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diff --git a/old/22091-8.txt b/old/22091-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3602c45 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/22091-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,24241 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Best Short Stories of 1920, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Best Short Stories of 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 + + + + + + + + + + + + + +THE +BEST SHORT STORIES +OF 1920 + +AND THE + +YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN +SHORT STORY + +EDITED BY +EDWARD J. O'BRIEN + +EDITOR OF "THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1915" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1916" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1917" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1918" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1919" +"THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH STORIES," ETC. + +[Illustration] + +BOSTON +SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + + + +Copyright, 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons, The Pictorial Review +Company, The Curtis Publishing Company, and Harper & Brothers. + +Copyright, 1920, by The Boston Transcript Company. + +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. + +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. + +Copyright, 1921, by Small, Maynard & Company, Inc. + + + + +TO + +SHERWOOD ANDERSON + + + + +BY WAY OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT + + +Grateful acknowledgment for permission to include the stories and other +material in this volume is made to the following authors, editors, and +publishers: + +To Miss Margaret C. Anderson, the Editor of _Harper's Magazine_, the +Editor of _The Dial_, the Editor of _The Metropolitan_, Mr. John T. +Frederick, the Editor of _Scribner's Magazine_, the Editor of _Collier's +Weekly_, the Editor of _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_, the Editor of _The +Pictorial Review_, the _Curtis Publishing Company_, 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. + +Acknowledgments are specially due to _The Boston Evening Transcript_ for +permission to reprint the large body of material previously published in +its pages. + +I shall be grateful to my readers for corrections, and particularly for +suggestions leading to the wider usefulness of this annual volume. In +particular, I shall welcome the receipt, from authors, editors, and +publishers, of stories printed during the period between October, 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 _Forest Hill, Oxfordshire, +England_. + +E. J. O. + + + + +CONTENTS[1] + + + PAGE +#Introduction.# By the Editor xiii + +#The Other Woman.# By Sherwood Anderson 3 +(From _The Little Review_) + +#Gargoyle.# By Edwina Stanton Babcock 12 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#Ghitza.# By Konrad Bercovici 36 +(From _The Dial_) + +#The Life of Five Points.# By Edna Clare Bryner 49 +(From _The Dial_) + +#The Signal Tower.# By Wadsworth Camp 66 +(From _The Metropolitan_) + +#The Parting Genius.# By Helen Coale Crew 83 +(From _The Midland_) + +#Habakkuk.# By Katharine Fullerton Gerould 90 +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +#The Judgment of Vulcan.# By Lee Foster Hartman 116 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#The Stick-in-the-Muds.# By Rupert Hughes 148 +(From _Collier's Weekly_) + +#His Job.# By Grace Sartwell Mason 169 +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +#The Rending.# By James Oppenheim 187 +(From _The Dial_) + +#The Dummy-Chucker.# By Arthur Somers Roche 198 +(From _The Cosmopolitan_) + +#Butterflies.# By Rose Sidney 214 +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + +#The Rotter.# By Fleta Campbell Springer 236 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#Out of Exile.# By Wilbur Daniel Steele 266 +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + +#The Three Telegrams.# By Ethel Storm 293 +(From _The Ladies' Home Journal_) + +#The Roman Bath.# By John T. Wheelwright 312 +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +#Amazement.# By Stephen French Whitman 320 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#Sheener.# By Ben Ames Williams 348 +(From _Collier's Weekly_) + +#Turkey Red.# By Frances Gilchrist Wood 359 +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + +#The Yearbook of the American Short Story, +October, 1919, To September, 1920# 375 + +Addresses of American Magazines Publishing +Short Stories 377 + +The Bibliographical Roll of Honor of American +Short Stories 379 + +The Roll of Honor of Foreign Short Stories in +American Magazines 390 + +The Best Books of Short Stories of 1920: A +Critical Summary 392 + +Volumes of Short Stories Published, October, +1919, to September, 1920: A Index 414 + +Articles on the Short Stories: An Index 421 + +Index of Short Stories in Books, November, +1918, to September, 1920 434 + +Index of Short Stories Published in American +Magazines, October, 1919, to September, 1920 456 + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] The order in which the stories in this volume are printed is not +intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Atlantic +Monthly_, and what holds the interest of the reader of the _Ladies' Home +Journal_. + +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 _Saturday Evening +Post_ and the best stories in _Harper's Magazine_ 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. + +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 _Planet Magazine_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Collier's +Weekly_ as he is in _Scribner's Magazine_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +No substance is of importance in fiction, unless it is organic +substance, that is to say, substance in which the pulse of life is +beating. Inorganic fiction has been our curse in the past, and bids fair +to remain so, unless we exercise much greater artistic discrimination +than we display at present. + +The present record covers the period from October, 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. + +But a second test is necessary if the story is to take rank above other +stories. The true artist will seek to shape this living substance into +the most beautiful and satisfying form, by skilful selection and +arrangement of his materials, and by the most direct and appealing +presentation of it in portrayal and characterization. + +The short stories which I have examined in this study, as in previous +years, have fallen naturally into four groups. The first 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. + +The third group, which is composed of stories of still greater +distinction, includes such narratives as may lay convincing claim to a +second reading, because each of them has survived both tests, the test +of substance and the test of form. Stories included in this group are +indicated in the yearbook index by two asterisks prefixed to the title. + +Finally, I have recorded the names of a small group of stories which +possess, I believe, 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. + +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. + +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. + +#Edward J. O'Brien.# + +#Forest Hill, Oxon, England,# +November 8, 1920. + + + + +THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1920 + + +#Note.#--The order in which the stories in this volume are printed is not +intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors. + + + + +THE OTHER WOMAN[2] + +BY SHERWOOD ANDERSON + +From _The Little Review_ + + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[2] Copyright, 1920, by Margaret C. Anderson. Copyright, 1921, by +Sherwood Anderson. + + + + +GARGOYLE[3] + +By EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +Gargoyle stole up the piazza steps. His arms were full of field flowers. +He stood there staring over his burden. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I should think an uncanny little person like that would get on Mrs. +Strang's nerves; he gives me the creeps!" + +"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?" + +The mistress of Heartholm, looking over at the two, shook a deprecating +head. But Strang seemed to derive amusement from the guest's +disapproval. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"Let the child run about," the village doctors had advised. "Let him run +about in the sun and make himself useful." + +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. + +Strang with his amused laugh fended off all protest and neighborly +advice. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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_ only saw and smelled the +flowers; Gargoyle looked as if he _felt_ 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.'" + +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." + +"By the way," he said once, "that reminds me, have you ever seen our +young Solomon of the flower-harem smile?" + +"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." + +The banker kept his eyes on the treetops; he had his finger-tips nicely +balanced before he remarked, with seeming irrelevance: + +"You know that nest in the tree we call the Siegfried tree?" + +She nodded. + +"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 _comprehend_ it fully and delightedly. He laughed." Strang +stopped, looking intently at his wife. + +"I can imagine that laugh," she mused. + +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_ could imagine that Gargoyle--well--that he _saw_ 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." + +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.'" + +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. + +Just before the funeral Strang's sister came to Doctor Milton. + +"Evelyn!" in whispered response to his concerned look. "Oh, doctor, I +cannot think that this calmness is _right_ 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 _saw_ something----!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Milton stood there, hesitating; he looked abstractedly at the apathetic +little figure of Gargoyle sitting in the chair. + +"We talk of inherent human nature," said the doctor, slowly, "as if we +had all knowledge concerning the _possibilities_ 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." + +The Swiss doctor nodded, magnetic eyes and mouth smiling. + +"Meanwhile"--in his slow, careful speech--"meanwhile we do what we can +to preserve the type which from long experience we know _wears_ best." + +Milton nodded. He moved to go, one hand on Gargoyle's unresponsive +shoulder, when the office door swung open. + +"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." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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: + + Your young John Strang Berber, alias Gargoyle, can talk now, with + only one drawback: as yet he doesn't know any words! + +The rapidly aging mother at the gardener's cottage took worldly pride in +what was happening to her youngest. + +"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!" + +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." + +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." + +He himself seemed never to hear this whisper. What things--superimposed +on the new teeming world of material actualities--he _did_ 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. + +Doctor Milton, dropping into the smoking-room of a popular confrère, got +a whiff of the prevailing gossip about his protégé. + +"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.'" + +"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?" + +Some one remarked that in the case of Berber, born of a simple country +woman and her uneducated husband, this was impossible. + +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?" + +Milton, smiling at it all, withdrew. He sat down and wrote a +long-deferred letter to Mrs. Strang. + + I have asked John Berber if he would care to revisit his old home. + It seemed never to have occurred to him that he _had_ 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 _normal diversion-environments_ and _friendships_. 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! + +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." + +"That is hardly suitable work for a distinguished horticulturist," the +mistress of Heartholm smiled at the wilting piles of pusley and sorrel. + +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." + +"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. + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +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: + +"_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?_" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"I suppose," thoughtfully, "that that is the man to whom I should feel +more grateful than to any other human being." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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 _see_!" + +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 _now_." + +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! + +Berber lifted on high a mass of thickly welded bulbs clinging to a +single dahlia stalk. He met her gaze triumphantly. + +"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. + +"Go on, John Berber. What you have to say is always interesting." + +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. + +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? + +Suddenly, nervousness impelling her, she broke in upon his revery: + +"How wonderful, with such dreams as you must have had, to be educated! +How very grateful you must be to Doctor Mach." + +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! + +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: + +"You see, I wish they had not educated me!" + +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: + +"No--I wish they had not taught me. I have not really gained _knowledge_ +by being taught." + +Mrs. Strang was genuinely puzzled. Yet she understood; it was merely +_theories about life_ 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 _newly made_ 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? + +Trying to keep her voice steady, she reproached him: + +"No? With all that being educated means, all the gift for humanity?" + +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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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 +_unrestraint_, if you choose to call it that," he summed up, "and was of +no use in the world. Now I have the curse of _mental restraint_ 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. + +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: + +"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 _what_ 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----" + +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. + +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. + +"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 _now_--I can't answer!" The boy +gave her his slow, serious smile, reminding her. + +"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: + +"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 _how_ glad!" + +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 _backward_." + +She moved impatiently; the youth, seeing the question in her face, +answered the demand of its trembling eagerness, explaining: + +"Do you not see--I have--sometimes _known_, not 'guessed' nor +'believed,' but _known_ 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----" + +"Yes?--Yes?" breathed the eager woman. "Tell me--tell me----" + +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: + +"Do you not think that I am doing wrong to speak of these things?" +Berber asked, with dignity. + +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 "_backward educated_" 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! + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"It is _not_ 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 _cannot_ be all, not for me! The world must never be told--it could +not understand; but _I_ must know, I _must_ know." She took desperate +steps back and forth. + +"John Berber, if there is anything in your memory, your knowledge; even +if it is only that you have _imagined_ 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 _me_. I authorize it, I command it." + +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. + +"I--of all the world," her whisper insisted. "If you might never speak +again--I should understand." + +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. + +"You--you dare?" the youth breathed, thickly. + +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. + +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: + +"I cannot--It--it will not come--It is as I told you--I have been taught +no _words_--I _cannot_ say _what I know_." + +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. + +She stood there helpless, dumfounded at his agony. + +"You--you cannot speak?" she faltered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[3] Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Edwina +Stanton Babcock. + + + + +GHITZA[4] + +#By# KONRAD BERCOVICI + +From _The Dial_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +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." + +"It is not a Bible, it is a book of stories, Murdo." + +"Stories! Well, that's another thing." + +He looked over my shoulders into the book. As I turned the page he +asked: + +"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." + +I explained as best I could and he marvelled. I had to give an example, +so I read a full page from a storybook. + +"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?" + +"Of neither, Murdo. Only about all the great heroes that have lived in +this world of cowards." + +"About every one of them?" he asked again. "That's good. It is good to +tell the stories of the heroes." + +He returned to the fireplace to light his pipe; then he came to me +again. + +"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?" + +I turned the pages one by one to the end of the book and then reported, +"Nothing, Murdo. Not even his name is mentioned." + +"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...." + +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.... + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Death could not have stopped the dance more suddenly. The musicians +stopped playing. The feet stopped dancing. The arms freed themselves and +hung limply. + +The smith's helper faced Ghitza with his arm uplifted. + +"You cursed tzigan! You low-born gypsy! How dare you break into our +dance? Our dance!" Other voices said the same. + +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: + +"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." + +And as he finished speaking he grasped the smith's helper around the +waist and called to the musicians: + +"Play, play." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Whoa, whoa, you old swindler! Wake up! Day is come and I am thirsty." + +After a long drink, he went to his tent to play with the dogs, as he did +early every morning. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Lupu, old chief, didst thou not once say that I was an oak? Why dost +thou speak of candles now?" + +And he carried on as before. And ever so good, and ever so merry, and +ever such a good trader. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I bet three of my horses that my man can down him," the Tartar chief +called. + +"I take the bet against a hundred ducats in gold," the innkeeper +answered. + +"It's a bet," the Tartar said. + +"Any more horses to bet?" others called out. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"If your man is thrown, this very night you leave our shore, for the +other side." + +Ghitza kissed Maria and Lupu, the chief. Then the fight began. + +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: + +"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. + +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. + +"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: + +"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." + +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! + +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. + + * * * * * + +"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?" + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[4] Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. Copyright, +1921, by Konrad Bercovici. + + + + +THE LIFE OF FIVE POINTS[5] + +#By# EDNA CLARE BRYNER + +From _The Dial_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Argus_ issued weekly its two pages from the dingy +office behind the drug store. Graham's Livery did a big business down +near the station. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 keeping 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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.... + +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...." + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"Too big, too big," cried the lumber folk, gesturing back over their +shoulders. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +"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 ..." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[5] Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. Copyright, +1921, by Edna Clare Bryner. + + + + +THE SIGNAL TOWER[6] + +#By# WADSWORTH CAMP + +From _The Metropolitan_ + + +"I get afraid when you leave me alone this way at night." + +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. + +"What are you afraid of?" Tolliver scoffed. + +The stagnant loneliness, the perpetual drudgery, had not yet conquered +his wife's beauty, dark and desirable. She motioned towards the boy. + +"He's afraid, too, when the sun goes down." + +For a time Tolliver listened to the wind, which assaulted the frame +house with the furious voices of witches demanding admittance. + +"It's that----" he commenced. + +She cut him short, almost angrily. + +"It isn't that with me," she whispered. + +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. + +"Don't go! I'm afraid!" + +The child was quiet now, staring at them with round, reflective eyes. + +"Joe," Tolliver said gently, "will be sore if I don't relieve him on +time." + +She pressed her head against his coat and clung tighter. He closed his +eyes. + +"You're afraid of Joe," he said wearily. + +Without looking up, she nodded. Her voice was muffled. + +"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." + +"Why didn't you tell me before?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +He put on his great coat. He pulled his cap over his ears. The child +spoke in a high, apprehensive voice. + +"Don't go away, papa." + +He stared at the child, considering. + +"Put his things on, Sally," he directed at last. + +"What for?" + +"I'll send him back from the tower with something that will make you +feel easier." + +Her eyes brightened. + +"Isn't that against the rules?" + +"Guess I can afford to break one for a change," he said. "I'm not likely +to need it myself to-night. Come, Sonny." + +The child shrank in the corner, his pudgy hands raised defensively. + +"It's only a little ways, and Sonny can run home fast," his mother +coaxed. + +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. + +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. + +"Here at last, eh?" + +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. + +Joe was as large as Tolliver, and younger. From that commanding +position, he appeared gigantic. + +"Cutting it pretty fine," he grumbled. + +Tolliver came on up, set the child down, and took off his overcoat. + +"Fact is," he drawled, "I got held back a minute--sort of unexpected." + +His eyes fixed the impatient man. + +"What you planning to do, Joe, between now and relieving me at +midnight?" + +Joe shifted his feet. + +"Don't know," he said uncomfortably. "What you bring the kid for? Want +me to drop him at the house?" + +Tolliver shook his head. He placed his hands on his hips. + +"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." + +Joe's face flushed angrily. + +"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." + +Tolliver shook his head. + +"Not to our house, if we don't want you." + +The other leered. + +"You so darned sure Sally don't want me?" + +Impulsively Tolliver stepped forward, closing his fists. + +"You drop that sort of talk, or----" + +Joe interrupted, laughing. + +"One thing's sure, Tolliver. If it came to a fight between me and you +I'd be almost ashamed to hit you." + +Through his passion Tolliver recognized the justice of that appraisal. +Physically he was no match for the younger man. + +"Things," he said softly, "are getting so we can't work here together." + +"Then," Joe flung back, as he went down the stairs, "you'd better be +looking for another job." + +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. + +"What's this special, Joe?" + +The other's feet stumped on the stairs again. + +"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." + +Tolliver with an increasing anxiety continued to examine the yellow +slips. + +"And thirty-three's late, and still losing." + +Joe nodded. + +"Makes it sort of uncertain." + +"Seems to me," Tolliver said, "you might have mentioned it." + +"Maybe," Joe sneered, "you'd like me to stay and do your job." + +He went down the stairs and slammed the lower door. + +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. + +"Hands off, Sonny!" Tolliver said kindly. "You must run back to mother +now." + +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. + +"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." + +The child nodded. Tolliver placed the revolver in the side pocket of the +little overcoat, and, the boy following him, went down stairs. + +"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." + +The child glanced back at the festive lights with an anguished +hesitation. Tolliver had to thrust him away from the tower. + +"A nickel in the morning----" he bribed. + +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. + +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. + +Tolliver's restlessness grew. He hoped the meeting would take place +after Joe had relieved him, or else to the north or south. + +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. + +Joe must have been drunk when he tried to get in the house last night. +Had he been drinking to-night? + +The sounder jarred rapidly. + +"LR. LR. LR." + +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. + +Pound. Pound. Pound. The hard striking of the metal had the effect of a +trip-hammer on his brain. + +"Allen reports special left Oldtown at 9.45." + +Joe had certainly been drinking that night last week when he had got +fresh with Sally. + +"Thirty-three still losing south of Anderson." + +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. + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +His own call. Tolliver shrank from the sharp blows. He forced himself to +a minute attention. It was division headquarters. + +"Holding twenty-one here until thirty-three and the special have +cleared." + +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. + +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. + +"LR. LR. LR." + +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. + +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. + +Tolliver shrank from the assaults of the sounder. + +Where was Joe now? At the inn, drinking; or---- + +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. + +While the hands crawled towards midnight the wind increased, shrieking +around the tower as if the pounding angered it. + +Above the shaking of the windows Tolliver caught another sound, gentle +and disturbing, as if countless fingers tapped softly, simultaneously +against the panes. + +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. + +Tolliver clenched his hands. If Joe didn't come! + +He shrank from the force of his imagination. + +He was glad Sally had the revolver. + +He glanced at his watch, half believing that the clock had stopped. + +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. + +Where was Joe? And Sally and the boy alone at the house! + +Quarter past twelve. + +What vast interest could have made Joe forget his relief at the probable +loss of his job? + +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! + +The sounder jarred furiously. Tolliver half raised his hand, as if to +destroy it. + +It was the division superintendent himself at the key. + +"NT. NT. NT. Is it storming bad with you?" + +"Pretty thick." + +"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." + +Tolliver's mouth opened, but no sound came. His face assumed the +expression of one who undergoes the application of some destructive +barbarity. + +"I get afraid when you leave me alone this way at night." + +He visualized his wife, beautiful, dark, and desirable, urging him not +to go to the tower. + +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. + +Tolliver's first elation died in new uncertainty. + +"Where you been?" he demanded fiercely. + +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. + +"Don't you wish you knew?" + +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. + +"You tell me where you been----" + +"NT. NT. NT." + +Joe leered. + +"Joe! You got to tell me where you been." + +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. + +"Switch whichever arrives first, and hold until the other is through." + +It was difficult to understand clearly, because Joe's laughter +persisted, crashing against Tolliver's brain as brutally as the sounder. + +"You got to tell me if you been bothering Sally." + +The hatred and the cunning of the mottled face grew. + +"Why don't you ask Sally?" + +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. + +"Get up," he directed. "I guess you got sense enough to know you're on +duty." + +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. + +"Special!" Joe mumbled. "And--Hell! Ain't thirty-three through yet?" + +He swayed, snatching at the edge of the table. + +Tolliver lowered his hands. The division superintendent had pounded out +something about fuses. What had it been exactly? "Keep fuses burning." + +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. + +"Ain't you listening?" Tolliver blurted out. + +"Huh?" + +"Why don't you light a fuse?" + +It was quite obvious that Joe had heard nothing. + +"Fuse!" Joe repeated. + +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. + +"What about fuse?" he murmured. + +His eyes closed. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +While Tolliver stared Joe abandoned his masquerade. Wide-eyed, he got +lightly to his feet and started for the trap. + +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. + +"Where you going?" he asked hoarsely. + +Joe laughed happily. + +"To keep Sally company while you look after the special and +thirty-three." + +Tolliver advanced cautiously, watching for a chance. When he spoke his +voice had the appealing quality of a child's. + +"It's my time off. If I do your work you got to stay at least." + +Joe laughed again. + +"No. It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed." + +Tolliver sprang then, but Joe avoided the heavier, clumsier man. He +grasped a chair, swinging it over his head. + +"I'll teach you," he grunted, "to kick me out like dirt. I'll teach you +and Sally." + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +He struggled to his knees, his hands at his head. + +"No, by God! I won't listen to you." + +"Thirty-three cleared LR at 12:47." + +One tower north! Thirty-three was coming down on him, but he was only +glad that the pounding had ceased. It commenced again. + +"NT. NT. NT. Special cleared JV at 12:48." + +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? + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +There was something in his brain about stopping a train in time. + +"It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed." + +Somebody had told him that. What did it mean? What had altered here in +the tower all at once? + +There was no longer any red. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +"I won't answer." + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT. Why don't you answer? What's wrong. No O. K. Are you +burning fuses? Wake up. Send an O. K." + +The sounder crashed frantically. It conquered him. + +He lurched to the table, touched the key, and stuttered out: + +"O. K. NT." + +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.! + +He lighted another fuse, flung it from the window, and started with +automatic movements for the trap. + +Let them crash. Let them splinter, and burn, and die. What was the lot +of them compared with Sally and Sonny? + +The red glare from the fuse sprang into the room. Tolliver paused, +bathed in blood. + +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. + +A bitter cold sprang up the trap. He heard the sobbing of a child. + +"Sonny!" + +It was becoming clear enough now. + +The child crawled up the steps on his hands and knees. Tolliver took him +in his arms, straining at him passionately. + +"What is it, Sonny? Where's mama?" + +"Papa, come quick. Come quick." + +He kept gasping it out until Tolliver stopped him. + +"Joe! Did Joe come?" + +The child nodded. He caught his breath. + +"Joe broke down the door," he said. + +"But mama had the gun," Tolliver said hoarsely. + +The boy shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +"Come quick! Come quick! Come quick!" + +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? + +He jotted down thirty-three's orders. + +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. + +"Papa! Won't you come quick to mama?" + +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. + +"It's too late now, Sonny," he said to the importunate child. + +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. + +Someone ran swiftly up the stairs. It was the engineer of thirty-three, +surprised and impatient. + +"Where are my orders, Tolliver? I don't want to lie over here all +night." + +He paused. His tone became curious. + +"What ails you, Tolliver?" + +Tolliver handed him the orders, trembling. + +"I guess maybe my wife at the house is dead, or--You'll go see." + +The engineer shook his head. + +"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." + +Tolliver's trembling grew. He mumbled incoherently: + +"But I didn't murder all those people----" + +"Report to division headquarters," the engineer advised. "They'll send +you help to-morrow." + +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. + +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. + +"Don't touch me," she whispered. "What am I going to do?" + +"Joe?" + +"Why do you tremble so?" she asked in her colorless voice, without +resonance. "Why didn't you come?" + +"Joe?" he repeated hysterically. + +She drew away from him. + +"You won't want to touch me again." + +He pointed to the repellant bruises. She shook her head. + +"He didn't hurt me much," she whispered, "because I--I killed him." + +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. + +She covered her face and shrank against the wall. + +"I've killed a man----" + +Through her fingers she looked at her husband fearfully. After a time +she whispered: + +"Why don't you say something?" + +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. + +In a corner he arranged his overcoat as a sort of a bed for the boy. + +"Won't you speak to me?" she sobbed. "I didn't mean to, but I had to. +You got to understand. I had to." + +He went to the table and commenced to tap vigorously on the key. She ran +across and grasped at his arm. + +"What you telling them?" she demanded wildly. + +"Why, Sally!" he said. "What's the matter with you?--To send another man +now Joe is gone." + +Truths emerged from his measureless relief, lending themselves to words. +He trembled again for a moment. + +"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." + +He sat down, caught her in his arms, drew her to his knee, and held her +close. + +"You ain't going to scold?" she asked wonderingly. + +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. + +So, while the boy slept, they waited together for someone to take Joe's +place. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[6] Copyright, 1920, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company. Copyright, +1921, by Charles Wadsworth Camp. + + + + +THE PARTING GENIUS[7] + +#By# HELEN COALE CREW + +From _The Midland_ + + +"_The parting genius is with sighing sent._" + +#Milton's# _Hymn on the Nativity._ + +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. + +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. + +"I hate it!" he muttered vehemently. + +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. + +"Hate?" questioned a golden, care-free voice at his side. "Thou'rt +overyoung to hate. What is it thou dost hate?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Hate is evil," he said. + +"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--" + +"Hate is the thing that comes up in my throat and chokes me when I think +of tyranny," interrupted the boy, his eyes darkening. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I have lived nearly twelve years." + +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. _Aie! Aie!_ There is but the moaning of doves when the +glad hymns sounded, and cold ashes and dead drifted leaves on the once +warm altars!" + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Repentance," said the boy. + +"I pity thee. Repentance is bitter of taste." + +"No," said the boy. "It is warm and sweet. It moves my heart and my +understanding." + +"What has become of thy hatred?" + +"I shall never hate again." + +"What wilt thou do, then?" + +"I shall love," said the boy. "_Love_," he repeated softly. "_How came I +never to think of that before?_" + +"Wilt thou love tyranny and forbear to kill the tyrant?" + +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." + +"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. + +"What is thy name?" asked the boy. + +"They called me once the Great God Pan. And thou?" + +"My father is Joseph the carpenter. My mother calls me Jesus." + +"_Ah_ ..." said Pan, "... _is it Thou?_" + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[7] Copyright, 1920, by John T. Frederick. Copyright, 1921, by Helen +Coale Crew. + + + + +HABAKKUK[8] + +#By# KATHARINE FULLERTON GEROULD + +From _Scribner's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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 _and_ 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 _parti pris_, 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. + +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. + +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, _plus_ the shock of his death, _plus_ 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. + +Then they carried Kathleen Somers to the hills. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"What is it like?" + +"It's dreadful." + +"How dreadful?" + +Mildred's large blue eyes popped at me with sincere sorrow. + +"Well, there's no plumbing, and no furnace." + +"Is it in a village?" + +"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." + +"Is it a beautiful view?" + +"My dear man, don't ask me what a beautiful view is. My education was +neglected." + +"Does Kathleen Somers think it beautiful?" + +"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." + +"Who is the other woman?" + +"An heirloom. Melora Meigs. _Miss_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My good man, you had better go away. I can't put you up." + +That was her greeting. Melora Meigs was snuffling in the hallway +outside--listening, I suppose. + +"Oh, yes, you can. If you can't I'm sure Joel Blake will. I've come to +stay a while, Miss Somers." + +"Can you eat porridge and salt pork for supper?" + +"I can eat tenpenny nails, if necessary. Also I can sleep in the barn." + +"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?" + +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. + +"There's nothing to sleep on. Barn's empty." + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"Why do you play with that silly thing?" + +"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." + +"Why did you keep it out of all the things you had?" + +"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?" + +"Much better not, I should think. You needed surgeons." + +"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." + +"It's not hideous. It's even very beautiful--so wild and untouched; such +lovely contours to the mountains." + +"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?" + +"The beauty of it last night and this morning has knocked me over," I +replied hardily. + +"Oh, really! How very interesting!" By which she meant that she was not +interested at all. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Are you incapable of caring for nature--just scenery?" + +"Quite." She closed her eyes, and stopped her gentle, even stroking of +the idol. + +"Of course you never did see America first," I laughed. + +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." + +"You don't care for just beauty, regardless," I mused. + +"Not a bit. Not unless it has meant something to man. I'm a humanist, +I'm afraid." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You've not precisely the spirit of the pioneer, I can see." + +"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. + +"Why don't you get out?" + +"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." + +"You could, I suppose, be a companion." Of course I did not mean it, but +she took it up very seriously. + +"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." + +Well, of course it wouldn't do. I had never thought it would. I tried +another opening. + +"When is Withrow coming back?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"I shall certainly not let him come," she retorted. "He would have the +grace to ask first, you know." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _live_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"You go, then," he said finally. "I'll take care of her." + +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. + +Then they came back to the imminent question. + +"I'll tell her when I do up her room," she faltered. + +"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. + +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?" + +"I can't." + +"My good woman, you'd better leave this afternoon." + +"Not"--the tone itself was firm, through the shaky sobs--"until there is +some one to take my place." + +"I'll telegraph for some one. You shan't see her again. But I will see +her at once." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I promise. Only you must come. I give you half an hour." + +"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. + +"I believe you," muttered Withrow under his breath. + +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: + +"She has come downstairs in a wrapper. She hasn't been down for weeks. +And she has found your hepaticas." + +"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. + +"She's all right, I think. She seemed to like them." + +"Oh, Lord!" Withrow's brain was spinning. "Here, I'll go. If she can +stand those beastly flowers, she can stand me." + +"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." + +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. + +He saw Kathleen Somers raise her arm slowly--with difficulty, it seemed. +She pointed at the noble shoulder of a mountain. