +<p>Every Sunday, at the inn, there were wrestling matches. Young men, the +strongest, came from far-away villages. And they all, each one of them, +hit the ground when Ghitza let go his vise.</p> + +<p>One Sunday, when the leaves had fallen from the trees and the harvest +was in, there came a Tartar horse-trading tribe to Cerna Voda.</p> + +<p>And in their midst they had a big, strong man. Lupu, our chief, met +their chief at the inn. They talked and drank and praised each their +horses and men. Thus it happened that the Tartar chief spoke about his +strong man. The peasants crowded nearer to hear the Tartar's story. Then +they talked of Ghitza and his strength. The Tartar chief did not believe +it.</p> + +<p>"I bet three of my horses that my man can down him," the Tartar chief +called.</p> + +<p>"I take the bet against a hundred ducats in gold," the innkeeper +answered.</p> + +<p>"It's a bet," the Tartar said.</p> + +<p>"Any more horses to bet?" others called out.</p> + +<p>The Tartar paled but he was a proud chief and soon all his horses and +all his ducats were pledged in bets to the peasants. That whole day and +the rest of the week to Sunday, nothing else was spoken about. The +people of our tribe pledged everything they possessed. The women gave +even their ear-rings. The Tartars were rich and proud and took every bet +that was offered. The match was to be on Sunday afternoon in front of +the inn. Ghitza was not in the village at all the whole week. He was in +Constantza, on the shores of the Black Sea, finishing some trade. When +he arrived home on Sunday morning he found the people of the village, +our people, the Tartars, and a hundred carriages that had brought people +from the surrounding villages camped in front of the inn. He jumped down +from his horse and looked about wondering from where and why so many +people at once! The men and the women were in their best clothes and the +horses all decorated as for a fair. The people gave him a rousing +welcome. Lupu called Ghitza aside and told him why the people had +gathered. Ghitza was taken aback but laughed instantly and slapped the +chief on the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"It will be as you know, and the Tartars shall depart poor and +dishonoured, while we will remain the kings of the horse trade in the +Dobrudja honoured and beloved by all."</p> + +<p>Oak that he was! Thus he spoke, and he had not even seen the other man, +the man he was to wrestle. He only knew he had to maintain the honour of +his tribe. At the appointed hour he came to the inn. The whole tribe was +about and around. He had stripped to the waist. He was good to look at. +On the ground were bundles of rich skins near rolls of cloth that our +men and women had bet against the Tartars. Heaps of gold, rings, +watches, ear-rings, and ducats were spread on the tables. Tartar horses +and oxen of our men and the people of the village were trooped +together, the necks tied to one long rope held on one side by one of our +men or a villager and at the other end by a Tartar boy. If Ghitza were +thrown, one of ours had just to let his end of the rope go and all +belonged to the other one. The smithy had pledged all he had, even his +daughter, to the winner; and many another daughter, too, was pledged.</p> + +<p>Ghitza looked about and saw what was at stake: the wealth and honour of +his tribe and the wealth and honour of the village and the surrounding +villages.</p> + +<p>Then the Tartar came. He was tall and square. His trunk rested on short, +stocky legs, and his face was black, ugly, and pock-marked. All shouting +ceased. The men formed a wide ring around the two wrestlers. It was so +quiet one could hear the slightest noise. Then the mayor spoke to the +Tartars and pointed to the Danube; the inn was right on its shore.</p> + +<p>"If your man is thrown, this very night you leave our shore, for the +other side."</p> + +<p>Ghitza kissed Maria and Lupu, the chief. Then the fight began.</p> + +<p>A mighty man was Ghitza and powerful were his arms and legs. But it was +seen from the very first grip that he had burned the candle at both ends +at the same time. He had wasted himself in carouses. The two men closed +one another in their vises and each tried to crush the other's ribs. +Ghitza broke the Tartar's hold and got a grip on his head and twisted it +with all his might. But the neck of the devil was of steel. It did not +yield. Maria began to call to her lover:</p> + +<p>"Twist his neck, Ghitza. My father has pledged me to him if he wins." +And many another girl begged Ghitza to save her from marrying a black +devil.</p> + +<p>The Tartars, from another side, kept giving advice to their man. +Everybody shrieked like mad, and even the dogs howled. From Ghitza's +body the sweat flowed as freely as a river. But the Tartar's neck +yielded not and his feet were like pillars of steel embedded in rocks.</p> + +<p>"Don't let his head go, don't let him go," our people cried, when it was +plain that all his strength had gone out of his arms. Achmed's +pear-shaped head slipped from between his arms as the Tartar wound his +legs about Ghitza's body and began to crush him. Ghitza held on with all +his strength. His face was blue black. His nose bled, and from his mouth +he spat blood. Our people cried and begged him to hold on. The eyes of +the Tartars shot fire, their white teeth showed from under their thick +lips and they called on Achmed to crush the Giaour. Oh! it seemed that +all was lost. All our wealth, the honour and respect Ghitza had won for +us; the village's wealth and all. And all the maidens were to be taken +away as slaves to the Tartars. One man said aloud so that Ghitza should +hear:</p> + +<p>"There will not be a pair of oxen in the whole village to plough with; +not a horse to harrow with, and our maidens are pledged to the black +sons of the devil."</p> + +<p>Ghitza was being downed. But, wait ... what happened! With the last of +his strength he broke the hold. A shout rose to rend the skies. +Bewildered Achmed lay stupefied and looked on. Tottering on his feet, in +three jumps Ghitza was on the high point of the shore—a splash—and +there was no more Ghitza. He was swallowed by the Danube. No Tartar had +downed him!</p> + +<p>And so our people had back their wealth, and the people of the village +theirs. No honour was lost and the maidens remained in the village—only +Maria did not. She followed her lover even as the people looked on. No +one even attempted to stop her. It was her right. Where was she to find +one such as he? She, too, was from the seed of an oak.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"And now, son, I ask thee—if the book before thee speaks of all the +great heroes, why is it that Ghitza has not been given the place of +honour?"</p> + +<p>The log was burning in the fireplace, but I said good night to Murdo. I +wanted to dream of the mighty Ghitza and his Maria. And ever since I +have been dreaming of ... her.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc.<br /> +Copyright, 1921, by Konrad Bercovici.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Life_of_Five_Points5" id="The_Life_of_Five_Points5"></a>THE LIFE OF FIVE POINTS<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> EDNA CLARE BRYNER</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Dial</i></h4> + + +<p>A life went on in the town of Five Points. Five Points, the town was +called, because it was laid out in the form of a star with five points +and these points picked it out and circumscribed it. The Life that was +lived there was in this wise. Over the centre of the town it hung thick +and heavy, a great mass of tangled strands of all the colours that were +ever seen, but stained and murky-looking from something that oozed out +no one could tell from which of the entangling cords. In five directions +heavy strands came in to the great knot in the centre and from it there +floated out, now this way, now that, loose threads like tentacles, +seeking to fasten themselves on whatever came within their grasp. All +over the town thin threads criss-crossed back and forth in and out among +the heavy strands making little snarls wherever several souls lived or +were gathered together. One could see, by looking intently, that the +tangling knotted strands and threads were woven into the rough pattern +of a star.</p> + +<p>Life, trembling through the mass in the centre, streamed back and forth +over the incoming strands, irregularly and in ever-changing volume, +pulling at the smaller knots here and there in constant disturbance. It +swayed the loosely woven mass above the schoolhouse, shaking out glints +of colour from the thin bright cords, golden yellows and deep blues, +vivid reds and greens. It twisted and untwisted the small black knot +above the town hotel. It arose in murky vapour from the large knots +above each of the churches. All over the town it quivered through the +fine entangling threads, making the pattern change in colour, loosening +and tightening the weaving. In this fashion Life came forth from the +body which it inhabited.</p> + +<p>This is the way the town lay underneath it. From a large round of +foot-tramped earth five wide streets radiated out in as many directions +for a length of eight or ten houses and yards. Then the wide dirt street +became a narrow road, the narrow board walks flanking it on either side +stopped suddenly and faintly worn paths carried out their line for a +space of three minutes' walk when all at once up rose the wall of the +forest, the road plunged through and was immediately swallowed up. This +is the way it was in all five directions from Five Points.</p> + +<p>Round about the town forests lay thick and dark like the dark heavens +around the cities of the sky, and held it off secure from every other +life-containing place. The roads that pierced the wall of the forest led +in deeper and deeper, cutting their way around shaggy foothills down to +swift streams and on and up again to heights, in and out of obscure +notches. They must finally have sprung out again through another wall of +forest to other towns. But as far as Five Points was concerned, they led +simply to lumber mills sitting like chained ravening creatures at safe +distances from one another eating slowly away at the thick woods as if +trying to remove the screen that held the town off to itself.</p> + +<p>In the beginning there was no town at all, but miles and miles of virgin +forest clothing the earth that humped itself into rough-bosomed hills +and hummocks. Then the forest was its own. Birds nested in its dense +leafage, fish multiplied in the clear running streams, wild creatures +ranged its fastnesses in security. The trees, touched by no harsher hand +than that which turns the rhythmically changing seasons, added year by +year ring upon ring to their girths.</p> + +<p>Suddenly human masters appeared. They looked at the girth of the trees, +appraised the wealth that lay hidden there, marked the plan of its +taking out. They brought in workers, cleared a space for head-quarters +in the midst of their great tracts, cut roads out through the forest, +and wherever swift streams crossed they set mills. The cleared space +they laid out symmetrically in a tree-fringed centre of common ground +encircled by a main street for stores and offices, with streets for +houses leading out to the edge of the clearing. In the south-east corner +of the town they set aside a large square of land against the forest for +a school-house.</p> + +<p>Thus Five Points was made as nearly in the centre of the great uncut +region as it could well be and still be on the narrow-gauge railroad +already passing through to make junction with larger roads. In short +order there was a regular town with a station halfway down the street +where the railroad cut through and near it a town hotel with a bar; a +post office, several stores, a candy shop and a dentist's office +fronting the round of earth in the centre; five churches set each on its +own street and as far from the centre of the town as possible; and a +six-room school-house with a flagpole. One mile, two miles, five and six +miles distant in the forest, saw-mills buzzed away, strangely noisy amid +their silent clumsy lumbermen and mill folk.</p> + +<p>One after another, all those diverse persons necessary for carrying on +the work of a small community drifted in. They cut themselves loose from +other communities and hastened hither to help make this new one, each +moved by his own particular reason, each bringing to the making of a +Life the threads of his own deep desire. The threads interlaced with +other threads, twisted into strands, knotted with other strands and the +Life formed itself and hung trembling, thick and powerful, over the +town.</p> + +<p>The mill owners and managers came first, bringing strong warp threads +for the Life. They had to have the town to take out their products and +bring in supplies. They wanted to make money as fast as possible. "Let +the town go to hell!" they said. They cared little how the Life went so +that it did go. Most of them lived alternately as heads of families at +home two hundred miles away and as bachelors at their mills and extract +works.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stillman, owner of hundreds of acres of forest, was different. He +wanted to be near at hand to watch his timber being taken out slowly and +carefully and meanwhile to bring up his two small sons, healthy and +virtuous, far away from city influences. He made a small farm up in the +high south-west segment of the town against the woods, with orchards and +sheep pasture and beehives and a big white farm-house, solidly built. He +became a deacon in the Presbyterian church and one of the corner-stones +of the town.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goff, owner of mills six miles out, kept up a comfortable place in +town to serve as a half-way house between his mills and his home in a +city a couple of hundred miles distant. He believed that his appearance +as a regular townsman had a steadying influence on his workmen, that it +gave them faith in him. His placid middle-aged wife accompanied him back +and forth on his weekly visits to the mills and interested herself in +those of his workers who had families.</p> + +<p>Mill Manager Henderson snapped at the chance to run the Company store as +well as to manage several mills. He saw in it something besides food and +clothing for his large family of red-haired girls. Although he lived +down at one of the mills he was counted as a townsman. He was a pillar +in the Methodist church and his eldest daughter played the piano there.</p> + +<p>George Brainerd, pudgy chief clerk of the Company store, was hand in +glove with Henderson. He loved giving all his energies, undistracted by +family or other ties, to the task of making the Company's workers come +out at the end of the season in the Company's debt instead of having +cleared a few hundred dollars as they were made to believe, on the day +they were hired, would be the case. The percentage he received for his +cleverness was nothing to him in comparison with the satisfaction he +felt in his ability to manipulate.</p> + +<p>Lanky Jim Dunn, the station agent, thirty-three and unmarried, satisfied +his hunger for new places by coming to Five Points. He hated old settled +lines of conduct. As station agent, he had a hand in everything and on +every one that came in and went out of the town. He held a sort of gauge +on the Life of the town. He chaffed all the girls who came down to see +the evening train come in and tipped off the young men as to what was +doing at the town hotel.</p> + +<p>Dr. Smelter, thin-lipped and cold-eyed, elegant in manner and in dress, +left his former practice without regret. He opened his office in Five +Points hoping that in a new community obscure diseases did not flourish. +He was certain that lack of skill would not be as apparent there as in a +well-established village.</p> + +<p>Rev. Trotman had been lured hither by the anticipation of a virgin field +for saving souls; Rev. Little, because he dared not let any of his own +fold be exposed to the pitfalls of an opposing creed.</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows left off setting chain pumps in Gurnersville and renewed +his teaching experience by coming to Five Points to be principal of the +school. Dick Shelton's wife dragged her large brood of little girls and +her drunken husband along after Fellows in order to be sure of some one +to bring Dick home from the saloon before he drank up the last penny. It +made little difference to her where she earned the family living by +washing.</p> + +<p>So they came, one after another, and filled up the town—Abe Cohen, the +Jew clothing dealer, Barringer, the druggist, Dr. Barton, rival of Dr. +Smelter and a far more highly skilled practitioner, Jake O'Flaherty, the +saloon-keeper, Widow Stokes, rag carpet weaver and gossip, Jeremy +Whitling, town carpenter, and his golden-blonde daughter Lucy, +school-teacher, Dr. Sohmer, dentist. Every small community needs these +various souls. No sooner is the earth scraped clean for a new village +than they come, one by one, until the town is complete. So it happened +in Five Points until there came to be somewhat fewer than a thousand +souls. There the town stood.</p> + +<p>Stores and offices completely took up the circle of Main Street and +straggled a little down the residence streets. Under the fringe of trees +business hummed where side by side flourished Grimes' meat shop, the +drug store with the dentist's office above, Henderson's General Store, +as the Company store was called, Brinker's grocery store, the Clothing +Emporium, McGilroy's barber shop, Backus' hardware, and the post office. +The Five Points <i>Argus</i> issued weekly its two pages from the dingy +office behind the drug store. Graham's Livery did a big business down +near the station.</p> + +<p>Each church had gathered its own rightful members within its round of +Sunday and mid-week services, its special observances on Christmas, and +Easter, and Children's Day. In the spring of each year a one-ring circus +encamped for a day on the common ground in the centre of the town and +drew all the people in orderly array under its tent. On the Fourth of +July the whole town again came together in the centre common, in fashion +less orderly, irrespective of creed or money worth, celebrating the +deeds of their ancestors by drinking lemonade and setting off +firecrackers.</p> + +<p>After a while no one could remember when it had been any different. +Those who came to town as little children grew into gawky youths knowing +no more about other parts of the world than their geography books told +them. When any one died, a strand in the Life hanging above the town +broke and flapped in the wind, growing more and more frayed with the +passing of time, until after a year or so its tatters were noticeable +only as a sort of roughness upon the pattern. When a child was born, a +thin tentacle from the central mass of strands reached out and fastened +itself upon him, dragging out his desire year by year until the strand +was thick and strong and woven in securely among the old scaly ones.</p> + +<p>The folk who lived at the mills had hardly anything to do with the Life +of Five Points. They were merely the dynamo that kept the Life alive. +They were busied down in the woods making the money for the men who made +the town. They came to town only on Saturday nights. They bought a +flannel shirt and provisions at the Company store, a bag of candy at +Andy's for the hotel and then went back to have their weekly orgy in +their own familiar surroundings. They had little effect on the Life of +the town. That was contained almost entirely within the five points +where the road met the forest.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Life of Five Points had one fearful enemy. Its home was in the black +forest. Without any warning it was likely to break out upon the town, +its long red tongues leaping out, striving to lick everything into its +red gullet. It was a thirsty animal. If one gave it enough water, it +went back into its lair. Five Points had only drilled wells in back +yards. The nearest big stream was a mile away.</p> + +<p>Twice already during the existence of the Life the enemy had started +forth from its lair. The first time was not long after the town had +started and the pattern of Life was hardly more than indicated in the +loosely woven threads.</p> + +<p>Down in the forest the people saw a long red tongue leaping. With brooms +and staves they ran to meet it far from their dwellings, beating it with +fury. As they felt the heat of its breath in their faces, they thought +of ministers' words in past sermons. Young desires and aspirations long +dormant began to throb into being. They prayed for safety. They promised +to give up their sins. They determined to be hard on themselves in the +performance of daily duties. The Life suspended above them untwisted its +loosely gathered in strands, the strands shone with a golden light and +entwined again in soft forms.</p> + +<p>With death-dealing blows they laid the enemy black and broken about +Grant's Mills, a mile away, and then went back to their homes telling +each other how brave they had been. Pride swelled up their hearts. They +boasted that they could take care of themselves. Old habits slipped back +upon their aspirations and crushed them again into hidden corners. Life +gathered up its loose-woven pattern of dull threads and hung trembling +over the town.</p> + +<p>Worsting the enemy brought the people more closely together. Suddenly +they seemed to know each other for the first time. They made changes, +entered into bonds, drew lines, and settled into their ways. Life grew +quickly with its strands woven tightly together into a weaving that +would be hard to unloose.</p> + +<p>The mill managers made money. They saw to it that their mills buzzed +away continually. They visited their homes regularly. Mr. Stillman's +farm flourished. His apple trees were bearing. The school children +understood that they could always have apples for the asking. The +Stillman boys did not go to school. They had a tutor. Their father +whipped them soundly when they disobeyed him by going to play in the +streets of the town with the other children.</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows had finally persuaded Dick Shelton to take a Cure. Dick +Shelton sober, it was discovered, was a man of culture and knew, into +the bargain, all the points of the law. So he was made Justice of the +Peace. His wife stopped taking in washing and spent her days trying to +keep the children out of the front room where Dick tried his cases.</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows himself gave up the principalship of the school, finding +its meagre return insufficient to meet the needs of an increasing +family. Yielding to the persuasion of Henderson, he became contractor +for taking out timber at Trout Creek Mill. He counted on his two oldest +sons to do men's work during the summer when school was not in session. +Fellows moved his family into the very house in which Henderson had +lived. Henderson explained that he had to live in town to be near a +doctor for his ailing wife and sickly girls. The millmen told Dave +Fellows that Henderson was afraid of them because they had threatened +him if he kept on overcharging them at the Company store.</p> + +<p>Abe Cohen did a thriving business in clothing. He had a long list of +customers heavily in debt to him through the promise that they could pay +whenever they got ready. He dunned them openly on the street so that +they made a wide detour in order to avoid going past his store.</p> + +<p>Dr. Barton had established a reputation for kindness of heart as well as +skill in practice that threatened his rival's good will. Helen Barton, +the doctor's young daughter, perversely kept company with her father's +rival. Every one felt sorry for the father but secretly admired Dr. +Smelter's diabolic tactics.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Long-forgotten was the enemy when it came the second time. On a dark +night when Five Points lay heavy in its slumbers, it bore down upon the +north side of the town. Some sensitive sleeper, troubled in his dreams, +awoke to see the dreadful red tongues cutting across the darkness like +crimson banners. His cries aroused the town. All the fathers rushed out +against the enemy. The mothers dressed their children and packed best +things in valises ready to flee when there was no longer any hope.</p> + +<p>For three days and three nights the enemy raged, leaping in to eat up +one house, two houses, beaten back and back, creeping up in another +place, beaten back again. The school boys took beaters and screamed at +the enemy as they beat.</p> + +<p>The older ones remembered the first coming of the enemy. They said, "It +was a warning!" They prayed while fear shook their aching arms. The Life +of the town writhed and gleams of colour came out of its writhings and a +whiteness as if the red tongues were cleansing away impurities.</p> + +<p>The mill managers brought their men to fight the enemy. "We mustn't let +it go," they said. Mr. Stillman had his two sons helping him. He talked +to them while they fought the enemy together. He spoke of punishment for +sin. His sons listened while the lust of fighting held their bodies.</p> + +<p>Helen Barton knelt at her father's feet where he was fighting the enemy +and swore she would never see Dr. Smelter again. She knew he was a bad +man and could never bring her happiness.</p> + +<p>Lyda, eldest daughter in the Shelton family, gathered her little sisters +about her, quieting their clamours while her mother wrung her hands and +said over and over again, "To happen when your papa was getting on so +nicely!" Lyda resolved that she would put all thoughts of marrying out +of her head. She would have to stop keepin company with Ned Backus, +the hardware man's son. It was not fair to keep company with a man you +did not intend to marry. She would stay for ever with her mother and +help care for the children so that her father would have a peaceful home +life and not be tempted.</p> + +<p>All about, wherever they were, people prayed. They prayed until there +was nothing left in their hearts but prayer as there was nothing left in +their bodies but a great tiredness.</p> + +<p>Then a heavy rain came and the red tongues drank greedily until they +were slaked and became little short red flickers of light on a soaked +black ground. The enemy was conquered. One street of the town was gone.</p> + +<p>People ran to the church and held thanksgiving services. A stillness +brooded over the town. Life hardly moved; the strands hung slack. +Thanksgiving soon changed to revival. Services lasted a week. The +ministers preached terrible sermons, burning with terrible words. +"Repent before it is too late. Twice God has warned this town." People +vowed vows and sang as they had never sung before the hymns in their +church song-books. The strands of Life leapt and contorted themselves +but they could not pull themselves apart.</p> + +<p>The revival ended. Building began. In a few months a street of houses +sprang up defiant in yellow newness. In and out of a pattern little +changed from its old accustomed aspect Life pulsated in great waves over +the heavy strands. In and out, up and down, it rushed, drawing threads +tightly together, knotting them in fantastic knots that only the +judgment day could undo.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. Stillman's sons were now young men. The younger was dying of heart +trouble in a hospital in the city. The father had locked the elder in +his room for two weeks on bread and water until he found out exactly +what had happened between his son and the Barringers' hired girl. Guy +Stillman, full-blooded, dark, and handsome, with high cheek bones like +an Indian, declared vehemently that he would never marry the girl.</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows had taken his sons out of school to help him the year +round in the woods. Sixteen-year-old Lawrence had left home and gone to +work in the town barber shop late afternoons and evenings in order to +keep on at his work in the high school grades just established. He vowed +he would never return home to be made into a lumber-jack. Dave's wife +was trying to persuade him to leave Five Points and go to the city where +her family lived. There the children could continue their schooling and +Dave could get work more suited to his ability than lumbering seemed to +be. Dave, too proud to admit that he had not the capacity for carrying +on this work successfully, refused to entertain any thought of leaving +the place. "If my family would stick by me, everything would come out +all right," he always said.</p> + +<p>Lyda Shelton still kept company with Ned Backus. When he begged her to +marry him, she put him off another year until the children were a little +better able to care for themselves. Her next youngest sister had married +a dentist from another town and had not asked her mother to the wedding. +Lyda was trying to make it up to her mother in double devotion.</p> + +<p>Helen Barton met Dr. Smelter once too often and her father made her +marry him. She had a child born dead. Now she was holding clandestine +meetings with Mr. Daly, a traveling salesman, home on one of his +quarterly visits to his family. He had promised to take Helen away with +him on his next trip and make a home for her in the city.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a sweltering hot Saturday in the first part of June. Every now +and then the wind blew in from the east picking up the dust in eddies. +Abe Cohen's store was closed. His children wandered up and down the +street, celebrating their sabbath in best clothes and chastened +behaviour. Jim Dunn was watching a large consignment of goods for the +Company store being unloaded. He was telling Earl Henderson, the +manager's nephew, how much it would cost him to get in with the poker +crowd.</p> + +<p>George Brainerd had finished fixing up the Company's accounts. He +whistled as he worked. Dave Fellows was in debt three hundred dollars to +the Company. That would keep him another year. He was a good workman but +a poor manager. Sam Kent was in debt one hundred dollars. He would have +to stay, too. John Simpson had come out even. He could go if he wanted +to. He was a trouble-maker anyway....</p> + +<p>Helen Barton sat talking with Daly in the thick woods up back of the +Presbyterian church. They were planning how to get away undetected on +the evening train.... "If she was good enough for you then, she's good +enough now," Mr. Stillman was saying to his defiant son. "You're not fit +for a better woman. You'll take care of her and that's the end of +it...."</p> + +<p>Widow Stokes' half-witted son rode up from the Extract Works on an old +bony horse. He brought word that the enemy was at the Kibbard Mill, two +miles beyond the Works. People were throwing their furniture into the +mill pond, he said. Every one laughed. Mottie Stokes was always telling +big stories. The boy, puzzled, went round and round the town, stopping +every one he met, telling his tale. Sweat poured down his pale face.</p> + +<p>At last he rode down to Trout Creek Mill and told Dave Fellows. Dave got +on the old grey mule and came up to town to find out further news. The +townsfolk, loafing under the trees around Main Street and going about on +little errands, shouted when they saw Dave come in on his mule beside +Mottie on the bony horse. "Two of a kind," was passed round the circle +of business and gossip, and sniggering went with it. Dave suggested that +some one go down to see just what had happened. Jeers answered him. +"Believe a fool? Not quite that cracked yet!" Dave went about uneasily +if he had business to attend to, but keeping an eye searching out in the +direction of the Works.</p> + +<p>In an hour or so another rider came panting into town. Back of him +straggled families from the mills and works with whatever belongings +they could bring on their backs. Fear came into the hearts of the +citizens of Five Points. They shouted in anger to drive away their fear. +"Why didn't you stay and fight it? What'd you come up here for?"</p> + +<p>"Too big, too big," cried the lumber folk, gesturing back over their +shoulders.</p> + +<p>Far off a haze was gathering and in the haze a redness appeared, growing +slowly more and more distinct. The townsfolk stared in the direction of +the Works, unwilling to believe. Some one shouted, "Better be ready!" +Shortly every pump in the town had its hand and everything that could +hold water was being filled for the oncoming thirsty beast.</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows galloped down the long hills, around curves, across the +bridge at the mill and up again to his home, told his family of the +approach of the enemy, directed them to pack up all the easily moved +furniture, harness the two mules and be ready to flee out through the +forest past Goff's Mills to the next station thirty miles further down +the railroad. No one could tell where the enemy would spread. He would +come back the minute that all hope was lost. The boys must stay at home +and take care of the place. "Bring Lawrence back with you," his wife +called after him, and he turned and waved his hand.</p> + +<p>When he got back into town thousands of red tongues were bearing down +upon the station street. The enemy belched forth great hot breaths that +swept the sky ahead of it like giant firecrackers and falling upon the +houses to the east of the town ran from one to another eating its way up +the station street towards the centre of the town. Family after family +left their homes, carrying valuables, dragging their small children, and +scattered to the north and south of the advancing enemy. The town hotel +emptied itself quickly of its temporary family. Jim Dunn left the +station carrying the cash box and a bundle of papers.</p> + +<p>From building to building the enemy leaped. Before it fled group after +group of persons from stores and homes. Methodically it went round the +circle of shops, the most rapacious customer the town had ever seen. +Quarters of beeves in the meat shop, bottles of liquids and powders on +the drug-store shelves, barrels and boxes of food in the grocery store, +suits of clothing in Abe Cohen's, the leather whips and carriage robes +in the hardware store, all went down its gullet with the most amazing +ease.</p> + +<p>Swelled with its indiscriminate meal, it started hesitantly on its way +up the street that led to the Presbyterian Church. Now people lost their +heads and ran hither and thither, screaming and praying incoherently, +dragging their crying children about from one place to another, pumping +water frantically to offer it, an impotent libation to an insatiable +god. They knew that neither the beating of brooms nor the water from +their wells could quench the enemy that was upon them. Red Judgment Day +was at hand.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile a peculiar thing happened. The Life that was hanging above the +town lifted itself up, high up, entire in its pattern, beyond the reach +of red tongues, of gusts from hot gullets—and there it stayed while the +enemy raged below.</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows harangued the men who were beating away vainly, pouring +buckets of water on unquenchable tongues. He pointed to the forest up +the street back of the Presbyterian Church. He was telling them that the +only thing to do was to call forth another enemy to come down and do +battle with this one before it reached the church. "Yes, yes," they +chorused eagerly.</p> + +<p>Craftily they edged around south of the enemy, scorching their faces +against its streaming flank, and ran swiftly far up the line of forest +past the church. There it was even at that moment that Helen Barton was +begging Daly to remember his promise and take her with him on the +evening train....</p> + +<p>The men scooped up leaves and small twigs and bending over invoked their +champion to come forth and do battle for them. Presently it came forth, +shooting out little eager red tongues that danced and leaped, glad to be +coming forth, growing larger in leaps and bounds. Dave Fellows watched +anxiously the direction in which the hissing tongues sprang. "The wind +will take it," he said at last. Fitfully the breeze pressed up against +the back of the newly born, pushing more and more strongly as the +tongues sprang higher and higher, until finally it swept the full-grown +monster down the track towards where the other monster was gorging.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Henry, take me with you, this evening, as you +promised," Helen was imploring Daly. "I can't stay here any longer. My +father—I wish now I had listened to him in the first place, long ago." +Daly did not hear her. He had risen to his feet and holding his head +back was drawing in great acrid breaths. His florid face went white. +"What is that?" he said hoarsely. Through the thick forest red tongues +broke out, sweeping towards them. Helen clutched Daly's arm, screaming. +He shook her off and turned to flee out by the church. There, too, red +tongues were leaping, curling back on themselves in long derisive +snarls. Daly turned upon her. "You ..."</p> + +<p>The two enemies met at the church, red tongue leaping against red +tongue, crackling jaws breaking on crackling jaws, sizzling gullet +straining against sizzling gullet. A great noise like the rending of a +thousand fibres, a clap of red thunder, as the body of beast met the +body of beast, and both lay crumpled upon the ground together, their +long bodies writhing, bruised, red jaws snapping, red tongue eating red +tongue.</p> + +<p>Upon them leaped the band of men spreading out the whole length of the +bodies and beat, beat, incessantly, desperately, tongue after tongue, +hour after hour, beat, beat. Lingeringly the enemy died, a hard death. +Three days it was dying and it had watchers in plenty. Whenever a red +tongue leaped into life, some one was there to lay it low. In the +night-time the men watched, and in the day the women and girls. The men +talked. "We will build it up again in brick," they said. "That is safer +and it looks better, too." The women talked, too. "I hope Abe will get +in some of those new lace curtains," they said.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile families gathered themselves together. Those whose homes were +gone encamped picnic fashion in the schoolhouse or were taken in by +those whose houses were still standing. Two persons were missing when +the muster of the town was finally taken. They were Helen Barton and Mr. +Daly. Jim Dunn said he wasn't sure but he thought Daly left on the +morning train. Daly's wife said he told her he was not going until +evening.</p> + +<p>They searched for Helen far and wide. No trace of her was ever found. +Her father stood in front of the Sunday School on the Sunday following +the death of the enemy and made an eloquent appeal for better life in +the town. "The wages of sin is death," he declared, "death of the soul +always, death of the body sometimes." The people thought him inspired. +Widow Stokes whispered to her neighbour, "It's his daughter he's +thinking of."</p> + +<p>Dave Fellows was the only person who left the town. He went back to his +wife when he saw that the town was saved and said, "We might as well +move now that we're packed up. The town is cursed." Two days later they +took the train north from a pile of blackened timbers where the old +station had stood. Lawrence went with them.</p> + +<p>The enemy had eaten up all the records in the Company store, and had +tried to eat up George Brainerd while he was attempting to save them. +The Company had to accept the workers' own accounts. George was going +about with his arm tied up, planning to keep a duplicate set of records +in a place unassailable by the enemy.</p> + +<p>Abe Cohen wailed so about his losses and his little children that Mr. +Stillman set him up in a brand new stock of clothing. Abe was telling +every one, "Buy now. Pay when you like." And customers came as of old.</p> + +<p>Guy Stillman married the Barringers' hired girl. His father established +them in a little home out at the edge of the town. The nearest neighbour +reported that Guy beat his wife.</p> + +<p>Lyda married Ned Backus. "Suppose you had died," she told Ned. "I would +never have forgiven myself. You can work in papa's new grocery store. +He's going to start one as soon as we can get the building done. Mama +will have a son to help take care of her."</p> + +<p>Life, its strands blackened by the strong breath of the enemy, settled +down once more over the town and hung there, secure in its pattern, +thick and powerful. Under it brick stores and buildings rose up and +people stood about talking, complacently planning their days. "It won't +come again for a long time," they said.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc.<br /> +Copyright, 1921, by Edna Clare Bryner.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Signal_Tower6" id="The_Signal_Tower6"></a>THE SIGNAL TOWER<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> WADSWORTH CAMP</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Metropolitan</i></h4> + + +<p>"I get afraid when you leave me alone this way at night."</p> + +<p>The big man, Tolliver, patted his wife's head. His coarse laughter was +meant to reassure, but, as he glanced about the living-room of his +remote and cheerless house, his eyes were uneasy. The little boy, just +six years old, crouched by the cook-stove, whimpering over the remains +of his supper.</p> + +<p>"What are you afraid of?" Tolliver scoffed.</p> + +<p>The stagnant loneliness, the perpetual drudgery, had not yet conquered +his wife's beauty, dark and desirable. She motioned towards the boy.</p> + +<p>"He's afraid, too, when the sun goes down."</p> + +<p>For a time Tolliver listened to the wind, which assaulted the frame +house with the furious voices of witches demanding admittance.</p> + +<p>"It's that——" he commenced.</p> + +<p>She cut him short, almost angrily.</p> + +<p>"It isn't that with me," she whispered.</p> + +<p>He lifted the tin pail that contained a small bottle of coffee and some +sandwiches. He started for the door, but she ran after him, dragging at +his arm.</p> + +<p>"Don't go! I'm afraid!"</p> + +<p>The child was quiet now, staring at them with round, reflective eyes.</p> + +<p>"Joe," Tolliver said gently, "will be sore if I don't relieve him on +time."</p> + +<p>She pressed her head against his coat and clung tighter. He closed his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You're afraid of Joe," he said wearily.</p> + +<p>Without looking up, she nodded. Her voice was muffled.</p> + +<p>"He came last night after you relieved him at the tower. He knocked, and +I wouldn't let him in. It made him mad. He swore. He threatened. He said +he'd come back. He said he'd show us we couldn't kick him out of the +house just because he couldn't help liking me. We never ought to have +let him board here at all."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me before?"</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you'd be fighting each other in the tower; and it didn't +seem so bad until dark came on. Why didn't you complain to the railroad +when—when he tried to kiss me the other night?"</p> + +<p>"I thought that was finished," Tolliver answered slowly, "when I kicked +him out, when I told him I'd punish him if he bothered you again. And +I—I was a little ashamed to complain to the superintendent about that. +Don't you worry about Joe, Sally, I'll talk to him now, before I let him +out of the tower. He's due to relieve me again at midnight, and I'll be +home then."</p> + +<p>He put on his great coat. He pulled his cap over his ears. The child +spoke in a high, apprehensive voice.</p> + +<p>"Don't go away, papa."</p> + +<p>He stared at the child, considering.</p> + +<p>"Put his things on, Sally," he directed at last.</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"I'll send him back from the tower with something that will make you +feel easier."</p> + +<p>Her eyes brightened.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that against the rules?"</p> + +<p>"Guess I can afford to break one for a change," he said. "I'm not likely +to need it myself to-night. Come, Sonny."</p> + +<p>The child shrank in the corner, his pudgy hands raised defensively.</p> + +<p>"It's only a little ways, and Sonny can run home fast," his mother +coaxed.</p> + +<p>Against his ineffective reluctance she put on his coat and hat. Tolliver +took the child by the hand and led him, sobbing unevenly, into the +wind-haunted darkness. The father chatted encouragingly, pointing to two +or three lights, scattered, barely visible; beacons that marked +unprofitable farms.</p> + +<p>It was, in fact, only a short distance to the single track railroad and +the signal tower, near one end of a long siding. In the heavy, +boisterous night the yellow glow from the upper windows, and the red and +green of the switch lamps, close to the ground, had a festive +appearance. The child's sobs drifted away. His father swung him in his +arms, entered the tower, and climbed the stairs. Above, feet stirred +restlessly. A surly voice came down.</p> + +<p>"Here at last, eh?"</p> + +<p>When Tolliver's head was above the level of the flooring he could see +the switch levers, and the table, gleaming with the telegraph +instruments, and dull with untidy clips of yellow paper; but the detail +that held him was the gross, expectant face of Joe.</p> + +<p>Joe was as large as Tolliver, and younger. From that commanding +position, he appeared gigantic.</p> + +<p>"Cutting it pretty fine," he grumbled.</p> + +<p>Tolliver came on up, set the child down, and took off his overcoat.</p> + +<p>"Fact is," he drawled, "I got held back a minute—sort of unexpected."</p> + +<p>His eyes fixed the impatient man.</p> + +<p>"What you planning to do, Joe, between now and relieving me at +midnight?"</p> + +<p>Joe shifted his feet.</p> + +<p>"Don't know," he said uncomfortably. "What you bring the kid for? Want +me to drop him at the house?"</p> + +<p>Tolliver shook his head. He placed his hands on his hips.</p> + +<p>"That's one thing I want to say to you, Joe. Just you keep away from the +house. Thought you understood that when you got fresh with Sally the +other night."</p> + +<p>Joe's face flushed angrily.</p> + +<p>"Guess I was a fool to say I was sorry about that. Guess I got to teach +you I got a right to go where I please."</p> + +<p>Tolliver shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Not to our house, if we don't want you."</p> + +<p>The other leered.</p> + +<p>"You so darned sure Sally don't want me?"</p> + +<p>Impulsively Tolliver stepped forward, closing his fists.</p> + +<p>"You drop that sort of talk, or——"</p> + +<p>Joe interrupted, laughing.</p> + +<p>"One thing's sure, Tolliver. If it came to a fight between me and you +I'd be almost ashamed to hit you."</p> + +<p>Through his passion Tolliver recognized the justice of that appraisal. +Physically he was no match for the younger man.</p> + +<p>"Things," he said softly, "are getting so we can't work here together."</p> + +<p>"Then," Joe flung back, as he went down the stairs, "you'd better be +looking for another job."</p> + +<p>Tolliver sighed, turning to the table. The boy played there, fumbling +with the yellow forms. Tolliver glanced at the top one. He called out +quickly to the departing man.</p> + +<p>"What's this special, Joe?"</p> + +<p>The other's feet stumped on the stairs again.</p> + +<p>"Forgot," he said as his head came through the trap. "Some big-wigs +coming through on a special train along about midnight. Division +headquarters got nothing definite yet, but figure we'll have to get her +past thirty-three somewheres on this stretch. So keep awake."</p> + +<p>Tolliver with an increasing anxiety continued to examine the yellow +slips.</p> + +<p>"And thirty-three's late, and still losing."</p> + +<p>Joe nodded.</p> + +<p>"Makes it sort of uncertain."</p> + +<p>"Seems to me," Tolliver said, "you might have mentioned it."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," Joe sneered, "you'd like me to stay and do your job."</p> + +<p>He went down the stairs and slammed the lower door.</p> + +<p>Tolliver studied the slips, his ears alert for the rattling of the +telegraph sounder. After a time he replaced the file on the table and +looked up. The boy, quite contented now in the warm, interesting room, +stretched his fingers towards the sending key, with the air of a culprit +dazzled into attempting an incredible crime.</p> + +<p>"Hands off, Sonny!" Tolliver said kindly. "You must run back to mother +now."</p> + +<p>He opened a drawer beneath the table and drew out a polished +six-shooter—railroad property, designed for the defense of the tower +against tramps or bandits. The boy reached his hand eagerly for it. His +father shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Not to play with, Sonny. That's for business. If you promise not to +touch it 'till you get home and hand it to mama, to-morrow I'll give you +a nickel."</p> + +<p>The child nodded. Tolliver placed the revolver in the side pocket of the +little overcoat, and, the boy following him, went down stairs.</p> + +<p>"You run home fast as you can," Tolliver directed. "Don't you be afraid. +I'll stand right here in the door 'till you get there. Nothing shall +hurt you."</p> + +<p>The child glanced back at the festive lights with an anguished +hesitation. Tolliver had to thrust him away from the tower.</p> + +<p>"A nickel in the morning——" he bribed.</p> + +<p>The child commenced to run. Long after he had disappeared the troubled +man heard the sound of tiny feet scuffling with panic along the road to +home.</p> + +<p>When the sound had died away Tolliver slammed the door and climbed the +stairs. He studied the yellow slips again, striving to fix in his mind +this problem, involving the safety of numerous human beings, that would +probably become his. He had a fear of abnormal changes in the schedule. +It had been impressed upon every signalman that thirty-three was the +road's most precious responsibility. It was the only solid Pullman train +that passed over the division. This time of year it ran crowded and was +erratic; more often than not, late. That fact created few difficulties +on an ordinary night; but, combined with such uncertainty of schedule, +it worried the entire division, undoubtedly, to have running, also on an +uncertain schedule, and in the opposite direction on that single track, +an eager special carrying important men. The superintendent, of course, +would want to get those flashy trains past each other without delay to +either. That was why these lonely towers, without receiving definite +instructions yet, had been warned to increase watchfulness.</p> + +<p>Tolliver's restlessness grew. He hoped the meeting would take place +after Joe had relieved him, or else to the north or south.</p> + +<p>It was difficult, moreover, for him to fix his mind to-night on his +professional responsibility. His duty towards his family was so much +more compelling. While he sat here, listening to every word beaten out +by the sounder, he pictured his wife and son, alone in the little house +nearly a half a mile away. And he wondered, while he, their only +protector, was imprisoned, what Joe was up to.</p> + +<p>Joe must have been drunk when he tried to get in the house last night. +Had he been drinking to-night?</p> + +<p>The sounder jarred rapidly.</p> + +<p>"LR. LR. LR."</p> + +<p>That was for the tower to the north. It was hard to tell from Joe's +manner. Perhaps that would account for his not having called attention +to the approaching presence of the special on the division.</p> + +<p>Pound. Pound. Pound. The hard striking of the metal had the effect of a +trip-hammer on his brain.</p> + +<p>"Allen reports special left Oldtown at 9.45."</p> + +<p>Joe had certainly been drinking that night last week when he had got +fresh with Sally.</p> + +<p>"Thirty-three still losing south of Anderson."</p> + +<p>He jotted the words down and sent his O.K.'s while his head, it seemed +to him, recoiled physically from each rapid stroke of the little brass +bar.</p> + +<p>Sonny, sent by his mother, had come to tell him that night, panting up +the stairs, his eyes wide and excited. Tolliver had looked from the +window towards his home, his face flushed, his fists clenched, his heart +almost choking him. Then he had seen Joe, loafing along the road in the +moonlight, and he had relaxed, scarcely aware of the abominable choice +he had faced.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT."</p> + +<p>His own call. Tolliver shrank from the sharp blows. He forced himself to +a minute attention. It was division headquarters.</p> + +<p>"Holding twenty-one here until thirty-three and the special have +cleared."</p> + +<p>Twenty-one was a freight. It was a relief to have that off the road for +the emergency. He lay back when the striking at his head had ceased.</p> + +<p>It was unfortunate that Joe and he alone should be employed at the +tower. Relieving each other at regular intervals, they had never been at +the house together. Either Tolliver had been there alone with his wife +and his son—or Joe had been. The two men had seen each other too +little, only momentarily in this busy room. They didn't really know each +other.</p> + +<p>"LR. LR. LR."</p> + +<p>Tolliver shook his head savagely. It had been a mistake letting Joe +board with them at all. Any man would fall in love with Sally. Yet +Tolliver had thought after that definite quarrel Joe would have known +his place; the danger would have ended.</p> + +<p>It was probably this drinking at the country inn where Joe lived now +that had made the man brood. The inn was too small and removed to +attract the revenue officers, and the liquid manufactured and sold there +was designed to make a man daring, irrational, deadly.</p> + +<p>Tolliver shrank from the assaults of the sounder.</p> + +<p>Where was Joe now? At the inn, drinking; or——</p> + +<p>He jotted down the outpourings of the voluble key. More and more it +became clear that the special and thirty-three would meet near his +tower, but it would almost certainly be after midnight when Joe would +have relieved him. He watched the clock, often pressing his fingers +against his temples in an attempt to make bearable the hammering at his +brain, unequal and persistent.</p> + +<p>While the hands crawled towards midnight the wind increased, shrieking +around the tower as if the pounding angered it.</p> + +<p>Above the shaking of the windows Tolliver caught another sound, gentle +and disturbing, as if countless fingers tapped softly, simultaneously +against the panes.</p> + +<p>He arose and raised one of the sashes. The wind tore triumphantly in, +bearing a quantity of snowflakes that fluttered to the floor, expiring. +Under his breath Tolliver swore. He leaned out, peering through the +storm. The red and green signal lamps were blurred. He shrugged his +shoulders. Anyway, Joe would relieve him before the final orders came, +before either train was in the section.</p> + +<p>Tolliver clenched his hands. If Joe didn't come!</p> + +<p>He shrank from the force of his imagination.</p> + +<p>He was glad Sally had the revolver.</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch, half believing that the clock had stopped.</p> + +<p>There at last it was, both hands pointing straight up—midnight! And +Tolliver heard only the storm and the unbearable strokes of the +telegraph sounder. It was fairly definite now. Both trains were roaring +through the storm, destined almost certainly to slip by each other at +this siding within the next hour.</p> + +<p>Where was Joe? And Sally and the boy alone at the house!</p> + +<p>Quarter past twelve.</p> + +<p>What vast interest could have made Joe forget his relief at the probable +loss of his job?</p> + +<p>Tolliver glanced from the rear window towards his home, smothered in the +night and the storm. If he might only run there quickly to make sure +that Sally was all right!</p> + +<p>The sounder jarred furiously. Tolliver half raised his hand, as if to +destroy it.</p> + +<p>It was the division superintendent himself at the key.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT. Is it storming bad with you?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty thick."</p> + +<p>"Then keep the fuses burning. For God's sake, don't let the first in +over-run his switch. And clear the line like lightning. Those fellows +are driving faster than hell."</p> + +<p>Tolliver's mouth opened, but no sound came. His face assumed the +expression of one who undergoes the application of some destructive +barbarity.</p> + +<p>"I get afraid when you leave me alone this way at night."</p> + +<p>He visualized his wife, beautiful, dark, and desirable, urging him not +to go to the tower.</p> + +<p>A gust of wind sprang through the trap door. The yellow slips fluttered. +He ran to the trap. He heard the lower door bang shut. Someone was on +the stairs, climbing with difficulty, breathing hard. A hat, crusted +with snow, appeared. There came slowly into the light Joe's face, ugly +and inflamed; the eyes restless with a grave indecision.</p> + +<p>Tolliver's first elation died in new uncertainty.</p> + +<p>"Where you been?" he demanded fiercely.</p> + +<p>Joe struggled higher until he sat on the flooring, his legs dangling +through the trap. He laughed in an ugly and unnatural note; and Tolliver +saw that there was more than drink, more than sleeplessness, recorded in +his scarlet face. Hatred was there. It escaped, too, from the streaked +eyes that looked at Tolliver as if through a veil. He spoke thickly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you wish you knew?"</p> + +<p>Tolliver stooped, grasping the man's shoulders. In each fist he clenched +bunches of wet cloth. In a sort of desperation he commenced to shake the +bundled figure.</p> + +<p>"You tell me where you been——"</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT."</p> + +<p>Joe leered.</p> + +<p>"Joe! You got to tell me where you been."</p> + +<p>The pounding took Tolliver's strength. He crouched lower in an effort to +avoid it, but each blow struck as hard as before, forcing into his brain +word after word that he passionately resented. Places, hours, +minutes—the details of this vital passage of two trains in the +unfriendly night.</p> + +<p>"Switch whichever arrives first, and hold until the other is through."</p> + +<p>It was difficult to understand clearly, because Joe's laughter +persisted, crashing against Tolliver's brain as brutally as the sounder.</p> + +<p>"You got to tell me if you been bothering Sally."</p> + +<p>The hatred and the cunning of the mottled face grew.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you ask Sally?"</p> + +<p>Slowly Tolliver let the damp cloth slip from his fingers. He +straightened, facing more definitely that abominable choice. He glanced +at his cap and overcoat. The lazy clock hands reminded him that he had +remained in the tower nearly half an hour beyond his time. Joe was +right. It was clear he could satisfy himself only by going home and +asking Sally.</p> + +<p>"Get up," he directed. "I guess you got sense enough to know you're on +duty."</p> + +<p>Joe struggled to his feet and lurched to the table. Tolliver wondered at +the indecision in the other's eyes, which was more apparent. Joe fumbled +aimlessly with the yellow slips. Tolliver's fingers, outstretched toward +his coat, hesitated, as if groping for an object that must necessarily +elude them.</p> + +<p>"Special!" Joe mumbled. "And—Hell! Ain't thirty-three through yet?"</p> + +<p>He swayed, snatching at the edge of the table.</p> + +<p>Tolliver lowered his hands. The division superintendent had pounded out +something about fuses. What had it been exactly? "Keep fuses burning."</p> + +<p>With angry gestures he took his coat and cap down, and put them on while +he repeated all the instructions that had been forced into his brain +with the effect of a physical violence. At the table Joe continued to +fumble aimlessly.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you listening?" Tolliver blurted out.</p> + +<p>"Huh?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you light a fuse?"</p> + +<p>It was quite obvious that Joe had heard nothing.</p> + +<p>"Fuse!" Joe repeated.</p> + +<p>He stooped to a box beneath the table. He appeared to lose his balance. +He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, his head drooping.</p> + +<p>"What about fuse?" he murmured.</p> + +<p>His eyes closed.</p> + +<p>Tolliver pressed the backs of his hands against his face. If only his +suspense might force refreshing tears as Sonny cried away his infant +agonies!</p> + +<p>Numerous people asleep in that long Pullman train, and the special +thundering down! Sally and Sonny a half mile away in the lonely house! +And that drink-inspired creature on the floor—what was he capable of in +relation to those unknown, helpless travelers? But what was he capable +of; what had he, perhaps, been capable of towards those two known ones +that Tolliver loved better than all the world?</p> + +<p>Tolliver shuddered. As long as Joe was here Sally and Sonny would not be +troubled. But where had Joe been just now? How had Sally and Sonny fared +while Tolliver had waited for that stumbling step on the stairs? He had +to know that, yet how could he? For he couldn't leave Joe to care for +all those lives on the special and thirty-three.</p> + +<p>He removed his coat and cap, and replaced them on the hook. He took a +fuse from the box and lighted it. He raised the window and threw the +fuse to the track beneath. It sputtered and burst into a flame, ruddy, +gorgeous, immense. It etched from the night distant fences and trees. It +bent the sparkling rails until they seemed to touch at the terminals of +crimson vistas. If in the storm the locomotive drivers should miss the +switch lamps, set against them, they couldn't neglect this bland banner +of danger, flung across the night.</p> + +<p>When Tolliver closed the window he noticed that the ruddy glow filled +the room, rendering sickly and powerless the yellow lamp wicks. And +Tolliver clutched the table edge, for in this singular and penetrating +illumination he saw that Joe imitated the details of sleep; that beneath +half-closed lids, lurked a fanatical wakefulness, and final resolution +where, on entering the tower, he had exposed only indecision.</p> + +<p>While Tolliver stared Joe abandoned his masquerade. Wide-eyed, he got +lightly to his feet and started for the trap.</p> + +<p>Instinctively, Tolliver's hand started for the drawer where customarily +the revolver was kept. Then he remembered, and was sorry he had sent the +revolver to Sally. For it was clear that the poison in Joe's brain was +sending him to the house while Tolliver was chained to the tower. He +would have shot, he would have killed, to have kept the man here. He +would do what he could with his hands.</p> + +<p>"Where you going?" he asked hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Joe laughed happily.</p> + +<p>"To keep Sally company while you look after the special and +thirty-three."</p> + +<p>Tolliver advanced cautiously, watching for a chance. When he spoke his +voice had the appealing quality of a child's.</p> + +<p>"It's my time off. If I do your work you got to stay at least."</p> + +<p>Joe laughed again.</p> + +<p>"No. It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed."</p> + +<p>Tolliver sprang then, but Joe avoided the heavier, clumsier man. He +grasped a chair, swinging it over his head.</p> + +<p>"I'll teach you," he grunted, "to kick me out like dirt. I'll teach you +and Sally."</p> + +<p>With violent strength he brought the chair down. Tolliver got his hands +up, but the light chair crashed them aside and splintered on his head. +He fell to his knees, reaching out blindly. He swayed lower until he lay +stretched on the floor, dimly aware of Joe's descending steps, of the +slamming of the lower door, at last of a vicious pounding at his bruised +brain.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT."</p> + +<p>He struggled to his knees, his hands at his head.</p> + +<p>"No, by God! I won't listen to you."</p> + +<p>"Thirty-three cleared LR at 12:47."</p> + +<p>One tower north! Thirty-three was coming down on him, but he was only +glad that the pounding had ceased. It commenced again.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT. Special cleared JV at 12:48."</p> + +<p>Each rushing towards each other with only a minute's difference in +schedule! That was close—too close. But what was it he had in his mind?</p> + +<p>Suddenly he screamed. He lurched to his feet and leant against the wall. +He knew now. Joe, with those infused and criminal eyes, had gone to +Sally and Sonny—to get even. There could be nothing in the world as +important as that. He must get after Joe. He must stop him in time.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT."</p> + +<p>There was something in his brain about stopping a train in time.</p> + +<p>"It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed."</p> + +<p>Somebody had told him that. What did it mean? What had altered here in +the tower all at once?</p> + +<p>There was no longer any red.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT."</p> + +<p>"I won't answer."</p> + +<p>Where had he put his cap and coat. He needed them. He could go without. +He could kill a beast without. His foot trembled on the first step.</p> + +<p>"NT. NT. NT. Why don't you answer? What's wrong. No O. K. Are you +burning fuses? Wake up. Send an O. K."</p> + +<p>The sounder crashed frantically. It conquered him.</p> + +<p>He lurched to the table, touched the key, and stuttered out:</p> + +<p>"O. K. NT."</p> + +<p>He laughed a little. They were in his block, rushing at each other, and +Joe was alone at the house with Sally and the child. O. K.!</p> + +<p>He lighted another fuse, flung it from the window, and started with +automatic movements for the trap.</p> + +<p>Let them crash. Let them splinter, and burn, and die. What was the lot +of them compared with Sally and Sonny?</p> + +<p>The red glare from the fuse sprang into the room. Tolliver paused, +bathed in blood.</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes to shut out the heavy waves of it. He saw women like +Sally and children like Sonny asleep in a train. It gave him an +impression that Sally and Sonny were, indeed, on the train. To keep them +safe it would be necessary to retard the special until thirty-three +should be on the siding and he could throw that lever that would close +the switch and make the line safe. He wavered, taking short steps +between the table and the trap. Where were Sally and Sonny? He had to +get that clear in his mind.</p> + +<p>A bitter cold sprang up the trap. He heard the sobbing of a child.</p> + +<p>"Sonny!"</p> + +<p>It was becoming clear enough now.</p> + +<p>The child crawled up the steps on his hands and knees. Tolliver took him +in his arms, straining at him passionately.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Sonny? Where's mama?"</p> + +<p>"Papa, come quick. Come quick."</p> + +<p>He kept gasping it out until Tolliver stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Joe! Did Joe come?"</p> + +<p>The child nodded. He caught his breath.</p> + +<p>"Joe broke down the door," he said.</p> + +<p>"But mama had the gun," Tolliver said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>The boy shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Mama wouldn't let Sonny play with it. She locked it up in the cupboard. +Joe grabbed mama, and she screamed, and said to run and make you come."</p> + +<p>In the tower, partially smothered by the storm, vibrated a shrill cry. +For a moment Tolliver thought his wife's martyrdom had been projected to +him by some subtle means. Then he knew it was the anxious voice of +thirty-three—the pleading of all those unconscious men and women and +little ones. He flung up his arms, releasing the child, and ran to the +table where he lighted another fuse, and threw it to the track. He +peered from the window, aware of the sobbing refrain of his son.</p> + +<p>"Come quick! Come quick! Come quick!"</p> + +<p>From far to the south drifted a fainter sibilation, like an echo of +thirty-three's whistle. To the north a glow increased. The snowflakes +there glistened like descending jewels. It was cutting it too close. It +was vicious to crush all that responsibility on the shoulders of one +ignorant man, such a man as himself, or Joe. What good would it do him +to kill Joe now? What was there left for him to do?</p> + +<p>He jotted down thirty-three's orders.</p> + +<p>The glow to the north intensified, swung slightly to the left as +thirty-three took the siding. But she had to hurry. The special was +whistling closer—too close. Thirty-three's locomotive grumbled abreast +of him. Something tugged at his coat.</p> + +<p>"Papa! Won't you come quick to mama?"</p> + +<p>The dark, heavy cars slipped by. The red glow of the fuse was overcome +by the white light from the south. The last black Pullman of +thirty-three cleared the points. With a gasping breath Tolliver threw +the switch lever.</p> + +<p>"It's too late now, Sonny," he said to the importunate child.</p> + +<p>The tower shook. A hot, white eye flashed by, and a blurred streak of +cars. Snow pelted in the window, stinging Tolliver's face. Tolliver +closed the window and picked up thirty-three's orders. If he had kept +the revolver here he could have prevented Joe's leaving the tower. Why +had Sally locked it in the cupboard? At least it was there now. Tolliver +found himself thinking of the revolver as an exhausted man forecasts +sleep.</p> + +<p>Someone ran swiftly up the stairs. It was the engineer of thirty-three, +surprised and impatient.</p> + +<p>"Where are my orders, Tolliver? I don't want to lie over here all +night."</p> + +<p>He paused. His tone became curious.</p> + +<p>"What ails you, Tolliver?"</p> + +<p>Tolliver handed him the orders, trembling.</p> + +<p>"I guess maybe my wife at the house is dead, or—You'll go see."</p> + +<p>The engineer shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You brace up, Tolliver. I'm sorry if anything's happened to your wife, +but we couldn't hold thirty-three, even for a murder."</p> + +<p>Tolliver's trembling grew. He mumbled incoherently:</p> + +<p>"But I didn't murder all those people——"</p> + +<p>"Report to division headquarters," the engineer advised. "They'll send +you help to-morrow."</p> + +<p>He hurried down the stairs. After a moment the long train pulled out, +filled with warm, comfortable people. The child, his sobbing at an end, +watched it curiously. Tolliver tried to stop his shaking.</p> + +<p>There was someone else on the stairs now, climbing with an extreme +slowness. A bare arm reached through the trap, wavering for a moment +uncertainly. Ugly bruises showed on the white flesh. Tolliver managed to +reach the trap. He grasped the arm and drew into the light the dark hair +and the chalky face of his wife. Her wide eyes stared at him strangely.</p> + +<p>"Don't touch me," she whispered. "What am I going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Joe?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you tremble so?" she asked in her colorless voice, without +resonance. "Why didn't you come?"</p> + +<p>"Joe?" he repeated hysterically.</p> + +<p>She drew away from him.</p> + +<p>"You won't want to touch me again."</p> + +<p>He pointed to the repellant bruises. She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"He didn't hurt me much," she whispered, "because I—I killed him."</p> + +<p>She drew her other hand from the folds of her wrapper. The revolver +dangled from her fingers. It slipped and fell to the floor. The child +stared at it with round eyes, as if he longed to pick it up.</p> + +<p>She covered her face and shrank against the wall.</p> + +<p>"I've killed a man——"</p> + +<p>Through her fingers she looked at her husband fearfully. After a time +she whispered:</p> + +<p>"Why don't you say something?"</p> + +<p>His trembling had ceased. His lips were twisted in a grin. He, too, +wondered why he didn't say something. Because there were no words for +what was in his heart.</p> + +<p>In a corner he arranged his overcoat as a sort of a bed for the boy.</p> + +<p>"Won't you speak to me?" she sobbed. "I didn't mean to, but I had to. +You got to understand. I had to."</p> + +<p>He went to the table and commenced to tap vigorously on the key. She ran +across and grasped at his arm.</p> + +<p>"What you telling them?" she demanded wildly.</p> + +<p>"Why, Sally!" he said. "What's the matter with you?—To send another man +now Joe is gone."</p> + +<p>Truths emerged from his measureless relief, lending themselves to words. +He trembled again for a moment.</p> + +<p>"If I hadn't stayed! If I'd let them smash! When all along it only +needed Joe to keep all those people from getting killed."</p> + +<p>He sat down, caught her in his arms, drew her to his knee, and held her +close.</p> + +<p>"You ain't going to scold?" she asked wonderingly.</p> + +<p>He shook his head. He couldn't say any more just then; but when his +tears touched her face she seemed to understand and to be content.</p> + +<p>So, while the boy slept, they waited together for someone to take Joe's +place.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by Charles Wadsworth Camp.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Parting_Genius7" id="The_Parting_Genius7"></a>THE PARTING GENIUS<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> HELEN COALE CREW</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Midland</i></h4> + +<div class="center">"<i>The parting genius is with sighing sent</i>."<br /> +<span class="smcap">Milton's</span> <i>Hymn on the Nativity</i>.<br /></div> + +<p>It was high noon, blue and hot. The little town upon the southern slope +of the hills that shut in the great plain glared white in the intense +sunlight. The beds of the brooks in the valleys that cut their way +through the hill-clefts were dry and dusty; and the sole shade visible +lay upon the orchard floors, where the thick branches above cast +blue-black shadows upon the golden tangle of grasses at their feet. A +soft murmur of hidden creature-things rose like an invisible haze from +earth, and nothing moved in all the horizon save the black kites high in +the blue air and the white butterflies over the drowsy meadows. The +poppies that flecked the yellow wheat fields drooped heavily, spilling +the wine of summer from their cups. Nature stood at drowsy-footed pause, +reluctant to take up again the vital whirr of living.</p> + +<p>At the edge of the orchard, near the dusty highway, under a huge +misshapen olive tree sat a boy, still as a carven Buddha save that his +eyes stood wide, full of dreams. His was a sensitive face, thoughtful +beyond his childish years, full of weariness when from time to time he +closed his eyes, full of dark brooding when the lids lifted again. +Presently he rose to his feet, and his two hands clenched tightly into +fists.</p> + +<p>"I hate it!" he muttered vehemently.</p> + +<p>At his side the grasses stirred and a portion of the blue shadow of the +tree detached itself and became the shadow of a man.</p> + +<p>"Hate?" questioned a golden, care-free voice at his side. "Thou'rt +overyoung to hate. What is it thou dost hate?"</p> + +<p>A young man had thrown himself down in the grass at the boy's side. +Shaggy locks hung about his brown cheeks; his broad, supple chest and +shoulders were bare; his eyes were full of sleepy laughter; and his +indolent face was now beautiful, now grotesque, at the color of his +thoughts. From a leathern thong about his neck hung a reed pipe, deftly +fashioned, and a bowl of wood carved about with grape-bunches dangled +from the twisted vine which girdled his waist. In one hand he held a +honey-comb, into which he bit with sharp white teeth, and on one arm he +carried branches torn from fig and almond trees, clustered with green +figs and with nuts. The two looked long at each other, the boy gravely, +the man smiling.</p> + +<p>"Thou wilt know me another time," said the man with a throaty laugh. +"And I shall know thee. I have been watching thee a long time—I know +not why. But what is it thou dost hate? For me, I hate nothing. Hate is +wearisome."</p> + +<p>The boy's gaze fixed itself upon the bright, insouciant face of the man +with a fascination he endeavored to throw off but could not. Presently +he spoke, and his voice was low and clear and deliberate.</p> + +<p>"Hate is evil," he said.</p> + +<p>"I know not what evil may be," said the man, a puzzled frown furrowing +the smooth brow for a swift moment. "Hunger, now, or lust, or sleep—"</p> + +<p>"Hate is the thing that comes up in my throat and chokes me when I think +of tyranny," interrupted the boy, his eyes darkening.</p> + +<p>"Why trouble to hate?" asked the man. He lifted his pipe to his lips and +blew a joyous succession of swift, unhesitant notes, as throbbing as the +heat, as vivid as the sunshine. His lithe throat bubbled and strained +with his effort, and his warm vitality poured through the mouthpiece of +the pipe and issued melodiously at the farther end. Noon deepened +through many shades of hot and slumberous splendor, the very silence +intensified by the brilliant pageant of sound. A great hawk at sail +overhead hung suddenly motionless upon unquivering wings. Every sheep in +the pasture across the road lifted a questioning nose, and the entire +flock moved swiftly nearer on a sudden impulse. And then the man threw +down his pipe, and the silence closed in softly upon the ebbing waves of +sound.</p> + +<p>"Why trouble to hate?" he asked again, and sank his shoulder deeper into +the warm grass. His voice was as sleepy as the drone of distant bees, +and his dream-filmed eyes looked out through drooping lids. "I hate +nothing. It takes effort. It is easier to feel friendly with all +things—creatures, and men, and gods."</p> + +<p>"I hate with a purpose," said the child, his eyes fixed, and brooding +upon an inward vision. The man rose upon his elbow and gazed curiously +at the boy, but the latter, unheeding, went on with his thoughts. "Some +day I shall be a man, and then I shall kill tyranny. Aye, kill! It is +tyranny that I hate. And hatred I hate; and oppression. But how I shall +go about to kill them, that I do not yet know. I think and think, but I +have not yet thought of a way."</p> + +<p>"If," said the man, "thou could'st love as royally as thou could'st +hate, what a lover thou would'st become! For me, I love but lightly, and +hate not at all, yet have I been a man for aeons. How near art thou to +manhood?"</p> + +<p>"I have lived nearly twelve years."</p> + +<p>Like a flash the man leaped to his feet and turned his face westward +towards the sea with outstretched arms, and a look and gesture of utter +yearning gave poignancy and spirit to the careless, sleepy grace of his +face and figure. He seized the boy's arm. "See now," he cried, his voice +trembling upon the verge of music, "it is nearly twelve years that I +have been a wanderer, shorn of my strength and my glory! Look you, boy, +at the line of hills yonder. Behind those hills lie the blue sea-ridges, +and still beyond, lies the land where I dwelt. Ye gods, the happy +country!" Like a great child he stood, and his breast broke into sobs, +but his eyes glowed with splendid visions. "Apollo's golden shafts +could scarce penetrate the shadowy groves, and Diana's silver arrows +pierced only the tossing treetops. And underfoot the crocus flamed, and +the hyacinth. Flocks and herds fed in pastures rosy with blossoms, and +there were white altars warm with flame in every thicket. There were +dances, and mad revels, and love and laughter"—he paused, and the +splendor died from his face. "And then one starry night—still and clear +it was, and white with frost—fear stalked into the happy haunts, and an +ontreading mystery, benign yet dreadful. And something, I know not what, +drove me forth. <i>Aie! Aie!</i> There is but the moaning of doves when the +glad hymns sounded, and cold ashes and dead drifted leaves on the once +warm altars!"</p> + +<p>A sharp pull at his tunic brought his thoughts back to the present. The +child drew him urgently down into the long grass, and laid a finger upon +his lip; and at the touch of the small finger the man trembled through +all his length of limbs, and lay still. Up the road rose a cloud of dust +and the sound of determined feet, and presently a martial figure came in +sight, clad in bronze and leather helmet and cuirass, and carrying an +oblong shield and a short, broad-bladed sword of double edge. Short yet +agile, a soldier every inch, he looked neither to the right nor to the +left, but marched steadily and purposefully upon his business. His +splendid muscles, shining with sweat, gleamed satinwise in the hot sun. +A single unit, he was yet a worthy symbol of a world-wide efficiency.</p> + +<p>The man and boy beneath the tree crouched low. "Art afraid?" whispered +the man. And the boy whispered back, "It is he that I hate, and all his +kind." His child-heart beat violently against his side, great beads +stood out upon his forehead, and his hands trembled. "If you but knew +the sorrow in the villages! Aye, in the whole country—because of him! +He takes the bread from the mouths of the pitiful poor—and we are all +so poor! The women and babes starve, but the taxes must be paid. Upon +the aged and the crippled, even, fall heavy burdens. And all because of +him and his kind!"</p> + +<p>The man looked at the flushed face and trembling limbs of the boy, and +his own face glowed in a golden smile that was full of a sudden and +unaccustomed tenderness. "Why, see now," he whispered, "that is easily +overcome. Look! I will show thee the way." Lifting himself cautiously, +he crouched on all fours in the grass, slipping and sliding forward so +hiddenly that the keen ear and eagle eye of the approaching soldier took +note of no least ripple in the quiet grass by the roadside. It was the +sinuous, silent motion of a snake; and suddenly his eyes narrowed, his +lips drew back from his teeth, his ears pricked forward, along the ridge +of his bare back the hair bristled, and the locks about his face waved +and writhed as though they were the locks of Medusa herself. Ah, and +were those the flanks and feet of a man, or of a beast, that bore him +along so stealthily? The child watched him in a horror of fascination, +rooted to the spot in terror.</p> + +<p>With the quickness of a flash it all happened—the martial traveller +taken unaware, the broad-bladed sword wrenched from his hand by +seemingly superhuman strength, a sudden hideous grip at his throat, +blows rained upon his head, sharp sobbing breaths torn from his panting +breast ... a red stain upon the dusty road ... a huddled figure ... +silence. And he who had been a man indeed a few brief, bright years, was +no more now than carrion; and he who through all his boasted aeons had +not yet reached the stature of a man stood above the dead body, his face +no longer menacing, but beautiful with a smiling delight in his deed. +And then suddenly the spell that held the child was broken, and he +leaped out upon the murderer and beat and beat and beat upon him with +helpless, puny child-fists, and all a child's splendid and ineffectual +rage. And at that the man turned and thrust the child from him in utter +astonishment, and the boy fell heavily back upon the road, the second +quiet figure lying there. And again the man's face changed, became +vacant, bewildered, troubled; and stooping, he lifted the boy in his +arms, and ran with him westward along the road, through the fields of +dead-ripe wheat, across the stubble of the garnered barley, fleet-footed +as a deer, till he could run no more.</p> + +<p>In a little glen of hickory and oak, through whose misty-mellow depths a +small stream trickled, he paused at last and laid the boy upon a soft +and matted bed of thick green myrtle, and brought water in his two hands +to bathe the bruised head, whimpering the while. Then he chafed the +small bare feet and warmed them in his own warm breast; and gathering +handfuls of pungent mint and the sweet-scented henna, he crushed them +and held them to the boy's nostrils. And these devices failing, he sat +disconsolate, the curves of his mobile face falling into unwonted lines +of half-weary, half-sorrowful dejection. "I know not how it may be," he +said to himself, smiling whimsically, "but I seem to have caught upon my +lips the bitter human savor of repentance."</p> + +<p>Utter silence held the little glen. The child lay unconscious, and the +man sat with his head in his hands, as one brooding. When the sun at +last neared the place of his setting, the boy's eyes opened. His gaze +fell upon his companion, and crowded and confused thoughts surged +through him. For some time he lay still, finding his bearings. And at +length the hatred that had all day, and for many days, filled his young +breast, melted away in a divine pity and tenderness, and the tears of +that warm melting rolled down his cheeks. The man near him, who had +watched in silence, gently put a questioning finger upon the wet cheeks.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Repentance," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"I pity thee. Repentance is bitter of taste."</p> + +<p>"No," said the boy. "It is warm and sweet. It moves my heart and my +understanding."</p> + +<p>"What has become of thy hatred?"</p> + +<p>"I shall never hate again."</p> + +<p>"What wilt thou do, then?"</p> + +<p>"I shall love," said the boy. "<i>Love</i>," he repeated softly. "<i>How came I +never to think of that before?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou love tyranny and forbear to kill the tyrant?"</p> + +<p>The boy rose to his feet, and his young slenderness was full of strength +and dignity, and his face, cleared of its sombre brooding, was full of a +bright, untroubled decision. The cypresses upon the hilltops stood no +more resolutely erect, the hills themselves were no more steadfast. +"Nay," he said, laughing a little, boyishly, in pure pleasure at the +crystal fixity of his purpose. "Rather will I love the tyrant, and the +tyranny will die of itself. Oh, it is the way! It is the way! And I +could not think of it till now! Not till I saw thee killing and him +bleeding. Then I knew." Then, more gravely, he added, "I will begin by +loving thee."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast the appearance of a young god," said the man slowly, "but if +thou wert a god, thou would'st crush thine enemies, not love them." He +sighed, and his face strengthened into a semblance of power. "I was a +god once myself," he added after some hesitation.</p> + +<p>"What is thy name?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"They called me once the Great God Pan. And thou?"</p> + +<p>"My father is Joseph the carpenter. My mother calls me Jesus."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ah</i> ..." said Pan, " ... <i>is it Thou?</i>"</p> + +<p>Quietly they looked into each other's eyes; quietly clasped hands. And +with no more words the man turned westward into the depths of the glen, +drawing the sun's rays with him as he moved, so that the world seemed +the darker for his going. And as he went he blew upon his pipe a +tremulous and hesitating melody, piercing sweet and piercing sorrowful, +so that whosoever should hear it should clutch his throat with tears at +the wild pity of it, and the strange and haunting beauty. And the boy +stood still, watching, until the man was lost upon the edge of night. +Then he turned his face eastward, whence the new day comes, carrying +forever in his heart the echoes of a dying song.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by John T. Frederick. <br />Copyright, 1921, by +Helen Coale Crew.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Habakkuk8" id="Habakkuk8"></a>HABAKKUK<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> KATHARINE FULLERTON GEROULD</h3> +<h4>From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>When they carried Kathleen Somers up into the hills to die where her +ancestors had had the habit of dying—they didn't gad about, those early +Somerses; they dropped in their tracks, and the long grass that they had +mowed and stacked and trodden under their living feet flourished +mightily over their graves—it was held to be only a question of time. I +say "to die," not because her case was absolutely hopeless, but because +no one saw how, with her spent vitality, she could survive her exile. +Everything had come at once, and she had gone under. She had lost her +kin, she had lost her money, she had lost her health. Even the people +who make their meat of tragedy—and there are a great many of them in +all enlightened centres of thought—shook their heads and were sorry. +They thought she couldn't live; and they also thought it much, much +better that she shouldn't. For there was nothing left in life for that +sophisticated creature but a narrow cottage in a stony field, with +Nature to look at.</p> + +<p>Does it sound neurotic and silly? It wasn't. Conceive her if you +can—Kathleen Somers, whom probably you never knew. From childhood she +had nourished short hopes and straightened thoughts. At least: hopes +that depend on the æsthetic passion are short; and the long perspectives +of civilized history are very narrow. Kathleen Somers had been fed with +the Old World: that is to say, her adolescent feet had exercised +themselves in picture-galleries and cathedrals and palaces; she had +seen all the right views, all the right ceremonies, and all the +censored picturesqueness. Don't get any Cook's tourist idea, please, +about Miss Somers. Her mother had died young, and her gifted father had +taken her to a hundred places that the school-teacher on a holiday never +gets to and thinks of only in connection with geography lessons. She had +followed the Great Wall of China, she had stood before the tomb of +Tamburlaine, she had shaded her eyes from the glare of Kaïrouan the +Holy, she had chaffered in Tiflis and in Trebizond. All this before she +was twenty-five. At that time her father's health broke, and they +proceeded to live permanently in New York. Her wandering life had +steeped her in delights, but kept her innocent of love-affairs. When you +have fed on historic beauty, on the great plots of the past, the best +tenor voices in the world, it is pretty hard to find a man who doesn't +in his own person, leave out something essential to romance. She had +herself no particular beauty, and therefore the male sex could get on +without her. A few fell in love with her, but she was too enchanted and +amused with the world in general to set to work at the painful process +of making a hero out of any one of them. She was a sweet-tempered +creature; her mental snobbishness was not a pose, but perfectly +inevitable; she had a great many friends. As she had a quick wit and the +historic imagination, you can imagine—remembering her bringing up—that +she was an entertaining person when she entered upon middle age: when, +that is, she was proceeding from the earlier to the later thirties.</p> + +<p>It was natural that Kathleen Somers and her father—who was a bit +precious and pompous, in spite of his ironies—should gather about them +a homogeneous group. The house was pleasant and comfortable—they were +too sophisticated to be "periodic"—and there was always good talk +going, if you happened to be the kind that could stand good talk. Of +course you had to pass an examination first. You had at least to show +that you "caught on." They were high-brow enough to permit themselves +sudden enthusiasms that would have damned a low-brow. You mustn't like +"Peter Pan," but you might go three nights running to see some really +perfect clog-dancing at a vaudeville theatre. Do you see what I mean? +They were eclectic with a vengeance. It wouldn't do for you to cultivate +the clog-dancer <i>and</i> like "Peter Pan," because in that case you +probably liked the clog-dancer for the wrong reason—for something other +than that sublimated skill which is art. Of course this is only a wildly +chosen example. I never heard either of them mention "Peter Pan." And +the proper hatreds were ever more difficult than the proper devotions. +You might let Shakespeare get on your nerves, provided you really +enjoyed Milton. I wonder if you do see what I mean? It must be perfect +of its kind, its kind being anything under heaven; and it must never, +never, never be sentimental. It must have art, and <i>parti pris</i>, and +point of view, and individuality stamped over it. No, I can't explain. +If you have known people like that, you've known them. If you haven't, +you can scarcely conceive them.</p> + +<p>By this time you are probably hating the Somerses, father and daughter, +and I can't help it—or rather, I've probably brought it about. But when +I tell you that I'm not that sore myself, and that I loved them both +dearly and liked immensely to be with them, you'll reconsider a little, +I hope. They were sweet and straight and generous, both of them, and +they knew all about the grand manner. The grand manner is the most +comfortable thing to live with that I know. I used to go there a good +deal, and Arnold Withrow went even more than I did, though he wasn't +even hanging on to Art by the eyelids as I do. (I refer, of course, to +my little habit of writing for the best magazines, whose public +considers me intellectual. So I seem to myself, in the magazines ... +"but out in pantry, good Lord!" Anyhow, I generally knew at least what +the Somerses were talking about—the dears!) Withrow was a stock-broker, +and always spent his vacations in the veritable wilds, camping in virgin +forests, or on the edge of glaciers, or in the dust of American deserts. +He had never been to Europe, but he had been to Buenos Aires. You can +imagine what Kathleen Somers and her father felt about that: they +thought him too quaint and barbaric for words; but still not barbaric +enough to be really interesting.</p> + +<p>I was just beginning to suspect that Withrow was in love with Kathleen +Somers in the good old middle-class way, with no drama in it but no end +of devotion, when the crash came. Mr. Somers died, and within a month of +his death the railroad the bonds of which had constituted his long-since +diminished fortune went into the hands of a receiver. There were a +pitiful hundreds a year left, besides the ancestral cottage—which had +never even been worth selling. His daughter had an operation, and the +shock of that, <i>plus</i> the shock of his death, <i>plus</i> the shock of her +impoverishment, brought the curtain down with a tremendous rush that +terrified the house. It may make my metaphor clearer if I put it that it +was the asbestos curtain which fell suddenly and violently; not the +great crimson drop that swings gracefully down at the end of a play. It +did not mark the end; it marked a catastrophe in the wings to which the +plot must give place.</p> + +<p>Then they carried Kathleen Somers to the hills.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was Mildred Thurston who told me about it first. Withrow would have +rushed to the hills, I think, but he was in British Columbia on an +extended trip. He had fought for three months and got them, and he +started just before Kathleen Somers had her sudden operation. Mildred +Thurston (Withrow's cousin, by the way) threw herself nobly into the +breach. I am not going into the question of Mildred Thurston here. +Perhaps if Withrow had been at home, she wouldn't have gone. I don't +know. Anyhow, when she rushed to Kathleen Somers's desolate retreat she +did it, apparently, from pure kindness. She was sure, like every one +else, that Kathleen would die; and that belief purged her, for the time +being, of selfishness and commonness and cheap gayety. I wouldn't take +Mildred Thurston's word about a state of soul; but she was a good +dictograph. She came back filled with pity; filled, at least, with the +means of inspiring pity for the exile in others.</p> + +<p>After I had satisfied myself that Kathleen Somers was physically on the +mend, eating and sleeping fairly, and sitting up a certain amount, I +proceeded to more interesting questions.</p> + +<p>"What is it like?"</p> + +<p>"It's dreadful."</p> + +<p>"How dreadful?"</p> + +<p>Mildred's large blue eyes popped at me with sincere sorrow.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no plumbing, and no furnace."</p> + +<p>"Is it in a village?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't 'in' anything. It's a mile and a half from a station called +Hebron. You have to change three times to get there. It's half-way up a +hill—the house is—and there are mountains all about, and the barn is +connected with the house by a series of rickety woodsheds, and there are +places where the water comes through the roof. They put pails under to +catch it. There are queer little contraptions they call Franklin stoves +in most of the rooms and a brick oven in the kitchen. When they want +anything from the village, Joel Blake gets it, if he doesn't forget. +Ditto wood, ditto everything except meat. Some other hick brings that +along when he has 'killed.' They can only see one house from the front +yard, and that is precisely a mile away by the road. Joel Blake lives +nearer, but you can't see his house. You can't see anything—except the +woods and the 'crick' and the mountains. You can see the farmers when +they are haying, but that doesn't last long."</p> + +<p>"Is it a beautiful view?"</p> + +<p>"My dear man, don't ask me what a beautiful view is. My education was +neglected."</p> + +<p>"Does Kathleen Somers think it beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"She never looks at it, I believe. The place is all run down, and she +sits and wonders when the wall-paper will drop off. At least, that is +what she talks about, when she talks at all. That, and whether Joel +Blake will remember to bring the groceries. The two women never speak to +each other. Kathleen's awfully polite, but—well, you can't blame her. +And I was there in the spring. What it will be in the winter!—But +Kathleen can hardly last so long, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Who is the other woman?"</p> + +<p>"An heirloom. Melora Meigs. <i>Miss</i> Meigs, if you please. You know Mr. +Somers's aunt lived to an extreme old age in the place. Miss Meigs 'did' +for her. And since then she has been living on there. No one wanted the +house—the poor Somerses!—and she was used to it. She's an old thing +herself, and of course she hasn't the nerves of a sloth. Now she 'does' +for Kathleen. Of course later there'll have to be a nurse again. +Kathleen mustn't die with only Melora Meigs. I'm not sure, either, that +Melora will last. She all crooked over with rheumatism."</p> + +<p>That was the gist of what I got out of Mildred Thurston. Letters to Miss +Somers elicited no real response—only a line to say that she wasn't +strong enough to write. None of her other female friends could get any +encouragement to visit her. It was perhaps due to Miss Thurston's +mimicry of Melora Meigs—she made quite a "stunt" of it—that none of +them pushed the matter beyond the first rebuff.</p> + +<p>By summer-time I began to get worried myself. Perhaps I was a little +worried, vicariously, for Withrow. Remember that I thought he cared for +her. Miss Thurston's pity for Kathleen Somers was the kind that shuts +the door on the pitied person. If she had thought Kathleen Somers had a +future, she wouldn't have been so kind. I may give it to you as my +private opinion that Mildred Thurston wanted Withrow herself. I can't +swear to it, even now; but I suspected it sufficiently to feel that some +one, for Withrow's sake had better see Kathleen besides his exuberant +and slangy cousin. She danced a little too much on Kathleen Somers's +grave. I determined to go myself, and not to take the trouble of asking +vainly for an invitation. I left New York at the end of June.</p> + +<p>With my perfectly ordinary notions of comfort in traveling, I found that +it would take me two days to get to Hebron. It was beyond all the +resorts that people flock to: beyond, and "cross country" at that. I +must have journeyed on at least three small, one-track railroads after +leaving the Pullman at some junction or other.</p> + +<p>It was late afternoon when I reached Hebron; and nearly an hour later +before I could get myself deposited at Kathleen Somers's door. There was +no garden, no porch; only a long, weed-grown walk up to a stiff front +door. An orchard of rheumatic apple-trees was cowering stiffly to the +wind in a far corner of the roughly fenced-in lot; there was a windbreak +of perishing pines.</p> + +<p>In the living-room Kathleen Somers lay on a cheap wicker chaise-longue, +staring at a Hindu idol that she held in her thin hands. She did not +stir to greet me; only transferred her stare from the gilded idol to +dusty and ungilded me. She spoke, of course; the first time in my life, +too, that I had ever heard her speak ungently.</p> + +<p>"My good man, you had better go away. I can't put you up."</p> + +<p>That was her greeting. Melora Meigs was snuffling in the hallway +outside—listening, I suppose.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you can. If you can't I'm sure Joel Blake will. I've come to +stay a while, Miss Somers."</p> + +<p>"Can you eat porridge and salt pork for supper?"</p> + +<p>"I can eat tenpenny nails, if necessary. Also I can sleep in the barn."</p> + +<p>"Melora!" The old woman entered, crooked and grudging of aspect. "This +friend of my father's and mine has come to see me. Can he sleep in the +barn?"</p> + +<p>I cannot describe the hostility with which Melora Meigs regarded me. It +was not a pointed and passionate hatred. That, one could have examined +and dealt with. It was, rather, a vast disgust that happened to include +me.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to sleep on. Barn's empty."</p> + +<p>"He could move the nurse's cot out there, if he really wants to. And I +think there's an extra washstand in the woodshed. You'll hardly need +more than one chair, just for a night," she finished, turning to me.</p> + +<p>"Not for any number of nights, of course," I agreed suavely. I was angry +with Kathleen Somers, I didn't know quite why. I think it was the Hindu +idol. Nor had she any right to address me with insolence, unless she +were mad, and she was not that. Her eyes snapped very sanely. I don't +think Kathleen Somers could have made her voice snap.</p> + +<p>Melora Meigs grunted and left the room. The grunt was neither assent nor +dissent; it was only the most inclusive disapproval: the snarl of an +animal, proceeding from the topmost of many layers of dislike.</p> + +<p>"I'll move the things before dark, I think." I was determined to be +cheerful, even if I had to seem impertinent; though the notion of her +sticking me out in the barn enraged me.</p> + +<p>"You won't mind Melora's locking the door between, of course. We always +do. I'm such a cockney, I'm timid; and Melora's very sweet about it."</p> + +<p>It was almost too much, but I stuck it out. Presently, indeed, I got my +way; and moved—yes, actually lugged and lifted and dragged—the cot, +the chair, and the stand out through the dusty, half-rotted corridors +and sheds to the barn. I drew water at the tap in the yard and washed my +perspiring face and neck. Then I had supper with Miss Somers and Melora +Meigs.</p> + +<p>After supper my hostess lighted a candle. "We go to bed very early," she +informed me. "I know you'll be willing to smoke out-of-doors, it's so +warm. I doubt if Melora could bear tobacco in the house. And you won't +mind her locking up early. You can get into the barn from the yard any +time, of course. Men are never timid, I believe; but there's a horn +somewhere, if you'd like it. We have breakfast at six-thirty. +Good-night."</p> + +<p>Yes, it was Kathleen Somers's own voice, saying these things to me. I +was still enraged, but I must bide my time. I refused the horn, and went +out into the rheumatic orchard to smoke in dappled moonlight. The pure +air soothed me; the great silence restored my familiar scheme of things. +Before I went to bed in the barn, I could see the humor of this sour +adventure. Oh, I would be up at six-thirty!</p> + +<p>Of course I wasn't. I overslept; and by the time I approached the house +(the woodshed door was still locked) their breakfast was long over. I +fully expected to fast until the midday meal, but Kathleen Somers +relented. With her own hands she made me coffee over a little alcohol +lamp. Bread and butter had been austerely left on the table. Miss Somers +fetched me eggs, which I ate raw. Then I went out into the orchard to +smoke.</p> + +<p>When I came back, I found Miss Somers as she had been the day before, +crouched listlessly in her long chair fondling her idol. I drew up a +horsehair rocking-chair and plunged in.</p> + +<p>"Why do you play with that silly thing?"</p> + +<p>"This?" She stroked the idol. "It is rather lovely, Father got it in +Benares. The carving is very cunningly done. Look at the nose and mouth. +The rank Hinduism of the thing amuses me. Perhaps it was cruel to bring +it up here where there are no other gods for it to play with. But it's +all I've got. They had to sell everything, you know. When I get +stronger, I'll send it back to New York and sell it too."</p> + +<p>"Why did you keep it out of all the things you had?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I think it was the first thing we ever bought in India. +And I remember Benares with so much pleasure. Wasn't it a pity we +couldn't have been there when everything happened?"</p> + +<p>"Much better not, I should think. You needed surgeons."</p> + +<p>"Just what I didn't need! I should have liked to die in a country that +had something to say for itself. I don't feel as though this place had +ever existed, except in some hideous dream."</p> + +<p>"It's not hideous. It's even very beautiful—so wild and untouched; such +lovely contours to the mountains."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's very untouched." She spoke of it with just the same scorn I +had in old days heard her use for certain novelists. "Scarcely worth the +trouble of touching I should think—shouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"The beauty of it last night and this morning has knocked me over," I +replied hardily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, really! How very interesting!" By which she meant that she was not +interested at all.</p> + +<p>"You mean that you would like it landscape-gardened?" Really, she was +perverse. She had turned her back to the view—which was ripping, out of +her northern window. I could tell that she habitually turned her back on +it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, landscape-gardened? Well, it would improve it, no doubt. But it +would take generations to do it. The generations that have been here +already don't seem to have accomplished much. Humanly speaking, they +have hardly existed at all."</p> + +<p>Kathleen Somers was no snob in the ordinary sense. She was an angel to +peasants. I knew perfectly what she meant by "humanly." She meant there +was no castle on the next hill.</p> + +<p>"Are you incapable of caring for nature—just scenery?"</p> + +<p>"Quite." She closed her eyes, and stopped her gentle, even stroking of +the idol.</p> + +<p>"Of course you never did see America first," I laughed.</p> + +<p>Kathleen Somers opened her eyes and spoke vehemently. "I've seen all +there is of it to see, in transit to better places. Seeing America +first! That can be borne. It's seeing America last that kills me. Seeing +nothing else forever, till I die."</p> + +<p>"You don't care for just beauty, regardless," I mused.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit. Not unless it has meant something to man. I'm a humanist, +I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>Whether she was gradually developing remorse for my night in the +cobwebby barn, I do not know. But anyhow she grew more gentle, from this +point on. She really condescended to expound.</p> + +<p>"I've never loved nature—she's a brute, and crawly besides. It's what +man has done with nature that counts; it's nature with a human past. +Peaks that have been fought for, and fought on, crossed by the feet of +men, stared at by poets and saints. Most of these peaks aren't even +named. Did you know that? Nature! What is Nature good for, I should +like to know, except to kill us all in the end? Don't Ruskinize to me, +my dear man."</p> + +<p>"I won't. I couldn't. But, all the same, beauty is beauty, wherever and +whatever. And, look where you will here, your eyes can't go wrong."</p> + +<p>"I never look. I looked when I first came, and the stupidity, the +emptiness, the mere wood and dirt and rock of it seemed like a personal +insult. I should prefer the worst huddle of a Chinese city, I verily +believe."</p> + +<p>"You've not precisely the spirit of the pioneer, I can see."</p> + +<p>"I should hope not. 'But, God if a God there be, is the substance of +men, which is man.' I have to stay in the man-made ruts. They're sacred +to me. I'll look with pleasure at the Alps, if only for the sake of +Hannibal and Goethe; but I never could look with pleasure at your +untutored Rockies. They're so unintentional, you know. Nature is nothing +until history has touched her. And as for this geological display +outside my windows—you'll kindly permit me to turn my back on it. It's +not peevishness." She lifted her hand protestingly. "Only, for weeks, I +stared myself blind to see the beauty you talk of. I can't see it. +That's honest. I've tried. But there is none that I can see. I am very +conventional, you know, very self-distrustful. I have to wait for a +Byron to show it to me. American mountains—poor hulking things—have +never had a poet to look at them. At least, Poe never wasted his time +that way. I don't imagine that Poe would have been much happier here +than I am. I haven't even the thrill of the explorer, for I'm not the +first one to see them. A few thin generations of people have stared at +these hills—and much the hills have done for them! Melora Meigs is the +child of these mountains; and Melora's sense of beauty is amply +expressed in the Orthodox church in Hebron. This landscape, I assure +you"—she smiled—"hasn't made good. So much for the view. It's no use +to me, absolutely no use. I give you full and free leave to take it away +with you if you want it. And I don't think the house is much better. But +I'm afraid I shall have to keep that for Melora Meigs and me to live +in." It was her old smile. The bitterness was all in the words. No, it +was not bitterness, precisely, for it was fundamentally as impersonal as +criticism can be. You would have thought that the mountains were +low-brows. I forebore to mention her ancestors who had lived here: it +would have seemed like quibbling. They had created the situation; but +they had only in the most literal sense created her.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you get out?"</p> + +<p>"I simply haven't money enough to live anywhere else. Not money enough +for a hall bedroom. This place belongs to me. The taxes are nothing. The +good farming land that went with it was sold long since. And I'm afraid +I haven't the strength to go out and work for a living. I'm very +ineffectual, besides. What could I do even if health returned to me? +I've decided it's more decent to stay here and die on three dollars a +year than to sink my capital in learning stenography."</p> + +<p>"You could, I suppose, be a companion." Of course I did not mean it, but +she took it up very seriously.</p> + +<p>"The people who want companions wouldn't want me. And the one thing this +place gives me is freedom—freedom to hate it, to see it intelligently +for what it is. I couldn't afford my blessed hatreds if I were a +companion. And there's no money in it, so that I couldn't even plan for +release. It simply wouldn't do."</p> + +<p>Well, of course it wouldn't do. I had never thought it would. I tried +another opening.</p> + +<p>"When is Withrow coming back?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I haven't heard from him." She might have been telling a +squirrel that she didn't know where the other squirrel's nuts were.</p> + +<p>"He has been far beyond civilization, I know. But I dare say he'll be +back soon. I hope you won't put him in the barn. I don't mind, of +course, but his feelings might be hurt."</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly not let him come," she retorted. "He would have the +grace to ask first, you know."</p> + +<p>"I shall make a point of telling him you want him." But even that could +strike no spark from her. She was too completely at odds with life to +care. I realized, too, after an hour's talk with her, that I had better +go—take back my fine proposition about making a long visit. She reacted +to nothing I could offer. I talked of books and plays, visiting +virtuosos and picture exhibitions. Her comments were what they would +always have been, except that she was already groping for the cue. She +had been out of it for months; she had given up the fight. The best +things she said sounded a little stale and precious. Her wit perished in +the face of Nature's stare. Nature was a lady she didn't recognize: a +country cousin she'd never met. She couldn't even "sit and play with +similes." If she lived, she would be an old lady with a clever past: an +intolerable bore. But there was no need to look so far ahead. Kathleen +Somers would die.</p> + +<p>Before dinner I clambered up or down (I don't remember which) to a brook +and gathered a bunch of wild iris for her. She had loved flowers of old; +and how deftly she could place a spray among her treasures! She +shuddered. "Take those things away! How dare you bring It inside the +house?" By "It" I knew she meant the wild natural world. Obediently I +took the flowers out and flung them over the fence. I knew that Kathleen +Somers was capable of getting far more pleasure from their inimitable +hue than I; but even that inimitable hue was poisoned for her because it +came from the world that was torturing her—the world that beat upon her +windows, so that she turned her back to the day; that stormed her ears, +so that she closed them even to its silence; that surrounded her, so +that she locked every gate of her mind.</p> + +<p>I left, that afternoon, very desolate and sorry. Certainly I could do +nothing for her. I had tried to shock her, stir her, into another +attitude, but in vain. She had been transplanted to a soil her tender +roots could not strike into. She would wither for a little under the +sky, and then perish. "If she could only have fallen in love!" I +thought, as I left her, huddled in her wicker chair. If I had been a +woman, I would have fled from Melora Meigs even into the arms of a +bearded farmer; I would have listened to the most nasal male the hills +had bred. I would have milked cows, to get away from Melora. But I am a +crass creature. Besides, what son of the soil would want her: +unexuberant, delicate, pleasant in strange ways, and foreign to all +familiar things? She wouldn't even fall in love with Arnold Withrow, who +was her only chance. For I saw that Arnold, if he ever came, would, +fatally, love the place. She might have put up with the stock-broking, +but she never could have borne his liking the view. Yes, I was very +unhappy as I drove into Hebron; and when I finally achieved the Pullman +at the Junction, I was unhappier still. For I felt towards that Pullman +as the lost child feels toward its nurse; and I knew that Kathleen +Somers, ill, poor, middle-aged, and a woman, was a thousand times more +the child of the Pullman than I.</p> + +<p>I have told this in detail, because I hate giving things at second-hand. +Yet there my connection with Kathleen Somers ceased, and her tragedy +deepened before other witnesses. She stayed on in her hills; too proud +to visit her friends, too sane to spend her money on a flying trip to +town, too bruised and faint to fight her fate. The only thing she tried +for was apathy. I think she hoped—when she hoped anything—that her +mind would go, a little: not so much that she would have to be "put +away"; but just enough so that she could see things in a mist—so that +the hated hills might, for all she knew, be Alps, the rocks turn into +castles, the stony fields into vineyards, and Joel Blake into a Tuscan. +Just enough so that she could re-create her world from her blessed +memories, without any sharp corrective senses to interfere. That, I am +sure, was what she fixed her mind upon through the prolonged autumn; +bending all her frail strength to turn her brain ever so little from its +rigid attitude to fact. "Pretending" was no good: it maddened. If her +mind would only pretend without her help! That would be heaven, until +heaven really came.... You can't sympathize with her, probably, you +people who have been bred up on every kind of Nature cult. I can hear +you talking about the everlasting hills. Don't you see, that was the +trouble? Her carefully trained imagination was her religion, and in her +own way she was a ritualist. The mountains she faced were unbaptized: +the Holy Ghost had never descended upon them. She was as narrow as a +nun; but she could not help it. And remember, you practical people who +love woodchucks, that she had nothing but the view to make life +tolerable. The view was no mere accessory to a normal existence. She +lived, half-ill, in an ugly, not too comfortable cottage, as far as the +moon from any world she understood, in a solitude acidulated by Melora +Meigs. No pictures, no music, no plays, no talk—and this, the whole +year round. Would you like it yourselves, you would-be savages with +Adirondack guides? Books? Well: that was one of life's little +stupidities. She couldn't buy them, and no one knew what to send her. +Besides, books deferred the day when her mind should, ever so little, go +back on her. She didn't encourage gifts of literature. She was no +philosopher; and an abstraction was of no use to her unless she could +turn it to a larger concreteness, somehow enhancing, let us say, a +sunset from the Acropolis. I never loved Kathleen Somers, as men love +women, but many a time that year I would have taken her burden on +myself, changed lives with her, if that had been possible. It never +could have been so bad for any of us as for her. Mildred Thurston would +have gone to the church sociables and flirted as grossly as Hebron +conventions permitted; I, at least, could have chopped wood. But to what +account could Kathleen Somers turn her martyrdom?</p> + +<p>Withrow felt it, too—not as I could feel it, for, as I foretold, he +thought the place glorious. He went up in the autumn when everything was +crimson and purple and gold. Yet more, in a sense, than I could feel it, +for he did love her as men love women. It shows you how far gone she was +that she turned him down. Many women, in her case, would have jumped at +Withrow for the sake of getting away. But she was so steeped in her type +that she couldn't. She wouldn't have married him before; and she wasn't +going to marry him for the sake of living in New York. She would have +been ashamed to. A few of us who knew blamed her. I didn't, really, +though I had always suspected that she cared for him personally. +Kathleen Somers's love, when it came, would be a very complicated thing. +She had seen sex in too many countries, watched its brazen play on too +many stages, within theatres and without, to have any mawkish illusions. +But passion would have to bring a large retinue to be accepted where she +was sovereign. Little as I knew her, I knew that. Yet I always thought +she might have taken him, in that flaming October, if he hadn't so +flagrantly, tactlessly liked the place. He drank the autumn like wine; +he was tipsy with it; and his loving her didn't tend to sober him. The +consequence was that she drew away—as if he had been getting drunk on +some foul African brew that was good only to befuddle woolly heads with; +as if, in other words, he had not been getting drunk like a +gentleman.... Anyhow, Arnold came back with a bad headache. She had +found a gentle brutality to fit his case. He would have been wise, I +believe, to bring her away, even if he had had to chloroform her to do +it. But Withrow couldn't have been wise in that way. Except for his +incurable weakness for Nature, he was the most delicate soul alive.</p> + +<p>He didn't talk much to me about it, beyond telling me that she had +refused him. I made out the rest from his incoherences. He had not slept +in the barn, for they could hardly have let a cat sleep in the barn on +such cold nights; but Melora Meigs had apparently treated him even worse +than she had treated me. Kathleen Somers had named some of the unnamed +mountains after the minor prophets; as grimly as if she had been one of +the people they cursed. I thought that a good sign, but Withrow said he +wished she hadn't: she ground the names out so between her teeth. Some +of her state of mind came out through her talk—not much. It was from +one or two casually seen letters that I became aware of her desire to go +a little—just a little—mad.</p> + +<p>In the spring Kathleen Somers had a relapse. It was no wonder. In spite +of the Franklin stoves, her frail body must have been chilled to the +bone for many months. Relief settled on several faces, when we heard—I +am afraid it may have settled on mine. She had been more dead than +alive, I judged, for a year; and yet she had not been able to cure her +sanity. That was chronic. Death would have been the kindest friend that +could arrive to her across those detested hills. We—the "we" is a +little vague, but several of us scurried about—sent up a trained nurse, +delaying somewhat for the sake of getting the woman who had been there +before; for she had the advantage of having experienced Melora Meigs +without resultant bloodshed. She was a nice woman, and sent faithful +bulletins; but the bulletins were bad. Miss Somers seemed to have so +little resistance: there was no interest there, she said, no willingness +to fight. "The will was slack." Ah, she little knew Kathleen Somers's +will! None of us knew, for that matter.</p> + +<p>The spring came late that year, and in those northern hills there were +weeks of melting snow and raw, deep slush—the ugliest season we have to +face south of the Arctic circle. The nurse did not want any of her +friends to come; she wrote privately, to those of us who champed at the +bit, that Miss Somers was fading away, but not peacefully; she was +better unvisited, unseen. Miss Somers did not wish any one to come, and +the nurse thought it wiser not to force her. Several women were held +back by that, and turned with relief to Lenten opera. The opera, +however, said little to Withrow at the best of times, and he was crazed +by the notion of not seeing her before she achieved extinction. I +thought him unwise, for many reasons: for one, I did not think that +Arnold Withrow would bring her peace. She usually knew what she +wanted—wasn't that, indeed, the whole trouble with her?—and she had +said explicitly to the nurse that she didn't want Arnold Withrow. But by +the end of May Withrow was neither to hold nor to bind: he went. I +contented myself with begging him at least not to poison her last hours +by admiring the landscape. I had expected my earnest request to shock +him; but, to my surprise, he nodded understandingly. "I shall curse the +whole thing out like a trooper, if she gives me the chance." And he got +into his daycoach—the Pullmans wouldn't go on until much later—a +mistaken and passionate knight.</p> + +<p>Withrow could not see her the first evening, and he talked long and +deeply with the nurse. She had no hope to give him: she was mystified. +It was her opinion that Kathleen Somers's lack of will was killing her, +speedily and surely. "Is there anything for her to die of?" he asked. +"There's nothing, you might say, for her to <i>live</i> of," was her reply. +The nurse disapproved of his coming, but promised to break the news of +his presence to her patient in the morning.</p> + +<p>Spring had by this time touched the hills. It was that divine first +moment when the whole of earth seems to take a leap in the night; when +things are literally new every morning. Arnold walked abroad late, +filling his lungs and nostrils and subduing his pulses. He was always +faunishly wild in the spring; and for years he hadn't had a chance to +seek the season in her haunts. But he turned in before midnight, because +he dreaded the next day supremely. He didn't want to meet that face to +face until he had to. Melora Meigs lowered like a thunderstorm, but she +was held in check by the nurse. I suppose Melora couldn't give notice: +there would be nothing but the poor-farm for her if she did. But she +whined and grumbled and behaved in general like an electrical +disturbance. Luckily, she couldn't curdle the milk.</p> + +<p>Withrow waked into a world of beauty. He walked for an hour before +breakfast, through woods all blurred with buds, down vistas brushed with +faint color. But he would have given the spring and all springs to come +for Kathleen Somers, and the bitter kernel of it was that he knew it. He +was sharp-faced and sad (I know how he looked) when he came back, with a +bunch of hepaticas, to breakfast.</p> + +<p>The nurse was visibly trembling. You see, Kathleen Somers's heart had +never been absolutely right. It was a terrible responsibility to let her +patient face Withrow. Still, neither she nor any other woman could have +held Withrow off. Besides, as she had truly said, there was nothing +explicitly for Kathleen Somers to die of. It was that low vitality, that +whispering pulse, that listlessness; then, a draught, a shock, a bit of +over-exertion and something real and organic could speedily be upon her. +No wonder the woman was troubled. In point of fact, though she had taken +up Miss Somers's breakfast, she hadn't dared tell her the news. And +finally, after breakfast, she broke down. "I can't do it, Mr. Withrow," +she wailed. "Either you go away or I do."</p> + +<p>Withrow knew at first only one thing: that he wouldn't be the one to go. +Then he realized that the woman had been under a long strain, what with +the spring thaws, and a delicate patient who wouldn't mend—and Melora +to fight with, on behalf of all human decency, every day.</p> + +<p>"You go, then," he said finally. "I'll take care of her."</p> + +<p>The nurse stared at him. Then she thought, presumably, of Kathleen +Somers's ineffable delicacy, and burst out laughing. Hysteria might, in +all the circumstances, be forgiven her.</p> + +<p>Then they came back to the imminent question.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell her when I do up her room," she faltered.</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll give you all the time in the world. But she must be +told I'm here—unless you wish me to tell her myself." Withrow went out +to smoke. But he did not wish to succumb again to the intoxication +Kathleen Somers so disdained, and eventually he went into the barn, to +shut himself away from temptation. It was easier to prepare his +vilifying phrases there.</p> + +<p>To his consternation, he heard through the gloom the sound of sobbing. +The nurse, he saw, after much peering, sat on a dusty chopping-block, +crying unhealthily. He went up to her and seized her arm. "Have you told +her?"</p> + +<p>"I can't."</p> + +<p>"My good woman, you'd better leave this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Not"—the tone itself was firm, through the shaky sobs—"until there is +some one to take my place."</p> + +<p>"I'll telegraph for some one. You shan't see her again. But I will see +her at once."</p> + +<p>Then the woman's training asserted itself. She pulled herself together, +with a little shake of self-disgust. "You'll do nothing of the sort. +I'll attend to her until I go. It has been a long strain, and, contrary +to custom, I've had no time off. I'll telegraph to the Registry myself. +And if I can't manage until then, I'll resign my profession." She spoke +with sturdy shame.</p> + +<p>"That's better." Withrow approved her. "I'm awfully obliged. But +honestly, she has got to know. I can't stand it, skulking round, much +longer. And no matter what happens to the whole boiling, I'm not going +to leave without seeing her."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell her." The nurse rose and walked to the barn-door like a +heroine. "But you must stay here until I come for you."</p> + +<p>"I promise. Only you must come. I give you half an hour."</p> + +<p>"I don't need half an hour, thank you." She had recovered her +professional crispness. In the wide door she stopped. "It's a pity," she +said irrelevantly, "that she can't see how lovely this is." Then she +started for the house.</p> + +<p>"I believe you," muttered Withrow under his breath.</p> + +<p>In five minutes the nurse came back, breathless, half-running. Arnold +got up from the chopping-block, startled. He believed for an instant (as +he has since told me) that it was "all over." With her hand on her +beating heart the woman panted out her words:</p> + +<p>"She has come downstairs in a wrapper. She hasn't been down for weeks. +And she has found your hepaticas."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hell!" Withrow was honestly disgusted. He had never meant to insult +Kathleen Somers with hepaticas. "Is it safe to leave her alone with +them?" He hardly knew what he was saying. But it shows to what a pass +Kathleen Somers had come that he could be frightened at the notion of +her being left alone with a bunch of hepaticas.</p> + +<p>"She's all right, I think. She seemed to like them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord!" Withrow's brain was spinning. "Here, I'll go. If she can +stand those beastly flowers, she can stand me."</p> + +<p>"No, she can't." The nurse had recovered her breath now. "I'll go back +and tell her, very quietly. If she could get down-stairs, she can stand +it, I think. But I'll be very careful. You come in ten minutes. If she +isn't fit, I'll have got her back to bed by that time."</p> + +<p>She disappeared, and Withrow, his back to the view, counted out the +minutes. When the large hand of his watch had quite accomplished its +journey, he turned and walked out through the yard to the side door of +the house. Melora Meigs was clattering dish-pans somewhere beyond, and +the noise she made covered his entrance to the living-room. He drew a +deep breath: they were not there. He listened at the stairs: no sound up +there—no sound, at least, to rise above Melora's dish-pans, now a +little less audible. But this time he was not going to wait—for +anything. He already had one foot on the stairs when he heard voices and +stopped. For just one second he paused, then walked cat-like in the +direction of the sounds. The front door was open. On the step stood +Kathleen Somers, her back to him, facing the horizon. A light shawl hung +on her shoulders, and the nurse's arm was very firmly round her waist. +They did not hear him, breathing heavily there in the hall behind them.</p> + +<p>He saw Kathleen Somers raise her arm slowly—with difficulty, it seemed. +She pointed at the noble shoulder of a mountain.</p> + +<p>"That is Habakkuk," said her sweet voice. "I named them all, you know. +But I think Habakkuk is my favorite; though of course he's not so +stunning as Isaiah. Then they run down to Obadiah and Malachi. Joel is +just peeping over Habakkuk's left shoulder. That long bleak range is +Jeremiah." She laughed, very faintly. "You know, Miss Willis, they are +really very beautiful. Isn't it strange, I couldn't see it? For I +honestly couldn't. I've been lying there, thinking. And I found I could +remember all their outlines, under snow ... and this morning it seemed +to me I must see how Habakkuk looked in the spring." She sat down +suddenly on the top step; and Miss Willis sat down too, her arm still +about her patient.</p> + +<p>"It's very strange"—Withrow, strain though he did, could hardly make +out the words, they fell so softly—"that I just couldn't see it before. +It's only these last days.... And now I feel as if I wanted to see every +leaf on every tree. It wasn't so last year. They say something to me +now. I don't think I should want to talk with them forever, but you've +no idea—you've no idea—how strange and welcome it is for my eyes to +find them beautiful." She seemed almost to murmur to herself. Then she +braced herself slightly against the nurse's shoulder, and went on, in +her light, sweet, ironic voice. "They probably never told you—but I +didn't care for Nature, exactly. I don't think I care for it now, as +some people do, but I can see that this is beautiful. Of course you +don't know what it means to me. It has simply changed the world." She +waved her hand again. "They never got by, before. I always knew that +line was line, and color was color, wherever or whoever. But my eyes +went back on me. My father would have despised me. He wouldn't have +preferred Habakkuk, but he would have done Habakkuk justice from the +beginning. Yes, it makes a great deal of difference to me to see it +once, fair and clear. Why"—she drew herself up as well as she could, so +firmly held—"it is a very lovely place. I should tire of it some time, +but I shall not tire of it soon. For a little while, I shall be up to +it. And I know that no one thinks it will be long."</p> + +<p>Just then, Withrow's absurd fate caught him. Breathless, more +passionately interested than he had ever been in his life, he sneezed. +He had just time, while the two women were turning, to wonder if he had +ruined it all—if she would faint, or shriek, or relapse into apathy.</p> + +<p>She did none of these things. She faced him and flushed, standing +unsteadily. "How long have you been cheating me?" she asked coldly. But +she held out her hand before she went upstairs with the nurse's arm +still round her.</p> + +<p>Later he caught at Miss Willis excitedly. "Is she better? Is she worse? +Is she well? Or is she going to die?"</p> + +<p>"She's shaken. She must rest. But she's got the hepaticas in water +beside her bed. And she told me to pull the shade up so that she could +look out. She has a touch of temperature—but she often has that. The +exertion and the shock would be enough to give it to her. I found her +leaning against the door-jamb. I hadn't a chance to tell her you were +here. I can tell you later whether you'd better go or stay."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to stay. It's you who are going."</p> + +<p>"You needn't telegraph just yet," the nurse replied dryly. She looked +another woman from the nervous, sobbing creature on the chopping-block.</p> + +<p>The end was that Miss Willis stayed and Arnold Withrow went. Late that +afternoon he left Kathleen Somers staring passionately at the sunset. It +was not his moment, and he had the grace to know it. But he had not had +to tell her that the view was beastly; and, much as he loved her, I +think that was a relief to him.</p> + +<p>None of us will ever know the whole of Kathleen Somers's miracle, of +course. I believe she told as much of it as she could when she said that +she had lain thinking of the outlines of the mountains until she felt +that she must go out and face them: stand once more outside, free of +walls, and stare about at the whole chain of the earth-lords. Perhaps +the spring, which had broken up the ice-bound streams, had melted other +things besides. Unwittingly—by unconscious cerebration—by the long +inevitable storing of disdained impressions—she had arrived at vision. +That which had been, for her, alternate gibberish and silence, had +become an intelligible tongue. The blank features had stirred and +shifted into a countenance; she saw a face, where she had seen only odds +and ends of modelling grotesquely flung abroad. With no stupid pantheism +to befuddle her, she yet felt the earth a living thing. Wood and stone, +which had not even been an idol for her, now shaped themselves to hold a +sacrament. Put it as you please; for I can find no way to express it to +my satisfaction. Kathleen Somers had, for the first time, envisaged the +cosmic, had seen something less passionate, but more vital, than +history. Most of us are more fortunate than she: we take it for granted +that no loom can rival the petal of a flower. But to some creatures the +primitive is a cipher, hard to learn; and blood is spent in the +struggle. You have perhaps seen (and not simply in the old legend) +passion come to a statue. Rare, oh, rare is the necessity for such a +miracle. But Kathleen Somers was in need of one; and I believe it came +to her.</p> + +<p>The will was slack, the nurse had said; yet it sufficed to take her from +her bed, down the stairs, in pursuit of the voice—straight out into the +newly articulate world. She moved, frail and undismayed, to the source +of revelation. She did not cower back and demand that the oracle be +served up to her by a messenger. A will like that is not slack.</p> + +<p>Now I will shuffle back into my own skin and tell you the rest of it +very briefly and from the rank outsider's point of view. Even had I +possessed the whole of Arnold Withrow's confidence, I could not deal +with the delicate gradations of a lover's mood. He passed the word about +that Kathleen Somers was not going to die—though I believe he did it +with his heart in his mouth, not really assured she wouldn't. It took +some of us a long time to shift our ground and be thankful. Withrow, +with a wisdom beyond his habit, did not go near her until autumn. +Reports were that she was gaining all the time, and that she lived +out-of-doors staring at Habakkuk and his brethren, gathering wild +flowers and pressing them between her palms. She seemed determined to +face another winter there alone with Melora, Miss Willis wrote. Withrow +set his jaw when that news came. It was hard on him to stay away, but +she had made it very clear that she wanted her convalescent summer to +herself. When she had to let Miss Willis go—and Miss Willis had already +taken a huge slice of Kathleen's capital—he might come and see her +through the transition. So Withrow sweltered in New York all summer, +and waited for permission.</p> + +<p>Then Melora Meigs was gracious for once. With no preliminary illness, +with just a little gasp as the sun rose over the long range of Jeremiah, +she died. Withrow, hearing this, was off like a sprinter who hears the +signal. He found laughter and wit abiding happily in Kathleen's +recovered body. Together they watched the autumn deepen over the +prophets. Habakkuk, all insults forgiven, was their familiar.</p> + +<p>So they brought Kathleen Somers back from the hills to live. It was +impossible for her to remain on her mountainside without a Melora Meigs; +and Melora, unlike most tortures, was unreplaceable. Kathleen's world +welcomed her as warmly as if her exile had been one long suspense: a +gentle hyprocrisy we all forgave each other. Some one went abroad and +left an apartment for her use. All sorts of delicate little events +occurred, half accidentally, in her interest. Soon some of us began to +gather, as of old. Marvel of marvels, Withrow had not spoken in that +crimson week of autumn. Without jealousy he had apparently left her to +Habakkuk. It was a brief winter—for Kathleen Somers's body, a kind of +spring. You could see her grow, from week to week: plump out and bloom +more vividly. Then, in April, without a word, she left us—disappeared +one morning, with no explicit word to servants.</p> + +<p>Withrow once more—poor Withrow—shot forth, not like a runner, but like +a hound on a fresh scent. He needed no time-tables. He leaped from the +telephone to the train.</p> + +<p>He found her there, he told me afterward, sitting on the step, the door +unlocked behind her but shut.</p> + +<p>Indeed, she never entered the house again; for Withrow bore her away +from the threshold. I do not think she minded, for she had made her +point: she had seen Habakkuk once more, and Habakkuk had not gone back +on her. That was all she needed to know. They meant to go up in the +autumn after their marriage, but the cottage burned to the ground before +they got back from Europe. I do not know that they have ever been, or +whether they ever will go, now. There are still a few exotic places that +Kathleen Withrow has not seen, and Habakkuk can wait. After all, the +years are very brief in Habakkuk's sight. Even if she never needs him +again, I do not think he will mind.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Copyright, 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons.<br /> Copyright, +1921, by Katharine Fullerton Gerould.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Judgment_of_Vulcan9" id="The_Judgment_of_Vulcan9"></a>THE JUDGMENT OF VULCAN<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> LEE FOSTER HARTMAN</h3> +<h4>From <i>Harper's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>To dine on the veranda of the Marine Hotel is the one delightful +surprise which Port Charlotte affords the adventurer who has broken from +the customary paths of travel in the South Seas. On an eminence above +the town, solitary and aloof like a monastery, and nestling deep in its +garden of lemon-trees, it commands a wide prospect of sea and sky. By +day, the Pacific is a vast stretch of blue, flat like a floor, with a +blur of distant islands on the horizon—chief among them Muloa, with its +single volcanic cone tapering off into the sky. At night, this smithy of +Vulcan becomes a glow of red, throbbing faintly against the darkness, a +capricious and sullen beacon immeasurably removed from the path of men. +Viewed from the veranda of the Marine Hotel, its vast flare on the +horizon seems hardly more than an insignificant spark, like the glowing +cigar-end of some guest strolling in the garden after dinner.</p> + +<p>It may very likely have been my lighted cigar that guided Eleanor +Stanleigh to where I was sitting in the shadows. Her uncle, Major +Stanleigh, had left me a few minutes before, and I was glad of the +respite from the queer business he had involved me in. The two of us had +returned that afternoon from Muloa, where I had taken him in my +schooner, the <i>Sylph</i>, to seek out Leavitt and make some inquiries—very +important inquiries, it seemed, in Miss Stanleigh's behalf.</p> + +<p>Three days in Muloa, under the shadow of the grim and flame-throated +mountain, while I was forced to listen to Major Stanleigh's persistent +questionnaire and Leavitt's erratic and garrulous responses—all this, +as I was to discover later, at the instigation of the Major's +niece—had made me frankly curious about the girl.</p> + +<p>I had seen her only once, and then at a distance across the veranda, one +night when I had been dining there with a friend; but that single vision +of her remained vivid and unforgettable—a tall girl of a slender +shapeliness, crowned by a mass of reddish-gold hair that smoldered above +the clear olive pallor of her skin. With that flawless and brilliant +coloring she was marked for observation—had doubtless been schooled to +a perfect indifference to it, for the slow, almost indolent, grace of +her movements was that of a woman coldly unmindful of the gazes +lingering upon her. She could not have been more than twenty-six or +-seven, but I got an unmistakable impression of weariness or balked +purpose emanating from her in spite of her youth and glorious physique. +I looked up to see her crossing the veranda to join her uncle and +aunt—correct, well-to-do English people that one placed instantly—and +my stare was only one of many that followed her as she took her seat and +threw aside the light scarf that swathed her bare and gleaming +shoulders.</p> + +<p>My companion, who happened to be the editor of the local paper, promptly +informed me regarding her name and previous residence—the gist of some +"social item" which he had already put into print; but these meant +nothing, and I could only wonder what had brought her to such an +out-of-the-way part of the world as Port Charlotte. She did not seem +like a girl who was traveling with her uncle and aunt; one got rather +the impression that she was bent on a mission of her own and was +dragging her relatives along because the conventions demanded it. I +hazarded to my companion the notion that a woman like Miss Stanleigh +could have but one of two purposes in this lonely part of the world—she +was fleeing from a lover or seeking one.</p> + +<p>"In that case," rejoined my friend, with the cynical shrug of the +newspaper man, "she has very promptly succeeded. It's whispered that she +is going to marry Joyce—of Malduna Island, you know. Only met him a +fortnight ago. Quite a romance, I'm told."</p> + +<p>I lifted my eyebrows at that, and looked again at Miss Stanleigh. Just +at that instant she happened to look up. It was a wholly indifferent +gaze; I am confident that she was no more aware of me than if I had been +one of the veranda posts which her eyes had chanced to encounter. But in +the indescribable sensation of that moment I felt that here was a woman +who bore a secret burden, although, as my informing host put it, her +heart had romantically found its haven only two weeks ago.</p> + +<p>She was endeavoring to get trace of a man named Farquharson, as I was +permitted to learn a few days later. Ostensibly, it was Major Stanleigh +who was bent on locating this young Englishman—Miss Stanleigh's +interest in the quest was guardedly withheld—and the trail had led him +a pretty chase around the world until some clue, which I never clearly +understood, brought them to Port Charlotte. The major's immediate +objective was an eccentric chap named Leavitt who had marooned himself +in Muloa. The island offered an ideal retreat for one bent on shunning +his own kind, if he did not object to the close proximity of a restive +volcano. Clearly, Leavitt did not. He had a scientific interest in the +phenomena exhibited by volcanic regions and was versed in geological +lore, but the rumors about Leavitt—practically no one ever visited +Muloa—did not stop at that. And, as Major Stanleigh and I were to +discover, the fellow seemed to have developed a genuine affection for +Lakalatcha, as the smoking cone was called by the natives of the +adjoining islands. From long association he had come to know its whims +and moods as one comes to know those of a petulant woman one lives with. +It was a bizarre and preposterous intimacy, in which Leavitt seemed to +find a wholly acceptable substitute for human society, and there was +something repellant about the man's eccentricity. He had various names +for the smoking cone that towered a mile or more above his head: "Old +Flame-eater," or "Lava-spitter," he would at times familiarly and +irreverently call it; or, again, "The Maiden Who Never Sleeps," or "The +Single-breasted Virgin"—these last, however, always in the musical +Malay equivalent. He had no end of names—romantic, splenetic, of +opprobrium, or outright endearment—to suit, I imagine, Lakalatcha's +varying moods. In one respect they puzzled me—they were of conflicting +genders, some feminine and some masculine, as if in Leavitt's +loose-frayed imagination the mountain that beguiled his days and +disturbed his nights were hermaphroditic.</p> + +<p>Leavitt as a source of information regarding the missing Farquharson +seemed preposterous when one reflected how out of touch with the world +he had been, but, to my astonishment, Major Stanleigh's clue was right, +for he had at last stumbled upon a man who had known Farquharson well +and who was voluminous about him—quite willingly so. With the <i>Sylph</i> +at anchor, we lay off Muloa for three nights, and Leavitt gave us our +fill of Farquharson, along with innumerable digressions about volcanoes, +neoplatonism, the Single Tax, and what not. There was no keeping Leavitt +to a coherent narrative about the missing Farquharson. He was incapable +of it, and Major Stanleigh and myself had simply to wait in patience +while Leavitt, delighted to have an audience, dumped out for us the +fantastic contents of his mind, odd vagaries, recondite trash, and all. +He was always getting away from Farquharson, but, then, he was +unfailingly bound to come back to him. We had only to wait and catch the +solid grains that now and then fell in the winnowing of that unending +stream of chaff. It was a tedious and exasperating process, but it had +its compensations. At times Leavitt could be as uncannily brilliant as +he was dull and boresome. The conviction grew upon me that he had become +a little demented, as if his brain had been tainted by the sulphurous +fumes exhaled by the smoking crater above his head. His mind smoked, +flickered, and flared like an unsteady lamp, blown upon by choking +gases, in which the oil had run low.</p> + +<p>But of the wanderer Farquharson he spoke with precision and authority, +for he had shared with Farquharson his bungalow there in Muloa—a +period of about six months, it seemed—and there Farquharson had +contracted a tropic fever and died.</p> + +<p>"Well, at last we have got all the facts," Major Stanleigh sighed with +satisfaction when the <i>Sylph</i> was heading back to Port Charlotte. Muloa, +lying astern, we were no longer watching. Leavitt, at the water's edge, +had waved us a last good-by and had then abruptly turned back into the +forest, very likely to go clambering like a demented goat up the flanks +of his beloved volcano and to resume poking about in its steaming +fissures—an occupation of which he never tired.</p> + +<p>"The evidence is conclusive, don't you think?—the grave, Farquharson's +personal effects, those pages of the poor devil's diary."</p> + +<p>I nodded assent. In my capacity as owner of the <i>Sylph</i> I had merely +undertaken to furnish Major Stanleigh with passage to Muloa and back, +but the events of the last three days had made me a party to the many +conferences, and I was now on terms of something like intimacy with the +rather stiff and pompous English gentleman. How far I was from sharing +his real confidence I was to discover later when Eleanor Stanleigh gave +me hers.</p> + +<p>"My wife and niece will be much relieved to hear all this—a family +matter, you understand, Mr. Barnaby," he had said to me when we landed. +"I should like to present you to them before we leave Port Charlotte for +home."</p> + +<p>But, as it turned out, it was Eleanor Stanleigh who presented herself, +coming upon me quite unexpectedly that night after our return while I +sat smoking in the shadowy garden of the Marine Hotel. I had dined with +the major, after he had explained that the ladies were worn out by the +heat and general developments of the day and had begged to be excused. +And I was frankly glad not to have to endure another discussion of the +deceased Farquharson, of which I was heartily tired after hearing little +else for the last three days. I could not help wondering how the verbose +and pompous major had paraphrased and condensed that inchoate mass of +bioraphy and reminiscence into an orderly account for his wife and +niece. He had doubtless devoted the whole afternoon to it. Sitting under +the cool green of the lemon-trees, beneath a sky powdered with stars, I +reflected that I, at least, was done with Farquharson forever. But I was +not, for just then Eleanor Stanleigh appeared before me.</p> + +<p>I was startled to hear her addressing me by name, and then calmly +begging me to resume my seat on the bench under the arbor. She sat down +also, her flame-colored hair and bare shoulders gleaming in the +darkness. She was the soul of directness and candor, and after a +thoughtful, searching look into my face she came to the point at once. +She wanted to hear about Farquharson—from me.</p> + +<p>"Of course, my uncle has given me a very full account of what he learned +from Mr. Leavitt, and yet many things puzzle me—this Mr. Leavitt most +of all."</p> + +<p>"A queer chap," I epitomized him. "Frankly, I don't quite make him out, +Miss Stanleigh—marooning himself on that infernal island and seemingly +content to spend his days there."</p> + +<p>"Is he so old?" she caught me up quickly.</p> + +<p>"No, he isn't," I reflected. "Of course, it's difficult to judge ages +out here. The climate, you know. Leavitt's well under forty, I should +say. But that's a most unhealthy spot he has chosen to live in."</p> + +<p>"Why does he stay there?"</p> + +<p>I explained about the volcano. "You can have no idea what an obsession +it is with him. There isn't a square foot of its steaming, treacherous +surface that he hasn't been over, mapping new fissures, poking into old +lava-beds, delving into the crater itself on favorable days——"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it dangerous?"</p> + +<p>"In a way, yes. The volcano itself is harmless enough. It smokes +unpleasantly now and then, splutters and rumbles as if about to +obliterate all creation, but for all its bluster it only manages to +spill a trickle or two of fresh lava down its sides—just tamely +subsides after deluging Leavitt with a shower of cinders and ashes. But +Leavitt won't leave it alone. He goes poking into the very crater, half +strangling himself in its poisonous fumes, scorching the shoes off his +feet, and once, I believe, he lost most of his hair and eyebrows—a +narrow squeak. He throws his head back and laughs at any word of +caution. To my notion, it's foolhardy to push a scientific curiosity to +that extreme."</p> + +<p>"Is it, then, just scientific curiosity?" mused Miss Stanleigh.</p> + +<p>Something in her tone made me stop short. Her eyes had lifted to +mine—almost appealingly, I fancied. Her innocence, her candor, her warm +beauty, which was like a pale phosphorescence in the starlit +darkness—all had their potent effect upon me in that moment. I felt +impelled to a sudden burst of confidence.</p> + +<p>"At times I wonder. I've caught a look in his eyes, when he's been down +on his hands and knees, staring into some infernal vent-hole—a look +that is—well, uncanny, as if he were peering into the bowels of the +earth for something quite outside the conceptions of science. You might +think that volcano had worked some spell over him, turned his mind. He +prattles to it or storms at it as if it were a living creature. Queer, +yes; and he's impressive, too, with a sort of magnetic personality that +attracts and repels you violently at the same time. He's like a cake of +ice dipped in alcohol and set aflame. I can't describe him. When he +talks——"</p> + +<p>"Does he talk about himself?"</p> + +<p>I had to confess that he had told us practically not a word. He had +discussed everything under heaven in his brilliant, erratic way, with a +fleer of cynicism toward it all, but he had left himself out completely. +He had given us Farquharson with relish, and in infinite detail, from +the time the poor fellow first turned up in Muloa, put ashore by a +native craft. Talking about Farquharson was second only to his delight +in talking about volcanoes. And the result for me had been innumerable +vivid but confused impressions of the young Englishman who had by chance +invaded Leavitt's solitude and had lingered there, held by some +attraction, until he sickened and died. It was like a jumbled mosaic +put together again by inexpert hands.</p> + +<p>"Did you get the impression that the two men had very much in common?"</p> + +<p>"Quite the contrary," I answered. "But Major Stanleigh should know——"</p> + +<p>"My uncle never met Mr. Farquharson."</p> + +<p>I was fairly taken aback at that, and a silence fell between us. It was +impossible to divine the drift of her questions. It was as if some +profound mistrust weighed upon her and she was not so much seeking to +interrogate me as she was groping blindly for some chance word of mine +that might illuminate her doubts.</p> + +<p>I looked at the girl in silent wonder, yes, and in admiration of her +bronze and ivory beauty in the full flower of her glorious youth—and I +thought of Joyce. I felt that it was like her to have fallen in love +simply but passionately at the mere lifting of the finger of Fate. It +was only another demonstration of the unfathomable mystery, or miracle, +which love is. Joyce was lucky, indeed favored of the gods, to have +touched the spring in this girl's heart which no other man could reach, +and by the rarest of chances—her coming out to this remote corner of +the world. Lucky Joyce! I knew him slightly—a straightforward young +fellow, very simple and whole-souled, enthusiastically absorbed in +developing his rubber lands in Malduna.</p> + +<p>Miss Stanleigh remained lost in thought while her fingers toyed with the +pendant of the chain that she wore. In the darkness I caught the glitter +of a small gold cross.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Barnaby," she finally broke the silence, and paused. "I have +decided to tell you something. This Mr. Farquharson was my husband."</p> + +<p>Again a silence fell, heavy and prolonged, in which I sat as if drugged +by the night air that hung soft and perfumed about us. It seemed +incredible that in that fleeting instant she had spoken at all.</p> + +<p>"I was young—and very foolish, I suppose."</p> + +<p>With that confession, spoken with simple dignity, she broke off again. +Clearly, some knowledge of the past she deemed it necessary to impart to +me. If she halted over her words, it was rather to dismiss what was +irrelevant to the matter in hand, in which she sought my counsel.</p> + +<p>"I did not see him for four years—did not wish to.... And he vanished +completely.... Four years!—just a welcome blank!"</p> + +<p>Her shoulders lifted and a little shiver went over her.</p> + +<p>"But even a blank like that can become unendurable. To be always +dragging at a chain, and not knowing where it leads to...." Her hand +slipped from the gold cross on her breast and fell to the other in her +lap, which it clutched tightly. "Four years.... I tried to make myself +believe that he was gone forever—was dead. It was wicked of me."</p> + +<p>My murmur of polite dissent led her to repeat her words.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and even worse than that. During the past month I have actually +prayed that he might be dead.... I shall be punished for it."</p> + +<p>I ventured no rejoinder to these words of self-condemnation. Joyce, I +reflected, mundanely, had clearly swept her off her feet in the ardor of +their first meeting and instant love.</p> + +<p>"It must be a great relief to you," I murmured at length, "to have it +all definitely settled at last."</p> + +<p>"If I could only feel that it was!"</p> + +<p>I turned in amazement, to see her leaning a little forward, her hands +still tightly clasped in her lap, and her eyes fixed upon the distant +horizon where the red spark of Lakalatcha's stertorous breathing flamed +and died away. Her breast rose and fell, as if timed to the throbbing of +that distant flare.</p> + +<p>"I want you to take me to that island—to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Why, surely, Miss Stanleigh," I burst forth, "there can't be any +reasonable doubt. Leavitt's mind may be a little flighty—he may have +embroidered his story with a few gratuitous details; but Farquharson's +books and things—the material evidence of his having lived there——"</p> + +<p>"And having died there?"</p> + +<p>"Surely Leavitt wouldn't have fabricated that! If you had talked with +him——"</p> + +<p>"I should not care to talk with Mr. Leavitt," Miss Stanleigh cut me +short. "I want only to go and see—if he <i>is</i> Mr. Leavitt."</p> + +<p>"If he <i>is</i> Mr. Leavitt!" For a moment I was mystified, and then in a +sudden flash I understood. "But that's preposterous—impossible!"</p> + +<p>I tried to conceive of Leavitt in so monstrous a rôle, tried to imagine +the missing Farquharson still in the flesh and beguiling Major Stanleigh +and myself with so outlandish a story, devising all that ingenious +detail to trick us into a belief in his own death. It would indeed have +argued a warped mind, guided by some unfathomable purpose.</p> + +<p>"I devoutly hope you are right," Miss Stanleigh was saying, with +deliberation. "But it is not preposterous, and it is not impossible—if +you had known Mr. Farquharson as I have."</p> + +<p>It was a discreet confession. She wished me to understand—without the +necessity of words. My surmise was that she had met and married +Farquharson, whoever he was, under the spell of some momentary +infatuation, and that he had proved himself to be an unspeakable brute +whom she had speedily abandoned.</p> + +<p>"I am determined to go to Muloa, Mr. Barnaby," she announced, with +decision. "I want you to make the arrangements, and with as much secrecy +as possible. I shall ask my aunt to go with me."</p> + +<p>I assured Miss Stanleigh that the <i>Sylph</i> was at her service.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mrs. Stanleigh was a large bland woman, inclined to stoutness and to +making confidences, with an intense dislike of the tropics and physical +discomforts of any sort. How her niece prevailed upon her to make that +surreptitious trip to Muloa, which we set out upon two days later, I +have never been able to imagine. The accommodations aboard the schooner +were cramped, to say the least, and the good lady had a perfect horror +of volcanoes. The fact that Lakalatcha had behind it a record of a +century or more of good conduct did not weigh with her in the least. She +was convinced that it would blow its head off the moment the <i>Sylph</i> got +within range. She was fidgety, talkative, and continually concerned over +the state of her complexion, inspecting it in the mirror of her bag at +frequent intervals and using a powder-puff liberally to mitigate the +pernicious effects of the tropic sun. But once having been induced to +make the voyage, I must admit she stuck manfully by her decision, +ensconcing herself on deck with books and cushions and numerous other +necessities to her comfort, and making the best of the sleeping quarters +below. As the captain of the <i>Sylph</i>, she wanted me to understand that +she had intrusted her soul to my charge, declaring that she would not +draw an easy breath until we were safe again in Port Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"This dreadful business of Eleanor's," was the way she referred to our +mission, and she got round quite naturally to telling me of Farquharson +while acquainting me with her fears about volcanoes. Some years before, +Pompeii and Herculaneum had had a most unsettling effect upon her +nerves. Vesuvius was slightly in eruption at the time. She confessed to +never having had an easy moment while in Naples. And it was in Naples +that her niece and Farquharson had met. It had been, as I surmised, a +swift, romantic courtship, in which Farquharson, quite irreproachable in +antecedents and manners, had played the part of an impetuous lover. +Italian skies had done the rest. There was an immediate marriage, in +spite of Mrs. Stanleigh's protests, and the young couple were off on a +honeymoon trip by themselves. But when Mrs. Stanleigh rejoined her +husband at Nice, and together they returned to their home in Sussex, a +surprise was in store for them. Eleanor was already there—alone, +crushed, and with lips absolutely sealed. She had divested herself of +everything that linked her to Farquharson; she refused to adopt her +married name.</p> + +<p>"I shall bless every saint in heaven when we have quite done with this +dreadful business of Eleanor's," Mrs. Stanleigh confided to me from her +deck-chair. "This trip that she insists on making herself seems quite +uncalled for. But you needn't think, Captain Barnaby, that I'm going to +set foot on that dreadful island—not even for the satisfaction of +seeing Mr. Farquharson's grave—and I'm shameless enough to say that it +<i>would</i> be a satisfaction. If you could imagine the tenth part of what I +have had to put up with, all these months we've been traveling about +trying to locate the wretch! No, indeed—I shall stay right here on this +boat and intrust Eleanor to your care while ashore. And I should not +think it ought to take long, now should it?"</p> + +<p>I confessed aloud that I did not see how it could. If by any chance the +girl's secret conjecture about Leavitt's identity was right, it would be +verified in the mere act of coming face to face with him, and in that +event it would be just as well to spare the unsuspecting aunt the shock +of that discovery.</p> + +<p>We reached Muloa just before nightfall, letting go the anchor in placid +water under the lee of the shore while the <i>Sylph</i> swung to and the +sails fluttered and fell. A vast hush lay over the world. From the shore +the dark green of the forest confronted us with no sound or sign of +life. Above, and at this close distance blotting out half the sky over +our heads, towered the huge cone of Lakalatcha with scarred and +blackened flanks. It was in one of its querulous moods. The feathery +white plume of steam, woven by the wind into soft, fantastic shapes, no +longer capped the crater; its place had been usurped by thick, dark +fumes of smoke swirling sullenly about. In the fading light I marked the +red, malignant glow of a fissure newly broken out in the side of the +ragged cone, from which came a thin, white trickle of lava.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of Leavitt, although the <i>Sylph</i> must have been +visible to him for several hours, obviously making for the island. I +fancied that he must have been unusually absorbed in the vagaries of his +beloved volcano. Otherwise he would have wondered what was bringing us +back again and his tall figure in shabby white drill would have greeted +us from the shore. Instead, there confronted us only the belt of dark, +matted green girdling the huge bulk of Lakalatcha which soared skyward, +sinister, mysterious, eternal.</p> + +<p>In the brief twilight the shore vanished into dim obscurity. Miss +Stanleigh, who for the last hour had been standing by the rail, silently +watching the island, at last spoke to me over her shoulder:</p> + +<p>"Is it far inland—the place? Will it be difficult to find in the dark?"</p> + +<p>Her question staggered me, for she was clearly bent on seeking out +Leavitt at once. A strange calmness overlay her. She paid no heed to +Lakalatcha's gigantic, smoke-belching cone, but, with fingers gripping +the rail, scanned the forbidding and inscrutable forest, behind which +lay the answer to her torturing doubt.</p> + +<p>I acceded to her wish without protest. Leavitt's bungalow lay a quarter +of a mile distant. There would be no difficulty in following the path. I +would have a boat put over at once, I announced in a casual way which +belied my real feelings, for I was beginning to share some of her secret +tension at this night invasion of Leavitt's haunts.</p> + +<p>This feeling deepened within me as we drew near the shore. Leavitt's +failure to appear seemed sinister and enigmatic. I began to evolve a +fantastic image of him as I recalled his queer ways and his uncanny +tricks of speech. It was as if we were seeking out the presiding deity +of the island, who had assumed the guise of a Caliban holding unearthly +sway over its unnatural processes.</p> + +<p>With Williams, the boatswain, carrying a lantern, we pushed into the +brush, following the choked trail that led to Leavitt's abode. But the +bungalow, when we had reached the clearing and could discern the +outlines of the building against the masses of the forest, was dark and +deserted. As we mounted the veranda, the loose boards creaked hollowly +under our tread; the doorway, from which depended a tattered curtain of +coarse burlap, gaped black and empty.</p> + +<p>The lantern, lifted high in the boatswain's hand, cleft at a stroke the +darkness within. On the writing-table, cluttered with papers and bits of +volcanic rock, stood a bottle and half-empty glass. Things lay about in +lugubrious disorder, as if the place had been hurriedly ransacked by a +thief. Some of the geological specimens had tumbled from the table to +the floor, and stray sheets of Leavitt's manuscripts lay under his +chair. Leavitt's books, ranged on shelving against the wall, alone +seemed undisturbed. Upon the top of the shelving stood two enormous +stuffed birds, moldering and decrepit, regarding the sudden illumination +with unblinking, bead-like eyes. Between them a small dancing faun in +greenish bronze tripped a Bacchic measure with head thrown back in a +transport of derisive laughter.</p> + +<p>For a long moment the three of us faced the silent, disordered room, in +which the little bronze faun alone seemed alive, convulsed with +diabolical mirth at our entrance. Somehow it recalled to me Leavitt's +own cynical laugh. Suddenly Miss Stanleigh made toward the photographs +above the bookshelves.</p> + +<p>"This is he," she said, taking up one of the faded prints.</p> + +<p>"Yes—Leavitt," I answered.</p> + +<p>"<i>Leavitt</i>?" Her fingers tightened upon the photograph. Then, abruptly, +it fell to the floor. "Yes, yes—of course." Her eyes closed very +slowly, as if an extreme weakness had seized her.</p> + +<p>In the shock of that moment I reached out to support her, but she +checked my hand. Her gray eyes opened again. A shudder visibly went over +her, as if the night air had suddenly become chill. From the shelf the +two stuffed birds regarded us dolefully, while the dancing faun, with +head thrown back in an attitude of immortal art, laughed derisively.</p> + +<p>"Where is he? I must speak to him," said Miss Stanleigh.</p> + +<p>"One might think he were deliberately hiding," I muttered, for I was at +a loss to account for Leavitt's absence.</p> + +<p>"Then find him," the girl commanded.</p> + +<p>I cut short my speculations to direct Williams to search the hut in the +rear of the bungalow, where, behind bamboo palings, Leavitt's Malay +servant maintained an aloof and mysterious existence. I sat down beside +Miss Stanleigh on the veranda steps to find my hands sooty from the +touch of the boards. A fine volcanic ash was evidently drifting in the +air and now to my ear, attuned to the profound stillness, the wind bore +a faint humming sound.</p> + +<p>"Do you hear that?" I whispered. It was like the far-off murmur of a +gigantic caldron, softly a-boil—a dull vibration that seemed to reach +us through the ground as well as through the air.</p> + +<p>The girl listened a moment, and then started up. "I hear +voices—somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Voices?" I strained my ears for sounds other than the insistent ferment +of the great cone above our heads. "Perhaps Leavitt——"</p> + +<p>"Why do you still call him Leavitt?"</p> + +<p>"Then you're quite certain——" I began, but an involuntary exclamation +from her cut me short.</p> + +<p>The light of Williams's lantern, emerging from behind the bamboo +palings, disclosed the burly form of the boatswain with a shrinking +Malay in tow. He was jabbering in his native tongue, with much +gesticulation of his thin arms, and going into contortions at every +dozen paces in a sort of pantomime to emphasize his words. Williams +urged him along unceremoniously to the steps of the veranda.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you can get the straight of this, Mr. Barnaby," said the +boatswain. "He swears that the flame-devil in the volcano has swallowed +his master alive."</p> + +<p>The poor fellow seemed indeed in a state of complete funk. With his thin +legs quaking under him, he poured forth in Malay a crazed, distorted +tale. According to Wadakimba, Leavitt—or Farquharson, to give him his +real name—had awakened the high displeasure of the flame-devil within +the mountain. Had we not observed that the cone was smoking furiously? +And the dust and heavy taint of sulphur in the air? Surely we could +feel the very tremor of the ground under our feet. All that day the +enraged monster had been spouting mud and lava down upon the white +<i>tuan</i>, who had remained in the bungalow, drinking heavily and bawling +out maledictions upon his enemy. At length, in spite of Wadakimba's +efforts to dissuade him, he had set out to climb to the crater, vowing +to show the flame-devil who was master. He had compelled the terrified +Wadakimba to go with him a part of the way. The white <i>tuan</i>—was he +really a god, as he declared himself to be?—had gone alone up the +tortuous, fissured slopes, at times lost to sight in yellowish clouds of +gas and steam, while his screams of vengeance came back to Wadakimba's +ears. Overhead, Lakalatcha continued to rumble and quiver and clear his +throat with great showers of mud and stones.</p> + +<p>Farquharson must have indeed parted with his reason to have attempted +that grotesque sally. Listening to Wadakimba's tale, I pictured the +crazed man, scorched to tatters, heedless of bruises and burns, +scrambling up that difficult and perilous ascent, and hurling his +ridiculous blasphemy into the flares of smoke and steam that issued from +that vast caldron lit by subterranean fires. At its simmering the whole +island trembled. A mere whiff of the monster's breath and he would have +been snuffed out, annihilated in an instant. According to Wadakimba, the +end had indeed come in that fashion. It was as if the mountain had +suddenly given a deep sigh. The blast had carried away solid rock. A +sheet of flame had licked the spot where Farquharson had been hurled +headlong, and he was not.</p> + +<p>Wadakimba, viewing all this from afar, had scuttled off to his hut. +Later he had ventured back to the scene of the tragedy. He had picked up +Farquharson's scorched helmet, which had been blown off to some +distance, and he also exhibited a pair of binoculars washed down by the +tide of lava, scarred and twisted by the heat, from which the lenses had +melted away.</p> + +<p>I translated for Miss Stanleigh briefly, while she stood turning over in +her hands the twisted and blackened binoculars, which were still warm. +She heard me through without question or comment, and when I proposed +that we get back to the <i>Sylph</i> at once, mindful of her aunt's +distressed nerves, she assented with a nod. She seemed to have lost the +power of speech. In a daze she followed as I led the way back through +the forest.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Major Stanleigh and his wife deferred their departure for England until +their niece should be properly married to Joyce. At Eleanor's wish, it +was a very simple affair, and as Joyce's bride she was as eager to be +off to his rubber-plantation in Malduna as he was to set her up there as +mistress of his household. I had agreed to give them passage on the +<i>Sylph</i>, since the next sailing of the mail-boat would have necessitated +a further fortnight's delay.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stanleigh, with visions of seeing England again, and profoundly +grateful to a benevolent Providence that had not only brought "this +dreadful business of Eleanor's" to a happy termination, but had averted +Lakalatcha's baptism of fire from descending upon her own head, thanked +me profusely and a little tearfully. It was during the general chorus of +farewells at the last moment before the <i>Sylph</i> cast off. Her last +appeal, cried after us from the wharf where she stood frantically waving +a wet handkerchief, was that I should give Muloa a wide berth.</p> + +<p>It brought a laugh from Joyce. He had discovered the good lady's extreme +perturbation in regard to Lakalatcha, and had promptly declared for +spending a day there with his bride. It was an exceptional opportunity +to witness the volcano in its active mood. Each time that Joyce had +essayed this teasing pleasantry, which never failed to draw Mrs. +Stanleigh's protests, I observed that his wife remained silent. I +assumed that she had decided to keep her own counsel in regard to the +trip she had made there.</p> + +<p>"I'm trusting you not to take Eleanor near that dreadful island, Mr. +Barnaby," was the admonition shouted across the widening gap of water.</p> + +<p>It was a quite unnecessary appeal, for Joyce, who was presently sitting +with his wife in a sheltered quarter of the deck, had not the slightest +interest in the smoking cone which was as yet a mere smudge upon the +horizon. Eleanor, with one hand in Joyce's possession, at times watched +it with a seemingly vast apathy until some ardent word from Joyce would +draw her eyes back to his and she would lift to him a smile that was +like a caress. The look of weariness and balked purpose that had once +marked her expression had vanished. In the week since she had married +Joyce she seemed to have grown younger and to be again standing on the +very threshold of life with girlish eagerness. She hung on Joyce's every +word, communing with him hour after hour, utterly content, indifferent +to all the world about her.</p> + +<p>In the cabin that evening at dinner, when the two of them deigned to +take polite cognizance of my existence, I announced to Joyce that I +proposed to hug the island pretty close during the night. It would save +considerable time.</p> + +<p>"Just as you like, Captain," Joyce replied, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"We may get a shower of ashes by doing so, if the wind should shift." I +looked across the table at Mrs. Joyce.</p> + +<p>"But we shall reach Malduna that much sooner?" she queried.</p> + +<p>I nodded. "However, if you feel any uneasiness, I'll give the island a +wide berth." I didn't like the idea of dragging her—the bride of a +week—past that place with its unspeakable memories, if it should really +distress her.</p> + +<p>Her eyes thanked me silently across the table. "It's very kind of you, +but"—she chose her words with significant deliberation—"I haven't a +fear in the world, Mr. Barnaby."</p> + +<p>Evening had fallen when we came up on deck. Joyce bethought himself of +some cigars in his state-room and went back. For the moment I was alone +with his wife by the rail, watching the stars beginning to prick through +the darkening sky. The <i>Sylph</i> was running smoothly, with the wind +almost aft; the scud of water past her bows and the occasional creak of +a block aloft were the only sounds audible in the silence that lay like +a benediction upon the sea.</p> + +<p>"You may think it unfeeling of me," she began, quite abruptly, "but all +this past trouble of mine, now that it is ended, I have completely +dismissed. Already it begins to seem like a horrid dream. And as for +that island"—her eyes looked off toward Muloa now impending upon us and +lighting up the heavens with its sudden flare—"it seems incredible that +I ever set foot upon it.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you understand," she went on, after a pause, "that I have not +told my husband. But I have not deceived him. He knows that I was once +married, and that the man is no longer living. He does not wish to know +more. Of course he is aware that Uncle Geoffrey came out here to—to see +a Mr. Leavitt, a matter which he has no idea concerned me. He thanks the +stars for whatever it was that did bring us out here, for otherwise he +would not have met me."</p> + +<p>"It has turned out most happily," I murmured.</p> + +<p>"It was almost disaster. After meeting Mr. Joyce—and I was weak enough +to let myself become engaged—to have discovered that I was still +chained to a living creature like that.... I should have killed myself."</p> + +<p>"But surely the courts——"</p> + +<p>She shook her head with decision. "My church does not recognize that +sort of freedom."</p> + +<p>We were drawing steadily nearer to Muloa. The mountain was breathing +slowly and heavily—a vast flare that lifted fanlike in the skies and +died away. Lightning played fitfully through the dense mass of smoke and +choking gases that hung like a pall over the great cone. It was like the +night sky that overhangs a city of gigantic blast-furnaces, only +infinitely multiplied. The sails of the <i>Sylph</i> caught the ruddy tinge +like a phantom craft gliding through the black night, its canvas still +dyed with the sunset glow. The faces of the crew, turned to watch the +spectacle, curiously fixed and inhuman, were picked out of the gloom by +the same fantastic light. It was as if the schooner, with masts and +riggings, etched black against the lurid sky, sailed on into the Day of +Judgment.</p> + + +<p>It was after midnight. The <i>Sylph</i> came about, with sails trembling, and +lost headway. Suddenly she vibrated from stem to stern, and with a soft +grating sound that was unmistakable came to rest. We were aground in +what should have been clear water, with the forest-clad shore of Muloa +lying close off to port.</p> + +<p>The helmsman turned to me with a look of silly fright on his face, as +the wheel revolved useless in his hands. We had shelved with scarcely a +jar sufficient to disturb those sleeping below, but in a twinkling +Jackson, the mate, appeared on deck in his pajamas, and after a swift +glance toward the familiar shore turned to me with the same dumfounded +look that had frozen upon the face of the steersman.</p> + +<p>"What do you make of this?" he exclaimed, as I called for the lead.</p> + +<p>"Be quiet about it," I said to the hands that had started into movement. +"Look sharp now, and make no noise." Then I turned to the mate, who was +perplexedly rubbing one bare foot against the other and measuring with +his eye our distance from the shore. The <i>Sylph</i> should have turned the +point of the island without a mishap, as she had done scores of times.</p> + +<p>"It's the volcano we have to thank for this," was my conjecture. "Its +recent activity has caused some displacement of the sea bottom."</p> + +<p>Jackson's head went back in sudden comprehension. "It's a miracle you +didn't plow into it under full sail."</p> + +<p>We had indeed come about in the very nick of time to avoid disaster. As +matters stood I was hopeful. "With any sort of luck we ought to float +clear with the tide."</p> + +<p>The mate cocked a doubtful eye at Lakalatcha, uncomfortably close above +our heads, flaming at intervals and bathing the deck with an angry glare +of light. "If she should begin spitting up a little livelier ..." he +speculated with a shrug, and presently took himself off to his bunk +after an inspection below had shown that none of the schooner's seams +had started. There was nothing to do but to wait for the tide to make +and lift the vessel clear. It would be a matter of three or four hours. +I dismissed the helmsman; and the watch forward, taking advantage of the +respite from duty, were soon recumbent in attitudes of heavy sleep.</p> + +<p>The wind had died out and a heavy torpor lay upon the water. It was as +if the stars alone held to their slow courses above a world rigid and +inanimate. The <i>Sylph</i> lay with a slight list, her spars looking +inexpressibly helpless against the sky, and, as the minutes dragged, a +fine volcanic ash, like some mortal pestilence exhaled by the monster +cone, settled down upon the deck, where, forward in the shadow, the +watch curled like dead men.</p> + +<p>Alone, I paced back and forth—countless soft-footed miles, it seemed, +through interminable hours, until at length some obscure impulse +prompted me to pause before the open skylight over the cabin and thrust +my head down. A lamp above the dining-table, left to burn through the +night, feebly illuminated the room. A faint snore issued at regular +intervals from the half-open door of the mate's state-room. The door of +Joyce's state-room opposite was also upon the hook for the sake of air.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a soft thump against the side of the schooner, followed by a +scrambling noise, made me turn round. The dripping, bedraggled figure of +a man in a sleeping-suit mounted the rope ladder that hung over the +side, and paused, grasping the rail. I had withdrawn my gaze so suddenly +from the glow of the light in the cabin that for several moments the +intruder from out of the sea was only a blurred form with one leg swung +over the rail, where he hung as if spent by his exertions.</p> + +<p>Just then the sooty vapors above the ragged maw of the volcano were rent +by a flare of crimson, and in the fleeting instant of unnatural daylight +I beheld Farquharson barefooted, and dripping with sea-water, +confronting me with a sardonic, triumphant smile. The light faded in a +twinkling, but in the darkness he swung his other leg over the rail and +sat perched there, as if challenging the testimony of my senses.</p> + +<p>"Farquharson!" I breathed aloud, utterly dumfounded.</p> + +<p>"Did you think I was a ghost?" I could hear him softly laughing to +himself in the interval that followed. "You should have witnessed +Wadakimba's fright at my coming back from the dead. Well, I'll admit I +almost was done for."</p> + +<p>Again the volcano breathed in torment. It was like the sudden opening of +a gigantic blast-furnace, and in that instant I saw him vividly—his +thin, saturnine face, his damp black hair pushed sleekly back, his lips +twisted to a cruel smile, his eyes craftily alert, as if to some +ambushed danger continually at hand. He was watching me with a sort of +malicious relish in the shock he had given me.</p> + +<p>"It was not your intention to stop at Muloa," he observed, dryly, for +the plight of the schooner was obvious.</p> + +<p>"We'll float clear with the tide," I muttered.</p> + +<p>"But in the meantime"—there was something almost menacing in his +deliberate pause—"I have the pleasure of this little call upon you."</p> + +<p>A head lifted from among the inert figures and sleepily regarded us +before it dropped back into the shadows. The stranded ship, the +recumbent men, the mountain flaming overhead—it was like a phantom +world into which had been suddenly thrust this ghastly and incredible +reality.</p> + +<p>"Whatever possessed you to swim out here in the middle of the night?" I +demanded, in a harsh whisper.</p> + +<p>He chose to ignore the question, while I waited in a chill of suspense. +It was inconceivable that he could be aware of the truth of the +situation and deliberately bent on forcing it to its unspeakable, tragic +issue.</p> + +<p>"Of late, Captain Barnaby, we seem to have taken to visiting each other +rather frequently, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>It was lightly tossed off, but not without its evil implication; and I +felt his eyes intently fixed upon me as he sat hunched up on the rail in +his sodden sleeping-suit, like some huge, ill-omened bird of prey.</p> + +<p>To get rid of him, to obliterate the horrible fact that he still existed +in the flesh, was the instinctive impulse of my staggered brain. But +the peril of discovery, the chance that those sleeping below might +awaken and hear us, held me in a vise of indecision.</p> + +<p>"If I could bring myself to reproach you, Captain," he went on, +ironically polite, "I might protest that your last visit to this island +savored to a too-inquisitive intrusion. You'll pardon my frankness. I +had convinced you and Major Stanleigh that Farquharson was dead. To the +world at large that should have sufficed. That I choose to remain alive +is my own affair. Your sudden return to Muloa—with a lady—would have +upset everything, if Fate and that inspired fool of a Malay had not +happily intervened. But now, surely, there can be no doubt that I am +dead?"</p> + +<p>I nodded assent in a dumb, helpless way.</p> + +<p>"And I have a notion that even you, Captain Barnaby, will never dispute +that fact."</p> + +<p>He threw back his head suddenly—for all the world like the dancing +faun—and laughed silently at the stars.</p> + +<p>My tongue was dry in my mouth as I tried to make some rejoinder. He +baffled me completely, and meanwhile I was in a tingle of fear lest the +mate should come up on deck to see what progress the tide had made, or +lest the sound of our voices might waken the girl in Joyce's state-room.</p> + +<p>"I can promise you that," I attempted to assure him in weak, sepulchral +tones. "And now, if you like, I'll put you ashore in the small boat. You +must be getting chilly in that wet sleeping-suit."</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact I am, and I was wondering if you would not offer me +something to drink."</p> + +<p>"You shall have a bottle to take along," I promised, with alacrity, but +he demurred.</p> + +<p>"There is no sociability in that. And you seem very lonesome here—stuck +for two more hours at least. Come, Captain, fetch your bottle and we +will share it together."</p> + +<p>He got down from the rail, stretched his arms lazily above his head, and +dropped into one of the deck chairs that had been placed aft for the +convenience of my two passengers.</p> + +<p>"And cigars, too, Captain," he suggested, with a politeness that was +almost impertinence. "We'll have a cozy hour or two out of this tedious +wait for the tide to lift you off."</p> + +<p>I contemplated him helplessly. There was no alternative but to fall in +with whatever mad caprice might seize his brain. If I opposed him, it +would lead to high and querulous words; and the hideous fact of his +presence there—of his mere existence—I was bound to conceal at all +hazards.</p> + +<p>"I must ask you to keep quiet," I said, stiffly.</p> + +<p>"As a tomb," he agreed, and his eyes twinkled disagreeably in the +darkness. "You forget that I am supposed to be in one."</p> + +<p>I went stealthily down into the cabin, where I secured a box of cigars +and the first couple of bottles that my hands laid hold of in the +locker. They proved to contain an old Tokay wine which I had treasured +for several years to no particular purpose. The ancient bottles clinked +heavily in my grasp as I mounted again to the deck.</p> + +<p>"Now this is something like," he purred, watching like a cat my every +motion as I set the glasses forth and guardedly drew the cork. He +saluted me with a flourish and drank.</p> + +<p>To an onlooker that pantomime in the darkness would have seemed utterly +grotesque. I tasted the fragrant, heavy wine and waited—waited in an +agony of suspense—my ears strained desperately to catch the least sound +from below. But a profound silence enveloped the schooner, broken only +by the occasional rhythmic snore of the mate.</p> + +<p>"You seem rather ill at ease," Farquharson observed from the depths of +the deck chair when he had his cigar comfortably aglow. "I trust it +isn't this little impromptu call of mine that's disturbing you. After +all, life has its unusual moments, and this, I think, is one of them." +He sniffed the bouquet of his wine and drank. "It is rare moments like +this—bizarre, incredible, what you like—that compensate for the tedium +of years."</p> + +<p>His disengaged hand had fallen to the side of the chair, and I now +observed in dismay that a scarf belonging to Joyce's wife had been left +lying in the chair, and that his fingers were absently twisting the +silken fringe.</p> + +<p>"I wonder that you stick it out, as you do, on this island," I forced +myself to observe, seeking safety in the commonplace, while my eyes, as +if fascinated, watched his fingers toying with the ends of the scarf. I +was forced to accept the innuendo beneath his enigmatic utterances. His +utter baseness and depravity, born perhaps of a diseased mind, I could +understand. I had led him to bait a trap with the fiction of his own +death, but he could not know that it had been already sprung upon his +unsuspecting victims.</p> + +<p>He seemed to regard me with contemptuous pity. "Naturally, you wonder. A +mere skipper like yourself fails to understand—many things. What can +you know of life cooped up in this schooner? You touch only the surface +of things just as this confounded boat of yours skims only the top of +the water. Once in a lifetime you may come to real grips with +life—strike bottom, eh?—as your schooner has done now. Then you're +aground and quite helpless. What a pity!"</p> + +<p>He lifted his glass and drank it off, then thrust it out to be refilled. +"Life as the world lives it—bah!" he dismissed it with the scorn of one +who counts himself divested of all illusions. "Life would be an infernal +bore if it were not for its paradoxes. Now you, Captain Barnaby, would +never dream that in becoming dead to the world—in other people's +belief—I have become intensely alive. There are opened up infinite +possibilities——"</p> + +<p>He drank again and eyed me darkly, and then went on in his crack-brained +way, "What is life but a challenge to pretense, a constant exercise in +duplicity, with so few that come to master it as an art? Every one goes +about with something locked deep in his heart. Take yourself, Captain +Barnaby. You have your secrets—hidden from me, from all the +world—which, if they could be dragged out of you——"</p> + +<p>His deep-set eyes bored through the darkness upon me. Hunched up in the +deck chair, with his legs crossed under him, he was like an animated +Buddha venting a dark philosophy and seeking to undermine my mental +balance with his sophistry.</p> + +<p>"I'm a plain man of the sea," I rejoined, bluntly. "I take life as it +comes."</p> + +<p>He smiled derisively, drained his glass, and held it out again. "But you +have your secrets, rather clumsily guarded, to be sure——"</p> + +<p>"What secrets?" I cried out, goaded almost beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>He seemed to deprecate the vigor of my retort and lifted a cautioning +hand. "Do you want every one on board to hear this conversation?"</p> + +<p>At that moment the smoke-wrapped cone of Lakalatcha was cleft by a sheet +of flame, and we confronted each other in a sort of blood-red dawn.</p> + +<p>"There is no reason why we should quarrel," he went on, after darkness +had enveloped us again. "But there are times which call for plain +speaking. Major Stanleigh is probably hardly aware of just what he said +to me under a little artful questioning. It seems that a lady who—shall +we say, whom we both have the honor of knowing?—is in love. Love, mark +you. It is always interesting to see that flower bud twice from the same +stalk. However, one naturally defers to a lady, especially when one is +very much in her way. <i>Place aux dames</i>, eh? Exit poor Farquharson! You +must admit that his was an altruistic soul. Well, she has her +freedom—if only to barter it for a new bondage. Shall we drink to the +happy future of that romance?"</p> + +<p>He lifted to me his glass with ironical invitation, while I sat aghast +and speechless, my heart pounding against my ribs. This intolerable +colloquy could not last forever. I deliberated what I should do if we +were surprised. At the sound of a footfall or the soft creak of a plank +I felt that I might lose all control and leap up and brain him with the +heavy bottle in my grasp. I had an insane desire to spring at his throat +and throttle his infamous bravado, tumble him overboard and annihilate +the last vestige of his existence.</p> + +<p>"Come, Captain," he urged, "you, too, have shared in smoothing the path +for these lovers. Shall we not drink to their happy union?"</p> + +<p>A feeling of utter loathing went over me. I set my glass down. "It would +be a more serviceable compliment to the lady in question if I strangled +you on the spot," I muttered, boldly.</p> + +<p>"But you are forgetting that I am already dead." He threw his head back +as if vastly amused, then lurched forward and held out his glass a +little unsteadily to be refilled.</p> + +<p>He gave me a quick, evil look. "Besides, the noise might disturb your +passengers."</p> + +<p>I could feel a cold perspiration suddenly breaking out upon my body. +Either the fellow had obtained an inkling of the truth in some +incredible way, or was blindly on the track of it, guided by some +diabolical scent. Under the spell of his eyes I could not manage the +outright lie which stuck in my throat.</p> + +<p>"What makes you think I have passengers?" I parried, weakly.</p> + +<p>With intent or not, he was again fingering the fringe of the scarf that +hung over the arm of the chair.</p> + +<p>"It is not your usual practice, but you have been carrying them lately."</p> + +<p>He drained his glass and sat staring into it, his head drooping a little +forward. The heavy wine was beginning to have its effect upon him, but +whether it would provoke him to some outright violence or drag him down +into a stupor, I could not predict. Suddenly the glass slipped from his +fingers and shivered to pieces on the deck. I started violently at the +sound, and in the silence that followed I thought I heard a footfall in +the cabin below.</p> + +<p>He looked up at length from his absorbed contemplation of the bits of +broken glass. "We were talking about love, were we not?" he demanded, +heavily.</p> + +<p>I did not answer. I was straining to catch a repetition of the sound +from below. Time was slipping rapidly away, and to sit on meant +inevitable discovery. The watch might waken or the mate appear to +surprise me in converse with my nocturnal visitor. It would be folly to +attempt to conceal his presence and I despaired of getting him back to +the shore while his present mood held, although I remembered that the +small boat, which had been lowered after we went aground, was still +moored to the rail amidships.</p> + +<p>Refilling my own glass, I offered it to him. He lurched forward to take +it, but the fumes of the wine suddenly drifted clear of his brain. "You +seem very much distressed," he observed, with ironic concern. "One might +think you were actually sheltering these precious love-birds."</p> + +<p>Perspiration broke out anew upon my face and neck. "I don't know what +you are talking about," I bluntly tried to fend off his implications. I +felt as if I were helplessly strapped down and that he was about to +probe me mercilessly with some sharp instrument. I strove to turn the +direction of his thoughts by saying, "I understand that the Stanleighs +are returning to England."</p> + +<p>"The Stanleighs—quite so," he nodded agreement, and fixed me with a +maudlin stare. Something prompted me to fill his glass again. He drank +it off mechanically. Again I poured, and he obediently drank. With an +effort he tried to pick up the thread of our conversation:</p> + +<p>"What did you say? Oh, the Stanleighs ... yes, yes, of course." He +slowly nodded his head and fell silent. "I was about to say ..." He +broke off again and seemed to ruminate profoundly.... "Love-birds——" I +caught the word feebly from his lips, spoken as if in a daze. The glass +hung dripping in his relaxed grasp.</p> + +<p>It was a crucial moment in which his purpose seemed to waver and die in +his clouded brain. A great hope sprang up in my heart, which was +hammering furiously. If I could divert his fuddled thoughts and get him +back to shore while the wine lulled him to forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>I leaned forward to take the glass which was all but slipping from his +hand when Lakalatcha flamed with redoubled fury. It was as if the +mountain had suddenly bared its fiery heart to the heavens, and a +muffled detonation reached my ears.</p> + +<p>Farquharson straightened up with a jerk and scanned the smoking peak, +from which a new trickle of white-hot lava had broken forth in a +threadlike waterfall. He watched its graceful play as if hypnotized, and +began babbling to himself in an incoherent prattle. All his faculties +seemed suddenly awake, but riveted solely upon the heavy laboring of the +mountain. He was chiding it in Malay as if it were a fractious child. +When I ventured to urge him back to shore he made no protest, but +followed me into the boat. As I pushed off and took up the oars he had +eyes for nothing but the flaming cone, as if its leaping fires held for +him an Apocalyptic vision.</p> + +<p>I strained at the oars as if in a race, with all eternity at stake, +blindly urging the boat ahead through water that flashed crimson at +every stroke. The mountain now flamed like a beacon, and I rowed for +dear life over a sea of blood.</p> + +<p>Farquharson sat entranced before the spectacle, chanting to himself a +kind of insane ritual, like a Parsee fire-worshiper making obeisance +before his god. He was rapt away to some plane of mystic exaltation, to +some hinterland of the soul that merged upon madness. When at length the +boat crunched upon the sandy shore he got up unsteadily from the stern +and pointed to the pharos that flamed in the heavens.</p> + +<p>"The fire upon the altar is lit," he addressed me, oracularly, while the +fanatic light of a devotee burned in his eyes. "Shall we ascend and +prepare the sacrifice?"</p> + +<p>I leaned over the oars, panting from my exertions, indifferent to his +rhapsody.</p> + +<p>"If you'll take my advice, you'll get back at once to your bungalow and +strip off that wet sleeping-suit," I bluntly counseled him, but I might +as well have argued with a man in a trance.</p> + +<p>He leaped over the gunwale and strode up the beach. Again he struck his +priestlike attitude and invoked me to follow.</p> + +<p>"The fire upon the altar waits," he repeated, solemnly. Suddenly he +broke into a shrill laugh and ran like a deer in the direction of the +forest that stretched up the slopes of the mountain.</p> + +<p>The mate's face, thrust over the rail as I drew alongside the schooner, +plainly bespoke his utter bewilderment. He must have though me bereft of +my senses to be paddling about at that hour of the night. The tide had +made, and the <i>Sylph</i>, righting her listed masts, was standing clear of +the shoal. The deck was astir, and when the command was given to hoist +the sails it was obeyed with an uneasy alacrity. The men worked +frantically in a bright, unnatural day, for Lakalatcha was now +continuously aflame and tossing up red-hot rocks to the accompaniment of +dull sounds of explosion.</p> + +<p>My first glance about the deck had been one of relief to note that Joyce +and his wife were not there, although the commotion of getting under +sail must have awakened them. A breeze had sprung up which would prove a +fair wind as soon as the <i>Sylph</i> stood clear of the point. The mate gave +a grunt of satisfaction when at length the schooner began to dip her bow +and lay over to her task. Leaving him in charge, I started to go below, +when suddenly Mrs. Joyce, fully dressed, confronted me. She seemed to +have materialized out of the air like a ghost. Her hair glowed like +burnished copper in the unnatural illumination which bathed the deck, +but her face was ashen, and the challenge of her eyes made my heart stop +short.</p> + +<p>"You have been awake long?" I ventured to ask.</p> + +<p>"Too long," she answered, significantly, with her face turned away, +looking down into the water. She had taken my arm and drawn me toward +the rail. Now I felt her fingers tighten convulsively. In the droop of +her head and the tense curve of her neck I sensed her mad impulse which +the dark water suggested.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Joyce!" I remonstrated, sharply.</p> + +<p>She seemed to go limp all over at the words. I drew her along the deck +for a faltering step or two, while her eyes continued to brood upon the +water rushing past. Suddenly she spoke:</p> + +<p>"What other way out is there?"</p> + +<p>"Never that," I said, shortly. I urged her forward again. "Is your +husband asleep?"</p> + +<p>"Thank God, yes!"</p> + +<p>"Then you have been awake——"</p> + +<p>"For over an hour," she confessed, and I detected the shudder that went +over her body.</p> + +<p>"The man is mad——"</p> + +<p>"But I am married to him." She stopped and caught at the rail like a +prisoner gripping at the bars that confine him. "I cannot—cannot endure +it! Where are you taking me? Where <i>can</i> you take me? Don't you see that +there is no escape—from this?"</p> + +<p>The <i>Sylph</i> rose and sank to the first long roll of the open sea.</p> + +<p>"When we reach Malduna——" I began, but the words were only torture.</p> + +<p>"I cannot—cannot go on. Take me back!—to that island. Let me live +abandoned—or rather die——"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Joyce, I beg of you...."</p> + +<p>The schooner rose and dipped again.</p> + +<p>For what seemed an interminable time we paced the deck together while +Lakalatcha flamed farther and farther astern. Her words came in fitful +snatches as if spoken in a delirium, and at times she would pause and +grip the rail to stare back, wild-eyed, at the receding island.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she started, and in a sort of blinding, noonday blaze I saw her +face blanch with horror. It was as if at that moment the heavens had +cracked asunder and the night had fallen away in chaos. Turning, I saw +the cone of the mountain lifting skyward in fragments—and saw no more, +for the blinding vision remained seared upon the retina of my eyes. +Across the water, slower paced, came the dread concussion of sound.</p> + +<p>"Good God! It's carried away the whole island!" I heard the mate's voice +bellowing above the cries of the men. The <i>Sylph</i> scudded before the +approaching storm of fire redescending from the sky....</p> + +<p>The first gray of the dawn disclosed Mrs. Joyce still standing by the +rail, her hand nestling within the arm of her husband, indifferent to +the heavy grayish dust that fell in benediction upon her like a silent +shower of snow.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The island of Muloa remains to-day a charred cinder lapped about by the +blue Pacific. At times gulls circle over its blackened and desolate +surface devoid of every vestige of life. From the squat, truncated mass +of Lakalatcha, shorn of half its lordly height, a feeble wisp of smoke +still issues to the breeze, as if Vulcan, tired of his forge, had banked +its fire before abandoning it.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers.<br /> Copyright, 1921, by +Lee Foster Hartman.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Stick-in-the-Muds10" id="The_Stick-in-the-Muds10"></a>THE STICK-IN-THE-MUDS<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> RUPERT HUGHES</h3> +<h4>From <i>Collier's Weekly</i></h4> + + +<p>A skiff went prowling along the Avon River in the unhurried English +twilight that releases the sunset with reluctance and defers luxuriously +the roll call of the stars.</p> + +<p>The skiff floated low, for the man alone in it was heavy and he was in +no greater haste than the northern night. Which was against the +traditions, for he was an American, an American business man.</p> + +<p>He was making his way through the sky-hued water stealthily lest he +disturb the leisure of the swans, drowsy above their own images; lest he +discourage the nightingale trying a few low flute notes in the cathedral +tower of shadow that was a tree above the tomb of Shakespeare.</p> + +<p>The American had never heard a nightingale and it was his first +pilgrimage to the shrine of the actor-manager whose productions +Americans curiously couple with the Bible as sacred lore.</p> + +<p>During the day Joel Wixon had seen the sights of Stratford with the +others from his country and from England and the Continent. But now he +wanted to get close to Shakespeare. So he hired the skiff and declined +the services of the old boat lender.</p> + +<p>And now he was stealing up into the rich gloom the church spread across +the river. He was pushing the stern of the boat foremost so that he +could feast his eyes. He was making so little speed that the only sounds +were the choked sob of the water where the boat cleaved it gently and +the tinkle of the drops that fell from the lazy oars with something of +the delicate music of the uncertain nightingale.</p> + +<p>Being a successful business man, Wixon was a suffocated poet. The +imagination and the passion and the orderliness that brought him money +were the same energies that would have made him a success in verse. But +lines were not his line, and he was inarticulate and incoherent when +beauty overwhelmed him, as it did in nearly every form.</p> + +<p>He shivered now before the immediate majesty of the scene, and the +historic meanings that enriched it as with an embroidered arras. Yet he +gave out no more words than an Æolian harp shuddering with ecstasy in a +wind too gentle to make it audible.</p> + +<p>In such moods he hunted solitude, for he was ashamed to be seen, afraid +to be observed in the raptures that did not belong in the vocabulary of +a business man.</p> + +<p>He had talked at noon about the fact that he and Shakespeare's father +were in wool, and he had annoyed a few modest Americans by comparing the +petty amount of the elder Shakespeare's trade with the vast total +pouring from his own innumerable looms driven with the electricity that +the Shakespeares had never dreamed of.</p> + +<p>He had redeemed himself for his pretended brag by a meek admission:</p> + +<p>"But I'm afraid my boy will never write another 'Hamlet.'"</p> + +<p>Yet what could he know of his own son? How little Will Shakespeare's +father or his scandalized neighbors could have fancied that the +scapegrace good-for-naught who left the town for the town's good would +make it immortal; and, coming back to die and lie down forever beside +the Avon, would bring a world of pilgrims to a new Mecca, the shrine of +the supreme unique poet of all human time?</p> + +<p>A young boy even now was sauntering the path along the other shore, so +lazily tossing pebbles into the stream that the swans hardly protested. +It came upon Wixon with a kind of silent lightning that Shakespeare had +once been such another boy skipping pebbles across the narrow river and +peering up into the trees to find out where the nightingale lurked.</p> + +<p>Perhaps three hundred years from now some other shrine would claim the +pilgrims, the home perhaps of some American boy now groping through the +amber mists of adolescence or some man as little revered by his own +neighbors and rivals as the man Shakespeare was when he went back to +Avon to send back to London his two plays a year to the theatres.</p> + +<p>Being a practical man, which is a man who strives to make his visions +palpable, Wixon thought of his own home town and the colony of boys that +prospered there in the Middle West.</p> + +<p>He knew that no one would seek the town because of his birth there, for +he was but a buyer of fleeces, a carder of wools, a spinner of threads, +and a weaver of fabrics to keep folks' bodies warm. His weaves wore +well, but they wore out.</p> + +<p>The weavers of words were the ones whose fabrics lasted beyond the power +of time and mocked the moths. Was there any such spinner in Carthage to +give the town eternal blazon to ears of flesh and blood? There was one +who might have been the man if——</p> + +<p>Suddenly he felt himself again in Carthage. There was a river there too; +not a little bolt of chatoyant silk like the Avon, which they would have +called a "crick" back there. Before Carthage ran the incomprehensible +floods of old Mississippi himself, Father of Waters, deep and vast and +swift. They had lately swung a weir across it to make it work—a +concrete wall a mile wide and more, and its tumbling cascades spun no +little mill wheels, but swirled thundering turbines that lighted cities +and ran street cars a hundred miles away.</p> + +<p>And yet it had no Shakespeare.</p> + +<p>And yet again it might have had if——</p> + +<p>The twilight was so deep now that he shipped his oars in the gloom and +gave himself back to the past.</p> + +<p>He was in another twilight, only it was the counter twilight between +star quench and sun blaze.</p> + +<p>Two small boys, himself one of them; his sworn chum, Luke Mellows, the +other, meeting in the silent street just as the day tide seeped in from +the east and submerged the stars.</p> + +<p>Joel had tied a string to his big toe and hung it from his window. Luke +had done the same. They were not permitted to explode alarm clocks and +ruin the last sweets of sleep in either home. So they had agreed that +the first to wake should rise and dress with stealth, slip down the dark +stairs of his house, into the starlit street and over to the other's +home and pull the toe cord.</p> + +<p>On this morning Luke had been the earlier out, and his triumphant yanks +had dragged Joel feet first from sleep, and from the bed and almost +through the window. Joel had howled protests in shrill whispers down +into the gloom, and then, untying his outraged toe, had limped into his +clothes and so to the yard.</p> + +<p>The two children, in the huge world disputed still by the night, had +felt an awe of the sky and the mysteries going on there. The envied man +who ran up the streets of evenings lighting the gas street lamps was +abroad again already with his little ladder and his quick insect-like +motions; only, now he was turning out the lights, just as a similar but +invisible being was apparently running around heaven and putting out the +stars.</p> + +<p>Joel remembered saying: "I wonder if they're turnin' off the stars up +there to save gas too."</p> + +<p>Luke did not like the joke. He said, using the word "funny" solemnly: +"It's funny to see light putting out light. The stars will be there all +day, but we won't be able to see 'em for the sun."</p> + +<p>(Wixon thought of this now, and of how Shakespeare's fame had drowned +out so many stars. A man had told him that there were hundreds of great +writers in Shakespeare's time that most people never heard of.)</p> + +<p>As the boys paused, the air quivered with a hoarse <i>moo</i>! as of a +gigantic cow bellowing for her lost calf. It was really a steamboat +whistling for the bridge to open the draw and let her through to the +south with her raft of logs.</p> + +<p>Both of the boys called the boat by name, knowing her voice: "It's the +Bessie May Brown!" They started on a run to the bluff overlooking the +river, their short legs making a full mile of the scant furlong.</p> + +<p>Often as Joel had come out upon the edge of that bluff on his +innumerable journeys to the river for fishing, swimming, skating, or +just staring, it always smote him with the thrill Balboa must have felt +coming suddenly upon the Pacific.</p> + +<p>On this morning there was an unwonted grandeur: the whole vault of the +sky was curdled with the dawn, a reef of solid black in the west turning +to purple and to amber and finally in the east to scarlet, with a few +late planets caught in the meshes of the sunlight and trembling like dew +on a spider's web.</p> + +<p>And the battle in the sky was repeated in the sea-like river with all of +the added magic of the current and the eddies and the wimpling rushes of +the dawn winds.</p> + +<p>On the great slopes were houses and farmsteads throwing off the night +and in the river the Bessie May Brown, her red light and her green light +trailing scarfs of color on the river, as she chuffed and clanged her +bell, and smote the water with her stern wheel. In the little steeple of +the pilot house a priest guided her and her unwieldy acre of logs +between the piers of the bridge whose lanterns were still belatedly +aglow on the girders and again in echo in the flood.</p> + +<p>Joel filled his little chest with a gulp of morning air and found no +better words for his rhapsody than: "Gee, but ain't it great?"</p> + +<p>To his amazement, Luke, who had always been more sensitive than he, +shook his head and turned away.</p> + +<p>"Gosh, what do you want for ten cents?" Joel demanded, feeling called +upon to defend the worthiness of the dawn.</p> + +<p>Luke began to cry. He dropped down on his own bare legs in the weeds and +twisted his face and his fists in a vain struggle to fight off unmanly +grief.</p> + +<p>Joel squatted at his side and insisted on sharing the secret; and +finally Luke forgot the sense of family honor long enough to yield to +the yearning for company in his misery.</p> + +<p>"I was up here at midnight last night, and I don't like this place any +more."</p> + +<p>"You didn't come all by yourself? Gee!"</p> + +<p>"No, Momma was here too."</p> + +<p>"What she bring you out here at a time like that for?"</p> + +<p>"She didn't know I was here."</p> + +<p>"Didn't know—What she doin' out here, then?"</p> + +<p>"She and Poppa had a turble quar'l. I couldn't hear what started it, but +finely it woke me up and I listened, and Momma was cryin' and Poppa was +swearin'. And at last Momma said: 'Oh, I might as well go and throw +myself in the river,' and Poppa said: 'Good riddance of bad rubbish!' +and Momma stopped cryin' and she says: 'All right!' in an awful kind of +a voice, and I heard the front door open and shut."</p> + +<p>"Gee!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I jumped into my shirt and pants and slid down the rain pipe and +ran along the street, and there sure enough was Momma walkin' as fast as +she could.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid to go near her. I don't know why, but I was. So I just +sneaked along after her. The street was black as pitch 'cep' for the +street lamps, and as she passed ever' one I could see she was still +cryin' and stumblin' along like she was blind.</p> + +<p>"It was so late we didn't meet anybody at tall, and there wasn't a light +in a single house except Joneses, where somebody was sick, I guess. But +they didn't pay any attention, and at last she came to the bluff here. +And I follered. When she got where she could see the river she stopped +and stood there, and held her arms out like she was goin' to jump off or +fly, or somethin'. The moon was up, and the river was so bright you +could hardly look at it, and Momma stood there with her arms 'way out +like she was on the Cross, or something.</p> + +<p>"I was so scared and so cold I shook like I had a chill. I was afraid +she could hear my teeth chatterin', so I dropped down in the weeds and +thistles to keep her from seein' me. It was just along about here too.</p> + +<p>"By and by Momma kind of broke like somebody had hit her, then she began +to cry again and to walk up and down wringin' her hands. Once or twice +she started to run down the bluff and I started to foller; but she +stopped like somebody held her back, and I sunk down again.</p> + +<p>"Then, after a long time, she shook her head like she couldn't, and +turned back. She walked right by me and didn't see me. I heard her +whisperin': 'I can't, I can't. My pore children!'</p> + +<p>"Then she went back down the street and me after her wishin' I could go +up and help her. But I was afraid she wouldn't want me to know, and I +just couldn't go near her."</p> + +<p>Luke wept helplessly at the memory of his poltroonery, and Joel tried +roughly to comfort him with questions.</p> + +<p>"Gee! I don't blame you. I don't guess I could have either. But what was +it all about, d'you s'pose?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Momma went to the front door, and it was locked, and she +stood a long, long while before she could bring herself to knock. Then +she tapped on it soft like. And by and by Poppa opened the door and +said: 'Oh, you're back, are you?" Then he turned and walked away, and +she went in.</p> + +<p>"I could have killed him with a rock, if she hadn't shut the door. But +all I could do was to climb back up the rain pipe. I was so tired and +discouraged I nearly fell and broke my neck. And I wisht I had have. But +there wasn't any more quar'l, only Momma kind of whimpered once or +twice, and Poppa said: 'Oh, for God's sake, shut up and lea' me sleep. I +got to open the store in the mornin', ain't I?' I didn't do much +sleepin', and I guess that's why I woke up first."</p> + +<p>That was all of the story that Joel could learn. The two boys were shut +out by the wall of grown-up life. Luke crouched in bitter moodiness, +throwing clods of dirt at early grasshoppers and reconquering his lost +dignity. At last he said: "If you ever let on to anybody what I told +you——"</p> + +<p>"Aw, say!" was Joel's protest. His knighthood as a sworn chum was put in +question and he was cruelly hurt.</p> + +<p>Luke took assurance from his dismay and said in a burst of fury: "Aw, I +just said that! I know you won't tell. But just you wait till I can earn +a pile of money. I'll take Momma away from that old scoundrel so fast +it'll make his head swim!" Then he slumped again. "But it takes so +doggone long to grow up, and I don't know how to earn anything."</p> + +<p>Then the morning of the world caught into its irresistible vivacity the +two boys in the morning of their youth, and before long they had +forgotten the irremediable woes of their elders, as their elders also +forgot the problems of national woes and cosmic despair.</p> + +<p>The boys descended the sidelong path at a jog, brushing the dew and +grasshoppers and the birds from the hazel bushes and the papaw shrubs, +and scaring many a dewy rabbit from cover.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the bluff the railroad track was the only road along +the river, and they began the tormenting passage over the uneven ties +with cinders everywhere for their bare feet. They postponed as long as +they could the delight of breakfast, and then, sitting on a pile of +ties, made a feast of such hard-boiled eggs, cookies, cheese, and +crackers as they had been able to wheedle from their kitchens the night +before.</p> + +<p>Their talk that morning was earnest, as boys' talk is apt to be. They +debated their futures as boys are apt to do. Being American boys, two +things characterized their plans: one, that the sky itself was the only +limit to their ambitions; the other, that they must not follow their +fathers' businesses.</p> + +<p>Joel's father was an editor; Luke's kept a hardware store.</p> + +<p>So Joel wanted to go into trade and Luke wanted to be a writer.</p> + +<p>The boys wrangled with the shrill intensity of youth. A stranger passing +might have thought them about to come to blows. But they were simply +noisy with earnestness. Their argument was as unlike one of the debates +in Vergil's Eclogues as possible. It was an antistrophe of twang and +drawl:</p> + +<p>"Gee, you durned fool, watcha want gointa business for?"</p> + +<p>"Durned fool your own self! Watcha wanta be a writer for?"</p> + +<p>Then they laughed wildly, struck at each other in mock hostility, and +went on with their all-day walk, returning at night too weary for books +or even a game of authors or checkers.</p> + +<p>Both liked to read, and they were just emerging from the stratum of Old +Cap Collier, Nick Carter, the Kid-Glove Miner, and the Steam Man into +"Ivanhoe," "Scottish Chiefs," and "Cudjo's Cave." They had passed out of +the Oliver Optic, Harry Castlemon, James Otis era.</p> + +<p>Joel Wixon read for excitement; Luke Mellows for information as to the +machinery of authorship.</p> + +<p>Young as they were, they went to the theatre—to the op'ra house, which +never housed opera.</p> + +<p>Joel went often and without price, since his father, being an editor, +had the glorious prerogative of "comps." Perhaps that was why Luke +wanted to be a writer.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mellows, as hard as his own ware, did not believe in the theatre and +could not be bullied or wept into paying for tickets. But Luke became a +program boy and got in free, a precious privilege he kept secret as long +as possible, and lost as soon as his father noticed his absences from +home on play nights. Then he was whipped for wickedness and ordered to +give up the theatre forever.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Luke would never suffer again so fiercely as he suffered from +that denial. It meant a free education and a free revel in the frequent +performances of Shakespeare, and of repertory companies that gave such +triumphs as "East Lynne" and "Camille," not to mention the road +companies that played the uproarious "Peck's Bad Boy," "Over the Garden +Wall," "Skipped by the Light of the Moon," and the Charles Hoyt +screamers.</p> + +<p>The theatre had been a cloud-veiled Olympus of mystic exultations, of +divine terrors, and of ambrosial laughter. But it was a bad influence. +Mr. Mellows's theories of right and wrong were as simple and sharp as +his own knives: whatever was delightful and beautiful and laughterful +was manifestly wicked, God having plainly devised the pretty things as +baits for the devil's fishhooks.</p> + +<p>Joel used to tell Luke about the plays he saw, and the exile's heart +ached with envy. They took long walks up the river or across the bridge +into the wonderlands that were overflowed in high-water times. And they +talked always of their futures. Boyhood was a torment, a slavery. Heaven +was just over the twenty-first birthday.</p> + +<p>Joel got his future, all but the girl he planned to take with him up the +grand stairway of the palace he foresaw. Luke missed his future, and his +girl and all of his dreams.</p> + +<p>Between the boys and their manhood stood, as usual, the fathers, strange +monsters, ogres, who seemed to have forgotten, at the top of the +beanstalk, that they had once been boys themselves down below.</p> + +<p>After the early and unceasing misunderstandings as to motives and +standards of honor and dignity came the civil war over education.</p> + +<p>Wouldn't you just know that each boy would get the wrong dad? Joel's +father was proud of Luke and not of Joel. He had printed some of Luke's +poems in the paper and called him a "precocious" native genius. Joel's +father wished that his boy could have had his neighbor's boy's gift. It +was his sorrow that Joel had none of the artistic leanings that are +called "gifts." He regretfully gave him up as one who would not carry on +the torch his father had set out with. He could not force his child to +be a genius, but he insisted that Joel should have an education. The +editor had found himself handicapped by a lack of the mysterious +enrichment that a tour through college gives the least absorbent mind. +He was determined to provide it for his boy, though Joel felt that every +moment's delay in leaping into the commercial arena was so much delay in +arriving at gladiatorial eminence.</p> + +<p>Luke's father had had even less education than Editor Wixon, but he was +proud of it. He had never gone far in the world, but he was one of those +men who are automatically proud of everything they do and derive even +from failure or humiliation a savage conceit.</p> + +<p>He made Luke work in his store or out of it as a delivery boy during +vacations from such school terms as the law required. He saw the value +of education enough to make out bills and write dunning letters. "Books" +to him meant the doleful books that bookkeepers keep.</p> + +<p>As for any further learning, he thought it a waste of time, a kind of +wantonness.</p> + +<p>He felt that Providence had intentionally selected a cross for him in +the son who was wicked and foolish enough to want to read stories and +see plays and go to school for years instead of going right into +business.</p> + +<p>The thought of sending his boy through a preparatory academy and college +and wasting his youth on nonsense was outrageous. It maddened him to +have the boy plead for such folly. He tried in vain to whip it out of +him.</p> + +<p>Joel's ideas of education were exactly those of Mr. Mellows, but he did +not like Mr. Mellows because of the anguish inflicted on Luke. Joel used +to beg Luke to run away from home. But that was impracticable for two +reasons: Luke was not of the runaway sort, but meek, and shy, and +obedient to a fault.</p> + +<p>Besides, while a boy can run away from school, he cannot easily run away +to school. If he did, he would be sent back, and if he were not sent +back, how was he to pay for his "tooition" and his board and books and +clo'es?</p> + +<p>It was Luke's influence that sent Joel away to boardin' school. He so +longed to go himself that Joel felt it foolish to deny himself the +godlike opportunity. So Luke went to school vicariously in Joel, as he +got his other experiences vicariously in books.</p> + +<p>At school Joel found so much to do outside of his classes that he grew +content to go all the way. There was a glee club to manage, also an +athletic club; a paper to solicit ads and subscriptions for; class +officers to be elected, with all the delights of political +maneuvering—a world in little to run with all the solemnity and +competition of the adult cosmos. So Joel was happy and lucky and +successful in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>The day after Joel took train up the river to his academy Luke took the +position his father secured for him and entered the little back room +where the Butterly Bottling Works kept its bookkeepers on high stools.</p> + +<p>The Butterly soda pop, ginger ales, and other soft drinks were triumphs +of insipidity, and their birch beer sickened the thirstiest child. But +the making and the marketing and even the drinking of them were matters +of high emprise compared to the keeping of the books.</p> + +<p>One of the saddest, sweetest, greatest stories ever written is Ellis' +Pigsispigs Butler's fable of the contented little donkey that went round +and round in the mill and thought he was traveling far. But that donkey +was blind and had no dreams denied.</p> + +<p>Luke Mellows was a boy, a boy that still felt his life in every limb, a +boy devoured with fantastic ambitions. He had a genius within that +smothered and struggled till it all but perished unexpressed. It lived +only enough to be an anguish. It hurt him like a hidden, unmentioned +ingrowing toe nail that cuts and bleeds and excruciates the fleet member +it is meant to protect.</p> + +<p>When Joel came home for his first vacation, with the rush of a young +colt that has had a good time in the corral but rejoices in the old +pastures, his first cry was for Luke. When he learned where he was, he +hurried to the Bottling Works. He was turned away with the curt remark +that employees could not be seen in business hours. In those days there +were no machines to simplify and verify the bookkeeper's treadmill task, +and business hours were never over.</p> + +<p>Joel left word at Luke's home for Luke to call for him the minute he was +free. He did not come that evening, nor the next. Joel was hurt more +than he dared admit.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday afternoon before Luke came round, a different Luke, a +lean, wan, worn-out shred of a youth. His welcome was sickly.</p> + +<p>"Gee-min-<i>ent</i>-ly!" Joel roared. "I thought you was mad at me about +something. You never came near."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to come," Luke croaked, "but nights, I'm too tired to walk +anywheres, and besides, I usually have to go back to the offus."</p> + +<p>"Gee, that's damn tough," said Joel, who had grown from darn to damn.</p> + +<p>Thinking to light Luke up with a congenial theme, Joel heroically +forbore to describe the marvels of academy life, and asked: "What you +been readin' lately? A little bit of everything, I guess, hey?"</p> + +<p>"A whole lot of nothin'," Luke sighed. "I got no strength for readin' by +the time I shut my ledgers. I got to save my eyes, you know. The light's +bad in that back room."</p> + +<p>"What you been writin', then?"</p> + +<p>"Miles of figures and entries about one gross bottles lemon, two gross +sassaprilla, one gross empties returned."</p> + +<p>"No more poetry?"</p> + +<p>"No more nothin'."</p> + +<p>Joel was obstinately cheerful. "Well, you been makin' money, anyways; +that's something."</p> + +<p>"Yeh. I buy my own shoes and clo'es now and pay my board and lodgin' at +home. And paw puts the two dollars that's left into the savings bank. I +got nearly thirty dollars there now. I'll soon have enough for a winter +soot and overcoat."</p> + +<p>"Gee, can't you go buggy ridin' even with Kit?"</p> + +<p>"I could if I had the time and the price, and if her maw wasn't so +poorly that Kitty can't get away. I go over there Sunday afternoons +sometimes, but her maw always hollers for her to come in. She's afraid +to be alone. Kit's had to give up the high school account of her maw."</p> + +<p>"How about her goin' away to be a great singer?"</p> + +<p>Luke grinned at the insanity of such childish plans. "Oh, that's all +off. Kit can't even practice any more. It makes her mother nervous. And +Kit had to give up the church choir too. You'd hardly know her. She +cries a lot about lookin' so scrawny. O' course I tell her she's pirtier +than ever, but that only makes her mad. She can't go to sociables or +dances or picnics, and if she could she's got no clo'es. We don't have +much fun together; just sit and mope, and then I say: 'Well, guess I +better mosey on home,' and she says: 'All right; see you again next +Sunday, I s'pose. G'by.'"</p> + +<p>The nightingale annoyed the owl and was hushed, and the poet rimed sums +in a daybook.</p> + +<p>The world waited for them and needed them without knowing it; it would +have rewarded them with thrilled attention and wealth and fame. But +silence was their portion, silence and the dark and an ache that had no +voice.</p> + +<p>Joel listened to Luke's elegy and groaned: "Gee!"</p> + +<p>But he had an optimism like a powerful spring, and it struck back now +with a whirr: "I'll tell you what, Luke. Just you wait till I'm rich, +then I'll give you a job as vice president, and you can marry Kitty and +live on Broadway, in Noo York."</p> + +<p>"I've got over believin' in Sandy Claus," said Luke.</p> + +<p>Joel saw little of him during this vacation and less during the next. +Being by nature a hater of despair, he avoided Luke. He had fits of +remorse for this, and once he dared to make a personal appeal to old Mr. +Mellows to send Luke away to school. He was received with scant +courtesy, and only tolerated because he gave the father a chance to void +some of his bile at the worthlessness of Luke.</p> + +<p>"He's no good; that's what's the matter of him. And willful too—he just +mopes around because he wants to show me I'm wrong. But he's only +cuttin' off his own nose to spite his face. I'll learn him who's got the +most will power."</p> + +<p>Joel was bold enough to suggest: "Maybe Luke would be differ'nt if you'd +let him go to college. You know, Mr. Mellows, if you'll 'scuse my saying +it, there's some natures that are differ'nt from others. You hitch a +race horse up to a plow and you spoil a good horse and your field both. +Seems to me as if, if Luke got a chance to be a writer or a professor or +something, he might turn out to be a wonder. You can't teach a canary +bird to be a hen, you know, and——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Mellows locked himself in that ridiculous citadel of ancient folly. +"When you're as old as I am, Joel, you'll know more. The first thing +anybody's got to learn in this world is to respect their parents."</p> + +<p>Joel wanted to say: "I should think that depended on the parents."</p> + +<p>But, of course, he kept silent, as the young usually do when they hear +the old maundering, and he gave up as he heard the stupid dolt returning +to his old refrain: "I left school when I was twelve years old. Ain't +had a day sence, and I can't say as I've been exactly a failure. Best +hardware store in Carthage and holdin' my own in spite of bad business."</p> + +<p>Joel slunk away, unconvinced but baffled. One summer he brought all his +pressure to bear on Luke to persuade him to run away from his job and +strike out for the big city where the big opportunities grew.</p> + +<p>But Luke shook his head. He lacked initiative. Perhaps that was where +his talent was not genius. It blistered him, but it made no steam.</p> + +<p>Shakespeare had known enough to leave Stratford. He had had to hold +horses outside the theatre, and even then he had organized a little +business group of horse holders called "Shakespeare's boys." He had the +business sense, and he forced his way into the theatre and became a +stockholder. Shakespeare was always an adventurer. He had to work in a +butcher's shop, but before he was nineteen he was already married to a +woman of twenty-six, and none too soon for the first child's sake.</p> + +<p>Luke Mellows had not the courage or the recklessness to marry Kitty, +though he had as good a job as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare would not let +a premature family keep him from his ambition.</p> + +<p>He was twenty-one when he went to London, but he went.</p> + +<p>London was a boom town then, about the size of Trenton, or Grand Rapids, +or Spokane, and growing fast. Boys were running away from the farms and +villages as they always have done. Other boys went to London from +Stratford. John Sadler became a big wholesale grocer and Richard Field +a publisher. They had as various reasons then as now.</p> + +<p>But the main thing was that they left home. That might mean a noble or a +selfish ambition, but it took action.</p> + +<p>Luke Mellows would not go. He dreaded to abandon his mother to the +father who bullied them both. He could not bear to leave Kitty alone +with the wretched mother who ruled her with tears.</p> + +<p>Other boys ran or walked away from Carthage, some of them to become +failures, and some half successes, and some of them to acquire riches +and power. And other boys stayed at home.</p> + +<p>Girls, too, had won obscurity by inertia or had swung into fame. Some of +the girls had stayed at home and gone wrong there. Some had gone away in +disgrace, and redeemed or damned themselves in larger parishes. There +were Aspasias and Joans of Arc in miniature, minor Florence Nightingales +and Melbas and Rosa Bonheurs. But they had all had to leap from the nest +and try their wings. Of those that did not take the plunge, none made +the flight.</p> + +<p>Cowardice held some back, but the purest self-sacrifice others. Joel +felt that there ought to be a heaven for these latter, yet he hoped that +there was no hell for the former. For who can save himself from his own +timidity, and who can protect himself from his own courage?</p> + +<p>Given that little spur of initiative, that little armor of selfish +indifference to the clinging hands at home, and how many a soul might +not have reached the stars? Look at the women who were crowding the +rolls of fame of late just because all womankind had broken free of the +apron strings of alleged respectability.</p> + +<p>Joel had no proof that Luke Mellows would have amounted to much. +Perhaps, if he had ventured over the nest's edge, he would have perished +on the ground, trampled into dust by the fameward mob, or devoured by +the critics that pounce upon every fledgling and suck the heart out of +all that cannot fling them off.</p> + +<p>But Joel could not surrender his childhood faith that Luke Mellows had +been meant for another Shakespeare. Yet Mellows had never written a +play or an act of a play. But, for that matter, neither had Shakespeare +before he went to London. He was only a poet at first, and some of his +poems were pretty poor stuff—if you took Shakespeare's name off it. And +his first poems had to be published by his fellow townsman Field.</p> + +<p>There were the childish poems by Luke Mellows that Joel's father had +published in the Carthage "Clarion." Joel had forgotten them utterly, +and they were probably meritorious of oblivion. But there was one poem +Luke had written that Joel memorized.</p> + +<p>It appeared in the "Clarion" years after Joel was a success in wool. His +father still sent him the paper, and in one number Joel was rejoiced to +read these lines:</p> + +<div class="center"> +THE ANONYMOUS<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">By Luke Mellows</span><br /> +<br /> +Sometimes at night within a wooded park<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like an ocean cavern, fathoms deep in bloom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet scents, like hymns, from hidden flowers fume,</span><br /> +And make the wanderer happy, though the dark<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Obscures their tint, their name, their shapely bloom.</span><br /> +<br /> +So, in the thick-set chronicles of fame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There hover deathless feats of souls unknown.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They linger like the fragrant smoke wreaths blown</span><br /> +From liberal sacrifice. Gone face and name;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The deeds, like homeless ghosts, live on alone.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Wixon, seated in the boat on Avon and lost in such dusk that he could +hardly see his hand upon the idle oar, recited the poem softly to +himself, intoning it in the deep voice one saves for poetry. It sounded +wonderful to him in the luxury of hearing his own voice upon the water +and indulging his own memory. The somber mood was perfect, in accord +with the realm of shadow and silence where everything beautiful and +living was cloaked in the general blur.</p> + +<p>After he had heard his voice chanting the last long oh's of the final +verse, he was ashamed of his solemnity, and terrified lest some one +might have heard him and accounted him insane. He laughed at himself +for a sentimental fool.</p> + +<p>He laughed too as he remembered what a letter of praise he had dictated +to his astonished stenographer and fired off at Luke Mellows; and at the +flippant letter he had in return.</p> + +<p>Lay readers who send incandescent epistles to poets are apt to receive +answers in sardonic prose. The poet lies a little, perhaps, in a very +sane suspicion of his own transcendencies.</p> + +<p>Luke Mellows had written:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Old Joel</span>:</p> + +<p>"I sure am much obliged for your mighty handsome letter. Coming to +one of the least successful wool-gatherers in the world from one of +the most successful wool distributors, it deserves to be highly +prized. And is. I will have it framed and handed down to my heirs, +of which there are more than there will ever be looms.</p> + +<p>"You ask me to tell you all about myself. It won't take long. When +the Butterly Bottlery went bust, I had no job at all for six +months, so I got married to spite my father. And to please Kit, +whose poor mother ceased to suffer about the same time.</p> + +<p>"The poor girl was so used to taking care of a poor old woman who +couldn't be left alone that I became her patient just to keep all +her talents from going to waste.</p> + +<p>"The steady flow of children seems to upset the law of supply and +demand, for there is certainly no demand for more of my progeny and +there is no supply for them. But somehow they thrive.</p> + +<p>"I am now running my father's store, as the old gentleman had a +stroke and then another. The business is going to pot as rapidly as +you would expect, but I haven't been able to kill it off quite yet.</p> + +<p>"Thanks for advising me to go on writing immortal poetry. If I were +immortal, I might, but that fool thing was the result of about ten +years' hard labor. I tried to make a sonnet of it, but I gave up at +the end of the decade and called it whatever it is.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Your father's paper published it free of charge, and so my income +from my poetry has been one-tenth of nothing per annum. Please +don't urge me to do any more. I really can't afford it.</p> + +<p>"The poem was suggested to me by an ancient fit of blues over the +fact that Kit's once-so-beautiful voice would never be heard in +song, and by the fact that her infinite goodnesses will never meet +any recompense or even acknowledgment.</p> + +<p>"I was bitter the first five years, but the last five years I began +to feel how rich this dark old world is in good, brave, sweet, +lovable, heartbreakingly beautiful deeds that simply cast a little +fragrance on the dark and are gone. They perfume the night and the +busy daylight dispels them like the morning mists that we used to +watch steaming and vanishing above the old river. The Mississippi +is still here, still rolling along its eternal multitudes of snows +and flowers and fruits and fish and snakes and dead men and boats +and trees.</p> + +<p>"They go where they came from, I guess—in and out of nothing and +back again.</p> + +<p>"It is a matter of glory to all of us that you are doing so nobly. +Keep it up and give us something to brag about in our obscurity. +Don't worry. We are happy enough in the dark. We have our batlike +sports and our owllike prides, and the full sun would blind us and +lose us our way.</p> + +<p>"Kit sends you her love—and blushes as she says it. That is a very +daring word for such shy moles as we are, but I will echo it.</p> + +<p>"Yours for old sake's sake. <span class="smcap">Luke</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Vaguely remembering this letter now Joel inhaled a bit of the merciful +chloroform that deadens the pain of thwarted ambition.</p> + +<p>The world was full of men and women like Luke and Kit. Some had given up +great hopes because they were too good to tread others down in their +quest. Some had quenched great talents because they were too fearsome or +too weak or too lazy to feed their lamps with oil and keep them trimmed +and alight. Some had stumbled through life darkly with no gifts of +talent, without even appreciation of the talents of others or of the +flowerlike beauties that star the meadows.</p> + +<p>Those were the people he had known. And then there were the people he +had not known, the innumerable caravan that had passed across the earth +while he lived, the inconceivable hosts that had gone before, tribe +after tribe, generation upon generation, nation at the heels of nation, +cycle on era on age, and the backward perpetuity from everlasting unto +everlasting. People, people, peoples—poor souls, until the thronged +stars that make a dust of the Milky Way were a lesser mob.</p> + +<p>Here in this graveyard at Stratford lay men who might have overtopped +Shakespeare's glory if they had but "had a mind to." Some of them had +been held in higher esteem in their town. But they were forgotten, their +names leveled with the surface of their fallen tombstones.</p> + +<p>Had he not cried out in his own Hamlet: "O God, I could be bounded in a +nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I +have bad dreams—which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very +substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream—and I hold +ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's +shadow."</p> + +<p>After all, the greatest of men were granted but a lesser oblivion than +the least. And in that overpowering thought there was a strange comfort, +the comfort of misery finding itself in an infinite company.</p> + +<p>The night was thick upon Avon. The swans had gone somewhere. The lights +in the houses had a sleepy look. It was time to go to bed.</p> + +<p>Joel yawned with the luxury of having wearied his heart with emotion. He +had thought himself out for once. It was good to be tired. He put his +oars into the stream and, dipping up reflected stars, sent them swirling +in a doomsday chaos after him with the defiant revenge of a proud soul +who scorns the universe that grinds him to dust.</p> + +<p>The old boatman was surly with waiting. He did not thank the foreigner +for his liberal largeness, and did not answer his good night.</p> + +<p>As Wixon left the river and took the road for his hotel, the nightingale +(that forever anonymous nightingale, only one among the millions of +forgotten or throttled songsters) revolted for a moment or two against +the stifling doom and shattered it with a wordless sonnet of fierce and +beautiful protest—"The tawny-throated! What triumph! hark!—what pain!"</p> + +<p>It was as if Luke Mellows had suddenly found expression in something +better than words, something that any ear could understand, an ache that +rang.</p> + +<p>Wixon stopped, transfixed as by flaming arrows. He could not understand +what the bird meant or what he meant, nor could the bird. But as there +is no laughter that eases the heart like unpacking it of its woes in +something beyond wording, so there is nothing that brightens the eyes +like tears gushing without shame or restraint.</p> + +<p>Joel Wixon felt that it was a good, sad, mad world, and that he had been +very close to Shakespeare—so close that he heard things nobody had ever +found the phrases for—things that cannot be said but only felt, and +transmitted rather by experience than by expression from one proud worm +in the mud to another.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son, Inc. <br />Copyright, +1921, by Rupert Hughes.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="His_Job11" id="His_Job11"></a>HIS JOB<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> GRACE SARTWELL MASON</h3> +<h4>From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>Against an autumn sunset the steel skeleton of a twenty-story office +building in process of construction stood out black and bizarre. It +flung up its beams and girders like stern and yet airy music, orderly, +miraculously strong, and delicately powerful. From the lower stories, +where masons made their music of trowel and hammer, to the top, where +steam-riveters rapped out their chorus like giant locusts in a summer +field, the great building lived and breathed as if all those human +energies that went to its making flowed warm through its steel veins.</p> + +<p>In the west window of a womans' club next door one of the members stood +looking out at this building. Behind her at a tea-table three other +women sat talking. For some moments their conversation had had a +plaintive if not an actually rebellious tone. They were discussing the +relative advantages of a man's work and a woman's, and they had arrived +at the conclusion that a man has much the best of it when it comes to a +matter of the day's work.</p> + +<p>"Take a man's work," said Mrs. Van Vechten, pouring herself a second cup +of tea. "He chooses it; then he is allowed to go at it with absolute +freedom. He isn't hampered by the dull, petty details of life that +hamper us. He——"</p> + +<p>"Details! My dear, there you are right," broke in Mrs. Bullen. Two men, +first Mrs. Bullen's father and then her husband, had seen to it that +neither the biting wind of adversity nor the bracing air of experience +should ever touch her. "Details! Sometimes I feel as if I were +smothered by them. Servants, and the house, and now these relief +societies——"</p> + +<p>She was in her turn interrupted by Cornelia Blair. Cornelia was a +spinster with more freedom than most human beings ever attain, her +father having worked himself to death to leave her well provided for. +"The whole fault is the social system," she declared. "Because of it men +have been able to take the really interesting work of the world for +themselves. They've pushed the dull jobs off onto us."</p> + +<p>"You're right, Cornelia," cried Mrs. Bullen. She really had nothing to +say, but she hated not saying it. "I've always thought," she went on +pensively, "that it would be so much easier just to go to an office in +the morning and have nothing but business to think of. Don't you feel +that way sometimes, Mrs. Trask?"</p> + +<p>The woman in the west window turned. There was a quizzical gleam in her +eyes as she looked at the other three. "The trouble with us women is +we're blind and deaf," she said slowly. "We talk a lot about men's work +and how they have the best of things in power and freedom, but does it +occur to one of us that a man <i>pays</i> for power and freedom? Sometimes I +think that not one of the women of our comfortable class would be +willing to pay what our men pay for the power and freedom they get."</p> + +<p>"What do they pay?" asked Mrs. Van Vechten, her lip curling.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask turned back to the window. "There's something rather +wonderful going on out here," she called. "I wish you'd all come and +look."</p> + +<p>Just outside the club window the steel-workers pursued their dangerous +task with leisurely and indifferent competence, while over their head a +great derrick served their needs with uncanny intelligence. It dropped +its chain and picked a girder from the floor. As it rose into space two +figures sprang astride either end of it. The long arm swung up and out; +the two "bronco-busters of the sky" were black against the flame of the +sunset. Some one shouted; the signalman pulled at his rope; the +derrick-arm swung in a little with the girder teetering at the end of +the chain. The most interesting moment of the steel-man's job had come, +when a girder was to be jockeyed into place. The iron arm swung the +girder above two upright columns, lowered it, and the girder began to +groove into place. It wedged a little. One of the men inched along, +leaned against space, and wielded his bar. The women stared, for the +moment taken out of themselves. Then, as the girder settled into place +and the two men slid down the column to the floor, the spectators turned +back to their tea-table.</p> + +<p>"Very interesting," murmured Mrs. Van Vechten; "but I hardly see how it +concerns us."</p> + +<p>A flame leaped in Mary Trask's face. "It's what we've just been talking +about, one of men's jobs. I tell you, men are working miracles all the +time that women never see. We envy them their power and freedom, but we +seldom open our eyes to see what they pay for them. Look here, I'd like +to tell you about an ordinary man and one of his jobs." She stopped and +looked from Mrs. Bullen's perplexity to Cornelia Blair's superior smile, +and her eyes came last to Sally Van Vechten's rebellious frown. "I'm +going to bore you, maybe," she laughed grimly. "But it will do you good +to listen once in a while to something <i>real</i>."</p> + +<p>She sat down and leaned her elbows on the table. "I said that he is an +ordinary man," she began; "what I meant is that he started in like the +average, without any great amount of special training, without money, +and without pull of any kind. He had good health, good stock back of +him, an attractive personality, and two years at a technical +school—those were his total assets. He was twenty when he came to New +York to make a place for himself, and he had already got himself engaged +to a girl back home. He had enough money to keep him for about three +weeks, if he lived very economically. But that didn't prevent his +feeling a heady exhilaration that day when he walked up Fifth Avenue for +the first time and looked over his battle-field. He has told me often, +with a chuckle at the audacity of it, how he picked out his employer. +All day he walked about with his eyes open for contractors' signs. +Whenever he came upon a building in the process of construction he +looked it over critically, and if he liked the look of the job he made a +note of the contractor's name and address in a little green book. For he +was to be a builder—of big buildings, of course! And that night, when +he turned out of the avenue to go to the cheap boarding-house where he +had sent his trunk, he told himself that he'd give himself five years to +set up an office of his own within a block of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"Next day he walked into the offices of Weil & Street—the first that +headed the list in the little green book—asked to see Mr. Weil, and, +strangely enough, got him, too. Even in those raw days Robert had a +cheerful assurance tempered with rather a nice deference that often got +him what he wanted from older men. When he left the offices of Weil & +Street he had been given a job in the estimating-room, at a salary that +would just keep him from starving. He grew lean and lost his country +color that winter, but he was learning, learning all the time, not only +in the office of Weil & Street, but at night school, where he studied +architecture. When he decided he had got all he could get out of the +estimating and drawing rooms he asked to be transferred to one of the +jobs. They gave him the position of timekeeper on one of the contracts, +at a slight advance in salary.</p> + +<p>"A man can get as much or as little out of being timekeeper as he +chooses. Robert got a lot out of it. He formulated that summer a working +theory of the length of time it should take to finish every detail of a +building. He talked with bricklayers, he timed them and watched them, +until he knew how many bricks could be laid in an hour; and it was the +same way with carpenters, fireproofers, painters, plasterers. He soaked +in a thousand practical details of building: he picked out the best +workman in each gang, watched him, talked with him, learned all he could +of that man's particular trick; and it all went down in the little green +book. For at the back of his head was always the thought of the time +when he should use all this knowledge in his own business. Then one day +when he had learned all he could learn from being timekeeper, he walked +into Weil's office again and proposed that they make him one of the +firm's superintendents of construction.</p> + +<p>"Old Weil fairly stuttered with the surprise of this audacious +proposition. He demanded to know what qualifications the young man could +show for so important a position, and Robert told him about the year he +had had with the country builder and the three summer vacations with the +country surveyor—which made no impression whatever on Mr. Weil until +Robert produced the little green book. Mr. Weil glanced at some of the +figures in the book, snorted, looked hard at his ambitious timekeeper, +who looked back at him with his keen young eyes and waited. When he left +the office he had been promised a tryout on a small job near the +offices, where, as old Weil said, they could keep an eye on him. That +night he wrote to the girl back home that she must get ready to marry +him at a moment's notice."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask leaned back in her chair and smiled with a touch of sadness. +"The wonder of youth! I can see him writing that letter, exuberant, +ambitious, his brain full of dreams and plans—and a very inadequate +supper in his stomach. The place where he lived—he pointed it out to me +once—was awful. No girl of Rob's class—back home his folks were +'nice'—would have stood that lodging-house for a night, would have +eaten the food he did, or gone without the pleasures of life as he had +gone without them for two years. But there, right at the beginning, is +the difference between what a boy is willing to go through to get what +he wants and what a girl would or could put up with. And along with a +better position came a man's responsibility, which he shouldered alone.</p> + +<p>"'I was horribly afraid I'd fall down on the job,' he told me long +afterward. 'And there wasn't a living soul I could turn to for help. The +thing was up to me alone!'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask looked from Mrs. Bullen to Mrs. Van Vechten. "Mostly they +fight alone," she said, as if she thought aloud. "That's one thing about +men we don't always grasp—the business of existence is up to the +average man alone. If he fails or gets into a tight place he has no one +to fall back on, as a woman almost always has. Our men have a prejudice +against taking their business difficulties home with them. I've a +suspicion it's because we're so ignorant they'd have to do too much +explaining! So in most cases they haven't even a sympathetic +understanding to help them over the bad places. It was so with Robert +even after he had married the girl back home and brought her to the +city. His idea was to keep her from all worry and anxiety, and so, when +he came home at night and she asked him if he had had a good day, or if +the work had gone well, he always replied cheerfully that things had +gone about the same as usual, even though the day had been a +particularly bad one. This was only at first, however. The girl happened +to be the kind that likes to know things. One night, when she wakened to +find him staring sleepless at the ceiling, the thought struck her that, +after all, she knew nothing of his particular problems, and if they were +partners in the business of living why shouldn't she be an intelligent +member of the firm, even if only a silent one?</p> + +<p>"So she began to read everything she could lay her hands on about the +business of building construction, and very soon when she asked a +question it was a fairly intelligent one, because it had some knowledge +back of it. She didn't make the mistake of pestering him with questions +before she had any groundwork of technical knowledge to build on, and +I'm not sure that he ever guessed what she was up to, but I do know that +gradually, as he found that he did not, for instance, have to draw a +diagram and explain laboriously what a caisson was because she already +knew a good deal about caissons, he fell into the habit of talking out +to her a great many of the situations he would have to meet next day. +Not that she offered her advice nor that he wanted it, but what helped +was the fact of her sympathy—I should say her intelligent sympathy, for +that is the only kind that can really help.</p> + +<p>"So when his big chance came along she was ready to meet it with him. If +he succeeded she would be all the better able to appreciate his success; +and if he failed she would never blame him from ignorance. You must +understand that his advance was no meteoric thing. He somehow, by dint +of sitting up nights poring over blueprints and text-books and by day +using his wits and his eyes and his native shrewdness, managed to pull +off with fair success his first job as superintendent; was given other +contracts to oversee; and gradually, through three years of hard work, +learning, learning all the time, worked up to superintending some of the +firm's important jobs. Then he struck out for himself."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask turned to look out of the west window. "It sounds so easy," +she mused. "'Struck out for himself.' But I think only a man can quite +appreciate how much courage that takes. Probably, if the girl had not +understood where he was trying to get to, he would have hesitated longer +to give up his good, safe salary; but they talked it over, she +understood the hazards of the game, and she was willing to take a +chance. They had saved a tiny capital, and only a little over five years +from the day he had come to New York he opened an office within a block +of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"I won't bore you with the details of the next two years, when he was +getting together his organization, teaching himself the details of +office work, stalking architects and owners for contracts. He acquired a +slight stoop to his shoulders in those two years and there were days +when there was nothing left of his boyishness but the inextinguishable +twinkle in his hazel eyes. There were times when it seemed to him as if +he had put to sea in a rowboat; as if he could never make port; but +after a while small contracts began to come in, and then came along the +big opportunity. Up in a New England city a large bank building was to +be built; one of the directors was a friend of Rob's father, and Rob was +given a chance to put in an estimate. It meant so much to him that he +would not let himself count on getting the contract; he did not even +tell the partner at home that he had been asked to put in an estimate +until one day he came tearing in to tell her that he had been given the +job. It seemed too wonderful to be true. The future looked so dazzling +that they were almost afraid to contemplate it. Only something wildly +extravagant would express their emotion, so they chartered a hansom cab +and went gayly sailing up-town on the late afternoon tide of Fifth +Avenue; and as they passed the building on which Robert had got his job +as timekeeper he took off his hat to it, and she blew a kiss to it, and +a dreary old clubman in a window next door brightened visibly!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask turned her face toward the steel skeleton springing up across +the way like the magic beanstalk in the fairy-tale. "The things men have +taught themselves to do!" she cried. "The endurance and skill, the +inventiveness, the precision of science, the daring of human wits, the +poetry and fire that go into the making of great buildings! We women +walk in and out of them day after day, blindly—and this indifference is +symbolical, I think, of the way we walk in and out of our men's +lives.... I wish I could make you see that job of young Robert's so that +you would feel in it what I do—the patience of men, the strain of the +responsibility they carry night and day, the things life puts up to +them, which they have to meet alone, the dogged endurance of them...."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask leaned forward and traced a complicated diagram on the +table-cloth with the point of a fork. "It was his first big job, you +understand, and he had got it in competition with several older +builders. From the first they were all watching him, and he knew it, +which put a fine edge to his determination to put the job through with +credit. To be sure, he was handicapped by lack of capital, but his past +record had established his credit, and when the foundation work was +begun it was a very hopeful young man that watched the first shovelful +of earth taken out. But when they had gone down about twelve feet, with +a trench for a retaining-wall, they discovered that the owners' boring +plan was not a trustworthy representation of conditions; the job was +going to be a soft-ground proposition. Where, according to the owners' +preliminary borings, he should have found firm sand with a normal amount +of moisture, Rob discovered sand that was like saturated oatmeal, and +beyond that quicksand and water. Water! Why, it was like a subterranean +lake fed by a young river! With the pulsometer pumps working night and +day they couldn't keep the water out of the test pier he had sunk. It +bubbled in as cheerfully as if it had eternal springs behind it, and +drove the men out of the pier in spite of every effort. Rob knew then +what he was up against. But he still hoped that he could sink the +foundations without compressed air, which would be an immense expense he +had not figured on in his estimate, of course. So he devised a certain +kind of concrete crib, the first one was driven—and when they got it +down beneath quicksand and water about twenty-five feet, it hung up on a +boulder! You see, below the stratum of sand like saturated oatmeal, +below the water and quicksand, they had come upon something like a New +England pasture, as thick with big boulders as a bun with currants! If +he had spent weeks hunting for trouble he couldn't have found more than +was offered him right there. It was at this point that he went out and +wired a big New York engineer, who happened to be a friend of his, to +come up. In a day or two the engineer arrived, took a look at the job, +and then advised Rob to quit.</p> + +<p>"'It's a nasty job,' he told him. 'It will swallow every penny of your +profits and probably set you back a few thousands. It's one of the worst +soft-ground propositions I ever looked over.'</p> + +<p>"Well that night young Robert went home with a sleep-walking expression +in his eyes. He and the partner at home had moved up to Rockford to be +near the job while the foundation work was going on, so the girl saw +exactly what he was up against and what he had to decide between.</p> + +<p>"'I could quit,' he said that night, after the engineer had taken his +train back to New York, 'throw up the job, and the owners couldn't hold +me because of their defective boring plans. But if I quit there'll be +twenty competitors to say I've bit off more than I can chew. And if I +go on I lose money; probably go into the hole so deep I'll be a long +time getting out.'</p> + +<p>"You see, where his estimates had covered only the expense of normal +foundation work he now found himself up against the most difficult +conditions a builder can face. When the girl asked him if the owners +would not make up the additional cost he grinned ruefully. The owners +were going to hold him to his original estimate; they knew that with his +name to make he would hate to give up; and they were inclined to be +almost as nasty as the job.</p> + +<p>"'Then you'll have all this work and difficulty for nothing?' the girl +asked. 'You may actually lose money on the job?'</p> + +<p>"'Looks that way,' he admitted.</p> + +<p>"'Then why do you go on?' she cried.</p> + +<p>"His answer taught the girl a lot about the way a man looks at his job. +'If I take up the cards I can't be a quitter,' he said. 'It would hurt +my record. And my record is the equivalent of credit and capital. I +can't afford to have any weak spots in it. I'll take the gaff rather +than have it said about me that I've lain down on a job. I'm going on +with this thing to the end.'"</p> + +<p>Little shrewd, reminiscent lines gathered about Mrs. Trask's eyes. +"There's something exhilarating about a good fight. I've always thought +that if I couldn't be a gunner I could get a lot of thrills out of just +handing up the ammunition.... Well, Rob went on with the contract. With +the first crib hung up on a boulder and the water coming in so fast they +couldn't pump it out fast enough to dynamite, he was driven to use +compressed air, and that meant the hiring of a compressor, locks, +shafting—a terribly costly business—as well as bringing up to the job +a gang of the high-priced labor that works under air. But this was done, +and the first crib for the foundation piers went down slowly, with the +sand-hogs—men that work in the caissons—drilling and blasting their +way week after week through that underground New England pasture. Then, +below this boulder-strewn stratum, instead of the ledge they expected +they struck four feet of rotten rock, so porous that when air was put on +it to force the water back great air bubbles blew up all through the +lot, forcing the men out of the other caissons and trenches. But this +was a mere dull detail, to be met by care and ingenuity like the others. +And at last, forty feet below street level, they reached bed-rock. +Forty-six piers had to be driven to this ledge.</p> + +<p>"Rob knew now exactly what kind of a job was cut out for him. He knew he +had not only the natural difficulties to overcome, but he was going to +have to fight the owners for additional compensation. So one day he went +into Boston and interviewed a famous old lawyer.</p> + +<p>"'Would you object,' he asked the lawyer, 'to taking a case against +personal friends of yours, the owners of the Rockford bank building?'</p> + +<p>"'Not at all—and if you're right, I'll lick 'em! What's your case?'</p> + +<p>"Rob told him the whole story. When he finished the famous man refused +to commit himself one way or the other; but he said that he would be in +Rockford in a few days, and perhaps he'd look at Robert's little job. So +one day, unannounced, the lawyer appeared. The compressor plant was hard +at work forcing the water back in the caissons, the pulsometer pumps +were sucking up streams of water that flowed without ceasing into the +settling tank and off into the city sewers, the men in the caissons were +sending up buckets full of silt-like gruel. The lawyer watched +operations for a few minutes, then he asked for the owners' boring plan. +When he had examined this he grunted twice, twitched his lower lip +humorously, and said: 'I'll put you out of this. If the owners wanted a +deep-water lighthouse they should have specified one—not a bank +building.'</p> + +<p>"So the battle of legal wits began. Before the building was done Joshua +Kent had succeeded in making the owners meet part of the additional cost +of the foundation, and Robert had developed an acumen that stood by him +the rest of his life. But there was something for him in this job bigger +than financial gain or loss. Week after week, as he overcame one +difficulty after another, he was learning, learning, just as he had done +at Weil & Street's. His hazel eyes grew keener, his face thinner. For +the job began to develop every freak and whimsy possible to a growing +building. The owner of the department store next door refused to permit +access through his basement, and that added many hundred dollars to the +cost of building the party wall; the fire and telephone companies were +continually fussing around and demanding indemnity because their poles +and hydrants got knocked out of plumb; the thousands of gallons of dirty +water pumped from the job into the city sewers clogged them up, and the +city sued for several thousand dollars' damages; one day the car-tracks +in front of the lot settled and valuable time was lost while the men +shored them up; now and then the pulsometer engines broke down; the +sand-hogs all got drunk and lost much time; an untimely frost spoiled a +thousand dollars' worth of concrete one night. But the detail that +required the most handling was the psychological effect on Rob's +subcontractors. These men, observing the expensive preliminary +operations, and knowing that Rob was losing money every day the +foundation work lasted, began to ask one another if the young boss would +be able to put the job through. If he failed, of course they who had +signed up with him for various stages of the work would lose heavily. +Panic began to spread among all the little army that goes to the making +of a big building. The terra-cotta-floor men, the steel men, +electricians and painters began to hang about the job with gloom in +their eyes; they wore a path to the architect's door, and he, never +having quite approved of so young a man being given the contract, did +little to allay their apprehensions. Rob knew that if this kept up +they'd hurt his credit, so he promptly served notice on the architect +that if his credit was impaired by false rumors he'd hold him +responsible; and he gave each subcontractor five minutes in which to +make up his mind whether he wanted to quit or look cheerful. To a man +they chose to stick by the job; so that detail was disposed of. In the +meantime the sinking of piers for one of the retaining-walls was giving +trouble. One morning at daylight Rob's superintendent telephoned him to +announce that the street was caving in and the buildings across the way +were cracking. When Rob got there he found the men standing about scared +and helpless, while the plate-glass windows of the store opposite were +cracking like pistols and the building settled. It appeared that when +the trench for the south wall had gone down a certain distance water +began to rush in under the sheeting as if from an underground river, +and, of course, undermined the street and the store opposite. The pumps +were started like mad, two gangs were put at work, with the +superintendent swearing, threatening, and pleading to make them dig +faster, and at last concrete was poured and the water stopped. That day +Rob and his superintendent had neither breakfast nor lunch; but they had +scarcely finished shoring up the threatened store when the owner of the +store notified Rob that he would sue for damages, and the secretary of +the Y. W. C. A. next door attempted to have the superintendent arrested +for profanity. Rob said that when this happened he and his +superintendent solemnly debated whether they should go and get drunk or +start a fight with the sand-hogs; it did seem as if they were entitled +to some emotional outlet, all the circumstances considered!</p> + +<p>"So after months of difficulties the foundation work was at last +finished. I've forgotten to mention that there was some little +difficulty with the eccentricities of the sub-basement floor. The wet +clay ruined the first concrete poured, and little springs had a way of +gushing up in the boiler-room. Also, one night a concrete shell for the +elevator pit completely disappeared—sank out of sight in the soft +bottom. But by digging the trench again and jacking down the bottom and +putting hay under the concrete, the floor was finished; and that detail +was settled.</p> + +<p>"The remainder of the job was by comparison uneventful. The things that +happened were all more or less in the day's work, such as a carload of +stone for the fourth story arriving when what the masons desperately +needed was the carload for the second, and the carload for the third +getting lost and being discovered after three days' search among the +cripples in a Buffalo freight-yard. And there was a strike of +structural-steel work workers which snarled up everything for a while; +and always, of course, there were the small obstacles and differences +owners and architects are in the habit of hatching up to keep a builder +from getting indifferent. But these things were what every builder +encounters and expects. What Rob's wife could not reconcile herself to +was the fact that all those days of hard work, all those days and nights +of strain and responsibility, were all for nothing. Profits had long +since been drowned in the foundation work; Robert would actually have to +pay several thousand dollars for the privilege of putting up that +building! When the girl could not keep back one wail over this detail +her husband looked at her in genuine surprise.</p> + +<p>"'Why, it's been worth the money to me, what I've learned,' he said. +'I've got an education out of that old hoodoo that some men go through +Tech and work twenty years without getting; I've learned a new wrinkle +in every one of the building trades; I've learned men and I've learned +law, and I've delivered the goods. It's been hell, but I wouldn't have +missed it!'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask looked eagerly and a little wistfully at the three faces in +front of her. Her own face was alight. "Don't you see—that's the way a +real man looks at his work; but that man's wife would never have +understood it if she hadn't been interested enough to watch his job. She +saw him grow older and harder under that job; she saw him often haggard +from the strain and sleepless because of a dozen intricate problems; but +she never heard him complain and she never saw him any way but +courageous and often boyishly gay when he'd got the best of some +difficulty. And furthermore, she knew that if she had been the kind of a +woman who is not interested in her husband's work he would have kept it +to himself, as most American husbands do. If he had, she would have +missed a chance to learn a lot of things that winter, and she probably +wouldn't have known anything about the final chapter in the history of +the job that the two of them had fallen into the habit of referring to +as the White Elephant. They had moved back to New York then, and the +Rockford bank building was within two weeks of its completion, when at +seven o'clock one morning their telephone rang. Rob answered it and his +wife heard him say sharply: 'Well, what are you doing about it?' And +then: 'Keep it up. I'll catch the next train.'</p> + +<p>"'What is it?' she asked, as he turned away from the telephone and she +saw his face.</p> + +<p>"'The department store next to the Elephant is burning,' he told her. +'Fireproof? Well, I'm supposed to have built a fireproof building—but +you never can tell.'</p> + +<p>"His wife's next thought was of insurance, for she knew that Robert had +to insure the building himself up to the time he turned it over to the +owners. 'The insurance is all right?' she asked him.</p> + +<p>"But she knew by the way he turned away from her that the worst of all +their bad luck with the Elephant had happened, and she made him tell +her. The insurance had lapsed about a week before. Rob had not renewed +the policy because its renewal would have meant adding several hundreds +to his already serious deficit, and, as he put it, it seemed to him that +everything that could happen to that job had already happened. But now +the last stupendous, malicious catastrophe threatened him. Both of them +knew when he said good-by that morning and hurried out to catch his +train that he was facing ruin. His wife begged him to let her go with +him; at least she would be some one to talk to on that interminable +journey; but he said that was absurd; and, anyway, he had a lot of +thinking to do. So he started off alone.</p> + +<p>"At the station before he left he tried to get the Rockford bank +building on the telephone. He got Rockford and tried for five minutes to +make a connection with his superintendent's telephone in the bank +building, until the operator's voice came to him over the wire: 'I tell +you, you can't get that building, mister. It's burning down!'</p> + +<p>"'How do you know?' he besought her.</p> + +<p>"'I just went past there and I seen it,' her voice came back at him.</p> + +<p>"He got on the train. At first he felt nothing but a queer dizzy vacuum +where his brain should have been; the landscape outside the windows +jumbled together like a nightmare landscape thrown up on a +moving-picture screen. For fifty miles he merely sat rigidly still, but +in reality he was plunging down like a drowning man to the very bottom +of despair. And then, like the drowning man, he began to come up to the +surface again. The instinct for self-preservation stirred in him and +broke the grip of that hypnotizing despair. At first slowly and +painfully, but at last with quickening facility, he began to think, to +plan. Stations went past; a man he knew spoke to him and then walked on, +staring; but he was deaf and blind. He was planning for the future. +Already he had plumbed, measured, and put behind him the fact of the +fire; what he occupied himself with now was what he could save from the +ashes to make a new start with. And he told me afterwards that actually, +at the end of two hours of the liveliest thinking he had ever done in +his life, he began to enjoy himself! His fighting blood began to tingle; +his head steadied and grew cool; his mind reached out and examined every +aspect of his stupendous failure, not to indulge himself in the weakness +of regret, but to find out the surest and quickest way to get on his +feet again. Figuring on the margins of timetables, going over the +contracts he had in hand, weighing every asset he possessed in the +world, he worked out in minute detail a plan to save his credit and his +future. When he got off the train at Boston he was a man that had +already begun life over again; he was a general that was about to make +the first move in a long campaign, every move and counter-move of which +he carried in his brain. Even as he crossed the station he was +rehearsing the speech he was going to make at the meeting of his +creditors he intended to hold that afternoon. Then, as he hastened +toward a telephone-booth, he ran into a newsboy. A headline caught his +eye. He snatched at the paper, read the headlines, standing there in the +middle of the room. And then he suddenly sat down on the nearest bench, +weak and shaking.</p> + +<p>"On the front page of the paper was a half-page picture of the Rockford +bank building with the flames curling up against its west wall, and +underneath it a caption that he read over and over before he could grasp +what it meant to him. The White Elephant had not burned; in fact, at the +last it had turned into a good elephant, for it had not only not burned +but it had stopped the progress of what threatened to be a very +disastrous conflagration, according to a jubilant despatch from +Rockford. And Robert, reading these lines over and over, felt an amazing +sort of indignant disappointment to think that now he would not have a +chance to put to the test those plans he had so minutely worked out. He +was in the position of a man that has gone through the painful process +of readjusting his whole life; who has mentally met and conquered a +catastrophe that fails to come off. He felt quite angry and cheated for +a few minutes, until he regained his mental balance and saw how absurd +he was, and then, feeling rather foolish and more than a little shaky, +he caught a train and went up to Rockford.</p> + +<p>"There he found out that the report had been right; beyond a few cracked +wire-glass windows—for which, as one last painful detail, he had to +pay—and a blackened side wall, the Elephant was unharmed. The men +putting the finishing touches to the inside had not lost an hour's work. +All that dreadful journey up from New York had been merely one last turn +of the screw.</p> + +<p>"Two weeks later he turned the Elephant over to the owners, finished, a +good, workmanlike job from roof to foundation-piers. He had lost money +on it; for months he had worked overtime his courage, his ingenuity, his +nerve, and his strength. But that did not matter. He had delivered the +goods. I believe he treated himself to an afternoon off and went to a +ball-game; but that was all, for by this time other jobs were under way, +a whole batch of new problems were waiting to be solved; in a week the +Elephant was forgotten."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trask pushed back her chair and walked to the west window. A +strange quiet had fallen upon the sky-scraper now; the workmen had gone +down the ladders, the steam-riveters had ceased their tapping. Mrs. +Trask opened the window and leaned out a little.</p> + +<p>Behind her the three women at the tea-table gathered up their furs in +silence. Cornelia Blair looked relieved and prepared to go on to dinner +at another club, Mrs. Bullen avoided Mrs. Van Vechten's eye. In her rosy +face faint lines had traced themselves, as if vaguely some new +perceptiveness troubled her. She looked at her wristwatch and rose from +the table hastily.</p> + +<p>"I must run along," she said. "I like to get home before John does. You +going my way, Sally?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Van Vechten shook her head absently. There was a frown between her +dark brows; but as she stood fastening her furs her eyes went to the +west window, with an expression in them that was almost wistful. For an +instant she looked as if she were going over to the window beside Mary +Trask; then she gathered up her gloves and muff and went out without a +word.</p> + +<p>Mary Trask was unaware of her going. She had forgotten the room behind +her and her friends at the tea-table, as well as the other women +drifting in from the adjoining room. She was contemplating, with her +little, absent-minded smile, her husband's name on the builder's sign +halfway up the unfinished sky-scraper opposite.</p> + +<p>"Good work, old Rob," she murmured. Then her hand went up in a quaint +gesture that was like a salute. "To all good jobs and the men behind +them!" she added.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. <br />Copyright, +1921, by Grace Sartwell Mason.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Rending12" id="The_Rending12"></a>THE RENDING<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> JAMES OPPENHEIM</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Dial</i></h4> + + +<p>There is a bitter moment in youth, and this moment had come to Paul. He +had passed his mother's door without entering or even calling out to +her, and had climbed on doggedly to the top floor. Now he was shut in +his sanctuary, his room, sitting at his table. His head rested on a +hand, his dark eyes had an expression of confused anguish, a look of +guilt and sternness mingled.... He could no more have visited his +mother, he told himself, than he could voluntarily have chopped off his +hand. And yet he was amazed at the cruelty in himself, a hard cold +cruelty which prompted the thought: "Even if this means her death or my +death, I shall go through with this."</p> + +<p>It was because of such a feeling that he couldn't talk to his mother. +Paul was one of those sensitive youths who are delivered over to their +emotions—swept now and then by exaltation, now by despair, now by +anguish or rage, always excessive, never fully under control. He was +moody, and always seemed unable to say the right thing or do the right +thing. Suddenly the emotion used him as a mere instrument and came forth +in a shameful nakedness. But the present situation was by all odds the +most terrible he had faced: for against the cold cruelty, there +throbbed, warm and unutterably sweet, like a bird in a nest of iron, an +intense childish longing and love....</p> + +<p>You see, Paul was nineteen, the eldest son in a family of four, and his +mother was a widow. She was not poor; they lived in this large +comfortable house on a side street east of Central Park. But neither +was she well off, and Paul was very magnanimous; he had given up college +and gone to work as a clerk. Perhaps it wasn't only magnanimity, but +also pride. He was proud to be the oldest son, to play father, to advise +with his mother about the children, to be the man of the house. Yet he +was always a mere child, living, as his two sisters and his brother +lived, in delicate response to his mother's feelings and wishes. And he +wanted to be a good son: he thought nothing was more wonderful than a +child who was good to his mother. She had given all for her children, +they in return must give all to her. But against this spirit of +sacrifice there arose a crude, ugly, healthy, monstrous force, a +terrible thing that kept whispering to him: "You can't live your +mother's life: you must live your own life."</p> + +<p>Once, when he had said something conceited, his mother had flashed out +at him: "You're utterly selfish." This stung and humiliated him. Yet +this terrible monster in himself seemed concerned about nothing but +self. It seemed a sort of devil always tempting him to eat of forbidden +fruit. Lovely fruit, too. There was Agnes, for instance: Agnes, a mere +girl, with a pigtail down her back, daughter of the fishman on Third +Avenue.</p> + +<p>His mother held Agnes in horror. That her son should be in love with a +fishman's daughter! And all the child in Paul, responding so sensitively +to his mother's feelings, agreed to this. He had contempt for himself, +he struggled against the romantic Thousand and One Nights glamour, which +turned Third Avenue into a Lovers' Lane of sparkling lights. He +struggled, vainly. Poetry was his passion: and he steeped himself in +Romeo and Juliet, and in Keats's St. Agnes' Eve and The Pot of Basil.... +It was then the great struggle with his mother began, and the large +house became a gloomy vault, something dank, damp, sombre, something out +of Poe, where a secret duel to the death was being fought, mostly in +undertones and sometimes with sharp cries and stabbing words.</p> + +<p>Now, this evening, with his head in his hand, he knew that the end had +already been reached. To pass his mother's door without a greeting, +especially since he was well aware that she was ill, was so +unprecedented, so violent an act, that it seemed to have the finality of +something criminal. His mother had said two days ago: "This can't go on. +It is killing me."</p> + +<p>"All right," he flashed. "It sha'n't. I'll get out."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll marry," she said, "on fifteen a week."</p> + +<p>He spoke bitterly:</p> + +<p>"I'll get out of New York altogether. I'll work my way through +college...."</p> + +<p>She almost sneered at the suggestion. And this sneer rankled. He +telegraphed his friend, at a little freshwater college, and Samuel +telegraphed back: "Come." That day he drew his money from the bank, and +got his tickets for the midnight sleeper. And he did all this with +perfect cruelty....</p> + +<p>But now the time had come to go, and things were different. An autumn +wind was blowing out of the park, doubtless carrying seeds and dead +leaves, and gusting down the street, blowing about the sparkling lamps, +eddying in the area-ways, rapping in passing on the loose windows.... +The lights in the houses were all warm, because you saw only the glowing +yellow shades: Third Avenue was lit up and down with shop-windows, and +people were doing late marketing. It was a night when nothing seemed so +sweet, or sane, or comfortable, as a soft-lighted room, and a family +sitting together. Soft voices, familiarity, warm intimacy, the feeling +of security and ease, the unspoken welling of love and understanding: +these belonged to such a night, when the whole world seemed dying and +there was only man to keep the fires burning against death.</p> + +<p>And so, out of its tomb, the little child in Paul stepped out again, +beautiful and sweet with love and longing. And this little child said to +him: "Sacrifice—surrender—let the hard heart melt with pity.... There +is no freedom except in love, which gives all." For a moment Paul's +vivid imagination, which presented everything to him like works of +dramatic art, pictured himself going down the steps, as once he had +done, creeping to his mother's bed, flinging himself down, sobbing and +moaning, "Forgive me. Forgive me."</p> + +<p>But just then he heard the stairs creak and thought that his eldest +sister was coming up to question him. His heart began a frightened +throbbing: he shook with a guilty fear, and at once he saved himself +with a bitter resurgence of cruel anger. He hated his sister, he told +himself, with a livid hatred. She always sided with his mother. She was +bossy and smart and high and mighty. He knew what he would do. He jumped +up, went to the door, and locked it. So—she could beat her head on the +door, for all he cared!</p> + +<p>He packed. He got out his valise, and filled it with his necessaries. He +would let the rest go: the books, the old clothes. He was going to start +life all over again He was going to wipe out the past....</p> + +<p>When he was finished, he anxiously opened his pocket-book to see if the +tickets were safe. He looked at them. It was now ten o'clock. Two +hours—and then the long train would pull out, and he would be gone.... +To-morrow morning they'd come downstairs. His sister probably would sit +at the foot of the table, instead of himself. The table would seem small +with himself gone. Perhaps the house would seem a little empty. +Automatically they would wait for the click of his key in the front door +lock at seven in the evening. He would not come home at all....</p> + +<p>His mother might die. She had told him this was killing her.... It was +so easy for him to go, so hard for her to stay.... She had invested most +of her capital of hopes and dreams and love in him: he was the son; he +was the first man. And now he was shattering the very structure of her +life....</p> + +<p>Easy for him to go! He slumped into the chair again, at the table.... +The wind blew strongly, and he knew just how the grey street looked with +its spots of yellow sparkling lamplight; its shadows, its glowing +windows.... He knew the smell of the fish-shop, the strange raw +sea-smell, the sight of glittering iridescent scales, the beauty of lean +curved fishes, the red of broiled lobsters, the pink-cheeked swarthy +fishman, the dark loveliness of Agnes.... He had written to Agnes. His +mother didn't know of it, but he was done with Agnes. Agnes meant +nothing to him. She had only been a way out, something to cling to, +something to fight for in this fight for his life....</p> + +<p>Fight for his life! Had he not read of this in books, how the young must +slay the old in order that life might go on, just as the earth must die +in autumn so that the seeds of spring may be planted? Had he not read +Ibsen's Master Builder, where the aging hero hears the dread doom which +youth brings, "the younger generation knocking at the door"? He was the +younger generation, he was the young hero. And now, at once, a vivid +dramatization took place in his brain: it unwound clear as +hallucination. He forgot everything else, he sat there as a writer sits, +living his fiction, making strange gestures with face and hands, +muttering words under his breath....</p> + +<p>In this phantasy, he saw himself rising, appearing a little older, a +little stronger, and on his face a look of divine compassion and +understanding, yet a firmness inexorable as fate. He repeated Hamlet's +words: "For I am cruel only to be kind." Blame life, fate, the gods who +decree that a man must live his own life: don't blame me.</p> + +<p>He unlocked the door, crossed the big hall, stepped down the stairs. His +mother's door was shut. The younger generation must knock at it. He +knocked. A low, sad voice said: "Come." He opened the door.</p> + +<p>This was the way it always was: a pin-point of light by the western +window, a newspaper pinned to the glass globe of the gas-jet to shield +his mother's eyes, the wide range of warm shadow, and in the shadow the +two beds. But his sister was not in one of them. His mother was +alone....</p> + +<p>He went to the bedside....</p> + +<p>"Mother!"</p> + +<p>"Paul!"</p> + +<p>He took her hand.</p> + +<p>"Are you feeling better?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"A little more quiet, Paul...."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad...."</p> + +<p>Now there was silence.... Then he spoke quietly, honestly, candidly. It +was the only way. Why can't human beings be simple with one another, be +sweetly reasonable? Isn't a little understanding worth more than pride +and anger? To understand is to forgive. Surely any one must know that.</p> + +<p>Starting to speak, he sat down on the chair beside the bed, still +holding her hand....</p> + +<p>"Mother, come let's talk to one another. You think perhaps I have +stopped loving you. It isn't true. I love you deeply. All this is +breaking my heart. But how can I help it? Can't you see that I am young, +and my life all before me? The best of your life is behind you. You have +lived, I haven't. You have tasted the sweet mysteries of love, the +agonies of death and birth, the terrors of lonely struggle. And I must +have these, too. I am hungry for them. I can't help myself. I am like a +leaf in the wind, like a rain-drop in the storm.... How can you keep me +here? If you compel me, I'll become a shadow, all twisted and broken. I +won't be a man, but a helpless child. Perhaps I shall go out of my mind. +And what good will that do you? You will suffer more if I stay, than if +I go. Oh, understand me, mother, understand me!"</p> + +<p>His mother began to cry. She spoke at first as she always spoke, and +then more like a mother in a poem.</p> + +<p>"Understand? What do you understand? You know nothing about life. Oh, I +only wish you had children and your children turned against you! That's +the only way that you will ever learn.... I worked for you so hard. I +gave up everything for my children. And your father died, and I went on +alone, a woman with a great burden.... What sort of life have I had? +Sacrifice, toil, tears.... I skimped along. I wore the same dress year +after year, for five, six years.... I hung over your sickbeds, I taught +you at my knees. I have known the bitterness of child-bearing, and the +bitter cry of children.... I have fought alone for my little ones.... +And you, Paul! You who were the darling of my heart, my little man, you +who said you would take your father's place and take care of me and of +your sisters and brother! You who were to repay me for everything; to +give me a future, to comfort my old age, the staff I leaned on, my +comfort, my son! I was proud of you as you grew up: so proud to see your +pride, and your ambition. I knew you would succeed, that you would have +fame and power and wealth, and I should be the proudest mother in the +world! This was my dream.... Now I see you a failure, one who cares for +nothing but self-indulgence and pleasure, a rolling stone, a flitter +from place to place, and I—I am an old woman, deserted, left alone to +wither in bitterness.... I gave everything to you—and you—you give +back despair, loneliness, anguish. I gave you life: you turn on me and +destroy me for the gift.... Oh, mother-love! What man will understand +it—the piercing anguish, the roots that clutch the deep heart?... I +feel the chill of death creeping over me...."</p> + +<p>The tears rolled down Paul's cheeks. He pressed her hand now with both +of his.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, but I do understand! I have understood always, I have tried +so hard to help you. I have tried so hard to be a good son. But this is +something greater than I. We are in the hands of God, mother, and it is +the law that the young must leave the old. Why do parents expect the +impossible of their children? Does not the Bible say, 'You must leave +father and mother, and cleave to me'? Didn't you leave grandmother and +grandpa, to go to your husband? Can't you remember when you were young, +and your whole soul carried you away to your own life and your own +future? Mother, let us part with understanding, let us part with love."</p> + +<p>"But when are you going, Paul?"</p> + +<p>"To-night."</p> + +<p>His mother flung her arms about him desperately and clung to him....</p> + +<p>"I can't let you go, Paul," she moaned.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother," he sobbed. "This is breaking my heart...."</p> + +<p>"It is Agnes you are going to," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"No, mother," he cried. "It is not Agnes. I am going to college. I shall +never marry. I shall still take care of you. Think—every vacation I +will be back here...."</p> + +<p>She relaxed, lay back, and his inventions failed. He had a confused +sense of soothing her, of gentleness and reconciliation, of a last +good-bye....</p> + +<p>And now he sat, head on hand, slowly realizing again the little gas-lit +room, the shaking window, the autumn wind. A throb of fear pulsed +through his heart. He had passed his mother's door without greeting her. +And there was his valise, and here his tickets. And the time? It was +nearly eleven.... A great heaviness of futility and despair weighed him +down. He felt incapable of action. He felt that he had done some +terrible deed—like striking his mother in the face—something +unforgivable, unreversible, struck through and through with finality.... +He felt more and more cold and brutal, with the sullenness of the +criminal who can't undo his crime and won't admit his guilt....</p> + +<p>Was it all over, then? Was he really leaving? Fear, and a prophetic +breath of the devastating loneliness he should yet know, came upon him, +paralyzed his mind, made him weak and aghast. He was going out into the +night of death, launching on his frail raft into the barren boundless +ocean of darkness, leaving the last landmarks, drifting out in utter +nakedness and loneliness.... All the future grew black and impenetrable; +but he knew shapes of terror, demons of longing and grief and guilt +loomed there, waiting for him. He knew that he was about to understand a +little of life in a very ancient and commonplace way: the way of +experience and of reality: that at first hand he was to have the taste +against his palate of that bitterness and desolation, that terror and +helplessness, which make the songs and fictions of man one endless +tragedy.... Destiny was taking him, as the jailer who comes to the +condemned man's cell on the morning of the execution. There was no +escape. No end, but death....</p> + +<p>He was leaving everything that was comfort in a bleak world, everything +that was safe and tried and known in a world of unthinkable perils and +mysteries. Only this he knew, still a child, still on the inside of his +mother's house.... He knew now how terrible, how deep, how human were +the cords that bound him to his mother, how fierce the love, by the fear +and deadly helplessness he felt.... What could he have been about all +these months of darkening the house, of paining his mother and the +children, of bringing matters to such inexorable finalities? Was he +sane? Was he now possessed of some demon, some beast of low desire? +Freedom? What was freedom? Could there be freedom without love?</p> + +<p>And now, as he sat there, there came slow deliberate footsteps on the +stairs. There was no mistaking the sounds. It was Cora, his older +sister.... His heart palpitated wildly, he shook with fear, the colour +left his cheeks, and he tried to set his face and his throat like flint +not to betray himself. She came straight on. She knocked.</p> + +<p>"Paul," she said in a peremptory tone, clothed with all the authority of +his mother....</p> + +<p>He grew cold all over, his eyelids narrowed; he felt brutal....</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked hard.</p> + +<p>"Mother wants you to come right down."</p> + +<p>"I will come," he said.</p> + +<p>Her footsteps departed.... He rose slowly, heavily, like the man who +must now face the executioner.... He stuck his pocketbook back in his +coat and picked up his valise. Mechanically he looked about the room. +Then he unlocked and opened the door, shut off the gas, and went into +the lighted hall.</p> + +<p>And as he descended the steps he felt ever smaller before the growing +terror of the world. Never had he been more of a child than at this +moment: never had he longed more fiercely to sob and cry out and give +over everything.... How had this guilt descended upon him? What had he +done? Why was all this necessary? Who was forcing him through this +strange and frightful experience? He went on, lower and lower....</p> + +<p>The door of his mother's room was a little open. It was all as it had +always been—the pin-point of light, the shading newspaper, the +sick-room silence, the warm shadow.... He paused a second to summon up +strength, to combat the monster of fear and guilt in his heart. He tried +with all his little boyish might to smooth out his face, to set it +straight and firm. He pushed the door, set down the valise, entered: +pale, large-eyed, looking hard and desperate.</p> + +<p>He did not see his sister at all, though she sat under the light. His +mother he hardly saw: had the sense of a towel binding her head, and the +dim form under the bedclothes. He stepped clumsily—he was trembling +so—to the foot of her bed, and grasped the brass rail for support....</p> + +<p>His mother's voice was low and thick; a terrible voice. Her throat was +swollen, and she could speak only with difficulty. The voice accused +him. It said plainly: "It was you did this."</p> + +<p>She said: "Paul, this has got to end."</p> + +<p>His tongue seemed the fork of a snake, his words came with such deadly +coldness....</p> + +<p>"It will end to-night."</p> + +<p>"How ... to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I'm leaving.... I'm going west...."</p> + +<p>"West.... Where?"</p> + +<p>"To Sam's...."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said his mother....</p> + +<p>There was a long cruel silence. He shut his eyes, overcome with a sort +of horror.... Then she turned her face a little away, and he heard the +faintly breathed words....</p> + +<p>"This is the end of me...."</p> + +<p>Still he said nothing. She turned toward him, with a groan.</p> + +<p>"Have you nothing to say?"</p> + +<p>Again he spoke with deadly coldness....</p> + +<p>"Nothing...."</p> + +<p>She waited a moment: then she spoke....</p> + +<p>"You have no feelings. When you set out to do a thing, you will trample +over every one. I have never been able to do anything with you. You may +become a great man, Paul: but I pity any one who loves you, any one who +gets in your path. You will kill whatever holds you—always.... I was a +fool to give birth to you: a great fool to count on you.... Well, it's +over.... You have your way...."</p> + +<p>He was amazed: he trembling there, guilty, afraid, horrified, his whole +soul beseeching the comfort of her arms! He a cold trampler?</p> + +<p>He stood, with all the feeling of one who is falsely condemned, and yet +with all the guilt of one who has sinned....</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly, a wild animal cry came from his mother's throat....</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, "how terrible it is to have children!"</p> + +<p>His heart echoed her cry.... The executioner's knife seemed to strike +his throat....</p> + +<p>He stood a long while in the silence.... Then his mother turned in the +bed, sideways, and covered her face with the counterpane.... His sister +rose up stiffly, whispering:</p> + +<p>"She's going to sleep."</p> + +<p>He stood, dead.... He turned like a wound-up mechanism, went to the +door, picked up his valise, and fumbled his way through the house.... +The outer door he shut very softly....</p> + +<p>He must take the Lexington Avenue car. Yes; that was the quickest way. +He faced west. The great wind of autumn came with a glorious gusto, +doubtless with flying seeds and flying leaves, chanting the song of the +generations, and of them that die and of them that are born.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by James Oppenheim.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Dummy-Chucker13" id="The_Dummy-Chucker13"></a>THE DUMMY-CHUCKER<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Cosmopolitan</i></h4> + + +<p>There were many women on East Fourteenth Street. With the seeing eye of +the artist, the dummy-chucker looked them over and rejected them. +Kindly-seeming, generously fat, the cheap movie houses disgorged them. A +dozen alien tongues smote the air, and every one of them hinted of far +lands of poverty, of journeys made and hardships undergone. No better +field for beggary in all Manhattan's bounteous acreage.</p> + +<p>But the dummy-chucker shook his head and shuffled ever westward. These +were good souls, but—they thought in cents. Worse than that, they +translated their financial thoughts into the pitiful coinage of their +birthplaces. And in the pocket of the dummy-chucker rested a silver +dollar.</p> + +<p>A gaunt man, who towered high, and whose tongue held the cadences of the +wide spaces, had slipped this dollar into the receptive hand of the +dummy-chucker. True, it was almost a fortnight ago, and the man might +have gone back to his Western home—but Broadway had yielded him up to +the dummy-chucker. Broadway might yield up such another.</p> + +<p>At Union Square, the dummy-chucker turned north. Past the Flatiron +Building he shuffled, until, at length, the Tenderloin unfolded itself +before him. These were the happy hunting-grounds!</p> + +<p>Of course—and he glanced behind him quickly—there were more fly cops +on Broadway than on the lower East Side. One of them had dug his bony +fingers between the shabby collar of the dummy-chucker's coat and the +lank hair that hung down his neck. He had yanked the dummy-chucker to +his feet. He had dragged his victim to a patrol-box; he had taken him to +a police station, whence he had been conveyed to Jefferson Market Court, +where a judge had sentenced him to a sojourn on Blackwell's Island.</p> + +<p>That had been ten days ago. This very day, the municipal ferry had +landed the dummy-chucker, with others of his slinking kind, upon +Manhattan's shores again. Not for a long time would the memory of the +Island menu be effaced from the dummy-chucker's palate, the locked doors +be banished from his mental vision.</p> + +<p>A man might be arrested on Broadway, but he might also get the money. +Timorously, the dummy-chucker weighed the two possibilities. He felt the +dollar in his pocket. At a street in the Forties, he turned westward. +Beyond Eighth Avenue there was a place where the shadow of prohibition +was only a shadow.</p> + +<p>Prices had gone up, but, as Finisterre Joe's bartender informed him, +there was more kick in a glass of the stuff that cost sixty cents to-day +than there had been in a barrel of the old juice. And, for a good +customer, Finisterre Joe's bartender would shade the price a trifle. The +dummy-chucker received two portions of the crudely blended poison that +passed for whisky in exchange for his round silver dollar. It was with +less of a shuffle and more of a stride that he retraced his steps toward +Broadway.</p> + +<p>Slightly north of Times Square, he surveyed his field of action. Across +the street, a vaudeville house was discharging its mirth-surfeited +audience. Half a block north, laughing groups testified that the comedy +they had just left had been as funny as its press-agent claimed. The +dummy-chucker shook his head. He moved south, his feet taking on that +shuffle which they had lost temporarily.</p> + +<p>"She Loved and Lost"—that was the name of the picture being run this +week at the Concorde. Outside was billed a huge picture of the star, a +lady who received more money for making people weep than most actors +obtain for making them laugh. The dummy-chucker eyed the picture +approvingly. He took his stand before the main entrance. This was the +place! If he tried to do business with a flock of people that had just +seen Charlie Chaplin, he'd fail. He knew! Fat women who'd left the twins +at home with the neighbor's cook in order that they might have a good +cry at the Concorde—these were his mutton-heads.</p> + +<p>He reeled slightly as several flappers passed—just for practise. Ten +days on Blackwell's hadn't spoiled his form. They drew away from him; +yet, from their manners, he knew that they did not suspect him of being +drunk. Well, hurrah for prohibition, after all! Drunkenness was the last +thing people suspected of a hard-working man nowadays. He slipped his +hand in his pocket. They were coming now—the fat women with the babies +at home, their handkerchiefs still at their eyes. His hand slipped to +his mouth. His jaws moved savagely. One thing was certain: out of +to-day's stake he'd buy some decent-tasting soap. This awful stuff that +he'd borrowed from the Island——</p> + +<p>The stoutest woman paused; she screamed faintly as the dummy-chucker +staggered, pitched forward, and fell at her short-vamped feet. Excitedly +she grasped her neighbor's arm.</p> + +<p>"He's gotta fit!"</p> + +<p>The neighbor bent over the prostrate dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"Ep'lepsy," she announced. "Look at the foam on his lips."</p> + +<p>"Aw, the poor man!"</p> + +<p>"Him so strong-looking, too!"</p> + +<p>"Ain't it the truth? These husky-looking men sometimes are the +sickliest."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker stirred. He sat up feebly. With his sleeve, he wiped +away the foam. Dazedly he spoke.</p> + +<p>"If I had a bite to eat——"</p> + +<p>He looked upward at the first stout woman. Well and wisely had he chosen +his scene. Movie tickets cost fractions of a dollar. There is always +some stray silver in the bead bag of a movie patron. Into the +dummy-chucker's outstretched palm fell pennies, nickels, dimes, +quarters. There was present to-day no big-hearted Westerner with silver +dollars, but here was comparative wealth. Already the dummy-chucker saw +himself again at Finisterre Joe's, this time to purchase no bottled +courage but to buy decantered ease.</p> + +<p>"T'ank, ladies," he murmured. "If I can get a bite to eat and rest +up——"</p> + +<p>"'Rest up!'" The shrill jeer of a newsboy broke in upon his pathetic +speech. "Rest up again on the Island! That's the kind of a rest up +you'll get, y' big tramp."</p> + +<p>"Can't you see the man's sick?" The stoutest one turned indignantly upon +the newsboy. But the scoffer held his ground.</p> + +<p>"'Sick?' Sure he's sick! Eatin' soap makes anyone sick. Youse dames is +easy. He's chuckin' a dummy."</p> + +<p>"'A dummy?'"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker sat a bit straighter.</p> + +<p>"Sure, ma'am. That's his game. He t'rows phony fits. He eats a bit of +soap and makes his mouth foam. Last week, he got pinched right near +here——"</p> + +<p>But the dummy-chucker heard no more. He rolled sidewise just as the cry: +"Police!" burst from the woman's lips. He reached the curb, rose, burst +through the gathering crowd, and rounded a corner at full speed.</p> + +<p>He was half-way to Eighth Avenue, and burning lungs had slowed him to a +jog-trot, when a motor-car pulled up alongside the curb. It kept gentle +pace with the fugitive. A shrewd-featured young man leaned from its +fashionably sloped wheel.</p> + +<p>"Better hop aboard," he suggested. "That policeman is fat, but he has +speed."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker glanced over his shoulder. Looming high as the +Woolworth Building, fear overcoming the dwarfing tendency of distance, +came a policeman. The dummy-chucker leaped to the motor's running-board. +He climbed into the vacant front seat.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, feller," he grunted. "A li'l speed, please."</p> + +<p>The young man chuckled. He rounded the corner into Eighth Avenue and +darted north among the trucks.</p> + +<p>At Columbus Circle, the dummy-chucker spoke.</p> + +<p>"Thanks again, friend," he said. "I'll be steppin' off here."</p> + +<p>His rescuer glanced at him.</p> + +<p>"Want to earn a hundred dollars?"</p> + +<p>"Quitcher kiddin'," said the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"No, no; this is serious," said the young man.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker leaned luxuriously back in his seat.</p> + +<p>"Take me <i>anywhere</i>, friend," he said.</p> + +<p>Half-way round the huge circle at Fifty-ninth Street, the young man +guided the car. Then he shot into the park. They curved eastward. They +came out on Fifth Avenue, somewhere in the Seventies. They shot eastward +another half-block, and then the car stopped in front of an +apartment-house. The young man pressed the button on the steering-wheel. +In response to the short blast of the electric horn, a uniformed man +appeared. The young man alighted. The dummy-chucker followed suit.</p> + +<p>"Take the car around to the garage, Andrews," said the young man. He +nodded to the dummy-chucker. In a daze, the mendicant followed his +rescuer. He entered a gorgeously mirrored and gilded hall. He stepped +into an elevator chauffeured by a West Indian of the haughtiest blood. +The dummy-chucker was suddenly conscious of his tattered garb, his +ill-fitting, run-down shoes. He stepped, when they alighted from the +lift, as gingerly as though he trod on tacks.</p> + +<p>A servant in livery, as had been the waiting chauffeur downstairs, +opened a door. If he was surprised at his master's choice of guest, he +was too well trained to show it. He did not rebel even when ordered to +serve sandwiches and liquor to the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"You seem hungry," commented the young man.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker reached for another sandwich with his left hand while +he poured himself a drink of genuine Scotch with his right.</p> + +<p>"<i>And</i> thirsty," he grunted.</p> + +<p>"Go to it," observed his host genially.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker went to it for a good ten minutes. Then he leaned back +in the heavily upholstered chair which the man servant had drawn up for +him. He stared round him.</p> + +<p>"Smoke?" asked his host.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker nodded. He selected a slim panetela and pinched it +daintily between the nails of his thumb and forefinger. His host watched +the operation with interest.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Better than cuttin' the end off," explained the dummy-chucker. "It's a +good smoke," he added, puffing.</p> + +<p>"You know tobacco," said his host. "Where did you learn?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we all have our ups and downs," replied the dummy-chucker. "But +don't get nervous. I ain't goin' to tell you that I was a millionaire's +son, educated at Harvard. I'm a bum."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't seem to bother you," said his host.</p> + +<p>"It don't," asserted the dummy-chucker. "Except when the police butt +into my game. I just got off Blackwell's Island this morning."</p> + +<p>"And almost went back this afternoon."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker nodded.</p> + +<p>"Almost," he said. His eyes wandered around the room. "<i>Some</i> dump!" he +stated. Then his manner became business-like. "You mentioned a hundred +dollars—what for?"</p> + +<p>The young man shrugged.</p> + +<p>"Not hard work. You merely have to look like a gentleman, and act +like——"</p> + +<p>"Like a bum?" asked the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"Well, something like that."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker passed his hand across his stubby chin.</p> + +<p>"Shoot!" he said. "Anything short of murder—<i>anything</i>, friend."</p> + +<p>His host leaned eagerly forward.</p> + +<p>"There's a girl—" he began.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker nodded.</p> + +<p>"There always is," he interrupted. "I forgot to mention that I bar +kidnaping, too."</p> + +<p>"It's barred," said the young man. He hitched his chair a trifle nearer +his guest. "She's beautiful. She's young."</p> + +<p>"And the money? The coin? The good red gold?"</p> + +<p>"I have enough for two. I don't care about her money."</p> + +<p>"Neither do I," said the dummy-chucker; "so long as I get my hundred. +Shoot!"</p> + +<p>"About a year ago," resumed the host, "she accepted, after a long +courtship, a young man by the name of—oh, let's call him Jones."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker inhaled happily.</p> + +<p>"Call him any darned thing you like," he said cheerily.</p> + +<p>"Jones was a drunkard," said the host.</p> + +<p>"And she married him?" The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted slightly.</p> + +<p>"No. She told him that if he'd quit drinking she'd marry him. She +stipulated that he go without drink for one year."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker reached for a fresh cigar. He lighted it and leaned +back farther in the comfortable chair.</p> + +<p>"Jones," continued the young man, "had tried to quit before. He knew +himself pretty well. He knew that, even with war-time prohibition just +round the corner, he couldn't keep away from liquor. Not while he stayed +in New York. But a classmate of his had been appointed head of an +expedition that was to conduct exploration work in Brazil. He asked his +classmate for a place in the party. You see, he figured that in the +wilds of Brazil there wouldn't be any chance for drunkenness."</p> + +<p>"A game guy," commented the dummy-chucker. "Well, what happened?"</p> + +<p>"He died of jungle-fever two months ago," was the answer. "The news just +reached Rio Janeiro yesterday."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker lifted his glass of Scotch.</p> + +<p>"To a regular feller," he said, and drank. He set his glass down gently. +"And the girl? I suppose she's all shot to pieces?"</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know," said the host quietly.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted again.</p> + +<p>"I begin to get you," he said. "I'm the messenger from Brazil who breaks +the sad news to her, eh?"</p> + +<p>The young man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"The news isn't to be broken to her—not yet. You see—well, I was +Jones' closest friend. He left his will with me, his personal effects, +and all that. So I'm the one that received the wire of his death. In a +month or so, of course, it will be published in the newspapers—when +letters have come from the explorers. But, just now, I'm the only one +that knows it."</p> + +<p>"Except me," said the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>The young man smiled dryly.</p> + +<p>"Except you. And you won't tell. Ever wear evening clothes?"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker stiffened. Then he laughed sardonically.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; when I was at Princeton. What's the idea?"</p> + +<p>His host studied him carefully.</p> + +<p>"Well, with a shave, and a hair-cut, and a manicure, and the proper +clothing, and the right setting—well, if a person had only a quick +glance—that person might think you were Jones."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker carefully brushed the ashes from his cigar upon a +tray.</p> + +<p>"I guess I'm pretty stupid to-night. I still don't see it."</p> + +<p>"You will," asserted his host. "You see, she's a girl who's seen a great +deal of the evil of drink. She has a horror of it. If she thought that +Jones had broken his pledge to her, she'd throw him over."</p> + +<p>"'Throw him over?' But he's <i>dead</i>!" said the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know that," retorted his host.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Because I want to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Well, I should think the quickest way to get her would be to tell her +about Jones——"</p> + +<p>"You don't happen to know the girl," interrupted the other. "She's a +girl of remarkable conscience. If I should tell her that Jones died in +Brazil, she'd enshrine him in her memory. He'd be a hero who had died +upon the battle-field. More than that—he'd be a hero who had died upon +the battle-field in a war to which she had sent him. His death would be +upon her soul. Her only expiation would be to be faithful to him +forever."</p> + +<p>"I won't argue about it," said the dummy-chucker. "I don't know her. +Only—I guess your whisky has got me. I don't see it at all."</p> + +<p>His host leaned eagerly forward now.</p> + +<p>"She's going to the opera to-night with her parents. But, before she +goes, she's going to dine with me at the Park Square. Suppose, while +she's there, Jones should come in. Suppose that he should come in +reeling, noisy, <i>drunk</i>! She'd marry me to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I'll take your word for it," said the dummy-chucker. "Only, when she's +learned that Jones had died two months ago in Brazil——"</p> + +<p>"She'll be married to me then," responded the other fiercely. "What I +get, I can hold. If she were Jones' wife, I'd tell her of his death. I'd +know that, sooner or later, I'd win her. But if she learns now that he +died while struggling to make himself worthy of her, she'll never give +to another man what she withheld from him."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the dummy-chucker slowly. "And you want me to——"</p> + +<p>"There'll be a table by the door in the main dining-room engaged in +Jones' name. You'll walk in there at a quarter to eight. You'll wear +Jones' dinner clothes. I have them here. You'll wear the studs that he +wore, his cuff-links. More than that, you'll set down upon the table, +with a flourish, his monogrammed flask. You'll be drunk, noisy, +disgraceful——"</p> + +<p>"How long will I be all that—in the hotel?" asked the dummy-chucker +dryly.</p> + +<p>"That's exactly the point," said the other. "You'll last about thirty +seconds. The girl and I will be on the far side of the room. I'll take +care that she sees you enter. Then, when you've been quietly ejected, +I'll go over to the <i>mâitre d'hôtel</i> to make inquiries. I'll bring back +to the girl the flask which you will have left upon the table. If she +has any doubt that you are Jones, the flask will dispel it.</p> + +<p>"And then?" asked the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"Why, then," responded his host, "I propose to her. You see, I think it +was pity that made her accept Jones in the beginning. I think that she +cares for me."</p> + +<p>"And you really think that I look enough like Jones to put this over?"</p> + +<p>"In the shaded light of the dining-room, in Jones' clothes—well, I'm +risking a hundred dollars on it. Will you do it?"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker grinned.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say I'd do <i>anything</i>, barring murder? Where are the clothes?"</p> + +<p>One hour and a half later, the dummy-chucker stared at himself in the +long mirror in his host's dressing-room. He had bathed, not as +Blackwell's Island prisoners bathe, but in a luxurious tub that had a +head-rest, in scented water, soft as the touch of a baby's fingers. Then +his host's man servant had cut his hair, had shaved him, had massaged +him until color crept into the pale cheeks. The sheerest of knee-length +linen underwear touched a body that knew only rough cotton. Silk socks, +heavy, gleaming, snugly encased his ankles. Upon his feet were correctly +dull pumps. That the trousers were a wee bit short mattered little. In +these dancing-days, trousers should not be too long. And the fit of the +coat over his shoulders—he carried them in a fashion unwontedly +straight as he gazed at his reflection—balanced the trousers' lack of +length. The soft shirt-bosom gave freely, comfortably as he breathed. +Its plaited whiteness enthralled him. He turned anxiously to his host.</p> + +<p>"Will I do?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Better than I'd hoped," said the other. "You look like a gentleman."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker laughed gaily.</p> + +<p>"I feel like one," he declared.</p> + +<p>"You understand what you are to do?" demanded the host.</p> + +<p>"It ain't a hard part to act," replied the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"And you <i>can</i> act," said the other. "The way you fooled those women in +front of the Concorde proved that you——"</p> + +<p>"Sh-sh!" exclaimed the dummy-chucker reproachfully. "Please don't remind +me of what I was before I became a gentleman."</p> + +<p>His host laughed.</p> + +<p>"You're all right." He looked at his watch. "I'll have to leave now. +I'll send the car back after you. Don't be afraid of trouble with the +hotel people. I'll explain that I know you, and fix matters up all +right. Just take the table at the right hand side as you enter——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've got it all right," said the dummy-chucker. "Better slip me +something on account. I may have to pay something——"</p> + +<p>"You get nothing now," was the stern answer. "One hundred dollars when I +get back here. And," he added, "if it should occur to you at the hotel +that you might pawn these studs, or the flask, or the clothing for more +than a hundred, let me remind you that my chauffeur will be watching one +entrance, my valet another, and my chef another."</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker returned his gaze scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Do I look," he asked, "like the sort of man who'd <i>steal</i>?"</p> + +<p>His host shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You certainly don't," he admitted.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker turned back to the mirror. He was still entranced with +his own reflection, twenty minutes later, when the valet told him that +the car was waiting. He looked like a millionaire. He stole another +glance at himself after he had slipped easily into the fur-lined +overcoat that the valet held for him, after he had set somewhat rakishly +upon his head the soft black-felt hat that was the latest accompaniment +to the dinner coat.</p> + +<p>Down-stairs, he spoke to Andrews, the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Drive across the Fifty-ninth Street bridge first."</p> + +<p>The chauffeur stared at him.</p> + +<p>"Who you given' orders to?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker stepped closer to the man.</p> + +<p>"You heard my order?"</p> + +<p>His hands, busily engaged in buttoning his gloves, did not clench. His +voice was not raised. And Andrews must have outweighed him by thirty +pounds. Yet the chauffeur stepped back and touched his hat.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," he muttered.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker smiled.</p> + +<p>"The lower classes," he said to himself, "know rank and position when +they see it."</p> + +<p>His smile became a grin as he sank back in the limousine that was his +host's evening conveyance. It became almost complacent as the car slid +down Park Avenue. And when, at length, it had reached the center of the +great bridge that spans the East River, he knocked upon the glass. The +chauffeur obediently stopped the car. The dummy-chucker's grin was +absolutely complacent now.</p> + +<p>Down below, there gleamed lights, the lights of ferries, of sound +steamers, and—of Blackwell's Island. This morning, he had left there, a +lying mendicant. To-night, he was a gentleman. He knocked again upon the +glass. Then, observing the speaking-tube, he said through it languidly:</p> + +<p>"The Park Square, Andrews."</p> + +<p>An obsequious doorman threw open the limousine door as the car stopped +before the great hotel. He handed the dummy-chucker a ticket.</p> + +<p>"Number of your car, sir," he said obsequiously.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, of course," said the dummy-chucker. He felt in his pocket. +Part of the silver that the soft-hearted women of the movies had +bestowed upon him this afternoon found repository in the doorman's hand.</p> + +<p>A uniformed boy whirled the revolving door that the dummy-chucker might +pass into the hotel.</p> + +<p>"The coat-room? Dining here, sir? Past the news-stand, sir, to your +left. Thank you, sir." The boy's bow was as profound as though the +quarter in his palm had been placed there by a duke.</p> + +<p>The girl who received his coat and hat smiled as pleasantly and +impersonally upon the dummy-chucker as she did upon the whiskered, +fine-looking old gentleman who handed her his coat at the same time. She +called the dummy-chucker's attention to the fact that his tie was a +trifle loose.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker walked to the big mirror that stands in the corner +made by the corridor that parallels Fifty-ninth Street and the corridor +that separates the tea-room from the dining-room. His clumsy fingers +found difficulty with the tie. The fine-looking old gentleman, adjusting +his own tie, stepped closer.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir. May I assist you?"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker smiled a grateful assent. The old gentleman fumbled a +moment with the tie.</p> + +<p>"I think that's better," he said. He bowed as one man of the world might +to another, and turned away.</p> + +<p>Under his breath, the dummy-chucker swore gently.</p> + +<p>"You'd think, the way he helped me, that I belonged to the Four +Hundred."</p> + +<p>He glanced down the corridor. In the tea-room were sitting groups who +awaited late arrivals. Beautiful women, correctly garbed, +distinguished-looking men. Their laughter sounded pleasantly above the +subdued strains of the orchestra. Many of them looked at the +dummy-chucker. Their eyes rested upon him for that well-bred moment that +denotes acceptance.</p> + +<p>"One of themselves," said the dummy-chucker to himself.</p> + +<p>Well, why not? Once again he looked at himself in the mirror. There +might be handsomer men present in this hotel, but—was there any one who +wore his clothes better? He turned and walked down the corridor.</p> + +<p>The <i>mâitre d'hôtel</i> stepped forward inquiringly as the dummy-chucker +hesitated in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"A table, sir?"</p> + +<p>"You have one reserved for me. This right-hand one by the door."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, of course, sir. This way, sir."</p> + +<p>He turned toward the table. Over the heads of intervening diners, the +dummy-chucker saw his host. The shaded lights upon the table at which +the young man sat revealed, not too clearly yet well enough, the +features of a girl.</p> + +<p>"A lady!" said the dummy-chucker, under his breath. "The real thing!"</p> + +<p>As he stood there, the girl raised her head. She did not look toward the +dummy-chucker, could not see him. But he could see the proud line of her +throat, the glory of her golden hair. And opposite her he could see the +features of his host, could note how illy that shrewd nose and slit of a +mouth consorted with the gentle face of the girl. And then, as the +<i>mâitre d'hôtel</i> beckoned, he remembered that he had left the flask, the +monogrammed flask, in his overcoat pocket.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," he said.</p> + +<p>He turned and walked back toward the corner where was his coat. In the +distance, he saw some one, approaching him, noted the free stride, the +carriage of the head, the set of the shoulders. And then, suddenly, he +saw that the "some one" was himself. The mirror was guilty of the +illusion.</p> + +<p>Once again he stood before it, admiring himself. He summoned the face of +the girl who was sitting in the dining-room before his mental vision. +And then he turned abruptly to the check-girl.</p> + +<p>"I've changed my mind," he said. "My coat, please."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He was lounging before the open fire when three-quarters of an hour +later his host was admitted to the luxurious apartment. Savagely the +young man pulled off his coat and approached the dummy-chucker.</p> + +<p>"I hardly expected to find you here," he said.</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker shrugged.</p> + +<p>"You said the doors were watched. I couldn't make an easy getaway. So I +rode back here in your car. And when I got here, your man made me wait, +so—here we are," he finished easily.</p> + +<p>"'Here we are!' Yes! But when you were there—I saw you at the entrance +to the dining-room—for God's sake, why didn't you do what you'd agreed +to do?"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker turned languidly in his chair. He eyed his host +curiously.</p> + +<p>"Listen, feller," he said: "I told you that I drew the line at murder, +didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"'Murder?' What do you mean? What murder was involved?"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker idly blew a smoke ring.</p> + +<p>"Murder of faith in a woman's heart," he said slowly. "Look at me! Do I +look the sort who'd play your dirty game?"</p> + +<p>The young man stood over him.</p> + +<p>"Bannon," he called. The valet entered the room. "Take the clothes off +this—this bum!" snapped the host. "Give him his rags."</p> + +<p>He clenched his fists, but the dummy-chucker merely shrugged. The young +man drew back while his guest followed the valet into another room.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, the host seized the dummy-chucker by the tattered +sleeve of his grimy jacket. He drew him before the mirror.</p> + +<p>"Take a look at yourself, you—bum!" he snapped. "Do you look, now, like +the sort of man who'd refuse to earn an easy hundred?"</p> + +<p>The dummy-chucker stared at himself. Gone was the debonair gentleman of +a quarter of an hour ago. Instead, there leered back at him a +pasty-faced, underfed vagrant, dressed in the tatters of unambitious, +satisfied poverty.</p> + +<p>"Bannon," called the host, "throw him out!"</p> + +<p>For a moment, the dummy-chucker's shoulders squared, as they had been +squared when the dinner jacket draped them. Then they sagged. He offered +no resistance when Bannon seized his collar. And Bannon, the valet, was +a smaller man than himself.</p> + +<p>He cringed when the colored elevator-man sneered at him. He dodged when +little Bannon, in the mirrored vestibule raised a threatening hand. And +he shuffled as he turned toward Central Park.</p> + +<p>But as he neared Columbus Circle, his gait quickened. At Finisterre +Joe's he'd get a drink. He tumbled in his pockets. Curse the luck! He'd +given every cent of his afternoon earnings to doormen and pages and +coat-room girls!</p> + +<p>His pace slackened again as he turned down Broadway. His feet were +dragging as he reached the Concorde moving-picture theater. His hand, +sunk deep in his torn pocket, touched something. It was a tiny piece of +soap.</p> + +<p>As the audience filed sadly out from the teary, gripping drama of "She +Loved And Lost," the dummy-chucker's hand went from his pocket to his +lips. He reeled, staggered, fell. His jaws moved savagely. Foam appeared +upon his lips. A fat woman shrank away from him, then leaned forward in +quick sympathy.</p> + +<p>"He's gotta fit!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Ep'lepsy," said her companion pityingly.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by The International Magazine Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by Arthur Somers Roche.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Butterflies14" id="Butterflies14"></a>BUTTERFLIES<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> ROSE SIDNEY</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Pictorial Review</i></h4> + + +<p>The wind rose in a sharp gust, rattling the insecure windows and sighing +forlornly about the corners of the house. The door unlatched itself, +swung inward hesitatingly, and hung wavering for a moment on its sagging +hinges. A formless cloud of gray fog blew into the warm, steamy room. +But whatever ghostly visitant had paused upon the threshold, he had +evidently decided not to enter, for the catch snapped shut with a quick, +passionate vigor. The echo of the slamming door rang eerily through the +house.</p> + +<p>Mart Brenner's wife laid down the ladle with which she had been stirring +the contents of a pot that was simmering on the big, black stove, and +dragging her crippled foot behind her, she hobbled heavily to the door.</p> + +<p>As she opened it a new horde of fog-wraiths blew in. The world was a +gray, wet blanket. Not a light from the village below pierced the mist, +and the lonely army of tall cedars on the black hill back of the house +was hidden completely.</p> + +<p>"Who's there?" Mrs. Brenner hailed. But her voice fell flat and muffled. +Far off on the beach she could dimly hear the long wail of a fog-horn.</p> + +<p>The faint throb of hope stilled in her breast. She had not really +expected to find any one at the door unless perhaps it should be a +stranger who had missed his way at the cross-roads. There had been one +earlier in the afternoon when the fog first came. But her husband had +been at home then and his surly manner quickly cut short the stranger's +attempts at friendliness. This ugly way of Mart's had isolated them +from all village intercourse early in their life on Cedar Hill.</p> + +<p>Like a buzzard's nest, their home hung over the village on the +unfriendly sides of the bleak slope. Visitors were few and always +reluctant, even strangers, for the village told weird tales of Mart +Brenner and his kin. The village said that he—and all those who +belonged to him as well—were marked for evil and disaster. Disaster had +truly written itself throughout their history. His mother was mad, a +tragic madness of bloody prophecies and dim fears; his only son a +witless creature of eighteen, who for all his height and bulk, spent his +days catching butterflies in the woods on the hill, and his nights in +laboriously pinning them, wings outspread, upon the bare walls of the +house.</p> + +<p>The room where the Brenner family lived its queer, taciturn life was +tapestried in gold, the glowing tapestry of swarms of outspread yellow +butterflies sweeping in gilded tides from the rough floors to the black +rafters overhead.</p> + +<p>Olga Brenner herself was no less tragic than her family. On her face, +written in the acid of pain, was the history of the blows and cruelty +that had warped her active body. Owing to her crippled foot, her entire +left side sagged hopelessly and her arm swung away, above it, like a +branch from a decayed tree. But more saddening than her distorted body +was the lonely soul that looked out of her tired faded eyes.</p> + +<p>She was essentially a village woman with a profound love of its +intimacies and gossip, its fence-corner neighborliness. The horror with +which the village regarded her, as the wife of Mart Brenner, was an +eating sore. It was greater than the tragedy of her poor, witless son, +the hatred of old Mrs. Brenner, and her ever-present fear of Mart. She +had never quite given up her unreasoning hope that some day some one +might come to the house in one of Mart's long, unexplained absences and +sit down and talk with her over a cup of tea. She put away the feeble +hope again as she turned back into the dim room and closed the door +behind her.</p> + +<p>"Must have been that bit of wind," she meditated. "It plays queer tricks +sometimes."</p> + +<p>She went to the mantel and lighted the dull lamp. By the flicker she +read the face of the clock.</p> + +<p>"Tobey's late!" she exclaimed uneasily. Her mind never rested from its +fear for Tobey. His childlike mentality made him always the same burden +as when she had rocked him hour after hour, a scrawny mite of a baby on +her breast.</p> + +<p>"It's a fearful night for him to be out!" she muttered.</p> + +<p>"Blood! Blood!" said a tragic voice from a dark corner by the stove. +Barely visible in the ruddy half-dark of the room a pair of demoniac +eyes met hers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner threw her shriveled and wizened mother-in-law an angry and +contemptuous glance.</p> + +<p>"Be still!" she commanded. "'Pears to me that's all you ever +say—blood!"</p> + +<p>The glittering eyes fell away from hers in a sullen obedience. But the +tragic voice went on intoning stubbornly, "Blood on his hands! Red! +Dripping! I see blood!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner shuddered. "Seems like you could shut up a spell!" she +complained.</p> + +<p>The old woman's voice trailed into a broken and fitful whispering. +Olga's commands were the only laws she knew, and she obeyed them. Mrs. +Brenner went back to the stove. But her eyes kept returning to the clock +and thence to the darkening square of window where the fog pressed +heavily into the very room.</p> + +<p>Out of the gray silence came a shattering sound that sent the ladle +crashing out of Mrs. Brenner's nerveless hand and brought a moan from +the dozing old woman!</p> + +<p>It was a scream, a long, piercing scream, so intense, so agonized that +it went echoing about the room as tho a disembodied spirit were +shrieking under the rafters! It was a scream of terror, an innocent, a +heart-broken scream!</p> + +<p>"Tobey!" cried Mrs. Brenner, her face rigid.</p> + +<p>The old woman began to pick at her ragged skirt, mumbling "Blood! Blood +on his hands! I see it!"</p> + +<p>"That was on the hill," said Mrs. Brenner slowly, steadying her voice.</p> + +<p>She put her calloused hand against her lips and stood listening with +agonized intentness. But now the heavy, foggy silence had fallen again. +At intervals came the long, faint wail of the fog-horn. There was no +other sound. Even the old woman in the shadowy corner had ceased her +mouthing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner stood motionless, with her hand against her trembling lips, +her head bent forward for four of the dull intervals between the +siren-call.</p> + +<p>Then there came the sound of steps stumbling around the house. Mrs. +Brenner, with her painful hobble, reached the door before the steps +paused there, and threw it open.</p> + +<p>The feeble light fell on the round, vacant face of her son, his +inevitable pasteboard box, grim with much handling, clutched close to +his big breast, and in it the soft beating and thudding of imprisoned +wings.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner's voice was scarcely more than a whisper, "Tobey!" but it +rose shrilly as she cried, "Where you been? What was that scream?"</p> + +<p>Tobey stumbled past her headlong into the house, muttering, "I'm cold!"</p> + +<p>She shut the door and followed him to the stove, where he stood shaking +himself and beating at his damp clothes with clumsy fingers.</p> + +<p>"What was that scream?" she asked him tensely. She knotted her rough +fingers as she waited for his answer.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," he grunted sullenly. His thick lower lip shoved itself +forward, baby-fashion.</p> + +<p>"Where you been?" she persisted.</p> + +<p>As he did not answer she coaxed him, "Aw, come on, Tobey. Tell ma. Where +you been?"</p> + +<p>"I been catching butterflies," he answered. "I got a big one this time," +with an air of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Where was you when you heard the scream?" she asked him cunningly.</p> + +<p>He gave a slow shake of his head. "I dunno," he answered in his dull +voice.</p> + +<p>A big shiver shook him. His teeth chattered and he crouched down on his +knees before the open oven-door.</p> + +<p>"I'm cold," he complained. Mrs. Brenner came close to him and laid her +hand on his wet, matted hair. "Tobey's a bad boy," she scolded. "You +mustn't go out in the wet like this. Your hair's soaked."</p> + +<p>She got down stiffly on her lame knees. "Sit down," she ordered, "and +I'll take off your shoes. They're as wet as a dish-rag."</p> + +<p>"They're full of water, too," Tobey grumbled as he sprawled on the +floor, sticking one big, awkward foot into her lap. "The water in there +makes me cold."</p> + +<p>"You spoil all your pa's shoes that away," said Mrs. Brenner, her head +bent over her task. "He told you not to go round in the wet with 'em any +more. He'll give you a lashing if he comes in and sees your shoes. I'll +have to try and get 'em dry before he comes home. Anyways," with a +breath of deep relief, "I'm glad it ain't that red clay from the hill. +That never comes off."</p> + +<p>The boy paid no attention to her. He was investigating the contents of +his box, poking a fat, dirty forefinger around among its fluttering +contents. There was a flash of yellow wings, and with a crow of triumph +the boy shut the lid.</p> + +<p>"The big one's just more than flapping," he chuckled. "I had an awful +hard time to catch him. I had to run and run. Look at him, Ma," the boy +urged. She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I ain't got the time," she said, almost roughly. "I got to get these +shoes off'n you afore your father gets home, Tobey, or you'll get a +awful hiding. Like as not you'll get it anyways, if he's mad. Better get +into bed."</p> + +<p>"Naw!" Tobey protested. "I seen pa already. I want my supper out here! I +don't want to go to bed!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner paused. "Where was pa?" she asked.</p> + +<p>But Tobey's stretch of coherent thinking was past. "I dunno!" he +muttered.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner sighed. She pulled off the sticky shoes and rose stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Go get in bed," she said.</p> + +<p>"Aw, Ma, I want to stay up with my butterflies," the boy pleaded. Two +big tears rolled down his fat cheeks. In his queer, clouded world he had +learned one certain fact. He could almost always move his mother with +tears.</p> + +<p>But this time she was firm. "Do as I told you!" she ordered him. "Mebbe +if you're in bed your father won't be thinking about you. And I'll try +to dry these shoes afore he thinks about them." She took the grimy box +from his resisting fingers, and, holding it in one hand, pulled him to +his feet and pushed him off to his bedroom.</p> + +<p>When she had closed the door on his wail she returned and laid the box +on the shelf. Then she hurried to gather up the shoes. Something on her +hand as she put it out for the sodden shoes caught her eye and she +straightened, holding her hand up where the feeble light from the shelf +caught it.</p> + +<p>"I've cut myself," she said aloud. "There's blood on my hand. It must +'a' been on those lacings of Tobey's."</p> + +<p>The old woman in the corner roused. "Blood!" she screeched. "Olga! Blood +on his hands!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner jumped. "You old screech-owl!" she cried. She wiped her +hand quickly on her dirty apron, and held it up again to see the cut. +But there was no cut on her hand! Where had that blood come from? From +Tobey's shoes?</p> + +<p>And who was it that had screamed on the hill? She felt herself enwrapped +in a mist of puzzling doubts.</p> + +<p>She snatched up the shoes, searching them with agonized eyes. But the +wet and pulpy mass had no stain. Only the wet sands and the slimy +water-weeds of the beach clung to them.</p> + +<p>Then where had the blood come from? It was at this instant that she +became conscious of shouts on the hillside. She limped to the door and +held it open a crack. Very faintly she could see the bobbing lights of +torches. A voice carried down to her.</p> + +<p>"Here's where I found his hat. That's why I turned off back of these +trees. And right there I found his body!"</p> + +<p>"Are you sure he's dead?" quavered another voice.</p> + +<p>"Stone-dead!"</p> + +<p>Olga Brenner shut the door. But she did not leave it immediately. She +stood leaning against it, clutching the wet shoes, her staring eyes +glazing.</p> + +<p>Tobey was strong. He had flown into childish rages sometimes and had +hurt her with his undisciplined strength. Where was Mart? Tobey had seen +him. Perhaps they had fought. Her mind refused to go further. But little +subtle undercurrents pressed in on her. Tobey hated and feared his +father. And Mart was always enraged at the sight of his half-witted son. +What <i>had</i> happened? And yet no matter what had occurred, Tobey had not +been on the hill. His shoes bore mute testimony to that. And the scream +had been on the slope. She frowned.</p> + +<p>Her body more bent than ever, she hobbled slowly over to the stove and +laid the shoes on the big shelf above it, spreading them out to the +rising heat. She had barely arranged them when there was again the sound +of approaching footsteps. These feet, however, did not stumble. They +were heavy and certain. Mrs. Brenner snatched at the shoes, gathered +them up, and turned to run. But one of the lacings caught on a nail on +the shelf. She jerked desperately at the nail, and the jerking loosened +her hold of both the shoes. With a clatter they fell at her feet.</p> + +<p>In that moment Mart Brenner stood in the doorway. Poverty, avarice, and +evil passions had minted Mart Brenner like a devil's coin. His shaggy +head lowered in his powerful shoulders. His long arms, apelike, hung +almost to his knees. Behind him the fog pressed in, and his rough, +bristly hair was beaded with diamonds of moisture.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he snapped. A sardonic smile twisted his face. "Caught you, +didn't I?"</p> + +<p>He strode forward. His wife shrank back, but even in her shivering +terror she noticed, as one notices small details in a time of peril, +that his shoes were caked with red mud and that his every step left a +wet track on the floor.</p> + +<p>"He didn't do 'em no harm," she babbled. "They're just wet. Please, +Mart, they ain't harmed a mite. Just wet. That's all. Tobey went on the +beach with 'em. It won't take but a little spell to dry 'em."</p> + +<p>Her husband stooped and snatched up the shoes. She shrank into herself, +waiting the inevitable torrent of his passion and the probable blow. +Instead, as he stood up he was smiling. Bewildered, she stared at him in +a dull silence.</p> + +<p>"No harm done," he said, almost amiably. Shaking with relief, she +stretched out her hand.</p> + +<p>"I'll dry 'em," she said. "Give me your shoes and I'll get the mud off."</p> + +<p>Her husband shook his head. He was still smiling.</p> + +<p>"Don't need to dry 'em. I'll put 'em away," he replied, and, still +tracking his wet mud, he went into Tobey's room.</p> + +<p>Her fear flowed into another channel. She dreaded her husband in his +black rages, but she feared him more now in his unusual amiability. +Perhaps he would strike Tobey when he saw him. She strained her ears to +listen.</p> + +<p>A long silence followed his exit. But there was no outcry from Tobey, no +muttering nor blows. After a few moments, moving quickly, her husband +came out. She raised her heavy eyes to stare at him. He stopped and +looked intently at his own muddy tracks.</p> + +<p>"I'll get a rag and wipe up the mud right off."</p> + +<p>As she started toward the nail where the rag hung, her husband put out a +long arm and detained her. "Leave it be," he said. He smiled again.</p> + +<p>She noticed, then, that he had removed his muddy shoes and wore the wet +ones. He had fully laced them, and she had almost a compassionate +moment as she thought how wet and cold his feet must be.</p> + +<p>"You can put your feet in the oven, Mart, to dry 'em."</p> + +<p>Close on her words she heard the sound of footsteps and a sharp knock +followed on the sagging door. Mart Brenner sat down on a chair close to +the stove and lifted one foot into the oven. "See who's there!" he +ordered.</p> + +<p>She opened the door and peered out. A group of men stood on the step, +the faint light of the room picking out face after face that she +recognized—Sheriff Munn; Jim Barker, who kept the grocery in the +village; Cottrell Hampstead, who lived in the next house below them; +young Dick Roamer, Munn's deputy; and several strangers.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she asked ungraciously.</p> + +<p>"We want to see Brenner!" one of them said.</p> + +<p>She stepped back. "Come in," she told them. They came in, pulling off +their caps, and stood huddled in a group in the center of the room.</p> + +<p>Her husband reluctantly stood up.</p> + +<p>"Evening!" he said, with his unusual smile. "Bad out, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yep!" Munn replied. "Heavy fog. We're soaked."</p> + +<p>Olga Brenner's pitiful instinct of hospitality rose in her breast.</p> + +<p>"I got some hot soup on the stove. Set a spell and I'll dish you some," +she urged.</p> + +<p>The men looked at each other in some uncertainty. After a moment Munn +said, "All right, if it ain't too much bother, Mrs. Brenner."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," she cried eagerly. She bustled about, searching her meager +stock of chinaware for uncracked bowls.</p> + +<p>"Set down?" suggested Mart.</p> + +<p>Munn sat down with a sigh, and his companions followed his example. Mart +resumed his position before the stove, lifting one foot into the +capacious black maw of the oven.</p> + +<p>"Must 'a' got your feet wet, Brenner?" the sheriff said with heavy +jocularity.</p> + +<p>Brenner nodded, "You bet I did," he replied. "Been down on the beach all +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Didn't happen to hear any unusual noise down there, did you?" Munn +spoke with his eyes on Mrs. Brenner, at her task of ladling out the +thick soup. She paused as though transfixed, her ladle poised in the +air.</p> + +<p>Munn's eyes dropped from her face to the floor. There they became fixed +on the tracks of red clay.</p> + +<p>"No, nothin' but the sea. It must be rough outside to-night, for the bay +was whinin' like a sick cat," said Mart calmly.</p> + +<p>"Didn't hear a scream, or nothing like that, I suppose?" Munn persisted.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't hear a thing but the water. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—nothing," said Munn.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner finished pouring out the soup and set the bowls on the +table.</p> + +<p>Chairs clattered, and soon the men were eating. Mart finished his soup +before the others and sat back smacking his lips. As Munn finished the +last spoonful in his bowl he pulled out a wicked-looking black pipe, +crammed it full of tobacco and lighted it.</p> + +<p>Blowing out a big blue breath of the pleasant smoke, he inquired, "Been +any strangers around to-day?"</p> + +<p>Mart scratched his head. "Yeah. A man come by early this afternoon. He +was aiming to climb the hill. I told him he'd better wait till the sun +come out. I don't know whether he did or not."</p> + +<p>"See anybody later—say about half an hour ago?"</p> + +<p>Mart shook his head. "No. I come up from the beach and I didn't pass +nobody."</p> + +<p>The sheriff pulled on his pipe for a moment. "That boy of yours still +catching butterflies?" he asked presently.</p> + +<p>Mart scowled. He swung out a long arm toward the walls with their floods +of butterflies. But he did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" said Munn, following the gesture with his quiet eyes. He +puffed several times before he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"What time did you come in, Brenner, from the beach?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner closed her hands tightly, the interlaced fingers locking +themselves.</p> + +<p>"Oh, about forty minutes ago, I guess it was. Wasn't it, Olga?" Mart +said carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Yes." Her voice was a breath.</p> + +<p>"Was your boy out to-day?"</p> + +<p>Mart looked at his wife. "I dunno."</p> + +<p>Munn's glance came to the wife.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"How long ago did he come in?"</p> + +<p>"About an hour ago." Her voice was flat and lifeless.</p> + +<p>"And where had he been?" Munn's tone was gentle but insistent.</p> + +<p>Her terrified glance sought Mart's face. "He'd been on the beach!" she +said in a defiant tone.</p> + +<p>Mart continued to look at her, but there was no expression in his face. +He still wore his peculiar affable smile.</p> + +<p>"Where did these tracks come from, on the floor?"</p> + +<p>Swift horror fastened itself on Mrs. Brenner.</p> + +<p>"What's that to you?" she flared.</p> + +<p>She heard her husband's hypocritical and soothing tones, "Now, now, +Olga! That ain't the way to talk to these gentlemen. Tell them who made +these tracks."</p> + +<p>"You did!" she cried. All about her she could feel the smoothness of a +falling trap.</p> + +<p>Mart smiled still more broadly.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Olga, don't get so warm over it. You're nervous now. Tell +the gentlemen who made those tracks."</p> + +<p>She turned to Munn desperately. "What do you want to know for?" she +asked him.</p> + +<p>The sharpness of her voice roused old Mrs. Brenner, drowsing in her +corner.</p> + +<p>"Blood!" she cried suddenly. "Blood on his hands!"</p> + +<p>In the silence that followed, the eyes of the men turned curiously +toward the old woman and then sought each other with speculative +stares. Mrs. Brenner, tortured by those long significant glances, said +roughly, "That's Mart's mother. She ain't right! What are you bothering +us for?"</p> + +<p>Dick Roamer put out a hand to plead for her, and tapped Munn on the arm. +There was something touching in her frightened old face.</p> + +<p>"A man—a stranger was killed upon the hill," Munn told her.</p> + +<p>"What's that got to do with us?" she countered.</p> + +<p>"Not a thing, Mrs. Brenner, probably, but I've just to make sure where +every man in the village was this afternoon."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner's lids flickered. She felt the questioning intentness of +Sheriff Munn's eyes on her stolid face and she felt that he did not miss +the tremor of her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Where was your son this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>She smiled defiance. "I told you, on the beach."</p> + +<p>"Whose room is that?" Munn's forefinger pointed to Tobey's closed door.</p> + +<p>"That's Tobey's room," said his mother.</p> + +<p>"The mud tracks go into that room. Did he make those tracks, Mrs. +Brenner?"</p> + +<p>"No! Oh, no! No!" she cried desperately. "Mart made those when he came +in. He went into Tobey's room!"</p> + +<p>"How about it, Brenner?"</p> + +<p>Mart smiled with an indulgent air. "Heard what she said, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Is it true?"</p> + +<p>Mart smiled more broadly. "Olga'll take my hair off if I don't agree +with her," he said.</p> + +<p>"Let's see your shoes, Brenner?"</p> + +<p>Without hesitation Mart lifted one heavy boot and then the other for +Munn's inspection. The other silent men leaned forward to examine them.</p> + +<p>"Nothing but pieces of seaweed," said Cottrell Hampstead.</p> + +<p>Munn eyed them. Then he turned to look at the floor.</p> + +<p>"Those are about the size of your tracks, Brenner. But they were made +in red clay. How do you account for that?"</p> + +<p>"Tobey wears my shoes," said Brenner.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner gasped. She advanced to Munn.</p> + +<p>"What you asking all these questions for?" she pleaded.</p> + +<p>Munn did not answer her. After a moment he asked, "Did you hear a scream +this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered.</p> + +<p>"How long after the screaming did your son come in?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated. What was the best answer to make? Bewildered, she tried +to decide. "Ten minutes or so," she said.</p> + +<p>"Just so," agreed Munn. "Brenner, when did you come in?"</p> + +<p>A trace of Mart's sullenness rose in his face. "I told you that once," +he said.</p> + +<p>"I mean how long after Tobey?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," said Mart.</p> + +<p>"How long, Mrs. Brenner?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated again. She scented a trap. "Oh, 'bout ten to fifteen +minutes, I guess," she said.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she burst out passionately, "What you hounding us for? We don't +know nothing about the man on the hill. You ain't after the rest of the +folks in the village like you are after us. Why you doing it? We ain't +done nothing."</p> + +<p>Munn made a slight gesture to Roamer, who rose and went to the door, and +opened it. He reached out into the darkness. Then he turned. He was +holding something in his hand, but Mrs. Brenner could not see what it +was.</p> + +<p>"You chop your wood with a short, heavy ax, don't you, Brenner?" said +Munn.</p> + +<p>Brenner nodded.</p> + +<p>"It's marked with your name, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Brenner nodded again.</p> + +<p>"<i>Is this the ax?</i>"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner gave a short, sharp scream. Red and clotted, ever the +handle marked with bloody spots, the ax was theirs.</p> + +<p>Brenner started to his feet. "God!" he yelped, "that's where that ax +went! Tobey took it!" More calmly he proceeded. "This afternoon before I +went down on the beach I thought I'd chop some wood on the hill. But the +ax was gone. So after I'd looked sharp for it and couldn't find it, I +gave it up."</p> + +<p>"Tobey didn't do it!" Mrs. Brenner cried thinly. "He's as harmless as a +baby! He didn't do it! He didn't do it!"</p> + +<p>"How about those clay tracks, Mrs. Brenner? There is red clay on the +hill where the man was killed. There is red clay on your floor." Munn +spoke kindly.</p> + +<p>"Mart tracked in that clay. He changed shoes with Tobey. I tell you +that's the truth." She was past caring for any harm that might befall +her.</p> + +<p>Brenner smiled with a wide tolerance. "It's likely, ain't it, that I'd +change into shoes as wet as these?"</p> + +<p>"Those tracks are Mart's!" Olga reiterated hysterically.</p> + +<p>"They lead into your son's room, Mrs. Brenner. And we find your ax not +far from your door, just where the path starts for the hill." Munn's +eyes were grave.</p> + +<p>The old woman in the corner began to whimper, "Blood and trouble! Blood +and trouble all my days! Red on his hands! Dripping! Olga! Blood!"</p> + +<p>"But the road to the beach begins there too," Mrs. Brenner cried, above +the cracked voice, "and Tobey saw his pa before he came home. He said he +did. I tell you, Mart was on the hill. He put on Tobey's shoes. Before +God I'm telling you the truth."</p> + +<p>Dick Roamer spoke hesitatingly, "Mebbe the old woman's right, Munn. +Mebbe those tracks are Brenner's."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner turned to him in wild gratitude.</p> + +<p>"You believe me, don't you?" she cried. The tears dribbled down her +face. She saw the balance turning on a hair. A moment more and it might +swing back. She turned and hobbled swiftly to the shelf. Proof! More +proof! She must bring more proof of Tobey's innocence!</p> + +<p>She snatched up his box of butterflies and came back to Munn.</p> + +<p>"This is what Tobey was doin' this afternoon!" she cried in triumph. "He +was catchin' butterflies! That ain't murder, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody catches butterflies in a fog," said Munn.</p> + +<p>"Well, Tobey did. Here they are." Mrs. Brenner held out the box. Munn +took it from her shaking hand. He looked at it. After a moment he turned +it over. His eyes narrowed. Mrs. Brenner turned sick. The room went +swimming around before her in a bluish haze. She had forgotten the blood +on her hand that she had wiped off before Mart came home. Suppose the +blood had been on the box.</p> + +<p>The sheriff opened the box. A bruised butterfly, big, golden, fluttered +up out of it. Very quietly the sheriff closed the box, and turned to +Mrs. Brenner.</p> + +<p>"Call your son," he said.</p> + +<p>"What do you want of him? Tobey ain't done nothing. What you tryin' to +do to him?"</p> + +<p>"There is blood on this box, Mrs. Brenner."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe he cut himself." Mrs. Brenner was fighting. Her face was chalky +white.</p> + +<p>"In the box, Mrs. Brenner, <i>is a gold watch and chain</i>. The man who was +killed, Mrs. Brenner, had a piece of gold chain to match this in his +buttonhole. <i>The rest of it had been torn off.</i>"</p> + +<p>Olga made no sound. Her burning eyes turned toward Mart. In them was all +of a heart's anguish and despair.</p> + +<p>"Tell 'em, Mart! Tell 'em he didn't do it!" she finally pleaded.</p> + +<p>Mart's face was inscrutable.</p> + +<p>Munn rose. The other men got to their feet.</p> + +<p>"Will you get the boy or shall I?" the sheriff said directly to Mrs. +Brenner.</p> + +<p>With a rush Mrs. Brenner was on her knees before Munn, clutching him +about the legs with twining arms. Tears of agony dripped over her seamed +face.</p> + +<p>"He didn't do it! Don't take him! He's my baby! He never harmed anybody! +He's my baby!" Then with a shriek, as Munn unclasped her arms, "Oh, my +God! My God!"</p> + +<p>Munn helped her to her feet. "Now, now, Mrs. Brenner, don't take on so," +he said awkwardly. "There ain't going to be no harm come to your boy. +It's to keep him from getting into harm that I'm taking him. The village +is a mite worked up over this murder and they might get kind of upset if +they thought Tobey was still loose. Better go and get him, Mrs. +Brenner."</p> + +<p>As she stood unheeding, he went on, "Now, don't be afraid. Nothing'll +happen to him. No jedge would sentence him like a regular criminal. The +most that'll happen will be to put him some safe place where he can't do +himself nor no one else any more harm."</p> + +<p>But still Mrs. Brenner's set expression did not change.</p> + +<p>After a moment she shook off his aiding arm and moved slowly to Tobey's +door. She paused there a moment, resting her hand on the latch, her eyes +searching the faces of the men in the room. With a gesture of dreary +resignation she opened the door and entered, closing it behind her.</p> + +<p>Tobey lay in his bed asleep. His rumpled hair was still damp from the +fog. His mother stroked it softly while her slow tears dropped down on +his face with its expression of peaceful childhood.</p> + +<p>"Tobey!" she called. Her voice broke in her throat. The tears fell +faster.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" He sat up, blinking at her.</p> + +<p>"Get into your clothes, now! Right away!" she said.</p> + +<p>He stared at her tears. A dismal sort of foreboding seemed to seize upon +him. His face began to pucker. But he crawled out of his bed and began +to dress himself in his awkward fashion, casting wistful and wondering +glances in her direction.</p> + +<p>She watched him, her heart growing heavier and heavier. There was no +one to protect Tobey. She could not make those strangers believe that +Mart had changed shoes with Tobey. Neither could she account for the +blood-stained box and the watch with its length of broken chain. But if +Tobey had been on the beach he had not been on the hill, and if he +hadn't been on the hill he couldn't have killed the man they claimed he +had killed. Mart had been on the hill. Her head whirled. Some place +fate, destiny, something had blundered. She wrung her knotted hands +together.</p> + +<p>Presently Tobey was dressed. She took him by the hand. Her own hand was +shaking, and very cold and clammy. Her knees were weak as she led him +toward the door. She could feel them trembling so that every step was an +effort. And her hand on the knob had barely strength to turn it. But +turn it she did and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"Here he is!" she cried chokingly. She freed her hand and laid it on his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Look at him," she moaned. "He couldn't 'a' done it. He's—he's just a +boy!"</p> + +<p>Sheriff Munn rose. His men rose with him.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brenner," he said. "Terrible sorry. But you can see how +it is. Things look pretty black for him."</p> + +<p>He paused, looked around, hesitated for a moment. Finally he said, +"Well, I guess we'd better be getting along."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner's hand closed with convulsive force on Tobey's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Tobey!" she screamed desperately, "where was you this afternoon? All +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"On the beach," mumbled Tobey, shrinking into himself.</p> + +<p>"Tobey! Tobey! Where'd you get blood on the box?"</p> + +<p>He looked around. His cloudy eyes rested on her face helplessly.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," he said.</p> + +<p>Her teeth were chattering now; she laid her hand on his other shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Try to remember, Tobey. Try to remember. Where'd you get the watch, the +pretty watch that was in your box?"</p> + +<p>He blinked at her.</p> + +<p>"The pretty bright thing? Where did you get it?"</p> + +<p>His eyes brightened. His lips trembled into a smile.</p> + +<p>"I found it some place," he said. Eagerness to please her shone on his +face.</p> + +<p>"But where? What place?" The tears again made rivulets on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "I dunno."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner would not give up.</p> + +<p>"You saw your pa this afternoon, Tobey?" she coached him softly.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Where'd you see him?" she breathed.</p> + +<p>He frowned. "I—I saw pa——" he began, straining to pierce the cloud +that covered him.</p> + +<p>"Blood! Blood!" shrieked old Mrs. Brenner. She half-rose, her head +thrust forward on her shriveled neck.</p> + +<p>Tobey paused, confused. "I dunno," he said.</p> + +<p>"Did he give you the pretty bright thing? And did he give you the ax—" +she paused and repeated the word loudly—"the ax to bring home?"</p> + +<p>Tobey caught at the word. "The ax?" he cried. "The ax! Ugh! It was all +sticky!" He shuddered.</p> + +<p>"Did pa give you the ax?"</p> + +<p>But the cloud had settled. Tobey shook his head. "I dunno," he repeated +his feeble denial.</p> + +<p>Munn advanced. "No use, Mrs. Brenner, you see. Tobey, you'll have to +come along with us."</p> + +<p>Even to Tobey's brain some of the strain in the atmosphere must have +penetrated, for he drew back. "Naw," he protested sulkily, "I don't want +to."</p> + +<p>Dick Roamer stepped to his side. He laid his hand on Tobey's arm. "Come +along," he urged.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brenner gave a smothered gasp. Tobey woke to terror. He turned to +run. In an instant the men surrounded him. Trapped, he stood still, his +head lowered in his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Ma!" he screamed suddenly. "Ma! I don't want to go! Ma!"</p> + +<p>He fell on his knees. Heavy childish sobs racked him. Deserted, +terrified, he called upon the only friend he knew.</p> + +<p>"Ma! Please, Ma!"</p> + +<p>Munn lifted him up. Dick Roamer helped him, and between them they drew +him to the door, his heart-broken calls and cries piercing every corner +of the room.</p> + +<p>They whisked him out of Mrs. Brenner's sight as quickly as they could. +The other men piled out of the door, blocking the last vision of her +son, but his bleating cries came shrilling back on the foggy air.</p> + +<p>Mart closed the door. Mrs. Brenner stood where she had been when Tobey +had first felt the closing of the trap and had started to run. She +looked as though she might have been carved there. Her light breath +seemed to do little more than lift her flat chest.</p> + +<p>Mart turned from the door. His eyes glittered. He advanced upon her +hungrily like a huge cat upon an enchanted mouse.</p> + +<p>"So you thought you'd yelp on me, did you?" he snarled, licking his +lips. "Thought you'd put me away, didn't you? Get me behind the bars, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Blood!" moaned the old woman in the corner. "Blood!"</p> + +<p>Mart strode to the table, pulling out from the bosom of his shirt a +lumpy package wrapped in his handkerchief. He threw it down on the +table. It fell heavily with a sharp ringing of coins.</p> + +<p>"But I fooled you this time! Mart wasn't so dull this time, eh?" He +turned toward her again.</p> + +<p>Between them, disturbed in his resting-place on the table, the big +bruised yellow butterfly raised himself on his sweeping wings.</p> + +<p>Mart drew back a little. The butterfly flew toward Olga and brushed her +face with a velvety softness.</p> + +<p>Then Brenner lurched toward her, his face black with fury, his arm +upraised. She stood still, looking at him with wide eyes in which a +gleam of light showed.</p> + +<p>"You devil!" she said, in a little, whispering voice. "You killed that +man! You gave Tobey the watch and the ax! You changed shoes with him! +You devil! You devil!"</p> + +<p>He drew back for a blow. She did not move. Instead she mocked him, +trying to smile.</p> + +<p>"You whelp!" she taunted him. "Go on and hit me! I ain't running! And if +you don't break me to bits I'm going to the sheriff and I'll tell him +what you said to me just now. And he'll wonder how you got all that +money in your pockets. He knows we're as poor as church-mice. How you +going to explain what you got?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't going to be such a fool as to keep it on me!" Mart crowed with +venomous mirth. "You nor the sheriff nor any one won't find it where I'm +going to put it!"</p> + +<p>The broken woman leaned forward, baiting him. The strange look of +exaltation and sacrifice burned in her faded eyes. "I've got you, Mart!" +she jeered. "You're going to swing yet! I'll even up with you for Tobey! +You didn't think I could do it, did you? I'll show you! You're trapped, +I tell you! And I done it!"</p> + +<p>She watched Mart swing around to search the room and the blank window +with apprehensive eyes. She sensed his eerie dread of the unseen. He +couldn't see any one. He couldn't hear a sound. She saw that he was wet +with the cold perspiration of fear. It would enrage him. She counted on +that. He turned back to his wife in a white fury. She leaned toward him, +inviting his blows as martyrs welcome the torch that will make their +pile of fagots a blazing bier.</p> + +<p>He struck her. Once. Twice. A rain of blows given in a blind passion +that drove her to her knees, but she clung stubbornly, with rigid +fingers to the table-edge. Although she was dazed she retained +consciousness by a sharp effort of her failing will. She had not yet +achieved that for which she was fighting.</p> + +<p>The dull thud of the blows, the confusion, the sight of the blood drove +the old woman in the corner suddenly upright on her tottering feet. Her +rheumy eyes glared affrighted at the sight of the only friend she +recognized in all her mad, black world lying there across the table. She +stood swaying in a petrified terror for a moment. Then with a thin wail, +"He's killing her!" she ran around them and gained the door.</p> + +<p>With a mighty effort Olga Brenner lifted her head so that her face, +swollen beyond recognition, was turned toward her mother-in-law. Her +almost sightless eyes fastened themselves on the old woman.</p> + +<p>"Run!" she cried. "Run to the village!"</p> + +<p>The mad woman, obedient to that commanding voice, flung open the door +and lurched over the threshold and disappeared in the fog. It came to +Mart that the woman running through the night with her wail of terror +was the greatest danger he would know. Olga Brenner saw his look of sick +terror. He started to spring after the mad woman, forgetful of the +half-conscious creature on her knees before him.</p> + +<p>But as he turned, Olga, moved by the greatness of her passion, forced +strength into her maimed body. With a straining leap she sprawled +herself before him on the floor. He stumbled, caught for the table, and +fell with a heavy crash, striking his head on a near-by chair. Olga +raised herself on her shaking arms and looked at him. Minute after +minute passed, and yet he lay still. A second long ten minutes ticked +itself off on the clock, which Olga could barely see. Then Mart opened +his eyes, sat up, and staggered to his feet.</p> + +<p>Before full consciousness could come to him again, his wife crawled +forward painfully and swiftly coiled herself about his legs. He +struggled, still dizzy from his fall, bent over and tore at her twining +arms, but the more he pulled the tighter she clung, fastening her +misshapen fingers in the lacing of his shoes. He swore! And he became +panic-stricken. He began to kick at her, to make lunges toward the +distant door. Kicking and fighting, dragging her clinging body with him +at every move, that body which drew him back one step for every two +forward steps he took, at last he reached the wall. He clutched it, and +as his hand slipped along trying to find a more secure hold he touched +the cold iron of a long-handled pan hanging there.</p> + +<p>With a snarl he snatched it down, raised it over his head, and brought +it down upon his wife's back. Her hands opened spasmodically and fell +flat at her sides. Her body rolled over, limp and broken. And a low +whimper came from her bleeding lips.</p> + +<p>Satisfied, Mart paused to regain his breath. He had no way of knowing +how long this unequal fight had been going on. But he was free. The way +of escape was open. He laid his hand on the door.</p> + +<p>There were voices. He cowered, cast hunted glances at the bloody figure +on the floor, bit his knuckles in a frenzy.</p> + +<p>As he looked, the eyes opened in his wife's swollen face, eyes aglow +with triumph. "You'll swing for it, Mart!" she whispered faintly. "And +the money's on the table! Tobey's saved!"</p> + +<p>Rough hands were on the door. A flutter of breath like a sigh of relief +crossed her lips and her lids dropped as the door burst open to a tide +of men.</p> + +<p>The big yellow butterfly swung low on his golden wings and came to rest +on her narrow, sunken breast.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by The Pictorial Review Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by Rose Sidney.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Rotter15" id="The_Rotter15"></a>THE ROTTER<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> FLETA CAMPBELL SPRINGER</h3> +<h4>From <i>Harper's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>In the taxi Ayling suddenly realized that there was no need for all this +haste. After twenty-five years, and a loitering, circuitous journey +home—six weeks to the day since he had said good-by to India—this +last-minute rush was, to say the least, illogical, particularly as there +was no one in London waiting for him; no one who was even aware of his +arrival. Indeed, it was likely that there was no one in London who was +aware of his existence, except, perhaps, the clerk of the club, to whom +he had telegraphed ahead for accommodations.</p> + +<p>The rigidity of his posture, straining forward there on his seat, became +suddenly painful and absurd. He tried to relax, but the effort was more +than it was worth, and he sat forward again, looking out.</p> + +<p>Yes, things were familiar enough—but familiar like old photographs one +has forgotten the significance of. The emotion had gone out of them. It +was the new things, the unfamiliar contours, that were most apparent, +that seemed to thrust upon his consciousness the city's gigantic, +self-centered indifference. Yet it was just that quality that he had +loved most in London. She had let him alone. She had been—he recalled +the high-flown phrase of his youth—the supremely indifferent friend! +Perhaps, he thought to himself, when one is fifty, one cares less to be +"let alone"; less for indifference as the supreme attribute of a friend.</p> + +<p>He felt a queer sweep of homesickness for India, whence he had come; but +to feel homesick for India was ridiculous, since he had just come out +of India because he was homesick for England. He had been homesick for +England, he had been telling himself, for all those twenty-five years.</p> + +<p>Well! here he was. Home!</p> + +<p>Strange he hadn't thought of the automobiles and the electricity, and +the difference they would make.</p> + +<p>The taxi backed suddenly, gears shifted, and drew up alongside the curb. +Looking out, Ayling recognized the high, familiar street door of the +club. Something about it had been changed, or replaced, he couldn't +quite make out what. The driver opened the door, lifted out Ayling's +bag, and deposited it expertly with a swing on the step. Then he waited +respectfully while Ayling fished in his pockets for change. Having +received it, he leaped with great agility to the seat, shifted gears, +chugged, backed and turned, and was abruptly round the corner and out of +sight.</p> + +<p>At the desk, Ayling experienced a momentary surprise to find himself +actually expected.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ayling? Yes, sir. Your room is ready, I believe." The clerk rang a +bell, and began to give instructions about Mr. Ayling's luggage.</p> + +<p>Ayling felt that he ought to ask for some one, inquire if some of the +old members were in; but, standing there, he could not think of a single +name except names of a few non-resident members like himself, men who +were at that moment in India.</p> + +<p>"Will you go up, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Later," said Ayling. "Just send up my things."</p> + +<p>He crossed the foyer and entered the lounge. Here, as before in the +streets, it was the changes of which he was most aware—figured hangings +in place of the old red velours, the upholstery renewed on the old +chairs and divans. Strangers sat here and there in the familiar nooks, +strangers who looked up at him with a mild curiosity and returned to +their papers or their cigars. He wandered on through the rooms, +seeking—without quite saying so to himself—seeking a familiar face, +and found none. Even the proportions of the rooms seemed changed; he +could hardly have said just how; not much, but slightly, though, all in +all, the club was the same. Names began to come back to him; memories +resurrected themselves, rose out of corners to greet him as he passed. +They began to give him a queer sense of his own unreality, as if he +himself were only another memory.... Abruptly he turned, made his way +back to the desk, and asked to be shown to his room. There he spent an +hour puttering aimlessly, adjusting his things, putting in the time.</p> + +<p>Then he dressed and went down to a solitary dinner. There was a great +activity in the club at that hour, comings and goings, in parties of +four and five. He found a kind of dolorous amusement in seeing now much +more at home all the youngsters about him seemed than he. And he had +been at home there when they were in the nursery doing sums.</p> + +<p>Here and there at the tables were older men, men of his own age, and he +reflected that among them might easily be some of his boyhood friends. +He would never know them now. He searched their faces for a familiar +feature, watched them for a gesture he might recognize. But in the end +he gave it up. "Old town," he said to himself, "old town, by Jove! +you've forgotten me!"</p> + +<p>That night he went alone to a theater, walked back through the crowds to +the club, and went immediately to bed. He was grateful to find himself +suddenly very tired.</p> + +<p>The next morning he rose late and did not leave his room until noon, +when he went down to a solitary lunch. After lunch he stopped at the +clerk's window and inquired about one or two old members. The clerk +looked up the names. After a good deal of inquiry and fussing about, he +ascertained that one of the gentlemen was in China, one was dead, and a +third about whom Ayling also inquired could not be traced at all. Ayling +went out and walked for a while through the streets, but was driven back +to the club by the chill drizzle which suddenly began to descend.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He sat down in a chair near a window that had been his favorite. +Settled there, he remembered the position of a near-by bell, just under +the window-curtain.... Yes, there it was. He rang, and a waiter came—a +rotund, pink-faced, John-Bullish waiter, with little white tufts on each +cheek. Ayling ordered a whisky-and-soda, and when presently the waiter +brought it Ayling asked how long he had been in the service of the club.</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five years, sir."</p> + +<p>Ayling looked at the old man in astonishment. "Do you remember me?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>The old waiter, schooled to remember at first glance if he remembered at +all, looked afresh at Ayling. "I see so many faces, sir—I couldn't just +at the moment say—"</p> + +<p>"And I suppose," said Ayling, "you've brought me whisky-and-soda here, +to this very chair, no end of times. What's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Chedsey, sir."</p> + +<p>"Seems familiar—" He shook his head. "You don't recall a Mr. +Ayling—twenty-five or thirty years ago?"</p> + +<p>"Ayling, sir? I recall there <i>was</i> a member of that name.... <i>You're</i> +not Mr. Ayling, sir?"</p> + +<p>"We're not very flattering, either of us, it seems. But then, privilege +of the aged, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir. I'm sorry—I ought to remember you."</p> + +<p>"We're wearing masks, Chedsey, you and I."</p> + +<p>"You're right, sir, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>They regarded each other, those two, Chedsey, rotund and pink, looking +down upon Ayling, long and lean, with fine wrinkles about his eyes, and +hair considerably grayed, wondering, both of them, why names should be +so much more enduring than they themselves had been.</p> + +<p>It was not until Ayling had begun to ask Chedsey for news of old +friends, and chanced almost at once to mention Lonsdale, that both he +and the old waiter exclaimed in the same breath, "Major Lonsdale!" as if +the Major's name had been a key to open the doors of both their +memories.</p> + +<p>"And you're young Mr. Dick Ayling! I remember you perfectly now!" +Chedsey beamed. How could he have failed to remember any one of those +gay young friends of the major's?</p> + +<p>"And where," asked Ayling, "is the major now?"</p> + +<p>"Major Lonsdale, sir—has been gone seven years. Hadn't you heard?"</p> + +<p>Lonsdale gone! Lonsdale dead! Lonsdale had begun life so brilliantly. +Ayling did feel left over and old.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" he asked, and Chedsey, glad to talk of the major, told +how he had left the club to be Major Lonsdale's man just after he came +back from the Boer War. How things hadn't seemed to go well with the +major after that; he lost money—just how, Chedsey didn't say, but gave +one to understand that it was a misfortune beyond the major's control. +In the end he was forced to give up his house, and Chedsey came back to +the club. A few years later the major was taken with pneumonia, quite +suddenly, and died. Did Mr. Ayling know Major Lonsdale's wife?</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Ayling. "What became of Mrs. Lonsdale?"</p> + +<p>"Here in London, sir."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't there," asked Ayling, "a child, a little girl?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miss Peggy, sir!" It was plain that "Miss Peggy" was one of +Chedsey's enthusiasms. A young lady now ... and soon to be married to a +fine young gentleman of one of the best Scotch families.... She'll have +a title some day.... Picture in the <i>Sketch</i> recently—perhaps he could +find it for Mr. Ayling.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said Ayling, who was not thinking of Miss Peggy at all, +but of her parents, young Major Harry Lonsdale, and his pretty wife.—He +remembered her as a bride—Bessie, the major had called her—a graceful +young creature with brown hair and brown-flecked eyes, already at that +age a charming hostess in the fine old house Harry Lonsdale had +inherited from his father.</p> + +<p>"They are living in Cambridge Terrace," Chedsey was saying. "Would Mr. +Ayling like the address?"</p> + +<p>Ayling wrote down the address Chedsey gave him, and put it away in his +pocket, with no more definite idea than that some day, if opportunity +offered, he might look her up, for his old friend's sake.</p> + +<p>He began to inquire about other men—Carrington, Farnsby, Blake. Dead, +all three of them—Farnsby only last spring. Was it some fate that +pursued his particular friends? But those men had all, he reflected, +been older than he. And yet, he recalled the words of his doctor:</p> + +<p>"A man's as old as his arteries. You've been too long out here. Be +sensible, Ayling.... Go home—take it easy—rest. You'll have a long +time yet...."</p> + +<p>Just a week later, to the day, Ayling stepped into a telephone-booth, +looked up Mrs. Lonsdale's number, and telephoned. He had not counted +upon loneliness.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At forty-five Bessie Lonsdale had encountered one of those universal +experiences which invariably give us, as individuals, so strong a sense +of surprise. She had discovered suddenly, upon completion of the task to +which she had so long given her energies, that she had become the task; +that she no longer had any identity apart from it. And her consciousness +of having arrived at exactly the place where hundreds before her must +have arrived had only added to the strangeness of her experience.</p> + +<p>A week ago she had seen her twenty-year-old daughter off to the north of +Scotland for a month's visit to the family which she was soon to enter +as a bride. It seemed to her that Peggy had never been so lovely as when +she said good-by to her at the station that day, slim, fragrant, +shining-eyed, and looking very patrician indeed in her smart sable +jacket (cut from the luxurious sable cape that had been part of her +mother's trousseau), with the violets pinned into the buttonhole. And +Bessie Lonsdale had seen with pride and no twinge of jealousy the +admiration in the eyes of that aristocratic, if somewhat stern-faced, +old lady who was to be Peggy's mother-in-law, and who, with true Scotch +propriety, had come all the way down to London to take her home with +her.</p> + +<p>"I don't like leaving you alone," Peggy had said, as they kissed each +other good-by. "You're going to let yourself be dull."</p> + +<p>And her mother had patted the soft cheek, and replied: "I'm going to +enjoy every minute of it. I mean to have a good rest and get acquainted +with myself."</p> + +<p>When, a few moments later, she waved them good-by as the train moved +slowly out of the station, Bessie Lonsdale had turned away with a +long-drawn and involuntary sigh—a sigh of thanksgiving and relief.</p> + +<p>Peggy at last was safe! Her happiness and her future assured. All those +years of hoping and holding steady had come now to this happy end. Ever +since her husband's early death Bessie Lonsdale had centered herself +upon the future of her child. She had had only her few hundred a year +saved from the wreck of her husband's affairs, but she had set her +course, and, with an air of sailing in circles for pleasure's sake, +stood clear of the rocks and shoals. She had never borrowed; she had +never apologized; had never been considered a poor relation, or spoken +of as pathetic or "brave." Her little flat was an achievement. It was +astonishing how she had managed at once so much simplicity, so much +downright comfort, and so charming an atmosphere. She had done so much +with so little, yet hers were not anxious rooms, like the rooms of so +many women of small means. They had space, repose, good cheer, even an +air of luxury. It was the home of a gentlewoman who could make a little +better than "the best of things." She had even entertained a little, now +and then—more of late, now that Peggy's education was complete—but +this at the cost of many economies in the right quarter, and many +extravagances also rightly placed.</p> + +<p>Call this "climbing" if you will, and a stress upon false values. Bessie +Lonsdale gave herself to no such futile speculations as that. She was +too busy at her task. She was neither so young nor so hypocritical as to +pretend that these things were to be despised. She had done only what +every other mother in the world wishes to do—to guide and protect her +child and see her future provided for; only she had done it more +efficiently than most; had brought, perhaps, a greater fitness or a +greater consecration to the task. And the success of her achievement +lay in the art with which she had concealed all trace of effort and +strain. Peggy herself would have been first to laugh at the notion that +her mother had had anything whatever to do with her falling in love with +Andrew McCrae. She believed that it was by the sheer prodigality of the +Fates that, besides being in love with her, romantically, as only a +Scotchman can be, young Andrew McCrae was heir to one of the most +substantial fortunes in all the north, and would succeed to a title one +day....</p> + +<p>So Bessie Lonsdale had sighed her deep sigh of peace and gone back to +her flat. And because she had really wanted to be alone she had sent her +one faithful old servant away for a long-postponed visit to country +relatives. Then she had sat down to rest, and to "get acquainted with +herself." And in two days she had made her discovery. There was no +"herself." She had been Peggy's mother so long that Bessie Lonsdale as a +separate entity had entirely ceased to exist.</p> + +<p>It was at the end of the week that Ayling telephoned. And, although she +had been avoiding even chance meetings with acquaintances, she found +herself asking Ayling, whom she had not seen for twenty-five years, and +whom she had known but slightly then, to come that day at five to tea. +She realized only after she had left the telephone that it was because +his voice had come to her out of that far time before she had become the +mother of Peggy, and because she had a vague sort of hope that he might +help to bring back a bit of the old self she had lost.</p> + +<p>She was, when she thought of it, a little puzzled by his looking her up. +Had he and Harry been such friends?</p> + +<p>Promptly at five he came. At the door they greeted each other with a +sudden unexpected warmth. And while he was clasping her hand and saying +how jolly it was, after all this time, to find her here, and she was +saying how nice it was to see <i>him</i>, how nice of him to look her up, he +was thinking to himself that he might have recognized her by the +brown-flecked eyes, and she was thinking, "He's an old man, older than +I—the age Harry would have been——"</p> + +<p>"So you've come home," she said, "to stay?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we all do. It's what we look forward to out there."</p> + +<p>"I know." With a little hospitable gesture and a step backward she +brought him in.</p> + +<p>They had not mentioned the major who was gone, nor had they mentioned +the years that had passed since their last meeting, yet suddenly, +without any premonition, those two turned their eyes away from each +other, to avoid bursting senselessly into tears. An almost inconceivable +disaster, yet one for the moment perilously imminent.</p> + +<p>Yet neither of them was thinking of Major Lonsdale nor of anything so +grievous as death; they were thinking of those terrifying little +wrinkles round their eyes, and of the little up-and-down lines that +would never disappear, and something inside them both gave suddenly +away, melted, flooding them inside with tears that must not be shed.</p> + +<p>She held out her hand for his hat and stick. For an instant they both +felt a deep constraint, and as he was getting out of his coat each +wondered if the other had noticed it.</p> + +<p>Ayling turned about and stumbled awkwardly over a small hassock on the +floor, and they both laughed, which helped them recover themselves.</p> + +<p>"How long has it really been?" she asked, as she faced him beside the +fire.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five years." He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Twenty-five +years!"</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> feel the prodigal son!"</p> + +<p>"Not until I came in your door just now, I didn't at all." And then, +without in the least intending to say it, he added, "You were the only +person in London I knew."</p> + +<p>It was the first of many things he had not intended to tell. As it was +the first of many afternoons when they sat before the fire in her pretty +drawing-room—that gallant little blaze that did its best to combat the +gloom and chill of London's late winter rains—and drank their tea and +talked, the comfortable, scattering talk of old friends; although it +was not because of the past that they were friends, but because of the +present and their mutual need. They did not speak of loneliness; it was +a word, perhaps, of which they were both afraid.</p> + +<p>When they talked of her husband, of the old house, the old days, she +felt herself coming back, materializing gradually again, out of the +past. Ayling said to himself that he could talk to Bessie Lonsdale of +things he had never been able to speak of to any one else, because they +had had so much common experience. For from the beginning Ayling had had +the illusion that Bessie Lonsdale, as well as he, had been away all +those years, and had just come back to London again. He had said this to +her as he was leaving on that first afternoon, and she had smiled and +said, "So I have, just that—I've been away and come back, and I hardly +know where to begin." Later he understood. For once or twice he met +there a few of her friends, people who dropped in to inquire what she +had heard from Peggy; people who talked of how they were missing Peggy, +of the time when she would be coming home, of her approaching wedding, +and one and all they commented upon the emptiness of the flat without +Peggy there, and how lonely it must be for dear Mrs. Lonsdale with Peggy +away.</p> + +<p>"I seem to be the only person in London not missing Peggy," he said to +her one day. Her brown-flecked eyes looked at him straight for an +instant, and then slowly they smiled, for she knew that he understood. +She had not needed to tell him, for he had divined it for himself. Just +as he had not needed to tell her how much her being in London had meant +to him.</p> + +<p>As it was, the incessant chill and dampness of the weather had done his +health no good. His blood was thin from long years of Indian sun, and he +found it a constant effort to resist. The gloom seemed even worse than +the cold, and, although he had thought that he should never wish for sun +again, after India, he did wish for it now, wished for it until it +became a sheer physical need. For the first time in his life he began to +feel that he was getting old. Or was it, he asked himself, only that he +had time now to think of such things? Bessie Lonsdale saw it, for her +eyes were quick and keen, and she had long been in the habit of +mothering. "It's this beastly London," she said. "I know!" And it was +she who made him promise to go away for a week in the country, where he +might have a glimpse at least of the sun. He remembered an inn at +Homebury St. Mary, where he had spent a summer as a child, and it was +there, for no reason except the memory of so much sun, that he planned +to go, "by the middle of next week," he said, "when Peggy will be coming +home."</p> + +<p>They had been talking of her return, and he had confessed to the notion +that he would feel himself superfluous, out of place, somehow, when +Peggy came home. His confession had pleased her, she hardly knew why. As +for herself, she had had something of the same thought that when Peggy +came there would be—well, a different atmosphere.</p> + +<p>She was looking forward daily now to a letter saying by what train Peggy +would return. On Thursday there arrived, instead, a letter from Lady +McCrae, begging that they be allowed "to keep our dear Peggy for another +ten days." The heavy weather had kept the young people indoors, and a +great many excursions which they had planned had had to be put off on +account of it. She said, in her dignified way, many things vastly +pleasing to a mother's heart, and Mrs. Lonsdale could do nothing but +write, giving her consent.</p> + +<p>When she had written the letter and sent it off she began to be +curiously depressed, and she wandered through the flat, conscious at +last of just how much she had really missed Peggy's laughter, her +gaiety, and her swift young step. The week before her loomed longer than +all the time she had been away.</p> + +<p>That afternoon she told Ayling her news, but it was not until she had +finished telling him that she remembered that he, too, would be going +away. She hadn't known until then how much his being there had meant.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said, "how I shall put in the week! After all, I've +been missing her more than I knew."</p> + +<p>It occurred to Ayling that, standing there before him with Lady McCrae's +letter, which she had been showing him, in her hand, she was exactly +like a little girl who was going to be left all alone.</p> + +<p>The idea came to him suddenly. "Look here, Bessie; come down to Homebury +St. Mary with me! It would do you no end of good."</p> + +<p>The quality of their friendship was clear in the simplicity with which +he made the suggestion, and the absence of self-consciousness with which +she heard it made.</p> + +<p>"I should love it!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Then come along. You've nothing to keep you here; the country's just +what you need."</p> + +<p>She did not answer at once, but stood looking away from him, a little +frown between her eyes. She was thinking how absurd it would be to +object, and how equally absurd it seemed to say yes. It <i>was</i> so nice to +have some one think of her as he thought of himself, simply, normally, +humanly, as Dick Ayling seemed to have thought of her from the first.</p> + +<p>Then abruptly she accepted his simplification. "I'll go," she said.</p> + +<p>"Good! I'll telephone through for a room for you.... When can you be +ready?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"To-day—this afternoon. Let's get away before I discover all the +reasons to prevent! I won't bother about a lot of luggage—my big bag +will do."</p> + +<p>"Great! I'll ask about trains."</p> + +<p>All at once, like two children, they became immensely exhilarated at the +prospect before them—a week's holiday!</p> + +<p>He went to the telephone and presently reported: "There's a train at +two-forty. Can you make it by then?"</p> + +<p>She looked at the clock on the mantel. "We'll make it," she said.</p> + +<p>He was getting into his coat. "I'll go on to the club, get my things +together, and come back for you at two-fifteen, then."</p> + +<p>He rushed away, both of them almost forgetting to say good-by, and she +went into her bedroom to pack.</p> + +<p>When, promptly at two-fifteen, he rang her bell, she was waiting, hat +and gloves on, and called out, "All ready!" as the taxi-driver followed +Ayling up for her bag....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The spring had come up to meet them at Homebury St. Mary. So Bessie +Lonsdale said to herself when she woke in her old-fashioned +chintz-curtained room. The sun shone in at the windows, the air was +balmy and sweet, and lifting herself on her elbow, she saw in a little +round swale in the garden outside a faint showing of green nestled into +the damp brown earth.</p> + +<p>She got up, rang for a maid, who came, smiling, white-capped, +rosy-cheeked. She had coffee and rolls with rich country cream while she +dressed. Her room opened directly into the garden, and she put on stout +boots and a walking-suit and a soft little hat of green felt, and went +out. Ayling, who had evidently risen early, was coming toward her, +swinging a great, freshly whittled staff cut from the woods beyond the +inn. He called to her:</p> + +<p>"You see! The sun <i>does</i> shine at Homebury St. Mary!" And then, as if in +gratitude for so glorious a day, he wished to be fair to the rest of the +world, he added, as he came up, "I wonder if it's shining in London, +too."</p> + +<p>"London?" she said. "London? There's no such place!"</p> + +<p>"Glad you came?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Glad!" Her tone was enough.</p> + +<p>"That's a jolly green hat," he said, and made her a little bow.</p> + +<p>"Glad you like it," she laughed. "And that's a jolly staff."</p> + +<p>He showed it off proudly. "Work of art," he said. "I made one just like +it when I was here the summer I was twelve—I remembered it this morning +when I woke up, and I came out to get this one."</p> + +<p>She admired it critically, particularly the initials of the dark bark +left on, but suggested an improvement about the knob.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! you're right," he admitted, and set to work with his knife.</p> + +<p>They were like two youngsters out of school. All morning they idled +out-of-doors, exploring the little lanes that led off into the +buff-colored hills, returning at noon, ravenous, to lunch in the +dining-room of the inn, parting afterward in the corridor, and going to +their own rooms to rest and read. At four Ayling tapped at her door to +say that there was in the sitting-room "an absolutely enormous tea."</p> + +<p>That night, before a beautiful fire in the sitting-room, they caught +each other yawning at half past nine, and at ten they said good-night.</p> + +<p>It had been so perfect that the next day found them following the same +routine. And the next day, and the next. Bessie Lonsdale had not felt +for years so much peace and so much strength. In their morning walks +together her strength showed greater than his. The bracing air +exhilarated her, and she felt she could have walked forever in the +lovely rolling hills. Once she had walked on and on, faster and faster, +not noticing how she had quickened her pace, her head up, facing the +light wind blowing in from the sea. And, turning to ask a question of +Ayling at her side, his white face stopped her instantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>am</i> sorry! Forgive me," she said.</p> + +<p>He smiled, embarrassed, and waited a moment for breath before he said, +"It's just the wind; it's pretty stiff."</p> + +<p>And she had said no more, because it embarrassed him, but she suited her +pace to his after that, never forgiving herself for her thoughtlessness. +And she chose, instead of the hill roads, the level, winding lanes.</p> + +<p>For five perfect spring days they spent their mornings out-of-doors in +the sun, lunched, parted until tea, met at dinner again, and said good +night at a preposterously early hour. And they could not have said +whether they amused or interested or merely comforted each other. +Perhaps they did all three. At any rate, it was an idyll of its kind, +and of more genuine beauty than many less platonic idylls have been.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the sixth day Bessie Lonsdale went out into the garden +as usual, to find the sky overcast with light, fleecy clouds. But the +air was soft, and she wandered about for half an hour before it occurred +to her that perhaps Ayling was waiting for her inside. She went in to +look, but saw him nowhere, and decided that he was sleeping late. She +waited until eleven, and then went out to walk by herself. But she did +not relish the walk because she was uneasy about Ayling. She was afraid +he was ill. She forced herself to go on a little way, but when she came +to the second turn in the road, she faced abruptly about and came back +to the inn. Still Ayling was nowhere about. He was not in the garden; he +was not in the coffee-room. She went to her own room and sat down with a +book, but she could not read. So she went into the corridor, searching +for some one of whom she might inquire. But no one was visible.</p> + +<p>Ayling's room opened off of the little public sitting-room at the end of +the corridor. She went on until she reached the sitting-room, which she +entered, and then stood still, listening for some sound from beyond +Ayling's door. The silence seemed to grow round her; it filled the room, +it spread through the house. And then, propelled by that silence toward +the door, she put out her hand and knocked softly. There was no +response. She repeated the knock—twice—and only that pervading silence +answered her. She took hold of the knob and turned it without a sound; +the door gave inward and she stepped inside the room. The bed faced her, +and Ayling was lying there, on his side. Even before she saw his face, +her own heart told her that he was dead.... He lay there quite +peacefully, as if he had died in his sleep.</p> + +<p>For an instant Bessie Lonsdale thought she was going to faint. And then, +moved by the force of an emotion which seemed to take possession of her +from the outside, an emotion which she could not recognize, but which +was irresistible and which, as the silence had propelled her a moment +ago, took her backward now, step by step, noiselessly, out of that +room; caused her to close the door after her, and, still moving backward +without a sound, to come to a stop in the middle of the little +sitting-room. For now that strange fear, premonition—she knew not +what—which seemed to have been traveling toward her from a great +distance, seemed suddenly to concentrate itself into a single name, +"Peggy!" ... Confused, swirling, the connotations that accompanied the +name took possession of her mind, of her body, her will. <i>Peggy was +threatened</i>.... Through this thing that had happened Peggy's happiness +might be destroyed! In a flash she saw the story—the cold facts printed +in a newspaper—as they would undoubtedly be—or told by gossips, glad +of a scandal to repeat: She, Peggy's mother—and Richard Ayling together +at a country inn—the sudden and sensational discovery of Ayling's +death.... She could see the stern face of Lady McCrae—the accusing blue +eyes of Andrew McCrae ... and Peggy's stricken face.</p> + +<p>She tried to pull herself together—to think; her thoughts were not +reasoning thoughts, but unrelated, floating, detached....</p> + +<p>Suddenly, by some strange alchemy of her mind, three things stood out +clear. They stood out like the three facts of a simple syllogism.</p> + +<p>There was nothing she could do for Richard Ayling now.... No one knew +she was here.... A train for London passed Homebury St. Mary a little +after noon.</p> + +<p>All the years of Bessie Lonsdale's motherhood commanded her to act. Her +muscles alone seemed to hear and obey. She was like a person hypnotized, +who had been ordered with great detail and precision what to do.</p> + +<p>Soundlessly, she went from the room and down the length of the corridor. +In her own room she threw scattered garments into a bag, swept in the +things from the dresser, glanced into the mirror, and was astonished to +see that she had on her coat and hat. Then out through the door that led +to the garden, a sharp turn to the right, and she was off, walking +swiftly, with no sensation of touching the earth. A train whistled in +the distance, came into sight. She raced with it, reached the station +just as it drew alongside and came to a stop. The guard took her bag, +and she swung onto the step. It did not seem strange to her that she had +reached the station at precisely the same time as the train. It seemed +only natural ... in accordance with the plan....</p> + +<p>At seventeen minutes past three o'clock Bessie Lonsdale hurried into a +telephone-booth in Victoria Station, called up a friend, and asked her +to tea. Then she took a taxi to within a block of the flat, where she +dismissed the taxi, went into a pastry-shop, bought some cakes, and five +minutes later she was taking off her hat and coat in her own bedroom.</p> + +<p>She worked quickly, automatically, without any sense of exertion, still +as if she but obeyed a hypnotist's command. At four o'clock a leaping +fire in the drawing-room grate flickered cheerily against silver +tea-things, against the sheen of newly dusted mahogany; books lay here +and there, carelessly, a late illustrated review open as if some one had +just put it down, and dressed in a soft gown of blue crêpe, Bessie +Lonsdale received her guest. She was not an intimate friend, but a +casual one whom she did not often see. A Mrs. Downey, who loved to talk +of herself and of her own affairs. Bessie Lonsdale did not know why she +had chosen her. Her brain had seemed to work without direction, +independent of her will. She could never have directed it so well.</p> + +<p>Even now, as she brought her in and heard herself saying easy, friendly, +commonplace things, she had no sense of willing herself to say them +consciously. They said themselves. She heard nothing that Mrs. Downey +said, yet she answered her. Later, while she was pouring Mrs. Downey's +tea, she remembered a time, over a year ago, when she had heard Mrs. +Downey say, "Two, and no cream." She put in the two lumps, and was +startled to hear her guest exclaim, "My dear, what a memory!" ... She +did not know whether Mrs. Downey told her one or many things that +afternoon. Only certain words, parts of sentences, gestures, imprinted +themselves upon her mind, never to be erased. She seemed divided into +two separate selves, neither of them complete—one, the intenser of the +two, was at Homebury St. Mary, looking down upon Ayling's still, dead +face; and that self was filled with pity, with remorse, with a +tenderness that hurt. The other self was here, in a gown of blue crêpe, +drinking tea, and possessed of a voice which she could hear vaguely +making the conversation one makes when nothing has happened, when one +has been lonely and a little bored....</p> + +<p>All at once something was going on in the room, a clangor that seemed to +waken Bessie Lonsdale out of the unreality of a dream. It summoned her +will to come back to its control.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Downey was smiling and saying in an ordinary tone, "Your +telephone."</p> + +<p>Bessie Lonsdale rose and crossed the room, took the receiver from its +stand, said, "Yes," and waited.</p> + +<p>A man's voice came over the wire. "I wish to speak to Mrs. Lonsdale, +please."</p> + +<p>"I am Mrs. Lonsdale," she said in a smooth, low voice. Her voice was +perfectly smooth because her will had deserted her again. Only her brain +worked, clearly, independently.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Mrs. Lonsdale; this is Mr. Burke speaking, Mr. Franklin Burke, of +the Cosmos Club. I am making an effort to get into touch with friends of +Mr. Richard Ayling, and I am told by a man named Chedsey, who I believe +was at one time in your employ, that Mr. Ayling is an old friend of your +family."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "we are old friends."</p> + +<p>"You knew, then, I presume, that Mr. Ayling had gone away—to the +country some days ago."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, again, "I knew that he had not been well and that he +had gone out of town for a week.... Is there—anything?" Her heart was +beating very loudly in her ears.</p> + +<p>"I dislike to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs. Lonsdale, but I must tell +you that we have received a telephone message here at the club that—I +hope it will not shock you too much—that Mr. Ayling died sometime +to-day, at an inn where he was staying, at Homebury St. Mary, I +believe."</p> + +<p>His voice was very gentle and concerned. She hesitated perceptibly, and +his voice came over the wire, "I'm sorry—very sorry, to tell you in +this way—"</p> + +<p>She heard herself speaking: "Naturally, I—it's something of a +shock...."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I understand."</p> + +<p>Again she caught the sound of her own voice, as if it belonged to some +one else, "I suppose it was his heart."</p> + +<p>"He was known to have a bad heart?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it has been weak for years."</p> + +<p>"I wonder, Mrs. Lonsdale, if I may ask a favor of you. You know, of +course, that Mr. Ayling had very few close friends in London; you are, +in fact, the only one we have been able, on this short notice, to find. +For that reason I am going to ask that you let me come to see you this +afternoon; you will understand that there are certain formalities, facts +which it will be necessary for us to have, which only an old friend of +Mr. Ayling could give—that we could get in no other way...."</p> + +<p>"I understand, perfectly."</p> + +<p>"Then I may come?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly." ... There was nothing else she could say.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She did not know how she got rid of her guest, what explanation she +made, nor how she happened to be saying good-by to her at the very +moment when the dignified, elderly Mr. Burke arrived, so that they had +to be introduced. Though she must have made some adequate explanation, +since Mrs. Downey's last words were, in the presence of Mr. Burke, "It's +always so hard, I think, to lose one's really <i>old</i> friends."</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke came in. He was very correct, very kind. He begged Mrs. +Lonsdale to believe that it was with the greatest regret that he called +upon so sad an errand; that he came only because it was necessary and +she was the only person to whom they could turn. He added that he had +known her husband, Major Lonsdale, in his lifetime, and hoped that she +would consider him, therefore, not so entirely a stranger to her.</p> + +<p>She heard him as one hears music far away, only the accents and the +climaxes coming clear. He asked her questions, and she was conscious of +answering them: How long had she known Mr. Ayling?—He and her husband +had been boyhood friends; she had met him first at the time of her +marriage to Major Lonsdale. Had they kept up the friendship during all +these years?—No, she had heard nothing of Mr. Ayling since her +husband's death; she knew that he was in India; they had renewed the +friendship when he returned to England a short time ago.—Ah, it was +probable, then, that she knew very little about any attachments Mr. +Ayling might have had?—Here Mr. Burke shifted his position, coughed +slightly, and said:</p> + +<p>"I ask you these questions, Mrs. Lonsdale, because of a very—may I +say—a very unfortunate element in connection with the case. It appears +that there was a woman with Mr. Ayling at the Homebury St. Mary inn."</p> + +<p>Bessie Lonsdale waited, she did not know for what. Whole minutes seemed +to go by with the elderly Mr. Burke sitting there in his attitude of +formal sympathy before his voice began again.</p> + +<p>"I have only been free to mention this to you, Mrs. Lonsdale, because of +the fact that you will hear of it in any case, since it must come out in +the formalities—"</p> + +<p>"Formalities?" Her voice cut sharply into his.</p> + +<p>"There will, of course, be an inquest—an investigation—the usual +thing. I have been in communication with the coroner's office by +telephone, and I have promised to drive down to Homebury St. Mary myself +this afternoon. He was away on another case, and will not reach there +himself until six. Meantime we must do what we can. They will +necessarily make an effort to discover the woman."</p> + +<p>Bessie Lonsdale must have given some sort of involuntary cry, the +implication of which Mr. Burke interpreted in his own way, for he +changed his tone to say:</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid, my dear Mrs. Lonsdale, that she was a bit of a rotter, +whoever she was, for she—ran."</p> + +<p>"Ran?" She repeated the word.</p> + +<p>He nodded. "Disappeared."</p> + +<p>She did not know what expression it was of hers that caused him to say: +"I don't wonder you look so shocked. I was shocked. Women don't often do +that sort of thing...." She wanted to cry out that that sort of thing +didn't often happen to women, but he was going on. He had risen and was +walking slowly up and down before the smoldering fire, and in his +incisive, deliberate, well-bred voice he was excoriating the woman who +had been so cowardly as to desert a dying man. "Even if she hadn't +seriously cared, or if, for that matter, she hadn't cared at all, it +would seem that mere common decency.... It puts, frankly, a very +unpleasant light on the whole affair.... Ayling was a gentleman, +and—you will forgive me for saying so, I'm sure—just the decent sort +to be imposed upon, to allow himself to be led into the most unfortunate +affair."</p> + +<p>She wanted to stop him, to cry out, to protest. But his words were like +physical blows which stunned her and made her too weak to speak. She +felt that if he went on much longer she would lose consciousness +altogether. Even now she heard only fragments of words.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she heard the word "publicity." He had stopped before her and +was looking down at her.</p> + +<p>"I think, Mrs. Lonsdale, that the thing we both wish—that is, we at the +club, and you, as his friend—is to do what we can to save any +unnecessary scandal in connection with poor Ayling's death. It is the +least we can do for him."</p> + +<p>"Yes!" She grasped frantically at the straw. "Yes, by all means that!"</p> + +<p>"You would be willing to help?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, anything! But what is there I can do?"</p> + +<p>He was maddeningly deliberate. "You are the only person, it appears—at +least the only person available—who has been aware of the condition of +Mr. Ayling's heart. You can say, can you not, with certainty, that he +did suffer from a serious affection of the heart?"</p> + +<p>"He came home from India on account of it."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. It was also the verdict of the doctor who was called. +I think together we may be able to obviate the necessity of a too public +investigation—at any rate, we shall see. It must be done, of course, +before the official investigation begins. Therefore, if you will come +down with me this afternoon, in my car—"</p> + +<p>"Come with you? Where?"</p> + +<p>"To the inn, at Homebury," he said.</p> + +<p>She was trapped ... trapped.... The realization of it sprang upon her, +but too late, for already she cried out, "Oh, I couldn't—I couldn't do +that!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke was looking down at her. He loomed above her like the figure +of fate.... She was trapped.... There was no way out, and suddenly she +realized that she had risen and said: "Forgive me! To be sure I will +go."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said Mr. Burke, "how one shrinks from that sort of +thing."</p> + +<p>She did not know what she was going to do. She only knew that for this +step, at least, she could no longer resist. Again she had the sensation +of speaking and moving automatically, of decisions making themselves +without the effort of her will.</p> + +<p>She asked how soon he wished to go, and he said, consulting his watch, +that they ought to start at once; his car was waiting in the street, +since he had planned to go on directly from her house. She excused +herself, and went to her room. She did not change her dress, but put on +a long, warm coat, her hat, her veil, her gloves, and made sure of her +key in her purse. Then she came out and said she was ready to go. He +complimented her, with a smile, on the short time it had taken her, and +she wondered if he had really seen her hesitation of a few moments +before. They went down the stairs together. At the curb a chauffeur +stood beside a motor, into which, with the utmost consideration for her +comfort, Mr. Burke handed her. Then he gave his instructions to the +chauffeur, and followed her in.</p> + +<p>And there began for Bessie Lonsdale that fantastic ride in which she +felt herself being carried forward, as if on the effortless wings of +fate itself, to the very scene from which she had fled.</p> + +<p>She had no idea, no dramatization in her mind, of what awaited her or of +what she intended to do. Her imagination refused to focus upon it; and, +strangely, she seemed almost to be resting, leaning back against the +tufted cushions, resting against the time when she should be called upon +for her strength. For she only knew that when the time came to act she +would act.</p> + +<p>It was curious how she did not think of Peggy. She was like a lover who +has been set a herculean task to accomplish before he may even think of +his beloved.</p> + +<p>Beside her, Mr. Burke seemed to understand that she did not wish to +talk. Perhaps he was thinking of other things; after all, he had not +been Richard Ayling's friend; it was only a human duty he performed.</p> + +<p>Long stretches went by in which she saw nothing on either side, and +other stretches in which everything—houses, trees, objects of all +kinds—were exceedingly clear cut and magnified....</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," said Mr. Burke's voice, "that we're running into a storm."</p> + +<p>Bessie Lonsdale looked up, and saw that those fleecy, light-gray clouds +which she had seen in the sky early that morning as she stood waiting +for Ayling in the garden of the inn, and which had been gathering all +day, hung now black and menacing just above her head.</p> + +<p>It descended upon them suddenly; torrents ran in the road. The wind +veered, and sent great gusts of rain into the car. The chauffeur turned +and asked if he should stop and put the curtains up. Mr. Burke said no, +to go on, they might run through it, and it was too violent to last. +Meantime he worked with the curtains himself, and she helped. But it was +no use; they were getting drenched, and the wind whipped the curtains +out of their hands. Mr. Burke leaned forward and called to the chauffeur +to ask if there was any place near where they might stop.</p> + +<p>"There's an inn about half a mile farther on. Shall I make it?"</p> + +<p>"By all means."</p> + +<p>They ran presently into the strips of light that shed outward from the +lighted windows of the inn. A half-dozen motors already were lined up +outside. They got out and together ran for the door.</p> + +<p>Inside, the small public room was almost filled. People sat at the +tables, ordering things to eat and drink, and making the best of it. +They chose a small corner table, a little apart from the rest. The +landlord bustled up and took their coats to dry before the kitchen fire. +A very gay, very dripping party of six came in, assembled with much +laughter the last two tables remaining unoccupied, and settled next to +them, so that they were no longer in a secluded spot.</p> + +<p>In a few moments there came in, almost blown through the door by a +violent gust of wind and rain, a short, stout, ruddy person, who, when +the landlord had relieved him of his hat and coat, stood looking about +for a vacant seat. The landlord came toward the table where sat Mrs. +Lonsdale and Mr. Burke.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, sir," he said; "it's the only place left."</p> + +<p>"May I?" asked the stranger, and at Mrs. Lonsdale's nod and smile, and +Mr. Burke's assent, he drew out the chair and sat down. The two men +spoke naturally of the suddenness of the storm, of the good fortune of +finding a refuge so near.</p> + +<p>Bessie Lonsdale was glad of some one else, glad when she heard the +stranger and Mr. Burke fall into the easy passing conversation of men. +It would relieve her of the necessity to talk. It would give her time to +think; for it seemed, dimly, that respite had been offered her. Into her +thoughts broke the voice of Mr. Burke addressing her:</p> + +<p>"How very singular, Mrs. Lonsdale! This gentleman is Mr Ford, the +coroner, also on his way to Homebury!"</p> + +<p>The stranger was on his feet, bowing and acknowledging the introduction +of Mr. Burke. Bessie Lonsdale had the sensation of waters closing over +her, yet she, too, was bowing and acknowledging the introduction of Mr. +Burke. She had a vivid impression of light shining downward upon the +red-gray hair of Mr. Ford, as he sat down again; and of Mr. Burke saying +something about "the case," and about Mrs. Lonsdale being an old friend +of the dead man; about her having been good enough to volunteer to shed +whatever light she might have upon the case, and of their meeting being +the "most fortunate coincidence."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ford signified that he, too, looked upon it in that way. They would +go on to Homebury together, he said, when the storm had cleared.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he asked, leaning forward a little, confidentially, "that +Mrs. Lonsdale knows of the—peculiar element——"</p> + +<p>"The woman—yes," said Mr. Burke. And Bessie Lonsdale inclined her head +and said, "I know."</p> + +<p>"And do you know who she was?"</p> + +<p>She had only to make a negative sign, for Mr. Burke, with nice +consideration, anticipated her reply:</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, Mr. Ford, no one appears to have the least idea who she +might be. Mrs. Lonsdale, however, has been able to clear up a point +which may, I fancy, make the identity of the woman less important than +it might otherwise appear to be. Mrs. Lonsdale has known for some time +of the serious condition of Mr. Ayling's heart. It was because of it, +she tells me, that Mr. Ayling came home from India. Mrs. Lonsdale's +testimony, together with the statement of the physician who was called, +would seem to leave little doubt that it was merely a case of heart."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ford was nodding his head. "So it would," he said. "Yes, so it +would." He stopped nodding, and sat there an instant, as if he were +thinking of something else. "If that's the case," he broke out, "what a +rotter, by Jove! that woman was!"</p> + +<p>"Rotter, I think," said Mr. Burke, "was precisely the word <i>I</i> used."</p> + +<p>And Bessie Lonsdale listened for the second time that day while two +voices, now, instead of one, were lifted in excoriation of some woman +who seemed to grow, as they talked, only a shade less real than herself.</p> + +<p>She had again the sensation of the words beating upon her like blows +which she was powerless to resist. She lost, as one does in physical +pain, all sense of time....</p> + +<p>"However," Mr. Ford brought down his hand with a kind of judicial +finality, "if Mrs. Lonsdale will come on down with us now—the storm +seems to have slackened—we'll see what can be done." He turned in his +chair as if he were preparing to rise.</p> + +<p>At the movement Bessie Lonsdale seemed to grow rigid in her chair.</p> + +<p>"Wait."</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke and Mr. Ford turned, startled by the strangeness of her tone. +They waited for her to speak.</p> + +<p>"I can't go."</p> + +<p>"Can't go?" They echoed it together. "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said she, "I am the woman you have been talking about."</p> + +<p>For an instant they sat perfectly motionless, the three of them. Then +slowly Mr. Burke and Mr. Ford turned their heads and looked at each +other, as if to verify what they had heard. Mr. Burke put out his hand +toward Bessie Lonsdale's arm, resting on the table, and he spoke very +gently indeed:</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Lonsdale, this is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Impossible," she said, passing her hand across her eyes, "impossible?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Lonsdale." He spoke reasonably, as if she were a child. "It +couldn't be you." He turned now to include Mr. Ford, who sat staring at +them both. "I myself gave Mrs. Lonsdale the news of Mr. Ayling's death, +over the telephone. She was at her home, in Cambridge Terrace, quietly +having tea with a friend; the friend was still there when I arrived. You +have been at home, in London, all day."</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "No, Mr. Burke."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Mr. Ford, also very gently indeed, "that perhaps Mrs. +Lonsdale is trying to shield some one."</p> + +<p>Until that instant Bessie Lonsdale had no plan. She had only known that +she could not go with them to Homebury St. Mary, there to be recognized. +But something in the suggestion of Mr. Ford—in the tone, perhaps, more +than the words—caused her to say, looking from one to the other of +these two men so lately strangers to her:</p> + +<p>"I wonder—I wonder if I could make you understand!"</p> + +<p>They begged her to believe that that was the thing they wished most to +do.</p> + +<p>"I did it"—she paused, and forced herself to go on—"because of my +daughter."</p> + +<p>Intent upon her truth, she did not even see by the shocked expression of +their faces the awfulness of the thing they thought she confessed, and +the obviousness of the reason to which their minds had leaped.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke put out his hand again and laid it upon her arm, which +trembled slightly at his touch. "Mrs. Lonsdale," he said, and this time +he spoke even more gently, but more urgently, than before, "are you +<i>sure</i> you wish to tell?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Bessie Lonsdale, "but I've <i>got</i> to, don't you see?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Ford moved in his chair, and spoke, guarding his voice, judicially. +"Since we have gone so far, it will be even better, perhaps, for Mrs. +Lonsdale to tell it to us here."</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke nodded, and they looked toward her expectantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Lonsdale?" said Mr. Ford.</p> + +<p>An instant the brown-flecked eyes appeared to be searching for some +human contact which she seemed vaguely to have lost. And then she began +at the beginning—with her daughter's engagement to young Andrew McCrae, +her happiness, her security—and quietly, with only now and then a +slight tension of her body and her voice, she told it all to them, +exactly as it happened, without plea or embellishment. She had only one +stress, and that she tried to make reasonable to them—her child's +security.</p> + +<p>And they waited, attentive and patient, for the motive to emerge, for +the beginning of that complication between her daughter and Richard +Ayling, which they believed was to be the crux of her narrative.</p> + +<p>And as her story progressed their bewilderment increased, for never, it +appeared, had Bessie Lonsdale's daughter so much as heard of the +existence of the man who lay dead at Homebury inn. She seemed even to +make a special point of that.</p> + +<p>They thought she but put it off against the time when it should be +forced from her lips; but her story did not halt; she was telling it +step by step, accounting for every hour of the time.</p> + +<p>They waited for her to offer proof of the condition of Ayling's heart. +She did not mention it, except to say, when she came to relating the +moment of her discovery, that she had not thought of it; that even when +she opened the door of his room she did not think directly of his heart; +and only when she saw him actually lying there so peacefully dead did +she remember the danger in which he constantly lived. She seemed to +offer it as proof of the suddenness and completeness of her shock, and +in extenuation of the thing she afterward did.</p> + +<p>Slowly, gradually, as they listened, and as the light of her omissions +made it clear, it had begun to dawn upon them that Bessie Lonsdale was +telling the whole of the truth. And by it she sought to disprove +<i>something</i>, but not the thing they thought.</p> + +<p>She had paused, at the point of her flight, to attempt, a little +hopelessly, to make her impulse real to them. She spoke of the +inflexible honor of the McCraes, of the great respect which had for +generations attached to their name. Then suddenly, as if she saw the +utter hopelessness of making them understand, she seemed with a gesture +to give up abstractions and obscurities and to find in the depth of her +mother's heart the final simple words:</p> + +<p>"Don't you see?" she said. "I hadn't thought how my being there at the +same inn with Mr. Ayling would look—and then, all at once, it came over +me. The whole thing, how it would look to the world, how it would look +to the family of my daughter's fiancé,—and that it might mean the +breaking of the engagement,—the wreck of her future happiness—don't +you see—I didn't think of 'being a rotter'—I only thought of her!"</p> + +<p>They uttered, both of them, a sudden exclamation, as if they had been +struck. By their expressions one might have thought the woman the +accuser and the two men the accused.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mrs. Lonsdale—!" they both began at once, but she stopped +them with a gesture of her hand.</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you," she said, "I don't blame you. I <i>was</i> a rotter, to +run, but I simply didn't think of myself."</p> + +<p>Her tone, her gentleness, were the final proof. Only the innocent so +graciously forgive.</p> + +<p>"And now," she was saying, a great weariness in her voice, "I've told +you. Do you want me to go on? It isn't raining any more."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, Mr. Ford—" Mr. Burke began. A look passed between them, like +a question and an assent.</p> + +<p>"If you, Mr. Burke," said Mr. Ford, "will come on with me, I think we +can let your man drive Mrs. Lonsdale home. It will not be necessary for +her to appear."</p> + +<p>Bessie Lonsdale's thankfulness could find itself no words; it was lost +in that first moment in astonishment. She had not really expected them +to believe. It had not even, as she told it, seemed to her own ears +adequate.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Mr. Burke, seeing her silent so long, "that Mrs. +Lonsdale hasn't an idea of the seriousness of the charge she has +escaped."</p> + +<p>"Charge?" she repeated—"Charge?—" and without another word, Bessie +Lonsdale fainted in her chair. And as she lost consciousness she heard, +dim and far away, the voice of Mr. Ford reply: "That—the fact that she +<i>hadn't</i> an idea of it—and that alone, is why she <i>has</i> escaped."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"I'm perfectly sure," said Peggy Lonsdale, on Saturday afternoon, "that +you <i>did</i> let yourself have a dull time!" She was exploring the flat +before she had taken off her things, and had stopped to sit for a moment +on the arm of her mother's chair. "Anyway, mother dear, you didn't have +to think of me! That must have been a relief!"</p> + +<p>She put down her head and kissed her, and Bessie Lonsdale patted the +fragrant young cheek.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought of you occasionally," she said.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers.<br /> Copyright, 1921, by +Fleta Campbell Springer.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Out_of_Exile16" id="Out_of_Exile16"></a>OUT OF EXILE<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> WILBUR DANIEL STEELE</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Pictorial Review</i></h4> + + +<p>Among all the memories of my boyhood in Urkey Island the story of Mary +Matheson and the Blake boys comes back to me now, more than any other, +with the sense of a thing seen in a glass darkly. And the darkness of +the glass was my own adolescence.</p> + +<p>I know that now, and I'm sorry. I'm ashamed to find myself suspecting +that half of Mary Matheson's mature beauty in my eyes may have been +romance, and half the romance mystery, and half of that the unsettling +discovery that the other sex does not fade at seventeen and wither quite +away at twenty, as had been taken somehow for granted. I'm glad there is +no possibility of meeting her again as she was at thirty, and so making +sure: I shall wish to remember her as the boy of sixteen saw her that +night waiting in the dunes above the wreck of the "India ship," with +Rolldown Nickerson bleating as he fled from the small, queer casket of +polished wood he had flung on the sand, and the bridegroom peering out +of the church window, over the moors in Urkey Village.</p> + +<p>The thing began when I was too young to make much of it yet, a wonder of +less than seven days among all the other bright, fragmentary wonders of +a boy's life at six. Mainly I remember that Mary Matheson was a fool; +every one in Urkey Village was saying that.</p> + +<p>I can't tell how long the Blake boys had been courting her. I came too +late to see anything but the climax of that unbrotherly tournament, and +only by grace of the hundredth chance of luck did I witness even one act +of that.</p> + +<p>I was coming home one autumn evening just at dusk, loitering up the cow +street from the eastward where the big boys had been playing "Run, +Sheep, Run," and I watching from the vantage of Aunt Dee Nickerson's +hen-house and getting whacked when I told. And I had come almost to the +turning into Drugstore Lane when the sound of a voice fetched me up, all +eyes and ears, against the pickets of the Matheson place.</p> + +<p>It was the voice of my cousin Duncan, the only father I ever knew. He +was constable of Urkey Village, and there was something in the voice as +I heard it in the yard that told you why.</p> + +<p>"Drop it, Joshua! Drop it, or by heavens——!"</p> + +<p>Of Duncan I could see only the back, large and near. But the faces of +the others were plain to my peep-hole between the pickets, or as plain +as might be in the falling dusk. The sky overhead was still bright, but +the blue shadow of the bluff lay all across that part of the town, and +it deepened to a still bluer and cooler mystery under the apple-tree +canopy sheltering the dooryard. I never see that light to this day, a +high gloaming sifted through leaves on turf, without the faintest memory +of a shiver. For that was the first I had even known of anger, the still +and deadly anger of grown men.</p> + +<p>My cousin had spoken to Joshua Blake, and I saw that Joshua held a +pistol in his hand, the old, single-ball dueling weapon that had +belonged to his father. His face was white, and the pallor seemed to +refine still further the blade-like features of the Blake, the aquiline +nose, the sloping, patrician forehead, the narrow lip, blue to the +pressure of the teeth.</p> + +<p>That was Joshua. Andrew, his brother, stood facing him three or four +paces away. He was the younger of the two, the less favored, the more +sensitive.</p> + +<p>He had what no other Blake had had, a suspicion of freckle on his high, +flat cheek. And he had what no one else in Urkey had then, a brace of +gold teeth, the second and third to the left in the upper jaw, where Lem +White's boom had caught him, jibing off the Head. They showed now as the +slowly working lip revealed them, glimmering with a moist, dull sheen. +He, too, was white.</p> + +<p>His hands were empty, hanging down palms forward. But in his eyes there +was no look of the defenseless: only a light of passionate contempt.</p> + +<p>And between the two, and beyond them, as I looked, stood Mary, framed by +the white pillars of the doorway, her hands at her throat and her long +eyes dilated with a girl's fright more precious than exultation. So the +three remained in tableau while, as if on another planet, the dusk +deepened from moment to moment: Gramma Pilot, two yards away, brought +supper to her squealing sow; and further off, out on the waning mirror +of the harbor, a conch lowed faintly for some schooner's bait.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Drop it, Joshua!" Duncan's voice came loud and clear.</p> + +<p>And this time, following the hush, it seemed to exercise the devil of +quietude. I heard Mary's breath between her lips, and saw Andrew wheel +sharply to pick a scale from the tree-trunk with a thumb-nail. Joshua's +eyes went down to the preposterous metal in his hand; he shivered +slightly like a dreamer awakening and thrust it in his pocket. And then, +seeing Duncan turning toward the fence and me, I took the better part of +valor and ran, and saw no more.</p> + +<p>There were serious men in town that night when it was known what a pass +the thing had come to; men that walked and women that talked. It was all +Mary's fault. Long ago she ought to have taken one of them and "sent the +other packing." That's what Miah White said, sitting behind the stove in +our kitchen over the shop; that's what Duncan thought as he paced back +and forth, shaking his head. That's what they were all saying or +thinking as they sat or wandered about.</p> + +<p>Such are the difficulties of serious men. And even while it all went on, +Mary Matheson had gone about her choosing in the way that seemed fit to +youth. In the warm-lit publicity of Miss Alma Beedie's birthday-party, +shaking off so soon the memory of that brief glint of pistol-play under +the apple-trees, she took a fantastic vow to marry the one that brought +her the wedding-rin—promised with her left hand on Miss Beedie's +album and her right lifted toward the allegorical print of the Good +Shepherd that the one who, first across the Sound to the jeweler's at +Gillyport and back again, fetched her the golden-ring—that he should be +her husband "for better or for worse, till death us do part, and so +forth and so on, Amen!"</p> + +<p>And those who were there remembered afterwards that while Joshua stood +his ground and laughed and clapped with the best of them, his brother +Andrew left the house. They said his face was a sick white, and that he +looked back at Mary for an instant from the doorway with a curious, hurt +expression in his eyes, as if to say, "Is it only a game to you then? +And if it's only a game, is it worth the candle?" They remembered it +afterward, I say; long afterward.</p> + +<p>They thought he had gone out for just a moment; that presently he would +return to hold up his end of the gay challenge over the cakes and +cordial. But to that party Andrew Blake never returned. Their first hint +of what was afoot they had when Rolldown Nickerson, the beachcomber, +came running in, shining with the wet of the autumn gale that began that +night. He wanted Joshua to look out for his brother. Being innocent of +what had happened at the party, he thought Andrew had gone out of his +head.</p> + +<p>"Here I come onto him in the lee of White's wharf putting a compass into +the old man's sail-dory, and I says to him, 'What you up to, Andrew?' +And he says with a kind of laugh, 'Oh, taking a little sail for other +parts,' says he—like that. Now, just imagine, Josh, with this here +weather coming on—all hell bu'sting loose to the north'rd!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They say that there came a look into Joshua's eyes that none of them had +ever seen before. He stood there for a moment, motionless and silent, +and Rolldown, deceived by his attitude, was at him again.</p> + +<p>"You don't realize, man, or else you'd stop him!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll <i>stop</i> him!" It was hardly above a breath.</p> + +<p>"I'll <i>stop</i> him!" And throwing his greatcoat over his shoulders, Joshua +went out.</p> + +<p>You may believe that the house would not hold the party after that. +Whispering, giggling, shivering, the young people trooped down Heman +Street to the shore. And there, under the phantom light of a moon hidden +by the drift of storm-clouds, they found Andrew gone and all they saw of +Joshua was a shadow—a shadow in black frock-clothes—wading away from +them over the half-covered flats, deeper and deeper, to where the Adams +sloop rode at her moorings, a shade tailing in the wind. They called, +but he did not answer, and before they could do anything he had the sail +up, and he, too, was gone, into the black heart of the night.</p> + +<p>It is lonesome in the dark for a boy of six when the floor heaves and +the bed shivers and over his head the shingles make a sound in the wind +like the souls of all the lost men in the world. The hours from two till +dawn that night I spent under the table in the kitchen, where Miah White +and his brother Lem had come to talk with Duncan. And among the three of +them, all they could say was "My heavens! My heavens!" I say till dawn; +but our kitchen might have given on a city air-shaft for all the dawn we +got.</p> + +<p>It is hard to give any one who has lived always in the shelter of the +land an idea of the day that followed, hour by waiting hour—how folks +walked the beaches and did not look at each other in passing, and how +others, climbing the bluff to have a better sight of the waters beyond +the Head, found themselves blinded by the smother at fifty yards and yet +still continued to stare.</p> + +<p>Of them all, that day, Mary Matheson was the only one who kept still. +And she was as still as an image. Standing half-hidden in the untidy +nook behind the grocery, she remained staring out through the harbor +mists from dawn till another heavy night came down, and no one can say +whether she would have gone home then had not the appalled widow, her +mother, slipped down between the houses to take her.</p> + +<p>She was at home, at any rate, when Joshua Blake came back.</p> + +<p>After all that waiting and watching, no one saw him land on the +battered, black beach, for it was in the dead hour of the morning; of +the three persons who are said to have met him on his way to Mary's, two +were so tardy with their claims that a doubt has been cast on them. I do +believe, tho, that Mother Polly Freeman, the west-end midwife, saw him +and spoke with him in the light thrown from the drug-store window +(where, had I only known enough to be awake, I might have looked down on +them from my bed-room and got some fame of my own).</p> + +<p>She says she thought at first he was a ghost come up from the bottom of +the sea, with his clothes plastered thin to his body, weed in his hair, +and his face drawn and creased like fish-flesh taken too soon out of the +pickle. Afterward, when he spoke, she thought he was crazy.</p> + +<p>"I've got it!" he said, taking hold of her arm. Opening a blue hand he +held it out in the light for her to see the ring that had bitten his +palm with the grip. "See, I've got it, Mother Poll!" She says it was +hardly more than a whisper, like a secret, and that there was a look in +his eyes as if he had seen the Devil face to face.</p> + +<p>She meant to run when he let her go, but when she saw him striding off +toward Mary Matheson's her better wisdom prevailed; following along the +lane and taking shelter behind Gramma Pilot's fence, she waited, +watched, and listened, to the enduring gain of Urkey's sisterhood.</p> + +<p>She used to tell it well, Mother Poll. Remembering her tale now, I think +I can see the earth misting under the trees in the calm dawn, and hear +Joshua's fist pounding, pounding, on the panels of the door.</p> + +<p>It must have been queer for Mother Poll. For while she heard that hollow +pounding under the portico, like the pounding of a heart in some deep +bosom of horror—all the while she could see Mary herself in an upper +window—just her face resting on one cold, still forearm on the sill. +And her eyes, Mother Poll says, were enough to make one pity her.</p> + +<p>It was strange that she was so lazy, not to move or to speak in answer +while the summons of the triumphant lover went on booming through the +lower house. <i>He</i> must have wondered. Perhaps it was then that the +first shadow of the ghost of doubt crept over him, or perhaps it was +when, stepping out on the turf, he raised his eyes and discovered Mary's +face in the open window.</p> + +<p>He said nothing. But with a wide, uncontrolled gesture he held up the +ring for her to see. After a moment she opened her lips.</p> + +<p>"Where's Andrew?"</p> + +<p>That seemed to be the last straw: a feverish anger laid hold of him. +"Here's the ring! You see it! Damnation, Mary! You gave your word and I +took it, and God knows what I've been through. Now come! Get your things +on and bring your mother if you like—but to Minister Malden's you go +with me <i>now</i>! You hear Mary? I'll not wait!"</p> + +<p>"Where's Andrew?"</p> + +<p>"Andrew? Andrew? Why the devil do you keep on asking for Andrew? What's +<i>Andrew</i> to you—now?"</p> + +<p>"Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Mary, you're a fool!"</p> + +<p>Her voice grew if anything more monotonous; his, higher and wilder.</p> + +<p>"You're a fool," he cried again, "if you don't know where Andrew is."</p> + +<p>"He's gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone, yes! And how you can say it like that, so calm—God!"</p> + +<p>"I knew he was going," she said. "He told Rolldown he was going to other +parts. But I knew it before that—when he turned at the door and looked +at me, Joshua. He said it as plain: 'If <i>that's</i> love,' he said, 'then +I'm going off somewhere and forget it, and never come back to Urkey any +more.'"</p> + +<p>The deadness went out of her voice, and it lifted to another note. +"Joshua, he's got to come back, for I can't bear it. I gave you my word, +and I'll marry you—when Andrew comes back to stand at the wedding. He's +got to—<i>got</i> to!"</p> + +<p>Mother Poll said that Joshua stared at her—simply stood there and +stared up at her in the queer, cold dawn, his mouth hanging open as if +with a kind of horror. Sweat shone on his face. Turning away without a +word by and by he laid an uncertain course for the gate, and leaving it +open behind him went off through the vapors of the cow street to the +east.</p> + +<p>As they carried him along step by step, I think, the feet of the cheated +gambler grew heavier and heavier, his shoulders collapsed, the head, +with the memory in it he could never lose, hung down, and hell received +his soul.</p> + +<p>It is impossible in so short a space to tell what the next ten years did +to those two. It would have been easier for Mary Matheson in a city, for +in a city there is always the blankness of the crowd. In a village there +is no such blessed thing as a stranger, the membership committee of the +only club is the doctor and the midwife, and all the houses are made of +glass.</p> + +<p>In a city public opinion is mighty, but devious. In a village, +especially in an island village, it is as direct and violent as any "act +of God" written down in a ship's insurance papers. A word carries far +over the fences, and where it drops, like a swelling seed, a dozen words +spring up.</p> + +<p>"It's a shame, Milly, a living shame, as sure's you're alive."</p> + +<p>"You never said truer, Belle. As if 'twa'n't enough she should send Andy +to his death o' drownding——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope she's satisfied, what she's done for Joshua. I saw him to +the post-office last evening, and the hang-dog look of him——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw him, too. A man can't stand being made a fool of...."</p> + +<p>So, in the blue of a wash-day morning the words went winging back and +forth between the blossoming lines. Or, in a Winter dusk up to the +westward, where old Mrs. Paine scuttled about under the mackerel-twine +of her chicken-pen:</p> + +<p>"Land alive, it's all very well to talk Temp'rance, and I'm not denying +it'd be a mercy for some folks—I ain't mentioning no names—not even +Miah White's. But, land sakes how you going to talk Temp'rance to a man +bereft and be-fooled like Joshua Blake? Where's your rime-nor-reason? +Where's your argument?"</p> + +<p>Or there came Miah White himself up our outside stair on the darkest +evening of our Spring weather, and one glance at his crimson face was +enough to tell what all the Temperance they had preached to <i>him</i> had +come to. Miah turned to the bottle as another man might to prayer.</p> + +<p>"By the Lord!" he protested thickly. "Something's got to be done!"</p> + +<p>"Done? About what?" I remember my cousin peering curiously at him +through the smoke and spatter of the sausage he was frying.</p> + +<p>"About Josh, of course, and <i>her</i>. I tell you, Dunc, 'tain't right, and +I'll not bear it. I'll not see Josh, same as I seen him this night, +standing there in the dark of the outside beach and staring at the water +like a sleep-walker, staring and staring as if he'd stare right through +it and down to the bottom of the sea where his brother lay, and saying +to himself, <i>Who's to pay the bill? Who's to pay the bill?</i> No, siree! +You and I are young fellows, Dunc, but we ain't so young we can't +remember them boys' father, and I guess he done a thing or two for us, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Duncan agreed calmly. "But what's to be done?"</p> + +<p>"God knows! But look here, Dunc, you're constable, ain't you?"</p> + +<p>Duncan smiled pityingly, as if to say, "Don't be an idiot, Miah."</p> + +<p>"And if you're constable, and a man owns a bill he won't pay, why then +you've something to say in it, ain't I right? Well, here's a bill to +pay, fair and square. All this wool she'd pull over our eyes about +Andrew and the India ship—as if <i>that</i> made a mite of difference one +way or the other! No, siree, Dunc, she give her word to take the man +that fetched the ring—that man's Joshua—the bargain's filled on his +side—and there you are. Now, you're constable. I take it right, Duncan, +you should give that girl a piece of your mind; give her to understand +that, India ship yes, India ship no, she's got a bill to pay and a +man's soul to save from damnation everlasting."</p> + +<p>All Duncan could do with him that night was to smile and shake his head, +as much as to say, "You're a wild one, Miah, sure enough."</p> + +<p>About Mary's sullen, stubborn belief in the "India ship," pretended or +real as it may have been with her, but already growing legendary, I know +only in the largest and mistiest way.</p> + +<p>It is true there had been a ship that looked like an east-going clipper +in our waters on that fateful night. Every one had seen it before dark +came on, standing down from the north and laying a course to weather the +Head if possible before the weather broke. It was Mary's claim that +Andrew had pointed it out to her and spoken of it—in a strange way, a +kind of a wistful way, she said. And later that night, what better for a +man on the way to exile than a heaven-sent, outbound India ship, hove to +under the lee of the Head.</p> + +<p>Yes, yes, it was so—it <i>must</i> be so. And when they laughed at her in +Urkey Village and winked sagely at her assumption of faith, then she +asked them to tell her one thing: had any one's eyes seen Andrew's boat +go down—actually.</p> + +<p>"If Joshua will answer me, and say that he <i>knows</i> Andrew went down! Or +if any of you will tell me that Andrew's body ever came ashore on any of +the islands or the main!"</p> + +<p>It was quite absurd, of course, but none of them could answer that, none +but Miah White, and he only when he had had a drop out of the bottle and +perceived that it weighed not an ounce in either scale.</p> + +<p>Picked out so and written down, you would think this drama overshadowed +all my little world. Naturally it didn't. You must remember I was a boy, +with a thousand other things to do and a million other things to think +of, meals to eat, lessons to hate, stones to throw, apples to steal, +fights to fight. I take my word that by the time I was nine or ten the +whole tragic episode had gone out of my head. Meeting Mary Matheson on +the street, where she came but rarely, she was precisely as mysterious +and precisely as uninteresting as any other grown-up. And if I saw +Joshua Blake (who, pulling himself by the bootstraps out of drink and +despair, had gone into Mr. Dow's law-office and grown as hard as +nails)—if I saw him, I say, my only romantic thought of him was the +fact that I had broken his wood-shed window, and that, with an air of +sinister sagacity, he had told several boys he knew who the culprit was. +(A statement, by the way, which I believed horribly for upward of +eighteen months.)</p> + +<p>I believe that we knew, in a dim sort of way, that the two were +"engaged," just as we knew, vaguely, that they never got married. And +that was the end of speculation. Having always been so, the phenomenon +needed no more to be dwelt on than the fact that when the wind was in +the east John Dyer thought he was Oliver Cromwell, or that Minister +Malden did not live with his family.</p> + +<p>John Dyer had been taken beyond the power of any planetary wind; +Minister Malden (as I have told in another place) had gone back to live +with his family: and I had been away to Highmarket Academy for two +years, before I had sudden and moving reason to take stock of that +long-buried drama.</p> + +<p>It was three days after I had come home for the long vacation, and, +being pretty well tired out with sniffing about the island like a cat +returned to the old house, I sprawled at rest on the "Wreck of the +Lillian" stone in the graveyard on Rigg's Dome.</p> + +<p>It was then, as the dusk crept up from the shadow under the bluff, that +I became aware of another presence among the gravestones and turned my +head to peer through the barberries that hedged the stone, thinking it +might be one of the girls. It was only Mary Matheson. Vaguely +disappointed, I should have returned my gaze to the sea and forgotten +her had it not been for two things.</p> + +<p>One of them was her attitude. That made me keep on looking at her, and +so looking at her, and having come unwittingly to a most obscurely +unsettled age, I made a discovery. This was that Mary Matheson, at the +remote age of thirty, had a deeper and fuller beauty than had any of +the girls for whose glances I brushed my hair wet and went to midweek +prayer-meeting.</p> + +<p>I find it hard to convey the profound, revolutionary violence of this +discovery. It is enough to say that, along with a sensation of pinkness, +there came a feeling of obscure and unreasoning bitterness against the +world.</p> + +<p>My eyes had her there, a figure faintly rose-colored against the +deepening background of the sea. She stood erect and curiously still +beside a grave, her hands clenched, her eyes narrowed. In Urkey they +always put up a stone for a man lost at sea; very often they went +further for the comfort of their souls and mounded the outward likeness +of an inward grave. Well, that was Andrew's stone and Andrew's grave. +Some one in the Memorial Day procession last week had laid a wreath of +lilacs under the stone. And now, wandering alone, Mary Matheson had come +upon it.</p> + +<p>I saw her bend and with a fierce gesture catch up the symbol of death +and fling it behind her on the grass. Afterward, as she stood there with +her breast heaving and her lips moving as if with pain, I knew I should +not be where I was, watching; I knew that no casual ears of mine should +hear the cry that came out of her heart:</p> + +<p>"No, No, No! They're still trying to kill him—still trying to kill +him—all of them! But they sha'n't! They sha'n't!"</p> + +<p>I tell you it shook me and it shamed me. I thought I ought to cough or +scuff my feet or something, but it seemed too late for that. Moreover +the play had taken another turn that made me forget the moralities, +quite, and another actor had come quietly upon the scene.</p> + +<p>I can't say whether Joshua, seeing Mary on her way to the Dome, had +followed her, or whether he had been strolling that way on his own +account. He was there, at all events, watching her from beyond the +grave, his head slightly inclined, his hands clasped behind him, and his +feet apart on the turf. The color of dusk lent a greenish cast to his +bloodless face, and the night wind, coming up free over the naked curve +of the Dome and flappin the long black tails of his coat, seemed but +to accentuate the dead weight of his attitude.</p> + +<p>When a minute had gone by I heard his dry voice.</p> + +<p>"So, Mary, you're at it again?"</p> + +<p>"But they sha-n-t!" She seemed to take flame. "It's not right to Andrew +nor me. They do it just to mock me, and I know it, and oh! I don't care, +but they sha'n't, they sha'n't!"</p> + +<p>"Mary," said Joshua, all the smoldering anger of the years coming in his +voice, "Mary, I think it's time you stopped being a fool. We've all had +enough of it, Mary. Andrew is dead."</p> + +<p>She turned on him with a swift, ironical challenge.</p> + +<p>"You say it <i>now</i>? You <i>know</i> now? Perhaps you've just made sure; +perhaps you've seen his body washed up on one of the beaches—just +to-day? Or then why so tardy, Joshua? If you <i>knew</i>, why couldn't you +say it in so many words ten years ago—five years ago? <i>Why</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Because——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, because? Because?" There was something incredibly ruthless, +tiger-like, about this shadow-dwelling woman. "Say it now, Joshua; that +you know of a certainty Andrew went down. I dare you again!"</p> + +<p>Joshua said it.</p> + +<p>"I know of a certainty Andrew went down that night."</p> + +<p>"<i>How</i> do you know? Did you <i>see him go down</i>? Tell me that!"</p> + +<p>For a moment, for more than a long moment, her question hung unanswered +in the air. And as, straining forward, poised, vibrant, she watched him, +she saw the hard, dry mask he had made for himself through those years +grow flabby and white as dough; she saw the eyes widening and the lips +going loose with the memory he had never uttered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he cried in a loud voice. "You bring me to it, do you?" The man +was actually shaking. "Yes, then, I saw Andrew go down that night. I +heard him call in the dark. I saw his face on the water. I saw his hand +reaching up as the wave brought him by—reaching up to me. I could +almost touch it—but not quite. If you knew what the sea was that night, +and the wind; how lonely, how dark! God! And here I stand and say it out +loud! I couldn't reach his hand—not quite.... I've told you now, Mary, +what I swore I'd never tell.... <i>Damn you</i>!"</p> + +<p>With that curse he turned unsteadily on his heel and left her. The +shadows among the gravestones down hill laid hands on his broken, +shambling figure, and he became a shadow. Once the shadow stumbled. And +as if that distant, awkward act had aroused Mary from a kind of +lethargy, she broke forward a step, reaching out her arms.</p> + +<p>"Joshua!" she called to him, "Joshua, Joshua, come back!"</p> + +<p>In the last faint light from the sky where stars began to come, her face +was wet with tears of pity and repentance; pity for the man who had +walled himself in with that memory; repentance for the sin of her +blindness.</p> + +<p>"Joshua!" she called again, but he did not seem to hear.</p> + +<p>It was too much for me. Feeling more shame than I can tell, and with it +a new gnawing bitterness of jealousy, I sneaked out of hiding by the +"Lillian" stone and down the Dome toward the moors.</p> + +<p>"Good Grandmother!" I know I grew redder and redder as I walked. "I hope +I don't have to see <i>her</i> again—the old thing!"</p> + +<p>But I did, and that before many minutes had elapsed. For fetching back +into the village by the ice-house and the back-side track, I was almost +in collision with a hurrying shade in the dark under Dow's willows. It +was Mary. I shall not forget the queer moment of suspense as she peered +into my face, nor the touch of her fingers on my arm, nor the sigh.</p> + +<p>"Oh—you're—you're the Means boy."</p> + +<p>An embarrassment, pathetic only now in memory, came upon her.</p> + +<p>"I—I wonder——" Her confusion grew more painful and her eyes went +everywhere in the dark. "You don't happen to have seen any +one—any—you haven't seen Mr. Blake, have you?"</p> + +<p>"No!" I shook off the hand that still lay, as if forgotten, on my +outraged arm. "What you want of <i>him</i>? <i>He's</i> no good!"</p> + +<p>With that shot for parting I turned and stalked away. Behind me after a +moment, I heard her cry of protest, dismal beyond words.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that, boy? What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>Having meant nothing at all, except that I would have slain him gladly, +I kept my bitter peace and held my way to the westward, leaving her to +find her way and her soul in the blind, black shadows under the +willow-trees.</p> + +<p>No one who lived in Urkey Village then will forget the day it was known +that Mary Matheson was going to marry Joshua Blake, at last. An isolated +village is like an isolated person, placid-looking to dullness, but in +reality almost idiotically emotional. More than anything else, when the +news had run, it was like the camp-meeting conversion of a simple soul. +First, for the "conviction of sin," there was the calling-up of all the +dark, forgotten history, the whispered refurbishing of departed gossip, +the ghosts of old angers. Then like the flood of Mercy, the assurance +that all was well, having ended well. Everything was forgiven and +forgotten, every one was to live happily ever after, and there must be a +wedding.</p> + +<p>Surely a wedding! The idea that Minister Malden should come quietly to +the house and so have it done without pomp or pageantry—it is laughable +to think how that notion fared at the hands of an aroused village. +Flowers there were to be, processions, veils, cakes, rice, boots, all +the properties dear to the heart of the Roman mob. In the meantime there +was to be a vast business of runnings and stitchings, of old women +beating eggs and sifting flour, of schoolgirls writing "MARY BLAKE" on +forbidden walls with stolen chalk. Dear me!</p> + +<p>You might think Mary and Joshua would have rebelled. Curiously, they +seemed beyond rebelling. Joshua, especially, was a changed man. His old, +hard mask was gone; the looseness of his lips had come to stay, and the +wideness of his eyes. One could only think that happiness long-deferred +had come under him like a tide of fate on which he could do no more than +drift and smile. He smiled at every one, a nervous, deprecatory smile; +to every proposal he agreed: "All right! Splendid! Let's have it done—" +And one got the sense somehow of the thought running on: "—right away! +Make haste, if you please. Haste! For God's sake, haste!"</p> + +<p>If he were hailed on the street, especially from behind, his eyes came +to the speaker with a jerk, and sometimes his hand went to his heart. +Seeing him so one bright day, and hearing two old men talking behind me, +I learned for the first time that the Blake boys' father had died of +heart-disease. It is odd that it should have come on Joshua now, quite +suddenly, along with his broken mask and his broken secret, his +frightened smile, and his, "All right! Splendid!"—("Make haste!")</p> + +<p>But so it was. And so we came to the day appointed. We had a dawn as red +as blood that morning, and tho it was clear, there was a feeling of +oppression in the air—and another oppression of people's spirits. For +the bride's party had the "hack," and Mrs. Dow had spoken for the only +other polite conveyance, the Galloway barge, and what was to come of all +the fine, hasty gowns in case it came on for a gale or rain?</p> + +<p>Is it curious that here and there in that hurrying, waiting afternoon a +thought would turn back to another day when a storm was making and a +tall ship standing down to weather the Head? For if there was a menace +of weather to-day, so, too, was there a ship. We seemed to grow +conscious of it by degrees, it drew on so slowly out of the broad, blue, +windless south. For hours, in the early afternoon, it seemed scarcely to +move on the mirroring surface of the sea. Yet it did move, growing +nearer and larger, its huge spread of canvas hanging straight as +cerecloth on the poles, and its wooden flanks, by and by, showing the +scars and rime of a long voyage put behind it.</p> + +<p>Yes, it seems to me it would have been odd, as our eyes went out in the +rare leisure moments of that afternoon and fell upon that presence, worn +and strange and solitary within the immense ring of the horizon, if +there had not been somewhere among us some dim stirring of memory, and +of wonder. Not too vivid, perhaps; not strong enough perhaps to outlast +the ship's disappearance. For at about five o'clock the craft, which had +been standing for the Head, wore slowly to port, and laying its course +to fetch around the western side of the island, drifted out of our sight +beyond the rampart of the bluffs.</p> + +<p>Why it should have done that, no man can say. Why, in the face of coming +weather, the ship should have abandoned the clear course around the Head +and chosen instead to hazard the bars and rips that make a good three +miles to sea from Pilot's Point in the west—why this hair-brained +maneuver should have been attempted will always remain a mystery.</p> + +<p>But at least that ship was gone from our sight, and by so much out of +our minds. And this was just as well, perhaps, for our minds had enough +to take them up just then with all the things overlooked, chairs to +fetch, plants to borrow, girls' giggling errands—and in the very midst +of this eleventh-hour hub-bub, the sudden advent of storm.</p> + +<p>What a catastrophe that was! What a voiceless wail went up in that hour +from all the bureaus and washstands in the length of Urkey Village! And +how glad I was! With what a poisonous joy did I give thanks at the +window for every wind-driven drop that spoiled by so much the wedding of +a woman nearly twice my age!</p> + +<p>The lamps on the street were yellow blurs, and the wind was full of +little splashings and screechings and blowing of skirts and wraps when I +set out alone for Center Church, wishing heartily I might never get +there. That I didn't is the only reason this story was ever told. Not +many got there that night (of the men, that is), or if they did they +were not to stay long, for something bigger than a wedding was afoot.</p> + +<p>The first wind I had of it crossed my path at Heman Street, a huge +clattering shadow that turned out to be Si Pilot's team swinging at a +watery gallop toward the back-side track, and the wagon-body full of +men. I saw their faces as they passed under the Heman Street lamp, James +Burke, Fred Burke, Sandy Snow, half a dozen other surfmen home for the +Summer from the Point station, and Captain Cook himself hanging on to +Sandy's shoulder as he struggled to get his Sunday blacks wriggled into +his old, brown oil-cloths. In a wink they were gone, and I, forgetting +the stained lights of Center Church, was gone after them. Nor was I +alone. There were a dozen shades pounding with me; at the cow street we +were a score. I heard the voices of men I couldn't see.</p> + +<p>"Aground? Where to?"</p> + +<p>"On the outer bar; south'rd end of the outer bar they tell me."</p> + +<p>The voices came and went, whipped by the wind.</p> + +<p>"What vessel'd you say? Town craft?"</p> + +<p>"No—that ship."</p> + +<p>"What? Not that—that—<i>India ship</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Yep—that India ship."</p> + +<p>"India ship"—"India ship!" I don't know how it seemed to them, but to +me the sound of that legendary name, borne on the gale, seemed strangely +like the shadow of some one coming cast across a stage.</p> + +<p>I'll not use space to tell how I got across the island; it would be only +the confused tale of an hour that seems but a minute now. I lost the +track somewhere short of Si Pilot's place, and wading the sand to the +west came out on the beach, without the slightest notion of where I was.</p> + +<p>I only know it was a majestic and awful place to be alone; majestic with +the weight of wind and the rolling thunder of water; the more awful +because I could not see the water itself, save for the rare gray ghost +of a tongue licking swiftly up the sand to catch at my feet if I did +not spring away in time. Once a mother of waves struck at me with a +huge, dim timber; I dodged it, I can't say how, and floundered on to the +south, wondering as I peered over my shoulder at the dark if already the +ship had broken, and if that thing behind me were one of the ribs come +out of her.</p> + +<p>That set me to thinking of all the doomed men near me clinging to +slippery things they couldn't see, cursing perhaps, or praying their +prayers, or perhaps already sliding away, down and down, into the cold, +black caves of the sea. And then the shadows seemed to be full of +shades, and the surf-tongues were near to catching my inattentive feet.</p> + +<p>If the hour across the island seems a minute, the time I groped along +the beach seems nights on end. And then one of the shades turned solid, +and I was in such a case I had almost bolted before it spoke and I knew +it for Rolldown Nickerson, the beachcomber.</p> + +<p>He was a good man in ways. But you must remember his business was a +vulture's business, and something of it was in his soul. It came out in +good wrecking weather. On a night when the bar had caught a fine piece +of profit, I give you my word you could almost see Rolldown's neck +growing longer and nakeder with suspense. He would have made more of his +salvaging had he carried a steadier head: in the rare, golden moments of +windfall he sometimes failed to pick and choose. Even now he was loaded +down with a dim collection of junk he had grabbed up in the dark, things +he knew nothing of, empty bottles and seine-floats, rubbish he had +probably passed by a hundred times in his daylight rounds. The saving +circumstance was that he kept dropping them in his ardor for still other +treasures his blind feet stumbled on. I followed in his wake and I know, +for half a dozen times his discards got under my feet and sent me +staggering. Once, moved by some bizarre, thousandth chance of curiosity, +I bent and caught one up in passing.</p> + +<p>Often and often since then I have wondered what would have happened to +the history of the world of my youth if I had not been moved as I was, +and bent quite carelessly in passing, and caught up what I did.</p> + +<p>Still occupied with keeping my guide in eye, I took stock of the thing +with idle fingers; in the blackness my finger-tips were all the eyes I +had for so small a thing. It was about the size of a five-pound butter +box, I should say; it seemed as it lay in my hand a sort of an old and +polished casket, a thing done with an exotic artistry, broad, lacquered +surfaces and curves and bits of intricate carving. And I thought it was +empty till I shook it and felt the tiny impact of some chambered weight. +Already the thing had taken my interest. Catching up I touched +Rolldown's arm and shouted in his ear, over the roll of the wind and +surf:</p> + +<p>"What you make of this, Rolldown?"</p> + +<p>He took it and felt it over, dropping half his rubbish in the act. He +shook it. It seemed to me I could see his neck growing longer.</p> + +<p>"Got somethin' into it," he rumbled.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. Now let me have it back, Rolldown."</p> + +<p>"Somethin' hefty," he continued, and I noticed he had dropped the rest +of his treasures now and clung to that. "Somethin' hefty—and valu'ble!"</p> + +<p>"But it's mine, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"'Tain't neither! 'Tain't neither!"</p> + +<p>He was walking faster all the while to shake me off, and I to keep with +him; our angry voices rose higher in the gale.</p> + +<p>I can't help smiling now when I think of the innocent pair of us that +night, puffing along the sand in the blind, wet wind, squabbling like +two children over that priceless unseen casket, come up from the waters +of the sea.</p> + +<p>"It's mine!" I bawled, "and you give it to me!" And I grabbed at his arm +again. But this time, letting out a squeal, he shook me off and fled +inshore, up the face of the dune, and I not far behind him.</p> + +<p>And so, pursued and pursuing, we came suddenly over a spur of the dunes +and saw below us on the southward beach the drift-fire the life-savers +had made. There were many small figures in the glow, a surf-boat hauled +up, I think, and a pearly huddle of alien men.</p> + +<p>But on none of this could I take my oath; my thoughts had been jerked +back too abruptly to all the other, forgotten drama of that night, the +music and the faces in Center Church, the flowers, the bridegroom, and +the bride.</p> + +<p>For there on the crest before me, given in silhouette against the +fire-glow, stood the bride.</p> + +<p>How she came there, by what violence or wild stratagem she had got away, +what blind path had brought her, a fugitive, across the island—it was +all beyond me. But no matter; there she stood before me on the dune at +Pilot's Point, as still as a lost statue, tulle and satin, molded by the +gale, sheathing her form in low relief like shining marble, her +stone-quiet hands at rest on her unstirring bosom, her face set toward +the invisible sea.... It was queer to see her like that: dim, you know; +just shadowed out in mystery by the light that came a long way through +the streaming darkness and died as it touched her.</p> + +<p>Peering at her, the strangest thought came to me, and it seemed to me +she must have been standing there just so, not for minutes, but for +hours and days; yes, standing there all the length of those ten long +years, erect on a seaward dune, unmoved by the wild, moving elements, +broken water, wailing wind, needle-blown sand—as if her spirit had +flown on other business, leaving the quiet clay to wait and watch there +till the tides of fate, turning in their appointed progress, should +bring back the fabled ship of India to find its grave on the bars at +Pilot's Point.</p> + +<p>She must have been all ready to go to the church; perhaps she was +actually on her way, and it was on the wind of the cow street that the +blown tidings of the "India ship" came to her ears. I can't tell you how +I was moved by the sight of her in the wistful ruin of bride's-clothes. +I can't say what huge, disordered purposes tumbled through my brain as I +stood there trying to cough or stir or by some such infinitesimal +violence let her know that I, Peter Means, was there—that I +understood—that I was stronger than all the men in Urkey Island—that +over my dead body alone should any evil come to her now, forever and +ever and ever.</p> + +<p>As I tell you, I don't know what would have happened then, with all my +wild, dark projects of defense, had not the whole house of trance come +tumbling about my ears to the tune of a terrified bleating close at +hand. It was Rolldown Nickerson, I saw as I wheeled; my forgotten enemy, +flinging down the precious old brown casket he had robbed me of, and, +still giving vent to that thin, high note of horror, careening, sliding, +and spattering off down the sandslope. And as he vanished and his wail +grew fainter around a shoulder of the dune, another sound came also to +my ears. It was plain that his blind gallop had brought him in collision +with another denizen of the night; the protesting outburst came on the +wind, and it was the voice of Miah White—Miah the prophet, the avenger, +drunk as a lord and mad as one exalted.</p> + +<p>There was no time for thought; I didn't need it to know what he was +after. Mary had heard, too, and knew, too; it was as if she had been +awakened from sleep, and her eyes were "enough to make one pity her," in +the old words of Mother Poll. Seeing them on me, and without so much as +a glance at the casket-thing which the roll of the sand had brought to +rest near her feet, I turned and ran at the best of my legs, down the +sand, around the dune's shoulder out of sight, and fairly into the arms +of the angel of vengeance. I can still see the dim gray whites of his +eyes as he glared at me, and smell the abomination of his curse. But I +paid no heed; only made with a struggle to go on.</p> + +<p>"This way!" I panted. "To the north'rd! She's heading to the north'rd. I +saw her dress just there, just now——"</p> + +<p>A little was enough to turn him. As I plunged on, making inland, I heard +him trailing me with his ponderous, grunting flesh. His ardor was +greater than mine; as we ran I heard his thick voice coming nearer and +nearer to my ear.</p> + +<p>"'She shall come back,' says I, 'with the hand of iron,' says I."</p> + +<p>As always in this exalted state his phraseology grew Biblical.</p> + +<p>"'Thou shalt stay here,'" I heard him grunting. "'Here to the church +thou shalt stay, Joshua,' says I. 'And she shalt come back with the hand +of iron—the hand of iron!'"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" I puffed. "That's right, Miah; only hurry. <i>There!</i>" I cried.</p> + +<p>The rain had lessened, and a rising moon cast a ghost through the wrack, +just enough to let us glimpse a figure topping a rise before us. That it +was no one but Rolldown, still fleeing the mystery and bleating as he +fled, made no difference to the blurred eyes of Miah; he dug his toes +into the sand and flung forward in still hotter chase—after a +still-faster-speeding quarry.</p> + +<p>I'll tell you where we caught Rolldown. It was before the church, within +the very outpouring of the colored windows. When Miah discovered who his +blowing captive was his rage, for a moment, was something to remember. +Then it passed and left him blank and dreary with defeat. The +beachcomber himself, pale as putty through his half-grown beard, was +beseeching us from the pink penumbra of the Apostle Paul: "You seen it? +You seen what I seen?" but Miah wouldn't hear him, and mounting the +steps and passing dull-footed through the vestry, came into the veiled +light and heavy scent of breath and flowers. Following at his heels I +saw the faces of women turned to our entrance with expectation.</p> + +<p>Do you know the awful sense of a party that has fallen flat? Do you know +the desolation of a hope long deferred—once more deferred?</p> + +<p>Joshua was standing in the farthest corner, beyond the pews where Miss +Beedie's Sunday School class held. Looking across the sea of inquiring +and disappointed faces, I saw him there, motionless, his back turned on +all of us. He had been standing so for an hour, they said, staring out +of a window at his own shadow cast on the churchyard fence.</p> + +<p>It was a distressing moment. When Miah had sunk down in a rear pew and +bowed his head in his hands I really think you could have heard the +fall of the proverbial pin. Then, with a scarcely audible rustle, all +the faces became the backs of heads and all the eyes went to the figure +unstirring by the corner window. And after that, with the same accord, +the spell of waiting was broken, whispering ran over the pews, the +inevitable was accepted. Folks got up, shuffling their feet, putting on +their wraps with the familiar, mild contortions, still whispering, +whispering—"What a shame!"—"The idea!"—"I want to know!"</p> + +<p>But some among them must have been still peeping at Joshua, for the hush +that fell was sudden and complete. Turning, I saw that he had turned +from the window at last, showing us his face.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now we knew what he had been doing for himself in that long hour. His +face was once more the mask of a face we had known so many years as +Joshua Blake, dry, bitter, self-contained, the eyes shaded under the +lids, the lips as thin as hate. He faced us, but it was not at us he +looked; it was beyond us, over our heads, at the corner where the door +was.</p> + +<p>There, framed in the doorway, stood the tardy bride, a figure as white +and stark as pagan stone, and a look on her face like the awful, +tranquil look of a sleep-walker. Neither did she pay any heed to us, but +over our heads she met the eyes of the bridegroom. So for a long breath +they confronted each other, steadily. Then we heard her speak.</p> + +<p>"He's come!" she said in a clear voice. "Andrew's come back again."</p> + +<p>Still she looked at Joshua. He did not move or reply.</p> + +<p>"You understand?" I tell you, I who stood under it, that it was queer +enough to hear that voice, clear, strong, and yet somehow shattered, +passing over our heads. "You understand, Joshua? Andrew's come back to +the wedding, and now I'll marry you—<i>if you wish</i>."</p> + +<p>Even yet Joshua did not speak, nor did the dry anger of his face change. +He came walking, taking his time, first along the pews at the front, +then up the length of the aisle. Coming down a few steps, Mary waited +for him, and there was a kind of a smile now on her lips.</p> + +<p>Joshua halted before her. Folding his hands behind him he looked her +over slowly from head to foot.</p> + +<p>"You lie!" That was all he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Joshua. I'm not lying. Andrew has come for the wedding."</p> + +<p>"You lie," he repeated in the same impassive tone. "You know I know you +lie, Mary, for you know I know that Andrew is dead."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—" She was fumbling to clear a damp fold of her gown from +something held in the crook of her arm. "But I didn't say——"</p> + +<p>With that she had the burden uncovered and held forth in her +outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>She held it out in the light where all of us could see—the thing +Rolldown had discarded from his treasures, that I had picked up and been +robbed of in the kindly dark—the old brown casket-thing with the +polished surfaces and the bits of intricate and ghastly carvings that +had once let in the light of day and the sound of words—the old, brown, +sea-bitten, sand-scoured skull of Andrew Blake, with the two gold teeth +in the upper jaw dulled by the tarnishing tides that had brought it up +slowly from its bed in the bottom of the sea. And to think that I had +carried it, and felt of it, and not known what it was!</p> + +<p>It lay there supine in the nest of Mary's palm, paying us no heed +whatever, but fixing its hollow regard on the shadows among the rafters. +And Joshua, the brother, made no sound.</p> + +<p>His face had gone a curious color, like the pallor of green things +sprouting under a stone. His knees caved a little under his weight, and +as we watched we saw his hands moving over his own breast, where the +heart was, with a strengthless gesture, like a caress. After what seemed +a long while we heard his voice, a whisper of horrible fascination.</p> + +<p>"<i>Turn it over!</i>"</p> + +<p>Mary said nothing, nor did she move to do as he bade. Like some awful +play of a cat with a mouse she held quiet and watched him.</p> + +<p>"Mary—do as I say—<i>and turn it over</i>!"</p> + +<p>Her continued, unanswering silence seemed finally to rouse him. His +voice turned shrill. Drawing on some last hidden reservoir of strength, +he cried, "Give it to me! It's mine!" and made an astonishing dart, both +hands clawing for the relic. But my cousin Duncan was there to step in +his way and send him carroming along the fringe of the crowd.</p> + +<p>The queer fellow didn't stop or turn or try again; sending up all the +while the most unearthly cackle of horror my ears have ever heard, he +kept right on through the door and the packed vestry, clawing his way to +the open with that brief gift of vitality.</p> + +<p>It was so preposterous and so ghastly to see him carrying on so, with +his white linen and his fine black wedding-clothes and the gray hair +that would have covered a selectman's head in another year—it was all +so absurdly horrible that we simply stood as we were in the church and +wondered and looked at Mary Matheson and saw her face still rapt and +quiet, and still set in that same bedevilled smile, as if she didn't +know that round tears were running in streams down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Let him go," was all she said.</p> + +<p>They didn't let him go for too long a time, for they had seen the stamp +of death on the man's face. When they looked for him finally they found +him lying in a dead huddle on the grass by Lem White's gate. I shall +never forget the look of him in the lantern-light, nor the look of them +that crowded around and stared down at him—Duncan, I remember, +puzzled—Miah cursing God—and three dazed black men showing the whites +of their eyes, strange negroes being brought in from the wreck: for the +ship was no India ship after all, but a coffee carrier from Brazil.</p> + +<p>But seeing Miah made me remember that long-forgotten question that the +lips of this dead man had put to the deaf sea and the blind sky.</p> + +<p>"Who is to pay the bill? Who is to pay the bill?"</p> + +<p>Well, two of the three had helped to pay the bill now for a girl's +light-hearted word. But I think the other has paid the most, for she has +had longer to meet the reckoning. She still lives there alone in the +house on the cow street. She is an old woman now, but there's not so +much as a line on her face nor a thread of white in her hair, and that's +bad. That's always bad. That's something like the thing that happened to +the Wandering Jew. Yes, I'm quite sure Mary has paid.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But I am near to forgetting the answer to it all. I hadn't so long to +wait as most folks had—no longer than an hour of that fateful night. +For when I got home to our kitchen I found my cousin Duncan already +there, with the lamp lit. I came in softly on account of the lateness, +and that's how I happened to surprise him and glimpse what he had before +he could get it out of sight.</p> + +<p>I don't know yet how he came by it, but there on the kitchen table lay +the skull of Andrew Blake. When I took it, against his protest, and +turned it over, I found what Joshua had meant—a hole as clean and round +as a gimlet-bore in the bulge at the back of the head. And when, +remembering the faint, chambered impact I had felt in shaking the +unknown treasure on the beach, I peeped in through the round hole, I +made out the shape of a leaden slug nested loosely between two points of +bone behind the nose—a bullet, I should say, from an old, single-ball +dueling pistol—such a pistol as Joshua Blake had played with in the +shadow of apple-trees on that distant afternoon, and carried in his +pocket, no doubt, to the warm-lit gaiety of Alma Beedie's birthday +party....</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Copyright, 1919, by The Pictorial Review Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by Wilbur Daniel Steele.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Three_Telegrams17" id="The_Three_Telegrams17"></a>THE THREE TELEGRAMS<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> ETHEL STORM</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Ladies' Home Journal</i></h4> + + +<p>For two years Claire René's days had been very much alike. It was a dull +routine, full of heavy tasks, in the tiny crumbling house, in the +shrunken garden patch, and grand'mère—there was always grand'mère to +care for. Often in the afternoon Claire René wandered in the forest for +an hour. She was used to the silence of the tall trees; the silence in +the house frightened her. All the people in her land were gone away; the +great noise beyond had taken them. Sometimes the noise had stopped, but +the silence in the house, the silence in the garden, and the silence of +grand'mère never stopped. It was hard for Claire René to understand.</p> + +<p>There was no one left in her land except grand'mère and Jacques. Jacques +lived in the forest and cut wood; in the summer time he shot birds, in +the winter time rabbits; Jacques was a very old man.</p> + +<p>Claire René thought about a great many things when she walked in the +forest in the afternoons. She wondered how old she was. She knew that +she had been seven years old when her three brothers went away a long +time before. She would like to have another birthday, some day, but not +until Clément and Fernand and Alphonse came home again. Then they would +laugh as they used to laugh on her birthdays, and catch her up in their +big, strong arms, and kiss her and call her "Dear little sister." +Clément was the biggest and strongest of all; sometimes he would run off +with her on his back into the forest, and the others would follow +running and calling; and then at the end of the chase the three +brothers would make a throne of their brown, firm hands and carry Claire +René back to the door of the tiny house, where grand'mère would be +waiting and scolding and smiling and ruddy of cheek. Grand'mère never +scolded any more; she never smiled, and her cheeks were like dried figs.</p> + +<p>Claire René didn't often let herself think of the day that such a +dreadful thing had happened. Many days after Clément and Fernand and +Alphonse had gone away, grand'mère had started to walk to the nearest +town four miles distant. She was gone for hours and hours; Claire René +had watched for her from the doorway until dusk had begun to fall; the +dusk had been a queer color, thick and blue; a terrible noise had filled +the air. Then the child remembered that her three brothers had told her +that they were going away to kill rabbits—like Jacques. At the time she +thought it strange that they had cried about killing rabbits. But when +she heard such a thunder of noise she knew it must be a very great work +indeed.</p> + +<p>She was just wondering how there could be so many rabbits in the world, +when she saw an old, bent woman coming through the garden gate. It was +grand'mère; Jacques was leading her; she was making a strange noise in +her throat, and her eyes were closed. Jacques had stayed in the house +all the night, looking at grand'mère, lying on the bed with her eyes +closed. In the morning, Claire René had spoken to her, but she hadn't +answered. After days and days she walked from her bed to a chair by the +window. She never again did any more than that; grand'mère was +blind—and she was deaf.</p> + +<p>Jacques explained how it all happened; Claire René didn't listen +carefully, but she did understand that her three brothers were not +killing rabbits, but were killing men. She knew then why they had cried; +they were so kind and good, Clément and Fernand and Alphonse; they would +hate to kill men. But Jacques had said they were wicked men that had to +be killed. He said it wouldn't take long, that all the strong men in +France were shooting at them.</p> + +<p>Claire René had a great deal to do after that. She had to bathe and +dress grand'mère; she had to cook the food and scrub the floor and scour +the pots and pans. She kept the pans very bright. Grand'mère might some +day open her eyes, and there would be a great scolding if the pans were +not bright. Claire René also tended the garden; Jacques helped her with +the heavy digging. He was very mean about the vegetables; he made her +put most of them in the cellar; and the green things that wouldn't keep +he himself put into jars and tins and locked them in the closet. When +the summer had gone he gave Claire René the keys.</p> + +<p>"Ma petite," he said, "you learn too fast to eat too little. You must be +big and well when your brothers come back."</p> + +<p>All the winter long Claire René watched for her brothers. Once a +telegram had come, brought by a boy who said he had walked all the miles +of the forest. In the memory of Claire René there lay a hidden fear +about telegrams. Years before, grand'mère had cried for many days when +Jacques had brought from the town just such a thin, crackling envelope. +And Claire René knew that after that she had no longer any young mother +or father—only grand'mère and her three brothers.</p> + +<p>Grand'mère had enough of sorrow. The telegram was better hidden in the +room of her brothers. Grand'mère would never find it there; it was far +away from her chair by the window, up the straight, narrow stairs, under +the high, peaked gable. Then, too, there was a comfort in that room for +Claire René; it was quiet; the great silence of downstairs was too big +to squeeze up the narrow way. Each day she would stroke and tend the +high white bed; each week she would drag the mass of feather mattress to +the narrow window ledge and air it for the length of a sunny day.</p> + +<p>At evening she would pull and pile high again the snowy layers, as +quickly as her tired back could move, as quickly as her thin, blue +fingers could smooth the heavy homespun sheets and comforters. Quick she +must be lest Clément and Fernand and Alphonse come home before the +night fell over their sleeping place. When she placed the telegram under +the first high pillow (Clément's pillow) it made a sound that frightened +her.</p> + +<p>In the evenings grand'mère's chair was pulled to the great hearth fire. +Claire René would watch the flamelight spread over the stonelike face. +Sometimes bright sparkles from the rows of copper pots and pans would +lay spots of light on the heavy closed lids.</p> + +<p>Claire René would spring from her chair and kneel beside the dumb +figure. "Grand'mère!" she would call. "Do you see? Have you the eyes +again?"</p> + +<p>Then the lights would shift, and her head would drop over her trembling +knees, and she would look away from the dry, sealed eyes of grand'mère. +She never cried; it might make a noise in the still, whitewashed room to +frighten her. Grand'mère might find the tears when she raised her hands +to let them travel over the face of her grandchild. It was enough that +once grand'mère had shivered when her fingers found the hollows in +Claire René's cheeks. After that the child puffed out her cheeks while +the knotted hands made their daily journey. Grand'mère's fingers would +smooth the sunny tangled hair, touch the freckled upturned nose; they +would pause and tremble at the slightest brush from the eyelashes that +fringed the deep, gray eyes.</p> + +<p>Claire René would pile more logs on the fire and wonder what thoughts +lay in grand'mère's mind; wonder whether she knew that they had so much +more wood in the shed than they had food in the larder. She was clever +about cooking the roots from the cellar. But grand'mère's coffee was +weaker each day, and only once in a long while did Jacques bring milk. +Then he used to stand and order Claire René to drink it all, but she +would choke and say it was sour and sickened her; only thus could she +save enough for grand'mère's coffee in the morning.</p> + +<p>There were many things to think about, to look at on the winter evenings +by the firelight: Clément's seat by the chimney corner, where he +whittled and whistled; Fernand's flute hanging on the wall; the books of +Alphonse on the high shelf over the dresser. Claire René found that her +heart and her eyes would only find comfort if her fingers were busy. She +would tiptoe to the dresser and bring out a basket, once filled with the +socks of her brothers. She would crouch by the fireside, first stirring +the logs to make more light for her work. It was long since the candles +were gone. It was the only joyous moment in the day when she handled the +dried everlastings that filled the basket. Always she must hurry, work +more quickly, select the withered colors with more care. The wreaths for +her three brothers must be beautiful, must be ready on time. Clément and +Fernand and Alphonse must be crowned, given the reward when they came +home from killing wicked men to save La Belle France!</p> + +<p>All the months of the summer before she had watched and tended the +flowers. The seeds she had found in grand'mère's cupboard. Jacques had +scolded about the place that had been given them in the garden patch. +But Claire René had stamped her foot and strong, strange words that +belonged to her three brothers when they were angry came to her lips. +Jacques had looked startled and funny and had turned his head away; in +the end he had patted Claire René on her rigid shoulders and she thought +his eyes were just like wet, black beads.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the hearth, away from grand'mère's chair, she +twined and wound the wreaths. No one must know. The Great Day <i>must</i> be +soon! And in her heart she believed that on that day grand'mère would +open her eyes.</p> + +<p>In the spring Claire René finished the wreaths. The very day she placed +them on the highest shelf in the dark closet under the stairs there had +come a knock at the door. She was stiff with terror. Jacques never +knocked; there was no one else. She clung to a heavy chair back while +the same boy who had come before entered slowly and placed a second +telegram in her numb fingers.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, mademoiselle," was all he said.</p> + +<p>She watched him disappear through the garden gate; she listened until +his steps died in the forest. Grand'mère stirred in her chair by the +window; Claire René thought a flicker of pain traveled over the worn +face; she thought the closed eyes twitched; Madame Populet stretched out +her hands.</p> + +<p>Claire René flew up the straight, narrow stairs; she placed the telegram +under Fernand's pillow; she pressed her fists deep into the feathers; +the crackle of paper made her heart stand still. There were tears +starting in her eyes; she held them back. Grand'mère had enough of +sorrow; she must never know of the second telegram in the house.</p> + +<p>Thoughts came crowding into Claire René's mind. Why not tear up the +white-and-blue envelopes or why not show them to Jacques—in some way +throw away the fear that was eating at her heart? Then the great silence +of the house below seemed to creep up the narrow stairs and lay cold +hands on Claire René. Oh, why was it all so lonely! Where were her three +brothers? Why must the telegrams make so great a trembling in her heart +for them, make her kneel and pray that the Holy Mother would hold them +in her arms forever?</p> + +<p>Her knees were stiff when she arose; her eyes were bright, but not with +tears; her back was very straight, her head held high, for was she not a +grandchild of Madame Populet? A sister to Clément and Fernand and +Alphonse, and through them, a child of France! She stood on her toes and +dropped three kisses on the pillows of her brothers. She was big enough +to keep the secret of her fear about the telegrams. It was better so.</p> + +<p>She went downstairs singing. The sound was strange in her throat, but +she must finish the song. She stood behind grand'mère's chair, and laid +her hands on the still white head. When the last, high, treble note fell +softly through the room she looked out of the window into the forest. +There were threads of pale green showing on the tall trees; there were +tiny red buds starting from the brown branches of the pollard willow +that swept across the window ledge.</p> + +<p>Claire René suddenly wanted to shout! She did shout! There was spring in +the world! There was spring in her heart, in her feet, in her tingling +finger tips.</p> + +<p>She danced to the dark closet under the stairs. There they were, the +wreaths, for her three brothers! The deep golden one for Clément—he was +strong and square like a rock; the light golden one for Fernand—he was +pale and slight; the scarlet one for Alphonse—he was straight and tall +like a tree in the forest.</p> + +<p>Claire René touched the three wreaths; they crackled dryly under her +touch; she turned away and shivered. What did they sound like? Oh, yes; +the crackling of the thin paper on the telegrams!</p> + +<p>She shut the closet door softly, and went to kneel beside grand'mère's +chair and looked again into the forest. The buds on the sweeping willows +said "Yes"; the pale-green winding gauze through the tall trees +whispered a promise. She stood up and held out her arms; she had faith +in the forest; she believed what it said. Through a patch of flickering +sunlight she thought she saw three forms moving toward the cottage. It +was only the viburnum bushes dipping and swaying in the March wind, +against the sturdy growth of darkened holly.</p> + +<p>The noise died away entirely as the spring advanced. The silence grew +greater and greater. There were few seeds for Claire René to plant in +her garden; there was little strength in her arms to work them. Weeds +covered the flower patch of a year ago. A few straggling everlastings +showed their heads above the tangle. Claire René had plenty of strength +to uproot them angrily and throw them into the overgrown path.</p> + +<p>The three wreaths were still on the shelf in the dark closet under the +stair. Their colors were dimmed, like the hope in their maker's heart; +their forms were shrunken, like the forms of Claire René and grand'mère +and Jacques.</p> + +<p>Grand'mère lay in her bed most of the day. Sometimes, when the sun shone +and the birds sang, Claire René would make her aching arms bathe and +dress grand'mère and help her into the chair by the window. Then she +would sit beside her and try to run threads through the bare places in +her frocks.</p> + +<p>At times she thought of making frocks for herself out of grand'mère's +calico dresses, folded so neatly in the cupboard. But grand'mère, she +argued, would need them for herself when the Great Day came, when +Clément and Fernand and Alphonse would come with ringing laughter +through the forest—laughter that would surely open grand'mère's +eyes—and her ears. When the birds sang and the sun shone Claire René +believed that day would come.</p> + +<p>Jacques was always kind. But he had become a part of the great silence; +almost as still as grand'mère he was. For hours he would sit and look at +Claire René bending over her sewing, over her scrubbing, over the +brightening of the pots and pans. Sometimes his shining black eyes +seemed to lie down in his face, to be going away forever behind his bush +of eyebrow.</p> + +<p>Then she would start toward him and call: "Jacques, Jacques!"</p> + +<p>He would always answer, straightening in his chair: "Yes, my little one, +be not afraid. Jacques is ever near."</p> + +<p>Claire René would sigh and go back to her work and wish that she was big +enough to go out into the forest and shoot birds, as Jacques used to do. +She was very hungry. She was tired of eating roots from the garden.</p> + +<p>She would like to lie down and go to sleep for the rest of her life, or +die and go to heaven and have the Holy Mother hold her in her arms and +feed her thick yellow milk. Jacques no longer brought even thin blue +milk. There was no coffee in the cupboard, no sugar, no bread—only +hateful roots of the garden.</p> + +<p>Claire René no longer walked in the forest. Sometimes she would lie down +on a mossy place and look up through the tall trees at the patches of +blue sky overhead. She wondered whether the good God still kept His home +above, whether He, too, were hungry, whether the Holy Mother had work to +do when her back ached and her fingers wouldn't move and were thin and +bony, like young dead birds that sometimes fell from nests.</p> + +<p>Once, when Claire René was thinking such thoughts, she saw Jacques come +running toward her. His eyes were bright and shiny, and she had a fear +that they might drop out of his head, as the quick breath dropped out of +his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Listen, ma petite!" he cried.</p> + +<p>He dropped on the mossy place beside her and rocked back and forth with +his hands clasped about his shaking knees. Claire René was used to +waiting. She waited until Jacques found breath for speech.</p> + +<p>Then he told her how the "Great Man from America" was coming to save +France! How he was sending a million strong sons before him. How there +was hope come to heavy hearts!</p> + +<p>Claire René wanted to ask a great many questions. But Jacques went right +on, talking, talking—about the right flank and the left flank and the +boches and the Americans. Claire René hoped his tongue would not be too +tired to answer one of her questions.</p> + +<p>"What is America, my little one? Why, the greatest country in the world, +excepting France. Where is America, my little one? Why, across the +Atlantic Ocean, far from France."</p> + +<p>Claire René sat very still with her hands in her lap. Jacques was a wise +man. He knew a great deal. All old people were wise; but such strange +things made them happy, far-away things that they couldn't ever touch or +see, things out in the big world that went round and round. She knew +that Clément and Fernand and Alphonse were out in the big world, going +round and round; but in her heart she saw them only in the forest, in +the garden patch, by the hearth in the tiny house, asleep in their high +white bed.</p> + +<p>In these places she could still feel their arms about her, hear their +laughter, listen for their step. But out in the world! What were they +doing? How could she know? Jacques made her feel very lonely. Never once +did he speak of her three brothers; on and on he went about the "Great +Man from America."</p> + +<p>Presently he ceased for a moment and held Claire René's cold hands +against his grizzled cheek. "But, my little one, why are you cold?"</p> + +<p>Claire René looked for a long time into Jacques' shining eyes; then she +whispered: "My brothers!"</p> + +<p>High among the tall trees of the forest the wind was singing and +sighing; beneath on a green moss bank Jacques gathered Claire René in +his arms; he gathered her up like a baby and rocked her back and forth. +He cried and laughed into the bright tangle of her hair.</p> + +<p>"My poor little one! My poor little one!" he said over and over. Then he +released her from his arms and held her face between his knotted hands. +"Now, listen!"</p> + +<p>She listened, and even before Jacques had finished a song began in her +heart—so strong and high and true that it reached up into the treetops +and joined in the chorus of the forest.</p> + +<p>The words that came from the lips of Jacques made a great beating in her +ears. Could it be so—what he was saying—that the "Great Man from +America" had come to save all the Brothers of France? That soon, soon he +would send Clément and Fernand and Alphonse back to the tiny house in +the forest? That all the wicked men in the world would be no more? That +the great and terrible noise would cease—forever?</p> + +<p>Jacques was very, very sure that he was right about it; he had read it +all in a newspaper; he had walked miles and miles to hear men talk of +nothing else.</p> + +<p>Claire René asked where the great man lived.</p> + +<p>"In Paris, ma petite."</p> + +<p>"And what does he look like—the brave one?"</p> + +<p>"He is grave and quiet, like a king."</p> + +<p>"And has he on his head the crown of gold?"</p> + +<p>"No, ma petite, but he has in his heart the Sons of France."</p> + +<p>"And Clément and Fernand and Alphonse also?"</p> + +<p>Claire René waited while Jacques passed his fingers through her hair. +"Yes, ma petite," he said at last.</p> + +<p>Claire René wished that she had more hands and feet and lips and eyes +and more than such a little body to hold her joy. She made circles of +dancing about Jacques on their way back to the cottage. She said her +happiness was so great that she might fly up into the sky and laugh +from the tops of the trees. "Dear Jacques," she said as they paused at +the dried garden patch, "do you think to-morrow they will come—my +brothers?"</p> + +<p>Jacques shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Do you think one day from to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>Again Jacques shook his head.</p> + +<p>But Claire René was busy in her thoughts. She turned suddenly and threw +her arms about him. "Will you again walk the miles of the forest for +Claire René, will you?"</p> + +<p>"But—why—for what reason, ma petite?"</p> + +<p>She would send a letter! She would herself write to the "Great Man," and +tell him about Clément and Fernand and Alphonse, tell him how good and +brave they were, and about grand'mère and the silence of her eyes and +ears, and about—Claire René looked frightened and clapped her fingers +over her mouth.</p> + +<p>No! She must forever keep the secret about the telegrams. Telegrams +meant sorrow; there must be only happiness in the house for the +brothers.</p> + +<p>Long after twilight had fallen she pleaded with Jacques about the +letter. By the firelight that same night she would write. Grand'mère had +taught her to make the letters of many words; she knew what to say. In +the first light of the day Jacques could be gone to the post. And then! +Yes?</p> + +<p>Not until he finally nodded his head was she satisfied. Then she +wondered why so suddenly he had become heavy with sadness. Why, when she +watched him trudge off into the forest, had he seemed to carry a burden +on his bent back?</p> + +<p>She thought: "Old people are like that. Grand'mère is like that; she, +too, grows tired with the end of the day. They had so many long days +behind them to remember—grand'mère and Jacques. And the days ahead of +them?"</p> + +<p>Claire René was often puzzled about their days ahead. They were so +tired! But they would be soon happy. And grand'mère would open her eyes +to see and her ears to hear when Clément and Fernand and Alphonse came +back again.</p> + +<p>Claire René ate only a mouthful of her cooked roots on that evening. For +grand'mère she made a special brew of dried herbs from the forest and +baked a cake from the last bit of brown flour left in the cupboard. +Grand'mère was half the shape she used to be; the brothers would surely +scold when they saw her so gone away.</p> + +<p>Claire René piled the logs high on the fire; she must have light for her +work, plenty of light. She searched the house for paper and envelope and +pencil and when she had written she threw the paper into the fire and +wept with a passion much too great for her years and her body. She had +forgotten the words; they wouldn't come. And who was she to be writing +to the "Great Man," a man like a king?</p> + +<p>Until the dawn crept through the windows Claire René lay upon the hearth +by the dying fire, sobbing through her sleep. The first light of day +made her remember Jacques. He would be waiting! He had promised to go, +to walk to the post with her letter. She looked at the dark closet under +the stairs. She thought of the three wreaths; if she could make wreaths, +she could make letters! She bounded to her feet; she seized the last of +the paper and the bitten pencil; she struggled with the letters; she +wrote: "Dear Great Man: My brothers——"</p> + +<p>A step in the still room startled her. Grand'mère was coming from her +room, fully dressed. Claire René flew to her side, but Madame Populet +stood erect; she walked alone to her chair by the window. Claire René +knelt beside her, and the hands that were laid on her head had a new +firmness in their pressure. And grand'mère was smiling!</p> + +<p>Claire René thought: "She is happy this morning; she feels in the air +the gladness. I will make her a hot brew when I come back from Jacques."</p> + +<p>She wrapped a dark cloak about her shoulders; in her hand was tightly +clasped the half-written paper and the pencil. At the doorway she turned +and called: "Good-by, grand'mère. Good-by."</p> + +<p>Madame Populet was still smiling; her face was turned toward the forest +and, through the sweeping willow over the window, sunbeams laid their +fingers on the sightless eyes.</p> + +<p>Two hours later Claire René walked through the forest singing. Her arms +were full of scarlet leaves and branches of holly berries. She wanted to +carry all the beautiful things she saw back to the cottage, to make the +place a bower, where she and grand'mère and Clément and Fernand and +Alphonse could kneel and thank the good God that they were again +together.</p> + +<p>All the world was kind on this morning. Jacques had been waiting for her +at the door of his wooden hut. He had helped her with the letter. He had +set out straightway to the post. Claire René had stooped and kissed the +feet that had so many miles to go.</p> + +<p>Jacques had cried out: "Ma petite, you hope too far."</p> + +<p>But Claire René's mind and heart were a flood of joy; she had no place +for doubt, no time for sorrow. She came out of the forest and stood +looking at the tiny, crumbling house. No longer was she afraid of the +silence. In but a short time her three brothers would fill the air with +laughter; they would carry her on their backs around the house and into +the forest, and grand'mère would stand waiting and smiling—and perhaps +scolding; who could tell?</p> + +<p>She pushed her way through the doorway. The berries and leaves made a +tall screen about her; she could barely see grand'mère in her chair by +the window. She laid the branches on the hearth.</p> + +<p>"There!" she said. "That's good."</p> + +<p>Grand'mère was very quiet in her chair by the window. Her hands were +folded over her breast. There was something between her still fingers.</p> + +<p>Claire René looked again, and then she screamed.</p> + +<p>Madame Populet's eyes were open; they were fixed on the thin +blue-and-white envelope clasped in her hands. Claire René pressed her +fingers into her temples; she was afraid to speak aloud.</p> + +<p>She whispered: "The third telegram!"</p> + +<p>Who had brought it? Who had given it to grand'mère? Why was she so +still? Why were her eyes open, without seeing? Claire René wanted to +scream again; but instead, she made her feet take her to the chair by +the window; she made her fingers pull the thin envelope from between the +stiff fingers. Grand'mère's hands were cold. Her silence was more +terrible than any silence Claire René had known before. The glazed, open +eyes looked as if they hurt; she closed the lids with the tips of her +fingers. She had seen dead birds in the forest and she knew that +grand'mère was now like them.</p> + +<p>The telegram was better burned in the fire; there it could bring no more +sorrow. She watched the thin paper curl and smolder among the smoking +embers of last night's blaze. She looked again toward the still figure +by the window. If grand'mère was dead, why did she stay on the earth? +Why didn't the Holy Mother send an angel to carry her away into the +heaven of the good God?</p> + +<p>Claire René began to tremble. What if the angels were too tired to come, +were as faint and hungry as she! What, then, would become of grand'mère?</p> + +<p>Clément and Fernand and Alphonse would be very angry to find her so cold +and still and dead; they would be, perhaps, as angry to find her gone +away to heaven. But grand'mère had so much of sorrow here on earth; +Claire René thought the room was growing very dark; she flung her arms +above her head and faintly screamed. But there was no one to hear. She +fell on the hearthstone beside the red berries and the red leaves.</p> + +<p>There was scarcely a breath left in her body when Jacques found her at +dusk.</p> + +<p>Three days later she opened her eyes in her little bed beside +grand'mère's bed. Grand'mère's bed was smooth and high and white. Claire +René was puzzled.</p> + +<p>She called: "Grand'mère!"</p> + +<p>From the outer room the voice of Jacques replied: "Yes, ma petite; I am +here."</p> + +<p>He came and put his arms about her; she laid her head against his rough +coat, but her eyes were turned toward the empty bed. She was trying to +remember.</p> + +<p>Presently she sat up and asked: "Did the angel come and take grand'mère +and carry her to the Holy Mother in heaven?"</p> + +<p>Jacques crossed his heart. "Yes, ma petite," he said.</p> + +<p>Faintly Claire René smiled and faintly she questioned: "But, my +brothers?"</p> + +<p>Jacques turned his troubled eyes away. She must wait, he said; when she +was strong they would talk of many things. He told her that he had +brought food to make her well, and that on the first warm day he would +himself carry her out into the sunshine of the forest; there she would +again run and sing and be like a happy, bright bird.</p> + +<p>In the days that followed Claire René never spoke of grand'mère; she +never spoke of her three brothers. She lay in her bed and stared about +the quiet room. The silence was different, now that grand'mère was gone. +Everything was different.</p> + +<p>Jacques gave her food and care, and every day he said: "In only a little +time you will be strong again, ma petite."</p> + +<p>But something in his eyes kept her from speaking about Clément and +Fernand and Alphonse. Often she thought about the telegrams upstairs in +the high, white bed. She wondered if Jacques had found them there. Once +she heard him walking on the floor above. He was there a long time, and +when he came down his voice was queer and deep and his eyes were hidden +behind a mist.</p> + +<p>He never spoke any more about the "Great Man from America." Jacques was +like grand'mère; he was old, he was full of sorrow. Claire René was +afraid to ask about her letter; she thought about it each day.</p> + +<p>But on the morning she was carried to Clément's chair by the chimney +corner, she felt a great gladness spring in her heart. Yes; they would +come soon—her three brothers. To-morrow she would be strong enough to +walk alone to the dark closet under the stairs and look again at the +three wreaths on the highest shelf.</p> + +<p>Claire René smiled in her sleep that night; she dreamed of laughter in +the house, of strong young arms about her, of quick steps and bright +eyes.</p> + +<p>Once she awoke and must have called out, for Jacques was kneeling beside +her bed.</p> + +<p>"Poor little one," he said, "you call, but there is only old Jacques to +come."</p> + +<p>Claire René put out her hand and let it rest on the old man's head. +"Dear Jacques," she whispered, "always I will love you."</p> + +<p>The sun was streaming through the tiny house the next morning. Jacques +had left Claire René sitting in the warm light of the open doorway while +he went to bring wood from the forest. There were no birds singing from +the leafless trees, but Claire René saw a sparrow hopping about on the +bright brown earth of the garden patch. She was wishing she had a great +piece of white fat to hang out on a tree for the bird's winter food; +wishing there were crumbs to leave on the window ledge, as grand'mère +used to do.</p> + +<p>She was wishing so hard about so many things that she failed to see +three men coming out of the forest. They were tall and straight and +fair, and their eyes were as blue as the sky above their heads. Their +clothes were the color of pale brown sand and on their heads were jaunty +caps of the selfsame color.</p> + +<p>Jacques was with them; he was making a great many motions with his +hands. They were all walking very slowly and talking very fast.</p> + +<p>As they neared the house Jacques pointed to Claire René, and the three +strange men held back. Jacques came slowly forward. The sound of his +step on the hard ground interrupted Claire René's reverie; she looked up +and around. She saw the three men standing at attention beyond the +garden gate.</p> + +<p>She threw back the heavy cloak wrapped about her; the thin folds of her +calico dress hung limply from her sunken shoulders, and above the wasted +child body the sun spun circles of gold in her tangled hair. She made a +slight quivering start toward Jacques, which passed into a rigid stare +toward the three figures beyond.</p> + +<p>She was unaware when Jacques put a caressing, supporting arm about her +and said: "Listen, my child."</p> + +<p>The three men were coming forward. One of them had a letter in his hand. +With kind eyes and bared heads they stood before the straining gaze of +Claire René.</p> + +<p>"The letter is for you, ma petite." Jacques voice was infinitely tender; +the added pressure of his arm made Claire René conscious of his +presence; she suddenly clung to him and buried her face in his coat +sleeve. He went on to say: "The letter is for Claire René—from the +'Great Man from America'!"</p> + +<p>The tangled head shook in the angle of his arm. Claire René was crying.</p> + +<p>The tallest of the three men handed the letter to Jacques; he wiped his +eyes and turned his head away. The others shifted in position and +tightly folded their arms across their broad chests.</p> + +<p>Jacques read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>To Mademoiselle Claire René</i>: The soil of France now covers the +bodies of your three brothers, Clément and Fernand and Alphonse +Populet. The soil of France covers the Croix de Guerre upon their +breasts. The sons of France, and of America, hold forever in their +hearts the memory of their honor. We are all one family now—France +and America—and so I send to you three brothers—not in place of, +but in the stead of those others. They come to give you love and +service in the name of America.</p></div> + +<p>Claire René slowly moved apart from Jacques. She stood alone with head +erect and taut arms by her sides. She hesitated a moment, then came +forward and held out her hands.</p> + +<p>"Bonjour, messieurs," she said.</p> + +<p>The tallest of the three men covered her hands with his own. "Little +friend," he said, "we can't make you forget your brothers; we want to +help you remember them. We want to do some of the things for you that +they used to do, and we want you to do a lot of things for us. We are +pretty big, it is true, but we need a little girl like you to sort of +keep us in order. We want to take you right along with us this very +day—to a place where we can care for you, and——"</p> + +<p>But Claire René slipped with electric swiftness to Jacques' side; from +his sheltering arm she made declaration: "Never! I stay here with +Jacques—always." Then struggling against emotion she added with +finality: "I thank you, messieurs."</p> + +<p>The tall man lingered with his thoughts a moment before he spoke; he was +standing close to Claire René and made as though to lay his hand upon +her hair, but drew back and said that they were all pretty good cooks +and that they were very, very hungry.</p> + +<p>At this Claire René threw a frightened, wistful glance at Jacques.</p> + +<p>The tall man interrupted hastily. He said they had brought food with +them, and would she allow them to prepare it?</p> + +<p>Claire René nodded her head; her eyes looked beyond her questioner—out +into the lonely forest.</p> + +<p>Jacques presently lifted her into his arms and carried her within the +house. With reverence he placed her in grand'mère's chair by the window. +Her ears were filled with distant echoes; her sight was blurred; speech +had gone from her lips. As through a dark curtain she saw the figures +moving about the room; far away she heard the clatter and the talk and +sometimes laughter.</p> + +<p>After a long time Jacques came and held some steaming coffee to her +lips. He made her drink and drink again; a pink flush crept into her +cheeks; shyly she met the glances from the eyes of those three fair, +kind faces. Then her own eyes filled with tears and she lowered her +head.</p> + +<p>The tallest of the three men came behind her chair and spoke gently, +close to her ear: "Our great and good commander, who sent us here, will +be very unhappy if you do not come. You see, he wanted the sister of +Clément and Fernand and Alphonse Populet to be a sister to some of his +own boys. It would help us a great deal, you know; we're pretty lonely +too—sometimes."</p> + +<p>The collaboration in the faces of his friends seemed to put an instant +end to his effort and, as if an unspoken command were given, they all +sat down and made a prompt finish to the meal.</p> + +<p>With no word on her lips Claire René watched from Grand'mère's chair by +the window. About her, figures moved like dim marionettes; they cleared +the table; they polished the copper pans; they sat in the chimney corner +and puffed blue circles of smoke above their heads.</p> + +<p>Dimly she saw all this, but clearly she saw the inside of a great man's +mind. She, Claire René, had work to do; she was called—for France!</p> + +<p>Long, slanting shadows from the sinking sun were streaking the wall of +the whitewashed room with slender, forklike fingers. Jacques and the +three men were knotted in talk beside the ruddy fire glow. Claire René +braced herself with a sharp sigh. No soldier ever went into battle with +a more self-made courage than hers.</p> + +<p>Unseen, unnoticed, noiselessly she made her pilgrimage across the room. +In the dark closet, under the stairs, she reached for the wreaths. With +quick, short breath she gathered them in her arms. One moment she +lowered her head while her lips touched the faded crackling flowers. The +compact was sealed; her sacrifice was ready.</p> + +<p>In that attitude she passed swiftly within the circle about the +fireplace. She came like a spirit of Peace with the wreaths in her arms. +Over and above the serenity in her face there dawned a joyous +expectancy. Yes; she could trust les Américains!</p> + +<p>On each reverent, bowed head she placed her wreath; and when she had +finished, without tremor in her voice she said: "My brothers!"</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Copyright, 1919, by The Curtis Publishing Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by Ethel Dodd Thomas.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Roman_Bath18" id="The_Roman_Bath18"></a>THE ROMAN BATH<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN T. WHEELWRIGHT</h3> +<h4>From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>Ralph Tuckerman had landed that day in Liverpool after a stormy winter +voyage, his first across the Atlantic. The ship had slowly come up the +Mersey in a fog, and the special boat train had dashed through the same +dense atmosphere to the home of fogs and soot, London, and in the whole +journey to his hotel the young American had seen nothing of the mother +country but telegraph-poles scudding through opacity on the railway +journey, and in London the loom of buildings and lights dimly red +through the fog.</p> + +<p>Although he had no acquaintances among the millions of dwellers in the +city, he did not feel lonely in the comfortable coffee room of his +hotel, where a cannel-coal fire flickered. The air of the room was +surcharged with pungent fumes of the coal smoke which had blackened the +walls and ceilings, and had converted the once brilliant red of a Turkey +carpet into a dingy brown, but the young American would not have had the +air less laden with the characteristic odor of London, or the carpet and +walls less dingy if he had had a magician's wand.</p> + +<p>The concept of a hotel in his native city of Chicago was a steel +structure of many stories, brilliantly lighted and decorated, supplied +with a lightning elevator service running through the polished marble +halls which swooned in a tropical atmosphere of steam heat emanating +from silvered radiators. So it was no wonder that the young man felt +more at home in this inn in old London than he had ever felt in an +American caravansary.</p> + +<p>The shabby waiter who had served him at dinner appeared to him to be a +true representation of the serving-man who had eaten most of David +Copperfield's chops, and drained the little boy's half pint of port when +he went up to school. It may be that Tuckerman's age protected him from +any such invasion of his viands, but in justice to the serving-man it +seems probable that he would have cut off his right hand rather than +been disrespectful to a guest at dinner.</p> + +<p>After the cloth was removed, Tuckerman ordered a half-pint decanter of +port out of regard for the memory of Dickens, and, sipping it, looked +about with admiration at the room with its dark old panels. Comfortable +as he felt, after his dinner, he could not help regretting that he had +not had with him his old friends Mr. and Mrs. Micawber and Traddles to +share his enjoyment—the guests whom Copperfield entertained when "Mr. +Micawber with more shirt collar than usual and a new ribbon to his +eyeglass, Mrs. Micawber with a cap in a whitey-brown paper parcel, +Traddles carrying the parcel and supporting Mrs. Micawber on his arm" +arrived at David's lodgings and were so delightfully entertained. He +wished that he could see "Micawber's face shining through a thin cloud +of delicate fumes of punch," so that at the end of the evening Mr. and +Mrs. Micawber would feel that they could not "have enjoyed a feast more +if they had sold a bed to pay for it."</p> + +<p>These cheery spirits seemed to come back to him from the charming +paradise where they live to delight the world for all time, and it +seemed to him that he could distinctly hear Mr. Micawber saying: "We twa +have rin about the brae, And pu'd the gowans fine," observing as he +quoted: "I am not exactly aware what gowans may be, but I have no doubt +that Copperfield and myself would frequently have taken a pull at them +if it had been possible."</p> + +<p>His modest modicum of port would have seemed a poor substitute to the +congenial Micawber for the punch.</p> + +<p>Finally he went up to bed, delighted to be given a bedroom candle in a +brass candlestick, and to find on his arrival there that the plumber had +never entered its sacred precincts, for a hat tub on a rubber cloth +awaited the can of hot water, which would be lugged up to him in the +morning; the four-post bedstead with its heavy damask hangings, the +cushioned grandfather's chair by the open fireplace, the huge mahogany +wardrobe and the heavy furniture—all were of the period of 1830. Back +to such a room Mr. Pickwick had tried to find his way on the memorable +night when he so disturbed the old lady whose chamber he had unwittingly +invaded.</p> + +<p>So impressed was the young American with his transference to the past +that his stem-winding watch seemed an anachronism when he came to attend +to it for the night.</p> + +<p>He settled down into the big armchair by the fire, having taken from his +valise three books which he had selected for his travelling companions: +"Baedeker's London Guide," "The Pickwick Papers," and "David +Copperfield." The latter was in a cheap American edition which he had +bought with his schoolboy's savings; a tattered volume which he knew +almost by heart; which, when he took it up, opened at that part of +David's "Personal History and Experience" where his aunt tells him of +her financial losses, and where he dreamed his dreams of poverty in all +sorts of shapes, and, as he read, this paragraph flew out at his eye:</p> + +<p>"There was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one of the +streets out of the Strand—it may be there still—in which I have had +many a cold plunge. Dressing myself as quickly as I could, and leaving +Peggotty to look after my Aunt, I tumbled head foremost into it, and +then went for a walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that this brisk +treatment might freshen my wits a little."</p> + +<p>Ralph's sleep in the old bed was unquiet. He was transported back into +the England of the old coaching days, and found himself seated on the +box-seat of the Ipswich coach, next a stout, red-faced, elderly +coachman, his throat and chest muffled by capacious shawls, who said to +him:</p> + +<p>"If ever you are attacked with the gout, just you marry a widder as had +got a good loud woice with a decent notion of using it, and you will +never have the gout agin!" Then suddenly the film of the smart coach, +with passengers inside and out, faded away, and Ralph found himself +drinking hot brandy and water with Mr. Pickwick, in a room of a very +homely description, apparently under the special patronage of Mr. Weller +and other stage coachmen, for there sat the former smoking with great +vehemence. The vision flashed out into darkness.</p> + +<p>Then came deep, early morning sleep from which a sharp knock at his door +aroused him, and a valet entered with a hot-water can and a cup of tea, +saying: "Beg pardon, sir, eight o'clock, sir, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>Ralph's first inclination was to say "<i>Thank you</i>," but he restrained +himself from this in time to save upsetting the foundations of British +social life, and instead he asked:</p> + +<p>"What kind of a morning is it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, thank you, sir, if I should say that it is a nasty morning, +sir, I should be telling the truth indeed, foggy and raining, sir, thank +you, sir."</p> + +<p>All the time he was quietly taking up Ralph's clothes, which were +scattered in convulsions around the room.</p> + +<p>"Shall I not unpack your box, sir?" asked the valet.</p> + +<p>Ralph stopped from sipping his tea to nod assent, and the man proceeded +with the unpacking with a hand which practice had made perfect.</p> + +<p>"This is my first morning in London," observed Ralph. The valet +pretended not to hear him, being unwilling to engage in any line of +conversation which by any chance could take him out of the station in +life to which he had been called.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" finally asked the American.</p> + +<p>"Postlethwaite, sir, but I answer to the name of 'Enery."</p> + +<p>"Well, 'Enery, did you ever hear of a Roman bath in a little street off +the Strand?"</p> + +<p>"A Roman bath, sir, in a little street off the Strand, sir? No, sir, +thank you, sir, my word, sir, the Italians never take baths, sir."</p> + +<p>"They used to take them, 'Enery, and my guide-book says that there is +one of theirs to this day in Strand Lane."</p> + +<p>The valet was silent as he continued his unpacking and arranging of +Tuckerman's clothes, and the latter felt a little uncomfortable as this +proceeding went on, for he was conscious of the inadequacy of his +outfit, not only in the eyes of an English servant, but in his own, for +he had purposely travelled "light," intending to replenish his wardrobe +in London; but the well-trained servant treated the worn-out suits and +frayed shirts with the utmost outward respect as he folded them up and +put them away in the clothes-press.</p> + +<p>An hour later, on the top of a 'bus, Ralph sat watching the complicated +movement of traffic in the London streets, directed by the helmeted +policemen. It was before the days of the motor-car, an endless stream of +omnibuses, drays, hansoms, and four-wheelers, even at that early hour in +the morning was pouring through the great artery of the heart of the +world. This first ride on a London 'bus and the sights of the street +traffic were inspiring, but familiar to the mind's eye of the young +American. The Thames, alive with barges and steamers, the smoke-stained +buildings, the processions of clerks, the crossing and sweepers, the +smart policemen, the cab-drivers, the draymen, he knew from Leech's +drawings, and he was on his way, marvellous to relate, to the oldest +work of man in the city, in which the water flowed as it had been +flowing ever since London was Londineum.</p> + +<p>He got off the 'bus at Strand Lane and found a little way down the +street the building he was looking for. It was a commonplace brick +structure, the exterior giving no hint of its contents. A notice was +posted on the black entrance door, stating the hours at which the bath +was open to visitors. Ralph found out that he had fifteen minutes to +wait before he could plunge head foremost into the pool. He walked +somewhat impatiently up and down the street, finding the waiting +unpleasant, for although it was not raining hard, the mist was cold and +disagreeable. After a few turns, he came up to the door again and there +found a young gentleman, dressed in a long surtout, reading the notice; +the stranger turned about as Ralph approached; his face was +smooth-shaven, his eyes large and melancholy, his whimsical, sensitive +mouth was upcurved at the corners, his waving chestnut hair was longer +than was then the fashion, the soft felt hat was pulled down over his +forehead as if to ward off the fog. He swung to and fro with his right +hand a Malacca joint with a chiselled gold head.</p> + +<p>He bowed politely to Ralph, remarking:</p> + +<p>"So you, too, are waiting for a plunge into the waters of the Holywell?"</p> + +<p>"You are right, sir; I guess that we shall find the Roman bath cold this +morning."</p> + +<p>"You are an American, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I am, and therefore, sir, I am a seeker after the curious and ancient +things of this city; it is my first morning in London."</p> + +<p>"May I ask how you found out about this ancient bath? It is but little +known, even to old Londoners. I often come here for a plunge, but I +seldom find any other bathers here."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I came across an allusion to it in 'David Copperfield,' just +before I retired last night, and I looked up the locality in my +guide-book."</p> + +<p>"'David Copperfield'!" exclaimed the young man with a low whistle, and +he started off upon a walking up and down as if to keep himself warm +while waiting.</p> + +<p>A moment later the heavy black door of the bathhouse was opened, and the +bath attendant stepped out on the threshold, looking out into the rain; +a dark-haired, heavily built man, with coarse features, a tight, cruel +mouth; if he had not been dressed in rough, modern working clothes, he +might well have been a holdover from the days of the Roman occupation.</p> + +<p>"The admission is two shillings," announced the attendant as he showed +the American into a dressing-room, and as the latter was paying his fee +he saw the other visitor glide into a dressing-room adjoining his.</p> + +<p>The bath was small, dark, and disappointing in appearance to the man +from overseas, to whom the term "Roman bath" had conveyed an impression +of vast vaulted rooms, and marble-lined swimming-pools. The bath itself +was long enough for a plunge, but too small for a swim, and a hasty +diver would be in danger of bumping his head on the bottom. The bricks +at the side were laid edgewise, and the floor of the bath was of brick +covered with cement. At the point where the water from the Holywell +Spring flowed in, Ralph could see the old Roman pavement. The water in +the bath was clear, but it was dark and cold looking.</p> + +<p>As Ralph stood at the edge, reluctant to spring in, he saw the young +Englishman dart from his dressing-room like a graceful sprite and make a +beautiful dive into the pool. His slender body made no splash, but +entered the water like a beam of light, refracting as he swam a stroke +under water.</p> + +<p>In a trice his face appeared above the surface, with no ripple or +disturbance of the water.</p> + +<p>"I feel better already," he called out. "I passed such a terrible night, +almost as bad as poor Clarence's. How miserable I was last night when I +lay down! I need not go into details. A loss of property; a sudden +misfortune had upset my hopes of a career and of happiness.</p> + +<p>"It was difficult to believe that night, so long to me, could be short +for any one else. This consideration set me thinking, and thinking of an +imaginary party where people were dancing the hours away until that +became a dream too, and I heard the music incessantly playing one tune, +and saw Dora incessantly dancing one dance without taking the least +notice of me."</p> + +<p>"I too dreamed the night through," thought Ralph. "And am I dreaming +now?"</p> + +<p>"I dreamed of poverty in all sorts of shapes. I seemed to dream without +the previous ceremony of going to sleep. Now I was ragged, now I ran out +of my office in a nightgown and boots, now I was hungrily picking up the +crumbs of a poor man's scanty bread, and, still more or less conscious +of my own room, I was always tossing about like a distressed ship in a +sea of bedclothes. But come, my friend, plunge in, for if you passed any +such night as mine, the clear cold water of Holywell Spring has +marvellous healing properties, and it will freshen your wits for +whatever the day may bring for them to puzzle over."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he drew himself up on the opposite side of the bath from +Ralph, and watched the latter as he took a clumsy header, his body +striking the water flat, and sending great splashes over the room. When +Ralph, recovering from his rude entrance into the water, looked for the +other bather, he was gone. The cold water did not invite a protracted +immersion, so that Ralph scrambled hastily out of it, and after a rub +with a harsh towel, put on his clothes; then he noticed that the door of +the stranger's cubicle was open; he looked into it to say good-by to his +chance acquaintance, but it was empty, and in the corner he saw the +Malacca cane with the gold head. He picked it up and carefully examined +it; the head was of gold in the form of a face, eyes wide open, +spectacles turned up on the forehead.</p> + +<p>"Great Cæsar's ghost!" exclaimed Ralph, "Old Marley!"</p> + +<p>The attendant just then appeared, Ralph handed him the cane, saying: "I +found this cane in the other gentleman's dressing-room." The attendant +stared at him and said gruffly:</p> + +<p>"None of your larks, sir; there wasn't no other gentleman, and that's no +cane; its my cleaning mop that I get under the seats with."</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons.<br /> Copyright, +1921, by John T. Wheelwright.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Amazement19" id="Amazement19"></a>AMAZEMENT<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> STEPHEN FRENCH WHITMAN</h3> +<h4>From <i>Harper's Magazine</i></h4> + + +<p>There is sometimes melancholy in revisiting after years of absence, a +place where one was joyous in the days of youth. That is why sadness +stole over me on the evening of my return to Florence.</p> + +<p>To be sure, the physical beauties of the Italian city were intact. +Modernity had not farther encroached upon the landmarks that had +witnessed the birth of a new age, powerful, even violent, in its +individualism. From those relics, indeed—from the massive palaces, the +noble porches, the monuments rising in the public squares—there still +seemed to issue a faint vibration of ancient audacity and force. It was +as if stone and bronze had absorbed into their particles, and stored +through centuries, the great emotions released in Florence during that +time of mental expansion called the Renaissance.</p> + +<p>But this integrity of scene and influence only increased my regrets. +Though the familiar setting was still here, the familiar human figures +seemed all departed. I looked in vain for sobered versions of the faces +that had smiled, of old, around tables in comfortable cafés, in an +atmosphere of youthful gaiety, where at any moment one might be enmeshed +in a Florentine prank that Boccaccio could not have bettered.</p> + +<p>One such prank rose, all at once, before my minds eye, and suddenly, in +the midst of my pessimism, I laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>I recalled the final scene of that escapade, which I myself had managed +to devise. The old café had run with a bellow of delight; the victim, +ridiculous in his consternation, had rushed at me howling for vengeance. +But the audience, hemming him in, had danced 'round him singing a ribald +little song. The air was full of battered felt hats, coffee spoons, +lumps of sugar, and waving handkerchiefs. Out on the piazza the old +cab-horses had pricked up their ears; the shopkeepers had run to their +doorways; the police had taken notice. It was not every day that the +champion joker among us was caught in such a net as he delighted to +spread.</p> + +<p>Where were they, all my jolly young men and women? Maturity, matrimony, +perhaps still other acts of fate, had scattered them. Here and there a +grizzled waiter let fall the old names with a shrug of perplexity, then +hastened to answer the call of a rising generation as cheerful as if it +were not doomed, also, to dispersion and regrets.</p> + +<p>Then, too, in returning I had been so unfortunate as to find Florence on +the verge of spring.</p> + +<p>The soft evening air was full of a sweetness exhaled by the surrounding +cup of hills. From baskets of roses, on the steps of porticoes, a +fragrance floated up like incense round the limbs of statues, which were +bathed in a golden light by the lamps of the piazza. Those marble +countenances were placid with an eternal youth, beneath the same stars +that had embellished irrevocable nights, that recalled some excursions +into an enchanted world, some romantic gestures the knack for which was +gone.</p> + +<p>"After all," I thought, "it is better not to find one of the old circle. +We should make each other miserable by our reminiscences."</p> + +<p>No sooner had I reflected thus than I found myself face to face with +Antonio.</p> + +<p>Antonio was scarcely changed. His dark visage was still vital with +intelligence, still keen and strange from the exercise of an +inexhaustible imagination. Yet in his eyes, which formerly had sparkled +with the wit of youth, there was more depth and a hint of somberness. He +had become a celebrated satirist.</p> + +<p>"What luck!" he cried, embracing me with sincere delight. "But to think +that I should have to run into you on the street!"</p> + +<p>"I asked for you everywhere."</p> + +<p>"In the old places? I never go to them. You have not dined? Nor I. Here, +let us take this cab."</p> + +<p>He hurried me off to a restaurant of the suburbs. Under the starry sky +we sat down at a table beside a sunken garden, in which nightingales +were trying their voices among the blossoms, whose perfume had been +intensified by dew.</p> + +<p>It was an old-time dinner, at least, that Antonio provided; but, alas! +those others were not there to eke out the illusion of the past. To each +name, as I uttered it, Antonio added an epitaph. This one had gone to +bury himself in the Abruzzi hills. That one had become a professor at +Bologna. Others, in vanishing, had left no trace behind them.</p> + +<p>"And Leonello, who was going to surpass Michael Angelo?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," my friend responded, "Leonello is still here, painting his +pictures. Like me, he could not live long beyond the air of Florence."</p> + +<p>Antonio, in fact, could trace his family back through Florentine history +into the Middle Ages.</p> + +<p>"Is Leonello the same?" I pursued. "Always up to some nonsense? But you +were not much behind him in those insane adventures."</p> + +<p>"Take that to yourself," Antonio retorted. "I recall one antic, just +before you left us—" He broke off to meditate. Clicking his tongue +against his teeth, he gazed at me almost with resentment, as if I were +responsible for this depressing work of time. "No!" he exclaimed, +looking at me in gloomy speculation, while, in the depths of his eyes, +one seemed to see his extraordinary intelligence perplexed and baffled. +"That war of wit is surely over. The old days are gone for good. Let us +make the best of it." And he asked me what I had been doing.</p> + +<p>I made my confession. In those years I had become fascinated by psychic +phenomena—by the intrusion into human experience of weird happenings +that materialism could not very well explain. Many of these happenings +indicated, at least to my satisfaction, not only future existences, but +also previous ones. I admitted to Antonio that, since I was in Italy +again, I intended to investigate the case of a Perugian peasant girl +who, though she had never been associated with educated persons, was +subject to trances in which she babbled the Greek language of +Cleopatra's time, and accurately described the appearance of +pre-Christian Alexandria.</p> + +<p>"I am writing a book on such matters," I concluded. "You, of course, +will laugh at it——"</p> + +<p>His somber eyes, which had been watching me intently, became blank for a +time, then suddenly gave forth a flash.</p> + +<p>"I? Laugh because you have been enthralled by weirdness?" he cried, as +one who, all at once, has been profoundly moved. Yet laugh he did, in +loud tones that were almost wild with strange elation. "Pardon me," he +stammered, passing a trembling hand across his forehead. "You do not +know the man that I have become of late."</p> + +<p>What had my words called to his mind? From that moment everything was +changed. The weight of some mysterious circumstances had descended upon +Antonio, overwhelming, as it seemed to me, the pleasure that he had +found in this reunion. Through the rest of the dinner he was silent, a +prey to that dark exultancy, to that uncanny agitation.</p> + +<p>This silence persisted while the cab bore us back into the city.</p> + +<p>In the narrow streets a blaze of light from the open fronts of +cook-shops flooded the lower stories of some palaces which once on a +time had housed much fierceness and beauty, treachery and perverse +seductiveness. Knowing Antonio's intimate acquaintance with those +splendid days, I strove to rouse him by congenial allusions. His +preoccupation continued; the historic syllables that issued from my lips +were wasted in the clamor of the street. Yet when I pronounced the name +of one of those bygone belles, Fiammetta Adimari, he repeated slowly, +like a man who has found the key to everything:</p> + +<p>"Fiammetta!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, Antonio? Are you in love?"</p> + +<p>He gave me a piercing look and sprang from the cab. We had reached the +door of his house.</p> + +<p>Antonio's bachelor apartment was distinguished by handsome austerity. +The red-tiled floors reflected faintly the lights of antique candelabra, +which shed their luster also upon chests quaintly carved, bric-à-brac +that museums would have coveted, and chairs adorned with threadbare +coats of arms. Beside the mantelpiece hung a small oil-painting, as I +thought, of Antonio himself, his black hair reaching to his shoulders, +and on his head a hat of the Renaissance.</p> + +<p>"No," said he, giving me another of his strange looks, "it is my +ancestor, Antonio di Manzecca, who died in the year fifteen hundred."</p> + +<p>I remembered that somewhere in the hills north of the city there was a +dilapidated stronghold called the Castle of Manzecca. Behind those +walls, in the confusion of the Middle Ages, Antonio's family had +developed into a nest of rural tyrants. Those old steel-clad men of the +Manzecca had become what were called "Signorotti"—lords of a height or +two, swooping down to raid passing convoys, waging petty wars against +the neighboring castles, and at times, like bantams, too arrogant to +bear in mind the shortness of their spurs, defying even Florence. In the +end, as I recalled the matter, Florence had chastened the Manzecca, +together with all the other lordlings of that region. The survivors had +come to live in the city, where, through these hundreds of years, many +changes of fortune had befallen them. My friend Antonio was their last +descendant.</p> + +<p>"But," I protested, examining the portrait, "your resemblance to this +Antonio of the Renaissance could not possibly be closer."</p> + +<p>Instead of replying, he sat down, rested his elbow on his knees, and +pressed his fists against his temples. Presently I became aware that he +was laughing, very softly, but in such an unnatural manner that I +shivered.</p> + +<p>I grew alarmed. It was true that in our years of separation Antonio's +physical appearance had not greatly changed; but what was the meaning of +this mental difference? Was his mind in danger of some sinister +overshadowing? Were these queer manners the symptoms of an incipient +mania? It is proposed that genius is a form of madness. Was the genius +of Antonio, in its phenomenal development, on the point of losing touch +with sanity? As my thoughts leaped from one conjecture to another, the +tiled room took on the chill that pervades a mausoleum. From the bowl on +the table the petals of a dying rose fell in a sudden cascade, like a +dismal portent.</p> + +<p>"The Castle of Manzecca," I ventured, merely to break the silence, "is +quite ruined, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No, the best part of it still stands. I have had some rooms restored."</p> + +<p>"You own it?"</p> + +<p>"I bought it back a year ago. It is there that I——" He buried his face +in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Antonio," I said, "you are in some great trouble."</p> + +<p>"It is not trouble," he answered, in smothered tones. "But why should I +hesitate to make my old friend, whose mind does not reject weirdness, my +confidant? I warn you, however, that it will be a confidence weird +enough to make even your experience in such matters seem tame. Go first +to Perugia. Examine the peasant girl who chatters of ancient Alexandria. +Return to my house one week from to-night, at dusk, and you shall share +my secret."</p> + +<p>He rose, averted his face, and went to throw himself upon a couch, or +porch-bed, another relic, its woodwork covered with faded paint and +gilt, amid which one might trace the gallants of the sixteenth century +in pursuit of nymphs—an allegory of that age's longing for the classic +past. I left him thus, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, +oblivious of my farewell.</p> + +<p>Poor Antonio! What a return to Florence!</p> + +<p>A week from that night, at dusk, I returned. At Perugia I had filled a +pocket-book with notes on the peasant girl's trances. The spell of those +strange revelations was yet on me, but at Antonio's door I felt that I +stood on the threshold of a still more agitating disclosure.</p> + +<p>My knock was answered by Antonio himself, his hat on his head and a +motorcoat over his arm. He seemed burning with impatience.</p> + +<p>"You have your overcoat? Good." And he locked the door on the outside.</p> + +<p>We stepped into a limousine, which whirled us away through the twilight. +The weather made one remember that even in Florence the merging of March +and April could be violent. To-night masses of harsh-looking clouds sped +across the sky before an icy wind from the mountains. A burial-party, +assembled at a convent gate, had their black robes fluttering, their +waxen torches blown out.</p> + +<p>"Death!" muttered Antonio, with a sardonic grimace. "And they call it +unconquerable!"</p> + +<p>As we paused before a dwelling-house, two men emerged upon the pavement. +They were Leonello, the artist, and another friend of the old days, +named Leonardo. The unusual occasion constrained our greetings. The +newcomers, after pressing my hand, devoted themselves with grave +solicitude to Antonio.</p> + +<p>He burst forth at them like a man whose nervous tension is nearly +unendurable:</p> + +<p>"Yes, hang it all! I am quite well. Why the devil will you persist in +coddling me?"</p> + +<p>Leonello and Leonardo gave me a mournful look.</p> + +<p>We now stopped at another door, where there joined us two ladies unknown +to me. Both were comely, with delicate features full of sensibility. +Neither, I judged, had reached the age of thirty. In the moment of +meeting—a moment notable for a stammering of incoherent phrases, a +darting of sidelong looks at Antonio, a general effect of furtiveness +and excitement—no one remembered to present me to these ladies. +However, while we were arranging ourselves in the limousine I gathered +that the name of one of them was Laura, and that the other's name was +Lina. In their faces, on which the street-lights cast intermittent +flashes, I seemed to discern a struggle between apprehension and avidity +for this adventure.</p> + +<p>The silence, and the tension of all forms, continued even when we left +the city behind us and found ourselves speeding northward along a +country road.</p> + +<p>"Northward. To the Castle of Manzecca, then?" I asked myself.</p> + +<p>The rays from our lamps revealed the trees all bending toward the south. +The wind pressed against our car, as if to hold us back from the +revelation awaiting us ahead, in the midst of the black night, whence +this interminable whistling moan pervaded nature. Rain dashed against +the glass. Through the blurred windows the lights of farms appeared, to +be instantly engulfed by darkness. Then everything vanished except the +illuminated streak of road. We seemed to be fleeing from the known +world, across a span of radiance that trembled over an immeasurable +void, into the supernatural.</p> + +<p>The limousine glided to a standstill.</p> + +<p>"Here we abandon the car."</p> + +<p>We entered the kitchen of a humble farm-house. Strings of garlic hung +from the ceiling, and on the floor lay some valises.</p> + +<p>As the ladies departed into another room, Antonio mastered his emotion +and addressed me.</p> + +<p>"What we must do, and what I must ask you to promise, may at first seem +to you ridiculous," he said. "Yet your acceptance of my conditions is a +matter of life or death, not to any one here present, but to another, +whom we are about to visit. What I require is this: you are to put on, +as we shall, the costumes in these valises, which are after the fashion +of the early sixteenth century. Indeed, when our journey is resumed, +there must be about us nothing to suggest the present age. Moreover, I +must have your most earnest promise that when we reach our destination +you will refrain from giving the least hint, by word or action, that the +sixteenth century has passed away. If you feel unable to carry out this +deception, we must leave you here. The slightest blunder would be +fatal."</p> + +<p>No sooner had Antonio uttered these words than he turned in a panic to +Leonello and Leonardo.</p> + +<p>"Am I wrong to have brought him?" he demanded, distractedly. "Can I +depend on him at every point? You two, and Laura and Lina, know what it +would mean if he should make a slip."</p> + +<p>Much disturbed, I declared that I wished for nothing better than to +return to Florence at once. But Leonardo restrained me, while Leonello, +patting Antonio's shoulder in reassurance, responded:</p> + +<p>"Trust him. You do his quick wit an injustice."</p> + +<p>Finally Antonio, with a heavy sigh, unlocked the valises.</p> + +<p>Hitherto I had associated masquerade with festive expectations, but +nothing could have been less festive than the atmosphere in which we +donned those costumes. They were rich, accurate, and complete. The wigs +of flowing hair were perfectly deceptive. The fur-trimmed surcoats and +the long hose were in fabrics suggestive of lost weaving arts. Each +dagger, buckle, hat-gem, and finger-ring, was a true antique. Even when +the two ladies appeared, in sumptuous Renaissance dresses, their +coiffures as closely in accordance with that period as their expanded +silhouettes, no smile crossed any face.</p> + +<p>"Are we all—" began Antonio. His voice failed him. Muffled in thick +cloaks, we faced the blustery night again.</p> + +<p>Behind the farm-house stood horses, saddled and bridled in an obsolete +manner. Our small cavalcade wound up a hillside path, which, in the +darkness, the beasts felt out for themselves. One became aware of +cypress-trees on either hillside, immensely tall, to judge by the +thickness of their trunks. More and more numerous became these trees, as +was evident from the lamentation of their countless branches. In its +groan, the forest voiced to the utmost that melancholy which the +imaginative mind associates with cypresses in Italy, where they seemed +always to raise their funereal grace around the sites of vanished +splendors.</p> + +<p>We were ascending one of the hills that lie scattered above Florence +toward the mountains, and that were formerly all covered with these +solemn trees.</p> + +<p>But the wind grew even stronger as we neared the summit. Above us loomed +a gray bulk. The Castle of Manzecca reluctantly unveiled itself, bleak, +towering, impressive in its decay—a ruin that was still a fortress, and +that time had not injured so much as had its mortal besiegers; the last +of whom had died centuries ago. A gate swung open. Our horses clattered +into a courtyard which abruptly blazed with torches.</p> + +<p>In that dazzle all the omens of our journey were fulfilled. We found +ourselves, as it appeared, not only in a place embodying another age, +but in that other age itself.</p> + +<p>The streaming torches revealed shock-headed servitors of the +Renaissance, their black tunics stamped in vermilion, front and back, +with a device of the Manzecca. By the steps glittered the spear-points +of a clump of men-at-arms whose swarthy and rugged faces remained +impassive under flattened helmets. But as we dismounted a grey-hound +came leaping from the castle, and in the doorway hovered an old +maid-servant. To her Antonio ran straightway, his cape whipping out +behind him.</p> + +<p>"Speak, Nuta! Is she well?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>We followed him into the castle.</p> + +<p>It was a spacious hall, paved with stone, its limits shadowy, its core +illuminated brilliantly with candles. From the rafters dangled some +banners, tattered and queerly designed. Below these, in the midst of the +hall—in a mellow refulgence that she herself seemed to give +forth—there awaited us a woman glorified by youth and happiness, who +pressed her hand to her heart.</p> + +<p>She wore a gown of violet-colored silk, the sleeves puffed at the +shoulders, the bodice tight across the breast and swelling at the waist, +the skirt voluminous. On either side of her bosom, sheer linen, puckered +by golden rosettes, mounted to form behind her neck a little ruff. Over +her golden hair, every strand of which had been drawn back strictly from +her brow, a white veil was clasped, behind her ears, by a band of pearls +and amethysts cut in cabuchon.</p> + +<p>Still, she was remarkable less for her costume than for the singularity +of her charms.</p> + +<p>To what was this singularity due? To the intense emotions that she +seemed to be harboring? Or to the arrangement of her lovely features, +to-day unique, which made one think of backgrounds composed of brocade +and armor, the freshly painted canvases of Titian and the dazzling +newness of statues by Michael Angelo? As she approached that singularity +of hers became still more disquieting, as though the fragrance that +enveloped her were not a woman's chosen perfume, but the very aroma of +the magnificent past.</p> + +<p>Antonio regarded her with his soul in his eyes, then greedily kissed her +hands. When the others had saluted her, each of them as much moved as +though she were an image in a shrine, Antonio said in a hoarse voice to +me:</p> + +<p>"I present you to Madonna Fiammetta di Foscone, my affianced bride. +Madonna, this gentleman comes from a distant country to pay you homage."</p> + +<p>"He is welcome," she answered, in a voice that accorded with her +peculiar beauty.</p> + +<p>And my bewilderment deepened as I realized that they were speaking not +modern Italian, but what I gathered to be the Italian of the sixteenth +century.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I found myself with Antonio in a tower-room, whither he had brought me +on the ladies' retirement to prepare themselves for supper.</p> + +<p>The wind, howling round the tower, pressed against the narrow windows +covered with oiled linen. The cypress forest, which on all sides +descended from our peak into the valleys, gave forth a continuous moan. +Every instant the candle-light threatened to go out. The very tower +seemed to be trembling, like Antonio, in awe of the secret about to be +revealed. For a while my poor friend could say nothing. Seated in his +rich disguise on a bench worn smooth by men whose tombs were crumbling, +he leaned forward beneath the burden of his thoughts, and the long locks +of his wig hung down as if to veil the disorder of his features.</p> + +<p>Finally he began:</p> + +<p>"In the year fifteen hundred my family still called this place their +home. There were only two of them left, two brothers, the older bearing +the title Lord of Manzecca. The younger brother was that Antonio di +Manzecca whose portrait you saw on the wall of my apartment in the city. +It is to him, as you observed, that I bear so close a resemblance.</p> + +<p>"In a hill-castle not far away lived another family, the Foscone.</p> + +<p>"The Lord of Foscone, a widower, had only one child left, a daughter +seventeen years old. Her name was Fiammetta. Even in Florence it was +said that to the north, amid the wilderness of cypress-trees, there +dwelt a maiden whose beauty surrounded her with golden rays like a +nimbus."</p> + +<p>I remembered our entrance into this castle, my first glimpse of the +woman awaiting us in the middle of the hall, and the glow of light +around her that appeared to be a radiance expanding from her person.</p> + +<p>But my friend continued:</p> + +<p>"Between the two castles there was friendly intercourse. It was presumed +that the Lord of Foscone would presently give his daughter in marriage +to the Lord of Manzecca. Fate, however, determined that Fiammetta and +Antonio di Manzecca, the younger brother, should fall in love with each +other.</p> + +<p>"Need I describe to you the fervor of that passion in the Italian +springtime, at a period of our history when all the emotions were +terrific in their force?</p> + +<p>"At night, Antonio di Manzecca would slip away to the Castle of Foscone. +She would be waiting for him on the platform outside her chamber, above +the ramparts, overlooking the path across the hills. It chanced that by +the aid of vines and fissures in the masonry he could climb the castle +wall almost to that platform—almost near enough, indeed, to touch her +finger-tips. Unhappily, there was nothing there to which she could +attach a twisted sheet. So thus they made love—she bending down toward +him, he clutching with toes and hands at the wall, her whispers making +him dizzier than his perilous posture, her tears falling upon his lips +through a space so little, yet greater than the distance between two +stars.</p> + +<p>"But almost everything is discovered. Antonio's meetings with Fiammetta +became known to his elder brother.</p> + +<p>"One evening Fiammetta, from the high platform, saw Antonio approaching +while it was still twilight. All at once he was surrounded by servants +of his own house, who had been waiting for him in ambush. Before he +could move, half a dozen daggers sank into his body. Amid the thorns and +nettles he sprawled lifeless, under the eyes of his beloved. As the +assassins dragged his body away, there burst from the platform a +prolonged peal of laughter.</p> + +<p>"Fiammetta di Foscone had gone mad."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At that tragedy, at least, I was not surprised. The Italy of the +Renaissance was full of such episodes—the murderous jealousy of +brothers, the obedient cruelty of retainers, the wreckage of women's +sanity by the fall of horrors much more ingeniously contrived than this. +What froze my blood was the anticipation gradually shaping in my mind. I +felt that this was the prelude to something monstrous, incredible, which +I should be forced to believe.</p> + +<p>"She had gone mad," my friend repeated, staring before him. "She had, in +other words, lost contact with what we call reality. To her that state +of madness had become reality, its delusions truth, and everything +beyond those delusions misty, unreal, or non-existent."</p> + +<p>His voice died away as he looked at his hands with an expression of +disbelief. He even reached forward to touch my knee, then sighed:</p> + +<p>"You will soon understand why I am sometimes possessed with the idea +that I am dreaming."</p> + +<p>And he resumed his tale:</p> + +<p>"Antonio di Manzecca was buried. His elder brother found a wife +elsewhere. The Lord of Foscone married again, and by that marriage had +other children. But still his daughter Fiammetta stood nightly on the +platform of the Castle of Foscone, gazing down at the hill path, waiting +for her Antonio to climb the wall and whisper his love.</p> + +<p>"Now she only lived in that state of ardent expectancy. The days and +weeks and months were but one hour, the hour preceding his last approach +to her. Every moment, in her delusion, she expected him to end that hour +by coming to her as young as ever, to find her as winsome as before. In +consequence, time vanished from her thought. And in vanishing from her +thought, time lost its power over her.</p> + +<p>"Her father died; but Fiammetta still kept her vigil, in appearance the +same as on the evening of that tragedy. A new generation of the Foscone +grew old in their turn, but Fiammetta's loveliness was still perfect. In +her madness there seemed to be a sanity surpassing the sanity of other +mortals. For by becoming insensible to time she had attained an earthly +immortality, an uncorrupted physical beauty, in which she constantly +looked forward to the delight of loving.</p> + +<p>"So she went on and on——"</p> + +<p>The tower shook in terror of the gale, and we shook with it, in terror +of this revelation. My thoughts turned toward the woman below, who had +smiled at us from that aura of physical resplendency. I felt my hair +rising, and heard a voice, my own, cry out: "No, no!"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" Antonio shouted, fixing his hands upon my arms. We were both +standing, and our leaping shadows on the wall resembled a combat in +which one was struggling to force insanity upon the other. He went on +speaking, but his words were drowned in a screaming of vast forces that +clutched at the tower as if in fury because the normal processes of +nature had been defied. Would those forces attain their revenge? Was the +tower about to thunder down upon the Castle of Manzecca, annihilating +her and us, the secret and its possessors? For a moment I would have +welcomed even that escape from thinking.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he repeated, releasing my arms and sitting down limply on the +bench. "As you anticipate, so it turned out."</p> + +<p>I was still able to protest:</p> + +<p>"Admitted that this has happened elsewhere, to a certain degree. In +Victorian England there lived a woman whose love-affair was wrecked and +whose mind automatically closed itself against everything associated +with her tragedy, or subsequent to it. In her madness she, too, +protected herself against pain by living in expectation of the lover's +return. Because that expectation was restricted to her girlhood, she +remained a girl in appearance for over fifty years. Fifty years, that is +comprehensible!"</p> + +<p>"The principle is the same," said Antonio, wearily. "Every mental +phenomenon has minor and major examples. But I will tell you the rest.</p> + +<p>"The Foscone, also, finally moved to Florence. Their castle was left in +the care of hereditary servants, devoted and discreet. On that isolated +hilltop no chance was afforded strangers to solve the mystery of the +woman who paced the high platform in the attire of another age. Was +there, in the Foscone's concealment of the awesome fact, a medieval +impulse, the ancient instinct of noble houses to defend themselves +against all forms of aggression, including curiosity? Or was it merely +the usual aversion to being identified with abnormality? Some +abnormality is so terrifying that it seals the loosest lips.</p> + +<p>"Now and then, to be sure, some servant's tongue was set wagging by +wine, or some heir of the Foscone confided in his sweetheart. But the +rumor, if it went farther, soon became distorted and incredible, amid +the ghost-stories of a hundred Italian castles, palaces, and villas. I +myself found hints in the archives of my family, yet saw in them only a +pretty tale, such as results when romantic invention is combined with +pride of race.</p> + +<p>"But I was destined to sing another tune.</p> + +<p>"Not long ago, the last of the Foscone's modern generation passed away. +There came to me an old woman-servant from the castle. It was Nuta, whom +you saw below as we entered.</p> + +<p>"Why had she sought me out? Because, if you please, in the year fifteen +hundred one of my family had brought this thing to pass. It seemed to +Nuta, the fact now being subject to discovery by the executors of the +estate, that the care of her charge devolved upon me.</p> + +<p>"At first I believed that old Nuta was the mad one. In the end, however, +I accompanied her to the castle. At dusk, concealed by the cypresses, I +discerned on the platform a face that seemed to have been transported +from another epoch just in order to pierce my heart with an intolerable +longing. I fell in love as one slips into a vortex, and instantly the +rational world was lost beyond a whorl of ecstasy and fright.</p> + +<p>"I regained Florence with but one thought: how could she be restored to +sanity, yet be maintained in that beauty which had triumphed over +centuries? As I entered my apartment I saw before me the portrait of +that other Antonio di Manzecca, whom I so closely resembled, whom she +had loved, whose return she still awaited. I stood there blinded by a +flash of inspiration.</p> + +<p>"At midnight my plan was complete."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As he paused, and the conclusion became clear to me, I was taken with a +kind of stupor.</p> + +<p>"A few days later," he said, "as she stood gazing down through the +twilight, a man emerged from the forest, in face and dress the image of +that other Antonio di Manzecca. At his signal, servants in the old-time +livery of the Manzecca appeared with a ladder, which they leaned against +the ramparts. He set foot upon the platform. Her pallor turned +deathlike; her eyes became blank; she fainted in his arms. When she +recovered she was in the Castle of Manzecca.</p> + +<p>"That shock had restored her reason.</p> + +<p>"Now everything around her very artfully suggested the sixteenth +century—the furniture, the most trivial utensils, the costume of the +humblest person in the castle. Nuta attended her. The convalescent was +told that she had been ill in consequence of the attack on her lover, +but that he, instead of succumbing, had been spirited away and +stealthily nursed back to health. Again whole, he had returned to avenge +himself on his brother, whom he had killed. Meanwhile her father had +died. Therefore she had been brought from the Castle of Foscone to the +Castle of Manzecca to enjoy the protection of her Antonio, whom she was +now free to marry.</p> + +<p>"All this was what she wanted to believe, so she believed it."</p> + +<p>But Antonio's face was filled with a new distress. He rose, to pace the +floor with the gestures of a man who realizes that he is locked in a +cell to which there is no key.</p> + +<p>"In the restoration of her mind," he groaned, "my own peace of mind has +been destroyed. Even this love, the strangest and most thrilling in the +world, will never allay the heartquakes that I have brought upon myself.</p> + +<p>"With her perception of time restored, she will now be subject to time +like other mortals. As year follows year, her youthfulness will merge +into maturity, her maturity into old age, here in this castle, where +nothing must ever suggest that she has attained a century other than her +own. For me that means a ceaseless vigilance and fear. My devotion will +always be mingled with forebodings of some blunder, some unforeseen +intrusion of the present, some lightning-like revelation of the truth to +her."</p> + +<p>At that he broke down.</p> + +<p>"Ah, if that happened, what horror should I witness?"</p> + +<p>The gale sounded like the hooting of a thousand demons who were +preparing for this man a frightful retribution. Yet even in that moment +I envied him.</p> + +<p>To her beauty, which had bewitched me at my first sight of her, was +added another allurement—the thought of a magical flight far beyond +the boundaries imprisoning other men. If romance is a striving toward +something at once unique and sympathetic, here was romance attained. +Moreover, in embracing that exquisite personification of the +Renaissance, one might add to love the glamour of a terrible audacity. +And the addition of glamour to love has always been one of the most +assiduously practised arts.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At the bottom of the winding tower staircase, in the doorway of the hall +where she had greeted us, we paused to compose ourselves.</p> + +<p>"At least," Antonio besought me, "when in doubt, remain silent."</p> + +<p>We entered the hall. Under a wooden gallery adorned with carved and +tinted shields the supper-table was laid.</p> + +<p>They awaited us, shimmering in their fantastic finery—the ladies Laura +and Lina, my old friends Leonardo and Leonello, and the ineffable +Fiammetta di Foscone. The visitors' cheeks seemed hectic from the +excitement of the hour; but her face was flushed, her eyes shone, for +her own reasons. As I approached her my heartbeats suffocated me. Yes, I +would have taken Antonio's place and shouldered all his terrors! Before +me the fair conqueror of time disappeared in a haze, out of which her +voice emerged like a sweet utterance from beyond the tomb.</p> + +<p>"You are pleased with the castle, messere?"</p> + +<p>As I was striving to respond, Antonio said to her, half aside, in that +quaint species of Italian which he had used before:</p> + +<p>"He speaks our language with difficulty, Madonna, and in a dialect. This +disability will embarrass him till he finds himself more at home."</p> + +<p>"Then let us sup," she exclaimed. "For since this new custom of a third +meal has become fashionable in Florence, no doubt you are all expiring +of hunger. So quickly does habit become tyrannous, especially when it +involves a pleasure."</p> + +<p>In some manner or other I seated myself at the table.</p> + +<p>The servants bore in, on silver platters, small chickens garnished with +sugar and rose-water, a sort of galantine, tarts of almonds and honey, +caramels of pine-seed. From the gallery overhead came the tinkle of a +rota, a kind of guitar. The musician produced a whimsical tune +suggesting a picnic of lords and ladies in the garden of an antique +villa, where trick fountains, masked by blossoms, drenched the unwary +with streams of water. But in the chimney of the great, cold fireplace +behind my back the wind still growled its threats; the voice of Nature +still menaced these audacious mortals, who were celebrating the +humiliation of her laws.</p> + +<p>Beyond the candle-light the beauty of Fiammetta di Foscone became +blinding. In her there was no sign of an unnatural preservation, as, for +example, in a flower that has been sustained, yet subtly altered, by +imprisonment in ice. Nor did her countenance show in the least that +glaze of time which changes, without abating, the fairness of marble +goddesses surviving for us from remote ages of esthetic victory. But +wait; she was not an animated statue, nor any product of nature other +than flesh and blood! And the flesh, the glance, the whole person of +this creature from another era, expressed a glorious young womanhood. I +was lost in admiration, pity, and dread. For over this shining miracle +hovered the shadow of disaster. One could not forget the countless +menaces surrounding her.</p> + +<p>If she should grasp the truth, if all of a sudden she should realize her +disaccordance with the world of mortals, what would happen to her before +our eyes? Would she succumb instantly? Or would she first shrivel into +some appalling monstrosity? This deception could not last forever. Might +it not end to-night?</p> + +<p>Did the others have similar premonitions?</p> + +<p>Their smiles seemed tremulous and wan, their movements constrained and +timorous. All their efforts at gaiety were impeded by the inertia of +fear. At every speech the lips of Lina and Laura quivered, the hands of +Leonello and Leonardo were clenched in a nervous spasm. Antonio +controlled himself only by the most heroic efforts.</p> + +<p>What a price to pay for an illusion of happiness that was destined to a +ghastly end! Yet I would still have paid that heavy price exacted from +Antonio.</p> + +<p>Fiammetta di Foscone became infected by our nervousness. At one moment +her mirth was feverish; at another, a look of vague uneasiness crossed +her face. Was our secret gradually penetrating to her subconscious mind? +Was she to learn the fact, and perish of it, not because of bungling +word or action on our part, but merely from the unwitting transmission +of our thoughts?</p> + +<p>The others redoubled their travesty of merriment. They voiced the gossip +of a vanished society; the politics, fashions, and scandals of old +Florence. One heard the names of noble families long since extinct, +accounts of historic escapades related as if they had happened +yesterday. Fiammetta recovered her animation.</p> + +<p>Her dewy eyes turned to Antonio. Her fingers caressed her +betrothal-ring, which was like the wedding-ring of the twentieth +century. And in this hall tricked out with lies, amid these guests and +servants who were the embodiment of falsehood, an oppressing atmosphere +of dread was clarified, for a moment, by the strength and delicacy of +her love.</p> + +<p>They discussed the virtues of the Muses, the plagiarisms of Petrarch, +the wonders of astrology. Her uneasiness revived. In a voice more +musical than the rota in the gallery, she asked:</p> + +<p>"My dear friends, would you attribute to some planetary influence a +feeling of strangeness that I receive at times, even from the air? I +demand of you whether the air does not have an unfamiliar smell +to-night?"</p> + +<p>There was a freezing moment of silence.</p> + +<p>"It is this great wind," muttered Leonardo, "that has brought us new air +from afar."</p> + +<p>"Every place has its smell," was Leonello's contribution. "It is natural +that the Castle of Manzecca should smell differently from the Castle of +Foscone."</p> + +<p>Antonio thanked his friends with an eloquent look.</p> + +<p>"True," she assented, pensively, "every spot, every person, is +surrounded by its especial ether, produced by its peculiar activity. +This house, not only in its smell, but in its tenor of life, and even in +its food, differs vastly from my own house, which, nevertheless, is just +across the hills."</p> + +<p>Antonio drained his goblet at a gulp. He got out the words:</p> + +<p>"We are provincial, we Manzecca. Like a race apart."</p> + +<p>"All old families, jealous of their integrity, are the same," ventured +Laura, who looked, nevertheless, as if she were about to faint.</p> + +<p>"Or maybe," mused Fiammetta, "it is because I have been ill that things +perplex me, and sometimes startle me by an effect of strangeness. There +are moments when even the stars look odd to me, and when the +countryside, viewed from the tower above us, is bewildering. In one +direction I see woods where I should have expected meadows; in another +direction, fields where I should have expected woods. But then, I now +view the countryside from a tower other than my own, and see in a new +aspect that landscape with which I thought myself so well acquainted. +Does that explain it?"</p> + +<p>How touching, how pitiable, was her expression, half arch, half +pleading, and so beautiful! "Oh, lovely and terrible prodigy!" I +thought, "draw back; banish those thoughts; or, rather, no longer think +at all—for you are on the edge of the abyss!"</p> + +<p>Antonio spoke with difficulty:</p> + +<p>"Dearest one, do not pain me by mentioning that illness of yours. Do not +pain yourself by dwelling on it in your mind. The past with all its +misfortunes is gone forever. Let us live in the present and contemplate +a future full of bliss."</p> + +<p>A quivering sigh of assent and relief went round the supper-table. But +Fiammetta protested:</p> + +<p>"I should not care to forget the past. It contained too much happiness. +The hours at twilight, when I waited on the platform of the Castle of +Foscone, and you clambered up the wall, are not for oblivion! Do you +remember, Antonio, how you once brought with you a bunch of little +damask roses, which you tossed up to me while clinging to the masonry? +Those roses became my treasure. The sweetest one of them I locked in a +tiny silver box which I kept always by me. That box came with me from +the Castle of Foscone. The key is lost; but you shall open it with your +dagger, and learn how I have cherished an emblem of that past which you +ask me to forget."</p> + +<p>With a rare smile, she drew from the bosom of her gown a very small +coffer of silver, its chiseling worn smooth by innumerable caresses. +Poor soul! it was in her bosom that she had cherished this pretty little +box, more cruelly fatal than a viper.</p> + +<p>Antonio, his jaws sagging, rose half-way out of his chair, then sank +back, speechless and livid. Unaware, eager, and imperious, Fiammetta +demanded:</p> + +<p>"A dagger!"</p> + +<p>Too late Antonio managed to put out a shaking hand in protest. Already a +fool of a servant had presented his dirk to her. In a twinkling—before +we could stop her—Fiammetta had pried back the lid.</p> + +<p>The silver box, its oxidized interior as black as ink, contained, in +place of the damask rose that had bloomed in the year fifteen hundred, +only a few grains of dust.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was no sound except from the wind, which yelled its devilish glee +round the castle and in the chimney of the fireplace.</p> + +<p>She had risen to her feet. In her eyes, peering at the little coffer, +bewilderment gave place to dismay. But in our faces she found a +consternation far surpassing hers.</p> + +<p>"Only dust?"</p> + +<p>Antonio distorted his mouth in a vain effort to speak. At last, with a +frantic oath, he swept the silver box into the fireplace, where it fell +amid the brush-wood and inflammable rubbish piled ready for lighting +under the big logs.</p> + +<p>Fiammetta had tried to stop him. Under her clutching hand, his +fur-trimmed sleeve had slipped up, exposing his forearm. She was staring +at his forearm.</p> + +<p>"The scar?" she whispered. "Was it not here, when you raised your arm to +shield yourself against them, that you caught the first knife-thrust? +How long does it take for such a scar to pass entirely away?"</p> + +<p>Lina and Laura sank back in their chairs. Leonello averted his face. +Leonardo turned away. Again Antonio tried to speak. The terror that held +us in its grip was communicated to Fiammetta di Foscone.</p> + +<p>Her countenance became bloodless. Her teeth chattered. She murmured:</p> + +<p>"What is happening to me? I am so cold!"</p> + +<p>She sank down, amid billows of violet-colored silk, between Antonio's +arms, before the fireplace. Her veil, confined by the band of pearls and +amethysts, did not seem as white as her skin.</p> + +<p>There was a hysterical babble of voices:</p> + +<p>"She is dead! No, she has swooned! Bring vinegar! Rub her hands! Light +the fire!"</p> + +<p>Then ensued a jostling of guests and servants, who crowded forward to +poke a dozen lighted candles at the brush-wood. In the midst of this +confusion Fiammetta sat before the hearth, her eyes half closed, her +head rolling against Antonio's shoulder, her throat, framed by the +little ruff, palpitating like the breast of an expiring dove. She was in +the throes of the emotions that had been at last transferred from our +minds to hers and that she was doubtless on the point of comprehending.</p> + +<p>The brush-wood caught fire. At that flicker her eyelids opened. She +leaned forward. Under the brush-wood, already writhing in flames, was +the fragment of a modern Italian newspaper. One plainly saw the title, +part of a head-line, and the date.</p> + +<p>Fiammetta di Foscone read the date.</p> + +<p>As Antonio and I, between us, lifted her into a chair, she kept +repeating to herself, in a soft, incredulous voice, the date. And so +badly had our wits been paralyzed by this catastrophe, that none of us +could find one lying word to utter.</p> + +<p>Antonio knelt before her, his arms clasping her knees, his head bowed. +He was weeping as if she were already dead. Her hands slowly stole forth +to close around his face and lift it up.</p> + +<p>"Whatever it is," she breathed, "I still have you."</p> + +<p>As she gazed, half lifeless, but still fairer than an untinted statue, +at his face, all at once her eyes became enormous. Pushing him from her, +she stood bolt-upright at one movement, with a heart-rending scream:</p> + +<p>"A stranger!"</p> + +<p>That scream was still resounding from the rafters when we saw her +fleeing across the hall, her head thrown back, her arms outspread, her +white veil and violet draperies floating behind her. Her jewels +glittered like the last sparkle of a splendid dream that has been doomed +to swift extinction. She vanished through the doorway leading to the +tower staircase.</p> + +<p>"After her!" some one shouted.</p> + +<p>Antonio was first; but at the doorway he stumbled, and Leonello, who was +second, fell over him. Vaulting their bodies, I gained the circular +staircase that ascended to the tower. I heard Antonio bawling after me:</p> + +<p>"She will throw herself from the roof!"</p> + +<p>The staircase was black, and the wind whistled down its well. At each +landing the heavy doors on either side banged open and shut. From +overhead there descended a long wail, maybe her voice, or maybe one of +the countless voices of the storm. As I neared the top, a door through +which I had just passed blew shut with a deafening report. I emerged +upon the roof of the tower in a torrent of rain. The roof was empty.</p> + +<p>I peered over the low battlements. Close below me swayed the tops of +cypress-trees; beneath them everything was lost in the obscurity of the +night. Soon, however, the darkness was lighted by torches which began to +dart to and fro among the trees. By those fitful gleams I made out the +crouching backs of men, the livery of the Manzecca with its black and +vermilion device, helmets and sword-hilts, and finally upturned faces +that appeared ruddy in the torch-light, though I knew that in reality +they must be pallid. They called up to me, but the wind whipped their +voices away. I made signs that she was not on the tower. The faces +disappeared; again the torches wandered among the trees. Now and then I +heard a shout, the barking of the greyhound, and a woman—perhaps old +Nuta—in hysterics.</p> + +<p>I began to descend the staircase. The last door through which I had +passed was so tightly wedged, from its slamming, that I could not open +it. I sat down on the steps to wait till the others should miss me.</p> + +<p>What thoughts!</p> + +<p>"Can it be true? Yes, it has happened, and I have seen the end of it! +This will kill Antonio. But then, none of us will ever be the same +again."</p> + +<p>I was sure that my hair had turned white.</p> + +<p>And she? A vast wave of pity and longing swept over me and whirled me +away into the depths of despair.</p> + +<p>Now, I told myself, they have found her. And I fell to shuddering again. +Now they have brought her in, unless what they saw, when they found her, +scattered them, raving, through the woods. Now they are trying to soothe +Antonio, perhaps to wrench a weapon from his hand. Now surely they have +noticed my absence.</p> + +<p>I cannot imagine what impulse made me rise, at last, and try the door +again. At my first touch it swung open.</p> + +<p>Descending the staircase, I re-entered the hall.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They were all seated at the supper-table, which was now decorated with +flowers, with baskets of fruit, with plates of bonbons, and with favors +in the form of dolls tricked out like little ladies of the Renaissance. +The servants wore tail-coats and white-cotton gloves. Leonello and +Leonardo, Lina and Laura, even Antonio, had on the evening-dress +appropriate to the twentieth century. But my brain reeled indeed when I +saw Fiammetta, her hair done in the last Parisian style, her low-neck +gown the essence of modern chic.</p> + +<p>The company looked at me with tolerant smiles.</p> + +<p>"Well," exclaimed Antonio, "you have certainly taken your time! We +waited ages for you, then decided that the food was spoiling, and fell +to. There is your place, old fellow. I'll have the relishes brought +back."</p> + +<p>I dropped into my chair with a thud. Leonardo, reaching in front of +Lina, took the fabric of my antique costume between thumb and finger.</p> + +<p>"Very <i>recherché</i>," was his comment. "Do you wear it for a whim?"</p> + +<p>"He is soaking wet," announced Lina, compassionately. "I think he has +been looking at the garden."</p> + +<p>"A botanist!" cried Laura, clapping her hands. "Will you give me some +advice, signore? What is the best preservative for damask roses?"</p> + +<p>"Water them with credulity," Leonello suggested.</p> + +<p>And they all burst out laughing in my face, with the exception of the +beautiful Fiammetta.</p> + +<p>Antonio, rising and bowing to me, spoke as follows:</p> + +<p>"My friend, the sixteenth century bequeathed to us Florentines a little +of its cheerful cruelty and something of its pleasure in vendettas. +Casting your thoughts into a less remote past, you may retrieve an +impression of your last performance before your departure from the +Florence of our youth. Need I describe that performance? Its details +were conceived and executed with much talent. It made me, who was its +butt, the laughing stock of our circle for a month. Did we children of +Boccaccio impart to you that knack for practical joking? Remember that +the pupil does not always permanently abash his teacher. But come, let +us make a lasting peace now. If after all these years I managed to catch +you off your guard, you will never again catch me so. Let us forget our +two chagrins in drinking to this pleasant night, which, though I fancy +the fact has escaped you, happens to be the First of April."</p> + +<p>While I was still trying to master my feelings, he added:</p> + +<p>"I have forgotten to explain that Lina is the wife of Leonello, our new +Michael Angelo, who did that portrait of me in the wig and costume of +the Renaissance. Laura, on the other hand, is the wife of Leonardo. As +for our heroine, Fiammetta, she is the bride of your unworthy Antonio. +She has been so gracious as to marry me between two of her theatrical +seasons; in fact, we are here on our honeymoon. Why the deuce have you +never married? A wife might keep you out of many a laughable +predicament."</p> + +<p>Leonello hazarded, "He is waiting to marry some lady who can describe, +in her trances, the cuisine of Nebuchadnezzar's palace, or the home-life +of the Queen of Sheba."</p> + +<p>"Do no such thing," Antonio implored me. "And hereafter avoid the +supernatural like the plague. May this affair instil into your +philosophy of life a little healthy skepticism. There is no better tonic +than laughter for one who has caught the malaria of psychical research. +But even Nuta, my wife's old dresser at the theater, will tell you that +laughter is precious. You have given her to-night the first out-and-out +guffaw that she has enjoyed in years. She says it cured her of a crick +in the neck."</p> + +<p>The fair Fiammetta, however, made a gesture of reproof, then held out +her warm hand to me.</p> + +<p>"No, Antonio," she protested, "you have not been clever, after all, but +wicked. The worst of revenge is this: that it invariably exceeds its +object. To what do you owe this triumph? To his solicitude for you, to +his trust in you, which you have abused. Also, as I suspect, to his pity +for Fiammetta di Foscone, which I have ill repaid. In fine, we owe the +success of this trick to the misuse of fine emotions. That was not the +custom of Messer Giovanni Boccaccio." And to me, "Will you forgive us?"</p> + +<p>All the others looked rather chop-fallen. But Antonio soon recovered. He +retorted:</p> + +<p>"If you could have seen what an ass he made of me that time, you would +not at this moment be holding his hand. Look here, old fellow, she has a +sister who rather resembles her, and whose hand I have no objection to +your holding as long as you wish. We will introduce you to-morrow. Ah +yes, we will make you forgive us, you rascal, before we are done with +you!"</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers. <br />Copyright, 1921, by +Stephen French Whitman.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sheener20" id="Sheener20"></a>SHEENER<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> BEN AMES WILLIAMS</h3> +<h4>From <i>Collier's Weekly</i></h4> + + +<p>When he was sober the man always insisted that his name was Evans, but +in his cups he was accustomed to declare, in a boastful fashion, that +his name was not Evans at all. However, he never went farther than this, +and since none of us were particularly interested, we were satisfied to +call him Evans, or, more often, Bum, for short. He was the second +assistant janitor; and whereas, in some establishments, a janitor is a +man of power and place, it is not so in a newspaper office. In such +institutions, where great men are spoken of irreverently and by their +first names, a janitor is a man of no importance. How much less, then, +his second assistant. It was never a part of Evans's work, for example, +to sweep the floors. There is something lordly in the gesture of the +broom. But the janitor's first assistant attended to that; and Evans's +regular duties were more humble, not unconnected with such things as +cuspidors. There was no man so poor to do him honor; yet he had always a +certain loftiness of bearing. He was tall, rather above the average +height, with a long, thin, bony face like a horse, and an aristocratic +stoop about his neck and shoulders. His hands were slender; he walked in +a fashion that you might have called a shuffle, but which might also +have been characterized as a walk of indolent assurance. His eyes were +wash-blue, and his straggling mustache drooped at the corners.</p> + +<p>Sober, he was a silent man, but when he had drunk he was apt to become +mysteriously loquacious. And he drank whenever the state of his credit +permitted. At such times he spoke of his antecedents in a lordly and +condescending fashion which we found amusing. "You call me Evans," he +would say. "That does well enough, to be sure. Quite so, and all that. +Evans! Hah!"</p> + +<p>And then he would laugh, in a barking fashion that with his long, bony +countenance always suggested to me a coughing horse. But when he was +pressed for details, the man—though he might be weaving and blinking +with liquor—put a seal upon his lips. He said there were certain +families in one of the Midland Counties of England who would welcome him +home if he chose to go; but he never named them, and he never chose to +go, and we put him down for a liar by the book. All of us except +Sheener.</p> + +<p>Sheener was a Jewish newsboy; that is to say, a representative of the +only thoroughbred people in the world. I have known Sheener for a good +many years, and he is worth knowing; also, the true tale of his life +might have inspired Scheherazade. A book must be made of Sheener some +day. For the present, it is enough to say that he had the enterprise +which adversity has taught his people; he had the humility which they +have learned by enduring insults they were powerless to resent, and he +had the courage and the heart which were his ancient heritage. And—the +man Evans had captured and enslaved his imagination.</p> + +<p>He believed in Evans from the beginning. This may have been through a +native credulity which failed to manifest itself in his other dealings +with the world. I think it more probable that Evans and his pretensions +appealed to the love of romance native to Sheener. I think he enjoyed +believing, as we enjoy lending ourselves to the illusion of the theatre. +Whatever the explanation, a certain alliance developed between the two; +a something like friendship. I was one of those who laughed at Sheener's +credulity, but he told me, in his energetic fashion, that I was making a +mistake.</p> + +<p>"You got that guy wrong," he would say. "He ain't always been a bum. A +guy with half an eye can see that. The way he talks, and the way he +walks, and all. There's class to him, I'm telling you. Class, bo."</p> + +<p>"He walks like a splay-footed walrus, and he talks like a drunken old +hound," I told Sheener. "He's got you buffaloed, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Pull in your horns; you're coming to a bridge," Sheener warned me. +"Don't be a goat all your life. He's a gent; that's what this guy is."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm glad I'm a roughneck," I retorted; and Sheener shook his head.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," he exclaimed. "That's all right. He ain't had it +easy, you know. Scrubbing spittoons is enough to take the polish off any +guy. I'm telling you he's there. Forty ways. You'll see, bo. You'll +see."</p> + +<p>"I'm waiting," I said.</p> + +<p>"Keep right on," Sheener advised me. "Keep right on. The old stuff is +there. It'll show. Take it from me."</p> + +<p>I laughed at him. "If I get you," I said, "you're looking for something +along the line of 'Noblesse Oblige.' What?"</p> + +<p>"Cut the comedy," he retorted. "I'm telling you, the old class is there. +You can't keep a fast horse in a poor man's stable."</p> + +<p>"Blood will tell, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Take it from me," said Sheener.</p> + +<p>It will be perceived that Evans had in Sheener not only a disciple; he +had an advocate and a defender. And Sheener in these rôles was not to be +despised. I have said he was a newsboy; to put it more accurately, he +was in his early twenties, with forty years of experience behind him, +and with half the newsboys of the city obeying his commands and +worshiping him like a minor god. He had full charge of our city +circulation and was quite as important, and twice as valuable to the +paper, as any news editor could hope to be. In making a friend of him, +Evans had found an ally in the high places; and it became speedily +apparent that Sheener proposed to be more than a mere friend in name. +For instance, I learned one day that he was drawing Evans's wages for +him, and had appointed himself in some sort a steward for the other.</p> + +<p>"That guy wouldn't ever save a cent," he told me when I questioned him. +"I give him enough to get soused on, and I stick five dollars in the +bank for him every week. I made him buy a new suit of clothes with it +last week. Say, you wouldn't know him if you run into him in his glad +rags."</p> + +<p>"How does he like your running his affairs?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Like it?" Sheener echoed. "He don't have to like it. If he tries to +pull anything on me, I'll poke the old coot in the eye."</p> + +<p>I doubt whether this was actually his method of dominating Evans. It is +more likely that he used a diplomacy which occasionally appeared in his +dealings with the world. Certainly the arrangement presently collapsed, +for Sheener confessed to me that he had given his savings back to Evans. +We were minus a second assistant janitor for a week as a consequence, +and when Evans tottered back to the office and would have gone to work I +told him he was through.</p> + +<p>He took it meekly enough, but not Sheener. Sheener came to me with fire +in his eye.</p> + +<p>"Sa-a-ay," he demanded, "what's coming off here, anyhow? What do you +think you're trying to pull?"</p> + +<p>I asked him what he was talking about, and he said: "Evans says you've +given him the hook."</p> + +<p>"That's right," I admitted. "He's through."</p> + +<p>"He is not," Sheener told me flatly. "You can't fire that guy."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"He's got to live, ain't he?"</p> + +<p>I answered, somewhat glibly, that I did not see the necessity, but the +look that sprang at once into Sheener's eyes made me faintly ashamed of +myself, and I went on to urge that Evans was failing to do his work and +could deserve no consideration.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," Sheener told me. "I didn't hear any kicks that his +work wasn't done while he was on this bat."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess it got done all right. Some one had to do it. We can't pay +him for work that some one else does."</p> + +<p>"Say, don't try to pull that stuff," Sheener protested. "As long as his +work is done, you ain't got any kick. This guy has got to have a job, or +he'll go bust, quick. It's all that keeps his feet on the ground. If he +didn't think he was earning his living, he'd go on the bum in a minute."</p> + +<p>I was somewhat impatient with Sheener's insistence, but I was also +interested in this developing situation. "Who's going to do his work, +anyhow?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>For the first time in our acquaintance I saw Sheener look confused. +"That's all right too," he told me. "It don't take any skin off your +back, long as it's done."</p> + +<p>In the end I surrendered. Evans kept his job; and Sheener—I once caught +him in the act, to his vast embarrassment—did the janitor's work when +Evans was unfit for duty. Also Sheener loaned him money, small sums that +mounted into an interesting total; and furthermore I know that on one +occasion Sheener fought for him.</p> + +<p>The man Evans went his pompous way, accepting Sheener's homage and +protection as a matter of right, and in the course of half a dozen years +I left the paper for other work, saw Sheener seldom, and Evans not at +all.</p> + +<p>About ten o'clock one night in early summer I was wandering somewhat +aimlessly through the South End to see what I might see when I +encountered Sheener. He was running, and his dark face was twisted with +anxiety. When he saw me he stopped with an exclamation of relief, and I +asked him what the matter was.</p> + +<p>"You remember old Bum Evans?" he asked, and added: "He's sick. I'm +looking for a doctor. The old guy is just about all in."</p> + +<p>"You mean to say you're still looking out for that old tramp?" I +demanded.</p> + +<p>"Sure, I am," he said hotly; "that old boy is there. He's got the stuff. +Him and me are pals." He was hurrying me along the street toward the +office of the doctor he sought. I asked where Evans was. "In my room," +he told me. "I found him on the street. Last night. He was crazy. The D. +T.'s. I ain't been able to get away from him till now. He's asleep. +Wait. Here's where the doc hangs out."</p> + +<p>Five minutes later the doctor and Sheener and I were retracing our steps +toward Sheener's lodging, and presently we crowded into the small room +where Evans lay on Sheener's bed. The man's muddy garments were on the +floor; he himself tossed and twisted feverishly under Sheener's +blankets. Sheener and the doctor bent over him, while I stood by. Evans +waked, under the touch of their hands, and waked to sanity. He was cold +sober and desperately sick.</p> + +<p>When the doctor had done what could be done and gone on his way, Sheener +sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed the old man's head with a +tenderness of which I could not have believed the newsboy capable. +Evans's eyes were open; he watched the other, and at last he said +huskily:</p> + +<p>"I say, you know, I'm a bit knocked up."</p> + +<p>Sheener reassured him. "That's all right, bo," he said. "You hit the +hay. Sleep's the dose for you. I ain't going away."</p> + +<p>Evans moved his head on the pillow, as though lie were nodding. "A bit +tight, wasn't it, what?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Say," Sheener agreed. "You said something, Bum. I thought you'd kick +off, sure."</p> + +<p>The old man considered for a little, his lips twitching and shaking. "I +say, you know," he murmured at last. "Can't have that. Potter's Field, +and all that sort of business. Won't do. Sheener, when I do take the +jump, you write home for me. Pass the good word. You'll hear from them."</p> + +<p>Sheener said: "Sure I will. Who'll I write to, Bum?"</p> + +<p>Evans, I think, was unconscious of my presence. He gave Sheener a name; +his name. Also, he told him the name of his lawyer, in one of the +Midland cities of England, and added certain instructions....</p> + +<p>When he had drifted into uneasy sleep Sheener came out into the hall to +see me off. I asked him what he meant to do.</p> + +<p>"What am I going to do?" he repeated. "I'm going to write to this guy's +lawyer. Let them send for him. This ain't no place for him."</p> + +<p>"You'll have your trouble for your pains," I told him. "The old soak is +a plain liar; that's all."</p> + +<p>Sheener laughed at me. "That's all right, bo," he told me. "I know. This +guy's the real cheese. You'll see."</p> + +<p>I asked him to let me know if he heard anything, and he said he would. +But within a day or two I forgot the matter, and would hardly have +remembered it if Sheener had not telephoned me a month later.</p> + +<p>"Say, you're a wise guy, ain't you?" he derided when I answered the +phone. I admitted it. "I got a letter from that lawyer in England," he +told me. "This Evans is the stuff, just like I said. His wife run away +with another man, and he went to the devil fifteen years ago. They've +been looking for him ever since his son grew up."</p> + +<p>"Son?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Son. Sure! Raising wheat out in Canada somewhere. They give me his +address. He's made a pile. I'm going to write to him."</p> + +<p>"What does Bum say?"</p> + +<p>"Him? I ain't told him. I won't till I'm sure the kid's coming after +him." He said again that I was a wise guy; and I apologized for my +wisdom and asked for a share in what was to come. He promised to keep me +posted.</p> + +<p>Ten days later he telephoned me while I was at supper to ask if I could +come to his room. I said: "What's up?"</p> + +<p>"The old guy's boy is coming after him," Sheener said. "He's got the +shakes waiting. I want you to come and help me take care of him."</p> + +<p>"When's the boy coming?"</p> + +<p>"Gets in at midnight to-night," said Sheener.</p> + +<p>I promised to make haste; and half an hour later I joined them in +Sheener's room. Sheener let me in. Evans himself sat in something like a +stupor, on a chair by the bed. He was dressed in a cheap suit of +ready-made clothes, to which he lent a certain dignity. His cheeks were +shaven clean, his mustache was trimmed, his thin hair was plastered down +on his bony skull. The man stared straight before him, trembling and +quivering. He did not look toward me when I came in; and Sheener and I +sat down by the table and talked together in undertones.</p> + +<p>"The boy's really coming?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Sheener said proudly: "I'm telling you."</p> + +<p>"You heard from him?"</p> + +<p>"Got a wire the day he got my letter."</p> + +<p>"You've told Bum?"</p> + +<p>"I told him right away. I had to do it. The old boy was sober by then, +and crazy for a shot of booze. That was Monday. He wanted to go out and +get pied; but when I told him about his boy, he begun to cry. And he +ain't touched a drop since then."</p> + +<p>"You haven't let him?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I'd let him. But he wouldn't. I always told you the class was +there. He says to me: 'I can't let my boy see me in this state, you +know. Have to straighten up a bit. I'll need new clothes.'"</p> + +<p>"I noticed his new suit."</p> + +<p>"Sure," Sheener agreed. "I bought it for him."</p> + +<p>"Out of his savings?"</p> + +<p>"He ain't been saving much lately."</p> + +<p>"Sheener," I asked, "how much does he owe you? For money loaned and +spent for him."</p> + +<p>Sheener said hotly: "He don't owe me a cent."</p> + +<p>"I know. But how much have you spent on him?"</p> + +<p>"If I hadn't have give it to him, I'd have blowed it somehow. He needed +it."</p> + +<p>I guessed at a hundred dollars, at two hundred. Sheener would not tell +me. "I'm telling you, he's my pal," he said. "I'm not looking for +anything out of this."</p> + +<p>"If this millionaire son of his has any decency, he'll make it up to +you."</p> + +<p>"He don't know a thing about me," said Sheener, "except my name. I've +just wrote as though I knowed the old guy, here in the house, see. Said +he was sick, and all."</p> + +<p>"And the boy gets in to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Midnight," said Sheener, and Evans, from his chair, echoed: "Midnight!" +Then asked with a certain stiff anxiety: "Do I look all right, Sheener? +Look all right to see my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Say," Sheener told him. "You look like the Prince of Wales." He went +across to where the other sat and gripped him by the shoulder. "You look +like the king o' the world."</p> + +<p>Old Evans brushed at his coat anxiously; his fingers picked and twisted; +and Sheener sat down on the bed beside him and began to soothe and +comfort the man as though he were a child.</p> + +<p>The son was to arrive by way of Montreal, and at eleven o'clock we left +Sheener's room for the station. There was a flower stand on the corner, +and Sheener bought a red carnation and fixed it in the old man's +buttonhole. "That's the way the boy'll know him," he told me. "They +ain't seen each other for—since the boy was a kid."</p> + +<p>Evans accepted the attention querulously; he was trembling and feeble, +yet held his head high. We took the subway, reached the station, sat +down for a space in the waiting room.</p> + +<p>But Evans was impatient; he wanted to be out in the train shed, and we +went out there and walked up and down before the gate. I noticed that he +was studying Sheener with some embarrassment in his eyes. Sheener was, +of course, an unprepossessing figure. Lean, swarthy, somewhat flashy of +dress, he looked what he was. He was my friend, of course, and I was +able to look beneath the exterior. But it seemed to me that sight of him +distressed Evans.</p> + +<p>In the end the old man said, somewhat furtively: "I say, you know, I +want to meet my boy alone. You won't mind standing back a bit when the +train comes in."</p> + +<p>"Sure," Sheener told him. "We won't get in the way. You'll see. He'll +pick you out in a minute, old man. Leave it to me."</p> + +<p>Evans nodded. "Quite so," he said with some relief. "Quite so, to be +sure."</p> + +<p>So we waited. Waited till the train slid in at the end of the long train +shed. Sheener gripped the old man's arm. "There he comes," he said +sharply. "Take a brace, now. Stand right there, where he'll spot you +when he comes out. Right there, bo."</p> + +<p>"You'll step back a bit, eh, what?" Evans asked.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about us," Sheener told him. "Just you keep your eye +skinned for the boy. Good luck, bo."</p> + +<p>We left him standing there, a tall, gaunt, shaky figure. Sheener and I +drew back toward the stairs that lead to the elevated structure, and +watched from that vantage point. The train stopped, and the passengers +came into the station, at first in a trickle and then in a stream, with +porters hurrying before them, baggage laden.</p> + +<p>The son was one of the first. He emerged from the gate, a tall chap, not +unlike his father. Stopped for a moment, casting his eyes about, and saw +the flower in the old man's lapel. Leaped toward him hungrily.</p> + +<p>They gripped hands, and we saw the son drop his hand on the father's +shoulder. They stood there, hands still clasped, while the young man's +porter waited in the background. We could hear the son's eager +questions, hear the older man's drawled replies. Saw them turn at last, +and heard the young man say: "Taxi!" The porter caught up the bag. The +taxi stand was at our left, and they came almost directly toward us.</p> + +<p>As they approached, Sheener stepped forward, a cheap, somewhat +disreputable, figure. His hand was extended toward the younger man. The +son saw him, looked at him in some surprise, looked toward his father +inquiringly.</p> + +<p>Evans saw Sheener too, and a red flush crept up his gaunt cheeks. He did +not pause, did not take Sheener's extended hand; instead he looked the +newsboy through and through.</p> + +<p>Sheener fell back to my side. They stalked past us, out to the taxi +stand.</p> + +<p>I moved forward. I would have halted them, but Sheener caught my arm. I +said hotly: "But see here. He can't throw you like that."</p> + +<p>Sheener brushed his sleeve across his eyes. "Hell," he said huskily. "A +gent like him can't let on that he knows a guy like me."</p> + +<p>I looked at Sheener, and I forgot old Evans and his son. I looked at +Sheener, and I caught his elbow and we turned away.</p> + +<p>He had been quite right, of course, all the time. Blood will always +tell. You can't keep a fast horse in a poor man's stable. And a man is +always a man, in any guise.</p> + +<p>If you still doubt, do as I did. Consider Sheener.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son, Inc. <br />Copyright, +1921, by Ben Ames Williams.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Turkey_Red21" id="Turkey_Red21"></a>TURKEY RED<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANCES GILCHRIST WOOD</h3> +<h4>From <i>The Pictorial Review</i></h4> + + +<p>The old mail-sled running between Haney and Le Beau, in the days when +Dakota was still a Territory, was nearing the end of its hundred-mile +route.</p> + +<p>It was a desolate country in those days: geographers still described it +as The Great American Desert, and in looks it certainly deserved the +title. Never was there anything as lonesome as that endless stretch of +snow reaching across the world until it cut into a cold gray sky, +excepting the same desert burned to a brown tinder by the hot wind of +Summer.</p> + +<p>Nothing but sky and plain and its voice, the wind, unless you might +count a lonely sod shack blocked against the horizon, miles away from a +neighbor, miles from anywhere, its red-curtained square of window +glowing through the early twilight.</p> + +<p>There were three men in the sled; Dan, the mail-carrier, crusty, +belligerently Western, the self-elected guardian of every one on his +route; Hillas, a younger man, hardly more than a boy, living on his +pre-emption claim near the upper reaches of the stage line; the third a +stranger from that part of the country vaguely defined as "the East." He +was traveling, had given his name as Smith, and was as inquisitive about +the country as he was reticent about his business there. Dan plainly +disapproved of him.</p> + +<p>They had driven the last cold miles in silence when the stage-driver +turned to his neighbor. "Letter didn't say anything about coming out in +the Spring to look over the country, did it?"</p> + +<p>Hillas shook his head. "It was like all the rest, Dan. Don't want to +build a railroad at all until the country's settled."</p> + +<p>"God! Can't they see the other side of it? What it means to the folks +already here to wait for it?"</p> + +<p>The stranger thrust a suddenly interested profile above the handsome +collar of his fur coat. He looked out over the waste of snow.</p> + +<p>"You say there's no timber here?"</p> + +<p>Dan maintained unfriendly silence and Hillas answered. "Nothing but +scrub on the banks of the creeks. Years of prairie fires have burned out +the trees, we think."</p> + +<p>"Any ores—mines?"</p> + +<p>The boy shook his head as he slid farther down in his worn buffalo coat +of the plains.</p> + +<p>"We're too busy rustling for something to eat first. And you can't +develop mines without tools."</p> + +<p>"Tools?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a railroad first of all."</p> + +<p>Dan shifted the lines from one fur-mittened hand to the other, swinging +the freed numbed arm in rhythmic beating against his body as he looked +along the horizon a bit anxiously. The stranger shivered visibly.</p> + +<p>"It's a god-forsaken country. Why don't you get out?"</p> + +<p>Hillas, following Dan's glance around the blurred sky-line, answered +absently, "Usual answer is, 'Leave? It's all I can do to stay here.'"</p> + +<p>Smith regarded him irritably. "Why should any sane man ever have chosen +this frozen wilderness?"</p> + +<p>Hillas closed his eyes wearily. "We came in the Spring."</p> + +<p>"I see!" The edged voice snapped, "Visionaries!"</p> + +<p>Hillas's eyes opened again, wide, and then the boy was looking beyond +the man with the far-seeing eyes of the plainsman. He spoke under his +breath as if he were alone.</p> + +<p>"Visionary, pioneer, American. That was the evolution in the beginning. +Perhaps that is what we are." Suddenly the endurance in his voice went +down before a wave of bitterness. "The first pioneers had to wait, too. +How could they stand it so long!"</p> + +<p>The young shoulders drooped as he thrust stiff fingers deep within the +shapeless coat pockets. He slowly withdrew his right hand holding a +parcel wrapped in brown paper. He tore a three-cornered flap in the +cover, looked at the brightly colored contents, replaced the flap and +returned the parcel, his chin a little higher.</p> + +<p>Dan watched the northern sky-line restlessly. "It won't be snow. Look +like a blizzard to you, Hillas?"</p> + +<p>The traveler sat up. "Blizzard?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Dan drawled in willing contribution to his uneasiness, "the real +Dakota article where blizzards are made. None of your eastern +imitations, but a ninety-mile wind that whets slivers of ice off the +frozen drifts all the way down from the North Pole. Only one good thing +about a blizzard—it's over in a hurry. You get to shelter or you freeze +to death."</p> + +<p>A gust of wind flung a powder of snow stingingly against their faces. +The traveler withdrew his head turtlewise within the handsome collar in +final condemnation. "No man in his senses would ever have deliberately +come here to live."</p> + +<p>Dan turned. "Wouldn't, eh?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You're American?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I was born here. It's my country."</p> + +<p>"Ever read about your Pilgrim Fathers?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course."</p> + +<p>"Frontiersmen, same as us. You're living on what they did. We're getting +this frontier ready for those who come after. Want our children to have +a better chance than we had. Our reason's same as theirs. Hillas told +you the truth. Country's all right if we had a railroad."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" With a contemptuous look across the desert. "Where's your +freight, your grain, cattle——"</p> + +<p>"<i>West</i>-bound freight, coal, feed, seed-grain, work, and more +neighbors."</p> + +<p>"One-sided bargain. Road that hauls empties one way doesn't pay. No +Company would risk a line through here."</p> + +<p>The angles of Dan's jaw showed white. "Maybe. Ever get a chance to pay +your debt to those Pilgrim pioneers? Ever take it? Think the stock was +worth saving?"</p> + +<p>He lifted his whip-handle toward a pin-point of light across the stretch +of snow. "Donovan lives over there and Mis' Donovan. We call them 'old +folks' now; their hair has turned white as these drifts in two years. +All they've got is here. He's a real farmer and a lot of help to the +country, but they won't last long like this."</p> + +<p>Dan swung his arm toward a glimmer nor' by nor'east. "Mis' Clark lives +there, a mile back from the stage road. Clark's down in Yankton earning +money to keep them going. She's alone with her baby holding down the +claim." Dan's arm sagged. "We've had women go crazy out here."</p> + +<p>The whip-stock followed the empty horizon half round the compass to a +lighted red square not more than two miles away. "Mis' Carson died in +the Spring. Carson stayed until he was too poor to get away. There's +three children—oldest's Katy, just eleven." Dan's words failed, but his +eyes told. "Somebody will brag of them as ancestors some day. They'll +deserve it if they live through this."</p> + +<p>Dan's jaw squared as he leveled his whip-handle straight at the +traveler. "I've answered your questions, now you answer mine! We know +your opinion of the country—you're not traveling for pleasure or your +health. What are you here for?"</p> + +<p>"Business. My own!"</p> + +<p>"There's two kinds of business out here this time of year. 'Tain't +healthy for either of them." Dan's words were measured and clipped. +"You've damned the West and all that's in it good and plenty. Now I say, +damn the people anywhere in the whole country that won't pay their debts +from pioneer to pioneer; that lets us fight the wilderness barehanded +and die fighting; that won't risk——"</p> + +<p>A gray film dropped down over the world, a leaden shroud that was not +the coming of twilight. Dan jerked about, his whip cracked out over the +heads of the leaders and they broke into a quick trot. The shriek of the +runners along the frozen snow cut through the ominous darkness.</p> + +<p>"Hillas," Dan's voice came sharply, "stand up and look for the light on +Clark's guide-pole about a mile to the right. God help us if it ain't +burning."</p> + +<p>Hillas struggled up, one clumsy mitten thatching his eyes from the +blinding needles. "I don't see it, Dan. We can't be more than a mile +away. Hadn't you better break toward it?"</p> + +<p>"Got to keep the track 'til we—see—light!"</p> + +<p>The wind tore the words from his mouth as it struck them in lashing +fury. The leaders had disappeared in a wall of snow but Dan's lash +whistled forward in reminding authority. There was a moment's lull.</p> + +<p>"See it, Hillas?"</p> + +<p>"No, Dan."</p> + +<p>Tiger-like the storm leaped again, bandying them about in its paws like +captive mice. The horses swerved before the punishing blows, bunched, +backed, tangled. Dan stood up shouting his orders of menacing appeal +above the storm.</p> + +<p>Again a breathing space before the next deadly impact. As it came Hillas +shouted, "I see it—there, Dan! It's a red light. She's in trouble."</p> + +<p>Through the whirling smother and chaos of Dan's cries and the struggling +horses the sled lunged out of the road into unbroken drifts. Again the +leaders swung sidewise before the lashing of a thousand lariats of ice +and bunched against the wheel-horses. Dan swore, prayed, mastered them +with far-reaching lash, then the off leader went down. Dan felt behind +him for Hillas and shoved the reins against his arm.</p> + +<p>"I'll get him up—or cut leaders—loose! If I don't—come back—drive to +light. <i>Don't—get—out</i>!"</p> + +<p>Dan disappeared in the white fury. There were sounds of a struggle; the +sled jerked sharply and stood still. Slowly it strained forward.</p> + +<p>Hillas was standing, one foot outside on the runner, as they traveled a +team's length ahead. He gave a cry—"Dan! Dan!" and gripped a furry bulk +that lumbered up out of the drift.</p> + +<p>"All—right—son." Dan reached for the reins.</p> + +<p>Frantically they fought their slow way toward the blurred light, +staggering on in a fight with the odds too savage to last. They stopped +abruptly as the winded leaders leaned against a wall interposed between +themselves and insatiable fury.</p> + +<p>Dan stepped over the dashboard, groped his way along the tongue between +the wheel-horses and reached the leeway of a shadowy square. "It's the +shed, Hillas. Help get the team in." The exhausted animals crowded into +the narrow space without protest.</p> + +<p>"Find the guide-rope to the house, Dan?"</p> + +<p>"On the other side, toward the shack. Where's—Smith?"</p> + +<p>"Here, by the shed."</p> + +<p>Dan turned toward the stranger's voice.</p> + +<p>"We're going 'round to the blizzard-line tied from shed to shack. Take +hold of it and don't let go. If you do you'll freeze before we can find +you. When the wind comes, turn your back and wait. Go on when it dies +down and never let go the rope. Ready? The wind's dropped. Here, Hillas, +next to me."</p> + +<p>Three blurs hugged the sod walls around to the north-east corner. The +forward shadow reached upward to a swaying rope, lifted the hand of the +second who guided the third.</p> + +<p>"Hang on to my belt, too, Hillas. Ready—Smith? Got the rope?"</p> + +<p>They crawled forward, three barely visible figures, six, eight, ten +steps. With a shriek the wind tore at them, beat the breath from their +bodies, cut them with stinging needle-points and threw them aside. Dan +reached back to make sure of Hillas who fumbled through the darkness +for the stranger.</p> + +<p>Slowly they struggled ahead, the cold growing more intense; two steps, +four, and the mounting fury of the blizzard reached its zenith. The +blurs swayed like battered leaves on a vine that the wind tore in two at +last and flung the living beings wide. Dan, slinging to the broken rope, +rolled over and found Hillas with the frayed end of the line in his +hand, reaching about through the black drifts for the stranger. Dan +crept closer, his mouth at Hillas's ear, shouting, "Quick! Right behind +me if we're to live through it!"</p> + +<p>The next moment Hillas let go the rope. Dan reached madly. "Boy, you +can't find him—it'll only be two instead of one! Hillas! Hillas!"</p> + +<p>The storm screamed louder than the plainsman and began heaping the snow +over three obstructions in its path, two that groped slowly and one that +lay still. Dan fumbled at his belt, unfastened it, slipped the rope +through the buckle, knotted it and crept its full length back toward the +boy. A snow-covered something moved forward guiding another, one arm +groping in blind search, reached and touched the man clinging to the +belt.</p> + +<p>Beaten and buffeted by the ceaseless fury that no longer gave quarter, +they slowly fought their way hand-over-hand along the rope, Dan now +crawling last. After a frozen eternity they reached the end of the line +fastened man-high against a second haven of wall. Hillas pushed open the +unlocked door, the three men staggered in and fell panting against the +side of the room.</p> + +<p>The stage-driver recovered first, pulled off his mittens, examined his +fingers and felt quickly of nose, ears, and chin. He looked sharply at +Hillas and nodded. Unceremoniously they stripped off the stranger's +gloves; reached for a pan, opened the door, dipped it into the drift and +plunged Smith's fingers down in the snow.</p> + +<p>"Your nose is white, too. Thaw it out."</p> + +<p>Abruptly Dan indicated a bench against the wall where the two men seated +would take up less space.</p> + +<p>"I'm——" The stranger's voice was unsteady. "I——," but Dan had turned +his back and his attention to the homesteader.</p> + +<p>The eight by ten room constituted the entire home. A shed roof slanted +from eight feet high on the door and window side to a bit more than five +on the other. A bed in one corner took up most of the space, and the +remaining necessities were bestowed with the compactness of a ship's +cabin. The rough boards of the roof and walls had been hidden by a +covering of newspapers, with a row of illustrations pasted picture +height. Cushions and curtains of turkey-red calico brightened the homely +shack.</p> + +<p>The driver had slipped off his buffalo coat and was bending over a baby +exhaustedly fighting for breath that whistled shrilly through a closing +throat. The mother, scarcely more than a girl, held her in tensely +extended arms.</p> + +<p>"How long's she been this way?"</p> + +<p>"She began to choke up day before yesterday, just after you passed on +the down trip."</p> + +<p>The driver laid big finger tips on the restless wrist.</p> + +<p>"She always has the croup when she cuts a tooth, Dan, but this is +different. I've used all the medicines I have—nothing relieves the +choking."</p> + +<p>The girl lifted heavy eyelids above blue semicircles of fatigue and the +compelling terror back of her eyes forced a question through dry lips.</p> + +<p>"Dan, do you know what membranous croup is like? Is this it?"</p> + +<p>The stage-driver picked up the lamp and held it close to the child's +face, bringing out with distressing clearness the blue-veined pallor, +sunken eyes, and effort of impeded breathing. He frowned, putting the +lamp back quickly.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe it is, Mis' Clark, but don't you be scared. We'll help you a +spell."</p> + +<p>Dan lifted the red curtain from the cupboard, found an emptied +lard-pail, half filled it with water and placed it on an oil-stove that +stood in the center of the room. He looked questioningly about the four +walls, discovered a cleverly contrived tool-box beneath the cupboard +shelves sorted out a pair of pincers and bits of iron, laying the +latter in a row over the oil blaze. He took down a can of condensed +milk, poured a spoonful of the thick stuff into a cup of water and made +room for it near the bits of heating iron.</p> + +<p>He turned to the girl, opened his lips as if to speak with a face full +of pity.</p> + +<p>Along the four-foot space between the end of the bed and the opposite +wall the girl walked, crooning to the sick child she carried. As they +watched, the low song died away, her shoulder rubbed heavily against the +boarding, her eyelids dropped and she stood sound asleep. The next +hard-drawn breath of the baby roused her and she stumbled on, crooning a +lullaby.</p> + +<p>Smith clutched the younger man's shoulder. "God, Hillas, look where +she's marked the wall rubbing against it! Do you suppose she's been +walking that way for three days and nights? Why, she's only a child—no +older than my own daughter."</p> + +<p>Hillas nodded.</p> + +<p>"Where are her people? Where's her husband?"</p> + +<p>"Down in Yankton, Dan told you, working for the Winter. Got to have the +money to live."</p> + +<p>"Where's the doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Nearest one's in Haney—four days' trip away by stage."</p> + +<p>The traveler stared, frowningly.</p> + +<p>Dan was looking about the room again and after prodding the gay seat in +the corner, lifted the cover and picked up a folded blanket, shaking out +the erstwhile padded cushion. He hung the blanket over the back of a +chair.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Clark, there's nothing but steam will touch membranous croup. We +saved my baby that way last year. Set here and I'll fix things."</p> + +<p>He put the steaming lard-pail on the floor beside the mother and lifted +the blanket over the baby's head. She put up her hand.</p> + +<p>"She's so little, Dan, and weak. How am I going to know if she—if +she——"</p> + +<p>Dan re-arranged the blanket tent. "Jest get under with her yourself, +Mis' Clark, then you'll know all that's happening."</p> + +<p>With the pincers he picked up a bit of hot iron and dropped it hissing +into the pail, which he pushed beneath the tent. The room was +oppressively quiet, walled in by the thick sod from the storm. The +blanket muffled the sound of the child's breathing and the girl no +longer stumbled against the wall.</p> + +<p>Dan lifted the corner of the blanket and another bit of iron hissed as +it struck the water. The older man leaned toward the younger.</p> + +<p>"Stove—fire?" with a gesture of protest against the inadequate oil +blaze.</p> + +<p>Hillas whispered, "Can't afford it. Coal is $9.00 in Haney, $18.00 +here."</p> + +<p>They sat with heads thrust forward, listening in the intolerable +silence. Dan lifted the blanket, hearkened a moment, then—"pst!" +another bit of iron fell into the pail. Dan stooped to the tool-chest +for a reserve supply when a strangling cough made him spring to his feet +and hurriedly lift the blanket.</p> + +<p>The child was beating the air with tiny fists, fighting for breath. The +mother stood rigid, arms out.</p> + +<p>"Turn her this way!" Dan shifted the struggling child, face out. "Now +watch out for the——"</p> + +<p>The strangling cough broke and a horrible something—"It's the membrane! +She's too weak—let me have her!"</p> + +<p>Dan snatched the child and turned it face downward. The blue-faced baby +fought in a supreme effort—again the horrible something—then Dan laid +the child, white and motionless, in her mother's arms. She held the limp +body close, her eyes wide with fear.</p> + +<p>"Dan, is—is she——?"</p> + +<p>A faint sobbing breath of relief fluttered the pale lips that moved in +the merest ghost of a smile. The heavy eyelids half-lifted and the child +nestled against its mother's breast. The girl swayed, shaking with sobs, +"Baby—baby!"</p> + +<p>She struggled for self-control and stood up straight and pale. "Dan, I +ought to tell you. When it began to get dark with the storm and time to +put up the lantern, I was afraid to leave the baby. If she strangled +when I was gone—with no one to help her—she would die!"</p> + +<p>Her lips quivered as she drew the child closer. "I didn't go right away +but—I did—at last. I propped her up in bed and ran. If I hadn't——" +Her eyes were wide with the shadowy edge of horror, "If I hadn't—you'd +have been lost in the blizzard and—my baby would have died!"</p> + +<p>She stood before the men as if for judgment, her face wet with unchecked +tears. Dan patted her shoulder dumbly and touched a fresh, livid bruise +that ran from the curling hair on her temple down across cheek and chin.</p> + +<p>"Did you get this then?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "The storm threw me against the pole when I hoisted the +lantern. I thought I'd—never—get back!"</p> + +<p>It was Smith who translated Dan's look of appeal for the cup of warm +milk and held it to the girl's lips.</p> + +<p>"Drink it, Mis' Clark, you need it."</p> + +<p>She made heroic attempts to swallow, her head drooped lower over the cup +and fell against the driver's rough sleeve. "Poor kid, dead asleep!"</p> + +<p>Dan guided her stumbling feet toward the bed that the traveler sprang to +open. She guarded the baby in the protecting angle of her arm into +safety upon the pillow, then fell like a log beside her. Dan slipped off +the felt boots, lifted her feet to the bed and softly drew covers over +mother and child.</p> + +<p>"Poor kid, but she's grit, clear through!"</p> + +<p>Dan walked to the window, looked out at the lessening storm, then at the +tiny alarm-clock on the cupboard. "Be over pretty soon now!" He seated +himself by the table, dropped his head wearily forward on folded arms +and was asleep.</p> + +<p>The traveler's face had lost some of its shrewdness. It was as if the +white frontier had seized and shaken him into a new conception of life. +He moved restlessly along the bench, then stepped softly to the side of +the bed and straightened the coverlet into greater nicety while his lips +twitched.</p> + +<p>With consuming care he folded the blanket and restored the corner seat +to its accustomed appearance of luxury. He looked about the room, picked +up the gray kitten sleeping contentedly on the floor and settled it on +the red cushion with anxious attention to comfort.</p> + +<p>He examined with curiosity the few books carefully covered in a corner +shelf, took down an old hand-tooled volume and lifted his eyebrows at +the ancient coat of arms on the book plate. He tiptoed across to the +bench and pointed to the script beneath the plate. "Edward Winslow (7) +to his dear daughter, Alice (8)."</p> + +<p>He motioned toward the bed. "Her name?"</p> + +<p>Hillas nodded. Smith grinned. "Dan's right. Blood will tell, even to +damning the rest of us."</p> + +<p>He sat down on the bench. "I understand more than I did, Hillas, +since—you crawled back after me—out there. But how can you stand it +here? I know you and the Clarks are people of education and, oh, all the +rest; you could make your way anywhere."</p> + +<p>Hillas spoke slowly. "I think you have to live here to know. It means +something to be a pioneer. You can't be one if you've got it in you to +be a quitter. The country will be all right some day." He reached for +his greatcoat, bringing out a brown-paper parcel. He smiled at it oddly +and went on as if talking to himself.</p> + +<p>"When the drought and the hot winds come in the Summer and burn the +buffalo grass to a tinder and the monotony of the plains weighs on you +as it does now, there's a common, low-growing cactus scattered over the +prairie that blooms into the gayest red flower you ever saw.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't count for much anywhere else, but the pluck of it, without +rain for months, dew even. It's the 'colors of courage.'"</p> + +<p>He turned the torn parcel, showing the bright red within, and looked at +the cupboard and window with shining, tired eyes.</p> + +<p>"Up and down the frontier in these shacks, homes, you'll find things +made of turkey-red calico, cheap, common elsewhere——" He fingered the +three-cornered flap, "It's our 'colors.'" He put the parcel back in his +pocket. "I bought two yards yesterday after—I got a letter at Haney."</p> + +<p>Smith sat looking at the gay curtains before him. The fury of the storm +was dying down into fitful gusts. Dan stirred, looked quickly toward the +bed, then the window, and got up quietly.</p> + +<p>"I'll hitch up. We'll stop at Peterson's and tell her to come over." He +closed the door noiselessly.</p> + +<p>The traveler was frowning intently. Finally he turned toward the boy who +sat with his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed.</p> + +<p>"Hillas," his very tones were awkward, "they call me a shrewd business +man. I am, it's a selfish job and I'm not reforming now. But twice +to-night you—children have risked your lives, without thought, for a +stranger. I've been thinking about that railroad. Haven't you raised any +grain or cattle that could be used for freight?"</p> + +<p>The low answer was toneless. "Drought killed the crops, prairie fires +burned the hay, of course the cattle starved."</p> + +<p>"There's no timber, ore, nothing that could be used for east-bound +shipment?"</p> + +<p>The plainsman looked searchingly into the face of the older man. +"There's no timber this side the Missouri. Across the river, it's +reservation—Sioux. We——" He frowned and stopped.</p> + +<p>Smith stood up, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. "I admitted I was +shrewd, Hillas, but I'm not yellow clear through, not enough to betray +this part of the frontier anyhow. I had a man along here last Fall +spying for minerals. That's why I'm out here now. If you know the +location, and we both think you do, I'll put capital in your way to +develop the mines and use what pull I have to get the road in."</p> + +<p>He looked down at the boy and thrust out a masterful jaw. There was a +ring of sincerity no one could mistake when he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"This country's a desert now, but I'd back the Sahara peopled with your +kind. This is on the square, Hillas, don't tell me you won't believe +I'm—American enough to trust?"</p> + +<p>The boy tried to speak. With stiffened body and clenched hands he +struggled for self-control. Finally in a ragged whisper, "If I try to +tell you what—it means—I can't talk! Dan and I know of outcropping +coal over in the Buttes." He nodded in the direction of the Missouri, +"but we haven't had enough money to file mining claims."</p> + +<p>"Know where to dig for samples under this snow?"</p> + +<p>The boy nodded. "Some in my shack too. I—" His head went down upon the +crossed arms. Smith laid an awkward hand on the heaving shoulders, then +rose and crossed the room to where the girl had stumbled in her vigil. +Gently he touched the darkened streak where her shoulders had rubbed and +blurred the newspaper print. He looked from the relentless white desert +outside to the gay bravery within and bent his head, +"Turkey-red—calico!"</p> + +<p>There was the sound of jingling harness and the crunch of runners. The +men bundled into fur coats.</p> + +<p>"Hillas, the draw right by the house here," Smith stopped and looked +sharply at the plainsman, then went on with firm carelessness, "This +draw ought to strike a low grade that would come out near the river +level. Does Dan know Clark's address?" Hillas nodded.</p> + +<p>They tiptoed out and closed the door behind them softly. The wind had +swept every cloud from the sky and the light of the Northern stars +etched a dazzling world. Dan was checking up the leaders as Hillas +caught him by the shoulder and shook him like a clumsy bear.</p> + +<p>"Dan, you blind old mole, can you see the headlight of the Overland +Freight blazing and thundering down that draw over the Great Missouri +and Eastern?"</p> + +<p>Dan stared.</p> + +<p>"I knew you couldn't!" Hillas thumped him with furry fist. "Dan," the +wind might easily have drowned the unsteady voice, "I've told Mr. Smith +about the coal—for freight. He's going to help us get capital for +mining and after that the road."</p> + +<p>"Smith! Smith! Well I'll be—aren't you a claim spotter?"</p> + +<p>He turned abruptly and crunched toward the stage. His passengers +followed. Dan paused with his foot on the runner and looked steadily at +the traveler from under lowered, shaggy brows.</p> + +<p>"You're going to get a road out here?"</p> + +<p>"I've told Hillas I'll put money in your way to mine the coal. Then the +railroad will come."</p> + +<p>Dan's voice rasped with tension. "We'll get out the coal. Are you going +to see that the road's built?"</p> + +<p>Unconsciously the traveler held up his right hand, "I am!"</p> + +<p>Dan searched his face sharply. Smith nodded, "I'm making my bet on the +people—friend!"</p> + +<p>It was a new Dan who lifted his bronzed face to a white world. His voice +was low and very gentle. "To bring a road here," he swung his +whip-handle from Donovan's light around to Carson's square, sweeping in +all that lay behind, "out here to them—" The pioneer faced the wide +desert that reached into a misty space ablaze with stars, "would be +like—playing God!"</p> + +<p>The whip thudded softly into the socket and Dan rolled up on the +driver's seat. Two men climbed in behind him. The long lash swung out +over the leaders as Dan headed the old mail-sled across the drifted +right-of-way of the Great Missouri and Eastern.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Copyright, 1919, by The Pictorial Review Company. +<br />Copyright, 1921, by Frances Gilchrist Wood.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Yearbook" id="The_Yearbook"></a>THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY, OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Addresses" id="Addresses"></a>ADDRESSES OF AMERICAN MAGAZINES PUBLISHING SHORT STORIES</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>. <i>This address list does not aim to be complete, but is based +simply on the magazines which I have consulted for this volume.</i></p> + +<p> +Adventure, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City.<br /> +Ainslee's Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City.<br /> +American Boy, 142 Lafayette Boulevard, Detroit, Michigan.<br /> +American Magazine, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Argosy All-Story Weekly, 280 Broadway, New York City.<br /> +Asia, 627 Lexington Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Atlantic Monthly, 8 Arlington Street, Boston, Mass.<br /> +Black Cat, 229 West 28th Street, New York City.<br /> +Catholic World, 120 West 60th Street, New York City.<br /> +Century, 353 Fourth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Christian Herald, Bible House, New York City.<br /> +Collier's Weekly, 416 West 13th Street, New York City.<br /> +Cosmopolitan Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City.<br /> +Delineator, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City.<br /> +Dial, 152 West 13th Street, New York City.<br /> +Everybody's Magazine, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City.<br /> +Freeman, 32 West 58th Street, New York City.<br /> +Good Housekeeping, 119 West 40th Street, New York City.<br /> +Harper's Bazar, 119 West 40th Street, New York City.<br /> +Harper's Magazine, Franklin Square, New York City.<br /> +Hearst's Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City.<br /> +Holland's Magazine, Dallas, Texas.<br /> +Ladies' Home Journal, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa.<br /> +Liberator, 34 Union Square East, New York City.<br /> +Little Review, 24 West 16th Street, New York City.<br /> +Little Story Magazine, 714 Drexel Building, Philadelphia, Pa.<br /> +Live Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City.<br /> +McCall's Magazine, 236 West 37th Street, New York City.<br /> +McClure's Magazine, 76 Fifth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Magnificat, Manchester, N. H.<br /> +Metropolitan, 432 Fourth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Midland, Glennie, Alcona County, Mich.<br /> +Munsey's Magazine, 280 Broadway, New York City.<br /> +Outlook, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Pagan, 7 East 15th Street, New York City.<br /> +Parisienne, 25 West 45th Street, New York City.<br /> + +People's Favorite Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Pictorial Review, 216 West 39th Street, New York City.<br /> +Popular Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Queen's Work, 626 North Vandeventer Avenue, St. Louis, Mo.<br /> +Red Book Magazine, North American Building, Chicago, Ill.<br /> +Saturday Evening Post, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa.<br /> +Scribner's Magazine, 597 Fifth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Short Stories, Garden City, Long Island, N. Y.<br /> +Smart Set, 25 West 45th Street, New York City.<br /> +Snappy Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City.<br /> +Sunset, 460 Fourth Street, San Francisco, Cal.<br /> +To-day's Housewife, Cooperstown, N. Y.<br /> +Top-Notch Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Touchstone, 1 West 47th Street, New York City.<br /> +Woman's Home Companion, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City.<br /> +Woman's World, 107 South Clinton Street, Chicago, Ill.<br /> + +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="The_Bibliographical" id="The_Bibliographical"></a></p> +<h2>THE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ROLL OF HONOR OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES</h2> +<h3>OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h3> + + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Note</span>. <i>Only stories by American authors are listed. The best stories are +indicated by an asterisk before the title of the story. The index +figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 prefixed to the name of the author indicate +that his work has been included in the Rolls of Honor for 1914, 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, and 1919 respectively. The list excludes reprints.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">(56) Abdullah, Achmed</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Evening Rice.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Aitken, Kenneth Lyndwode</span>. Born at Hamilton, Ont., Canada, July 13, 1881. Education: N. Y. Public Schools and Ridley College, Ont. Profession: Electrical Engineer. Was Manager, City Electric Plant, Toronto, for four years. Chief interests: +writing and photography. First story: "Height o'Land," Canadian Magazine, 1904. Died in California Dec. 5, 1919.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the Admiralty Files.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, C. Farley</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Octogenarian.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Jane.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Happiest Man in the World.</span><br /> +<br /> +(3456) <span class="smcap">Anderson, Sherwood</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Door of the Trap.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*I Want to Know Why.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Other Woman.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Triumph of the Egg.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderton, Daisy</span>. Born in Bedford, Ohio. High School education. +First story: "Emmy's Solution," Pagan, Feb., 1919. Author +of "Cousin Sadie," a novel, 1920. Lives in Bedford, Ohio.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belated Girlhood.</span><br /> +<br /> +(3456) <span class="smcap">Babcock, Edwina Stanton</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">*Gargoyle.</span><br /> +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Barnes, Djuna</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Beyond the End.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mother.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Benét, Stephen Vincent.</span> Born in Bethlehem, Pa., July 22, +1898. Education: Yale University, M. A. Chief interests: +"Reading and writing poetry, playing and watching tennis, +swimming without any participial qualification, and walking +around between this and the other side of Paradise with a +verse in one hand and a brick for my elders in the other like +the rest of the incipient generation." First story: "Funeral +of Mr. Bixby," Munsey's Magazine, July, 1920. Author of +"Five Men and Pompey," 1915; "Young Adventure," 1918; +"Heavens and Earth," 1920.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summer Thunder.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bercovici, Konrad.</span> Born June 23, 1882. Dobrudgea, Rumania. +Educated there and in the streets of Paris. "In other cities +it was completed as far as humanly possible." Profession: +organist. Chief interests: people, horses, and gardens. First +short story printed at the age of twelve in a Rumanian magazine. +Author of "Crimes of Charity" and "Dust of New +York." Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ghitza.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boulton, Agnes.</span> Born in London, England, Sept. 19, 1893, of +American parents. Lived as a child near Barnegat Bay, N. J. +Educated at home. First story published in the Black Cat. +Married Eugene O'Neill, the playwright, 1918. Lives in Provincetown, +Mass.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hater of Mediocrity.</span><br /> +<br /> +(2346) <span class="smcap">Brown, Alice</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Lemuel's Journey.</span><br /> +<br /> +(56) <span class="smcap">Brownell, Agnes Mary</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Buttermilk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quest.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Relation.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bryner, Edna Clare.</span> Born in Tylersburg, Penn., and spent her +childhood in the lumbering region of that state. Graduate of +Vassar College. Has been engaged in teaching, statistical +work, reform school work, and eugenic, educational, and housing +research. Chief interests: Music and friends in the winter; +Adirondack trails in the summer. First story: "Life of +Five Points," Dial, Sept., 1920. Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Life of Five Points.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(1456) <span class="smcap">Burt, Maxwell Struthers</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dream or Two.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Each in His Generation.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*When His Ships Came In.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(56) <span class="smcap">Cabell, James Branch</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Designs of Miramon.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Feathers of Olrun.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hair of Melicent.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Head of Misery.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hour of Freydis.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Camp, (Charles) Wadsworth.</span> Born in Philadelphia, Oct. 18, +1879. Graduate of Princeton University, 1902. Married, 1916. +On staff of N. Y. Evening Sun, 1902-5; sub-editor McClure's +Magazine, 1905-6; editor of The Metropolitan, 1906-9; European +correspondent, Collier's Weekly, 1916. Author: "Sinister +Island," 1915; "The House of Fear," 1916; "War's Dark +Frame," 1917; "The Abandoned Room," 1917; etc. Lives in +New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Signal Tower.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carnevali, Emanuel.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales of a Hurried Man. I.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chapman, Edith.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Classical Case.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(2345) <span class="smcap">Cobb, Irvin S.</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Story That Ends Twice.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Corley, Donald.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Daimyo's Bowl.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Cram, Mildred</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Odell.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spring of Cold Water.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wind.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Crew, Helen Coale.</span> Born in Baltimore, Md., 1866. Graduate +of Bryn Mawr College, 1889. First short story, "The Lost +Oasis," Everybody's Magazine, Nov., 1910. Lives in Evanston, +Ill.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Parting Genius.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Delano, Edith Barnard.</span> Born in Washington, D. C. Married +in 1908. Author: "Zebedee V.," 1912; "The Land of Content," +1913; "The Colonel's Experiment," 1913; "Rags," 1915; +"The White Pearl," 1916; "June," 1916; "To-morrow Morning," +1917. Lives in East Orange, N. J.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and the Tide.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(456) <span class="smcap">Dobie, Charles Caldwell</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Christmas Cakes.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Leech.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dodge, Louis.</span> Born at Burlington, Ia., Sept. 27, 1870. Educated +at Whitman College, Ark. Unmarried. In newspaper +work in Texas and St. Louis since 1893. Author: "Bonnie +May," 1916; "Children of the Desert," 1917. Lives in St. +Louis, Mo.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Case of MacIntyre.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(36) <span class="smcap">Dreiser, Theodore</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sanctuary.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(5) <span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Alma and Paul</span> (<i>for biographies, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paradise Shares.</span><br /> + + +<br /> +(4) <span class="smcap">Ferber, Edna</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Maternal Feminine.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*You've Got To Be Selfish.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fillmore, Parker.</span> Born at Cincinnati, O., Sept. 21, 1878. +Graduated from University of Cincinnati, 1901. Unmarried. +Teacher in Philippine Islands, 1901-4. Banker in Cincinnati +since 1904. Author: "The Hickory Limb," 1910; "The Young +Idea," 1911; "The Rosie World," 1914; "A Little Question in +Ladies' Rights," 1916; "Czecho-Slovak Fairy Tales," 1919; +"The Shoemaker's Last," 1920. Lives in Cincinnati, O.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Katcha and the Devil.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Finger, Charles J.</span> Born at Willesden, England, Sept. 25, 1871.<br /> +Common School education. Railroad Executive. Has traveled +widely in South America, including Patagonia, and Tierra +del Fuego. Spent more than a year upon an uninhabited island, +accompanied only by "Sartor Resartus." First story: +"How Lazy Sam Got His Raise," Youth's Companion, 1897. +Author of "Guided by the World," 1901; "A Bohemian Life," +1902. Lives in Fayetteville, Ark.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ebro.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jack Random.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Fish, Horace</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Doom's-Day Envelope.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Follett, Wilson.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dive.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(4) <span class="smcap">Folsom, Elizabeth Irons</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alibi.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(12345) <span class="smcap">Gerould, Katharine Fullerton</span> (<i>for biography, see +1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Habakkuk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Honest Man.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(5) <span class="smcap">Gilbert, George</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sigh of the Bulbul.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(1345) <span class="smcap">Gordon, Armistead C.</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Panjorum Bucket.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Halverson, Delbert M.</span> Born on a farm near Linn Grove, Ia. +Educated at the State University of Iowa. First story: +"Leaves in the Wind," Midland, April, 1920. Lives in Minneapolis, +Minn.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaves in the Wind.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(4) <span class="smcap">Hartman, Lee Foster</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Judgment of Vulcan.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(56) <span class="smcap">Hergesheimer, Joseph</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Blue Ice.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ever So Long Ago.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Meeker Ritual (II).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Read Them and Weep."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +(25) <span class="smcap">Hughes, Rupert</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stick-in-the-Muds.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hunting, Ema S.</span> Born at Sioux Rapids, Iowa, Oct. 8, 1885. +Educated at Fort Dodge High School, Ia., and graduate of +Grinnell College, 1908. Author of "A Dickens Revival." +Writer of one-act plays and children's stories. First short +story: "Dissipation," Midland, May, 1920. Lives at Denver, +Col.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dissipation.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soul That Sinneth.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hussey, L. M.</span> Born in Philadelphia. Studied medicine and +chemistry. Director of a laboratory of biological research. +First story: "The Sorrows of Mr. Harlcomb," published in +the Smart Set about 1916. At present occupied with writing +a novel. Lives in Philadelphia, Pa.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lowden Household.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Gentlemen of Caracas.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Irwin, Wallace</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauty.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johns, Orrick.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Big Frog.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(256) <span class="smcap">Johnson, Arthur</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Princess of Tork.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(3) <span class="smcap">Knight, (Clifford) Reynolds.</span> Born at Fulton, Kan., 1886. +Educated at Washburn College, Topeka, and University of +Michigan. Has been engaged in railroad and newspaper work. +Taught in the Signal Corps Training School at Yale during +the war. Now on the editorial staff of the Kansas City Star. +Chief interests: Books and music. First published story: +"The Rule of Three," The Railroad Man's Magazine, Oct., +1911. Author: "Tommy of the Voices," 1918. Lives in Kansas +City, Mo.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Melody Jim.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Komroff, Manuel.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thumbs.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">"Kral, Carlos A. V."</span> Born in a country town in southern +Michigan, Dec. 29, 1890, of Czech-Yankee descent. Has lived +continuously since three years of age in one of the large cities +of the Great Lakes. Graduated from a public high school, but +was educated chiefly by thought and private study.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Landscape with Trees, and Colored Twilight with Music.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">La Motte, Ellen Newbold.</span> Born in Louisville, Ky., of +northern parentage. Privately educated. Graduated from the +Johns Hopkins Hospital in 1902. Since engaged in social +work and public health work. Was in charge of the Tuberculosis +Division of the Baltimore Health Dept. for several +years. Has been living chiefly in Paris since 1913. Was in + +France with a year's service in a Field Hospital attached to +the French Army. Spent a year in China and the Far East, +1916-7. Chief interests: the under dog, either the individual +or nation. First short story: "Heroes," Atlantic Monthly, +Aug., 1916. Author: "The Tuberculosis Nurse," 1914; "The +Backwash of War," 1916; "Peking Dust," 1919; "Civilization," +1919. "The Backwash of War" was suppressed by the British, +French and American governments. It went through four +printings first, and is now released again.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden Stars.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McCourt, Edna Wahlert.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lichen.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">MacManus, Seumas.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conaleen and Donaleen.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heartbreak of Norah O'Hara.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lad from Largymore.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mann, Jane.</span> Born near New York City of Knickerbocker ancestry. +After college preparatory school had several years of +art education. Chief interest: wandering along coasts, living +with the natives, seeing what they do and hearing what they +say. First published story: "Men and a Gale o' Wind," Collier's +Weekly, Nov. 8, 1913. Lives in Provincetown, Mass.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heritage.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mason, Grace Sartwell.</span> Born at Port Allegheny, Pa., Oct. 31, +1877. Educated privately. Married to Redfern Mason, the +musical critic, 1902. Author: "The Car and the Lady," 1909; +"The Godparents," 1910; "Micky and His Gang," 1912; "The +Bear's Claws" (with John Northern Hilliard), 1913; "The +Golden Hope," 1915. Lives at Carmel, Cal.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*His Job.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">"Maxwell, Helena"</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adolescence.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mears, Mary M.</span> Born at Oshkosh, Wis. Educated at State +Normal School, Wis. Unmarried. Journalist since 1896. +Author: "Emma Lou—Her Book," 1896; "Breath of the +Runners," 1906; "The Bird in the Box"; "Rosamond the +Second." Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forbidden Thing.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(36) <span class="smcap">Montague, Margaret Prescott</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Murray, Roy Irving.</span> Born at Brooklyn, Wis., July 25, +1882. Graduated from Hobart College, 1904. First story: +"Sealed Orders," McBride's Magazine, Dec., 1915. Is a master +at St. Mark's School, Southborough, Mass.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Substitute.</span><br /> +<br /> + +(6) <span class="smcap">Muth, Edna Tucker.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Gallipeau.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">O'Brien, Frederick.</span> Born in Baltimore. Educated in a Jesuit +school. Shipped before the mast at the age of 18. Tramped +over Brazil as a day laborer, and through the West Indies. +Returned to America and read law in his father's office. Wandered +without money over Europe, and was a sandwichman +in London. On the staff of the Paris Herald for a few months. +Travelled over the western states as a hobo, was a bartender +in a Mississippi levee camp, acted as a general with Coxey's +Army, became a crime reporter for the Marion Star, owned +by Senator Harding, Sub-editor of the Columbus Dispatch, +Labor Editor of the N. Y. Journal, an investigator of crime +in the Chicago slums, a freelance in San Francisco, and editor +of the Honolulu Advertiser. Lived with the natives in Hawaii, +published a newspaper in Manila, spent eight years as Far +Eastern correspondent of the N. Y. Herald, went through the +Russo-Japanese War, returned to Europe as a correspondent, +spent some years on a fruit ranch in California, engaged in +politics, owned two newspapers, and finally lived as a beachcomber +in Tahiti, the Society Islands, the Paumoto Islands and +Marquesan Islands. During 1920 he was in New York and +wrote "White Shadows in the South Seas." He has now returned +to Asia, leaving another book, "Drifting Among South +Sea Isles," which is to be published immediately.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jade Bracelet of Ah Queen.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">"O'Grady, R."</span> is a pen name of a lady who lives in Des Moines, +Ia. She is a graduate of the State University of Iowa, and is +now engaged in newspaper work.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brothers.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Hagan, Anne.</span> Born in Washington, D. C. Graduate of +Boston University. Since engaged on newspaper and magazine +work. First story published about 1898. Chief interests: +Suffrage and housekeeping. Married in March, 1908, to Francis +A. Shinn. Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Return.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(45) <span class="smcap">O'Higgins, Harvey J.</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Story of Big Dan Reilly.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Story of Mrs. Murchison.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strange Case of Warden Jupp.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(5) <span class="smcap">Oppenheim, James</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Rending.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Osbourne, Lloyd.</span> Born in San Francisco, April 7, 1868. Stepson +of Robert Louis Stevenson. Educated at University of +Edinburgh. Married 1896. Has been U. S. A. Vice-Consul-General +at Samoa. Author: "The Wrong Box" (with R. L. +Stevenson), 1889; "The Wrecker" (with R. L. Stevenson), +1892; "The Ebb Tide" (with R. L. Stevenson), 1894; "The +Queen vs. Billy," 1900; "Love, the Fiddler," 1905; "The Motor-maniacs," +1905; "Wild Justice," 1906; "Three Speeds Forward," +1906; "Baby Bullet," 1906; "The Tin Diskers," 1906; + +"Schmidt," 1907; "The Adventurer," 1907; "Infatuation," +1909; "A Person of Some Importance," 1911; and other novels +and short stories. Has written and produced several plays. +Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">East is East.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(345) <span class="smcap">O'Sullivan, Vincent</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dance-Hall at Unigenitus.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(123) <span class="smcap">Post, Melville Davisson.</span> Born in Harrison County, W. Va., +Apr. 19, 1871. Graduate of West Virginia University in arts +and law, 1892. Married 1903. Admitted to the Bar in 1892. +Member of the Board of Regents, State Normal School. Chairman +of the Democratic Congressional Commission for West +Virginia, 1898. Member of the Advisory Committee of the +N. E. L. on question of efficiency in administration of justice, +1914-15. Author: "The Strange Schemes of Randolph +Mason," 1896; "The Man of Last Resort," 1897; "Dwellers +in the Hills," 1901; "The Corrector of Destinies," 1909; "The +Gilded Chair," 1910; "The Nameless Thing," 1912; "Uncle +Abner: Master of Mysteries," 1918; "The Mystery at the Blue +Villa," 1919; "The Sleuth of St. James's Square," 1920. Lives +at Lost Creek, West Virginia.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yellow Flower.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reindel, Margaret H.</span> Born in Cleveland, O., Dec. 2, 1896. +Graduated from Western Reserve University, 1919, and spent +a year at Columbia University. Now working in a New York +department store. First story published: "Fear," The Touchstone. +Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fear.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rice, Louise.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lubbeny Kiss.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roche, Arthur Somers.</span> Born in Somerville, Mass., Apr. 27, +1883. Son of James Jeffrey Roche. Educated at Holy Cross +College and Boston University Law School. Married. Practised +law for two years. Engaged in journalism since 1906. +Author: "Loot," 1916; "Plunder," 1917; "The Sport of +Kings," 1917. Lives at Castine, Me.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dummy-Chucker.</span><br /> +<br /> + +(3) <span class="smcap">Roche, Mazo De La.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Explorers of the Dawn.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(234) <span class="smcap">Rosenblatt, Benjamin</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stepping Westward.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rumsey, Frances.</span> Born in New York City in 1886. Educated +in France. Has lived chiefly in England and France, and now +passes her time between Normandy, London, and New York. +Married. First short story: "Cash," Century Magazine, August, +1920. Author: "Mr. Gushing and Mademoiselle du Chastel," +1917. Translator: "Japanese Impressions," by Couchoud,<br /> +1920.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cash.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(5) <span class="smcap">Russell, John</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wreck on Deliverance.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">"Rutledge, Maryse."</span> Born in New York City, Nov. 24, 1884. +Educated in private schools, New York and Paris. Chief interests: +painting, tenting, canoeing, and hunting in Maine. +Married to Gardner Hale, the mural fresco painter. First +story published in the Smart Set about 1903. Author: "Anne +of Tréboul," 1904; "The Blind Who See"; "Wild Grapes," +1912; "Children of Fate," 1917. Divides her time between +Paris and New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">House of Fuller.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ryan, Kathryn White.</span> Born in Albany, N. Y. Convent +school education. Married. Lived in Denver until 1919. +First story published: "The Orchids," Munsey's Magazine, +May, 1919. Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man of Cone.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saphier, William.</span> Born in northern Rumania in 1883. Comes +of a long line of butchers. Primary school education in Rumania. +Student at the Art Institute of Chicago for a short +time. Painter and machinist. Editor of "Others," 1917. Illustrator: +"The Book of Jeremiah," 1920; "Pins for Wings," by +Witter Bynner, 1920. First published story: "Kites," The +Little Review. Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kites.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(356) <span class="smcap">Sedgwick, Anne Douglas</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Christmas Roses.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Sidney, Rose.</span> Born in Toledo, O., 1888. Educated in private +schools and at Columbia University. "My profession +consists largely in trying to make odd holes and corners of +the earth into temporary homes for my army officer husband." +First published story: "Grapes of the San Jacinto," The Pictorial +Review, Sept., 1919. Now living in California.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Butterflies.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(123456) <span class="smcap">Singmaster, Elsie</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Vilda.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salvadora.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(345) <span class="smcap">Springer, Fleta Campbell</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Civilization.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Rotter.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(23456) <span class="smcap">Steele, Wilbur Daniel</span> (<i>for biography, see 1917</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Both Judge and Jury.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*God's Mercy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Out of Exile.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">"Storm, Ethel."</span> Born at Winnebago City, Minnesota. Lived + +in New York City since early childhood. Privately educated. +Chief interests: decorative art, gardening, people. First published +story: "Burned Hands," Harper's Bazar, Nov., 1918. +Lives in New York City.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Three Telegrams.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(5) <span class="smcap">Street, Julian</span> (<i>for biography, see</i> 1918).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hands.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(3456) <span class="smcap">Vorse, Mary Heaton</span> (<i>for biography, see</i> 1917).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fraycar's Fist.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hopper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pink Fence.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ward, Herbert Dickinson.</span> Born at Waltham, Mass., June 30, +1861. Graduate of Amherst College, 1884. Married Elizabeth +Stuart Phelps, 1888; and Edna J. Jeffress, 1916. Author of +numerous books for boys and girls. Lives in Newton, Mass.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Master Note.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Welles, Harriet Ogden Deen.</span> Born in New York City. Educated +in private schools. Studied art. Wife of Rear Admiral +Roger Welles, U. S. Navy. Author of "Anchors Aweigh," +1919. Lives in San Diego, Cal.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">According to Ruskin.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wheelwright, John T.</span> Born at Roxbury, Mass., Feb. 26, 1856. +Educated at Roxbury Latin School and Harvard University. +Profession: Lawyer. Has been interested in public affairs, and +has held appointive offices under the State of Massachusetts +and the City of Boston. Was one of the founders of the +Harvard Lampoon. On editorial staff of Boston Advertiser, +1882-3. Author: "Rollo's Journey to Cambridge" (with F. J. +Stimson), 1880; "The King's Men" (with John Boyle O'Reilly, +F. J. Stimson, and Robert Grant), 1884; "A Child of the +Century," 1886; "A Bad Penny," 1896; "War Children," 1907. +Lives in Boston, Mass.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Roman Bath.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whitman, Stephen French.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Amazement.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lost Waltz.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*To a Venetian Tune.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(56) <span class="smcap">Williams, Ben Ames</span> (<i>for biography, see</i> 1918).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sheener.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilson, John Fleming.</span> Born at Erie, Pa., Feb. 22, 1877. Educated +at Parsons College and Princeton University. Teacher, +1900-2; journalist, 1902-5; editor San Francisco Argonaut, +1906. Married, 1906. Author: "The Land Claimers," 1910; +"Across the Latitudes," 1911; "The Man Who Came Back," +1912; "The Princess of Sorry Valley," 1913; "Tad Sheldon +and His Boy Scouts," 1913; "The Master Key," 1915.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uncharted Reefs.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +(6) <span class="smcap">Wilson, Margaret Adelaide.</span> Educated at Portland Academy, +Portland, Oregon, and at an eastern college. Since then +she has lived chiefly on her father's ranch in the San Jacinto +Valley, California. First published story: "Towata and His +Brother Wind," The Bellman, about 1907. Lives at Hemet, +Cal.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drums.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(5) <span class="smcap">Wood, Frances Gilchrist</span> (<i>for biography, see 1918</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Spoiling of Pharaoh.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Turkey Red.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(6) <span class="smcap">Yezierska, Anzia</span> (<i>for biography, see 1919</i>).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hunger.</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Roll" id="The_Roll"></a>THE ROLL OF HONOR OF FOREIGN SHORT STORIES IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES</h2> +<h3>OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span> <i>Stories of special excellence are indicated by an asterisk. The +index figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 prefixed to the name of the author +indicate that his work has been included in the Rolls of Honor for 1914, +1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, and 1919 respectively. The list excludes +reprints.</i></p> + + +<h3>I.<span class="smcap"> English and Irish Authors</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">(123456) Aumonier, Stacy.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Good Action.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Golden Windmill.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Great Unimpressionable.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Just the Same.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Landlord of "The-Love-a-Duck."</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barker, Granville.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bigamist.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beck, L. Adams.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fire of Beauty.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Incomparable Lady.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">(12356) Blackwood, Algernon.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*First Hate.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Running Wolf.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Buchan, John.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fullcircle.</span><br /> +<br /> + +(6) <span class="smcap">Burke, Thomas.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Scarlet Shoes.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Dobrée, Bonamy.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surfeit.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">(456) Dudeney, Mrs. Henry E.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild Raspberries.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(46) <span class="smcap">Dunsany, Lord.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cheng Hi and the Window Framer.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*East and West.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*How the Lost Causes Were Removed from Valhalla.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pretty Quarrel.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Ervine, St. John G.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dramatist and the Leading Lady.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(2) Gibbon, Perceval.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Connoisseur.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knave of Diamonds.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lieutenant.</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Holding, Elizabeth Sanxay.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Problem that Perplexed Nicholson.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(4) Lawrence, D. H.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Adolf.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">MacManus, L.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Baptism.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Merrick, Leonard.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Daphne De Vere.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Monro, Harold.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Parcel of Love.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(456) Mordaunt, Elinor.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Adventures in the Night.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ginger Jar.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Nevinson, Henry W.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In Diocletian's Day.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Owen, H. Collinson.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Temptation of Antoine.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Richardson, Dorothy M.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sunday.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Sinclair, May.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fame.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(5) Stephens, James.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Boss.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Desire.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Thieves.</span><br /> + +<br /> +(2) Walpole, Hugh.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Case of Miss Morganhurst.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fanny's Job.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Honourable Clive Torby.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*No Place for Absalom.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stealthy Visitor.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Third Sex.</span><br /> +<br /> +</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">II. Translations</span></h3> +<p> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">(4) Andreyev, Leonid.</span> (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Promise of Spring.</span><br /> +<br /> + +Anonymous. (<i>Chinese.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Romance of the Western Pavilion.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(6) Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.</span> (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Woman of the Movies.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleeping-Car Porter.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(6) "France, Anatole." (Jacques Anatole Thibault.)</span> (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lady With the White Fan.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco.</span> (<i>Spanish.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente</span>.<br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Kotsyubinsky, Michael.</span> (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the Sea.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">(6) Level, Maurice.</span> (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Empty House.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kennel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maniac.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Son of His Father.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Lichtenberger, André.</span> (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Fisherwoman.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Louÿs, Pierre.</span> (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">False Esther.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Nodier, Charles.</span> (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bibliomaniac.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Rameau, Jean.</span> (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ocarina.</span><br /> +<br /> + +(4) <span class="smcap">Saltykov, M. E.</span> (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wild Squire.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Schnitzler, Arthur.</span> (<i>German.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Crumbled Blossoms.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Thibault, Jacques Anatole.</span> (<i>French.</i>) <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">France, Anatole</span>."<br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Trueba, Antonio De.</span> (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Portal of Heaven.</span><br /> +<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Yushkevitch, Semyon.</span> (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pietà.</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Best_Books" id="The_Best_Books"></a>THE BEST BOOKS OF SHORT STORIES OF 1920: A CRITICAL SUMMARY</h2> + + + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Ten Best American Books</span></h3> +<p> +1. <span class="smcap">Brown.</span> Homespun and Gold. Macmillan.<br /> +2. <span class="smcap">Cather.</span> Youth and the Bright Medusa. Knopf.<br /> +3. <span class="smcap">Dwight.</span> The Emperor of Elam. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +4. <span class="smcap">Howells</span>, <i>Editor</i>. Great Modern American Stories. Boni & Liveright.<br /> +5. <span class="smcap">Johnson.</span> Under the Rose. Harper.<br /> +6. <span class="smcap">Sedgwick.</span> Christmas Roses. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +7. <span class="smcap">Smith.</span> Pagan. Scribner.<br /> +8. <span class="smcap">Society of Arts and Sciences.</span>O. Henry Prize Stories, 1919. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +9. <span class="smcap">Spofford.</span> The Elder's People. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +10. <span class="smcap">Yezierska.</span> Hungry Hearts. Houghton Mifflin.<br /></p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Ten Best English Books</span></h3> +<p> +1. <span class="smcap">Beerbohm.</span> Seven Men. Knopf.<br /> +2. <span class="smcap">Cannan.</span> Windmills. Huebsch.<br /> +3. <span class="smcap">Dunsany.</span> Tales of Three Hemispheres. Luce.<br /> +4. <span class="smcap">Easton.</span> Golden Bird. Knopf.<br /> +5. <span class="smcap">Evans.</span> My Neighbours. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe.<br /> +6. <span class="smcap">Galsworthy.</span> Tatterdemalion. Scribner.<br /> +7. <span class="smcap">Huxley.</span> Limbo. Doran.<br /> +8. <span class="smcap">O'Kelly.</span> The Golden Barque, and the Weaver's Grave. Putnam.<br /> +9. <span class="smcap">Trevena.</span> By Violence. Four Seas.<br /> +10. <span class="smcap">Wylie.</span> Holy Fire. Lane.<br /></p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Ten Best Translations</span></h3> +<p> +1. <span class="smcap">Aleichem.</span> Jewish Children. Knopf.<br /> +2. <span class="smcap">Andreiev.</span> When the King Loses His Head. International Bk. Pub.<br /> +3. <span class="smcap">Annunzio.</span> Tales of My Native Town. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +4. <span class="smcap">Brown and Phoutrides</span>, <i>Editors</i>. Modern Greek Stories. Duffield.<br /> +5. <span class="smcap">Chekhov.</span> The Chorus Girl. Macmillan.<br /> +6. <span class="smcap">Dostoevsky.</span> The Honest Thief. Macmillan.<br /> +7. <span class="smcap">Hrbkova</span>, <i>Editor</i>. Czecho-Slovak Stories. Duffield.<br /> +8. <span class="smcap">Level.</span> Tales of Mystery and Horror. McBride.<br /> +9. <span class="smcap">McMichael</span>, <i>Editor</i>. Short Stories from the Spanish. Boni & Liveright.<br /> + +10. <span class="smcap">Mayran.</span> Story of Gotton Connixloo. Dutton.<br /></p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Best New English Publications</span></h3> +<p> +1. <span class="smcap">Gibbon, Perceval.</span> Those Who Smiled. Cassell.<br /> +2. <span class="smcap">Mayne, Ethel Colburn.</span> Blindman. Chapman and Hall.<br /> +3. <span class="smcap">Mordaunt, Elinor.</span> Old Wine in New Bottles. Hutchinson.<br /> +4. <span class="smcap">O'Kelly, Seumas.</span> The Leprechaun of Killmeen. Martin Lester.<br /> +5. <span class="smcap">Robinson, Lennox.</span> Eight Short Stories. Talbot Press.<br /> +6. <span class="smcap">Shorter, Dora Sigerson.</span> A Dull Day in London. Nash.<br /> +7. <span class="smcap">Lemaître, Jules.</span> Serenus. Selwyn and Blount.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + + +<h2>BELOW FOLLOWS A RECORD OF NINETY-TWO DISTINCTIVE VOLUMES PUBLISHED +BETWEEN NOVEMBER 1, 1918, AND OCTOBER 1, 1920.</h2> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">I. American Authors</span></h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Honourable Gentlemen and Others</span> and <span class="smcap">Wings: Tales of the Psychic</span>, by +<i>Achmed Abdullah</i> (G. P. Putnam's Sons, and the James A. McCann +Company). In the first of these two volumes, Mr. Abdullah has gathered +the Pell Street stories of New York's Chinatown which have appeared in +American magazines during the past few years. As contrasted with Thomas +Burke's "Limehouse Nights," these stories reflect the oriental point of +view with its characteristic fatalism and equability of temper. Four of +these stories are told with the utmost economy of means and a grim +pleasure in watching events unshape themselves. "A Simple Act of Piety" +seemed to me one of the best short stories of 1918. The other volume is +of more uneven quality, and psychic stories do not furnish Mr. Abdullah +with his most natural medium, but contains at least three admirable +stories.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hand-Made Fables</span>, by <i>George Ade</i>. (Doubleday, Page & Company.) Mr. +Ade's new series of thirty fables are a valuable record of the war years +in American life. They are written in a unique idiom full of color, if +unintelligible to the foreigner. I think one may fairly say that Mr. +Ade's work is thoroughly characteristic of a large section of American +culture, and this section he has portrayed admirably. Undoubtedly he is +our best satirist.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joy in the Morning</span>, by <i>Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews</i> (Charles +Scribner's Sons). This uneven collection includes two admirable stories, +"The Ditch" and "Dundonald's Destroyer," to which I drew attention when +they first appeared in magazines. The latter is one of the best realized +legends suggested by the war, while the former is technically +interesting as a thoroughly successful short story written entirely in +dialogue. The other stories are of slighter content, and emotionally +somewhat overtaut.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Youth and the Bright Medusa</span>, by <i>Willa Cather</i> (Alfred A. Knopf). +Fifteen years ago, Miss Cather published a volume of short stories +entitled "The Troll Garden." This volume has long been out of print, +although its influence may be seen in the work of many contemporary +story writers. The greater part of its contents is now reprinted in the +present volume, together with four new stories of less interest. These +eight studies, dealing for the most part with the artistic temperament, +are written with a detached observation of life that clearly reveals the +influence of Flaubert on the one hand and of Henry James on the other, +but there is a quality of personal style built up out of nervous rhythms +and an instinctive reticence of personal attitude which Miss Cather only +shares with Sherwood Anderson among her American compatriots. She is +more assured in the traditional quality of her work than Anderson, but +hardly less astringent. I regard this book as one of the most important +contributions to the American short story published during the past +year, and personally I consider it more significant than her four +admirable novels.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">From Place to Place</span>, by <i>Irvin S. Cobb</i> (George H. Doran Company). I +have frequently had occasion to point out in the past that Mr. Cobb's +work, in depth of conception and breadth of execution, makes him the +legitimate successor of Mark Twain as a painter of the ampler life of +the American South and Middle West. In his new collection of nine +stories, there are at least three which I confidently believe are +destined to last as long as the best stories of Hawthorne and Poe. The +most noteworthy of these is "Boys Will Be Boys," which I printed in a +previous volume of this series. "The Luck Piece" and "The Gallowsmith," +though sharply contrasted in subject matter, reveal the same profound +understanding of American life which makes Mr. Cobb almost our best +interpreter in fiction to readers in other countries. Like Mark Twain, +Mr. Cobb is quite uncritical of his own work, and two of these stories +are of merely ephemeral value. I should like no better task than to +edite a selection of Mr. Cobb's stories in one volume for introduction +to the English public, and I think that such a volume would be the best +service American letters could render to English letters at the present +moment.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Life of the Party</span>, by <i>Irvin S. Cobb</i> (George H. Doran Company). I +shall claim no special literary quality for this short story which Mr. +Cobb has reprinted from The Saturday Evening Post, but America usually +shows such poverty in producing humorous stories that the infectious +quality of this wildly improbable adventure makes the story seem better +than it really is. It cannot be regarded as more than a diversion from +Mr. Cobb's rich human studies of American life.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hiker Joy</span>, by <i>James B. Connolly</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). This series +of stories about a little New York wharf-rat which Mr. Connolly has +reprinted from Collier's Weekly are less important than the admirable +stories of the Gloucester fishermen which first made his reputation. +They are told by the wharf-rat in dialect with a casual reportorial air +which is tolerably convincing, and it is clear that they are based on a +background of first-hand experience. Mr. Connolly's hand is not entirely +subdued to the medium in which he has chosen to work, but the result is +a certain monotony of interest.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Twelve Men</span>, by <i>Theodore Dreiser</i> (Boni & Liveright). These twelve +portraits which Mr. Dreiser has transferred to us from life represent +his impressions of life's crowded thoroughfares and his reactions to +many human contacts. More than one of these portraits can readily be +traced to its original, and taken as a group they represent as valuable +a cross-section Of our hurrying civilization as we have. Strictly +speaking, however, they are not short stories, but discursive causeries +on friends of Mr. Dreiser. They answer to no usual concepts of literary +form, but have necessitated the creation of a new form. They reflect a +gallic irony compact of pity and understanding. The brief limitations of +his form prevent Mr. Dreiser from falling into errors which detract +somewhat from the greatness of his novels, and as a whole I command this +volume to the discriminating reader.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Emperor of Elam, and Other Stories</span>, by <i>H. G. Dwight</i> (Doubleday, +Page & Company). Those who read Mr. Dwight's earlier volume entitled +"Stamboul Nights" will recall the very real genius for the romantic +presentation of adventure in exotic backgrounds which the author +revealed. Every detail, if studied, was quietly set down without undue +emphasis, and the whole was a finished composition. In the title story +of the present volume, and in "The Emerald of Tamerlane," written in +collaboration with John Taylor, Mr. Dwight is on the same familiar +ground. I had occasion three years ago to reprint "The Emperor of Elam" +in an earlier volume of this series, and it still seems to be worthy to +set beside the best of Gautier. There are other stories in the present +collection with the same rich background, but I should like to call +particular attention to Mr. Dwight's two masterpieces, "Henrietta +Stackpole Rediviva" and "Behind the Door." The former ranks with the +best half-dozen American short stories, and the latter with the best +half-dozen short stories of the world. I regard this volume as the most +important which I have encountered since I began to publish my studies +of the American short story.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Miller's Holiday: Short Stories From the North Western Miller</span>, +Edited by <i>Randolph Edgar</i> (The Miller Publishing Company: Minneapolis). +These fourteen stories reprinted from the files of the North Western +Miller between 1883 and 1904 recall an interesting episode in the +history of American literature. The paper just mentioned was the first +trade journal to publish at regular intervals the best short stories +procurable at the time, and out of this series was born "The Bellman," +which for many years was the best literary weekly of general interest +in the Middle West. The North Western Miller printed the best work of O. +Henry, Howard Pyle, Octave Thanet, James Lane Allen, Hamlin Garland, +Edward Everett Hale, and many others, and it was here that Frank R. +Stockton first printed "The Christmas Wreck," which I should agree with +the late Mr. Howells in regarding as Stockton's best story. I trust that +the success of this volume will induce Mr. Edgar to edite and reprint +one or more series of stories from "The Bellman." Such an undertaking +would fill a very real need.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Half Portions</span>, by <i>Edna Ferber</i> (Doubleday, Page & Company). Edna Ferber +shares with Fannie Hurst the distinction of portraying the average +American mind in its humbler human relations. Less sure than Miss Hurst +in her ability to present her material in artistic form, her observation +is equally keen and accurate, and in at least two stories in the present +volume she seems to meet Miss Hurst on equal ground. "The Maternal +Feminine," in my opinion, ranks with "The Gay Old Dog" as Miss Ferber's +best story.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Psychic Stories</span>, Edited by <i>Joseph Lewis French</i>, with an +Introduction by <i>Dorothy Scarborough</i> (Boni & Liveright). This very +badly edited collection of stories is worth having because of the fact +that it reprints certain admirable short stories by Algernon Blackwood, +Ambrose Bierce, and Fiona Macleod. If it attains to a second edition, +the volume would be tremendously improved by omitting the compilation of +irrelevant theosophical articles on the subject, and the substitution +for them of other stories which lie open to Mr. French's hand in rich +measure.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fantastics, and Other Fancies</span>, by <i>Lafcadio Hearn</i>, Edited by <i>Charles +Woodward Hutson</i> (Houghton Mifflin Company). This collection of stories, +portraits, and essays which Mr. Hutson's industry has rescued from the +long-lost files of The New Orleans Daily Item and The Times-Democrat +belong to Hearn's early manner, when he sought to set down brief colored +impressions of the old, hardly lingering Creole life which is now only a +memory. In many ways akin to the art of Hérédia, they show a less +classical attitude toward their subject-matter, and are frankly +experimental approaches to the method of evocation by sounds and +perfumes which he achieved so successfully in his later Japanese books. +In these stories we may see the influence of Gautier's enamelled style +already at work, operating with more precision than it was later to +show, more fearful of the penumbra than his later ghost stories, and +with a certain hurried air which may be largely set down to the +journalistic pressure of writing weekly for newspapers. Notwithstanding +this, many of the stories and sketches are a permanent addition to +Hearn's work.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Waifs and Strays: Twelve Stories</span>, by <i>O. Henry</i> (Doubleday, Page & +Company). This volume of collectanea is divided into two parts. First of +all, twelve new stories have been recovered from magazine files. Three +of these are negligible journalism, and six others are chiefly +interesting either as early studies for later stories, or for their +biographical value. "The Cactus" and "The Red Roses of Tonia," however, +rank only second to "O. Henry's" best dozen stories. The second part of +the book is a miscellany of critical and biographical comment, including +also some verse tributes to the story writer's memory and a valuable +index to the collected edition of "O. Henry's" stories.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories</span>, 1919, Chosen by the <i>Society of Arts +and Sciences</i>, with an introduction by <i>Blanche Colton Williams</i> +(Doubleday, Page & Company). The Society of Arts and Sciences of New +York City has had the admirable idea of editing an annual volume of the +best American short stories, and awarding annual prizes for the two best +stories as a memorial to the art of "O. Henry." The present volume +reprints fifteen stories chosen by the society, including the two prize +stories,—"England to America," by Margaret Prescott Montague, and "For +They Know Not What They Do," by Wilbur Daniel Steele. Five other stories +by Mrs. Frances Gilchrist Wood, Miss Fannie Hurst, Miss Louise Rice, +Miss Beatrice Ravenel, and Miss G. F. Alsop are admirable stories. The +selection represents a fair cross-section of the year's short stories, +good, bad, and indifferent, but the two prizes seem to me to have been +most wisely awarded, and I conceive this formal annual tribute to be the +most significant and practical means of encouraging the American short +story. Toward this encouragement the public may contribute in their +measure, as I understand that the royalties which accrue from the sale +of this volume are to be applied to additional prizes in future years.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Happy End</span>, by <i>Joseph Hergesheimer</i> (Alfred A. Knopf). Mr. +Hergesheimer's new collection of seven stories is largely drawn from the +files of The Saturday Evening Post, and represents to some degree a +compromise with his public. The book is measurably inferior to "Gold and +Iron," but shows to a degree the same qualities of studied background +and selective presentation of aspects in character which are most +satisfyingly presented in his novels. In "Lonely Valleys," "Tol'able +David," and "The Thrush in the Hedge," Mr. Hergesheimer's art is more +nearly adequate than in the other stories, but they lack the +authoritative presentation which made "The Three Black Pennys" a +landmark in contemporary American fiction. They show the author to be a +too frank disciple of Mr. Galsworthy in the less essential aspect of the +latter's art, and their tone is too neutral to be altogether convincing.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">War Stories</span>, Selected and Edited by <i>Roy J. Holmes</i> and <i>A. Starbuck</i> +(Thomas Y. Crowell Company). This anthology of twenty-one American short +stories about the war would have gained measurably by compression. At +least five of the stories are unimportant, and six more are not +specially representative of the best that is being done. But "Blind +Vision," "The Unsent Letter," "His Escape," "The Boy's Mother" and "The +Sixth Man" are now made accessible in book form, and give this anthology +its present value.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Great Modern American Stories: An Anthology</span>, Compiled and edited +with an introduction by <i>William Dean Howells</i> (Boni & Liveright). This +is the best anthology of the American short story from about 1860 to +1910 which has been published, or which is likely to be published. It +represents the mellow choice of an old man who was the contemporary, +editor, and friend of most American writers of the past two generations, +and in his reminiscent introduction Mr. Howells relates delightfully +many of his personal adventures with American authors. Several of these +stories will be unfamiliar to the general reader, and I am specially +glad to observe in this volume two little-known masterpieces,—"The +Little Room" by Madelene Yale Wynne, and "Aunt Sanna Terry," by Landon +R. Dashiell. Mr. Howells' choice has been studiously limited to short +stories of the older generation, and without infringing on his ground, +it is to be hoped that a second series of "Great Modern American +Stories" by more recent writers should be issued by the same publishers. +The present volume contains an excellent bibliographical chapter on the +history of the American short story, and an appendix with biographies +and bibliographies of the writers included, which calls for more +accurate revision.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bedouins</span>, by <i>James Huneker</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). While this is +primarily a volume of critical essays on painting, music, literature and +life, it concludes with a series of seven short stories which serve as a +postlude to Mr. Huneker's earlier volume, "Visionaries." They are +chiefly interesting as the last dying glow of symbolism, derivative as +they are from Huysmans and Mallarme. I cannot regard them as successful +stories, but they have a certain experimental value which comes nearest +to success in "The Cardinal's Fiddle."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Humoresque</span>, by <i>Fannie Hurst</i> (Harper & Brothers). Miss Hurst's fourth +volume of short stories shows a certain recession from her previous high +standard, except for the title story which is told with an economy of +detail unusual for her. All of these eight stories are distinctive, and +six of them are admirable, but I seem to detect a tendency toward the +fixation of a type, with a corresponding diminishment of faithful +individual portrayal. The volume would make the reputation of a lesser +writer, but Miss Hurst is after all the rightful successor of "O Henry," +and we are entitled to demand from her nothing less than her best.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Legends</span>, by <i>Walter McLaren Imrie</i> (The Midland Press, Glennie, Alcona +Co., Mich.). I should like to call special attention to this little book +by a medical officer in the Canadian army, because it seems to me to be +a significant footnote to the poignant records of Barbusse, Duhamel, +and Élie Faure. So far as I know, this is the only volume of fiction +written in English portraying successfully from the artist's point of +view the acrid monotony of war. I believe that it deserves to be placed +on the same bookshelf as the volumes of the others whom I have just +mentioned.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Travelling Companions</span>, by <i>Henry James</i> (Boni & Liveright). These seven +short stories by Henry James, which are now collected for the first time +with a somewhat inept introduction by Albert Mordell, were written at +the same time as the stories in his "Passionate Pilgrim." While they +only serve to reveal a minor aspect of his genius, they are of +considerable importance historically to the student of his literary +evolution. Published between 1868 and 1874, they represent the first +flush of his enthusiasm for the older civilization of Europe, and +especially of Italy. He would not have wished them to be reprinted, but +the present editor's course is justified by their quality, which won the +admiration at the time of Tennyson and other weighty critics. Had Henry +James reprinted them at all, he would have doubtless rewritten them in +his later manner, and we should have lost these first clear outpourings +of his sense of international contrasts.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best American Humorous Short Stories</span>, Edited by <i>Alexander Jessup</i> +(Boni & Liveright). This collection of eighteen humorous short stories +furnish a tolerable conspectus of the period between 1839 and the +present day. They are prefaced by an informative historical introduction +which leaves little to be desired from the point of view of information. +The general reader will find the book less interesting than the +specialist, since a large portion of the volume is devoted to the +somewhat crude beginnings of humor in our literature. Apart from the +stories by Edward Everett Hale, Mark Twain, Frank R. Stockton, Bret +Harte, and "O. Henry," the comparative poverty of rich understanding +humor in American fiction is remarkable. The most noteworthy omission in +the volume is the neglect of Irvin S. Cobb.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">John Stuyvesant Ancestor and Other People</span>, by <i>Alvin Johnson</i> (Harcourt, +Brace & Howe). This collection of sketches, largely reprinted from the +New Republic, is rather a series of studies in social and economic +relations than a group of short stories. But they concern us here +because of Mr. Johnson's penetrating analysis of character, which +constitutes a document of no little value to the imaginative student of +our institutions, and "Short Change" has no little value as a vividly +etched short story.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Under the Rose</span>, by <i>Arthur Johnson</i> (Harper & Brothers). With the +publication of this volume, Mr. Johnson at last takes his rightful place +among the best of the American short story writers who wish to continue +the tradition of Henry James. In subtlety of portraiture he is the equal +of Edith Wharton, and he excels her in ease and in his ability to +subdue his substance to the environment in which it is set. He +surpasses Mrs. Gerould by reason of the variety of his subject matter, +and as a stylist he is equal to Anne Douglas Sedgwick. I have published +two of these stories in previous volumes of this series, and there are +at least four other stories in the volume which I should have liked to +reprint.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Going West</span>, by <i>Basil King</i> (Harper & Brothers). We have in this little +book a reprint of one of the best short stories produced in America by +the war. While it is emotionally somewhat overtaut, it has a good deal +of reticence in portrayal, and there is a passion in it which transcends +Mr. King's usual sentimentality.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Civilization: Tales of the Orient</span>, by <i>Ellen N. La Motte</i> (George H. +Doran Company). Miss La Motte is the most interesting of the new +American story writers who deal with the Orient. She writes out of a +long and deep background of experience with a subtle appreciation of +both the Oriental and the Occidental points of view, and has developed a +personal art out of a deliberately narrowed vision. "On the Heights," +"Prisoners," "Under a Wineglass," and "Cosmic Justice" are the best of +these stories. So definite a propagandist aim is usually fatal to +fiction, but Miss La Motte succeeds by deft suggestion rather than +underscored statement.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Short Stories of the New America</span>, Selected and Edited by <i>Mary A. +Laselle</i> (Henry Holt and Company). While this is primarily a volume of +supplementary reading for secondary schools, compiled with a view to the +"americanization" of the immigrant, it contains four short stories of +more or less permanent value, three of which I have included in previous +volumes of this series. It also draws attention to the admirable Indian +stories of Grace Coolidge. The volume would be improved if three of +these stories were omitted.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Chill Hours</span>, by <i>Helen Mackay</i> (Duffield and Company). We have come to +expect from Mrs. Mackay a somewhat tense but restrained mirroring of +little human accidents, in which action is of less importance than its +effects. She has a dry, nervous, unornamented style which sets down +details in separate but related strokes which build up a picture whose +art is not altogether successfully concealed. The present volume, which +reflects Mrs. Mackay's experiences in France during the war, is more +even in quality than her previous books, and "The Second Hay," "One or +Another," and "He Cost Us So Much" are noteworthy stories.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Children in the Mist</span>, by <i>George Madden Martin</i> (D. Appleton & Company), +and <span class="smcap">More E. K. Means</span> (G. P. Putnam's Sons). Both of these volumes +represent traditional attitudes of the Southern white proprietor to the +negro, and both fail in artistic achievement because of their excessive +realization of the gulf between the two races. Mrs. Martin's book is the +more artistic and the less sympathetic, though it has more professions +of sympathy than that of Mr. Means. They both display considerable +talent, the one in historical portraiture of reconstruction times, and +the other in genial caricature of the more childish side of the +less-educated negro. The negroes whom Mr. Means has invented have still +to be born in the flesh, but there is an infectious humor in his +nightmare world which he may plead as a justification for the misuse of +his very real ability.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Gift, England to America</span>, and <span class="smcap">Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge</span>, by +<i>Margaret Prescott Montague</i> (E.P. Dutton & Company, and Doubleday, Page +& Company). These three short stories are all spiritual studies of human +reactions and moods generated by the war, set down with a deft hand in a +neutral style, somewhat over-repressed perhaps, but thoroughly +successful in the achievement of what Miss Montague set out to do. The +second and best of these won the first prize offered last year as a +memorial to "O. Henry" by The Society of Arts and Sciences of New York +City. Good as it is, I am tempted to disagree with its interpretation of +the English attitude toward America in general, although it may very +well be true in many an individual case. Miss Montague suffers from a +certain imaginative poverty which is becoming more and more +characteristic of puritan art and life in America. From the point of +view of style, however, these stories share distinction in the Henry +James tradition only with Katharine Fullerton Gerould, Anne Douglas +Sedgwick, Arthur Johnson and H. G. Dwight.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">From the Life</span>, by <i>Harvey O'Higgins</i> (Harper & Brothers). This volume +should be read in connection with "Twelve Men," by Theodore Dreiser. +Where Mr. Dreiser identifies himself with his subjects, Mr. O'Higgins +stands apart in the most strict detachment. These nine studies in +contemporary American life take as their point of departure in each case +some tiny and apparently insignificant happening which altered the whole +course of a life. Artists, actors, politicians, and business men all +date their change of fortune from some ironic accident, and in three of +these nine stories the author's analysis merits close re-reading by +students of short story technique. Behind the apparent looseness of +structure you will find a new and interesting method of presentation +which is as effective as it is deliberate. I regard "From the Life" as +one of the more important books of 1919.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Mystery at the Blue Villa</span>, by <i>Melville Davisson Post</i> (D. Appleton +and Company), and <span class="smcap">Silent, White and Beautiful</span>, by <i>Tod Robbins</i> (Boni +and Liveright). These two volumes furnish an interesting contrast. The +subject-matter of both is rather shoddy, but Mr. Post displays a +technique in the mystery story which is quite unrivalled since Poe in +its inevitable relentlessness of plot based on human weakness, while Mr. +Robbins shows a wild fertility of imagination of extraordinary promise, +although it is now wasted on unworthy material. I think that both books +will grip the reader by their quality of suspense, and I shall look +forward to Mr. Robbins' next book with eager interest.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Ghost Stories</span>. Introduction by <i>Arthur B. Reeve</i> (Boni and +Liveright, Inc.). Mr. French's new collection of ghost stories +supplements his volume entitled "Great Ghost Stories," published in the +previous year. I consider it the better collection of the two, and +should particularly like to call attention to the stories by Leopold +Kompert and Ellis Parker Butler. The latter is Mr. Butler's best story +and has, so far as I know, not been reprinted elsewhere. For the rest, +the volume ranges over familiar ground.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">High Life</span>, by <i>Harrison Rhodes</i> (Robert M. McBride & Co.). Setting aside +the title story which, as a novelette, does not concern us here, this +volume is chiefly noteworthy for the reprint of "Spring-Time." When I +read this story for the first time many years ago, it seemed to me one +that Mr. Arthur Sherburne Hardy would have been proud to sign. It is not +perhaps readily realized how difficult it is to write a story so deftly +touched with sentiment, while maintaining the necessary economy of +personal emotion. "The Sad Case of Quag" exemplifies the gallic aspect +of Mr. Rhodes' talent.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Red Mark</span>, by <i>John Russell</i> (Alfred A. Knopf). This uneven volume of +short stories by a writer of real though undisciplined talent is full of +color and kaleidoscopic hurrying of events. Apart from "The Adversary," +which is successful to a degree, the book is uncertain in its rendering +of character, though Mr. Russell's handling of plot leaves little to be +desired.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Pagan</span>, by <i>Gordon Arthur Smith</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). It was +expected that when Mr. Smith's first volume of short stories should +appear, it would take its place at once as pre-eminent in the romantic +revival which is beginning to be apparent in the American short story. +This volume does not disappoint our expectations, although it would have +gained in authority had it been confined to the five Taillandy Stories, +"Jeanne, the Maid," and "The Return." Mr. Smith's output has always been +wisely limited, and "The Pagan" represents the best work of nine years. +These stories are only second in their kind to those of James Branch +Cabell and Stephen French Whitman.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Elder's People</span>, by <i>Harriet Prescott Spofford</i> (Houghton, Mifflin +Company). Mrs. Spofford has collected in this volume the best among the +short stories which she has written since 1904, and the collection shows +no diminution in her powers of accurate and tender observation of New +England folk. These fourteen prose idyls have a mellow humanism which +portrays the last autumn fires of a dying tradition. They rank with the +best work of Miss Jewett and Mrs. Spofford herself in the same kind, and +are a permanent addition to the small store of New England literature. I +wish to call special attention to "An Old Fiddler," "A Village +Dressmaker," and "A Life in a Night."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Valley of Vision</span>, by <i>Henry van Dyke</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). +This volume of notes for stories rather than stories themselves calls +for no particular comment save for two admirable fugitive studies +entitled "A Remembered Dream" and "The Broken Soldier and the Maid of +France." These seem to me creditable additions to the small store of +American legends which the war produced, but the other stories and +sketches are rather bloodless. They are signs of the spiritual anæmia +which is so characteristic of much of American life.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Ninth Man</span>, by <i>Mary Heaton Vorse</i> (Harper & Brothers). When this +story was published in Harper's Magazine six years ago, it attracted +wide attention as a vividly composed presentment of human passions in a +mediæval scene. The allegory was not stressed unduly, and was perhaps +taken into less account then than it will be now. But events have since +clarified the story in a manner which proves Miss Vorse to have been +curiously prophetic. In substance it is very different from what we have +come to associate with her work, but I think that its modern social +significance will now be obvious to any reader. Philosophy aside, I +commend it as an admirably woven story.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Anchors Aweigh</span>, by <i>Harriet Welles</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). I think +the chief value of this volume is as a quiet record of experience +without any remarkable qualities of plot and style, but it is full of +promise for the future, and in "Orders" Mrs. Welles has written a +memorable story. The introduction by the Secretary of the Navy rather +overstates the case, but I think no one will deny the genuine feeling +and truth with which Mrs. Welles has presented her point of view.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ma Pettengill</span>, by <i>Harry Leon Wilson</i> (Doubleday, Page & Company). I +must confess that temperamentally I am not inclined to rank these +humorous stories of American life as highly as many critics. I grant +their sincerity of portraiture, but they show only too plainly the signs +of Mr. Wilson's compromise with his large audience in The Saturday +Evening Post. They are written, however, with the author's eye on the +object, and Ma Pettengill herself is vividly realized.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hungry Hearts</span>, by <i>Anzia Yezierska</i> (Houghton Mifflin Company). When I +reprinted "Fat of the Land" last year I stated that it seemed to me +perhaps the finest imaginative contribution to the short story made by +an American artist last year. My opinion is confirmed by Miss +Yezierska's first collection of stories, and particularly by "Hunger," +"The Miracle," and "My Own People." I know of no other American writer +who is driven by such inevitable compulsion to express her ideal of what +America might be, and it serves to underscore the truth that the chief +idealistic contribution to American life comes no longer from the anæmic +Anglo-Saxon puritan, but from the younger elements of our mixed racial +culture. Such a flaming passion of mingled indignation and love for +America embodies a message which other races must heed, and proves that +there is a spiritual America being born out of suffering and oppression +which is destined to rule before very long.</p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">II. English and Irish Authors</span></h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Windmills: A Book of Fables</span>, by <i>Gilbert Cannan</i> (B. W. Huebsch, Inc.). +This is the first American edition of a book published in London in +1915. Conceived as a new "Candide," it is a bitter satire on war and +international politics. While it ostensibly consists of four short +stories, they have a unity of action which is sketched rather than fully +set forth. In fact, the volume is really a notebook for a larger work. +Set beside the satire of Voltaire, Mr. Cannan's master, it is seen to +fail because of its lack of kindly irony. In fact, it is a little +overdone.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Eve of Pascua</span>, by "<i>Richard Dehan</i>" (George H. Doran Company). Two +years ago I had occasion to call attention to the quite unstressed +romanticism of Mrs. Graves' "Under the Hermes." The present volume is of +much less significance, and I only mention it because of the title +story, which is an adequately rendered picture of contemporary Spanish +life, much less overdrawn than the other stories.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Poems and Prose</span>, of <i>Ernest Dowson</i> (Boni and Liveright). Five of the +nine short stories by Ernest Dowson are included in this admirable +reprint, but it omits the better stories which appeared in The Savoy, +and in a later edition I suggest that the poems be printed in a volume +by themselves with Mr. Symons' memoir, and all the stories in another +volume which should include among others "The Dying of Francis Donne" +and "Countess Marie of The Angels."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Bird and Other Sketches</span>, by <i>Dorothy Eastern</i>, with a +foreword by <i>John Galsworthy</i> (Alfred A. Knopf). These forty short +sketches of Sussex and of France are rendered deftly with a faithful +objectivity of manner which has not barred out the essential poetry of +their substance. These pictures are lightly touched with a quiet +brooding significance, as if they had been seen at twilight moments in a +dream world in which human relationships had been partly forgotten. They +are frankly impressionistic, except for the group of French stories, in +which Miss Easton has sought more definitely to interpret character. The +danger of this form is a certain preciosity which the author has +skilfully evaded, and the influence of Mr. Galsworthy is nowhere too +clearly apparent. I recommend the volume as one of the best English +books which has come to us during the past year.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Neighbors: Stories of the Welsh People</span>, by <i>Caradoc Evans</i> (Harcourt, +Brace and Howe). In his third collection of stories, Mr. Evans has for +the most part forsaken his study of the Cardigan Bay peasant for the +London Welsh, and although his style preserves the same stark biblical +notation as before, it seems less suited to record the ironies of an +industrial civilization. Allowing for this, and for Mr. Evans' bent +towards an unduly acid estimate of human nature, it must be confessed +that these stories have a certain permanent literary quality, most +successful in "Earthbred," "Joseph's House," and "A Widow Woman." These +three collections make it tolerably clear that Mr. Evans will find his +true medium in the novel, where an epic breadth of material is at hand +to fit his epic breadth of speech.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tatterdemalion</span>, by <i>John Galsworthy</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). This +volume contains the ripest product of Mr. Galsworthy's short story art +during the past seven years. Its range is very wide, and in these +twenty-three stories, we have the best of the mystical war legends from +"The Grey Angel" to "Cafard," the gentle irony of "The Recruit" and +"Defeat," and the gracious vision of "Spindleberries," "The Nightmare +Child," and "Buttercup-Night." Nowhere in the volume do we find the +slight touch of sentimentality which has marred the strength of Mr. +Galsworthy's later novels, but everywhere very quietly realised pictures +of a golden age which is still possible to his imagination, despite the +harsh conflict with material realities which his art has often +encountered. Perhaps the best story in the present collection is +"Cafard," where Mr. Galsworthy has almost miraculously succeeded in +extracting the last emotional content out of a situation in which a +single false touch of sentiment would have wrecked his story.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Limbo</span>, by <i>Aldous Huxley</i> (George H. Doran Company). This collection of +six fantasies in prose and one play has no special principle of unity +except its attempt to apply the art of Laforgue to much less adequate +material. Setting aside "Happy Families" as entirely negligible, and +"Happily Ever After" and "Eupompus Gave Splendour to Art by Numbers" as +qualified successes, the other four stories do achieve more or less what +they set out to do, although Mr. Huxley only achieves a personal +synthesis of style and substance in "The Death of Lully." The other +three stories are full of promise as yet unrealised because of Mr. +Huxley's inability or unwillingness to conceal the technique of his art.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Deep Waters</span>, by <i>W. W. Jacobs</i> (Charles Scribner's Sons). Mr. Jacobs' +formula is not yet outworn, but it is becoming perilously uncertain. His +talent has always been a narrow one, but in his early volumes his +realization of character was quite vivid, and his plot technique superb. +At least two of these stories are entirely mechanical, and the majority +do not rise above mediocrity. "Paying Off," "Sam's Ghost," and "Dirty +Work" faintly recall Mr. Jacobs' early manner.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lo, and Behold Ye!</span>, by <i>Seumas MacManus</i> (Frederick A. Stokes Company). +Many of these chimney-corner stories are older than Homer, but Mr. +MacManus has retold them in the language of the roads, and this pageant +of tinkers and kings, fairies and scholars, lords and fishermen march by +to the sound of the pipes and the ribald comments of little boys along +the road. The quality of this volume is as fresh as that of those first +Donegal fairy stories which Mr. McClure discovered twenty-five years +ago. I think that the best of these stories are "The Mad Man, The Dead +Man, and the Devil," "Dark Patrick's Blood-horse," and "Donal +O'Donnell's Standing Army," but this is only a personal selection.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Clintons, and Others</span>, by <i>Archibald Marshall</i> (Dodd, Mead and +Company). I believe that this is Mr. Marshall's first volume of short +stories, and they have a certain interest as a quiet chronicle of an old +social order which has gone never to return. The comparison of Mr. +Marshall's work with that of Anthony Trollope is as inevitable as it is +to the former's disadvantage. This volume shows honest, sincere +craftsmanship, and never rises nor falls below an average level of +mediocrity.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Man Who Understood Women</span>, and <span class="smcap">While Paris Laughed</span>, by <i>Leonard +Merrick</i> (E. P. Dutton and Company). These two volumes of the collected +edition of Mr. Merrick's novels and stories are of somewhat uneven +value. The best of them have a finish which is unsurpassed in its kind +by any of his English contemporaries, but there are many stories in the +first of these two volumes which are somewhat ephemeral. Mr. Locke in +his introduction to "The Man Who Understood Women" rather overstates Mr. +Merrick's case, but at his best these stories form an interesting +English parallel to the work of O. Henry. The second volume suffers the +fate of all sequels in endeavouring to revive after a lapse of years the +pranks and passions of the poet Tricotrin. The first five stories in the +volume, while they do not attain the excellence of "The Tragedy of a +Comic Song," are worthy stories in the same kind. The other seven +stories are frankly mawkish in content, although redeemed by Mr. +Merrick's excellent technique.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Workhouse Characters</span>, by <i>Margaret Wynne Nevinson</i> (The Macmillan +Company). This collection of newspaper sketches written during the past +fifteen years have no pretensions to art, and were written with a +frankly propagandist intention. The vividness of their portraiture and +the passion of their challenge to the existing social order warrant +their mention here, and I do not think they will be forgotten readily by +those who read them. This volume has attracted little comment in the +American press, and it would be a pity if it is permitted to go out of +print over here.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The New Decameron</span>: Volume the First (Robert M. McBride & Co.). There is +more to be said for the idea which prompted these stories than for the +success with which the idea has been carried out. A group of tourists +seeking adventures on the Continent agree to beguile the tedium of the +journey by telling each other tales. Unfortunately the Nightingale does +not sing on, and the young Englishmen and women who have collaborated in +this volume have gone about their task in a frankly amateurish spirit. +The stories by W. F. Harvey and Sherard Vines attain a measured success, +and some mention may be made of M. Storm-Jameson's story, "Mother-love." +It is to be hoped that in future volumes of the series, the editor will +choose his contributors more carefully, and frankly abandon the +Decameron structure, which has been artificially imposed after the +stories were written.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Wrack, and Other Stories</span>, by "<i>Dermot O'Byrne</i>" (Dublin: The Talbot +Press, Ltd.), <span class="smcap">The Golden Barque, and the Weaver's Grave</span>, by <i>Seumas +O'Kelly</i> (Dublin: The Talbot Press, Ltd.), and <span class="smcap">Eight Short Stories</span>, by +<i>Lennox Robinson</i> (Dublin: The Talbot Press, Ltd.). As these three +volumes are not published in America, I only mention them here in the +hope that this notice may reach a friendly publisher's eye. Up to a few +years ago poetry and drama were the only two creative forms of the Irish +Literary Revival. This tide has now ebbed, and is succeeded by an +equally significant tide of short story writers. The series of volumes +issued by the Talbot Press, of which those I have just named are the +most noteworthy, should be promptly introduced to the American public, +and I think that I can promise safely that they are the forerunners of a +most promising literature.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Old Card</span>, by <i>Roland Pertwee</i> (Boni and Liveright, Inc.). This +series of twelve short stories depict the life of an English touring +actor with a quiet artistry of humor suggestive of Leonard Merrick's +best work. They are quite frankly studies in sentiment, but they +successfully avoid sentimentality for the most part, and in "Eliphalet +Cardomay" I feel that the author has created a definitely perceived +character.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Old Junk</span>, by <i>H. M. Tomlinson</i> (Alfred A. Knopf). It is not my function +here to point out that "Old Junk" is one of the best volumes of essays +published in recent years, but simply to direct attention to the fact +that it includes two short stories, "The Lascar's Walking-Stick" and +"The Extra Hand," which are fine studies in atmospheric values. I think +that the former should find a place in most future anthologies.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">By Violence</span>, by "<i>John Trevena</i>" (The Four Seas Company). Although John +Trevena's novels have found a small public in America, his short stories +are practically unknown. The present volume reprints three of them, of +which "By Violence" is the best. In fact, it is only surpassed by +"Matrimony" in its revelation of poetic grace and gentle vision. If the +feeling is veiled and somewhat aloof from the common ways of men, there +is none the less a fine human sympathy concealed in it. I like to think +that a new reading of earth may be deciphered from this text.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Port Allington Stories</span>, by <i>R. E. Vernède</i> (George H. Doran Company). +This volume of stories which is drawn from the late Lieutenant +Vernède's output during the past twelve years reveals a genuine talent +for the felicitous portrayal of social life in an English village, and +suggests that he might have gone rather far in stories of adventure. +"The Maze" is the best story in the volume, and makes it clear that a +brilliant short story writer was lost in France during the war.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Holy Fire, and Other Stories</span>, by <i>Ida A. R. Wylie</i> (John Lane Company). +I have called attention to many of these stories in previous years, but +now that they are reprinted as a group I must reaffirm my belief that +few among the younger English short story writers have such a command of +dramatic finality as Miss Wylie. It is true that these stories might +have been told with advantage in a more quiet tone. This would have made +the war stories more memorable, but perhaps the problem which the book +presents for solution is whether or no an instinctive dramatist is using +the wrong literary medium. Certainly in "Melia, No Good" her treatment +would have been less effective in a play than in a short story.</p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">III. Translations</span></h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">When the King Loses His Head, and Other Stories</span>, by <i>Leonid Andreyev</i>. +Translated by <i>Archibald J. Wolfe</i> (International Book Publishing +Company), and <span class="smcap">Modern Russian Classics</span>. Introduction by <i>Isaac Goldberg</i> +(The Four Seas Company). In previous years I have called attention to +other selections of Andreyev's stories. The present collection includes +the best from the other volumes, with some new material. "Judas +Iscariot" and "Lazarus" are the best of the prose poems. "Ben-Tobith," +"The Marseillaise," and "Dies Iræ" are the most memorable of his very +short stories, while the volume also includes "When The King Loses His +Head," and a less-known novelette entitled "Life of Father Vassily." The +volume entitled "Modern Russian Classics" includes five short stories by +Andreyev, Sologub, Artzibashev, Chekhov, and Gorky.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Prometheus: the Fall of the House of Limón: Sunday Sunlight: Poetic +Novels of Spanish Life</span>, by <i>Ramón Pérez de Ayala</i>, Prose translations by +<i>Alice P. Hubbard</i>: Poems done into English by <i>Grace Hazard Conkling</i> +(E. P. Dutton & Co.). Señor Pérez de Ayala has achieved in these three +stories what may be quite frankly regarded as a literary form. They do +not conform to a single rule of the short story as we have been taught +to know it. In fact, this is a pioneer book which opens up a new field. +The stories have no plot, no climax, no direct characterization, and at +first sight no plan. Presently it appears that the author's apparent +episodic treatment of his substance has a special unity of its own woven +around the spiritual relations of his heroes. It is hard to judge of an +author's style in translation, but the brilliant coloring of his +pictures is apparent from this English version. The nearest analogue in +English are the fantasies of Norman Douglas, but Pérez de Ayala has a +much more profoundly realized philosophy of life. The poems which serve +as interludes in these stories, curiously enough, add to the unity of +the action.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Last Lion, and Other Tales</span>, by <i>Vicente Blasco Ibáñez</i>, with an +Introduction by <i>Mariano Joaquin Lorente</i> (The Four Seas Company). The +present vogue of Señor Blasco Ibáñez is more sentimental than justified, +but in "Luxury" he has written an admirable story, and the other five +stories have a certain distinction of coloring.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bishop, and Other Stories</span>, and <span class="smcap">The Chorus Girl, and Other Stories</span>, +by <i>Anton Chekhov</i>; translated from the Russian by <i>Constance Garnett</i> +(The Macmillan Company). I have called attention to previous volumes in +this edition of Chekhov from time to time. These two new additions to +the series carry the English version of the complete tales two-thirds of +the way toward completion. Chekhov is one of the three short story +writers of the world indispensable to every fellow craftsman, and these +nineteen stories are drawn for the most part from the later and more +mature period of his work.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Surprises of Life</span>, by <i>Georges Clémenceau</i>; translated by <i>Grace +Hall</i> (Doubleday, Page & Company). Although this volume shows a gift of +crisp narrative and sharply etched portraiture, it is chiefly important +as a revelation of M. Clémenceau's state of mind. Had it been called to +the attention of Mr. Wilson before he went to Paris, the course of +international diplomacy might have been rather different. These +twenty-five stories and sketches one and all reveal a sneering +scepticism about human nature and an utter denial of moral values. From +a technical point of view, "The Adventure of My Curé" is a successful +story.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tales of My Native Town</span>, by <i>Gabriele D'Annunzio</i>; translated by <i>G. +Mantellini</i>, with an Introduction by <i>Joseph Hergesheimer</i> (Doubleday, +Page & Company). This anthology drawn from various volumes of Signor +D'Annunzio's stories gives the American a fair bird's-eye view of the +various aspects of his work. These twelve portraits by the Turner of +corruption have a severe logic of their own which may pass for being +classical. As diploma pieces they are incomparable, but as renderings of +life they carry no sense of conviction. Mr. Hergesheimer's introduction +is a more or less unsuccessful special plea. While it is perfectly true +that the author has achieved what he set out to do, these stories +already seem old-fashioned, and as years go on will be read, if at all, +for their landscapes only.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Military Servitude and Grandeur</span>, by <i>Alfred de Vigny</i>; translated by +<i>Frances Wilson Huard</i> (George H. Doran Company). It is curious that +this volume should have waited so long for a translator. Alfred de Vigny +was an early nineteenth century forerunner of Barbusse and Duhamel, and +this record of the Napoleonic wars is curiously analogous to the books +of these later men. I call attention to it here because it includes +"Laurette," which is one of the great French short stories.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">An Honest Thief, and Other Stories</span>, by <i>Fyodor Dostoevsky</i>; translated +from the Russian by <i>Constance Garnett</i> (The Macmillan Company). This is +the eleventh volume in the first collected English edition of +Dostoevsky's works. The great Russian novelist was not a consummate +technician when he wrote short stories, but the massive epic sweep of +his genius clothed the somewhat inorganic substance of his tales with a +reality which is masterly in the title story, in "An Unpleasant +Predicament," and in "Another Man's Wife." The volume includes among +other stories "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man," which, though little +known, is the key to the philosophy of his greater novels.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Civilization</span>, 1914-1917, by <i>Georges Duhamel</i>; translated by <i>E. S. +Brooks</i> (The Century Co.). This volume shares with Élie Faure's "La +Sainte Face" first place among the volumes of permanent literature +produced in France during the war. With more subtle and restrained +artistry than M. Barbusse, the author has portrayed the simple +chronicles of many of his comrades. He employs only the plainest +notation of speech, with an economy not unlike that of Maupassant, and +the indictment is the more terrible because of this emphasis of +understatement. Before the war, M. Duhamel was known as a competent and +somewhat promising poet and dramatist, and he was one of the few to whom +the war brought an ampler endowment rather than a numbing silence.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Czecho-Slovak Stories</span>, translation by <i>Šárka B. Hrbkova</i> (Duffield +and Company). I trust that this volume will prove a point of departure +for a series of books each devoted to the work of a separate +Czecho-Slovak master. Certainly the work of Jan Neruda, Svatopluk +Čech, and Caroline Svĕtlá, to name no others, ranks with the best +of the Russian masters, and the reader is compelled to speculate as to +how many more equally fine writers remain unknown to him. For such +stories as these can only come out of a long and conscious tradition of +art, and the greater part of these stories are drawn from volumes +published during the last half century. The volume contains an admirable +historical and critical introduction, and adequate biographies and +bibliographies of the authors included.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Serenus, and Other Stories of the Past and Present</span>, by <i>Jules Lemaître</i>; +translated by "<i>Penguin</i>" (<i>A. W. Evans</i>) (London: Selwyn & Blount). +Although this volume has not yet been published in the United States, it +is one of the few memorable short story books of the season, and should +readily find a publisher over here. Anatole France has prophesied that +it will stand out in the history of the thought of the nineteenth +century, just as to-day "Candide" or "Zadig" stands out in that of the +eighteenth. These fourteen stories are selected from about four times +that number, and a complete Lemaître would be as valuable in English as +the new translation of Anatole France. The present version is +faultlessly rendered by an English stylist who has sought to set down +the exact shade of the critic's meaning.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tales of Mystery and Horror</span>, by <i>Maurice Level</i>; translated from the +French by <i>Alys Eyre Macklin</i>, with an Introduction by <i>Henry B. Irving</i> +(Robert M. McBride & Co.). Mr. Irving's introduction rather overstates +M. Level's case. These stories are not literature, but their hard +polished technique is as competent as that of Melville Davisson Post, +and I suppose that these two men have carried Poe's technique as far as +it can be carried with talent. The stories are frankly melodramatic, and +wring the last drop of emotion and sentiment out of each situation +presented. I think the volume will prove valuable to students of short +story construction, and there is no story which does not arrest the +attention of the reader.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Story of Gotton Connixloo</span>, followed by <span class="smcap">Forgotten</span>, by <i>Camille +Mayran</i>; translated by <i>Van Wyck Brooks</i> (E.P. Dutton & Company). Mr. +Brooks' translation of these two stories in the tradition of Flaubert +have been a labor of love. They will not attract a large public, but the +art of this Belgian writer is flawless, and worthy of his master. Out of +the simplest material he has extracted an exquisite spiritual essence, +and held it up quietly so as to reflect every aspect of its value. If +the first of these two stories is the most completely rounded from a +technical point of view, I think that the second points the way toward +his future development. He presents his characters more directly, and +achieves his revelation through dialogue rather than personal statement.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Short Stories from the Spanish</span>; Englished by <i>Charles B. McMichael</i> +(Boni and Liveright, Inc.). The present volume contains seven short +stories by Rubén Dario, Jacinto Octavio Picón, and Leopoldo Alas. They +are wretchedly translated, but even in their present form one can divine +the art of "The Death of the Empress of China" by the Nicaraguan Rubén +Dario, and "After the Battle" by the Spaniard Jacinto Octavio Picón. The +other stories are of unequal value, so far as we can judge from Mr. +McMichael's translation.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Fairy Spinning Wheel, and the Tales It Spun</span>, by <i>Catulle Mendès</i>; +translated by <i>Thomas J. Vivian</i> (The Four Seas Company). It was a happy +thought to reprint this translation of M. Mendès' fairy tales which has +been out of print for many years. It is probably the only work of its +once renowned author which survives the passage of time. Here he has +entered the child's mind and deftly presented a series of legends which +suggest more than they state. Their substance is slight enough, but each +has a certain symbolic value, and the poetry of M. Mendès' style has +been successfully transferred to the English version.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Temptations</span>, by <i>David Pinski</i>; translated by <i>Isaac Goldberg</i> +(Brentano's). We have already come to know what a keen analyst America +has in Mr. Pinski from the translations of his plays which have been +published. Here he is much less interested in the surface movement of +plot than in the relentless search for motive. To his Yiddish public he +seems perhaps the best of short story writers who write in his tongue, +and certainly he can hold his own with the best of his contemporaries in +all countries. He has the universal note as few English writers may +claim it, and he stands apart from his creation with absolute +detachment. His work, together with that of Asch, Aleichem, Perez, and +one or two others establishes Yiddish as a great literary tongue. A +further series of these tales are promised if the present volume meets +with the response which it deserves.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Russian Short Stories</span>, edited by <i>Harry C. Schweikert</i> (Scott, Foresman +and Company). This is a companion volume to Mr. Schweikert's excellent +collection of French short stories, and ranges over a wide field. From +Pushkin to Kuprin his selection gives a fair view of most of the Russian +masters, and the collection includes a valuable historical and critical +introduction, with biographical notes, and a critical apparatus for the +student of short story technique. It is of special educational +importance as the only volume in the field. In the next edition I +suggest that Sologub should be represented for the sake of completeness.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Iolanthe's Wedding</span>, by <i>Hermann Sudermann</i>; translated by <i>Adèle S. +Seltzer</i> (Boni and Liveright, Inc.). This collection of four minor works +by Sudermann contains two excellent stories, one of which is full of +folk quality and a kindly irony, and the other more akin to the nervous +art of Arthur Schnitzler. "The Woman Who Was His Friend" and "The +Gooseherd" are less important, but of considerable technical interest.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Short Stories from the Balkans</span>; translated by <i>Edna Worthley Underwood</i> +(Marshall Jones Company). This volume should be set beside the +collection of "Czecho-Slovak Stories," which I have mentioned on an +earlier page. Here will be found further stories by Jan Neruda and +Svatopluk Čech, together with a remarkable group of stories by +Rumanian, Serbian, Croatian, and Hungarian authors. Neruda emerges as +the greatest artist of them all, and one of the greatest artists in +Europe, but special attention should be called also to the Czech writer +Vrchlický, the Rumanian Caragiale, and the Hungarian Mikszáth. The +translation seems competently done.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Modern Greek Stories</span>; translated by <i>Demetra Vaka</i> and <i>Aristides +Phoutrides</i> (Duffield and Company). While this collection reveals no +such undoubted master as Jan Neruda, it is an extremely interesting +introduction to an equally unknown literature. Seven of the nine stories +are of great literary value, and perhaps the best of these is "Sea" by +A. Karkavitsas. Romaic fiction still bears the marks of a young +tradition, and each new writer would seem to be compelled to strike out +more or less completely for himself. Consequently it is necessary to +allow more than usual for technical inadequacy, but the substance of +most of these stories is sufficiently remarkable to justify us in +wishing a further introduction to Romaic literature.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Volumes" id="Volumes"></a>VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES</h2> + +<h3>OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920: AN INDEX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>. <i>An asterisk before a title indicates distinction. This list +includes single short stories, collections of short stories, and a few +continuous narratives based on short stories previously published in +magazines. Volumes announced for publication in the autumn of 1920 are +listed here, though in some cases they had not yet appeared at the time +this book went to press.</i></p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">I. American Authors</span></h3> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Abdullah, Achmed</span>. *Wings. McCann.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Abdullah, Achmed</span>, <i>and others</i>. Ten Foot Chain. Reynolds.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ade, George</span>. Home Made Fables. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Emma Maria Thompson</span>. A 'Chu. Review and Herald Pub. Assn.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Robert Gordon</span>. Seven O'clock Stories. Putnam.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barbour, Ralph Henry</span>. Play That Won. Appleton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Benneville, James Seguin De</span>. Tales of the Tokugawa. Reilly.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bishop, William Henry</span>. Anti-Babel. Neale.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boyer, Wilbur S</span>. Johnnie Kelly. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bridges, Victor</span>. Cruise of the "Scandal." Putnam.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Alice</span>. *Homespun and Gold. Macmillan.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Butler, Ellis Parker</span>. Swatty. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carroll, P. J.</span> Memory Sketches. School Plays Pub. Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cather, Willa Sibert</span>. *Youth and the Bright Medusa. Knopf.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chambers, Robert W.</span> Slayer of Souls. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cohen, Octavus Roy</span>. Come Seven. Dodd, Mead.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Comfort, Will Levington</span>, and <span class="smcap">Dost, Zamin Ki</span>. Son of Power. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Connolly, James B.</span> *Hiker Joy. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Crabb, Arthur</span>." Samuel Lyle, Criminologist. Century Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cram, Mildred</span>. Lotus Salad. Dodd, Mead.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cutting, Mary Stewart</span>. Some of Us Are Married. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Davies, Ellen Chivers</span>. Ward Tales. Lane.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Deland, Margaret</span>. *Small Things. Harper.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dickson, Harris</span>. Old Reliable in Africa. Stokes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dodge, Henry Irving</span>. Skinner Makes It Fashionable. Harper.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dost, Zami Ki</span>. <i>See</i> Comfort, Will Levington and Dost, Zamin Ki.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dwight, H. G.</span> *Emperor of Elam. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edgar, Randolph</span>, <i>editor</i>. *Miller's Holiday: Short Stories from The Northwestern Miller. Miller Pub. Co.<br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Ferber, Edna</span>. *Half Portions. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fillmore, Parker</span>. *Shoemaker's Apron. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key</span>. Flappers and Philosophers. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ford, Sewell</span>. Meet 'Em with Shorty McCabe. Clode.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torchy and Vee. Clode.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torchy as a Pa. Clode.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">French, Joseph Lewis</span>, <i>editor</i>. *Best Psychic Stories. Boni and Liveright.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Masterpieces of Mystery. 4 vol. Doubleday, Page.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gittins, H. N.</span> Short and Sweet. Lane.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Graham, James C.</span> It Happened at Andover. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hall, Herschel S.</span> Steel Preferred. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Haslett, Harriet Holmes</span>. Impulses. Cornhill Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Heydrick, Benjamin</span>, <i>editor</i>. *Americans All. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hill, Frederick Trevor</span>. Tales Out of Court. Stokes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Howells, William Dean</span>, <i>editor</i>. *Great Modern American Stories. Boni and Liveright.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hughes, Jennie V.</span> Chinese Heart-Throbs. Revell.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hughes, Rupert</span>. *Momma, and Other Unimportant People. Harper.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Huneker, James</span>. *Bedouins. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Imrie, Walter McLaren</span>. *Legends. Midland Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Irwin, Wallace</span>. Suffering Husbands. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">James, Henry</span>. *Master Eustace. Seltzer.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jessup, Alexander</span>, <i>editor</i>. *Best American Humorous Short Stories. Boni and Liveright.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Arthur</span>. *Under the Rose. Harper.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kelley, F. C.</span> City and the World. Extension Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lamprey, L.</span> Masters of the Guild. Stokes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Leacock, Stephen</span>. Winsome Winnie. Lane.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Linderman, Frank Bird</span>. *On a Passing Frontier. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Linton, C. E.</span> Earthomotor. Privately Printed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McCarter, Margaret Hill</span>. Paying Mother. Harper.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mackay, Helen</span>. *Chill Hours. Duffield.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacManus, Seumas</span>. *Top o' the Mornin'. Stokes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McSpadden, J. Walker</span>, <i>editor</i>. Famous Detective Stories. Crowell.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Famous Psychic Stories. Crowell.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Martin, George Madden</span>. *Children in the Mist. Appleton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Means, E. K.</span> *Further E. K. Means. Putnam.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Miller, Warren H.</span> Sea Fighters. Macmillan.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Montague, Margaret Prescott</span>. *England to America. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Doubleday, Page.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Montgomery, L. M.</span> Further Chronicles of Avonlea. Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Morgan, Byron</span>. Roaring Road. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Brien, Edward J.</span> Best Short Stories of 1919. Small, Maynard.<br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Paine, Ralph D.</span> Ships Across the Sea. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Perry, Lawrence</span>. For the Game's Sake. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pitman, Norman Hinsdale</span>. Chinese Wonder Book. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Poe, Edgar Allan</span>. *Gold-bug. Four Seas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Post, Melville Davisson</span>. *Sleuth of St. James's Square. Appleton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodes, Harrison</span>. *High Life. McBride.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rice, Alice Hegan</span>, and <span class="smcap">Rice, Cale Young</span>. Turn About Tales. Century Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Richards, Clarice E.</span> Tenderfoot Bride. Revell.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Richmond, Grace S.</span> Bells of St. John's. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rinehart, Mary Roberts</span>. Affinities. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robbins, Tod</span>. *Silent, White, and Beautiful. Boni and Liveright.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robinson, William Henry</span>. Witchery of Rita. Berryhill Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sedgwick, Anne Douglas</span>. *Christmas Roses. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Gordon Arthur</span>. *Pagan. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Society of Arts and Sciences</span>. *O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories, 1919. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Spofford, Harriet Prescott</span>. *Elder's People. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Train, Arthur</span>. Tutt and Mr. Tutt. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vorse, Mary Heaton</span>. *Ninth Man. Harper.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whalen, Louise Margaret</span>. Father Ladden, Curate. Magnificat Pub. Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">White, Stewart Edward</span>. Killer. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Widdemer, Margaret</span>. Boardwalk. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wiggin, Kate Douglas</span>. *Homespun Tales. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wiley, Hugh</span>. Wildcat. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Yezierska, Anzia</span>. *Hungry Hearts. Houghton Mifflin.<br /> +<br /></p> + +<h3><span class="smcap">II. English and Irish Authors</span></h3> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Baxter, Arthur Beverley</span>. Blower of Bubbles. Appleton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beerbohm, Max</span>. *Seven Men. Knopf.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cannan, Gilbert</span>. *Windmills. Huebsch.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Dehan, Richard</span>." (<span class="smcap">Clotilde Graves</span>). Eve of Pascua. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dell, Ethel May</span>. Tidal Wave. Putnam.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dunsany, Lord</span>. *Tales of Three Hemispheres. Luce.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Easton, Dorothy</span>. *Golden Bird. Knopf.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evans, Caradoc</span>. *My Neighbors. Harcourt, Brace, & Howe.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Galsworthy, John</span>. *Tatterdemalion. Scribner.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Graves, Clotilde</span>. <i>See</i> "Dehan, Richard."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grogan, Gerald</span>. William Pollok. Lane.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hardy, Thomas</span>. *Two Wessex Tales. Four Seas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hichens, Robert</span>. Snake-bite. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hutten, Baroness Von</span>. <i>See</i> Von Hutten, Baroness.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Huxley, Aldous</span>. *Limbo. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">James, Montague Rhodes</span>. *Thin Ghost. Longmans.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jeffery, Jeffery E.</span> Side Issues. Seltzer.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kipling, Rudyard</span>. *Man Who Would Be King. Four Seas.<br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Lipscomb, W. P.</span> Staff Tales. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">New Decameron: Second Day</span>. McBride.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Kelly, Seumas</span>. *Golden Barque, and the Weaves's Grave. Putnam.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Ross, Martin</span>." <i>See</i> "Somerville, E. Œ.," and "Ross, Martin."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sabatini, Rafael</span>. Historical Nights' Entertainment, Second Series. Lippincott.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Somerville, E. Œ.</span>," <i>and</i> "<span class="smcap">Ross, Martin</span>," Stray-Aways. Longmans, Green.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Trevena, John</span>." *By Violence. Four Seas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vernède, R. E.</span> Port Allington Stories. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Von Hutten, Baroness</span>. Helping Hersey. Doran.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wylie, Ida Alena Ross</span>. *Holy Fire. Lane.<br /> +<br /></p> + +<h3><span class="smcap">III. Translations</span></h3> +<p> +"<span class="smcap">Aleichem, Shalom</span>." <i>(Yiddish.)</i> *Jewish Children. Knopf.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Andreiev, Leonid</span>. <i>(Russian.)</i> *When the King Loses His Head. International Bk. Pub.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Andreiev, Leonid</span>, <i>and others</i>. (<i>Russian.</i>) *Modern Russian Classics. Four Seas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Annunzio, Gabriele D'.</span> <i>(Italian.)</i> *Tales of My Native Town. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente</span>. <i>(Spanish.)</i> *Last Lion. Four Seas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Demetra Vaka</span>, and <span class="smcap">Phoutrides, Aristides</span>, <i>trs.</i> (<i>Modern Greek.</i>) *Modern Greek Stories. Duffield.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton</span>. <i>(Russian.)</i> *Chorus Girl. Macmillan.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clémenceau, Georges</span>. <i>(French.)</i> *Surprises of Life. Doubleday, Page.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Coster, Charles de</span>. <i>(French.)</i> *Flemish Legends. Stokes.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dostoevsky, Fedor Mikhailovich</span>. <i>(Russian.)</i> *Honest Thief. Macmillan.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Friedlander, Gerald</span>, <i>ed. and tr.</i> (<i>Hebrew.</i>) Jewish Fairy Tales and Stories. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hrbkova, Sarka B.</span>, <i>editor.</i> (<i>Czecho-Slovak.</i>) *Czecho-Slovak Stories. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jacobsen, Jens Peter</span>. <i>(Danish.)</i> *Mogens. Brown.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Level, Maurice</span>. <i>(French.)</i> *Tales of Mystery and Horror. McBride.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McMichael, Charles B.</span>, <i>translator.</i> (<i>Spanish.</i>) *Short Stories from the Spanish. Boni & Liveright.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Maupassant, Guy de</span>. <i>(French.)</i> *Mademoiselle Fifi. Four Seas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mayran, Camille</span>. <i>(French.)</i> *Story of Gotton Connixloo. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pérez de Ayala, Ramón</span>. <i>(Spanish.)</i> *Prometheus. Dutton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ragozin, Z. A.</span>, <i>editor.</i> (<i>Russian.</i>) *Little Russian Masterpieces. 4 vol. Putnam.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND AND IRELAND ONLY</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">I. English and Irish</span></h3> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Andrew, Emily</span>. Happiness in the Valley. Charles Joscelyn.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barr, Robert</span>. Helping Hand. Mills and Boon.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales of Two Continents. Mills and Boon.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beerbohm, Max</span>. *And Even Now. Heinemann.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Calthrop, Dion Clayton</span>. *Bit at a Time. Mills and Boon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cole, Sophie</span>. Variety Entertainment. Mills and Boon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Conyers, Dorothea</span>. Irish Stew. Skeffington.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cross, Victoria</span>. Daughters of Heaven. Laurie.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Drury, W. P.</span> All the King's Men. Chapman and Hall.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evans, C. S.</span> Nash and Some Others. Heinemann.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Everard, Mrs. H. D.</span> Death Mask. Philip Allan.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Forster, E. M.</span> *Story of the Siren. Hogarth Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Frampton, Mary</span>. Forty Years On. Arrowsmith.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Garvice, Charles</span>. Girl at the "Bacca" Shop. Skeffington.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gaunt, Mary</span>. Surrender, Laurie.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gibbon, Perceval</span>. *Those Who Smiled. Cassell.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Green, Peter</span>. Our Kid. Arnold.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grimshaw, Beatrice</span>. Coral Palace. Mills and Boon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harvey, William Fryer</span>. Misadventures of Athelstan Digby. Swarthmore Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Howard, F. Moreton</span>. Happy Rascals. Methuen.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Key, Uel</span>. Broken Fang. Hodder and Stoughton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Knowlson, T. Sharper</span>. Man Who Would Not Grow Old. Laurie.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Leo, T. O. D. C.</span> Two Feasts of St. Agnes. Morland.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Le Queux, William</span>. Mysteries of a Great City. Hodder and Stoughton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McGuffin, William</span>. Australian Tales of the Border. Lothian Book Pub. Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mansfield, Katherine</span>. *Je Ne Parle Pas Français. Heron Press.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Prelude. Hogarth Press.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mayne, Ethel Colburn</span>. *Blindman. Chapman and Hall.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mordaunt, Elinor</span>. *Old Wine in New Bottles. Hutchinson.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Muir, Ward</span>. Adventures in Marriage. Simpkin, Marshall.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Newham, C. E.</span> Gippo. W. P. Spalding.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Newman, F. J.</span> Romance and Law in the Divorce Court. Melrose.<br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">O'Kelly, Seumas</span>. *Leprechaun of Killmeen. Martin Lester.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Palmer, Arnold</span>. *My Profitable Friends. Selwyn and Blount.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paterson, A. B.</span> Three Elephant Power. Australian Book Co.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Riley, W.</span> Yorkshire Suburb. Jenkins.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robins, Elizabeth</span>. Mills of the Gods. Butterworth.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robinson, Lennox</span>. *Eight Short Stories. Talbot Press.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Sea-Pup</span>." Musings of a Martian. Heath Cranton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shorter, Dora Sigerson</span>. *Dull Day in London. Nash.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Logan Pearsall</span>. *Stories from the Old Testament. Hogarth Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stein, Gertrude</span>. *Three Lives. Lane.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stock, Ralph</span>. Beach Combings. Pearson.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Taylor, Joshua</span>. Lure of the Links. Heath Cranton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Warrener, Marcus and Violet</span>. House of Transformations. Epworth Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wicksteed, Hilda</span>. Titch. Swarthmore Press.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilderhope, John</span>. Arch Fear. Murray and Evenden.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wildridge, Oswald</span>. *Clipper Folk. Blackwood.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Woolf, Virginia</span>. *Mark on the Wall. Hogarth Press.<br /> +<br /></p> + +<h3><span class="smcap">II. Translations</span></h3> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton</span>. <i>(Russian.)</i> *My Life. Daniel.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kuprin, Alexander</span>. <i>(Russian.)</i> *Sasha. Paul.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lemaître, Jules</span>. <i>(French.)</i> *Serenus. Selwyn and Blount.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN FRANCE</h2> + + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Ageorges, Joseph</span>. Contes sereins. Figuière.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Arcos, René</span>. *Bien commun. Le Sablier.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boylesve, René</span>. *Nymphes dansant avec des satyres. Calmann-Lévy.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Farrĕre, Claude</span>." Dernière déesse. Flammarion.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Geffroy, Gustave</span>. Nouveaux contes du pays d'Quest. Crès.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Géniaux, Charles</span>. Mes voisins de campagne. Flammarion.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ginisty, Paul</span>. *Terreur. Société anonyme d'édition.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Herold, A. Ferdinand</span>. *Guirlande d'Aphrodite. Edition d'Art.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hesse, Raymond</span>. Bouzigny! Payot.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hirsch, Charles-Henry</span>. Craquement. Flammarion.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lautrec, Gabriel de. Histoires de Tom Joé</span>. Edition française illustrée.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Le Glay, Maurice</span>. Récits marocains. Berger-Levrault.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Machard, Alfred</span>. *Cent Gosses. Flammarion.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Syndicat des fessés. Ferenczi.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marie, Jacques</span>. Sous l'armure. Jouve.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mille, Pierre</span>. *Nuit d'amour sur la montagne. Flammarion.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Trois femmes. Calmann-Lévy.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pillon, Marcel</span>. Contes à ma cousine. Figuière.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pottecher, Maurice</span>. Joyeux Contes de la Cicogne d'Alsace. Ollendorff.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Rachilde</span>." *Découverte de l'Amérique. Kundig.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Régnier, Henri de</span>. *Histories incertaines. Mercure de France.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhaïs, Elissa</span>. *Café chantant. Plon.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rochefoucauld, Gabriel de la</span>. *Mari Calomnié. Plon-Nourrit.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Russo, Luigi Libero</span>. Contes à la cigogne. 2e série. Messein.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sarcey, Yvonne</span>. Pour vivre heureux.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sutton, Maurice</span>. Contes retrouvés. Edit. Formosa. Bruxelles.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tisserand, Ernest</span>. Contes de la popote. Crès.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Villiers de l'Isle-Adam</span>. *Nouveaux Contes Cruels. Crès.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Articles" id="Articles"></a>ARTICLES ON THE SHORT STORY</h2> + +<h3>OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h3> + + +<p><i>The following abbreviations are used in this index</i>:—</p> + +<div class="center"> +<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="4" border="0" summary="abbreviations"> + <tbody> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Ath.</i></td><td align="left">Athenæum</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>B. E. T.</i></td><td align="left"> Boston Evening Transcript</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Book (London)</i></td><td align="left"> Bookman (London)</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Book (N. Y.)</i></td><td align="left"> Bookman (New York)</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Cath. W.</i></td><td align="left"> Catholic World</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Chap.</i></td><td align="left"> Monthly Chapbook</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Cont. R.</i></td><td align="left"> Contemporary Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Edin. R.</i></td><td align="left"> Edinburgh Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Eng. R.</i></td><td align="left"> English Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Fortn. R.</i></td><td align="left"> Fortnightly Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Harp. M.</i></td><td align="left"> Harper's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>L. H. J.</i></td><td align="left"> Ladies' Home Journal</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Lib.</i></td><td align="left"> Liberator</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Liv. Age.</i></td><td align="left"> Living Age</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Lit. R.</i></td><td align="left"> Little Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>L. Merc.</i></td><td align="left"> London Mercury</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>M. de F.</i></td><td align="left"> Mercure de France</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Mir.</i></td><td align="left"> Reedy's Mirror</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Mun.</i></td><td align="left"> Munsey's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Nat. (London)</i></td><td align="left"> Nation (London)</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>N. Rep.</i></td><td align="left"> New Republic</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>New S.</i></td><td align="left"> New Statesman</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>19th Cent.</i></td><td align="left"> Nineteenth Century and After</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>N. R. F.</i></td><td align="left"> Nouvelle Revue Française</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Peop.</i></td><td align="left"> People's Favorite Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Quart. R.</i></td><td align="left"> Quarterly Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>R. de D. M.</i></td><td align="left"> Revue des Deux Mondes</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Sat. R.</i></td><td align="left"> Saturday Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Strat. J.</i></td><td align="left"> Stratford Journal</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Times Lit. Suppl.</i></td><td align="left"> Times Literary Supplement</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Touch.</i></td><td align="left"> Touchstone (London)</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Yale R.</i></td><td align="left"> Yale Review</td></tr> +</tbody></table></div> +<p> +Abdullah, Achmed.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Rebecca West. New S. May 8. (15:137.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Aleichem, Shalom."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. New S. Mar. 13. (14:682.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Alexander, Grace</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. Aug. 18. (23:335.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Alvord, James Church</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Typical American Short Story. Yale R. Apr. (9:650.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +American Short Story.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By James Church Alvord. Yale R. Apr. (9:650.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Andreyev, Leonid.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Eugene M. Kayden. Dial. Nov. 15, '19. (67:425.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Moissaye J. Olgin. N. Rep. Dec. 24, '19. (21:123.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By A. Sokoloff. New S. Nov. 15, '19. (14:190.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Annunzio, Gabriele d'.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph Collins. Scr. Sept. (68:304.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Rebecca West. New S. June 5, (15:253.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">N. Rep. June 30. (23:155.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Anonymous.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buying $2,000,000 Worth of Fiction. Peop. Oct., '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Apuleius.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Lord Ernle. Quart. R. Jul. (234:41.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Arcos, René.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jan. 22. (19:48.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bailey, John</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. London Observer. Apr. 25.</span><br /> +<br /> +Balkan Short Stories.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Kate Buss. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3, p. 9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Balzac, Honoré de.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Princess Catherine Radziwill. Book. (N. Y.) Aug. (51:639.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Sir Frederick Wedmore. 19th Cent. Mar. (87:484.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By M. P. Willcocks. Nation. (London.) Mar. 20. (26:864) and Mar. 27.</span><br /> +<br /> +Barnes, J. S.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contemporary Italian Short Stories. New Europe. Nov. 27, '19. (13:214.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Beaubourg, Maurice.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Legrand-Chabrier. M. de F. 15 août. (142:5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beaunier, André</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pierre Mille. R. de D. M. 1 juillet. (6 sér. 58:191.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Beerbohm, Max.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Nation. (London.) Nov. 22, '19. (26:272.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By Bohun Lynch. L. Merc. June. (2:168.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By S. W. Ath. Nov. 14, '19. (1186.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bent, Silas</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Mir. June 3. (29:448.) June 24. (29:510.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Beyle, Henri. <i>See</i> "Stendhal."<br /> +<br /> +Blackwood, Algernon.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Henriette Reeves. Touch. May. (7:147.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bourget, Paul</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prosper Mérimée. R. de D. M. 15 Sept. (59:257.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Bourget, Paul.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 30. (19:634.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By R. Le Clerc Phillips. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:448.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Braithwaite, William Stanley</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">American Short Story. B. E. T. Mar. 27. (pt. 3. p. 10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brooks, Van Wyck</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Twain. Dial. Mar. Nat. Apr. (68:275, 424.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Buss, Kate</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Balkan Short Stories. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cabell, James Branch</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joseph Hergesheimer. Book. (N. Y.) Nov.-Dec., '19. (50:267.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Calthrop, Dion Clayton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O. Henry. London Observer. May 2.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diary. Ath. Apr. 2. (460.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Letters. XII. Ath. Oct. 24, '19. (1078.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">XIII. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1135.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Chekhov, Anton.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Ath. Jan. 23, Feb. 6. ('20:1:124, 191.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Feb. 12, Jul. 15. (19:103, 455.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edmund Gosse. London Sunday Times. Mar. 14.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Robert Morss Lovett. Dial. May. (68:626.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Robert Lynd. London Daily News. Feb. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Robert Lynd. Nation (London.) Feb. 28. (26:742.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Mar. 5. ('20:1:299.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Robert Nichols. London Observer. Mar. 7.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. Feb. (68:253.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chew, Samuel C</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. June 2. (23:22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Child, Harold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomas Hardy. Book. (London.) June. (58:101.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Clemens, Samuel L. <i>See</i> "Twain, Mark."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Collins, Joseph</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alfredo Panzini and Luigi Pirandello. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Giovanni Papini. Book. (N. Y.) (51:160.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gabriele D'Annunzio. Scr. Sept. (68:304.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Colvin, Sir Sidney</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robert Louis Stevenson. Scr. Mar. (67:338.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Conrad, Joseph</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stephen Crane. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:528.) L. Merc. Dec., '19. (1:192.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Conrad, Joseph.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Stephen Gwynn. Edin. R. Apr. (231:318.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By R. Ellis Roberts. Book. (London.) Aug. (58:160.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Gilbert Seldes. Dial. Aug. (69:191.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Coppée, François.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph J. Reilly. Cath. W. (111:614.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cor, Raphael</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charles Dickens. M. de F. 1 juillet. (141:82.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Corthis, André.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Rev. de D. M. 15 juin. (6 sér. 57:816.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Coulon, Marcel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rachilde. M. de F. 15 sept. (142:545.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +Couperus, Louis.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. L. Walch. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1133.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Crane, Stephen.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph Conrad. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:529.) L. Merc. Dec., '19. (1:192.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Cunninghame Grahame, R. B. <i>See</i> Grahame, R. B. Cunninghame.<br /> +<br /> +D'Annunzio, Gabriele. <i>See</i> Annunzio, Gabriele d'.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Deffoux, Léon</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Zavie, Émile</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Editions Kistemaekers et le "Naturalisme." M. de F. 16 oct., '19. (135:639.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Émile Zola. M. de F. 15 fév. (138:68.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dell, Floyd</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Twain. Lib. Aug. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dewey, John</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Americanism and Localism. Dial. June. (68:684.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Dickens, Charles.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Raphael Cor. M. de F. 1 juillet. (141:82.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Dobie, Charles Caldwell.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joe Whitnah. San Francisco Bulletin. Jan. 3.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dostoevsky, Fyodor.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 23. (19:612.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By E. M. Forster. London Daily News. Nov. 11, '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. June. (68:774.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Doyle, A. Conan.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Beverly Stark. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:579.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Duhamel, Georges.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Henry J. Smith. Chicago Daily News. Dec. 3, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dunsany, Lord.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 11, '19. (18:737.) July 8. (19:437.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Clayton Hamilton. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:537.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Norreys Jephson O'Conor. B. E. T. Oct. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 2.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Gilbert Seldes. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 2. p. 4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By F. W. Stokoe. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:202.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Marguerite Wilkinson. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:111.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dyer, Walter A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Short Story Orgy. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:217.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edgett, Edwin F.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O. Henry. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. W. Jacobs. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. B. E. T. Apr. 10.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W.B. Maxwell. B. E. T. Nov. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Egan, Maurice Francis.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Cath. W. June. (111:289.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Eliot, George."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By H. C. Minchin. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:896.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edward A. Parry. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:883.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Thomas Seccombe. Cont. R. Dec., '19. (116:660.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Enoch, Helen.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. J. Locke. Cont. R. June. (117:855.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Ernle, Lord</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Apuleius. Quart. R. Jul. (234:41.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Erskine, John</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Dean Howells. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:385.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evans, C.S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. H. Hudson. Book. (N. Y.) Sept. (52:18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ferber, Edna.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Rebecca West. New S. Apr. 3. (14:771.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Finger, Charles J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hudson and Grahame. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Flaubert, Gustave.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Marcel Proust. N. R. F. Jan. (14:72.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By George Saintsbury. Ath. Oct. 3, '19. (983.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Albert Thibaudet. N. R. F. Nov., 19. (13:942.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Forster, E. M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fyodor Dostoevsky. London Daily News. Nov. 11, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +Forster, E. M.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:209.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Rebecca West. New S. Aug. 28. (15:576.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Fox, John.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Thomas Nelson Page. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:674.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Gale, Zona.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Constance Mayfield Rourke. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:315.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">George, W. L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joseph Hergesheimer. Book. (London.) Sept. (58:193.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Giraudoux, Jean.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 22. (19:470.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Albert Thibaudet. N. R. F. Dec., '19. (13:1064.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goldberg, Isaac</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hungarian Short Stories. B. E. T. Oct. 8, '19. (pt.3. p.4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ercole Luigi Morselli. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:557.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amado Nervo. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:3.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spanish-American Short Stories. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:565.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gorky, Maxim</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reminiscences of Tolstoi. L. Merc. Jul. (2:304.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Gorky, Maxim.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:453.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By S. Koteliansky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:587.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. W. N. S. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gosse, Edmund</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. London Sunday Times. Mar. 14.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. L. Merc. Apr.-May. (1:673, 2:29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Scr. Apr.-May. (67:422, 548.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Gozzano, Guido.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:450.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Grahame, R. B. Cunninghame.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Charles J. Finger. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gwynn, Stephen</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joseph Conrad. Edin. R. Apr. (231:318.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hamilton, Clayton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Dunsany. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:537.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Hardy, Thomas.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Grace Alexander. N. Rep. Aug. 18. (23:335.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Samuel C. Chew. N. Rep. June 2. (23:22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Harold Child. Book. (London.) June. (58:101)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By W. M. Parker, 19th Cent. Jul. (88: 63.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Arthur Symons. Dial. Jan. (68:66.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Harte, Bret.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Agnes Day Robinson. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:445.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hawthorne, Nathaniel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Mary G. Tuttiett. 19th Cent. Jan. (87:118.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Henriet, Maurice.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jules Lemaître. M. De F. 1 juin. (140:289.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Henry, O."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Dion Clayton Calthrop. London Observer. May 2.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edwin F. Edgett. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edward Francis Mohler. Cath. W. Sept. (111:756.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Raoul Narsy. Liv. Age. Oct. 11, '19. (303:86.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By John Seymour Wood. Book. (N. Y.) Jan. (50:474.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Hergesheimer, Joseph.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By James Branch Cabell. Book. (N. Y.) Nov.-Dec., '19. (50:267.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By W. L. George. Book. (London.) Sept. (58:193.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Holz, Arno.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Ath. Apr. 9. ('20:1:490.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Hook, Theodore.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Sat. R. Sept. 25. (130:254.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hopkins, Gerard</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Short Story. Chap. Feb. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Howells, William Dean.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. N. Rep. May 26. (22:393.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By John Erskine. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:385.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Henry A. Lappin. Cath. W. Jul. (111:445.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edward S. Martin. Harp. M. Jul. (141:265.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Arthur Hobson Quinn. Cen. Sept. (100:674.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Henry Rood. L. H. J. Sept. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Booth Tarkington. Harp. M. Aug. (141: 346.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Hudson, W. H.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By C. S. Evans. Book. (N. Y.) Sept. (52:18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Charles J. Finger. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ford Madox Hueffer. Lit. R. May-June. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ezra Pound. Lit. R. May-June. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ernest Rhys. 19th Cent. Jul. (88:72.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By John Rodker. Lit. R. May-June. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hueffer, Ford Madox</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. H. Hudson. Lit. R. May-June. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus to Revisit. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Huneker, James Gibbons</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) May. (51:364.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Huneker, James Gibbons.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anon. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:515.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Hungarian Short Stories.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Isaac Goldberg. B. E. T. Oct. 8, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Huxley, Aldous.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Michael Sadleir. Voices. June. (3:235.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Italian Short Stories.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. S. Barnes. New Europe. Nov. 27, '19. (13:214.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Jacobs, W. W.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By E. F. Edgett. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +James, Henry.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Nation. (London.) May 8. (27:178.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Apr. 8. (19:217.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Sat. R. June 12. (129:537.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Cont. R. Jul. (118:142.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By John Bailey. London Observer. Apr. 25.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Silas Bent. Mir. June 3. (29: 448.) June 24. (29:510.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edwin F. Edgett. B. E. T. Apr. 10.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Maurice Francis Egan. Cath. W. June. (111:289.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edmund Gosse. L. Merc. Apr.-May. (1:673:2:29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Scr. Apr.-May. (67:422, 548.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By James G. Huneker. Book. (N. Y.) May. (51:364.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Philip Littell. N. Rep. June 9. (23:63.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. May 15. (15:162.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Brander Matthews. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:389.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Thomas Moult. Eng. R. Aug. (31:183.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By E. S. Nadal. Scr. Jul. (68:89.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Forrest Reid. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:520.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Gilbert Seldes. Dial. Jul. (69:83.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. C. Squire. London Sunday Times. Apr. 18.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Louise R. Sykes. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:240.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Allan Wade. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 19. (19:537.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By A. B. Walkley. Fortn. R. June. (n. s. 107:864.) London Times. June 16, Sept. 15.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Sidney Waterlow. Ath. Apr. 23. ('20:1:537.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edith Wharton. Quart. R. Jul. (234:188.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Alvin</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Twain. N. Rep. Jul. 14. (23:201.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kayden, Eugene M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leonid Andreyev. Dial. Nov. 15, '19. (67:425.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Keller, Gottfried.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Alec W. G. Randall. Cont. R. Nov., '19. (116:532.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Kipling, Rudyard.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Sat. R. Aug. 7. (130:113.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Richard Le Gallienne. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:238.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. June 5. (15:249.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Virginia Woolf. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Koteliansky, S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tolstoy and Gorky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:582.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Kuprin, Alexander.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Nov. 27, '19. (18:691)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Dec. 26, '19. (1399.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lappin, Henry A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Dean Howells. Cath. W. Jul. (111:445.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Lawrence, D. H.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Louis Untermeyer. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:314.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Le Gallienne, Richard</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rudyard Kipling. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:238.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Legrand-Chabrier</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maurice Beaubourg. M. de F. 15 août. (142:5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Lemaître, Jules.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 2. (19:562.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Maurice Henriet. M. de F. 1 juin. (140:289.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Littell, Philip</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. N. Rep. June 9. (23:63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Locke, W. J.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Helen Enoch. Cont. R. June. (117:855.)</span><br /> +<br /> +London, Jack.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:519.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Aug. 27. ('20:2:272.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lovett, Robert Morss</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. Dial. May. (68:626.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Twain. Dial. Sept. (69:293.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lynch, Bohun</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Max Beerbohm. L. Merc. June. (2:168.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lynd, Robert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. London Daily News. Feb. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. Nation. (London.) Feb. 28. (26:742.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Meredith. London Daily News. Jan. 30.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lysaght, S. R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robert Louis Stevenson. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:713.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacCarthy, Desmond</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. New S. May 15. (15:162.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rudyard Kipling. New S. June 5. (15:249.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Macleod, Fiona." (William Sharp.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ethel Rolt-Wheeler. Fortn. R. Nov., '19. (112:780.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mansfield, Katharine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E. M. Forster. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:209.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alexander Kuprin. Ath. Dec. 26, '19. (1399.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jack London. Ath. Aug. 27. ('20:2:272.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Martin, Edward S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Dean Howells. Harp. M. Jul. (141:265.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Masefield, John.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Edward Shanks. L. Merc. Sept. (2:578.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +Maseras, Alfons.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Camille Pitollet. M. de F. 15 août. (142:230.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Matthews, Brander</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:389).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Twain. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Maxwell, W. B.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By E. F. Edgett, B. E. T. Nov. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Meredith, George.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Robert Lynd. London Daily News. Jan. 30.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mérimée, Prosper.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Paul Bourget R. de D. M. 15 sept. (59:257.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Mille, Pierre.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By André Beaunier. R. de D. M. 1 juillet. (6 sér. 58:191.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Minchin, H. C.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Eliot. Fortn. R. Dec. '19. (112:896.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Mirbeau, Octave.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:518.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mohler, Edward Francis</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O. Henry." Cath. W. Sept. (111:756.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Morrow, W. C.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Vincent Starrett. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:751.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Morselli, Ercole Luigi.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Isaac Goldberg. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:557.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Moult, Thomas</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Eng. R. Aug. (31:183.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Murry, J. Middleton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. Ath. Mar. 5. ('20:1:299.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stendhal. Ath. Sept. 17. ('20:2:388.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oscar Wilde. Ath. Sept. 24. ('20:2:401.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nadal, E. S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Scr. Jul. (68:89.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Narsy, Raoul</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O. Henry. Liv. Age. Oct. 11, '19. (303:86.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Naturalism. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Deffoux, Léon</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Zavie, Émile</span>.<br /> +<br /> +Nervo, Amado.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Isaac Goldberg. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"New Decameron."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Sat. R. Aug. 7. (130:113.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By F. W. Stokoe. Ath. Aug. 6. ('20:2:172.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nichols, Robert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. London Observer. Mar. 7.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nodier, Charles.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By George Saintsbury. Ath. Jan. 16. ('20:1:91.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Brien, Edward J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Best Short Stories of 1919. B. E. T. Nov. 28, '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +O'Brien, Fitzjames.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph J. Reilly. Cath. W. Mar. (110:751.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Conor, Norreys Jephson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Dunsany. B. E. T. Oct. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 2.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Olgin, Moissaye J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leonid Andreyev. N. Rep. Dec. 24, '19. (21:123.)</span><br /> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Page, Thomas Nelson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Fox. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:674.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Panzini, Alfredo.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Guido de Ruggiero. Ath. Feb. 13. ('20:1:222.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Papini, Giovanni.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:160.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Parker, W. M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomas Hardy, 19th Cent. Jul. (88:63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Parry, Edward A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Eliot. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:883.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Phillips, R. Le Clerc</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paul Bourget. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:448.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Pirandello, Luigi.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pitollet, Camille</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alfons Maseras. M. de F. 15 août. (142:230.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Pontoppidan, Henrik.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. G. Robertson. Cont. R. Mar. (117:374.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pound, Ezra</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. H. Hudson. Lit. R. May-June. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Proust, Marcel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gustave Flaubert. N. R. F. Jan. (14:72.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Purcell, Gertrude M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ellis Parker Butler. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:473.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Quinn, Arthur Hobson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Dean Howells. Cen. Sept. (100:674.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Rachilde." (Mme. Alfred Vallette.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Marcel Coulon. M. de F. 15 sept. (142:545.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Radziwill, Princess Catherine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Honoré de Balzac. Book. (N. Y.) Aug. (51:639.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Randall, Alec W. G.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gottfried Keller. Cont. R. Nov., '19. (116:532.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Raynaud, Ernest</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oscar Wilde. La Minerve Française. 15 août.</span><br /> +<br /> +Read, Opie.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Vincent Starrett. Mir. Nov. 6, '19. (28:769.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reeves, Henriette</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Algernon Blackwood. Touch. May. (7:147.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Régnier, Henri de.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Feb. 19. (19:118.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reid, Forrest</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:520.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reilly, Joseph J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">François Coppée. Cath. W. Aug. (111:614.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fitzjames O'Brien. Cath. W. Mar. (110:751.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhys, Ernest</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. H. Hudson, 19th Cent. Jul. (88:72.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roberts, R. Ellis</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joseph Conrad. Book. (London.) Aug. (58:160.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Robertson, J. G.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henrik Pontoppidan. Cont. R. Mar. (117:374.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robinson, Agnes Day</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bret Harte. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:445.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rodker, John</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. H. Hudson, Lit. R. May-June. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rolt-Wheeler, Ethel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Fiona Macleod." Fortn. R. Nov., '19. (112:780.).</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rood, Henry</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Dean Howells. L. H. J. Sept. (42.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rourke, Constance Mayfield</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zona Gale. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:315.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ruggiero, Guido de</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alfred Panzini. Ath. Feb. 13. ('20:1:222.)</span><br /> +<br /> +S., J. W. N.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tolstoy and Gorky. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sadleir, Michael</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aldous Huxley. Voices. June. (3:235.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saintsbury, George</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gustave Flaubert. Ath. Oct. 3, '19. (983.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charles Nodier. Ath. Jan. 16. ('20:1:91.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seccombe, Thomas</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Eliot. Cont. R. Dec., '19. (116:660.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seldes, Gilbert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joseph Conrad. Dial. Aug. (69:191.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Dunsany. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 2. p. 4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Dial. Jul. (69:83.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shanks, Edward</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Masefield. L. Merc. Sept. (2:578.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sharp, William. <i>See</i> "Fiona Macleod."</span><br /> +<br /> +Singh, Kate Prosunno.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 2. (19:562.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Henry J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Georges Duhamel. Chicago Daily News. Dec. 3, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sokoloff, A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leonid Andreyev. New S. Nov. 15, '19. (14:190.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Spanish-American Short Story. See <span class="smcap">Goldberg, Isaac</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Squire, J. C.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. London Sunday Times. Apr. 18.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stark, Beverly</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A. Conan Doyle. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:579.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Starrett, Vincent</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">W. C. Morrow. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:751.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Opie Read. Mir. Nov. 6, '19. (28:769.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Stendhal," (Henri Beyle.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By John Middleton Murry. Ath. Sept. 17. ('20:2:388.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Stevenson, Robert Louis.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:701.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Sir Sidney Colvin. Scr. Mar. (67:338.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By S. R. Lysaght. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:713.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Stokoe, F. W.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Dunsany. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:202.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"New Decameron." Ath. Aug. 6. ('20:2:172.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sykes, Louise R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:240.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Symons, Arthur</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomas Hardy. Dial. Jan. (68:66.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oscar Wilde. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:129.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tarkington, Booth</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">William Dean Howells. Harp. M. Aug. (141:346.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tchekhov, Anton</span>. <i>See</i> Chekhov, Anton.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thibaudet, Albert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gustave Flaubert. N. R. F. Nov., '19. (13:942.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jean Giraudoux. N. R. F. Dec., '19. (13:1064.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Tolstoy, Count Lyof.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:453.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. New S. Aug. 7. (15:505.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Maxim Gorky. L. Merc. Jul. (2:304.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By S. Koteliansky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:587.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. W. N. S. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Trueblood, Charles K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anton Chekhov. Dial. Jan. (68:80.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fyodor Dostoevsky. Dial. June. (68:774.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Edith Wharton. Dial. Jan. (68:80.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tuttiett, Mary G.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nathaniel Hawthorne, 19th Cent. Jan. (87:118.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Twain, Mark."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 23. (19:615.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Van Wyck Brooks. Dial. Mar. (68:275), and Apr. (68:424.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Floyd Dell. Lib. Aug. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Alvin Johnson. N. Rep. Jul. 14. (23:201.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Robert Morss Lovett. Dial. Sept. (69:293.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Brander Matthews. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Untermeyer, Louis</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">D. H. Lawrence. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:314.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Vallette, Mme. Alfred. <i>See</i> "Rachilde."<br /> +<br /> +Villiers de l'Isle-Adam.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:711.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wade, Allan</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 19. (19:537.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Walch, J. L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Louis Couperus. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1133.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Waldo, Harold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Wests for New. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:396.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Walkley, A. B.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Fortn. R. June. (n. s. 107:864.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. London Times. June 16 and Sept. 15.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Waterlow, Sydney</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Ath. Apr. 23. ('20:1:537.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Wedmore, Sir Frederick</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Honoré de Balzac, 19th Cent. Mar. (87:484.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Wells, H. G.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) Reply by H. G. Wells.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eng. R. Aug. (31:178.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">West, Rebecca</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Achmed Abdullah. New S. May 8. (15:137.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gabriele D'Annunzio. New S. June 5. (15:253.) N. Rep. June 30. (23:155.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Edna Ferber. New S. Apr. 3. (14:771.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E. M. Forster. New S. Aug. 28. (15:576.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wharton, Edith</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry James. Quart. R. Jul. (234:188.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wharton, Edith</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. Jan. (68:80.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whitnah, Joe</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charles Caldwell Dobie. San Francisco Bulletin. Jan. 3.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wilde, Oscar.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 30, '19. (18:605.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Sept. 24. ('20:2:401.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Ernest Raynaud. La Minerve Française. 15 août.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Arthur Symons. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:129.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilkinson, Marguerite</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord Dunsany. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:111.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Willcocks, M. P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Honoré de Balzac. Nation. (London.) Mar. 20. (26:864.) and Mar. 27.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Williams, Orlo</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Yellow Book." L. Merc. Sept. (2:567.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilson, Arthur</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"New Decameron." Dial. Nov. 1, '19. (67:372.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wood, John Seymour</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O. Henry. Book. (N. Y.) Jan. (50:474.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Woolf, Virginia</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rudyard Kipling. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"Yellow Book."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Orlo Williams. L. Merc. Sept. (2:567.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Zola, Émile.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Léon Deffoux and Émile Zavie. M. de F. 15 fév. (138:68.)</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Index" id="Index"></a>INDEX OF SHORT STORIES IN BOOKS</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">I. American Authors</span></h3> + +<h3>NOVEMBER, 1918, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h3> + +<h3>ABBREVIATIONS</h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="4" border="0" summary="abbrevs"> +<tbody> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Abdullah A.</i></td><td align="left"> Abdullah. Honorable Gentleman.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Abdullah B.</i></td><td align="left"> Abdullah. Wings.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Andrews B.</i></td><td align="left"> Andrews. Joy in the Morning.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Andreyev C.</i></td><td align="left"> Andreyev. When the King Loses His Head.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Ayala</i></td><td align="left"> Ayala. Prometheus.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Cannan</i></td><td align="left"> Cannan. Windmills.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Cather</i></td><td align="left"> Cather. Youth and the Bright Medusa.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Chekhov D.</i></td><td align="left"> Chekhov. Bishop.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Chekhov E.</i></td><td align="left"> Chekhov. Chorus Girl.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Clémenceau</i></td><td align="left"> Clémenceau. Surprises of Life.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Cobb B.</i></td><td align="left"> Cobb. Life of the Party.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Cobb C.</i></td><td align="left"> Cobb. From Place to Place.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Connolly A.</i></td><td align="left"> Connolly. Hiker Joy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>D'Annunzio</i></td><td align="left"> D'Annunzio. Tales of My Native Town.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Dostoevsky B.</i></td><td align="left"> Dostoevsky. Honest Thief.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Dowson</i></td><td align="left"> Dowson. Poems and Prose.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Dreiser B.</i></td><td align="left"> Dreiser. Twelve Men.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Dwight A.</i></td><td align="left"> Dwight. Emperor of Elam.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Easton</i></td><td align="left"> Easton. Golden Bird.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Edgar</i></td><td align="left"> Edgar. Miller's Holiday.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Evans A.</i></td><td align="left"> Evans. My Neighbors.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Ferber B.</i></td><td align="left"> Ferber. Half Portions.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>French B.</i></td><td align="left"> French. Best Psychic Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Galsworthy B.</i></td><td align="left"> Galsworthy. Tatterdemalion.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Hearn</i></td><td align="left"> Hearn. Fantastics.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Henry B.</i></td><td align="left"> Henry. Waifs and Strays.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Hergesheimer B.</i></td><td align="left"> Hergesheimer. Happy End.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Holmes</i></td><td align="left"> Holmes and Starbuck. War Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Howells</i></td><td align="left"> Howells. Great Modern American Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Hrbkova</i></td><td align="left"> Hrbkova. Czecho-Slovak Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Huneker</i></td><td align="left"> Huneker. Bedouins.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Hurst B.</i></td><td align="left"> Hurst. Humoresque.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Huxley</i></td><td align="left"> Huxley. Limbo.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Ibáñez</i></td><td align="left"> Blasco Ibáñez. Last Lion.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Imrie</i></td><td align="left"> Imrie. Legends.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Jacobs A.</i></td><td align="left"> Jacobs. Deep Waters.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>James A.</i></td><td align="left"> James. Travelling Companions.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Jessup A.</i></td><td align="left"> Jessup. Best American Humorous Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Johnson</i></td><td align="left"> Johnson. Under the Rose.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>La Motte</i></td><td align="left"> La Motte. Civilization.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Laselle</i></td><td align="left"> Laselle. Short Stories of the New America.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Lemaître</i></td><td align="left"> Lemaître. Serenus.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Level</i></td><td align="left"> Level. Tales of Mystery and Horror.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Mackay</i></td><td align="left"> Mackay. Chill Hours.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>MacManus A.</i></td><td align="left"> MacManus. Lo, and Behold Ye!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Marshall</i></td><td align="left"> Marshall. Clintons.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Martin</i></td><td align="left"> Martin. Children in the Mist.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Mayran</i></td><td align="left"> Mayran. Story of Gotton Connixloo.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>McMichael</i></td><td align="left"> McMichael. Short Stories from the Spanish.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Merrick A.</i></td><td align="left"> Merrick. Man Who Understood Women.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Merrick B.</i></td><td align="left"> Merrick. While Paris Laughed.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Montague A.</i></td><td align="left"> Montague. Gift.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Montague B.</i></td><td align="left"> Montague. England to America.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Montague C.</i></td><td align="left"> Montague. Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Nevinson</i></td><td align="left"> Nevinson. Workhouse Characters.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>New Dec. A.</i></td><td align="left"> New Decameron. Prologue and First Day.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>O'Brien A.</i></td><td align="left"> O'Brien. Best Short Stories of 1918.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>O'Brien B.</i></td><td align="left"> O'Brien. Best Short Stories of 1919.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>O'Brien C.</i></td><td align="left"> O'Brien. Great Modern English Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>O'Byrne A.</i></td><td align="left"> O'Byrne. Wrack.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>O'Higgins A.</i></td><td align="left"> O'Higgins. From the Life.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>O'Kelly B.</i></td><td align="left"> O'Kelly. Golden Barque.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Pertwee</i></td><td align="left"> Pertwee. Old Card.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Pinski A.</i></td><td align="left"> Pinski. Temptations.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Post B.</i></td><td align="left"> Post. Mystery of the Blue Villa.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Prize A.</i></td><td align="left"> O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories. 1919.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Reeve</i></td><td align="left"> Reeve and French. Best Ghost Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Rhodes</i></td><td align="left"> Rhodes. High Life.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Robbins</i></td><td align="left"> Robbins. Silent, White and Beautiful.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Robinson</i></td><td align="left"> Robinson. Eight Short Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Russell</i></td><td align="left"> Russell. Red Mark.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Russian A.</i></td><td align="left"> Modern Russian Classics. (Four Seas Co.)</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Schweikert B.</i></td><td align="left"> Schweikert. Russian Short Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Smith</i></td><td align="left"> Smith. Pagan.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Spofford A.</i></td><td align="left"> Spofford. Elder's People.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Sudermann</i></td><td align="left"> Sudermann. Iolanthe's Wedding.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Tomlinson</i></td><td align="left"> Tomlinson. Old Junk.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Trevena</i></td><td align="left"> Trevena. By Violence.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Underwood A.</i></td><td align="left"> Underwood. Short Stories from the Balkans.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Vernède</i></td><td align="left"> Vernède. Port Allington Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Vaka</i></td><td align="left"> Vaka and Phoutrides. Modern Greek Stories.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Van Dyke A.</i></td><td align="left"> Van Dyke. Valley of Vision.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Vigny</i></td><td align="left"> Vigny. Military Servitude and Grandeur.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Vorse</i></td><td align="left"> Vorse. Ninth Man.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Welles</i></td><td align="left"> Welles. Anchors Aweigh.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Wilson A.</i></td><td align="left"> Wilson. Ma Pettengill.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Wylie</i></td><td align="left"> Wylie. Holy Fire.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Yezierska</i></td><td align="left"> Yezierska. Hungry Hearts.</td></tr> +</tbody></table></div> + + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Abdullah, Achmed. (Achmed Abdullah Nadir Khan El-Durani El-Idrissyeh</span>.) (1881- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**After His Kind. Abdullah A. 144.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cobbler's Wax. Abdullah A. 112.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Disappointment. Abdullah B. 43.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fear. Abdullah B. 211.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hatchetman. Abdullah A. 41.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Himself, to Himself Alone. Abdullah A. 241.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Honourable Gentleman. Abdullah A. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Khizr. Abdullah B. 183.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Krishnavana, Destroyer of Souls. Abdullah B. 115.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Light. Abdullah B. 231.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Man Who Lost Caste. Abdullah B. 153.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pell Street Spring Song. Abdullah A. 73.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Renunciation. Abdullah B. 103.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Silence. Abdullah B. 163.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Simple Act of Piety. Abdullah A. 196. O'Brien A. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tartar. Abdullah B. 77.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Haunting Thing. Abdullah B. 135.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***To be Accounted for. Abdullah B. 63.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wings. Abdullah B. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ade, George</span>. (1866- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Effie Whittlesy. Howells. 288.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Aldrich, Thomas Bailey</span>. (1836-1907.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mlle. Olympe Zabriski. Howells, 110.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Allen, James Lane</span>. (1849- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Old Mill on the Elkhorn. Edgar. 133.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Alsop, Gulielma Fell</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">***Kitchen Gods. O'Brien B. 3. Prize A. 253.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ames, Jr., Fisher</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*Sergt. Warren Comes Back from France. Laselle 171.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Sherwood</span> (1876- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">***Awakening. O'Brien B. 24.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ditch. Andrews B. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dundonald's Destroyer. Andrews B. 299.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*He That Loseth His Life Shall Find It, Andrews B. 193.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Her Country Too. Andrews B. 37.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only One of Them. Andrews B. 137.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Robina's Doll. Andrews B. 283.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Russian. Andrews B. 263.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Silver Stirrup. Andrews B. 241.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Swallow. Andrews B. 85.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*V. C. Andrews B. 163.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Babcock, Edwina Stanton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cruelties. O'Brien A. 24</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Willum's Vanilla. O'Brien B, 34.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barnes, Djuna</span>. (1892- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Night Among the Horses. O'Brien B. 65.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bartlett, Frederic Orin</span>. (1876- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Château-Thierry. Laselle. 199.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">***Long, Long Ago. O'Brien B. 74.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beer, Thomas</span>. (1889- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Absent Without Leave. Holmes. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bierce, Ambrose</span>. (1842-1914.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Damned Thing. Reeve. 160.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Eyes of the Panther. French B. 95.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. Howells. 237.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brooks, Alden</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Out of the Sky. Holmes. 17.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Alice</span>. (1857- .) <i>(See 1918.)</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Told in the Poorhouse. Howells. 225.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Katharine Holland</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Buster. O'Brien A. 43.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brownell, Agnes Mary</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dishes. O'Brien B. 82.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bunner, Henry Cuyler</span>. (1855-1896.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Nice People. Jessup A. 141.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Burnet, Dana</span>. (1888- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Christmas Fight of X 157. Holmes. 39.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*"Red, White, and Blue." Holmes. 49.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Burt, Maxwell Struthers</span>. (1882- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">***Blood-Red One. O'Brien B. 96.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Butler, Ellis Parker</span>. (1869- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">***Dey Ain't No Ghosts. Reeve. 177.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Byrne, Donn</span>." (<span class="smcap">Bryan Oswald Donn-Byrne</span>.) (1888- .)<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Underseaboat F-33. Holmes. 61.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cabell, James Branch</span>. (1879- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Porcelain Cups. Prize A. 210.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wedding-Jest. O'Brien B. 108.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cable, George Washington</span>. (1844- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Jean-Ah Poquelin. Howells. 390.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Canfield, Dorothy</span>. (<span class="smcap">Dorothy Canfield Fisher</span>.) (1879- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Little Kansas Leaven. Laselle 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cather, Willa Sibert</span>. (1875- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Coming, Aphrodite! Cather. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"Death in the Desert." Cather. 273.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Diamond Mine. Cather. 79.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gold Slipper. Cather. 140.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Paul's Case. Cather. 199.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Scandal. Cather. 169.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sculptor's Funeral. Cather. 248.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wagner Matinée. Cather. 235.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chester, George Randolph</span>. (1869- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bargain Day at Tutt House. Jessup A. 213.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clemens, Samuel Langhorne</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Twain, Mark</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cobb, Irvin Shrewsbury</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Boys Will Be Boys. Cobb C. 96.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bull Called Emily. Cobb C. 382.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gallowsmith. Cobb C. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hoodwinked. Cobb C. 332.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John J. Coincidence. Cobb C. 259.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Life of the Party. Cobb B. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Luck Piece. Cobb C. 156.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Quality Folks. Cobb C. 206.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Thunders of Silence. Cobb C. 55.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*When August the Second Was April the First. Cobb C. 302.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Connolly, James Brendan</span>. (1868- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Aboard the Horse-Boat. Connolly A. 53.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flying Sailor. Connolly A. 132.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Good-bye the Horse-Boat. Connolly A. 105.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jack o' Lanterns. Connolly A. 6.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*London Lights. Connolly A. 214.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lumber Schooner. Connolly A. 27.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*North Sea Men. Connolly A. 187.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Undersea Men. Connolly A. 79.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wimmin 'n' Girls. Connolly A. 159.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cook, Mrs. George Cram</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Glaspell, Susan</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cooke, Grace MacGowan</span>. (1863- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Call. Jessup A. 237.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Coolidge, Grace</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Indian of the Reservation. Laselle. 109.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Curtis, George William</span>. (1824-1892.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Titbottom's Spectacles. Jessup A. 52.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dashiell, Landon R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Aunt Sanna Terry. Howells. 352.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Derieux, Samuel Arthur</span>. (1881- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Trial in Tom Belcher's Store. Prize A. 192.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dobie, Charles Caldwell</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Open Window. O'Brien A. 61.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dreiser, Theodore</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Country Doctor. Dreiser B. 110.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Culhane, the Solid Man. Dreiser B. 134.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***De Maupassant, Jr. Dreiser B. 206.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Doer of the Word. Dreiser B. 53.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lost Phoebe. Howells. 295.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mayor and His People. Dreiser B. 320.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mighty Rourke. Dreiser B. 287.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***My Brother Paul. Dreiser B. 76.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Peter. Dreiser B. 18.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***True Patriarch. Dreiser B. 187.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Vanity, Vanity. Dreiser B. 263.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Village Feudists. Dreiser B. 239.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***W. L. S. Dreiser B. 344.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dwight, Harry Griswold</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bald Spot. Dwight A. 290.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bathers. Dwight A. 151.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Behind the Door. Dwight A. 266.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Emperor of Elam. Dwight A. 306.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Henrietta Stackpole <i>Radiviva.</i> Dwight A. 32.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Like Michael. Dwight A. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mrs. Derwall and the Higher Life. Dwight A. 131.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pagan. Dwight A. 52.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Retarded Bombs. Dwight A. 172.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Studio Smoke. Dwight A. 252.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Susannah and the Elder. Dwight A. 191.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Unto the Day. Dwight A. 108.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***White Bombazine. Dwight A. 82.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dwight, Harry Griswold</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1918</i>) <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Taylor, John R. M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Emerald of Tamerlane. Dwight A. 221.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dwyer, James Francis</span>. (1874- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Citizen. Laselle. 85.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little Man in the Smoker. Holmes. 79.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dyke, Henry Van</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Van Dyke, Henry</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edwards, George Wharton</span>. (1859- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Clavecin-Bruges. French B. 54.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edwards, Harry Stillwell</span>. (1855- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Elder Brown's Backslide. Jessup A. 109.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Emery, Gilbert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Squads Right." Holmes. 86.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Empey, Arthur Guy</span>. (1883- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Coward. Laselle. 181.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ferber, Edna</span>. (1887- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">April 25th, As Usual. Ferber B. 36. Price A. 274.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dancing Girls. Ferber B. 280.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Farmer in the Dell. Ferber B. 239.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Long Distance. Ferber B. 148.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Maternal Feminine. Ferber B. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Old Lady Mandle. Ferber B. 76.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Hundred Per Cent. Ferber B. 201. Holmes. 95.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Un Morso Doo Pang. Ferber B. 157.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***You've Got To Be Selfish. Ferber B. 113.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fish, Horace</span>. (1885- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wrists on the Door. O'Brien B. 123.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fisher, Dorothy Canfield</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Canfield, Dorothy</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Freedley, Mary Mitchell</span>. (1894- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Blind Vision. Holmes. 119. O'Brien A. 85.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Freeman, Mary E. Wilkins</span>. (1862- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Revolt of Mother. Howells. 207.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">French, Alice</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Thanet, Octave</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fuller, Henry Blake</span>. (1857- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Striking an Average. Howells. 267.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Garland, Hamlin</span>. (1860- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Graceless Husband. Edgar. 142.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Return of a Private. Howells. 248.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gerould, Gordon Hall</span>. (1877- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Imagination. O'Brien A. 92.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gerry, Margarita Spalding</span>. (1870- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flag Factory. Holmes. 126.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gilbert, George</span>. (1874- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In Maulmain Fever-Ward. O'Brien A. 109.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gilman, Charlotte Perkins Stetson</span>. (1860- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Yellow Wall Paper. Howells. 320.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Glaspell, Susan (Keating). (Mrs. George Cram Cook.)</span> (1882- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"Government Goat." O'Brien B. 147.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goodman, Henry</span>. (1893- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Stone. O'Brien B. 167.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Haines, Donal Hamilton</span>. (1886- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bill. Holmes. 136.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hale, Edward Everett</span>. (1822-1909.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*First Grain Market. Edgar. 181.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***My Double; and How He Undid Me. Howells. 3. Jessup A. 75.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Hallet, Richard Matthews.</span> (1887- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***To the Bitter End. O'Brien B. 178.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harris, Joel Chandler.</span> (1848-1908.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, and the Tar Baby. Howells. 413.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harte, Francis Bret.</span> (1839-1902.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff. Jessup A. 170.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Outcasts of Poker Flat. Howells. 143.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hastings, Wells.</span> (1878- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Gideon. Jessup A. 260.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hearn, Lafcadio.</span> (1850-1904.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***All in White. Hearn. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Aphrodite and the King's Prisoner. Hearn. 102.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bird and the Girl. Hearn. 150.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Black Cupid. Hearn. 71.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Devil's Carbuncle. Hearn. 40.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***El Vomito. Hearn. 136.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fountain of Gold. Hearn. 110.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ghostly Kiss. Hearn. 66.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gipsy's Story. Hearn. 174.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hiouen-thsang. Hearn. 211.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Idyl of a French Snuff-Box. Hearn. 143.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Kiss Fantastical. Hearn. 152.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Little Red Kitten. Hearn. 33.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Name on the Stone. Hearn. 98.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***One Pill-Box. Hearn. 183.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Post-Office. Hearn. 227.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Vision of the Dead Creole. Hearn. 92.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Henry, O.</span>" (<span class="smcap">William Sydney Porter.</span>) (1867-1910.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cactus. Henry B. 76.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Church with an Overshot Wheel. Edgar. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Confessions of a Humourist. Henry B. 52.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Detective Detector. Henry B. 82.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dog and the Playlet. Henry B. 90.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Duplicity of Hargraves. Jessup A. 199.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hearts and Hands. Henry B. 72.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Talk About Mobs. Henry B. 97.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Out of Nazareth. Henry B. 32.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Red Roses of Tonia. Henry B. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Round the Circle. Henry B. 17.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Rubber Plant's Story. Henry B. 25.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sparrows in Madison Square. Henry B. 66.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Henry, O.</span>" (<span class="smcap">William Sydney Porter</span>) (1867-1910), <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Lyon, Harris Merton</span>. (1881-1916.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Snow Man. Henry B. 102.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hergesheimer, Joseph.</span> (1880- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bread. Hergesheimer B. 193.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Egyptian Chariot. Hergesheimer B. 55.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flower of Spain. Hergesheimer B. 93.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Lonely Valleys. Hergesheimer B. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Meeker Ritual. O'Brien B. 200.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Rosemary Roselle. Hergesheimer B. 231.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Thrush in the Hedge. Hergesheimer B. 283.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tol'able David. Hergesheimer B. 155.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Holmes, Oliver Wendell.</span> (1809-1894.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters. Jessup A. 94.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Humphrey, George.</span> (1889- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Father's Hand. O'Brien A. 125.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Huneker, James Gibbons.</span> (1860- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Brothers-in-Law. Huneker. 201.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Cardinal's Fiddle. Huneker. 247.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Grindstones. Huneker. 216.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Renunciation. Huneker. 256.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Supreme Sin. Huneker. 177.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Venus or Valkyr?</i> Huneker. 225.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Vision Malefic. Huneker. 261.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hurst, Fannie.</span> (1889- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Boob Spelled Backward. Hurst B. 220.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Even as You and I. Hurst B. 262.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Heads." Hurst B. 170.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Humoresque. Hurst B. 1. Prize A. 148.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Oats for the Woman. Hurst B. 45.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Petal on the Current. Hurst B. 85.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**White Goods. Hurst B. 126.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wrong Pew. Hurst B. 300.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Imrie, Walter McLaren</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">***Daybreak. Imrie. 7.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">**Dead Men's Teeth. Imrie. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">***Remembrance. Imrie. 41.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">**Storm. Imrie. 15.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ingersoll, Will E.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Centenarian. O'Brien B. 225.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">James, Henry</span>. (1843-1916.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Adina. James A. 223.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***At Isella. James A. 125.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***De Grey: a Romance. James A. 269.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Guest's Confession. James A. 157.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*** Passionate Pilgrim. Howells. 43.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Professor Fargo. James A. 87.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sweetheart of M. Briseux. James A. 53.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Travelling Companions. James A. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jewett, Sarah Orne</span>. (1849-1909.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Courting of Sister Wisby. Howells. 190.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Arthur</span>. (1881- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***His New Mortal Coil. Johnson 270.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the Ship Came In. Johnson. 303.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Little Family. Johnson. 237.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mr. Eberdeen's House. Johnson. 138.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**One Hundred Eightieth Meridian. Johnson. 115.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Princess of Tork. Johnson. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Riders in the Dark. Johnson. 54.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Two Lovers. Johnson. 183.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Visit of the Master. Johnson. 203. O'Brien A. 131.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnston, Calvin</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Messengers. O'Brien B. 237.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnston, Richard Malcolm</span>. (1822-1898.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker. Jessup A. 128.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jones, Howard Mumford</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mrs. Drainger's Veil. O'Brien B. 269.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kirkland, Caroline Matilda Stansbury</span>. (1801-1864.) Schoolmaster's Progress. Jessup A. 18.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kline, Burton</span>. (1877- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In the Open Code. O'Brien A. 149.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kompert, Leopold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Silent Woman. Reeve. 60.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">La Motte, Ellen Newbold</span>. (1873- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Canterbury Chimes. La Motte. 177.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Civilization. La Motte. 93.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cosmic Justice. La Motte. 247.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Homesick. La Motte. 65.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Misunderstanding. La Motte 121.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***On the Heights. La Motte. 33</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Prisoners. La Motte. 141.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Under a Wineglass. O'Brien B. 297. La Motte. 217.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Yellow Streak. La Motte. 11.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lampton, William James</span>. ( -1917.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**How the Widow Won the Deacon. Jessup A. 252.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Leslie, Eliza</span>. (1787-1858.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watkinson Evening. Jessup A. 34.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewars, Elsie Singmaster</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Singmaster, Elsie</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Sinclair</span>. (1885- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Willow Walk. O'Brien A. 154.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lieberman, Elias</span>. (1883- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Thing of Beauty. O'Brien B. 305.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">London, Jack</span>. (1876-1916.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*When the World Was Young. French B. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lummis, Charles Fletcher</span>. (1859- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Blue-Corn Witch. Edgar. 120.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Swearing Enchiladas. Edgar. 156.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lyon, Harris Merton</span>. <i>See </i> "Henry, O.", <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Lyon, Harris Merton</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mackay, Helen</span>. (1876- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**At the End. Mackay. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Cauldron. Mackay. 95.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Footsteps. Mackay. 178.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"He Cost Us So Much." Mackay. 154.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Here Are the Shadows!" Mackay. 160.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"I Take Pen in Hand." Mackay. 172.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Little Cousins of No. 12. Mackay. 148.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Madame Anna. Mackay. 143.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Moment. Mackay. 188.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**9 and the 10. Mackay. 184.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Odette in Pink Taffeta. Mackay. 20.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***One or Another. Mackay. 72.</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Second Hay. Mackay. 49.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*She Who Would Not Eat Soup. Mackay. 164.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Their Places. Mackay. 35.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Vow. Mackay. 168.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacManus, Seumas</span>. (1870- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bodach and the Boy. MacManus A. 51.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dark Patrick's Blood-horse. MacManus A. 32.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Day of the Scholars. MacManus A. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Donal O'Donnell's Standing Army. MacManus A. 131.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Far Adventures of Billy Burns. MacManus A. 71.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Jack and the Lord High Mayor. MacManus A. 215.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**King's Curing. MacManus A. 163.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Long Cromachy of the Crows. MacManus A. 196.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Lord Thorny's Eldest Son. MacManus A. 180.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mad Man, the Dead Man, and the Devil. MacManus A. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Man Who Would Dream. MacManus A. 99.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Parvarted Bachelor. MacManus A. 150.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Quare Birds. MacManus A. 240.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Queen's Conquest. MacManus A. 16.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Resurrection of Dinny Muldoon. MacManus A. 263.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Son of Strength. MacManus A. 248.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tinker of Tamlacht. MacManus A. 84.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marshall, Edison</span>. (1894- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Elephant Remembers. Prize A. 78.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Martin, George Madden</span>. (1866- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Blue Handkerchief. Martin. 71.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fire from Heaven. Martin. 223.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flight. Martin. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Inskip Niggah. Martin. 120.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Malviney. Martin. 252.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pom. Martin. 160.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sixty Years After. Martin. 276.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sleeping Sickness. Martin. 200.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Matthews, James Brander</span>. (1852- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Rival Ghosts. Reeve. 141.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Montague, Margaret Prescott</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***England to America. Prize A. 3. Montague B. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gift. Montague A. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Montague C. 3.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Morris, George Pope</span>. (1802-1864.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Frenchman and His Water Lots. Jessup A. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Morris, Gouverneur</span>. (1876- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind the Door. Holmes. 145.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Unsent Letter. Holmes. 155.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mosley, Katherine Prescott</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Story Vinton Heard at Mallorie. O'Brien A. 191.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Brien, Mary Heaton Vorse</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Vorse, Mary Heaton</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Higgins, Harvey Jerrold</span>. (1876- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Benjamin McNeil Murdock. O'Higgins A. 129.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Conrad Norman. O'Higgins A. 171.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**District Attorney Wickson. O'Higgins A. 305.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Hon. Benjamin P. Divins. O'Higgins A. 245.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Jane Shore. O'Higgins A. 45.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Owen Carey. O'Higgins A. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sir Watson Tyler. O'Higgins A. 269.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Thomas Wales Warren. O'Higgins A. 89.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***W.T. O'Higgins A. 217.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Osborne, William Hamilton</span>. (1873- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Infamous Inoculation. Holmes. 166.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Sullivan, Vincent</span>. (1872- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Interval. Reeve. 170.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Payne, Will</span>. (1855- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***His Escape. Holmes. 196.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pelley, William Dudley</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Toast to Forty-Five. O'Brien A. 200.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pier, Arthur Stanwood</span>. (1874- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Night Attack. Laselle. 119.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Poe, Edgar Allan</span> (1809-1849.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Angel of the Odd. Jessup A. 7.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ligeia. French B. 61.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Pope, Laura Spencer Portor</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Portor, Laura Spencer</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Porter, William Sydney</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Henry, O.</span>"<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Portor, Laura Spencer</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Francis Pope</span>.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Boy's Mother. Holmes. 217.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Post, Melville Davisson</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ally. Post B. 243.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Baron Starkheim. Post B. 333.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Behind the Stars. Post B. 361.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Five Thousand Dollars Reward. Prize A. 120.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Girl in the Villa. Post B. 217.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Girl from Galacia. Post B. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Great Legend. Post B. 55.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Laughter of Allah. Post B. 79.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Lord Winton's Adventure. Post B. 265.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Miller of Ostend. Post B. 199.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mystery at the Blue Villa. Post B. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***New Administration. Post B. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pacifist. Post B. 137.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sleuth of the Stars. Post B. 157.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Stolen Life. Post B. 99.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sunburned Lady. Post B. 311.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wage-Earners. Post B. 291.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Witch of the Lecca. Post B. 179.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pulver, Mary Brecht</span>. (1883- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Path of Glory. Laselle. 133.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Putnam, George Palmer</span>. (1887- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sixth Man. Holmes. 233.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pyle, Howard</span>. (1853-1911.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Blueskin, the Pirate. Edgar. 71.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Captain Scarfield. Edgar. 14.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ravenel, Beatrice Witte</span>. (1870- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***High Cost of Conscience. Prize A. 228.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield)</span>. (1871- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Extra Men. O'Brien A. 223.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fair Daughter of a Fairer Mother. Rhodes. 143.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Importance of Being Mrs. Cooper. Rhodes. 171.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Little Miracle at Tlemcar. Rhodes. 115.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sad Case of Quag. Rhodes. 189.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Spring-time. Rhodes. 213.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Vive l'Amérique! Rhodes. 233.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rice, Louise</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lubbeny Kiss. Prize A. 180.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rickford, Katherine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Joseph. French B. 41.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robbins, Tod</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*For Art's Sake. Robbins. 109.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Silent, White, and Beautiful. Robbins. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Who Wants a Green Bottle? Robbins. 30.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wild Wullie, the Waster. Robbins. 71.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Russell, John</span>. (1885- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Adversary. Russell. 182.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Amok. Russell. 374.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Doubloon Gold. Russell. 59.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*East of Eastward. Russell. 301.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Fourth Man. Russell. 327.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jetsam. Russell. 273.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lost God. Russell. 219.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Meaning—Chase Yourself. Russell. 251.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Passion-Vine. Russell. 144.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Practicing of Christopher. Russell. 114.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Price of the Head. Russell. 356.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red Mark. Russell. 9.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Slanted Beam. Russell. 201.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wicks of Macassar. Russell. 97.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Singmaster, Elsie. (Elsie Singmaster Lewars.)</span> (1879- .) (<i>See 1918</i>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Survivors. Laselle. 43.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Gordon Arthur</span>. (1886- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bottom of the Cup. Smith. 67.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**City of Lights. Smith. 38.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***End of the Road. Smith. 138.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Every Move. Smith. 249.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Feet of Gold. Smith. 100.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Jeanne, The Maid. Smith. 218.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Letitia. Smith. 283.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Pagan. Smith. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Return. Smith. 345.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tropic Madness. Smith. 177.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Young Man's Fancy. Smith. 315.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sneddon, Robert W.</span> (1880- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Son of Belgium. Holmes. 262.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Spofford, Harriet Prescott</span>. (1835- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Blessing Called Peace. Spofford A. 179.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Change of Heart. Spofford A. 27.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Spofford, Harriet Prescott</span> (<i>con.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Circumstance. Howells. 22.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Deacon's Whistle. Spofford A. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Father James. Spofford A. 197.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Impossible Choice. Spofford A. 227.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**John-a-Dreams. Spofford A. 101.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Life in a Night. Spofford A. 293.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Miss Mahala and Johnny. Spofford A. 311.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Miss Mahala's Miracle. Spofford A. 125.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Miss Mahala's Will. Spofford A. 273.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Fiddler. Spofford A. 147.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Rural Telephone. Spofford A. 55.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Step-Father. Spofford A. 77.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Village Dressmaker. Spofford A. 243.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Springer, Fleta Campbell</span>. (1886- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Solitaire. O'Brien A. 232.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Springer, Thomas Grant</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Blood of the Dragon. Prize A. 135.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steele, Wilbur Daniel</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See</i> 1918.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dark Hour. O'Brien A. 258.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"For They Know Not What They Do." Prize A. 21.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stetson, Charlotte Perkins</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Gilman, Charlotte Perkins Stetson</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stockton, Frank Richard</span>. (1834-1902.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Buller-Podington Compact. Jessup A. 151.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Christmas Wreck. Howells. 155. Edgar. 203.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Street, Julian (Leonard)</span>. (1879- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bird of Serbia. O'Brien A. 268.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sullivan, Francis William</span>. (1887- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Godson of Jeannette Gontreau. Holmes. 243.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tarkington, (Newton) Booth</span>. (1869- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Captain Schlotterwerz. Holmes. 276.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Terhune, Albert Payson</span>. (1872- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*On Strike. Price A. 56.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wildcat. Laselle. 55.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Thanet, Octave</span>." (<span class="smcap">Alice French</span>.) (1850- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Labor Question at Glasscock's. Edgar. 171.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miller's Seal. Edgar. 104.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild Western Way. Edgar. 35. 35.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tracy, Virginia</span>. (1875- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lotus Eaters. Howells. 361.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Twain, Mark</span>." (<span class="smcap">Samuel Langhorne Clemens</span>.) (1835-1910.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Howells. 36. Jessup A. 102.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Van Dyke, Henry</span>. (1852- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Antwerp Road. Van Dyke A. 15.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Boy of Nazareth Dreams. Van Dyke A. 257.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Broken Soldier and the Maid of France. Van Dyke A. 87.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">City of Refuge. Van Dyke A. 21.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hearing Ear. Van Dyke A. 137.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hero and Tin Soldiers. Van Dyke A. 231.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Primitive and His Sandals. Van Dyke A. 216.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Remembered Dream. Van Dyke A. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Salvage Point. Van Dyke A. 237.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sanctuary of Trees. Van Dyke A. 37.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Venable, Edward Carrington</span> (1884- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***At Isham's. O'Brien A. 293.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton. (Mary Heaton Vorse O'Brien.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***De Vilmarte's Luck. O'Brien A. 305.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ninth Man. Vorse. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Other Room. O'Brien B. 312.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Welles, Harriet, Ogden Deen</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Admiral's Birthday. Welles. 33.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Admiral's Hollyhocks. Welles. 128.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Anchors Aweigh. Welles. 98.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Between the Treaty Ports. Welles. 47.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Day. Welles. 165.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Duty First. Welles. 105.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flags. Welles. 251.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Guam—and Effie. Welles. 214.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Holding Mast. Welles. 186.</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In the Day's Work. Welles. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Orders. Welles. 79.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wall. Welles. 197.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Weston, George (T.)</span>. (1880- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Feminine Touch. Holmes. 299.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wharton, Edith</span>. (1862- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mission of Jane. Howells. 170.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilkins, Mary E.</span> <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Freeman, Mary E. Wilkins</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Williams, Ben Ames</span>. (1889- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**They Grind Exceeding Small. Prize A. 42.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilson, Harry Leon</span>. (1866- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*As to Herman Wagner. Wilson A. 281.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Can Happen! Wilson A. 234.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Change of Venus. Wilson A. 209.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Curls. Wilson A. 303.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love Story. Wilson A. 38.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ma Pettengill and the Animal Kingdom. Wilson A. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*One Arrowhead Day. Wilson A. 145.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Porch Wren. Wilson A. 178.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Red-Gap and the Big-League Stuff. Wilson A. 76.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Taker-Up. Wilson A. 259.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Vendetta. Wilson A. 109.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wood, Frances Gilchrist</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Turkey Red. Prize A. 105.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***White Battalion. O'Brien A. 325.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wyatt, Edith Franklin</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Failure. Howells. 312.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wynne, Madelene Yale</span>. (1847-1913.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Little Room. Howells. 338.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Yezierska, Anzia</span>. (1886- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"Fat of the Land." Yezierska. 178. O'Brien B. 326.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Free Vacation House. Yezierska. 97.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**How I Found America. Yezierska. 250.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hunger. Yezierska. 35.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Lost "Beautifulness." Yezierska. 65.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Miracle. Yezierska. 114.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***My Own People. Yezierska. 224.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Soap and Water. Yezierska. 163.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Where Lovers Dream. Yezierska. 142.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wings. Yezierska. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">II. English and Irish Authors</span></h3> +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barr, Robert</span>. (1850-1912.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dorothy of the Mill. Edgar. 53.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mill on the Kop. Edgar. 188.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barrie, Sir James Matthew</span>.(1860- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***How Gavin Birse Put It to Mag Lownie. O'Brien C. 111.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bax, Arnold</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">O'Byrne, Dermot</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Benson, Edward Frederic</span>. (1867- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man Who Went Too Far. Reeve. 85.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beresford, John Davys</span>. (1873- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lost Suburb. O'Brien C. 309.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blackwell, Basil</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of Joseph Binns. New Dec. A. 169.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blackwood, Algernon</span>. (1869- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man Who Played Upon the Leaf. O'Brien C. 176.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Return. French B. 24.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Second Generation. French B. 31.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Woman's Ghost Story. Reeve. 108.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Edward George</span>. (1803-1873.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Haunted and the Haunters. Reeve. 31.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Burke, Thomas</span>. (1887- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Chink and the Child. O'Brien C. 250.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cannan, Gilbert</span>. (1884- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Birth. O'Brien C. 346.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gynecologia. Cannan. 107.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Out of Work. Cannan. 159.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Samways Island. Cannan. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ultimus. Cannan. 49.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cunninghame Graham, Robert Bontine</span>. (1852- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fourth Magus. O'Brien C. 214.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Defoe, Daniel</span>. (1659-1731.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Apparition of Mrs. Veal. Reeve. 3.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">De Sélincourt, Hugh</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Sélincourt, Hugh de</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dowson, Ernest</span>. (1867-1900.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Case of Conscience. Dowson. 150.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Diary of a Successful Man. Dowson. 133.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***<i>Dying of Francis Donne.</i> O'Brien C. 64.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Orchestral Violin. Dowson. 165.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Souvenirs of an Egoist. Dowson. 187.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*** Statute of Limitations. Dowson. 210.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Easton, Dorothy</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Adversity. Easton. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Arbor Vitæ. Easton. 141.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Benefactors. Easton. 137.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Box of Chocolates. Easton. 92.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Corner Stone. Easton. 130.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Day in the Country. Easton. 209.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***For the Red Cross. Easton. 38.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Frog's Hole. Easton. 30.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Genteel. Easton. 69.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Golden Bird. Easton. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Heart-Breaker. Easton. 56.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Heartless. Easton. 200.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Impossible. Easton. 19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**It Is Forbidden to Touch the Flowers. Easton. 191.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Laughing Down. Easton. 26.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Madame Pottirand. Easton. 254.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Miss Audrey. Easton. 185.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Old Indian. Easton. 156.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Our Men. Easton. 172.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Shepherd. Easton. 123.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Spring Evening. Easton. 77.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Steam Mill. Easton. 48.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Transformation. Easton. 52.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Twilight. Easton. 83.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Unfortunate. Easton. 228.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Egerton, George</span>." (<span class="smcap">Mary Chavelita Golding Bright</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Empty Frame. O'Brien C. 88.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evans, Caradoc</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***According to the Pattern. Evans A. 31.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Earthbred. Evans A. 81.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***For Better. Evans A. 99.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Greater Than Love. O'Brien C. 340.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Joseph's House. Evans A. 155.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Like Brothers. Evans A. 173.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lost Treasure. Evans A. 215.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Love and Hate. Evans A. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Profit and Glory. Evans A. 231.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Saint David and the Prophets. Evans A. 131.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Treasure and Trouble. Evans A. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Two Apostles. Evans A. 59.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Unanswered Prayers. Evans A. 199.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Widow Woman. Evans A. 187.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Galsworthy, John</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bright Side. Galsworthy B. 75.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Buttercup Night. Galsworthy B. 295.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"Cafard." Galsworthy B. 105.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Defeat. Galsworthy B. 27.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Dog It Was That Died." Galsworthy B. 147.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Expectations. Galsworthy B. 227.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Flotsam and Jetsam. Galsworthy B. 51.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Grey Angel. Galsworthy B. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In Heaven and Earth. Galsworthy B. 169.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Manna. Galsworthy B. 239.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother Stone. Galsworthy B. 173.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Muffled Ship. Galsworthy B. 187.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Nightmare Child. Galsworthy B. 283.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Peace Meeting. Galsworthy B. 137.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Poirot and Bidan. Galsworthy B. 179.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Recorded. Galsworthy B. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Recruit. Galsworthy B. 125.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Spindleberries. Galsworthy B. 209.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Strange Thing. Galsworthy B. 255.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Two Looks. Galsworthy B. 271.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Graham, R. B. Cunninghame</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Cunninghame Graham, Robert Bontine</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grant-Watson, E. L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man and Brute. O'Brien C. 296.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hardy, Thomas</span>. (1840- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Three Strangers. O'Brien. C. 1.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Harvey, William F.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Beast with Five Fingers. New Dec. A. 29.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Henham, Ernest G.</span> <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Trevena, John</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hewlett, Maurice (Henry)</span>. (1861- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Quattrocentisteria. O'Brien C. 126.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hudson, W. H.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Thorn. O'Brien C. 196.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Huxley, Aldous</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bookshop. Huxley. 259.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cynthia. Huxley. 245.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Death of Lully. Huxley. 269.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Eupompus Gave Splendour to Art by Numbers. Huxley. 192.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Farcical History of Richard Greenow. Huxley. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Happily Ever After. Huxley. 116.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jacobs, William Wymark</span>. (1868- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bedridden. Jacobs A. 98.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Convert. Jacobs A. 112.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Dirty Work. Jacobs A. 262.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Family Cares. Jacobs A. 171.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Husbandry. Jacobs A. 140.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Made to Measure. Jacobs A. 51.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Paying Off. Jacobs A. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sam's Ghost. Jacobs A. 75.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Shareholders. Jacobs A. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Striking Hard. Jacobs A. 234.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Substitute. Jacobs A. 207.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winter Offensive. Jacobs A. 199.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">James, Montague Rhodes</span>. (1862- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book. Reeve. 18.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jameson, M. Storm-</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Storm-Jameson, M.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kipling, Rudyard</span>. (1865- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Phantom Rickshaw. Reeve. 118.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Three Musketeers. O'Brien C. 93.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wee Willie Winkie. O'Brien C. 99.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lawrence, David Herbert</span>. (1885- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sick Collier. O'Brien C. 332.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lytton, Lord. George Bulwer-</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Edward George</span>.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Macleod, Fiona</span>." (<span class="smcap">William Sharp</span>.) (1856-1905.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Fisher of Men. O'Brien C. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sin-Eater. French B. 126.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marshall, Archibald</span>. (1866- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Audacious Ann. Marshall. 191.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bookkeeper. Marshall. 303.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Builder. Marshall. 155.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"In that State of Life." Marshall. 95.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Kencote. Marshall. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little Squire. Marshall. 175.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Son of Service. Marshall. 63.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Squire and the War. Marshall. 327.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Terrors. Marshall. 41.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merrick, Leonard</span>. (1864- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Antenuptial. Merrick B. 274.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Antiques and Amoretti. Merrick B. 228.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"At Home, Beloved, At Home." Merrick B. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Back of Bohemia. Merrick A. 293.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Banquets of Kiki. Merrick B. 150.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bishop's Comedy. Merrick A. 344.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Call from the Past. Merrick A. 383.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Child in the Garden. Merrick A. 160.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dead Violets. Merrick A. 239.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Favourite Plot. Merrick A. 259.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Frankenstein II. Merrick A. 50.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lady of Lyons. Merrick A. 313.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Laurels and the Lady. Merrick A. 81.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Letter to the Duchess. Merrick A. 180.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man Who Understood Women. Merrick A. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Meeting in the Galéries Lafayette. Merrick B. 78.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Monsieur Blotto and the Lions. Merrick B. 54.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"On Est Mieux Ici qu'en Face." Merrick B. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Piece of Sugar. Merrick B. 127.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Poet Grows Practical. Merrick B. 173.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Prince in the Fairy Tale. Merrick A. 200.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Reconciliation. Merrick A. 368.</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Reformed Character. Merrick B. 205.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Reverie. Merrick A. 364.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tale That Wouldn't Do. Merrick A. 68.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Third M. Merrick A. 326.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Time the Humorist. Merrick A. 277.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Very Good Thing For the Girl. Merrick A. 18.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Waiting for Henriette. Merrick B. 251.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*With Intent to Defraud. Merrick A. 224.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Woman in the Book. Merrick B. 102.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Woman Who Wished to Die. Merrick A. 35.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Middleton, Richard</span>. (1882-1911.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ghost Ship. O'Brien C. 225.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nevinson, Henry Woodd</span>. (1852- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fire of Prometheus. O'Brien C. 157.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nevinson, Margaret Wynne</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Alien. Nevinson. 130.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And, Behold the Babe Wept." Nevinson. 47.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Blind and Deaf. Nevinson. 39.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daughter of the State. Nevinson. 80.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Detained by Marital Authority. Nevinson. 21.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Eunice Smith—Drunk. Nevinson. 13.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Girl! God Help Her!" Nevinson. 145.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In the Lunatic Asylum. Nevinson. 118.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In the Phthisis Ward. Nevinson. 80.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Irish Catholic. Nevinson. 91.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Mary, Mary, Pity Women!" Nevinson. 53.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mothers. Nevinson. 104.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Obscure Conversationist. Nevinson. 97.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Inky. Nevinson. 75.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Publicans and Harlots. Nevinson. 68.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Runaway. Nevinson. 138.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Suicide. Nevinson. 61.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sweep's Legacy. Nevinson. 126.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Too Old at Forty." Nevinson. 115.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Vow. Nevinson. 33.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Welsh Sailor. Nevinson. 27.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Widows Indeed!" Nevinson. 134.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Your Son's Your Son." Nevinson. 110.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nightingale, M. T.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stone House Affair. New Dec. A. 112.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">O'Byrne, Dermot</span>." (<span class="smcap">Arnold Edward Trevor Bax</span>.) (1883- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Before Dawn. O'Byrne A. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Coward's Saga. O'Byrne A. 84.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"From the Fury of the O'Flahertys." O'Byrne A. 67.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Invisible City of Coolanoole. O'Byrne A. 127.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***King's Messenger. O'Byrne A. 156.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Vision of St. Molaise. O'Byrne A. 172.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wrack. O'Byrne A. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Kelly, Seumas</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Billy the Clown. O'Kelly B. 149.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Derelict. O'Kelly B. 173.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Haven. O'Kelly B. 134.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hike and Calcutta. O'Kelly B. 121.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man with the Gift. O'Kelly B. 200.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Michael and Mary. O'Kelly B. 111.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Weaver's Grave. O'Kelly B. 9.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pertwee, Roland</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Big Chance. Pertwee 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Clouds. Pertwee. 243.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cure that Worked Wonders. Pertwee. 42.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dear Departed. Pertwee. 212.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Eliphalet Touch. Pertwee. 67.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Final Curtain. Pertwee. 271.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gas Works. Pertwee. 143.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Getting the Best. Pertwee. 102.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mornice June. Pertwee. 165.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pistols for Two. Pertwee. 21.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Quicksands of Tradition. Pertwee. 120.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Red and White. O'Brien C. 278.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Reversible Favour. Pertwee. 190.</span><br /> +<br /> +Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas. (1863- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Æson. O'Brien C. 152.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robinson, Lennox</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Chalice. Robinson. 30.</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Education. Robinson. 96.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Face. Robinson. 8.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Looking After the Girls. Robinson. 18.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pair of Muddy Shoes. Robinson. 47.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Return. Robinson. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sponge. Robinson. 60.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Weir. Robinson. 78.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sadler, Michael</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tumbril Touch. New Dec. A. 189.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sélincourt, Hugh De</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Birth of an Artist. O'Brien C. 322.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sharp, William</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Macleod, Fiona</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stevenson, Robert Louis</span>. (1850-1894.) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lodging for the Night. O'Brien C. 26.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Storm-Jameson, M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mother-Love. New Dec. A. 78.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tomlinson, H. M.</span> (1873- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Extra Hand. Tomlinson. 149.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lascar's Walking-Stick. Tomlinson. 140.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Trevena, John</span>." (<span class="smcap">Ernest G. Henham</span>.) (1878- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Business Is Business. Trevena. 45. O'Brien C. 236.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***By Violence. Trevena. 13.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Christening of the Fifteen Princesses. Trevena. 65.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vernède, Robert Ernest</span>. (1875-1917.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adventure of the Persian Prince. Vernède. 194.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bad Samaritan. Vernède. 130.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Finless Death. Vernède. 178.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Greatness of Mr. Walherstone. Vernède. 33.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame Bluebeard. Vernède. 233.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maze. Vernède. 301.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Missing Princess. Vernède. 251.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Night's Adventure. Vernède. 277.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Offence of Stephen Danesford. Vernède. 80.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Raft. Vernède. 218.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Outrage at Port Allington. Vernède. 55.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smoke on the Stairs. Vernède. 204.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soaring Spirits. Vernède. 102.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunk Elephant. Vernède. 156.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"This is Tommy." Vernède. 13.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vines, Sherard</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Upper Room. New Dec. A. 178.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Walpole, Hugh Seymour</span>. (1884- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Monsieur Félicité. O'Brien C. 263.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Watson, E. L. Grant</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Grant Watson, E. L.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wedmore, Sir Frederick</span>. (1844- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***To Nancy. O'Brien C. 75.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wells, Herbert George</span>. (1866- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Stolen Bacillus. O'Brien C. 144.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilde, Oscar</span> (<span class="smcap">Fingall O'Flahertie Wills</span>.) (1854-1900.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Star-Child. O'Brien C. 47.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wylie, Ida Alena Ross</span>. (1885- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bridge Across. Wylie. 66.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Colonel Tibbit Comes Home. Wylie. 133.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Episcopal Scherzo. Wylie. 267. 195.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gift for St. Nicholas. Wylie.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Holy Fire. Wylie. 9.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***John Prettyman's Fourth Dimension. Wylie. 231.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"'Melia, No Good." Wylie. 163.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Thirst. Wylie. 28.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Tinker—Tailor—" Wylie. 97.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">III. Translations</span></h3> +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Alas, Leopoldo</span>. ("<span class="smcap">Clarín</span>"). (1852-1901.) (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Adios Cordera! McMichael. 97.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich</span>. (1871-1919.) (<i>Russian.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ben-Tobith. Andreyev C. 273.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dies Iræ. Andreyev C. 287.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Judas Iscariot. Andreyev C. 45.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lazarus. Andreyev C. 131.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Life of Father Vassily. Andreyev C. 161.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Marseillaise. Andreyev C. 281.</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Silence. Russian A. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Valia. Schweikert B. 343.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***When the King Loses His Head. Andreyev C. 5.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Annunzio, Gabriele D'</span>. (<i>Italian.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">D'Annunzio, Gabriele</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Artzibashev, Michael</span>. (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Doctor. Russian A. 38.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ayala, Ramón Pérez De</span>. (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fall of the House of Limón. Ayala. 77.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Prometheus. Ayala. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sunday Sunlight. Ayala. 163.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bizyenos, George T.</span> (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sin of My Mother. Vaka. 57.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente</span>. (1867-.) (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Compassion. Ibáñez. 36.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Last Lion. Ibáñez. 15.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Luxury. Ibáñez. 56.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Rabies. Ibáñez. 61.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Toad. Ibáñez. 26.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Windfall. Ibáñez. 46.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Caragiale, J.L.</span> (<i>Rumanian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Easter Candles. Underwood A. 49.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carco, Francis</span>. (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memory of Paris Days. New Dec. A. 217.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Čech, Svatopluk</span>. (1846-1908.) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Foltyn's Drum. Hrbkova. 55.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Journey. Underwood A. 75.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich</span>. (1861-1904.) (<i>Russian.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***At a Country House. Chekhov E. 173.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bad Weather. Chekhov E. 269.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bishop. Chekhov D. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Chorus Girl. Chekhov E. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Easter Eve. Chekhov D. 49.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Father. Chekhov E. 187. Russian A. 56.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Ivan Matveyitch. Chekhov E. 279.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In Exile. Schweikert B. 320.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Ivan Matveyitch. Chekhov E. 245.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Letter. Chekhov D. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Murder. Chekhov D. 89.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***My Life. Chekhov E. 37.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Nightmare. Chekhov D. 67.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***On the Road. Chekhov E. 201.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Rothschild's Fiddle. Chekhov E. 227.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Steppe. Chekhov D. 161.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Trivial Incident. Chekhov E. 227.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Uprooted. Chekhov D. 135.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Verotchka. Chekhov E. 15.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Zinotchka. Chekhov E. 257.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Clarín</span>." (<i>Spanish.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Alas, Leopoldo</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clémenceau, Georges</span>. (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About Nests. Clémenceau. 185.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Adventure of My Curé. Clémenceau. 149.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*At the Foot of the Cross. Clémenceau. 87.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Aunt Rosalie's Inheritance. Clémenceau. 45.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Better than Stealing. Clémenceau. 125.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bullfinch and the Maker of Wooden Shoes. Clémenceau. 173.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Descendant of Timon. Clémenceau. 19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Domestic Drama. Clémenceau. 197.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Evil Beneficence. Clémenceau. 101.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Flower o' the Wheat. Clémenceau. 221.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Giambolo. Clémenceau. 313.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Gideon in His Grave. Clémenceau. 61.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Gray Fox. Clémenceau. 137.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Happy Union. Clémenceau. 263.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hunting Accident. Clémenceau. 301.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jean Piot's Feast. Clémenceau. 233.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lovers in Florence. Clémenceau. 287.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mad Thinker. Clémenceau. 113.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Malus Vicinus. Clémenceau. 31.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Master Baptist, Judge. Clémenceau. 161.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mokoubamba's Fetish. Clémenceau. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Simon, Son of Simon. Clémenceau. 73.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six Cents. Clémenceau. 209.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Treasure of St. Bartholomew. Clémenceau. 249.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Well-Assorted Couple. Clémenceau. 275.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">D'Annunzio, Gabriele</span> (<span class="smcap">Rapagnetta</span>). (1864- .) (<i>Italian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Countess of Amalfi. D'Annunzio. 10.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Death of the Duke of Ofena. D'Annunzio. 172.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Downfall of Candia. D'Annunzio. 153.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gold Pieces. D'Annunzio. 83.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hero. D'Annunzio. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Idolaters. D'Annunzio. 119.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mungia. D'Annunzio. 140.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Return of Turlendana. D'Annunzio. 56.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sorcery. D'Annunzio. 92.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Turlendana Drunk. D'Annunzio. 72.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Virgin Anna. D'Annunzio. 215.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***War of the Bridge. D'Annunzio. 192.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dario, Rubén</span>. (1867-1916.) (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Box. McMichael. 31.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Death of the Empress of China. McMichael. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Veil of Queen Mab. McMichael. 21.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">De Vigny, Alfred</span>. (<i>French.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Vigny, Alfred De</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dostoevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich</span>. (1821-1881.) (<i>Russian.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Another Man's Wife. Dostoevsky B. 208.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bobok. Dostoevsky B. 291.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Crocodile. Dostoevsky B. 257.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dream of a Ridiculous Man. Dostoevsky B. 307.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Heavenly Christmas Tree. Dostoevsky B. 248.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Honest Thief. Dostoevsky B. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Novel in Nine Letters. Dostoevsky B. 145.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Peasant Marey. Dostoevsky B. 252.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Thief. Schweikert B. 79.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Unpleasant Predicament. Dostoevsky B. 157.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Drosines, George</span>. (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***God-father. Vaka. 93.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Eftaliotes, Argyres</span>. (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Angelica. Vaka. 157.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Friedenthal, Joachim</span>. (<i>German.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pogrom in Poland. Underwood A. 195.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Garshin, Wsewolod Michailovich</span>. (1855-1888.) (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Signal. Schweikert B. 308.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gjalski, Xaver-Sandor</span>. (<i>Croatian.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Sandor-Gjalski, Xaver</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gogol, Nikolai Vasilievich</span>. (1809-1852.) (<i>Russian.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cloak. Schweikert B. 40.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Gorki, Maxim</span>." (<span class="smcap">Alexei Maximovich Pyeshkov</span>.) (1868 or 1869- .) (<i>Russian.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Chelkash. Schweikert B. 381.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Comrades. Schweikert B. 361.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Her Lover. Russian A. 67.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Herrman, Ignat</span>. (1854- .) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***What Is Omitted from the Cook-book of Madame Magdálena Dobromila Rettigová. Hrbkova. 233.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco</span>. (<i>Spanish.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jirásek, Alois</span>. (1851- .) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Philosophers. Hrbkova. 225.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Karkavitsas, A.</span> (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sea. Vaka. 23.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kastanakis, Thrasyvoulos</span>. (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Frightened Soul. Vaka. 221.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Klecanda, Jan</span>. (1855- .) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***For the Land of His Fathers. Hrbkova. 241.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Korolenko, Vladimir Galaktionovich</span>. (1853- .) (<i>Russian.</i> Q.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Bell-Ringer. Schweikert B. 334.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kunĕtická, Božena Víková-</span>. (<i>Czech.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Vikova-Kuneticka, Bozena</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kuprin, Alexander</span>. (1870- .) (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cain. Schweikert B. 430.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lazarevic, Lazar K.</span> (1851-1891.) (<i>Serbian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Robbers. Underwood A. 145.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lemaître (François Élie), Jules</span>. (1853-1914.) (<i>French.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bell. Lemaître. 105.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Charity. Lemaître. 175.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Conscience. Lemaître. 277.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hellé. Lemaître. 189.</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lilith. Lemaître. 91.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mélie. Lemaître. 259.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Myrrha. Lemaître. 57.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Nausicaa. Lemaître. 207.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Princess Mimi's Lovers. Lemaître. 221.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Saint John and the Duchess Anne. Lemaître. 117.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Serenus. Lemaître. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sophie de Montcernay. Lemaître. 237.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Two Flowers. Lemaître. 125.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***White Chapel. Lemaître. 165.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Level, Maurice</span>. (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bastard. Level. 197.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Beggar. Level. 151.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Blue Eyes. Level. 269.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Confession. Level. 83.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Debt Collector. Level. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Empty House. Level. 281.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Extenuating Circumstances. Level. 71.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Fascination. Level. 187.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Father. Level. 115.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**For Nothing. Level. 127.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Illusion. Level. 39.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In the Light of the Red Lamp. Level. 49.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In the Wheat. Level. 139.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Kennel. Level. 15.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Kiss. Level. 237.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Last Kiss. Level. 293.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man Who Lay Asleep. Level. 175.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Maniac. Level. 249.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mistake. Level. 59.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Poussette. Level. 103.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Taint. Level. 225.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*10.50 Express. Level. 259.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Test. Level. 95.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***That Scoundrel Miron. Level. 211.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Under Chloroform. Level. 163.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Who? Level. 27.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Machar, Joseph Svatopluk</span>. (1864- .) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Theories of Heroism. Hrbkova. 123.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mayran, Camille</span>. (<i>Belgian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Forgotten. Mayran. 95.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Story of Gotton Connixloo. Mayran. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mikszáth, Koloman. (1849- .) (<i>Hungarian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fiddlers Three. Underwood A. 217.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Trip to the Other World. Underwood A. 209.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mužák, Johanna Rottova</span>. (<i>Czech.</i>) <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Svĕtlá, Caroline</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nĕmcová, Božena</span>. (1820-1862.) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"Bewitched Bára." Hrbkova. 151.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Neruda, Jan</span>. (1834-1891.) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***All Souls' Day, Underwood A. 119.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***At the Sign of the Three Lilies. Hrbkova. 86.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Beneš. Hrbkova. 81.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Foolish Jona. Underwood A. 136.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**He was a Rascal. Hrbkova. 90.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Vampire. Hrbkova. 75.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Netto, Walther</span>. (<i>German.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Swine Herd. Underwood A. 233.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Palamas, Kostes</span>. (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man's Death. Vaka. 173.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Papadiamanty, A.</span> (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***She That Was Homesick. Vaka. 237.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pérez De Ayala, Ramón</span>. (<i>Spanish.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Ayala, Ramón Pérez De</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Picón, Jacinto Octavio</span>. (1852- .) (<i>Spanish.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***After the Battle. McMichael. 43.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Menace. McMichael. 67.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Souls in Contrast. McMichael. 81.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pinski, David</span>. (1872- .) (<i>Yiddish.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Beruriah. Pinski A. 3.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Black Cat. Pinski A. 255.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Drabkin. Pinski A. 171.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In the Storm. Pinski A. 313.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Johanan the High Priest. Pinski A. 101.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Tale of a Hungry Man. Pinski A. 277.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Temptations of Rabbi Akiba. Pinski A. 83.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Jerubbabel. Pinski A. 131.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Polylas, Iakovos</span>. (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Forgiveness. Vaka. 133.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pushkin, Alexander Sergievich</span>. (1799-1837.) (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Shot, Schweikert B. 23.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Pyeshkov, Alexei Maximovich</span>. (<i>Russian.</i>) <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Gorki, Maxim</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Šandor-Gjalski, Xaver</span>. (<i>Croatian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Jagica. Underwood A. 181.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Naja. Underwood A. 165.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Sologub, Feodor</span>." (<span class="smcap">Feodor Kuzmitch Teternikov</span>.) (1863- .) (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***White Dog. Russian A. 30.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sudermann, Hermann</span>. (<i>German.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gooseherd. Sudermann. 341.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Iolanthe's Wedding. Sudermann. 9.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***New Year's Eve Confession. Sudermann. 127.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Woman Who Was His Friend. Sudermann. 109.</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Svĕtlá, Caroline</span>." (<span class="smcap">Johanna Rottova Mužák</span>.) (1830-1899.) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Barbara. Hrbkova. 279.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Svoboda, František Xavier</span>. (1860- .) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Every Fifth Man. Hrbkova. 105.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tchekhov, Anton Pavlovich</span>. (<i>Russian.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Teternikov, Feodor Kuzmitch</span>. (<i>Russian.</i>) <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Sologub, Feodor</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tolstoï, Lyof Nikolaievich, Count</span>. (1828-1910.) (<i>Russian.</i>) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***God Sees the Truth but Waits. Schweikert B. 209.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Master and Man. Schweikert B. 220.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Three Arshins of Land. Schweikert B. 287.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Turgenev, Ivan Sergievich</span>, (1818-1883.) (<i>Russian.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Biryuk. Schweikert B. 103.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lear of the Steppes. Schweikert B. 113.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vestendorf, A. Von</span>. (<i>German.</i>) <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Von Vestendorf, A.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vigny, Alfred De</span>. (<i>French.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Laurette, Vigny. 43.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Víková-Kunĕtická, Božena</span>. (1863- .) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Spiritless. Hrbkova. 135.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Von Vestendorf, A.</span> (<i>German.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Furor Illyricus. Underwood A. 37.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vrchlický, Yaroslav</span>. (1853-1912.) (<i>Czech.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Brother Cœlestin. Underwood A. 3.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Xenopoulos, Gregorios</span>. (<i>Modern Greek.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mangalos. Vaka. 105.</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MAGAZINE AVERAGES</h2> + +<h3>OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h3> + + +<p><i>The following table includes the averages of American periodicals +published from October, 1919, to September, 1920, inclusive. One, two, +and three asterisks are employed to indicate relative distinction. +"Three-asterisk stories" are of somewhat permanent literary value. The +list excludes reprints.</i></p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="1" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="2" summary="averages"> +<tbody> +<tr><td align="center">Periodicals (Oct.-Sept.)</td> + <td align="center">No. of Stories Published</td> + <td align="center" colspan="3">No. of Distinctive Stories Published</td> + <td align="center" colspan="3">Percentage of Distinctive Stories Published</td> +</tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td> +<td align="center"> </td> +<td align="center">*</td> +<td align="center">**</td> +<td align="center">***</td> +<td align="center">*</td> +<td align="center">**</td> +<td align="center">***</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Atlantic Monthly</td> +<td align="center">19</td> +<td align="center">18</td> +<td align="center">15</td> +<td align="center">11</td> +<td align="center">95</td> +<td align="center">78</td> +<td align="center">58</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Century</td> +<td align="center">43</td> +<td align="center">36</td> +<td align="center">25</td> +<td align="center">12</td> +<td align="center">84</td> +<td align="center">56</td> +<td align="center">28</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Collier's Weekly</td> +<td align="center">97</td> +<td align="center">24</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +<td align="center">25</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Cosmopolitan</td> +<td align="center">75</td> +<td align="center">17</td> +<td align="center">7</td> +<td align="center">3</td> +<td align="center">23</td> +<td align="center">9</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Dial (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">19</td> +<td align="center">19</td> +<td align="center">15</td> +<td align="center">11</td> +<td align="center">100</td> +<td align="center">78</td> +<td align="center">58</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Everybody's Magazine (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">75</td> +<td align="center">23</td> +<td align="center">7</td> +<td align="center">0</td> +<td align="center">31</td> +<td align="center">9</td> +<td align="center">0</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Harper's Magazine</td> +<td align="center">57</td> +<td align="center">43</td> +<td align="center">32</td> +<td align="center">15</td> +<td align="center">75</td> +<td align="center">56</td> +<td align="center">26</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Hearst's Magazine (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">76</td> +<td align="center">17</td> +<td align="center">6</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +<td align="center">22</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +<td align="center">5</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>McCall's Magazine (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">41</td> +<td align="center">15</td> +<td align="center">7</td> +<td align="center">3</td> +<td align="center">37</td> +<td align="center">17</td> +<td align="center">7</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>McClure's Magazine (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">53</td> +<td align="center">24</td> +<td align="center">16</td> +<td align="center">13</td> +<td align="center">45</td> +<td align="center">30</td> +<td align="center">25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Metropolitan</td> +<td align="center">78</td> +<td align="center">20</td> +<td align="center">12</td> +<td align="center">6</td> +<td align="center">26</td> +<td align="center">15</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Midland</td> +<td align="center">13</td> +<td align="center">11</td> +<td align="center">11</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +<td align="center">85</td> +<td align="center">85</td> +<td align="center">62</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Munsey's Magazine</td> +<td align="center">83</td> +<td align="center">14</td> +<td align="center">5</td> +<td align="center">2</td> +<td align="center">17</td> +<td align="center">6</td> +<td align="center">2</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>New York Tribune (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">48</td> +<td align="center">31</td> +<td align="center">5</td> +<td align="center">1</td> +<td align="center">63</td> +<td align="center">11</td> +<td align="center">2</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Pagan (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">21</td> +<td align="center">10</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +<td align="center">6</td> +<td align="center">50</td> +<td align="center">40</td> +<td align="center">30</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Pictorial Review</td> +<td align="center">46</td> +<td align="center">30</td> +<td align="center">28</td> +<td align="center">25</td> +<td align="center">65</td> +<td align="center">61</td> +<td align="center">54</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Red Book Magazine</td> +<td align="center">117</td> +<td align="center">17</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +<td align="center">2</td> +<td align="center">15</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +<td align="center">2</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Reedy's Mirror (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">30</td> +<td align="center">16</td> +<td align="center">8</td> +<td align="center">4</td> +<td align="center">53</td> +<td align="center">27</td +><td align="center">13</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Romance</td> +<td align="center">89</td> +<td align="center">23</td> +<td align="center">6</td> +<td align="center">1</td> +<td align="center">26</td> +<td align="center">7</td> +<td align="center">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Scribner's Magazine</td> +<td align="center">51</td> +<td align="center">36</td> +<td align="center">23</td> +<td align="center">10</td> +<td align="center">72</td> +<td align="center">46</td> +<td align="center">20</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Smart Set (including translations)</td> +<td align="center">127</td> +<td align="center">51</td> +<td align="center">25</td> +<td align="center">14</td> +<td align="center">40</td> +<td align="center">20</td> +<td align="center">11</td> +</tr> +</tbody></table></div> + + + +<p><i>The following tables indicate the rank, during the period between +October, 1919, and September, 1920, inclusive, by number and percentage +of distinctive stories published, of the twenty-one periodicals coming +within the scope of my examination which have published an average of 15 +per cent in stories of distinction. The lists exclude reprints, but not +translations.</i></p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Percentage of Distinctive Stories</span></h3> +<div class="center"> +<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="4" border="0" summary="percentages"> +<tbody> + +<tr><td align="left">1. Dial (including translations)</td><td align="left">100%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">2. Atlantic Monthly</td><td align="left">95%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">3. Midland</td><td align="left">85%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">4. Century</td><td align="left">84%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">5. Harper's Magazine</td><td align="left">75%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">6. Scribner's Magazine</td><td align="left">72%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">7. Pictorial Review</td><td align="left">65%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">8. New York Tribune (including translations)</td><td align="left">63%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">9. Reedy's Mirror (including translations)</td><td align="left">53%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">10. Pagan (including translations)</td><td align="left">50%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">11. McClure's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align="left">45%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">12. Smart Set (including translations)</td><td align="left">40%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">13. McCall's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align="left">37%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">14. Everybody's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align="left">31%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">15. Romance</td><td align="left">26%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">16. Metropolitan</td><td align="left">26%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">17. Collier's Weekly</td><td align="left">25%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">18. Cosmopolitan</td><td align="left">23%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">19. Hearst's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align="left">22%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">20. Munsey's Magazine</td><td align="left">17%</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">21. Red Book Magazine</td><td align="left">15%</td></tr> +</tbody></table></div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Number of Distinctive Stories</span></h3> +<div class="center"> +<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="4" border="0" summary="stories"> +<tbody> +<tr><td align="left">1. Smart Set (including translations)</td><td align="left">51</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">2. Harper's Magazine</td><td align="left">43</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">3. Century</td><td align="left">36</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">4. Scribner's Magazine</td><td align="left">36</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">5. New York Tribune (including translations)</td><td align="left">31</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">6. Pictorial Review</td><td align="left">30</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">7. McClure's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align="left">24</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">8. Collier's Weekly</td><td align="left">24</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">9. Everybody's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align="left">23</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">10. Romance </td><td align="left">23</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">11. Metropolitan </td><td align="left">20</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">12. Dial (including translations)</td><td align="left">19</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">13. Atlantic Monthly </td><td align="left">18</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">14. Cosmopolitan </td><td align="left">17</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">15. Hearst's Magazine (including translations) </td><td align="left">17</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">16. Red Book Magazine </td><td align="left">17</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">17. Reedy's Mirror (including translations)</td><td align="left">16</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">18. McCall's Magazine (including translations) </td><td align="left">15</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">19. Munsey's Magazine </td><td align="left">14</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">20. Midland </td><td align="left">11</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">21. Pagan (including translations) </td><td align="left">10</td></tr> +</tbody></table></div> + + +<p><i>The following periodicals have published during the same period ten or +more "two-asterisk stories." The list excludes reprints, but not +translations. Periodicals represented in this list during 1915, 1916, +1917, 1918 and 1919 are represented by the prefixed letters a, b, c, d, +and e respectively.</i></p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="periodicals"> +<tr><td align='left'>1.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Harper's Magazine</td><td align='left'>32</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2.</td><td align='right'>bcde</td><td align='left'>Pictorial Review</td><td align='left'>28</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Century</td><td align='left'>25</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>4.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Smart Set (including translations)</td><td align='left'>25</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>5.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Scribner's Magazine</td><td align='left'>23</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>6.</td><td align='right'></td><td align='left'>McClure's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align='left'>16</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>7.</td><td align='right'></td><td align='left'>Dial (including translations)</td><td align='left'>15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>8.</td><td align='right'>cde</td><td align='left'>Atlantic Monthly</td><td align='left'>15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>9.</td><td align='right'>be</td><td align='left'>Metropolitan</td><td align='left'>12</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>10.</td><td align='right'>c</td><td align='left'>Midland</td><td align='left'>11</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><i>The following periodicals have published during the same period five or +more "three-asterisk stories." The list excludes reprints, but not +translations. The same signs are used as prefixes as in the previous +list.</i></p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="periods"> +<tr><td align='left'>1.</td><td align='right'>acde</td><td align='left'>Pictorial Review</td><td align='right'>25</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Harper's Magazine</td><td align='right'>15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3.</td><td align='right'>de</td><td align='left'>Smart Set (including translations)</td><td align='right'>14</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>4.</td><td align='right'></td><td align='left'>McClure's Magazine (including translations)</td><td align='right'>13</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>5.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Century</td><td align='right'>12</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>6.</td><td align='right'></td><td align='left'>Dial (including translations)</td><td align='right'>11</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>7.</td><td align='right'>cde</td><td align='left'>Atlantic Monthly</td><td align='right'>11</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>8.</td><td align='right'>abcde</td><td align='left'>Scribner's Magazine</td><td align='right'>10</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>9.</td><td align='right'>ae</td><td align='left'>Midland</td><td align='right'>8</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>10.</td><td align='right'>ace</td><td align='left'>Metropolitan</td><td align='right'>6</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>11.</td><td align='right'>be</td><td align='left'>Pagan (including translations)</td><td align='right'>6</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><i>Ties in the above lists have been decided by taking relative rank in +other lists into account.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Index_of_Short" id="Index_of_Short"></a>INDEX OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES</h2> + + +<h3>OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920</h3> + +<p><i>All short stories published in the following magazines and newspapers, +October, 1919, to September, 1920, inclusive, are indexed.</i></p> + +<p> +American Magazine<br /> +Asia<br /> +Atlantic Monthly<br /> +Catholic World<br /> +Century<br /> +Collier's Weekly (except Dec. 27)<br /> +Delineator (except Sept.)<br /> +Dial<br /> +Everybody's Magazine<br /> +Good Housekeeping (except Apr. and June)<br /> +Harper's Magazine<br /> +Ladies' Home Journal (except Mar.)<br /> +Liberator<br /> +Little Review (except Apr. and Sept.)<br /> +Metropolitan<br /> +Midland<br /> +New York Tribune<br /> +Pagan<br /> +Pictorial Review<br /> +Reedy's Mirror<br /> +Saturday Evening Post (except Jan. 31; Feb. 14, 21; Mar. 13, 20)<br /> +Scribner's Magazine<br /> +Smart Set<br /> +Stratford Journal<br /> +Sunset Magazine<br /> +Touchstone (Oct., '19-May)<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Short stories of distinction only, published in the following magazines +during the same period, are indexed.</i></p> + +<p> +Adventure (Oct.-Dec., '19; Jul.-Sept.)<br /> +Ainslee's Magazine<br /> +All Story Weekly<br /> +American Boy<br /> +Argosy<br /> +Black Cat<br /> +Cosmopolitan<br /> +Freeman<br /> +Harper's Bazar (except Oct., '19)<br /> +Hearst's Magazine<br /> +Holland's Magazine<br /> +Little Story Magazine<br /> +Live Stories<br /> +McCall's Magazine<br /> +McClure's Magazine<br /> +Magnificat<br /> +Munsey's Magazine<br /> +Parisienne<br /> +People's Favorite Magazine<br /> +Queen's Work (except Sept.)<br /> +Red Book Magazine<br /> +Romance<br /> +Short Stories<br /> +Snappy Stories<br /> +Telling Tales<br /> +To-day's Housewife<br /> +Top-Notch Magazine<br /> +Woman's Home Companion (except Sept.)<br /> +Woman's World<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Certain stories of distinction published in the following magazines and +newspapers during this period are indexed, because they have been +specially called to my attention.</i></p> + +<p> +Detroit Sunday News<br /> +Menorah Journal<br /> +Oxford Outlook<br /> +Pearson's Magazine<br /> +Red Cross Magazine<br /> +Popular Magazine<br /> +True Stories<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>One, two, or three asterisks are prefixed to the titles of stories to +indicate distinction. Three asterisks prefixed to a title indicate the +more or less permanent literary value of the story, and entitle it to a +place on the annual "Rolls of Honor." An asterisk before the name of an +author indicates that he is not an American. Cross references after an +author's name refer to previous volumes of this series. (H) after the +name of an author indicates that other stories by this author, published +in American magazines between 1900 and 1914, are to be found indexed in +"The Standard Index of Short Stories," by Francis J. Hannigan, published +by Small, Maynard & Company, 1918. The figures in parentheses after the +title of a story refer to the volume and page number of the magazine. In +cases where successive numbers of a magazine are not paged +consecutively, the page number only is given in this index.</i></p> + +<p><i>The following abbreviations are used in the index</i>:—</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="abbreviate"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Adv.</i></td><td align='left'>Adventure</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Ain.</i></td><td align='left'>Ainslee's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>All.</i></td><td align='left'>All-Story Weekly</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Am.</i></td><td align='left'>American Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Am. B.</i></td><td align='left'>American Boy</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Arg.</i></td><td align='left'>Argosy</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Asia</i></td><td align='left'>Asia</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Atl.</i></td><td align='left'>Atlantic Monthly</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>B. C.</i></td><td align='left'>Black Cat</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Cath. W.</i></td><td align='left'>Catholic World</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Cen.</i></td><td align='left'>Century</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Col.</i></td><td align='left'>Collier's Weekly</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Cos.</i></td><td align='left'>Cosmopolitan</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Del.</i></td><td align='left'>Delineator</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Det. N.</i></td><td align='left'>Detroit Sunday News</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Dial</i></td><td align='left'>Dial</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Ev.</i></td><td align='left'>Everybody's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Free.</i></td><td align='left'>Freeman</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>G. H.</i></td><td align='left'>Good Housekeeping</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Harp. B.</i></td><td align='left'>Harper's Bazar</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Harp. M.</i></td><td align='left'>Harper's Monthly</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Hear.</i></td><td align='left'>Hearst's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Holl.</i></td><td align='left'>Holland's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>L. H. J.</i></td><td align='left'>Ladies' Home Journal</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Lib.</i></td><td align='left'>Liberator</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Lit. R.</i></td><td align='left'>Little Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Lit. St.</i></td><td align='left'>Little Story Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>L. St.</i></td><td align='left'>Live Stories</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Mag.</i></td><td align='left'>Magnificat</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>McC.</i></td><td align='left'>McClure's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>McCall</i></td><td align='left'>McCall's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Men.</i></td><td align='left'>Menorah Journal</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Met.</i></td><td align='left'>Metropolitan</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Mid.</i></td><td align='left'>Midland</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Mir.</i></td><td align='left'>Reedy's Mirror</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Mun.</i></td><td align='left'>Munsey's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>N. Y. Trib.</i></td><td align='left'>New York Tribune</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>O. O.</i></td><td align='left'>Oxford Outlook</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Pag.</i></td><td align='left'>Pagan</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Par.</i></td><td align='left'>Parisienne</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Pear.</i></td><td align='left'>Pearson's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Peop.</i></td><td align='left'>People's Favorite Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Pict. R.</i></td><td align='left'>Pictorial Review</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Pop.</i></td><td align='left'>Popular Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Q. W.</i></td><td align='left'>Queen's Work</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>(R.)</i></td><td align='left'>Reprint</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Red Bk.</i></td><td align='left'>Red Book Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Red Cross</i></td><td align='left'>Red Cross Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Rom.</i></td><td align='left'>Romance</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Scr.</i></td><td align='left'>Scribner's Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>S. E. P.</i></td><td align='left'>Saturday Evening Post</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Sh. St.</i></td><td align='left'>Short Stories</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Sn. St.</i></td><td align='left'>Snappy Stories</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>S. S.</i></td><td align='left'>Smart Set</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Strat. J.</i></td><td align='left'>Stratford Journal</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Sun.</i></td><td align='left'>Sunset Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Tod.</i></td><td align='left'>To-day's Housewife</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Top.</i></td><td align='left'>Top-Notch Magazine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Touch.</i></td><td align='left'>Touchstone</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>True St.</i></td><td align='left'>True Stories</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>T. T.</i></td><td align='left'>Telling Tales</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>W. H. C.</i></td><td align='left'>Woman's Home Companion</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i>Wom. W.</i></td><td align='left'>Woman's World</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>(161)</td><td align='left'>Page 161</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>(2:161)</td><td align='left'>Volume 2, page 161</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>(<i>See '15</i>)</td><td align='left'><i>See</i> "Best Short Stories of 1915."</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><i>Owing to labor and transportation difficulties, the files of certain +periodicals which I have consulted this year are not absolutely +complete. I shall report upon these missing issues next year.</i></p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Fordyce Coburn</span>.) (1872- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peace On Earth, Good Will to Dogs. Col. Dec. 13-20, '19. (5, 8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Abbott, Helen Raymond</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stop Six. Cen. March. (99:666.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Abbott, Keene</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cinders of the Cinderella Family. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thumb Minus Barlow. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Abdullah, Achmed</span>. (<span class="smcap">Achmed Abdullah Nadir Khan El-Durani El-Idrissyeh</span>.) ("A. A. Nadir.") (1881- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Evening Rice. Pict. R. June. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hill Bred Yar Hydar. Am. B. Dec. '19. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Indian Jataka. All. March 13. (108:2.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pell Street Choice. Am. B. Nov. '19. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tao. Cen. Apr. (99:819.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Abt, Marion</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Epithalamium. S. S. Sept. (63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Adams, Charles Magee</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fathers and Sons. Am. May. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Todd's Plunge. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (41.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Adams, H. Austin</span>. (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Adams, Austin</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Bugs, But No One's Fool." Sun. Sept. (43.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Adams, Samuel Hopkins</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Guardian of God's Acre. Col. June 12. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Home Seekers. Col. Apr. 10. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*House of Silvery Voices. Col. Mar. 20. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Patroness of Art. Col. Jul. 17. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pink Roses and the Wallop. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Addis, H. A. Noureddin</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Weaver. Asia. Jan. (20:13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Addison, Thomas</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tricks in All Trades. Ev. Apr. (76.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Ades, Albert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mme. Grandvoinet. N. Y. Trib. March 21.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Agee, Fannie Heaslip Lea</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Lea, Fannie Heaslip</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Aitken, Kenneth Lyndwode</span>. (1881-1919.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***From the Admiralty Files. Cen. Dec. '19. (99:241.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wee Bit Ghost. Met. March. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Akins, Zoë</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bruised Reed. Cos. July. (32.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sister of the Sun. Cen. Dec. '19. (99:217.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Aldrich, Bess Streeter</span>. ("<span class="smcap">Margaret Dean Stevens</span>.") (1881- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>See 1916 under</i> <span class="smcap">Stevens, Margaret Dean</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Across the smiling Meadow. L. H. J. Feb. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ginger Cookies. L. H. J. Jan. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Last Night, When You Kissed Blanche Thompson——." Am. Aug. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marcia Mason's Lucky Star. Am. March. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mason Family Now on Exhibition. Am. Nov. '19. (45.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother Mason Gives Some</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Advice. Am. May. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tillie Cuts Loose. Am. April. (50.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Alexander, Mary</span>." <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Kilbourne, Fannie</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Alexander, Nell Stewart</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cutting the Cat's Claws. L. H. J. Sept. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Alexander, Sandra</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">According to Otto. Col. Mar. 27. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Goer. Met. Nov. '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Amid, John</span>." (<span class="smcap">M. M. Stearns</span>.) (1884- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Seravido Money. Mir. Nov. 20, '19. (28:812.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, C. Farley</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Octogenarian. S. S. Dec. '19. (119.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Frederick Irving</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*King's Thumb. Ev. Dec. '19. (45.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Jane</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Happiest Man in the World. Cen. Jan. (99:330.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, Sherwood</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Door of the Trap. Dial. May. (68:567.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***I Want to Know Why. S. S. Nov. '19. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Other Woman. Lit. R. May-June. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Triumph of the Egg. Dial. Mar. (68:295.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderson, William Ashley</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Black Man Without a Country. Harp. M. June. (141:90.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bwana Poor. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Parable of Trifles. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anderton, Daisy</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Belated Girlhood. Pag. Jan. (37.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Andreieff, Leonid Nikolaevich</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Broken Wings. Scr. Aug. (68:129.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Andrews, Roland F</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Honor of Sam Butler. Ev. Mar. (38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wallababy. Met. Aug. (38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich</span>. (1871-1919.) (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Andreieff</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Promise of Spring. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bird of Passage. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 28, '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*His Last Rendezvous. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 30, '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Incompatibles. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 23, '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Romance of the Western Pavilion. Asia. May. (20:392.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Stranger." N. Y. Trib. May 30.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Armstrong, LeRoy</span>. (1854- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Patsy, Keep Your Head." Met. Oct., '19. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Aspinwall, Marguerite</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First Rung. Del. Feb. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Atherton, Sarah</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie and the Litany. Scr. Aug. (68:186.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Necessary Dependent. Scr. June. (67:747.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Paths from Diamond Patch. Scr. Jul. (68:65.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Aumonier, Stacy</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Golden Windmill. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Good Action. Cen. Aug. (100:454.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Great Unimpressionable. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Just the Same. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Landlord of "The Love-a-Duck." Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Auriol, Georges</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heart of the Mother. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Austin, Frederick Britten</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Buried Treasure. Hear. Dec., '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Yellow Magic. Red. Bk. Apr. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Austin-Ball, Mrs. T.</span> <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Steele, Alice Garland</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Avery, Hascal T.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Corpus Delicti. Atl. Feb. (125:200.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Avery, Stephen Morehouse</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lemon or Cream? L. H. J. Feb. (24.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Babcock, Edwina Stanton</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gargoyle. Harp. M. Sept. (141:417.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Porch of the Maidens. Harp. M. March. (140:460.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bailey (Irene), Temple</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beggars on Horseback. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gay Cockade. Harp. M. Feb. (140:290.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ball, Mrs. T. Austin</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Steele, Alice Garland</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Balmer, Edwin</span>. (1883- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>Hb</i>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Acheron Run. Ev. May. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jim Culver Learns the Secret of Teamwork. Am. Aug. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the 7:50 Express. Am. April. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paolina. Ev. Feb. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Santa Claus Breaks Into the Kelly Pool Game. Am. Dec., '19. (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the Record Made. L. H. J. Jul. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Bargone, Charles</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Farrère, Claude</span>."<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Barker (Harley), Granville</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bigamist. Free. May 5. (1:176.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barnard, Leslie Gordon</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jealousy of Mother McCurdy. Am. June. (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why They Called Her "Little Ireland." Am. July. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barnes, Djuna</span>. (1892- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Beyond the End. Lit. R. Dec., '19. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Mother. Lit. R. Jul.-Aug. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barratt, Louise Rand Bascom</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Bascom, Louise Rand</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barrett, Arabel Moulton</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Brown Bird. Cath. W. Oct., '19. (110:29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barrett, Richmond Brooks</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Thirty-three. S. S. Sept. (55.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daughter of the Bernsteins. S. S. Jul. (83.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Divine Right of Tenors. S. S. March. (73.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Satanic Saint. S. S. April. (103.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bartlett, Frederick Orin</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Everlasting Hills. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Inside. Del. Jan. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Junior Member. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Later Boat. Ev. Apr. (68.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strip of Green Paper. Ev. Sept. (51.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Barton, C. P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Life, Liberty, and Happiness. All. Apr. 10. (109:135.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bascom, Louise Rand</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. G. W. Barrett</span>.) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Question of Dress. B. C. Jul. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bash, Mrs. Louis H.</span> <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Runkle, Bertha (Brooks.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beadle, Charles</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Inner Hero. Rom. Nov., '19. (113.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beale, William C.</span> (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Eternal Knout. Ev. Nov., '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beard, Wolcott le Cléar</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sun God Functions. Arg. Nov. 1, '19. (114:18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bechdolt, Frederick Ritchie</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cleaning Up of Lathrop. S. E. P. May 15. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Lordsburg Road. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (42.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +*<span class="smcap">Beck, L. Adams</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fire of Beauty. Atl. Sept. (126:359.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Incomparable Lady. Atl. Aug. (126:178.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beer, Thomas</span>. (1889- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Boy Flag. S. E. P. June 5. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cool. Cen. Sept. (100:604.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curious Behavior of Myra Cotes. Met. Oct., '19. (32.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lorena. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poison Pen. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Refuge. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Totem. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Zerbetta and the Black Arts. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Beffel, John Nicholas</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Crosby Crew. Mir. Oct. 23, '19. (28:730.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Out of the Cage. Mir. Nov. 20, '19. (28:816.) 18, '19. (28:816.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seneca's Ghost House. Mir. Dec. 18, '19. (28:936.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woman at the Door. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:899.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Behrman, S. N.</span> (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*That Second Man. S. S. Nov., '19. (73.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Belden, Jacques</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Song of Home. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:230.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Benét, Stephen Vincent</span>. (1898- .) (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Funeral of John Bixby. Mun. Jul. (70:382.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Summer Thunder. S. S. Sept. (79.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bercovici, Konrad</span>. (1882- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ghitza. Dial. Feb. (68:154.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Yahde, the Proud One. Rom. Aug. (100.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Beresford, John Davys</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Convert. Free. May, '19. (1:225.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Bertheroy, Jean</span>." (<span class="smcap">Berthe Carianne Le Barillier</span>.) (1860- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Candlemas Day. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 29.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*From Beyond the Grace. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 1.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bidwell, Anna Cabot</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fairest Adonis. Cen. March (99:610.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Binet-Valmer</span>. (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Armistice Night. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 4.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Withered Flowers. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 4.</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Birmingham, George A.</span>" (<span class="smcap">Canon James O. Hannay</span>.) (1865- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bands of Ballyguttery. Ev. Jul. (63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bishop, Ola</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dawson Gang. Met. Nov., '19. (52.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilda MacIvor-Horsethief. Met. Feb. (42.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Bizet, René</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devil's Peak. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 18.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lie. N. Y. Trib. May 16.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Blackwood, Algernon</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Chinese Magic. Rom. June. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***First Hate. McC. Feb. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Running Wolf. Cen. Aug. (100:482.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1919 under</i> <span class="smcap">Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Caburé Feather. McC. Sept. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Four Sons of Eve. McC. Jul. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mad Virgins. Ev. Dec., '19. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Woman of the Movies. McC. May. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Shot in the Dark. McCall. Jul. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sleeping-Car Porter. Del. Oct., '19. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bloch, Bertram</span>. (<i>See '18.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Modern Improvements. S. S. Feb. (79.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Block, Rudolph</span>. <i>See</i> "Lessing, Bruno."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Blum, Henry S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oil. Met. Aug. (34.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Boas, George</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Officer, but a Gentleman. Atl. Aug. (126:194.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bodenheim, Maxwell</span>. (1893- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Religion. Lit. R. May-June. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bois, Boice Du</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Du Bois, Boice</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boogher, Susan M.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Hagey and the Follies. L. H. J. Sept. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Booth, Frederick</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Duel, Ain. Apr. (126.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Bottome, Phyllis</span> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Forbes Dennis</span>). (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Man of the "Chat Noir." Ain. June-Jul. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Residue. Cen. Sept, (100:665.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boulton, Agnes</span>, (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Eugene G. O'Neill</span>.) (1893- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Hater of Mediocrity. S. S. Jul. (119.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Boutet, Fréderic</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Her Magnificent Recollections. Par. June. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*His Wife's Correspondents. Par. Sept. (65.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Laura. N. Y. Trib. Sept., '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*M. Octave Boullay. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 1.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Two Dinners. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 22.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bowman, Earl Wayland</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blunt Nose. Am. Feb. (62.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High Stakes. Am. Sept. (56.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boyer, Wilbur S.</span> (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tutti-Frutti. Ev. May. (69.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brace, Blanche</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adventure of the Lost Trousseau. L. H. J. Sept. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tuesday and Thursday Evenings. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bradley, Mary Hastings</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Neighbor's Wife. Met. Sept. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salvage, Met. May. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brand, Max</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Out of the Dark. All. March. 13. (108:9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Breakspear, Matilda</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Humberto, S. S. Jan. (108.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brooks, Jonathan</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bills Payable. Col. Sept. 18. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hand and Foot. Col. May 15. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High and Handsome. Col. June 19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hot Blood and Cold. Col. Aug. 7. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rewarded, By Virtue. Col. Apr. 3. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brooks, Paul</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immolation. S. S. Sept. (101.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Alice</span>. (1857- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Captives. McCall. May. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mistletoe. W. H. C. Dec., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Lemuel's Journey. Atl. June. (125:782.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Estelle Aubrey</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Elizabeth—Convex. L. H. J. Jan. (9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Hearty Earl</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gold-Piece. Atl. Jul. (126:67.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Katharine Holland</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*House on the Sand. W. H. C. May. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Very Anxious Mother. Scr. Dec. 1919. (66:749.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, Royal</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eighth Box. L. H. J. Dec., 1919. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Game for Quentina. L. H. J. June. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too Much Canvas. L. H. J. Nov., 1919. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brown, W. S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Albert Bean's Tranquillity. Dial. Mar. (68:306.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brownell, Agnes Mary</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Buttermilk. Mir. Dec. 11, 1919. (28:887.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Coquette. McCall. May. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Cure. Mid. Sept. (6:138.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Evergreen. G. H. Dec., 1919. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Forty-Love. McCall. Jul. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Grampa. Del. Apr. (24.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Intentions. Rome. Apr. (33.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Oxalis. Del. Feb. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Quest. Mid. Sept.-Oct. '19. (5:220.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Red Fiddle. Arg. Jul. 31. (123:699.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Relation. Pict. R. June. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wannie—and Her Heart's Desire. Am. Jul. (44.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brownell, Mrs. Baker</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Maxwell, Helena</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Brubaker, Howard</span>. (1892- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Decline and Fall. Harp. M. Jul. (141:244.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little Friends of All the Arts. Harp. M. Feb. (140:386.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bruno, Guído</span>. (1884- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adultery on Washington Square. Mir. Jul. 15. (29:563.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Bruno, Ruby, J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Unbreakable Chain. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 18.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woman's Will. N. Y. Trib. July 11.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bryan, Grace Lovell</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Class! S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rowena Pulls the Wheeze! S. E. P. July 31. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You Never Can Tell—" S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (40.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bryner, Edna Clare</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Life of Five Points. Dial. (69:225.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Buchan, John</span>. (1875- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fullcircle. Atl. Jan. (125:36.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Buchanan, Meriel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miracle of St. Nicholas. Scr. Aug. (68:137.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Buck, Oscar MacMillan</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Village of Dara's Mercy. Asia. June. (20:481.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Bulger, Bozeman</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>See also</i> <span class="smcap">Terhune, Albert Payson</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Bulger, Bozeman</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Logansport Breeze. S. E. P. June, '19. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Real Shine. Ev. June. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Burke, Kenneth</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mrs. Mæcenas. Dial. Mar. (68:346.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Soul of Kajn Tafha. Dial. Jul. (69:29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Burke, Thomas</span>. (1887- .) (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Scarlet Shoes. Cos. Apr. (69.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Twelve Golden Curls. Cos. Mar. (37.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Burland, John Burland Harris</span>. (1870- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Green Flame. T. T. Apr. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Window. L. St. Dec. '19 (94.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Burnet, Dana</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Last of the Oldmasters. Ev. Jan. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romance of a Country Road. G. H. Oct., '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Burt, Maxwell Struthers</span>. (1882- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Bally Old" Knot. Scr. Aug. (68:194.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Devilled Sweetbreads. Scr. Apr. (67:411.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dream or Two. Harp. M. May. (140:744.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Each in His Generation. Scr. Jul. (68:42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***When His Ships Came In. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:721.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Butler, Ellis Parker</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Criminals Three. Pict. R. March. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Economic Waste. Ev. Oct., '19. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jury of His Peers. Ev. Sept. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knight Without Reproach. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (69.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Potting Marjotta. Col. Jan. 17. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Byrne, Donn</span>." (<span class="smcap">Bryan Oswald Donn-Byrne</span>.) (1888- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*And Zabad Begat Ephlal. Hear. May. (31.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bride's Play. Hear. Sept. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cabell, James Branch</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Designs of Miramon. Cen. Aug. (100:533.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Feathers of Olrun. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:193.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hair of Melicent. McC. Sept. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Head of Misery. McC. Jul. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hour of Freydis. McC. May. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Porcelain Cups. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Calvin, L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twenty Stories Above Lake Level. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cameron, Margaret</span>. (<span class="smcap">Margaret Cameron Lewis</span>.) (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Personal: Object Matrimony. Harp. M. Apr. (140:621.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Camp, (Charles) Wadsworth</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Cap. Col. Jan. 24. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Dangerous Tavern. Col. Jul. 24. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hate. Col. Apr. 3. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Signal Tower. Met. May. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Campbell, Marjorie Prentiss</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guests for Dinner. Del. Mar. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tight Skirts and the Sea. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Canda, Elizabeth Holden</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broken Glass. L. H. J. Feb. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Cannan, Gilbert</span>. (1884- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tragic End. Dial. Jan. (68:47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carmichael, Catherine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fairy of the Fire-place. Met. June. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carnevali, Emanuel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales of a Hurried Man. I. Lit. R. Oct., '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales of a Hurried Man. II. Lit. R. Nov., '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales of a Hurried Man. III. Lit. R. Mar. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carson, Shirley</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Woman's Story. Hol. June. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Carver, George</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**About the Sixth Hour. Mir. March 18. (29:203.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cary, Gladys Gill</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's So Hard for a Girl. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cary, Harold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She and He. Ev. Feb. (31.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Cary, Joyce</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Joyce, Thomas</span>."<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Casement, Roger</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Guti. (<i>R.</i>) Mir. May 20. (29:415.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Casey Patrick</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Casey, Terence</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917.</i>) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Casey, Patrick</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wedding of Quesada. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Casseres, Benjamin De</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">De Casseres, Benjamin</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Last Satire of a Famous Titan. S. S. June. (79.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Castle, Agnes (Sweetman)</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Castle, Egerton</span>. (1858-1920.) (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fair Fatality. Rom. Apr. (137.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Castle, Everett Rhodes</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't Men So Transparent— S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (61.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golfers Three. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cather, Willa Sibert</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Her Boss. S. S. Oct., '19. (95.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Catton, George L.</span> (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Coincidence. Lit. St. Sept. (1.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Speaking of Crops. Arg. Mar. 6. (118:475.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cavendish, John C.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dawn. S. S. Dec., '19. (57.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last Love. S. S. Feb. (117.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little Grisette. S. S. Nov., '19. (41.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chadwick, Charles</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broken Promise. L. H. J. May. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chalmers, Mary</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">**Liberation of Christine Googe. Sn. St. March 18. (59.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chamberlain, Lucia</span>. (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Policeman X. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chambrun, Countess De</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">De Chambrun, Clara Longworth, Countess</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chandler, Josephine C.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Habeas Corpus. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (35.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Chapin, Carl Mattison</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too Much Is Enough. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (46.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chapman, Edith</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Classical Case. Pag. June. (4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Emancipation. S. S. June. (99).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Golden Fleece. Pag. Feb. (4.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inevitable Eve. S. S. Aug. (61.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mid-Victorians. S. S. Feb. (53.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pandora. S. S. May. (85.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Question of Values. S. S. Sept. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reductio ad Absurdum. S. S. Jan. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Self-Deliverance, or The Stanton Way. Pag. Apr.-May. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Charles, Tennyson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Riding the Crack of Doom. Am. B. Apr. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chase, Mary Ellen</span>. (1887- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sure Dwellings. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:869.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich</span>. (1860-1904.) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917 under</i> <span class="smcap">Tchekov</span>.) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***At a Country House. (<i>R.</i>) Touch. May. (7:126.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chenault, Fletcher</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Nubbin Ridge. Col. Dec. 6, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chester, George Randolph</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pouff. Ev. Mar. (64.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Chesterton, Gilbert Keith</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Face in the Target. Harp. M. Apr. (140:577.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Garden of Smoke. Hear. Jan. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Soul of the Schoolboy. Harp. M. Sept. (141:512.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Vanishing Prince. Harp. M. Aug. (141:320.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Child, Richard Washburn</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bomb. McC. Jan. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thief Indeed. Pict. R. June. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Church, F.S.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How I Spent My Vacation. Scr. Aug. (68:155.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Churchill, David</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Igor's Trail. Ev. May. (46.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Churchill, Roy P.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bold Adventure of Jimmie the Watchmaker. Am. May. (40.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clark, (Charles) Badger</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All for Nothing. Sun. Apr (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gloria Kids. Sun. Jul. (52.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Natural. Sun. June (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Widow. Sun. May. (36.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sacred Salt. Sun. Aug. (39.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clark, Valma</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Big Man. Holl. Aug. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clausen, Carl</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Perfect Crime. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Regan. Rom. April. (114.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cleghorn, Sarah N(orcliffe)</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"And She Never Could Understand." Cen. Jan. (99:387.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clemans, Ella V.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mother May's Morals. G. H. May. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Clémenceau, Georges</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*How I Became Long-Sighted. Hear. Aug. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Clifford, Mrs. W. K.</span> (<span class="smcap">Lucy Lane Clifford</span>.) (<i>See 1915, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Antidote. Scr. Sept. (68:259.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Clive, Julian</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Climate. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:835.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Nature of Himself. Mir. Feb. 26. (29:145.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cobb, Irvin (Shrewsbury)</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*It Could Happen Again To-morrow. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Story That Ends Twice. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wasted Headline. S. E. P. May 8. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*When August the Second Was April the First. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (10.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why Mr. Lobel Had Apoplexy. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Coburn, Mrs. Fordyce</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cohen, Bella</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Children of the Asphalt." L. St. Jan. (75.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Chrysanthemums. Arg. May 29. (121:395.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Hands. Touch. Aug.-Sept. (7:383.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Roaches are Golden. L. St. Sept. (69.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sara Resnikoff. Arg. Dec. 13, '19. (115:503.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Voices of Spring on the East Side. Touch. Jan. (6:195.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cohen, Octavus Roy</span>. (1891- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All's Swell That Ends Swell. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Auto-Intoxication. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gravey. S. E. P. June 19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here Comes the Bribe. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mistuh Macbeth. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Night-Blooming Serious. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Noblesse Obliged. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Survival of the Fattest. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ultima Fool. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Collins, Charles</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl on the End. Met. Apr. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sins of Saint Anthony. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Marcia Fell. S. E. P. May 15. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Comfort, Will Levington</span>, (1878- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>) <i>See also</i> <span class="smcap">Comfort, Will Levington</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Dost, Zamin Ki</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gamester. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Comfort, Will Levington</span>. (1878- .), <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Dost, Zamin Ki</span>. <i>See also</i> <span class="smcap">Comfort, Will Levington</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bear Knob. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lair. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Condon, Frank</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Any Nest for a Hen. Col. June 12. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Circus Stuff. Col. Jan. 31. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fade Out. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (54.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jones—Balloonatic. Col. Mar. 13. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sacred Elephant. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Connolly, James Brendan</span>. (1868- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Fiery Sea. Col. Feb. 21. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wimmin and Girls. Col. May 22. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cook, Mrs. George Cram</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Glaspell, Susan</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cook, Lyle</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dancing Shoes. L. H. J. May. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wing Dust. L. H. J. Apr. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cooke, Grace MacGowan</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">MacGowan, Alice</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Cooke, Grace MacGowan</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cooper, Courtney Ryley</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrill That Cured Him. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unconquered. S. E. P. June 5. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Corbaley, Kate</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hangers-On. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pair of Blue Rompers. L. H. J. Jan. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Corcoran, Captain A. P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Middle Watch. L. H. J. Jan. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Corley, Donald</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Daimyo's Bowl. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:810.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cornell, V. H.</span> (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Big Moment. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Crabb, Arthur</span>." (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among Gentlemen. Col. Feb. 14. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bill Riggs Comes Back. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (61.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harold Child, Bachelor. L. H. J. Oct.-Nov., '19. (11:28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Last Analysis. Col. Sept. 4. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Janet. Met. March. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kiss. Met. Oct., '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lanning Cup. Ev. Apr. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little God of Hunches. Ev. Jul. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Masher. Met. Apr. (36.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Max Solis Gives an Option. Met. Sept. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Dog-in-the-Manger. Del. Jul.-Aug. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More or Less Innocent Bystander. Met. Feb. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queer Business. Ev. May. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rape of the Key. Sun. Dec., '19. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reformation of Orchid. Met. Jan. (38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Represented by Counsel. Met. Nov., '19. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sammy, Old Fox. Ev. Sept. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Story Apropos. Col. March 13. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tony Comes Back. Del. Jan. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yielded Torch. Cen. Apr. (99:758.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cram, Mildred R.</span> (1889- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Concerning Courage. L. H. J. Feb. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Ember. McCall. June. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fade Out. Col. May 22. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Odell. Red Bk. May. (58.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romance—Unlimited. Col. June 5. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Spring of Cold Water. Harp. B. Aug. (50.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Stuff of Dreams. Harp. B. Feb. (72.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wind. Mun. Aug. (70:413.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Crane, Clarkson</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Furlough. S. S. May. (113.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Crane, Mifflin</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betrayal. S. S. March. (109.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Captive. S. S. Nov., '19. (97.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cycle. S. S. April. (73.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Impossible Romance. S. S. Aug. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Negligible Ones. S. S. Dec., '19. (73.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Older Woman. S. S. Feb. (87.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Crew, Helen Coale.</span> (1866- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Parting Genius. Mid. Jul. (6:95.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Crissey, Forrest</span>. (1864- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gumshoes 4-B. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:116.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Croff, Grace A.</span> (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Forbidden Meadow. G. H. Sept. (60.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Minds of Milly. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stroke of Genius. Rom. Sept (161.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cummings, Ray</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Man Davey. Arg. Sept. 4. (125:110.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cummins, T. D. Pendleton. "T. D. Pendleton."</span> (<i>see 1915, 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Biscuit. Mir. Aug. 19. (29:644.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Curly, Roger</span>."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tael of a Tail-Spinner. Harp. M. June. (141:137.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three on an Island. Harp. M. Aug. (141:409.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Curran, Pearl Lenore</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosa Alvaro, Entrante. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Curtiss, Philip (Everett)</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crocodile's Half-Sister. Harp. M. May. (140:824.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First of the Cuties. Ev. Mar. (45.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Holy Roman Empire of the Bronx. Harp. M. Sept. (141:465.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Temperament. Harp. B. Mar. (52.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dallett, Morris</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost Love. S. S. Dec., '19. (75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Davies, Oma Almona</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tunis Hoopstetter, Early Bloomer. S. E. P. May 15. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Davis, Charles Belmont</span>. (1866- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Sister. Met. Feb. (28.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Davis, Martha King</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">David Stands Pat. L. H. J. Jul. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Transplanting Mother. Am. Feb. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Davis, Maurice</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Droll Secret of Mademoiselle. S. S. Sept. (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tradition of the House of Monsieur. S. S. May. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Davron, Mary Clare</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ladies Who Loved Don Juan. Met. Dec., '19. (19.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Dawson, Coningsby (William)</span>. (1883- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Loneliest Fellow. G. H. Dec., '19. (17.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Day, Holman Francis</span>. (1865- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Deodat's in Town. Red Bk. Apr. (38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nooning at the Devilbrew. Col. Apr. 10. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two Beans and Bomazeen. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">De Casseres, Benjamin</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Casseres, Benjamin De</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">De Chambrun, Clara Longworth, Countess</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Little Archie." Scr. Aug. (68:222.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Deeping, (George) Warwick</span>. (1877- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hunger and Two Golden Salvers. Rom. Jul. (73.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pride and the Woman. Par. April. (109.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Secret Orchard. Rom. Sept. (96.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">De Jagers, Dorothy</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mary Lou and the Hall-Room Tradition. Ev. Apr. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Polly Wants a Backer. Ev. Aug. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Delano, Edith Barnard</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Barnard, Edith</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Delano, Edith Barnard</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Blue Flowers from Red. L. H. J. Sept. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Face to Face. L. H. J. June. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Life and the Tide. Pict. R. Apr. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">De La Roche, Mazo</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Roche, Mazo De La</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Delarue-Madrus, Lucie</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Rober. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 15.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Delgado, F. P.</span> (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monna. S. S. Feb. (125.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Denison, Katharine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Father. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:757.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Dennis, Mrs. Forbes</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Bottome, Phyllis</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Derieux, Samuel A.</span> (1881- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Frank Sees It Through. Am. Nov., '19. (56.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Terrible Charge Against Jeff Poter. Am. Feb. (38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Derys, Gaston</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rabbits. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 11.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Desmond, Shaw</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sunset. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:577.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dew, Natalie</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romance <i>and</i> Mary Low. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dickson, Harris</span>. (1868- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Breeches for Two. Cos. Mar. (85.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Relapse of Captain Hotstuff. Cos. Jan. (81.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sticky Fingers. Cos. Apr. (85.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dobie, Charles Caldwell</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Christmas Cakes. Harp. M. Jan. (140:200.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Leech. Harp. M. Apr. (140:654.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Young China. L. H. J. Aug. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Dobrée, Bonamy</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Surfeit. Lit. R. Dec., '19. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dodge, Henry Irving</span>. (1861- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Skinner Makes It Fashionable. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrong Hat on the Wrong Man. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dodge, Louis</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Case of McIntyre. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:539.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Message from the Minority. Holl. Mar. (5.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Donnell, Annie Hamilton</span>. (1862- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauty Hat. Del. June. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crazy Day. Del. Dec., '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dost, Zamin Ki</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Comfort, Will Levington</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Dost, Zamin Ki</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Douglas, Ford</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come-Back. S. S. June. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home-Made. S. S. Aug. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Duncan's Gin. S. S. Jul. (75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Douglas, George</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Three Ghosts and a Widow. Q. W. Aug. (12:213.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dounce, Harry Esty</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Torbert Malingers. Cen. Oct., '19. (98:758.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dowst, Henry Payson</span>. (187*- .) (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bonds of Matrimony. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bostwick Budget. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cadbury's Ghosts. Ev. Feb. (48.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He Needed the Money. S. E. P. June 26. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pioneer and Pattenbury. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (3.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Symbols. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dreier, Thomas</span>. (1884- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broken Mirror. Met. Jan. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dreiser, Theodore</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sanctuary. S. S. Oct., '19. (35.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Drew, Helen</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flag in the Dust. All. Feb., 28. (107:461.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Driggs, Laurence La Tourette</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curé of Givenchy. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Drucker, Rebecca</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Lace. (<i>R.</i>) Mir. March 18. (29:233.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Du Bois, Boice</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ancestral Hang-Over. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come-Back of a Send-Off. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Downfall of an Uplift. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hortense the Helpful. S. E. P. June 5. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Dubreuil, René</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Estelle and Francis. N. Y. Trib. June. 20.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Dudeney, Mrs. Henry E.</span> (1866- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wild Raspberries. Harp. M. Jan. (140:217.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Duganne, Phyllis</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Extravagance. Met. Feb. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True Art. Met. Aug. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dunaway, Anna Brownell</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Estate. Col. Jul. 31. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Dunsany, Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett</span>, <i>18th</i> <span class="smcap">Baron</span>, (1878- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cheng Hi and the Window Framer. S. S. Nov., '19 (2.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***East and West. S. S. Dec., '19. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***How the Lost Causes Were Removed from Valhalla. S. S. Oct., '19. (1.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Opal Arrow-Head. Harp. M. May. (140:809.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pretty Quarrel. Atl. Apr. (125:512.) Mir. Apr. 1. (29:284.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Durand, Ruth Sawyer</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Sawyer, Ruth</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dutton, Louise Elizabeth</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Facing Facts. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Framed. Met. Dec., '19. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dwyer, James Francis</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bridal Roses of Shang. Holl. Nov., '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bronze Horses of Ballymeena. W. H. C. Oct., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Devil's Glue. B. C. Feb. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devil's Whisper. Col. Dec. 13, '19. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fair Deborah. Col. June 19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Green Hassocks of Gods. Col. Aug. 28-Sept. 4. (5, 16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Brown Butterfly. Del. March. (23.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Maryland, My Maryland!" Col. Mar. 20. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Thin, Thin Man. Sn. St. Sep. 25. (61.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Titled Bus Horse. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Dyer, Walter Alden</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mr. Geraniums. Holl. May. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Phantom Hound. Top. Mar. 1-15. (145.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Eastman, Rebecca Hooper</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Room and Bath. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salesman and the Star. S. E. P. May 8. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">String-Bean House. G. H. Nov., '19. (39.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edgelow, Thomas</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enchantment of Youth. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:739.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Edginton, May</span>. (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Man from Hell. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Man's Size. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edholm, Charlton Lawrence</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Maker of Images. L. H. J. May. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Trouble Never Troubles Me." L. H. J. June. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edwards, Cleveland</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dream That Would Not Fade. Arg. Aug. 21. (124:571.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edwards, Frederick Beecher</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thank-You-Please Perkins. S. E. P. May 8. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Eldridge, Paul</span>. (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Their Dreams. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:148.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Alma Martin Estabrook</span>. (1871- .), <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Paul Lee</span>. (<i>See 1915 under</i> <span class="smcap">Estabrook, Alma Martin</span>; <i>1917 under</i> <span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Alma Estabrook</span>; <i>1919 under</i> <span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Alma Martin</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Paul Lee</span>.) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Paul Lee</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Paradise Shares. Cen. Jul. (100:312.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wiped off the Slate. Am. Feb. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ellerbe, Rose L.</span> (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Key to Freedom. L. H. J. Aug. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Ervine, St. John G(reer.)</span> (1883- .) (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dramatist and the Leading Lady. Harp. B. Aug. (36.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evans, Frank E. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pearls or Ap</span>ples? Ev. Jul. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evans, Ida May</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eternal Biangle. G. H. Feb. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evarts, Hal G.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bald-Face. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Big Bull of Shoshone. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Ram of Sunlight. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Convincing a Lady. Col. Aug. 14. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dog Town. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Protective Coloration. Col. Dec. 20, '19. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straight and Narrow. Sun. Nov., '19. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fargo, Ruth</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birthday Tale. Del. Feb. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Nobody Else's Home Seems Just Right." Am. Apr. (57.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Farnham, Mateel Howe</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Day to Do as They Pleased. Del. Dec., '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Farrère, Claude</span>." (<span class="smcap">Charles Bargone</span>.) (1876- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fall of the House of Hia. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 25.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ferber, Edna</span>. (1887- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ain't Nature Wonderful! McC. Aug. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dancing Girls. Col. March 13. (5.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Maternal Feminine. McC. Feb. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Old Lady Mandle. Col. Jan. 17. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***You've Got to Be Selfish. McC. Mar.-Apr. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Field, Flora</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mister Montague. Del. Nov., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fillmore, Parker (Hoysted)</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Katcha and the Devil. (R.) Mir. Jan. 22. (29:59.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Finger, Charles J.</span> (1871- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Canassa. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:744.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Dust to Dust. Mir. Jul. 15. (29:561.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ebro. Mir. June 10. (29:469.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Incongruity. S.S. Jan. (65.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Jack Random. Mir. Aug. 26. (29:660.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ma-Ha-Su-Ma. Mir. March 18. (29:213.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Phonograph. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:903.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Some Mischievous Thing. S. S. Aug. (119.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fish, Horace</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Doom's-Day Envelope. Rom. June. (43.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fisher, Helen Dwight</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Harold, Henry</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Fisher, Helen Dwight</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fisher, Raymond Henry</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Yeng. Lit. St. June. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Benediction. S. S. Feb. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bernice Bobs Her Hair. S. E. P. May 1. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Camel's Back. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Cut-Glass Bowl. Ser. May. (67:582.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dalyrimple Goes Wrong. S. S. Feb. (107.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Four Fists. Ser. June. (67:669.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ice Palace. S. E. P. May 22. 18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Offshore Pirate. S. E. P. May 29. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smilers. S. S. June (107.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Flandrau, Grace Hodgson</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dukes and Diamonds. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (50.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let That Pass. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Fletcher, A. Byers</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*According to Whang Foo. Hear. Jan. (32.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*End of a Perfect Day. Hear. Mar. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Flint, Homer Eon</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Greater Miracle. All. Apr. 24. (109:340.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Foley, James William, Jr.</span> (1874- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Letters of William Green. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (109.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Letters of William Green. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (46.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Follett, Wilson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dive. Atl. Dec., '19-Jan. (124:729; 125:67.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Folsom, Elizabeth Irons</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Alibi. Sun. May. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bain Twins and the "Detective." Am. Oct., '19. (51.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*No Better Than She Should Be. Met. Mar. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Foote, John Taintor</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Allegheny. Am. Dec., '19. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ford, Torrey</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over and Back with Scuds. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (57.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Foster, A. K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rebel-Hearted. Touch. Apr. (7:10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Foster, Maximillian</span>. (1872- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Big-Town Stuff. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Fifty-Fifty. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fraiken, Wanda L.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Rubber-Tired Buggy. Mid. Aug. (6:105.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">France, Anatole</span>." (<span class="smcap">Jacques Anatole Thibault</span>.) (1844- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lady with the White Fan. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:83.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Francis, Dominic</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Son of the Morning. Mag. Apr. (25:288.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Woman—at Endor." Mag. Sept. (26:232.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Frazer, Elizabeth</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Derelict Isle. S. E. P. May 29. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Frederickson, H. Blanche</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maiden Aunt. Met. May. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Freeman, Lewis R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"His Wonders to Perform." Ev. Sept. (60.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins</span>. (1862- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Gospel According to Joan. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:77.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Friedenthal, Joachim</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pogrom in Poland. (R.) Mir. Oct. 23, '19. (28:726.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Friedlaender, V. H.</span> (<i>See 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*New Love. S. S. Sept. (117.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Rendezvous. Harp. M. Feb. (140:328.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Frost, Walter Archer</span> (1876- .), <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Frost, Susan</span>, (<i>See 1916 and "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Frost, Walter Archer</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**His Hold. Ev. Jan. (24.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fullerton, Hugh Stewart</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jaundice's Last Race. Ev. Nov., '19. (119.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gale, Zona</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arpeggio. Ev. Mar. (68.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arpeggio Helps. Ev. Apr. (44.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barbara's Aunt Beatrix. G. H. Oct., '19. (53.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love in the Valley. G. H. Feb. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lovingest Lady. W. H. C. June (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Galsworthy, John</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Expectations. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:643.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Garrett, Garet</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gilded Telegrapher. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red Night. S. E. P. Apr. 2. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shyest Man. Ev. Sept. (65.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gasch, Marie Manning</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Manning, Marie</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gauss, Marianne</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Justice. Atl. May. (125:613.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Geer, Cornelia Throop</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Le Boutillier, Cornelia Geer</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gelzer, Jay</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**In the Street of a Thousand Delights. Sn. St. Aug. 4. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">George, W. L.</span> (1882- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Romance. Harp. B. Aug. (64.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gerould, Katherine Fullerton</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Habakkuk. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:547.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Honest Man. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:777.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gerry, Margarita Spalding</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Food for the Minotaur. Harp. M. March. (140:488.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Gibbon, Perceval</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Abdication. Cos. Jul. (89.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Connoisseur. Cos. Oct., '19. (73.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dark Moment. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Elopement. McCall. Mar. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Heiress. Cos. Aug. (53.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Hostage to Misfortune. McC. Aug. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Knave of Diamonds. McCall. May (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Last of the Duellists. McC. Dec., '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lieutenant. Pict. R. Mar. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Spotless. S. E. P. May 8. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gibbs, A. Hamilton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conqueror of To-morrow. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Giersch, Ruth Henrietta</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Old Salem. L. H. J. Dec. '19. (23.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gilbert, George</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cleansing Kiss. Mun. Mar. (69:253.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Yellow Mixing Bowl, T. T. Nov., '19. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sigh of the Bulbul. Asia. Jul. (20:563.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gilchrist, Beth Bradford</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Eyes That See. Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:629.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Miracle. Harp. M. Jul. (141:217.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gilpatric, John Guy</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Black Art and Ambrose. Col. Aug. 21. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Glaspell, Susan (Keating)</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. George Cram Cook</span>.) (1882- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Escape. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nervous Pig. Harp. M. Feb. (140:309.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Glass, Montague Marsden</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cousins of Convenience. Cos. Jul. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Godfrey, Winona</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Does Marriage Clip the Wings of Youth? Am. Feb. (51.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gods of Derision. Mir. Jan. 15. (29:38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goetchius, Marie Louise</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Rutledge, Maryse</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goldsborough, Ann</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Answer to Joe Trice's Prayer. Am. Aug. (62.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goodfellow, Grace</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**In The Street of the Flying Dragon. Rom. Sept. (126.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goodloe, Abbie Carter</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*McHenry and the Ghost-Bird. Scr. Jan. (67:105.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Return of the Monks. Scr. Oct. '19. (66:460.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goodman, Henry</span>. (1893- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Hundred Dollar Bill. Pear. Aug. (44.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Goodwin, Ernest</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Very Ordinary Young Man. Met. Dec., '19. (50.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gordon, Armistead Churchill</span>. (1855- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Panjorum Bucket. Scr. Feb (67:232.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Graeve, Oscar</span>. (1884- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alonzo the Magnificent. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Careless World. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cyrilian Cycle. S. E. P. May 1. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lydia Leads the Way. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grahame, Ferdinand</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Four Bits. Arg. June 12. (122:59.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grandegge, Stephanie</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Recapture. Pag. Feb. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Granich, Irwin</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Two Mexicos. Lib. May. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Granich, Irwin</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Roy, Manabendra Nath</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Champak. Lib. Feb. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grant, Ethel Watts-Mumford</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Mumford, Ethel Watts</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Grant, Louise</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In Search of Life. Touch. Mar. (6:358.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Graves, Louis</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I. D. R. 125. Met. Nov., '19. (48.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Greene, Lewis Patrick</span>." (<span class="smcap">Louis Montague Greene</span>.) (1891- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Man Who Stayed. Adv. Jul. 18. (106.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Greenfield, Will H.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lost Lotos. Mir. Jul. 8. (29:548.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Greig, Algernon</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh You February 29." Met. Septa. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Griffith, Helen Sherman</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Billy Allen's Coal-Mine. Del. Jul.-Aug. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Poor Little Sara." Del. Apr. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Grimshaw, Beatrice</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Devil's Gold. Red Bk. Feb. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Maddox and the Emma-Pea. Red Bk. Rpr. (68.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*When the O-O Called. Red Bk. Mar. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Haines, Donald Hamilton</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forty-Five. Ev. Feb. (50.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Haldeman-Julius, Mr.</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Emanuel</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Julius, Mr.</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Emanuel Haldeman-</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hale, Maryse Rutledge</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Rutledge, Maryse</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hall, Herschel S.</span> (<i>See 1919 under</i> <span class="smcap">Hall, H. S.</span>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beeves from the Arggentyne. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (32.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bouillon. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cat Clause. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chance. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hot Metal. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Key Man. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Promoted. S. E. P. June 12. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sacrifice. Red Bk. May. (83.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steel Preferred. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (3.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stum Puckett, Cinder Monkey. S. E. P. Oct. 11. '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wellington Gay. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White Lines. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yancona Yillies. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Hall, Holworthy</span>." (<span class="smcap">Harold Everett Porter</span>.) (1887- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ancestors. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Below the Medicinal Hundred. Ev. Oct., '19. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bonds of Patrimony. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ego, Sherburne and Company. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl Who Couldn't Knit. Pict. R. May. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">G.P. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Humorist. Pict. R. Sept. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long Carry. Col. June 5. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round and Round and Round. Col. Sept. 11. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slippery Metal. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sniffski. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hall, May Emery</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Laying Captain Morley's Ghost. Arg. May 8. (120:547.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hall, Wilbur (Jay)</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art of Buying. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Business Neurology. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Johnny Cucabod. S. E. P. June 12. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Le Lupercalia. Sun. Feb. (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the Seller Beware! S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Martin Quest and Wife—Purchasing Agents. Am. Apr. (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Melancholy Mallard. S. E. P. NOV. 22, '19. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mercenary Little Wretch. Am. March. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Super-Soviet. Col. Mar. 27. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hallet, Richard Matthews</span>. (1887- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*First Lady of Cranberry Isle. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inspiration Jule. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (58.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Interpreter's Wife. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wake-Up Archie. Col. Feb. 14. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Halverson, Delbert M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Leaves in the Wind. Mid. Apr. (6:28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red Foam. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Dangerous Person. Ev. Nov., '19. (53.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hamilton, Edith Hulbert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anyone Can Write. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Hamilton, Gertrude Brooke</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Whom the Ladies Dote. S. S. Feb. (89.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Open Eyes. S. S. Jan. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pause. S. S. Apr. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Shall We Dine, Melisse? S. S. Nov., '19. (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where Is Your Mother? G. H. May. (47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hampton, Edgar Lloyd</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once One is Two. Met. Jan. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Return of Foo Chow. Met. Mar. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hanford, Helen Ellwanger</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Willow Pond. Atl. Mar. (125:363.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Hannay, Canon James O.</span> <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Birmingham, George A.</span>"<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Haraucourt, Edmond</span>. (1856- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dies Iræ. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 25.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Posthumous Sonnet. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 7, '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Skunk Collar. N. Y. Trib. May 2.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Two Profiles in the Crowd. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 5.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harben, Will(iam) N(athaniel)</span>. (1858- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Timely Intervention. Mun. Apr. (69:468.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hardy, Arthur Sherburne</span>. (1847 .) (<i>See 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mystery of Célestine. Harp. M. Mar. (140:442.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Haring, Ethel Chapman</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Giver. Del. Nov., '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ten Dollars a Month. Del. May. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harold, Henry</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Fisher, Helen Dwight</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**White Petunias. Rom. Apr. (104.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harper, C. A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vestal Venus. S. S. Apr. (101.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Harrington, Katherine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*O'Hara's Leg. Met. June (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harris, Corra (May White)</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Widow Ambrose. L. H. J. Aug. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harris, Kennett</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauty and the Butterflies. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Benny and Her Familee. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Concerning Cautious Clyde. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most Popular Lady. S. E. P. July 10. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosemary Risks It. S. E. P. May 8. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Triptolemus the Mascot. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harris, May</span>. (1873- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back Again. All. Nov. 1, '19. (103:332.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Harris-Burland, J. B.</span> <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Burland, J. B. Harris-</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harrison, Henry Snydor</span>. (1880- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Big People. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harry, Franklin P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Retribution and a Rabbit's Foot. T. T. Jul. (49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tan. Blu. Ox. 850. T. T. Oct., '19. (80.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hartman, Lee Foster</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Judgment of Vulcan. Harp. M. Mar. (140:520.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harvey, Alexander</span>. (1868- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Third Act. Mir. Dec. 18, '19. (28:923.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Haskell, Helen E.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Their Middle Years. Met. June. (31.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hatch, Leonard</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Links. Scr. Sept. (68:312.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hawley, J. B.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dancing Dog. S. S. June (51.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tarnished Brass. S. S. Jul. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Henderson, Victor</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Old Thing. S. S. Jul. (103.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hergesheimer, Joseph</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Blue Ice. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ever So Long Ago. Red Bk. Apr. (23.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Meeker Ritual. (II.) Cen. Oct., '19. (98:737.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***"Read Them and Weep." Cen. Jan. (99:289.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hewes, Robert E.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pawnbroker of Shanghai. Met. Oct., '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hewitt, Lew</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Third Woman. S. S. Aug. (111.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hill, Mabel</span>. (1864- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Lizzie—Parlor Bolshevist. Scr. Feb. (67:165.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hinds, Roy W.</span> (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Debts. Arg. Jul. 24. (123: 458.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Hirsch, Charles-Henry</span>. (1870-.) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Autographed Mirror. N. Y. Trib. May 9.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Holbrook, Weare</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Feast of St. Cecile. Pag. Apr.-May. (47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Holding, Elizabeth Sanxay</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Patrick on the Mountain. S. S. Jul. (109.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Problem that Perplexed Nicholson. S. S. Aug. (117.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Holland, Rupert Sargent</span>. (1878- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Arcadians in the Attic. Scr. May. (67:618.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flying Man. L. H. J. Aug. (40.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hollingsworth, Ceylon</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Harp of a Thousand Strings. Col. Feb. 28. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mind of a Man. Col. Jan. 31. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pants. Col. Jul. 3. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Holt, Henry P.</span> (<i>See 1915, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devil Cat Meets Her Match. Am. June. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In The Cabin of the Chloe. Sh. St. Aug. (173.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hooker (william), Brian</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Branwen. Rom. June. (132.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hopper, James (Marie)</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Education of Percy Skinner. Ev. May. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pessimist Rewarded. Harp. M. Aug. (141: 351.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Horn, R. de S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Joss of the Golden Wheel. B. C. Jul. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hostetter, Van Vechten</span>. Superwoman. S. S. Nov., '19. (53.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They're All Alike. S. S. March. (99.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">House, Roy Temple</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Saint-Valéry, Leon De</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Count Roland's Ruby. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:143.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hughes, Rupert</span>. (1872- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Broken Flange. Cos. Nov., '19. (67.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Father of Waters. Cos. Jan. (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Momma. Col. June 26. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Stick-in-the-Muds. Col. Sept. 25. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hull, Alexander</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Argosies. Scr. Sept. (68:285.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hull, Helen R.</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Flaw. Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:747.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Separation. Touch. Mar. (6:371.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hunting, Ema S.</span> (1885- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dissipation. Mid. May. (6:47.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Soul that Sinneth. Mid. Aug. (6:128.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hurst, Fannie</span>. (1889- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Back Pay. Cos. Nov., '19. (35.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hurst, S. B. H.</span> (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*What Happened Between. Rom. Jul. (146.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hurwitz, Maximilian</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Eili, Eili, Lomo Asavtoni?" Men. Feb.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hussey, L. M.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Believer. S. S. April. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Family. Cen. Sept. (100:682.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father. S. S. Jan. (121.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gift of Illusion. S. S. June. (113.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hope Chest. S. S. Feb. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lowden Household. S. S. Aug. (97.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Memories. S. S. Nov., '19. (121.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Opponent. S. S. Oct., '19. (61.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Renunciation. S. S. May (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sisters. S. S. Nov., '19. (55.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Twilight of Love. S. S. Dec., '19. (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Two Gentlemen of Caracas. S. S. Dec., '19. (89.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Hutchinson, Arthur Stuart Menteth</span>. (1880- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bit of Luck. Ev. Feb. (66.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Imrie, Walter McLaren</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wife Who Needed Two Chairs. S. S. June. (91.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Irwin, Inez Haynes. (Inez Haynes Gillmore.)</span> (1873- .) (<i>See 1915 under</i> <span class="smcap">Gillmore, Inez Haynes</span>; <i>1916, 1917, 1918, 1919 under</i> <span class="smcap">Irwin, Inez Haynes</span>.) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Gillmore, Inez Haynes</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Long Carry. Met. Oct., '19. (42.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Irwin, Wallace</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Beauty. McC. Aug. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Direct Action. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Ham and Eggs." Pict. R. June. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joke. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Rundle's Exit. Pict. R. May. (34.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moonshine. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On to the Next. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waste Motions. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? S. E. P. May 22. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Irwin, Will(iam Henry)</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Copper Dan Imbibes. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In The Tower of Silence. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There Is a Santa Claus. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ittner, Anna Belle Rood</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Glory Bill. Scr. June. (67: 686.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jackson, Charles Tenney</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1916, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little Girl Who Never Saw a Hill. Arg. Mar. 13. (118:501.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Jacobs, W(illiam) W(ymark)</span>. (1863- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Artful Cards. Hear. Dec., '19 (17.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jagers, Dorothy De</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">De Jagers, Dorothy</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Jaloux, Edmond</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**At the Telephone. N. Y. Trib. June 13.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Poet's Revenge. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 8.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jenkin, A. I.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Premonition. S. S. Aug. (45.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jenkins, Charles Christopher</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bayonet of Henry Laberge. Arg. Feb. 21. (118:154.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Man Beneath. Arg. Oct. 25, '19. (113:691.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jenkins, George B., Jr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Four Faint Freckles and a Cheerful Disposition. S. S. Jan. (111.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">John, W. A. P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No'th Af'ican Lloyds, Ltd. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johns, Orrick.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Big Frog. S. S. Sept. (87.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Arthur</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mortimer. Scr. Jan. (67:57.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Princess of Tork. Met. Aug. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Burges</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**In the Barn. Cen. June. (100:198.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Olive McClintic</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Deep Ellum." Col. Dec. 20, '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Didja Getcha Feet Wet?" Col. Feb. 21. (7.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Johnson, Olive McClintic</span> (<i>con.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disagreeable as a Husband. Col. May 29. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Grief! Col. June 26. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moons—Full, Blue, and Honey. Col. Jan. 3. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turquoise Skies. Col. Feb. 7. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Joor, Harriet</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passing of the Littlest Twin. Mid. Nov.-Dec., '19. (5:260.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ship Island Box. Mid. Nov.-Dec., '19. (5:263.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jordan, Elizabeth (Garver)</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*At the Dim Gate. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Luncheon at One. Col. Aug. 21. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jordan, Kate. (Mrs. F. M. Vermilye.)</span> (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made Over. S. E. P. July 3. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Joyce, Thomas</span>." (<span class="smcap">Joyce Gary</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bad Samaritan. S. E. P. July 3. (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Consistent Woman. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Cure. S. E. P. May 1. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None But the Brave. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Piece of Honesty. S. E. P. June 26. (66.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Reformation. S. E. P. May 22. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Springs of Youth. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Judson, Jeanne</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Man. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Julius, Emanuel Haldeman-</span> (1888- .), <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Julius, Mrs. Emanuel Haldeman-</span>.) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>See 1917, 1918 under</i> <span class="smcap">Julius, Emanuel Haldeman</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Caught. Atl. Nov., '19. (124:628.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kahler, Hugh MacNair</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Babel. S. E. P. June 19. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buckpasser. Sept. 11. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hammer. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">KWYW. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lazy Duckling. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Obligee. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sensible Year. S. E. P. May 8. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild Carrot. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kavanagh, Herminie Templeton</span>. (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Templeton, Herminie</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bridgeen and the Leprechaun. L. H. J. Sept. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kelland, Clarence Budington</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Appetite for Marriage. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Backwoods Chess. Ev. Sept. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cheese in the Trap. Ev. June. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Wife's Place. Ev. Nov., '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ivanhoe Sagg's Keynote. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knots and Wind-Shakes. Ev. Apr. (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Martha Jib on the High Seas. Pict. R. Sep. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mysterious Murder of Myron Goodspeed. Am. Sept. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Administers Soothing Sirup. Am. Jan. (52.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Scattergood and the Prodigal's Mother. Am. Jul. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Borrows a Grandmother. Am. Dec., '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Dips in His Spoon. Am. Nov., '19. (50.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Invests in Salvation. Am. Mar. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Matches Wits with a Pair of Sharpers. Am. Oct., '19. (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Meddles with the Dangerous Age. Am. June. (56.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Moves to Adjourn. Am. May. (62.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattergood Skims a Little Cream. Am. Aug. (40.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Kelley, Leon</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carnival Queen. Pict. R. May. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Speeches Ain't Business." Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kelly, Eleanor Mercein</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Our Mr. Allerby. Cen. Apr. (99:737.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kelsey, Vera</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Late Harvests. Sun. Mar. (40.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kemper, S. H.</span> (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*O You Xenophon! Atl. Jul. (126:39.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Kennedy, Rowland</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flame. Dial. Feb. (68:221.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Preparing for Passengers. Dial. Feb. (68:228.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Talkin'. Dial. Feb. (68:224.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kennon, Harry B.</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grandmother's Ghost. Mir. Nov. 13, '19. (28:784.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Odd Roman. Mir, Jan. 8. (29:30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Single Cussedness. Mir. Jul. 22. (29:581.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kenton, Edna</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Branch of Wild Crab. L. St. Sept. (55.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kenyon, Camilla E. L.</span> (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Professional Honor. Sun. June. (36.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost Uncle. Sun. May. (41.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kerr, Sophie</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Underwood, Sophie Kerr</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Genius. W. H. C. Feb. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sitting On the World. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kilbourne, Fannie. ("Mary Alexander.")</span> (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918 under</i> <span class="smcap">Kilbourne, Fannie</span>, <i>and 1917 under</i> <span class="smcap">Alexander, Mary</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betty Bell and the Leading Man. Del. Jan. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Getting Even with Dulcie. Am. May. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">James Dunfield Grows Up. Del. Oct., '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stealing Cleopatra's Stuff. Am. June. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">King, J. A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Solid Comfort. Am. Sept. (70.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kirkland, Jeanne</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Miss Mamie Dearborn's Helmet. Pag. June. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ralph's Return. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Knibbs, Henry Herbert</span>. (1874- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Horse Deal in Hardpan. Pop. Sept. 20. (52.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Knight, (Clifford) Reynolds</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Melody Jim. Mid. Nov.-Dec. '19. (5:271.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Kobrin, Leon</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Lithuanian Idyll. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:236.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Komroff, Manuel</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Thumbs. (<i>R.</i>) Mir. Jan. 22. (29:55.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Kotsyubinsky, Michael</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***By the Sea. Asia. May. (20:411.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Kral, Carlos A. V.</span>" (1890- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Landscape with Trees, and Colored Twilight with Music. Lit. R. Jan. (4.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kraus, Harry</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Interlude. S. S. Apr. (113.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">La Motte, Elen Newbold</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Golden Stars. Cen. Oct., '19. (98:787.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Malay Girl. Cen. Aug. (100:555.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Widows and Orphans. Cen, Sept. (100:586.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Langebek, Dorothy May Wyon</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Seven." Mid. June. (6:64.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Langlais, Marc</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against Orders. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 2, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lapham, Frank</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Telegram That Johnny Didn't See. Am. Oct., '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">La Parde, Malcolm</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still Waters. Harp. M. Jul. (141:273.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lardner, Ring W.</span> (1885- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beautiful Katie, S. E. P. Jul. 10. (14.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Busher Pulls a Mays. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Larson, Mabel Curtius</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spark. L. H. J. Feb. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Lawrence, David Herbert</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Adolf. Dial. Sept. (69:269.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lawson, Cora Schilling</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Which Woman, John?" Am. Mar. (56.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lazar, Maurice</span>. (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heavenly Sophists. S. S. Dec., '19. (116.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lea, Fannie Heaslip. (Mrs. H. P. Agee.)</span> (1884- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crooked Stick. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Happily Ever After. Del. Apr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Casabianca. Del. Mar. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Story Not Without Words. Del. June. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Leach, Paul R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nerves. Col. Jul. 10. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Le Barillier, Berthe Carianne</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Bertheroy, Jean</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lebhar, Bertram</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Athletics for Cold Cash. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Le Boutillier, Cornelia Geer</span>. (1894- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919 under</i> <span class="smcap">Geer, Cornelia Throop</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Chaff. Scr. Aug. (68:204.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Picking and Stealing. Col. Jan. 31. (17.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lee, Jennette (Barbour Perry.)</span> (1860- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cat and the King. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twixt Cup and Lip. L. H. J. Jan. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lee, Muna</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dream. S. S. Oct., '19. (125.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Moonlight Sonata. S. S. Mar. (81.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Years Ahead. S. S. Dec., '19. (99.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Lehmann, René</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sensation Hunter. N. Y. Trib. May 23.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lemly, Rowan Palmer</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pagari. L. H. J. Apr. (24.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Leo, Rita Wellman</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Wellman, Rita</span>.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Lessing, Bruno</span>." (<span class="smcap">Rudolph Block</span>.) (1870- .) (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Explosion of Leah. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Treating 'Em Rough. Pict. R. Sept. (42.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Level, Maurice</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Begar. Hear. Apr. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Debt Collector. Hear. Nov., '19. (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Empty House. Hear. Sept. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Extenuating Circumstances. Hear. Oct., '19. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Kennel. Hear. Aug. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Maniac. Hear. Mar. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Son of His Father. Hear. Jul. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ten-Fifty Express. Hear. June. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Leverage, Henry</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sea Beef. B. C. Apr. (3.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Uncharted. Adv. Oct. 3., '19. (129.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Levick, Milnes</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In Court. S. S. Oct., '19. (123.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Jest in the Household. S. S. Dec., '19. (126.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of Modoc. S. S. June. (71.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Levison, Eric</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Gloria in Excelsis. T. T. Jan. (63.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Home. T. T. June. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mordecai. T. T. Nov., '19. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Where There Is No Light. T. T. Dec., '19. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewars, Elsie Singmaster</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Singmaster, Elsie</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Addison</span>. (1889- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Dinehart. Mir. Dec. 11. '19. (28:882.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Margaret Cameron</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Cameron, Margaret</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Orlando Faulkland</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Alma Mater. Red Bk. June. (53.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Orlando Faulkland</span> (<i>con.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Case of Aunt Mary. L. H. J. Feb. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man to Man. L. H. J. Jan. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Oscar</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Face Is Unfamiliar. S. S. Mar. (41.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl Who Accepted No Compromise. S. S. Aug. (65.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lewis, Sinclair</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bronze Bars. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Danger—Run Slow. S. E. P. Oct. 18, 25, '19. (3, 22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Habeas Corpus. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Way I See It. S. E. P. May 29. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Lichtenberger, André</span>. (1870- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Old Fisherwoman. Pag. Oct., '19. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lighton, William R(heem)</span>. (1866- .), <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Lighton, Louis Duryea</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918; and 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, and "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Lighton, William Rheem</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why Olaf Proposed in the Month of March. Am. Jan. (38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lindsay, Donald</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Violets. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (4.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Livingstone, Florence Bingham</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who Will Kiss Miss Parker? Sun. Dec., '19. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lockwood, Scammon</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl Who Slept in Bryant Park. L. H. J. Feb. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Loud, Lingard</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mister Jolly Well Murders His Wife. S. E. P. June 26. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pink Knickers and the Desperate Ship. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Louÿs, Pierre</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Birth of Prometheus. Mun. Oct., '19. (68:81.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***False Esther. Mir. June 24. (29:511.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lovewell, Reinette</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All Mrs. Flaherty's Fault. Am. Nov., '19. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lowe, Corinne</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Single Fellows. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lurie, R. L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quick Work by Philip. Am. May. (57.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Lyons, A(lbert Michael) Neil</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Deputy. Ev. May. (44.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mr. and Mrs. Oddy. Ev. Jul. (42.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mabie, Louise Kennedy</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mystery of the Red-Haired Girl, Am. Apr. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McClure, John</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tale of Krang. L. St. Nov., '19. (63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McCourt, Edna Wahlert</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lichen. Dial. May. (68:586.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McCrea, Marion</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Vannah of Our Ad-Shop. Ev. June. (44.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McDonnell, Eleanor Kinsella</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let's Pretend. L. H. J. Jul. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacFarlane, Peter Clark</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guile of Woman. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Game Called Life. L. H. J. May. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mad Hack Henderson. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (24.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">McGibney, Donald</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come-Back. L. H. J. Jul. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shift of Fate. L. H. J. Aug. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the Desert Calls. L. H. J. May. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White Angel. L. H. J. June. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacGowan, Alice</span> (1858- .), and <span class="smcap">Cooke, Grace MacGowan</span> (1863- .) (<i>See 1915 under</i> <span class="smcap">Cooke, Grace MacGowan</span>; <i>1916, 1917 under</i> <span class="smcap">MacGowan, Alice</span>; <i>"H" under both heads.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Girl Eve. S. E. P. June 26. (16.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">McGuirk, Charles J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fogarty's Flivver. Col. June 5. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mackendrick, Marda</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jean—In the Negative. Met. Mar. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">MacManus, L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Baptism. Cath. W. Sept. (111:780.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">MacManus, Seumas</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Conaleen and Donaleen. Pict. R. Sept. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Heart-Break of Norah O'Hara. Pict. R. Mar. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lad from Largymore. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">McNeille, Cyril ("Sapper")</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1917, 1919 under</i> "<span class="smcap">Sapper</span>.")<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Good Hunting, Old Chap." Harp. B. Sept. (52.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Mac-Richard, J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Electric Shoes. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 25.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Macy, J. Edward</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sea Ginger. Scr. Sept. (68:343.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Madrus, Lucie Delarue-</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Delarue-Madrus, Lucie</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mahoney, James</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Showing Up of Henry Widdemer. McCall. Aug. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mann, Jane</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Heritage. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Manning, Marie. (Mrs. Herman E. Gasch.)</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Liver Bank. Harp. M. Aug. (141:382.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Marchand, Leopold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Extremis. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 29.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Markey, Gene</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bugler. Scr. June. (67:704.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marquis, Don (Robert Perry)</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bubbles. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Kale. Ev. Sept. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Never Say Die. Ev. Apr. (73.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marquis, Neeta</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Violets for Sentiment. S. S. Sept. (65.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marriott, Crittenden</span>. (1867- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*What Dreams May Come True. L. St. Mar. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marsden, Griffis</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enter Lucy. Sun. Aug. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here Comes the Bride! Sun. Sept. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marrying Them. Sun. Nov., '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrong Medicine. Sun. Jan. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marshall, Bernard</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spilled Beans. Sun. Feb. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Marshall, Edison</span>. (1894- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Argali the Ram. Met. Jan.-Feb. (21:38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Count a Thousand—Slow—Between Each Drop." Am. Mar. (44.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Elephant Remembers. Ev. Oct., '19. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its Name Will Be Long-Ear Joe. Met. June. (34.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Never Stop—Never Give Up." Am. June. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Shadow of Africa. All. Nov. 1, '19. (103:332.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Martin, Helen R(eimensnyder)</span>. (1868- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birdie Reduces. Cen. May. (100:136.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Martovitch, Les</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Dance. Dial. Jul. (69:47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Mason, Alfred Edward Woodley</span>. (1865- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pilgrimage. Rom. Mar. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mason, Elmer Brown</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Does Money Talk? Col. Jul. 24. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mason, Grace Sartwell</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charm. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***His Job. Scr. Apr. (67:470.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Shining Moment. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mason, Gregory</span>. (1889- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jade Idol. Met. Feb. (23.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Mason, Laura Kent</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Receiving a Luncheon Invitation. S. S. Dec., '19. (53.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Masson, Thomas L(ansing)</span>. (1866- .) (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Nibs." Met. Oct., '19. (38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Matteson, Herman Howard</span>. (<i>See 1918, 1919</i>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He Is Singing to Me. Col. Dec. 20, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"No Abaft This Notice." Sun. Apr. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Maxwell, Helena</span>." (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Baker Brownell</span>.) (1896- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Adolescence. Pag. Apr.-May. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Her First Appearance. Lib. May. (24.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">May, Eric Paul</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proposal. S. S. Oct., '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Means, Eldred Kurtz</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Concerning a Red Head. Peop. Aug. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Plumb Nauseated. All. Mar. 13. (108:19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Prize-Money. All. June 26. (111:483.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Proof of Holy Writ. Mun. Sept. (70:645.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ten-Share Horse. Mun. May. (69:605.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mears, Mary M.</span> (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Forbidden Thing. Met. Apr. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Merrick, Leonard</span>. (1864- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"I Recall a Seat." Harp. B. Jul. (50.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*That Villain Her Father. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***To Daphne De Vere. McC. Feb. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Merwin, Samuel</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Utter Selfishness of J. A. Peters. McC. Mar.-Apr. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Meyer, Josephine Amelia</span>. (1864-.) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cave Stuff. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (53.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mezquida, Anna Blake</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't Be Too Sure—Mr. Hurd! Am. Jan. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Michener, Carroll K.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Dragon-Tongued Orchid. Sn. St. Aug. 18. (51.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Golden Dragon. McC. Jul (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Milbrite, Felden E.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Étude for the Organ. S. S. Aug. (126.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Mille, Pierre</span>. (1864- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"End of the World." N. Y. Trib. Mar. 14.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Truth of History. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 8.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Miller, Alice Duer</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Slow Poison. S. E. P. June 12. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Miller, Helen Topping</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*B-Flat Barto. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (32.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Damour Blood. B. C. May. (19.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Miller, Mary Britton</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**From Morn to Dewy Eve. Touch. Feb. (6:299.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sicilian Idyl. Touch. Jan. (6:218.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Millis, Walter</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Second Mate. Adv. Aug. 3. (51.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Millring, Ruth Brierley</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Homely Is As Homely Does. Del. Jan. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Minnigerode, Meade</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ball of Fire. Col. Apr. 10. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ground Floor Front. Col. May 29. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jimmy Repays. Col. Feb. 14. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monkeying with the Buzz Saw. Col. Mar. 6. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mysteries. Col. Mar. 27. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pure Gold. Col. Jan. 17. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mitchell, Mary Esther</span>, (1863- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Vendoo." Harp. M. June. (141:107.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mitchell, Ruth Comfort</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Sanborn Young</span>.) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bad Boy. Del. Apr. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carriage Waits. Ev. Dec., '19. (34.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Mister Morrison. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:876.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mitchell, Ruth Comfort</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Young, William Sanborn</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ranching of Nan. Del. Jul.-Aug. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Monro, Harold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Parcel of Love. Lit. R. Nov., '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Montague, Margaret Prescott</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Atl. June. (125:721.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mooney, Ralph E.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between Six O'Clock and Midnight. L. H. J. May. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Kent Understands. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (50.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Professor Comes Back. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Moore, Leslie</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Magician of Globes. Cath. W. Aug. (111:631.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Moravsky, Maria</span>. (1890- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bracelet from the Grave. Rom. Jul. (156.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Remembrance that Kills. L. St. Sept. (3.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**White Camels. Met. May. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Mordaunt, Elinor</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Adventures in the Night. Met. June. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ginger Jar. Met. Nov., '19. (17.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Morgan, J. L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the World's Championship. S. S. Jan. (31.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Literature. S. S. Feb. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Personally Conducted. S. S. Oct., '19. (69.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Morley, Felix</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Legend of Nantucket. O. O. June. (2:214.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Moroso, John Antonio</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Danny's Gold Star. L. H. J. Apr. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glint of Gold. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">House in the Woods. L. H. J. Feb. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet Sally Magee. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mosher, John Chapin</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belle Hobbs. S. S. May. (63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mumford, Ethel Watts</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Ethel Watts-Mumford Grant</span>.) (1878- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Look of the Copperleys. L. H. J. Apr. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Manifestation of Henry Ort. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Unto Her a Child Was Born. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Munsterberg, Margarete</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Silent Music. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:57.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Murray, Roy Irving</span>. (1882- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Substitute. Scr. Jul. (68:82.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Muth, Edna Tucker</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Gallipeau. Harp. M. Oct., 19. (139:721.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tidal Waif. Sun. Oct., '19. (39.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Myers, Elizabeth (Fettor) Lehman</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Autumn Blooming. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mygatt, Gerard</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Félice. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Starter. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Neidig, William Jonathan</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1916 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bloodhound. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Brother Act. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shansi Woman. Ev. Aug. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stained Fingers. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweat of Her Brow. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Nervo, Amado</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Leah and Rachel. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Nevinson, Henry W(oodd)</span>. (1852- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***In Diocletian's Day. Atl. Oct. '19. (124:472.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +*<span class="smcap">Newton, W. Douglas</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Life o' Dreams. Sn. St. Mar. 4. (75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nicholson, Meredith</span>. (1866- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Housewarming. L. H. J. May. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Roger. Del. Nov., '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Niles, Blair</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tropic Frogs. Harp. M. Apr. (140:671.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Nodier, Charles</span>. (1780-1844.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Bibliomaniac. Strat. J. Oct.-Dec. (5:177.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Norris, Kathleen</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Engine Trouble. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (28.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Friday the 13th. G. H. Nov., '19. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"God's in His Heaven." G. H. Oct., '19. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home. G. H. Sept. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silvester Birch's Child. G. H. Mar. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Christmas Love from Barbara. G. H. Dec., '19. (26.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Noyes, Alfred</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Beyond the Desert. Red Bk. Aug. (57.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bill's Phantasm. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Court-Martial. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Troglodyte. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wine Beyond the World. S. E. P. May 8. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Brien, Frederick</span>. (<i>See 1919 under</i> <span class="smcap">O'Brien, Frederick</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Lane, Rose Wilder</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Jade Bracelet of Ah Queen. Col. May 22. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Taboo of Oomoa. Harp. B. June. (60.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Brien, Mary Heaton Vorse</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton</span>.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">O'Grady, R.</span>" (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Brothers. Mid. Jan.-Mar. (6:7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Hagan, Anne. (Anne O'Hagan Shinin.)</span> (1869- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Return. Touch. Jan. (6: 181.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Hara, Frank Hurburt</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Life of Eddie Slaggin. Pict. R. Apr. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now Wasn't that Just Like Father! Am. Jul. (62.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Higgins, Harvey Jerrold</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Story of Big Dan Reilly. McC. Mar.-Apr. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Story of Mrs. Murchison. McC. May-June. (25, 27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Strange Case of Warden Jupp. McC. Aug. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oliver, Owen</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wanted: a Kind Fairy. Holl. Sept. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Malley, Austin</span>. (1858- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Strong Box. (<i>R.</i>) Mir. May 27. (29: 437.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Neill, Agnes Boulton</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Boulton, Agnes</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oppenheim, James</span>. (1882- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Rending. Dial. Jul. (69: 35.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Oppenheimer, James</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet Kanuck. Met. Jan. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Osborne, William Hamilton</span>. (1873- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amazing Indiscretion. Met. Apr.-May. (20, 18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Handsomely Trimmed. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rush to Cover. S. E. P. May 15. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seeing Things Again. S. E. P. May 8. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turn of the Wrist. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Osbourne, Lloyd</span>. (1868- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***East Is East. Met. Apr. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ghosts Go West. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">O'Sullivan, Vincent</span>. (1872- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dance-Hall at Unigenitus. S. S. Mar. (53.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">O'Toole, E. J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First Snow. Cath. W. Jan. (110:476.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Owen, H. Collinson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Temptation of Antoine. Pict. R. Sept. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Owen, Margaret Dale</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Point of View. All. Oct. 18, '19. (102:690.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Oxford, John Barton</span>." <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Shelton, Richard Barker</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paine, Albert Bigelow</span>. (1861- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Being a Landlord. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:929.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Murphy's Kitchen. Harp. M. Feb. (140:424.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paine, Ralph Delahaye</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mrs. Tredick's Husband. Scr. Mar. (67:297.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pangborn, Georgia Wood</span>. (1872- .) (<i>See 1911, 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Andy MacPherson's House. Rom. Aug. (78.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Children of Mount Pyb. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:98.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*When the Ice Went Out. Rom. May. (72.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Parkhurst, Genevieve</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blind Alleys. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Parkhurst, Winthrop</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holy Matrimony. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Law of Averages. S. S. Apr. (91.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spooks. S. S. Nov., '19. (107.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Parmenter, Christine Whiting</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christmas Magic. Am. Dec., '19. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I Never Could Have Married Anybody Else." Am. Mar. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jilted—Because of Her Clothes! Am. Feb. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marcia Lets Her Conscience Take a Brief Vacation. Am. Jan. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peach in Pink. Met. Jan. (42.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Parsons, Lewis</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dick Tresco and the Yellow Streak. Am. Mar. (62.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wonderful Dog with a Dual Nature. Am. Oct., '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Partridge, Edward Bellamy</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floating Foot. Met. Aug. (31.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Loan Shark. Met. June. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pattullo, George</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Captain. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame Patsy, the Gusher Queen. S. E. P. May 22. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oo, Là, Là! S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Romance of Thomás Dozal. S. E. P. June 19. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Payne, Elizabeth Stancy</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Trying Age. Ev. Jan. (55.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Payne, Will</span>. (1855- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Age of Chivalry. Det. N. Jul. 18. (pt. 6 p. 6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Eye for an Eye. Cos. Aug. (75.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lucky Mary. Red Bk. Mar. (59.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Unbidden Guest. Cos. Sept. (75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pearce, Theodocia</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Spice Out of Life. L. H. J. Aug. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pearsall, Robert J.</span> (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Escape. Adv. Aug. 18. (166.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pelley, William Dudley</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Auctioneer. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Conversion of John Carver. Red Bk. Oct., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Devil Dog. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*February-Third Joe. All. Feb. 28. (107:342.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*They Called Her Old Mother Hubbard. Red Bk. Dec., '19. (64.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Trails to Santa Fé. Red Bk. Sept. (78.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Peltier, Florence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Left-Handed Jingoro and the Irate Landlord. Asia. Sept. (20:802.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Pendleton, T. D.</span>" <i>see</i> <span class="smcap">Cummins</span>, <span class="smcap">T. D. Pendleton</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Perry, Clay</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">White Light. Met. June. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Perry, Lawrence</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Dilettante. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lothario of the Sea Bird. L. H. J. Aug. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Matter of Sentiment. Scr. Oct., '19. (66:438.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Real Game. Ev. Jul. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Spoiled Boy. Ev. Nov., '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Perry, Montanye</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Three Kings. Del. Dec., '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Pertwee, Roland</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Elizabeth Anne. S. E. P. May 15. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mary Ottery. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Various Relations. S. E. P. June 5. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Phillips, Michael James</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Silken Bully. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Phillpotts, Eden</span>. (1862- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Amy Up a Tree. Del. June. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mother of the Rain. Rom. Mar. (78.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tyrant. Cen. Feb. (99:450.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pickthall, Marjorie L(owry) C(hristie)</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Boy in the Corner. W. H. C. May. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Name. Sun. Mar. (33.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">**Without the Light. G. H. Mar. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Picón, Jacinto Octavio</span>. (1852- .)<br /> +***After the Battle. (<i>R.</i>) Mir. Aug. 26. (29:664.)<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Polk, Paul M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Prayer and Faith. Tod. Oct., '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Porter, Harold Everett</span>. <i>see</i> "<span class="smcap">Hall, Holworthy</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Porter, Katherine Anne</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Adventures of Hadji. Asia. Aug. (20:683.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Post, Melville Davisson</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*House by the Loch. Hear. May. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lost Lady. McCall. June. (10.)</span><br /> +***Yellow Flower. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (12.)<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Potter, Jane Grey</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lass Who Loved a Sailor. Scr. May. (67:603.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Strong Arm. Scr. Feb. (67:224.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pottle, Emery</span> (<span class="smcap">Bemsley</span>). (1875- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">**Little House. Touch. Apr. (7:51.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pottle, Juliet Wilbor Tompkins</span>. <i>see</i> <span class="smcap">Tompkins, Juliet Wilbor</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pulver, Mary Brecht</span>. (1883- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">**Fortune's Favorites. Ev. Mar. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lucifer. Del. Feb. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Wings of Love. Del. June. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Putnam, Nina Wilcox</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Comme Si, Comme Ça. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Higher the Fewer. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Immediate Possession. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Price of Pickles. S. E. P. May 15. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ring-Around-a-Rosy. S. E. P. June 12. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Seeing's Believing. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Spiritualism Frumenti. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rabel, Du Vernet</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her Last Affair. L. H. J. Apr. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Kin of William the Norman. L. H. J. Jul. (22.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Material Motives. Ev. Jan. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">West Window. Met. Nov., '19. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You Can't Take That to Simpson's. Ev. Oct., '19. (24.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Rameau, Jean</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Nouveau Riche Cat. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 15.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Ocarina. N. Y. Trib. June 6.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Prayer. N. Y. Trib. Mar. 7.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ramsay, Robert E.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tabitha Mehitabel Sweet. L. H. J. June. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ranck, Edwin Carty</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1916, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just Plain Dog. Met. Apr. (31.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Raphaelson, Sampson</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Li'l' Old Town. Del. May. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ravenel, Beatrice Witte</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love Is Free. Harp. M. Feb. (140:346.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Something to Remember. Harp. M. Jan. (140:236.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ray, Marie Beynon</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lost Marquise. S. S. Mar. (33.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Pride of Race. Harp. B. Dec., '19. (70.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Redington, Sarah</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anne Thinks It Over. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:592.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why I Dislike My Husband." Sun. June. (52.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reese, Lowell Otus</span>. (1866- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bachelor. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind the Velvet. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clink of the Spurs. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foster Fathers. Col. Sept. 11. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Table Butte. Col. May 29. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Régis, Roger</span>. (<i>See 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Test. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 22.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reid, M. F.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doodle Buys a Bull Pup. Ev. Aug. (64.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Initiation of Scorp-for-Short. Cen. Aug. (100:570.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reindel, Margaret H.</span> (1896- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fear. Touch. Mar. (6:400.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Relonde, Maurice</span>." (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Holy Pilgrimage. Pag. Jan. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield)</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Fair Daughter of a Fairer Mother. Ev. Mar. (79.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Shy Ghost. McC. Sept. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Small Frog. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:49.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Style in Hats. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomas Robinson's Affair with an Actress. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rice, Alice (Caldwell) Hegan</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nut. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:1.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rice, Cale Young</span>. (1872- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Aaron Harwood. Cen. Jul. (100:346.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Lowry. Cen. Feb. (99:549.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rice, Louise</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lubbeny Kiss. Ain. Oct.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Richardson, Dorothy M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sunday. (<i>R.</i>) Mir. Oct. 16, '19. (28:709.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Richardson, Norval</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bracelet. McC. Jul. (29.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Riche, Daniel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First Call. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 14, '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Royal Canary. N. Y. Trib. Mar. 28.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Richens, Christine Eadie</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inner Enemy. Del. Mar. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Richter, Conrad</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cabbages and Shoes. Ev. Mar. (61.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Making of "Val" Pierce. Am. Apr. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man Who Hid Himself. Am. Jul. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rideout, Henry Milner</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Toad. S. E. P. June 19. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rinehart, Mary Roberts</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Finders Keepers. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Riper, Charles King Van</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Van Riper, Charles King</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ritchie, Robert Welles</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Odd Case of the Second Back. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (28.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rivers, Stuart</span>. (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Circular Letter. Peop. Mar. (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fresh Guy. Met. Feb. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Genius. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (50.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robbins, Leonard H.</span> (1877- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Ain't This the Darndest World!" Am. May. (70.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christmas Card. Met. Dec., '19 (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Professor Todd's Used Car. Ev. Jul. (37.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roberts, Kenneth Lewis</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pergola Preferred. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roberts, Walter Adolphe</span>. (1886- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Adventure of the Portrait. Ain. Mar. (111.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Robinson, Mabel L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daughter of a Diplomat. Del. Mar. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dr. Tam O'Shanter. Del. Nov., '19. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dr. Tam O'Shanter Comes to Town. Del. Jan. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sakes Alive! Del. May. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roche, Arthur Somers</span>. (1883- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Dummy-Chucker. Cos. June. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roche, Mazo De La</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">De La Roche, Mazo</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"D'ye Ken John Peel?" W. H. C. Nov., '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Explorers of the Dawn. Atl. Oct., '19. (124:532.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roe, Vingie E.</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Rose of El Forja. Sun. Jul. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Land of Unforgetting. Pict. R. Sept. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Let's Go with Honor." Sun. Oct., '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monsieur Plays. Sun. Dec., '19. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prides of Black Coulee. Pict. R. Mar. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red Dapple. Ev. Aug. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sign of High Endeavor. Met. Nov., '19. (38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Third Degree at Port O'Light. Met. Oct., '19. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Hohmer, Sax</span>." (<span class="smcap">Arthur Sarsfield Ward</span>.) (1883- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">House of the Golden Joss. Col. Aug. 7. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man with the Shaven Skull. Col. Sept. 18. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roof, Katharine Metcalf</span>. <i>(See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Exile. Touch. Feb. (6:314.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rosenblatt, Benjamin</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Stepping Westward. Mid. Sept.-Oct., '19. (5:217.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Transformation. Strat. J. Oct.-Dec., '19. (5:217.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Rosny, J. H.</span> <i>aîné.</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bolshevist Marat. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 26.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl in the Engraving. N. Y. Trib. June 27.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Roy, Manabendra Nath</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Granich, Irwin</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Roy, Manabendra Nath</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Ruby, J. Bruno-</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Bruno-Ruby, J.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rumsey, Frances</span>. (1886- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Cash. Cen. Aug. (100:433.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Runkle, Bertha (Brooks). (Mrs. Louis H. Bash.)</span> (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who's Who in America. Am. Oct., '19. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Russell, Alice Dyar</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Birthright. Del. Apr. (9.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Russell, John</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*One Drop of Moonshine. McC. Mar.-Apr. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wreck on Deliverance. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yellow Professor. Col. May 15. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Russell, Phillips</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Troubadour. S.S. Jan. (115.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +"<span class="smcap">Rutledge, Maryse</span>." (<span class="smcap">Maryse Rutledge Hale</span>.) ("<span class="smcap">Marice Rutledge</span>.") (<span class="smcap">Marie Louise Goetchius</span>.) (<span class="smcap">Marie Louise van Saanen</span>.) (1884- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918 under</i> <span class="smcap">Van Saanen, Marie Louise</span>.) (<i>See "H" under</i> <span class="smcap">Goetchius, Marie Louise</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***House of Fuller. S. E. P. May 29. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Thing They Loved. Cen. May. (100:110.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ryan, Kathryn White</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Man of Cone. Mun. Mar. (69:231.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mrs. Levering. Mun. Jul. (70:346.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Sea. All. May 1. (109:454.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Swine of Circe. S. S. Feb. (99.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ryerson, Florence</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Babs and the Little Gray Man. Aug. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saanen, Marie Louise Van</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Rutledge, Maryse</span>."<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Sabatini, Rafael</span>. (1875- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Scapulary. Rom. Aug. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Saint-Valéry, Leon De</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">House, Roy Temple</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Saint-Valéry, Leon De</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saltus, Edgar (Evertson)</span>. (1858- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ghost Story. Mun. Jul. (70:224.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Saltykov, M. Y. ("N. Schedrin.")</span> (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Wild Squire. S. S. June (123.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sangster, Margaret Elizabeth, Jr.</span> (1894- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">City Dust. G. H. May. (39.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saphier, William</span>. (1883- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Kites. Lit. R. Dec., '19.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wise Man. Lit. R. Mar. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sapinsky, Joseph</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Crazy Gambler Paul. McCall. June. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Sapper</span>." <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">McNeille, Cyril</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sawhill, Myra</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How Much Did Good Clothes Help Bob Gilmore? Am. Sept. (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rev. Mr. Deering Sues His Congregation. Am. Jul. (39.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sawyer, Ruth</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Albert C. Durand</span>.) (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glorious Comedy. L. H. J. Jan. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Simple Simon and the Fourth Dimension. Ev. June. (54.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Saxby, Charles</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Betrayal. Ev. Mar. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Cucharo. Met. Dec., '19. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In Camera. Ev. Feb. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scarborough, Dorothy</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Drought. Cen. May. (100:12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Schauffler, Margaret Widdemer</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Widdemer, Margaret</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*"<span class="smcap">Schedrin</span>, N." <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Saltykov, M. Y.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scheffauer, Herman George</span>. (1878- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Brother of the Woods. Mun. Mar. (69:307.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Drama in Dust. Mun. Feb. (69:111.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Scheffer, Robert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Road of Long Ago. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 18.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Schnitzler, Arthur</span>. (1862- .) (<i>See 1916.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Crumbled Blossoms. Dial. June. (68:711.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scoggins, C. E.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home for Ho Fat Wun. L. H. J. June. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scott, Arthur P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yvette. Harp. M. Apr. (140:713.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scott, Donna R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Convictions. Pag. Oct., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scott, Margretta</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mrs. Lionel Felker—Accompanist. Mir. May 13. (29:388.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spring at Schlosser's. Mir. Mar. 11. (29:180.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Scoville, Samuel, Jr.</span> (1872- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blackbear. L. H. J. Jan. (8.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cleanleys. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (7.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seaman, Augusta Huiell</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dream Bread. Del. Oct., '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sedgwick, Anne Douglas. (Mrs. Basil, De Sélincourt.)</span> (1873- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Christmas Roses. Atl. Nov.-Dec., '19. (124:674, 796.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seeley, Herman Gastrell</span>. (1891- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Craven. B. C. Aug. (46.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seifert, Shirley L.</span> (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nicest Boy. Del. Jul.-Aug. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">P. Gadsby—Venturer. Met. May. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Terry's Youthful Ideal. Met. Nov., '19. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow. S. E. P. June 19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Seifert, Marjorie Allen</span>. (1885- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Lizzie. Mir. Jul. 1. (29:527.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shipwreck. Mir. Dec. 25, '19. (28:953.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sélincourt, Mrs. Basil De</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Sedgwick, Anne Douglas</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Senior, Mary</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Died of Other Causes." Touch. Oct., '19. (6:47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sexton, Bernard</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*How a Hermit Gained Kingdom and Treasure. Asia. Aug. (20:702.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jackal and the Rats. Asia. June. (20:513.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*King Discovers His First Gray Hair. Asia. Sept. (20:815.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Stonecutter and the Mouse. Asia. May. (20:378.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tortoise Who Talked. Asia. Jul. (20:624.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shawe, Victor</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Big Timber. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seattle Slim and the Two Per Cent Theory. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shelton (Richard), Barker</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917 under</i> "<span class="smcap">Oxford, John Barton</span>.") (<i>See 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bridegroom Cometh. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little of Both. Ev. May. (37.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Private Performance. L. H. J. June. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Subjunctive Mood. Ev. Aug. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shields, Gertrude M.</span> (1890- .) (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Her Promised Land. Cen. Jul. (100:393.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shinn, Anne O'Hagan</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">O'Hagan, Anne</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shipp, Margaret Busbee</span>. (1871- .) (<i>See 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Closed Gentians. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:171.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Priscilla and Her Penates. Ev. Jan. (69.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shore, Nancy</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Secret of the Neals. Red Bk. Jan. (44.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shore, Viola Brothers</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cast Upon the Waters. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (42.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dimi and the Double Life. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Hand That Jerks the Strings." Am. Jan. (27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We Can't Afford It. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young Adventuress. S. E. P. June 19. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Shute, Henry Augustus</span>. (1856- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Scholastic Fourth. Del. Jul.-Aug. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sidney, Rose</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Butterflies. Pict. R. Sept. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Simpson, Robert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Whoso Diggeth a Pit. Met. Feb. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sinclair, May</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fame. Pict. R. May. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Singmaster, Elsie. (Elsie Singmaster Lewards.)</span> (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Madness of Henrietta Havisham. McCall. Feb. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Miss Vilda. Scr. Jul. (68:98.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Salvadora. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:135.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Slyke, Lucille Baldwin Van</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Van Slyke, Lucille Baldwin</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Smale, Fred C.</span> (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Experts. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:624.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Elizabeth Parker</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Algy Allen's Celadon. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:684.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Garret</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Host at No. 10. Met. Jan. (23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Hutch Lives Up to It. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Gordon Arthur</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Bottom of the Cup. Scr. Mar. (67:355.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*No Flowers. Harp. M. May. (140:785.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They All Go Mad in June. Ev. June. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Smith, Maxwell</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dated. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Funny Fingers. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sneddon, Robert W.</span> (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bank of Love. Arg. June 12. (122:23.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bonds of Bohemia. Arg. Jul. 17. (123:203.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Figures of Wax. Sn. St. Nov. 18, '19. (*7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Full o' the Moon. L. St. May. (15.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Golden Snail Is Born." L. St. Oct., '19. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Guardian Angels of Charlot. T.T. Aug. (53.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Little Finot. Sn. St. Feb. 18. (33.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Love and Lions. Ain. Apr. (46.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Solano, Solita.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her Honeymoon. S. S. June. (57.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Solomons. Theodore Seixa</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*In the Maw of the Ice. Adv. Sept. 3. (75.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Spears, Raymond Smiley</span>. (1876- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bump. Col. Feb. 28. (6.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sprague, J. R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Expired Loans. S. E. P. May 1. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Factory Chasers. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing But Business. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Springer, Fleta Campbell</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1915 1916, 1918; see 1917 under</i> <span class="smcap">Campbell, Fleta</span>.) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Civilization. Harp. M. March. (140:544.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Romance. Mun. Aug. (70:556.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Rotter. Harp. M. Jul. (141:157.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stabler, Harry Snowden</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Zebra Mule. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Stacpoole, Henry De Vere Stacpoole-</span>. (1865- .) (<i>See 1916, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Middle Bedroom. All. Nov. 29, '19. (104:199.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Starrett, Vincent</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">End of the Story. S. S. Sept. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Penny Walk. Mir. Mar. 18. (29:205.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stearns, M. M.</span> <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Amid, John</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steele, Alice Garland. (Mrs. T. Austin-Ball.)</span> (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Awake, Thou Sleeper! Wom. W. Apr. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blossom in Waste Places. Am. Aug. (57.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Same Old Corker. Am. Dec., '19. (54.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steele, Rufus (Milas)</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trouble Doc. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Steele, Wilbur Daniel</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Both Judge and Jury. Harp. M. Jan. (140:179.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Clay and the Cloven Hoof. Harp. M. Oct.-Nov., '19. (139:683; 889.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Out of Exile. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***God's Mercy. Pict. R. Jul. Aug. (17.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Stéphane, B.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Adéle. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 4.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stephens, James</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Boss. Dial. Apr. (68:411.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Desire. Dial. June. (68:277.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Thieves. Dial. Aug. (69:142.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stetson, Cushing</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Third Light from a Match. Met. Aug. (32.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Stevens, Margaret Dean</span>." <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Aldrich, Bess Streeter</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stevenson, Philip E.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Reward of a Prodigal. Lit. St. June. (19.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Stock, Ralph</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of the Rut. Col. Jan. 10. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stolper, B. J.</span> (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*New Moon. Rom. Nov., '19. (105.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Storm, Ethel</span>." (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Three Telegrams. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Strahan, Kay Cleaver</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dollars and Sense. Am. June. (70.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Imitation Paradise. Del. May. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Machiavelli. Del. Oct., '19. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Street, Julian (Leonard)</span>. (1879- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Case of Mrs. Allison. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hands. McC. Sept. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Streeter, Edward</span>. (1891- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back to Nature—and Back. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Laughing Horse of Gallup Street. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (3.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stribling, T. S.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passing of the St. Louis Bearcat. Ev. Dec., '19. (51.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Stringer, Arthur (John Arbuthnott)</span>. (1874- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cuff Shooter. S. E. P. May 22. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Strunsky, Rose</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Peter Karpovitch. Asia. Feb.-Mar. (20:214.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Sugimoto, Hanano Inagaki</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Ivory Skull. Scr. Jan. (67:83.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sullivan, Charles J.</span> (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**From Out the Centuries. B. C. Apr. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sutphen (William Gilbert), Van Tassel</span>. (1861- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Match-Maker. Harp. M. June. (141:45.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Swain, John D</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Affairs at Baker's Bluff. All. Nov. 22, '19. (104:20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Deadwood. Arg. Jul. 31. (123:561.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fighting Machine. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*From Appetites to Arcadia. S. E. P. May 15. (40.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Man Who Was Never Knocked Out. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Unfinished Game. Arg. Mar. 6. (118:443.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Sylvaire, Dominique</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Choice. N. Y. Trib. Oct. 5, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Synon, Mary</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Night of the Charity Ball. Red Bk. Apr. (43.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*On Scarlet Wings. Red Bk. Jul. (57.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Second-Best. McCall. Sept. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Top of the Ladder. McC. Aug. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tanner, Marion</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enemy of Santa Claus. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:153.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tarkington (Newton), Booth</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Dishonorable Dolls. Met. Apr. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Other Things of Life. Met. Jan. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tarleau, Lisa Ysaye</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Blue Roses. Atl. Nov., '19. (124:614.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Taylor, Anne Leland</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man's Mind. S. S. Apr. (37.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Taylor, D. Wooster</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Murphy's Mummy. Am. Nov., 10. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Tchekov, Anton Pavlovich</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Templeton, Herminie</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Kavanagh, Herminie Templeton</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Terhune, Albert Payson</span>. (1872- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bean Spiller. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dub of Peace. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foul Fancier. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heroine. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ringer. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Terhune, Albert Payson</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Bulger, Bozeman</span>. (<i>See also</i> <span class="smcap">Bulger, Bozeman</span>.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Yas-Suh, 'At's er Dog! S. E. P. Apr. 10. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thayer, Mabel Dunham</span>. (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Clay Puppets. Met. June. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uplifting Mary. S. E. P. May 8. (40.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Thibault, Jacques Anatole</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">France, Anatole</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thompson, James Henry</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**$.89 Worth of Devotion. B. C. Jul. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tildesley, Alice L.</span> (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cabell Drives the Nail. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lewis Dare. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Titus, Harold</span>. (1888- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Aliens. L. H. J. May (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crowded Hearthstone. Ev. Jul. (44.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Tolstoy, Count Ilya</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Bolshevik Soldier. Ev. Oct., '19. (86.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tompkins, Juliet Wilbor</span>. (<span class="smcap">Juliet Wilbor Tompkins Pottle</span>.) (1871- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Man. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sic Semper. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (14.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tonjoroff, Svetozar (Ivanoff)</span>. (1870- .) (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the Bridge of Sighs. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*From Hopeless Soil. L. H. J. Apr. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Toohey, John Peter</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Days of His Youth. Met. Dec., '19. (25.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prince There Wasn't. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Water's Fine. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Torrey, Grace</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maroon-Colored, with Wire Wheels. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tone of Lafayette Arms. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Towne, Charles Hanson</span>. (1877- .) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upper Ten. S. S. Jul. (63.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Train, Arthur (Cheney)</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beyond a Reasonable Doubt. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dog Andrew. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hocus-Pocus. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*"Honor Among Thieves." S. E. P. Apr. 24. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In re Misella. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (24.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kid and the Camel. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passing of Caput Magnus. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shyster. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ways That Are Dark. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Train, Ethel Kissam</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Arthur Train.</span>) (1875- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Garden. Met. Aug. (18.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Trapnell, Edna Valentine</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Lady. L. St. Oct., '19. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Trueba, Antonio De</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Portal of Hegaven. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:86.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tuckerman, Arthur</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Black Magic. Scr. Aug. (68:166.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Turnbull, Agnes Sligh</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost—a $2,500 Engagement Ring. Am. Sept. (47.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Turner, George Kibbe</span>. (1869- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Clank Clinkscales' Duodenum. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (3.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gloama, the Beautiful Ticket Agent. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden Name. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old General Jazz. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ueland, Brenda</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Natured Girl. Met. May. (36.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hootch Hound. Met. Sept. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Underbill, Ruth Murray</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Goldfish Bowl. L. H. J. Aug. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Underwood, Edna Worthley</span>. (1873- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Orchid of Asia. Asia. Aug.-Sept. (20:657, 771.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Underwood, Sophie Kerr</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Kerr, Sophie</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Updegraff, Allan</span>, (1883- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harrying Fiend. Harp. M. Jan. (140:160.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Updegraff, Robert R.</span> (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Specification. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rip Van Winkle Lands an Order. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Upper, Joseph</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cheque. S. S. Feb. (101.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Gray Doves. S. S. Feb. (76.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sisterhood. S. S. Mar. (125.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Vail, Lawrence</span>." (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conrad's Apology for Earth. S. S. March. (29.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passing of Don Quixote. S. S. Jul. (117.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swan Song of a Kiss. S. S. Sept. (111.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twilight Adventure. S. S. Apr. (51.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Valdagne, Pierre</span>. (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Seat of the Right. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 12.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Valmer, Binet-</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Binet-Valmer</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Van, Stephen Ta</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sheep-Face. S. S. Mar. (67.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sheep-Face II. S. S. May. (103.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Van De Water, Virginia (Belle) Terhune</span>. (1865- .) (<i>See 1916.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Water Spilled on the Ground. S. S. May. (93.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Van Riper, Charles King</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hole in the Doughnut. S. S. Mar. (85.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Triumph. S. S. May. (123.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Van Saanen, Marie Louise</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Rutledge, Maryse</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Van Slyke, Lucille Baldwin</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boy Who Missed the War. Del. Jan. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man Who Was Tired of His Wife. Del. May. (7.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You Have to Keep in Tune. L. H. J. Jul. (25.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vermilye, Kate Jordan</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Jordan, Kate</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Volland, Gabriel</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Siren. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 11.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Original. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 16, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton. (Mary Heaton Vorse O'Brien.)</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">* Dream Killers. Rom. Jan. (38.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fraycar's Fist. Lib. Sept. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hopper. Lib. Apr. (34.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**House of Storms. W. H. C. Mar. (7.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pink Fence. McCall. Jul. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*True Talisman. W. H. C. Aug. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Waldo, Harold</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Twelve Hundred. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (22.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Walker, Beatrice McKay</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Tomley's Gossoon. Holl. Jul. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Wallace, Edgar</span>. (1875- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mother o' Mine. Met. Mar. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Walpole, Hugh</span>. (1884- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Case of Miss Morganhurst. Pict. R. May. (17.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Fanny's Job. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Honourable Clive Torby. Pict. R. June. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***No Place for Absalom. Pict. R. Apr. (16.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Stealthy Visitor. Pict. R. Mar. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Third Six. Pict. R. Sept. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Walton, Emma Lee</span>. (H.)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*His Masterpiece. Am. Oct., '19. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Ward, Arthur Sarsfield</span>. <i>See</i> "<span class="smcap">Rohmer, Sax</span>."<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ward, Herbert Dickinson</span>. (1861- .) (<i>See 1916, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Greater Than Creed. L. H. J. Apr. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Master Note. L. H. J. Jan. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the Silk-Cotton Tree. L. H. J. Jul. (10.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Ward, Winifred</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Skyscraper. Met. Aug. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Sleeping Beauty. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wasson, David A.</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blind Goddess Nods. B. C. Dec., '19. (114.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Water, Virginia Terhune Van De</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Van De Water, Virginia Terhune</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Waterhouse, Irma</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Aftermath. Cen. Mar. (99:584.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Closed Road. Cen. June. (100:165.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Weed, Dole</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Flying Hours. T. T. Feb. (117.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Weiman, Rita</span>. (1889- .) (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back Drop. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curtain! S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Weitzenhorn, Louis</span>. (1893- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adventure of His Daily Bread. Met. May. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adventure of the Code. Met. Apr. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adventure of the Diamond Watches. Met. Mar. (23.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Welles, Harriett Ogden Deen</span>. (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***According to Ruskin. W. H. C. June. (21.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Chinese Interlude. Scr. Apr. (67:431.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Distracting Adeline. Scr. May. (67:558.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**One Hundred Years Too Soon. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:663.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Thrush. Harp. B. May. (80.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wellman, Rita</span>. (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Edgar F. Leo</span>.) (1890- .) (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clerk. S. S. Oct., '19. (117.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Little Priest of Percé. S. S. Aug. (107.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Spanish Knife. S. S. Jul, (39.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Two Lovers, Ain. Sept. (119.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Welty, Ruth</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crises. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (12.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Weston, George (T.)</span>. (1880- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diplomatic Corps. S. E. P. June 5. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fool of the Family. S. E. P. May 1. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girls Don't Gamble Any More. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hard-Boiled Mabel. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Wharton, Anthony</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Gingerbread for Two." Pict. R. June. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Miss Ashton's House. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (16.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wharton, Francis Willing</span>. (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Byway of Darby. Ev. Mar. (74.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Wheeler, Post</span>. (1869- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Talking Skull. Rom. Sept. (77.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wheelwright, John Tyler</span>. (1856- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Roman Bath. Scr. Jan. (67:33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">White, Nelia Gardner</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl Next Door to Old Pinchpenny's. Am. Sept. (27.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whiting, Robert Rudd</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Romance of a Practising Ph.D. Scr. Oct., '19. (66:487.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whitman, Stephen French</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Amazement, Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:654.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Last Room of All. Harp. M. June. (141:27.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Lost Waltz. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (26.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***To a Venetian Tune. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:836.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whitson, Beth Slater</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Birthmark. True St. Nov., '19. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Widdemer, Margaret</span>. (<span class="smcap">Margaret Widdemer Schauffler</span>.) (<i>See 1915, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Changeling. Col. Jan. 10-17. (9:18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Secondary Wife. Del. Dec., '19. (13.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilde, Percival</span>. (1887- .)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sequel. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (11.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wiley, Hugh</span>. (1894- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Christmas Drifter. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Driftwood. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Excess Baggage. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Hop. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Jade. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (6.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Junk. S. E. P. June 12. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Konkrin' Hero. S. E. P. June 26. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mister Lady Luck. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prowling Prodigal. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Ramble Gamble. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red Rock. S. E. P. May 1. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Solitaire. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (20.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Williams, Ben Ames</span> (1889- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Another Man's Poison. Col Dec. 6, '19. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Climax. Cos. Aug. (81.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Mine Enemy's Dog. Col. Jan. 10. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most Disastrous Chances. Col Aug. 14. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not a Drum Was Heard. Col. June 12. (5).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Old Tantrybogus. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Sheener. Col. Jul. 10. (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Willie, Linda Buntyn</span>. (<i>See 1917.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What Mother Had Always Wanted. Am. Apr. (66.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Willrich, Erica</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fulfillment. Pag. Oct., '19. (49.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilson, John Fleming</span>. (1877- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Class. S. E. P. June 26. (22.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dough Candles. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ninety Days. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (20.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Number 1100. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (12.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salving of John Somers. Ev. Aug. (34.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Uncharted Reefs. McCall. Aug. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wilson, Margaret Adelaide</span>. (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Cæsar's Ghost. Atl. Oct., '19. (124:483.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Drums. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:702.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wingate, Robert</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rough-Shod Mr. Billings and Where His Ride Led Him. Am. Nov., '19. (38.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Winslow, Thyra Samter</span>. (1889- .) (<i>See 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aunt Ida. S. S. Dec., '19. (103.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**City Folks. S. S. Oct., '19. (53.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corinna and Her Man. S. S. May. (53.)</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Mamie Carpenter. S. S. Aug. (77.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">*Perfume Counter. S. S. Jan. (87.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Winthrop, Arthur</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mystic Rose. Lit. R. Jan. (21.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wisehart, Karl</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Hunger. Cen. Feb. (98:483.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Witwer, Harry Charles</span>. (1890- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ellen of Troy. Am. Jul. (68.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fool and His Money. Col. Jul. 31. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom of the She's. Col. Jan. 3. (14.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girl at the Switchboard. Am. Feb. (44.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">League of Relations. Col. Apr. 3. (13.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leather Pushers. Round One. Col. May 15. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leather Pushers. Round Two. Col. June 5. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Merchant of Venus. Col. Nov. 29, '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nights of Columbus. Col. Mar. 20. (11.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paul and West Virginia. Am. June. (46.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Payment Through the Nose. Col. Jul. 3. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So This Is Cincinnati! Col. Oct. 4, '19. (9.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Taming of the Shrewd. Col. Aug. 28. (10.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Word to the Wives. Col. Mar. 6. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Wodehouse, Pelham Grenville</span>. (1881- .) (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ordeal by Golf. Col. Dec. 6, '19- (5.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wolcott, Helen Louise</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reality. S. S. June. (65.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wolff, William Almon, Jr.</span> (1885- .) (<i>See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cellar Door. Col. Nov. 15, '19. (5.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Middle of the Ladder. Col. Jan. 3. (8.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ugly Ducklings. Sun. Jan. (45.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wash Your Own Dishes. Col. Jan. 24. (8.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Woljeska, Helen</span>. (<i>See 1915.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Exquisite Episode. S. S. Feb. (68.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wood, C. Rowland</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jimmie Pulls a Miracle. Ev. June. (62.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wood, Frances Gilchrist</span>. (<i>See 1918.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Spoiling of Pharaoh. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Turkey Red. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (18.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wood, Jr., Leonard</span>. (<i>See 1915, 1917.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hills of To-Morrow. Scr. Mar. (67:316.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Woollcott, Alexander</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Old Woman of Margivrault Farm. Cen. June. (100:259.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wormser, Gwendolyn Ranger</span>. (<i>See 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Tumanoff. Sn. St. Oct. 18, '19. (33.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Worts, George Frank</span>. (1892- .) (<i>See 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bonuses and Bunkers. Col. Feb. 7. (19.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cat and the Burglar. Ev. Apr. (54.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fine Feathers and Overalls. Sun. Apr. (45.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wright, Richardson (Little)</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Kitty! Kitty!" Del. Feb. (15.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Yates, L. B.</span> (<i>See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919.</i>) (<i>H.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunches. S. E. P. May 22. (30.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reincarnation of Chan Hop. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (30.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Yezierska, Anna</span>. (1886- .) (<i>See 1915, 1918, 1919.</i>)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Hunger. Harp. M. Apr. (140:604.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**"Lost Beautifulness." Red Cross. Mar. (35.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Wings. McCall. Sept. (11.)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Young, Mrs. Sanborn</span>. <i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Mitchell, Ruth Comfort</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Young, William Sanborn</span>.<br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Yushkevitch, Semyon</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">***Pietà. Pag. Jan. (4.)</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Yver, Colette</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Queen's Christmas Eve. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 21, '19.</span><br /> +<br /> +*<span class="smcap">Zartarjian, Roopen</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">**Then Man Was Immortal. Asia. Sept. (20:821.)</span><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Best Short Stories of 1920, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1920 *** + +***** This file should be named 22091-h.htm or 22091-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/0/9/22091/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Jane Hyland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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