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Later he caught at Miss Willis excitedly. "Is she better? Is she worse? +Is she well? Or is she going to die?" + +"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." + +"I'm going to stay. It's you who are going." + +"You needn't telegraph just yet," the nurse replied dryly. She looked +another woman from the nervous, sobbing creature on the chopping-block. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He found her there, he told me afterward, sitting on the step, the door +unlocked behind her but shut. + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[8] Copyright, 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1921, by +Katharine Fullerton Gerould. + + + + +THE JUDGMENT OF VULCAN[9] + +#By# LEE FOSTER HARTMAN + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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 _Sylph_, to seek out Leavitt and make some inquiries--very +important inquiries, it seemed, in Miss Stanleigh's behalf. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 _Sylph_ +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. + +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. + +"Well, at last we have got all the facts," Major Stanleigh sighed with +satisfaction when the _Sylph_ 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. + +"The evidence is conclusive, don't you think?--the grave, Farquharson's +personal effects, those pages of the poor devil's diary." + +I nodded assent. In my capacity as owner of the _Sylph_ 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. + +"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." + +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 +biography 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Is he so old?" she caught me up quickly. + +"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." + +"Why does he stay there?" + +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----" + +"Isn't it dangerous?" + +"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." + +"Is it, then, just scientific curiosity?" mused Miss Stanleigh. + +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. + +"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----" + +"Does he talk about himself?" + +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. + +"Did you get the impression that the two men had very much in common?" + +"Quite the contrary," I answered. "But Major Stanleigh should know----" + +"My uncle never met Mr. Farquharson." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. Barnaby," she finally broke the silence, and paused. "I have +decided to tell you something. This Mr. Farquharson was my husband." + +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. + +"I was young--and very foolish, I suppose." + +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. + +"I did not see him for four years--did not wish to.... And he vanished +completely.... Four years!--just a welcome blank!" + +Her shoulders lifted and a little shiver went over her. + +"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." + +My murmur of polite dissent led her to repeat her words. + +"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." + +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. + +"It must be a great relief to you," I murmured at length, "to have it +all definitely settled at last." + +"If I could only feel that it was!" + +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. + +"I want you to take me to that island--to-morrow." + +"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----" + +"And having died there?" + +"Surely Leavitt wouldn't have fabricated that! If you had talked with +him----" + +"I should not care to talk with Mr. Leavitt," Miss Stanleigh cut me +short. "I want only to go and see--if he _is_ Mr. Leavitt." + +"If he _is_ Mr. Leavitt!" For a moment I was mystified, and then in a +sudden flash I understood. "But that's preposterous--impossible!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +I assured Miss Stanleigh that the _Sylph_ was at her service. + + * * * * * + +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 _Sylph_ 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 _Sylph_, 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. + +"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. + +"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 +_would_ 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?" + +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. + +We reached Muloa just before nightfall, letting go the anchor in placid +water under the lee of the shore while the _Sylph_ 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. + +There was no sign of Leavitt, although the _Sylph_ 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. + +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: + +"Is it far inland--the place? Will it be difficult to find in the dark?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"This is he," she said, taking up one of the faded prints. + +"Yes--Leavitt," I answered. + +"_Leavitt_?" 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. + +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. + +"Where is he? I must speak to him," said Miss Stanleigh. + +"One might think he were deliberately hiding," I muttered, for I was at +a loss to account for Leavitt's absence. + +"Then find him," the girl commanded. + +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. + +"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. + +The girl listened a moment, and then started up. "I hear +voices--somewhere." + +"Voices?" I strained my ears for sounds other than the insistent ferment +of the great cone above our heads. "Perhaps Leavitt----" + +"Why do you still call him Leavitt?" + +"Then you're quite certain----" I began, but an involuntary exclamation +from her cut me short. + +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. + +"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." + +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 +_tuan_, 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 _tuan_--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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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 +_Sylph_, since the next sailing of the mail-boat would have necessitated +a further fortnight's delay. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +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. + +"I'm trusting you not to take Eleanor near that dreadful island, Mr. +Barnaby," was the admonition shouted across the widening gap of water. + +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. + +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. + +"Just as you like, Captain," Joyce replied, indifferently. + +"We may get a shower of ashes by doing so, if the wind should shift." I +looked across the table at Mrs. Joyce. + +"But we shall reach Malduna that much sooner?" she queried. + +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. + +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." + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"It has turned out most happily," I murmured. + +"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." + +"But surely the courts----" + +She shook her head with decision. "My church does not recognize that +sort of freedom." + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + + +It was after midnight. The _Sylph_ 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. + +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. + +"What do you make of this?" he exclaimed, as I called for the lead. + +"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 _Sylph_ should have turned the +point of the island without a mishap, as she had done scores of times. + +"It's the volcano we have to thank for this," was my conjecture. "Its +recent activity has caused some displacement of the sea bottom." + +Jackson's head went back in sudden comprehension. "It's a miracle you +didn't plow into it under full sail." + +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." + +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. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Farquharson!" I breathed aloud, utterly dumfounded. + +"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." + +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. + +"It was not your intention to stop at Muloa," he observed, dryly, for +the plight of the schooner was obvious. + +"We'll float clear with the tide," I muttered. + +"But in the meantime"--there was something almost menacing in his +deliberate pause--"I have the pleasure of this little call upon you." + +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. + +"Whatever possessed you to swim out here in the middle of the night?" I +demanded, in a harsh whisper. + +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. + +"Of late, Captain Barnaby, we seem to have taken to visiting each other +rather frequently, don't you think?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +I nodded assent in a dumb, helpless way. + +"And I have a notion that even you, Captain Barnaby, will never dispute +that fact." + +He threw back his head suddenly--for all the world like the dancing +faun--and laughed silently at the stars. + +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. + +"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." + +"As a matter of fact I am, and I was wondering if you would not offer me +something to drink." + +"You shall have a bottle to take along," I promised, with alacrity, but +he demurred. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I must ask you to keep quiet," I said, stiffly. + +"As a tomb," he agreed, and his eyes twinkled disagreeably in the +darkness. "You forget that I am supposed to be in one." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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!" + +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----" + +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----" + +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. + +"I'm a plain man of the sea," I rejoined, bluntly. "I take life as it +comes." + +He smiled derisively, drained his glass, and held it out again. "But you +have your secrets, rather clumsily guarded, to be sure----" + +"What secrets?" I cried out, goaded almost beyond endurance. + +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?" + +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. + +"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. _Place aux dames_, 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?" + +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. + +"Come, Captain," he urged, "you, too, have shared in smoothing the path +for these lovers. Shall we not drink to their happy union?" + +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. + +"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. + +He gave me a quick, evil look. "Besides, the noise might disturb your +passengers." + +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. + +"What makes you think I have passengers?" I parried, weakly. + +With intent or not, he was again fingering the fringe of the scarf that +hung over the arm of the chair. + +"It is not your usual practice, but you have been carrying them lately." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +"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: + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +I leaned over the oars, panting from my exertions, indifferent to his +rhapsody. + +"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. + +He leaped over the gunwale and strode up the beach. Again he struck his +priestlike attitude and invoked me to follow. + +"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. + +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 _Sylph_, 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. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +"You have been awake long?" I ventured to ask. + +"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. + +"Mrs. Joyce!" I remonstrated, sharply. + +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: + +"What other way out is there?" + +"Never that," I said, shortly. I urged her forward again. "Is your +husband asleep?" + +"Thank God, yes!" + +"Then you have been awake----" + +"For over an hour," she confessed, and I detected the shudder that went +over her body. + +"The man is mad----" + +"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 _can_ you take me? Don't you see that +there is no escape--from this?" + +The _Sylph_ rose and sank to the first long roll of the open sea. + +"When we reach Malduna----" I began, but the words were only torture. + +"I cannot--cannot go on. Take me back!--to that island. Let me live +abandoned--or rather die----" + +"Mrs. Joyce, I beg of you...." + +The schooner rose and dipped again. + +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. + +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. + +"Good God! It's carried away the whole island!" I heard the mate's voice +bellowing above the cries of the men. The _Sylph_ scudded before the +approaching storm of fire redescending from the sky.... + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[9] Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Lee +Foster Hartman. + + + + +THE STICK-IN-THE-MUDS[10] + +#By# RUPERT HUGHES + +From _Collier's Weekly_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He had redeemed himself for his pretended brag by a meek admission: + +"But I'm afraid my boy will never write another 'Hamlet.'" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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---- + +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. + +And yet it had no Shakespeare. + +And yet again it might have had if---- + +The twilight was so deep now that he shipped his oars in the gloom and +gave himself back to the past. + +He was in another twilight, only it was the counter twilight between +star quench and sun blaze. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Joel remembered saying: "I wonder if they're turnin' off the stars up +there to save gas too." + +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." + +(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.) + +As the boys paused, the air quivered with a hoarse _moo_! 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +To his amazement, Luke, who had always been more sensitive than he, +shook his head and turned away. + +"Gosh, what do you want for ten cents?" Joel demanded, feeling called +upon to defend the worthiness of the dawn. + +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. + +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. + +"I was up here at midnight last night, and I don't like this place any +more." + +"You didn't come all by yourself? Gee!" + +"No, Momma was here too." + +"What she bring you out here at a time like that for?" + +"She didn't know I was here." + +"Didn't know--What she doin' out here, then?" + +"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." + +"Gee!" + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!' + +"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." + +Luke wept helplessly at the memory of his poltroonery, and Joel tried +roughly to comfort him with questions. + +"Gee! I don't blame you. I don't guess I could have either. But what was +it all about, d'you s'pose?" + +"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. + +"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." + +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----" + +"Aw, say!" was Joel's protest. His knighthood as a sworn chum was put in +question and he was cruelly hurt. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Joel's father was an editor; Luke's kept a hardware store. + +So Joel wanted to go into trade and Luke wanted to be a writer. + +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: + +"Gee, you durned fool, watcha want gointa business for?" + +"Durned fool your own self! Watcha wanta be a writer for?" + +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. + +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. + +Joel Wixon read for excitement; Luke Mellows for information as to the +machinery of authorship. + +Young as they were, they went to the theatre--to the op'ra house, which +never housed opera. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +After the early and unceasing misunderstandings as to motives and +standards of honor and dignity came the civil war over education. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As for any further learning, he thought it a waste of time, a kind of +wantonness. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was Sunday afternoon before Luke came round, a different Luke, a +lean, wan, worn-out shred of a youth. His welcome was sickly. + +"Gee-min-_ent_-ly!" Joel roared. "I thought you was mad at me about +something. You never came near." + +"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." + +"Gee, that's damn tough," said Joel, who had grown from darn to damn. + +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?" + +"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." + +"What you been writin', then?" + +"Miles of figures and entries about one gross bottles lemon, two gross +sassaprilla, one gross empties returned." + +"No more poetry?" + +"No more nothin'." + +Joel was obstinately cheerful. "Well, you been makin' money, anyways; +that's something." + +"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." + +"Gee, can't you go buggy ridin' even with Kit?" + +"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." + +"How about her goin' away to be a great singer?" + +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.'" + +The nightingale annoyed the owl and was hushed, and the poet rimed sums +in a daybook. + +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. + +Joel listened to Luke's elegy and groaned: "Gee!" + +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." + +"I've got over believin' in Sandy Claus," said Luke. + +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. + +"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." + +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----" + +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." + +Joel wanted to say: "I should think that depended on the parents." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He was twenty-one when he went to London, but he went. + +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. + +But the main thing was that they left home. That might mean a noble or a +selfish ambition, but it took action. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +THE ANONYMOUS + +#By Luke Mellows# + +Sometimes at night within a wooded park + Like an ocean cavern, fathoms deep in bloom, + Sweet scents, like hymns, from hidden flowers fume, +And make the wanderer happy, though the dark + Obscures their tint, their name, their shapely bloom. + +So, in the thick-set chronicles of fame, + There hover deathless feats of souls unknown. + They linger like the fragrant smoke wreaths blown +From liberal sacrifice. Gone face and name; + The deeds, like homeless ghosts, live on alone. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Luke Mellows had written: + + "#Dear Old Joel#: + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "They go where they came from, I guess--in and out of nothing and + back again. + + "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. + + "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. + + "Yours for old sake's sake. #Luke.#" + +Vaguely remembering this letter now Joel inhaled a bit of the merciful +chloroform that deadens the pain of thwarted ambition. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The old boatman was surly with waiting. He did not thank the foreigner +for his liberal largeness, and did not answer his good night. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[10] Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son, Inc. Copyright, 1921, by +Rupert Hughes. + + + + +HIS JOB[11] + +#By# GRACE SARTWELL MASON + +From _Scribner's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +"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----" + +"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----" + +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." + +"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?" + +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 _pays_ 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." + +"What do they pay?" asked Mrs. Van Vechten, her lip curling. + +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." + +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. + +"Very interesting," murmured Mrs. Van Vechten; "but I hardly see how it +concerns us." + +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 _real_." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'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!'" + +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? + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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...." + +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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'Then you'll have all this work and difficulty for nothing?' the girl +asked. 'You may actually lose money on the job?' + +"'Looks that way,' he admitted. + +"'Then why do you go on?' she cried. + +"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.'" + +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. + +"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. + +"'Would you object,' he asked the lawyer, 'to taking a case against +personal friends of yours, the owners of the Rockford bank building?' + +"'Not at all--and if you're right, I'll lick 'em! What's your case?' + +"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.' + +"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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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!'" + +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.' + +"'What is it?' she asked, as he turned away from the telephone and she +saw his face. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!' + +"'How do you know?' he besought her. + +"'I just went past there and I seen it,' her voice came back at him. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I must run along," she said. "I like to get home before John does. You +going my way, Sally?" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[11] Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1921, by +Grace Sartwell Mason. + + + + +THE RENDING[12] + +#By# JAMES OPPENHEIM + +From _The Dial_ + + +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." + +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.... + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"All right," he flashed. "It sha'n't. I'll get out." + +"I suppose you'll marry," she said, "on fifteen a week." + +He spoke bitterly: + +"I'll get out of New York altogether. I'll work my way through +college...." + +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.... + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +He went to the bedside.... + +"Mother!" + +"Paul!" + +He took her hand. + +"Are you feeling better?" he asked. + +"A little more quiet, Paul...." + +"I am very glad...." + +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. + +Starting to speak, he sat down on the chair beside the bed, still +holding her hand.... + +"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!" + +His mother began to cry. She spoke at first as she always spoke, and +then more like a mother in a poem. + +"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...." + +The tears rolled down Paul's cheeks. He pressed her hand now with both +of his. + +"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." + +"But when are you going, Paul?" + +"To-night." + +His mother flung her arms about him desperately and clung to him.... + +"I can't let you go, Paul," she moaned. + +"Oh, mother," he sobbed. "This is breaking my heart...." + +"It is Agnes you are going to," she whispered. + +"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...." + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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? + +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. + +"Paul," she said in a peremptory tone, clothed with all the authority of +his mother.... + +He grew cold all over, his eyelids narrowed; he felt brutal.... + +"What is it?" he asked hard. + +"Mother wants you to come right down." + +"I will come," he said. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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.... + +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." + +She said: "Paul, this has got to end." + +His tongue seemed the fork of a snake, his words came with such deadly +coldness.... + +"It will end to-night." + +"How ... to-night?" + +"I'm leaving.... I'm going west...." + +"West.... Where?" + +"To Sam's...." + +"Oh," said his mother.... + +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.... + +"This is the end of me...." + +Still he said nothing. She turned toward him, with a groan. + +"Have you nothing to say?" + +Again he spoke with deadly coldness.... + +"Nothing...." + +She waited a moment: then she spoke.... + +"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...." + +He was amazed: he trembling there, guilty, afraid, horrified, his whole +soul beseeching the comfort of her arms! He a cold trampler? + +He stood, with all the feeling of one who is falsely condemned, and yet +with all the guilt of one who has sinned.... + +And then, suddenly, a wild animal cry came from his mother's throat.... + +"Oh," she cried, "how terrible it is to have children!" + +His heart echoed her cry.... The executioner's knife seemed to strike +his throat.... + +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: + +"She's going to sleep." + +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.... + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[12] Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company. Copyright, 1921, +by James Oppenheim. + + + + +THE DUMMY-CHUCKER[13] + +#By# ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE + +From _The Cosmopolitan_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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---- + +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. + +"He's gotta fit!" + +The neighbor bent over the prostrate dummy-chucker. + +"Ep'lepsy," she announced. "Look at the foam on his lips." + +"Aw, the poor man!" + +"Him so strong-looking, too!" + +"Ain't it the truth? These husky-looking men sometimes are the +sickliest." + +The dummy-chucker stirred. He sat up feebly. With his sleeve, he wiped +away the foam. Dazedly he spoke. + +"If I had a bite to eat----" + +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. + +"T'ank, ladies," he murmured. "If I can get a bite to eat and rest +up----" + +"'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." + +"Can't you see the man's sick?" The stoutest one turned indignantly upon +the newsboy. But the scoffer held his ground. + +"'Sick?' Sure he's sick! Eatin' soap makes anyone sick. Youse dames is +easy. He's chuckin' a dummy." + +"'A dummy?'" + +The dummy-chucker sat a bit straighter. + +"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----" + +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. + +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. + +"Better hop aboard," he suggested. "That policeman is fat, but he has +speed." + +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. + +"Thanks, feller," he grunted. "A li'l speed, please." + +The young man chuckled. He rounded the corner into Eighth Avenue and +darted north among the trucks. + +At Columbus Circle, the dummy-chucker spoke. + +"Thanks again, friend," he said. "I'll be steppin' off here." + +His rescuer glanced at him. + +"Want to earn a hundred dollars?" + +"Quitcher kiddin'," said the dummy-chucker. + +"No, no; this is serious," said the young man. + +The dummy-chucker leaned luxuriously back in his seat. + +"Take me _anywhere_, friend," he said. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You seem hungry," commented the young man. + +The dummy-chucker reached for another sandwich with his left hand while +he poured himself a drink of genuine Scotch with his right. + +"_And_ thirsty," he grunted. + +"Go to it," observed his host genially. + +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. + +"Smoke?" asked his host. + +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. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Better than cuttin' the end off," explained the dummy-chucker. "It's a +good smoke," he added, puffing. + +"You know tobacco," said his host. "Where did you learn?" + +"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." + +"Doesn't seem to bother you," said his host. + +"It don't," asserted the dummy-chucker. "Except when the police butt +into my game. I just got off Blackwell's Island this morning." + +"And almost went back this afternoon." + +The dummy-chucker nodded. + +"Almost," he said. His eyes wandered around the room. "_Some_ dump!" he +stated. Then his manner became business-like. "You mentioned a hundred +dollars--what for?" + +The young man shrugged. + +"Not hard work. You merely have to look like a gentleman, and act +like----" + +"Like a bum?" asked the dummy-chucker. + +"Well, something like that." + +The dummy-chucker passed his hand across his stubby chin. + +"Shoot!" he said. "Anything short of murder--_anything_, friend." + +His host leaned eagerly forward. + +"There's a girl--" he began. + +The dummy-chucker nodded. + +"There always is," he interrupted. "I forgot to mention that I bar +kidnaping, too." + +"It's barred," said the young man. He hitched his chair a trifle nearer +his guest. "She's beautiful. She's young." + +"And the money? The coin? The good red gold?" + +"I have enough for two. I don't care about her money." + +"Neither do I," said the dummy-chucker; "so long as I get my hundred. +Shoot!" + +"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." + +The dummy-chucker inhaled happily. + +"Call him any darned thing you like," he said cheerily. + +"Jones was a drunkard," said the host. + +"And she married him?" The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted slightly. + +"No. She told him that if he'd quit drinking she'd marry him. She +stipulated that he go without drink for one year." + +The dummy-chucker reached for a fresh cigar. He lighted it and leaned +back farther in the comfortable chair. + +"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." + +"A game guy," commented the dummy-chucker. "Well, what happened?" + +"He died of jungle-fever two months ago," was the answer. "The news just +reached Rio Janeiro yesterday." + +The dummy-chucker lifted his glass of Scotch. + +"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?" + +"She doesn't know," said the host quietly. + +The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted again. + +"I begin to get you," he said. "I'm the messenger from Brazil who breaks +the sad news to her, eh?" + +The young man shook his head. + +"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." + +"Except me," said the dummy-chucker. + +The young man smiled dryly. + +"Except you. And you won't tell. Ever wear evening clothes?" + +The dummy-chucker stiffened. Then he laughed sardonically. + +"Oh, yes; when I was at Princeton. What's the idea?" + +His host studied him carefully. + +"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." + +The dummy-chucker carefully brushed the ashes from his cigar upon a +tray. + +"I guess I'm pretty stupid to-night. I still don't see it." + +"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." + +"'Throw him over?' But he's _dead_!" said the dummy-chucker. + +"She doesn't know that," retorted his host. + +"Why don't you tell her?" + +"Because I want to marry her." + +"Well, I should think the quickest way to get her would be to tell her +about Jones----" + +"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." + +"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." + +His host leaned eagerly forward now. + +"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, _drunk_! She'd marry me to-morrow." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"I see," said the dummy-chucker slowly. "And you want me to----" + +"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----" + +"How long will I be all that--in the hotel?" asked the dummy-chucker +dryly. + +"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 _mâitre d'hôtel_ 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. + +"And then?" asked the dummy-chucker. + +"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." + +"And you really think that I look enough like Jones to put this over?" + +"In the shaded light of the dining-room, in Jones' clothes--well, I'm +risking a hundred dollars on it. Will you do it?" + +The dummy-chucker grinned. + +"Didn't I say I'd do _anything_, barring murder? Where are the clothes?" + +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. + +"Will I do?" he asked. + +"Better than I'd hoped," said the other. "You look like a gentleman." + +The dummy-chucker laughed gaily. + +"I feel like one," he declared. + +"You understand what you are to do?" demanded the host. + +"It ain't a hard part to act," replied the dummy-chucker. + +"And you _can_ act," said the other. "The way you fooled those women in +front of the Concorde proved that you----" + +"Sh-sh!" exclaimed the dummy-chucker reproachfully. "Please don't remind +me of what I was before I became a gentleman." + +His host laughed. + +"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----" + +"Oh, I've got it all right," said the dummy-chucker. "Better slip me +something on account. I may have to pay something----" + +"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." + +The dummy-chucker returned his gaze scornfully. + +"Do I look," he asked, "like the sort of man who'd _steal_?" + +His host shook his head. + +"You certainly don't," he admitted. + +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. + +Down-stairs, he spoke to Andrews, the chauffeur. + +"Drive across the Fifty-ninth Street bridge first." + +The chauffeur stared at him. + +"Who you given' orders to?" he demanded. + +The dummy-chucker stepped closer to the man. + +"You heard my order?" + +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. + +"Yes, sir," he muttered. + +The dummy-chucker smiled. + +"The lower classes," he said to himself, "know rank and position when +they see it." + +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. + +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: + +"The Park Square, Andrews." + +An obsequious doorman threw open the limousine door as the car stopped +before the great hotel. He handed the dummy-chucker a ticket. + +"Number of your car, sir," he said obsequiously. + +"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. + +A uniformed boy whirled the revolving door that the dummy-chucker might +pass into the hotel. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Beg pardon, sir. May I assist you?" + +The dummy-chucker smiled a grateful assent. The old gentleman fumbled a +moment with the tie. + +"I think that's better," he said. He bowed as one man of the world might +to another, and turned away. + +Under his breath, the dummy-chucker swore gently. + +"You'd think, the way he helped me, that I belonged to the Four +Hundred." + +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. + +"One of themselves," said the dummy-chucker to himself. + +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. + +The _mâitre d'hôtel_ stepped forward inquiringly as the dummy-chucker +hesitated in the doorway. + +"A table, sir?" + +"You have one reserved for me. This right-hand one by the door." + +"Ah, yes, of course, sir. This way, sir." + +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. + +"A lady!" said the dummy-chucker, under his breath. "The real thing!" + +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 +_mâitre d'hôtel_ beckoned, he remembered that he had left the flask, the +monogrammed flask, in his overcoat pocket. + +"Just a moment," he said. + +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. + +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. + +"I've changed my mind," he said. "My coat, please." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"I hardly expected to find you here," he said. + +The dummy-chucker shrugged. + +"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. + +"'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?" + +The dummy-chucker turned languidly in his chair. He eyed his host +curiously. + +"Listen, feller," he said: "I told you that I drew the line at murder, +didn't I?" + +"'Murder?' What do you mean? What murder was involved?" + +The dummy-chucker idly blew a smoke ring. + +"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?" + +The young man stood over him. + +"Bannon," he called. The valet entered the room. "Take the clothes off +this--this bum!" snapped the host. "Give him his rags." + +He clenched his fists, but the dummy-chucker merely shrugged. The young +man drew back while his guest followed the valet into another room. + +Ten minutes later, the host seized the dummy-chucker by the tattered +sleeve of his grimy jacket. He drew him before the mirror. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Bannon," called the host, "throw him out!" + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"He's gotta fit!" she cried. + +"Ep'lepsy," said her companion pityingly. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[13] Copyright, 1920, by The International Magazine Company. Copyright, +1921, by Arthur Somers Roche. + + + + +BUTTERFLIES[14] + +#By# ROSE SIDNEY + +From _The Pictorial Review_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Must have been that bit of wind," she meditated. "It plays queer tricks +sometimes." + +She went to the mantel and lighted the dull lamp. By the flicker she +read the face of the clock. + +"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. + +"It's a fearful night for him to be out!" she muttered. + +"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. + +Mrs. Brenner threw her shriveled and wizened mother-in-law an angry and +contemptuous glance. + +"Be still!" she commanded. "'Pears to me that's all you ever +say--blood!" + +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!" + +Mrs. Brenner shuddered. "Seems like you could shut up a spell!" she +complained. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +"Tobey!" cried Mrs. Brenner, her face rigid. + +The old woman began to pick at her ragged skirt, mumbling "Blood! Blood +on his hands! I see it!" + +"That was on the hill," said Mrs. Brenner slowly, steadying her voice. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +Tobey stumbled past her headlong into the house, muttering, "I'm cold!" + +She shut the door and followed him to the stove, where he stood shaking +himself and beating at his damp clothes with clumsy fingers. + +"What was that scream?" she asked him tensely. She knotted her rough +fingers as she waited for his answer. + +"I dunno," he grunted sullenly. His thick lower lip shoved itself +forward, baby-fashion. + +"Where you been?" she persisted. + +As he did not answer she coaxed him, "Aw, come on, Tobey. Tell ma. Where +you been?" + +"I been catching butterflies," he answered. "I got a big one this time," +with an air of triumph. + +"Where was you when you heard the scream?" she asked him cunningly. + +He gave a slow shake of his head. "I dunno," he answered in his dull +voice. + +A big shiver shook him. His teeth chattered and he crouched down on his +knees before the open oven-door. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Naw!" Tobey protested. "I seen pa already. I want my supper out here! I +don't want to go to bed!" + +Mrs. Brenner paused. "Where was pa?" she asked. + +But Tobey's stretch of coherent thinking was past. "I dunno!" he +muttered. + +Mrs. Brenner sighed. She pulled off the sticky shoes and rose stiffly. + +"Go get in bed," she said. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"I've cut myself," she said aloud. "There's blood on my hand. It must +'a' been on those lacings of Tobey's." + +The old woman in the corner roused. "Blood!" she screeched. "Olga! Blood +on his hands!" + +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? + +And who was it that had screamed on the hill? She felt herself enwrapped +in a mist of puzzling doubts. + +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. + +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. + +"Here's where I found his hat. That's why I turned off back of these +trees. And right there I found his body!" + +"Are you sure he's dead?" quavered another voice. + +"Stone-dead!" + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" he snapped. A sardonic smile twisted his face. "Caught you, +didn't I?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"No harm done," he said, almost amiably. Shaking with relief, she +stretched out her hand. + +"I'll dry 'em," she said. "Give me your shoes and I'll get the mud off." + +Her husband shook his head. He was still smiling. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"I'll get a rag and wipe up the mud right off." + +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. + +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. + +"You can put your feet in the oven, Mart, to dry 'em." + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" she asked ungraciously. + +"We want to see Brenner!" one of them said. + +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. + +Her husband reluctantly stood up. + +"Evening!" he said, with his unusual smile. "Bad out, ain't it?" + +"Yep!" Munn replied. "Heavy fog. We're soaked." + +Olga Brenner's pitiful instinct of hospitality rose in her breast. + +"I got some hot soup on the stove. Set a spell and I'll dish you some," +she urged. + +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." + +"Not a bit," she cried eagerly. She bustled about, searching her meager +stock of chinaware for uncracked bowls. + +"Set down?" suggested Mart. + +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. + +"Must 'a' got your feet wet, Brenner?" the sheriff said with heavy +jocularity. + +Brenner nodded, "You bet I did," he replied. "Been down on the beach all +afternoon." + +"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. + +Munn's eyes dropped from her face to the floor. There they became fixed +on the tracks of red clay. + +"No, nothin' but the sea. It must be rough outside to-night, for the bay +was whinin' like a sick cat," said Mart calmly. + +"Didn't hear a scream, or nothing like that, I suppose?" Munn persisted. + +"Couldn't hear a thing but the water. Why?" + +"Oh--nothing," said Munn. + +Mrs. Brenner finished pouring out the soup and set the bowls on the +table. + +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. + +Blowing out a big blue breath of the pleasant smoke, he inquired, "Been +any strangers around to-day?" + +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." + +"See anybody later--say about half an hour ago?" + +Mart shook his head. "No. I come up from the beach and I didn't pass +nobody." + +The sheriff pulled on his pipe for a moment. "That boy of yours still +catching butterflies?" he asked presently. + +Mart scowled. He swung out a long arm toward the walls with their floods +of butterflies. But he did not answer. + +"Uh-huh!" said Munn, following the gesture with his quiet eyes. He +puffed several times before he spoke again. + +"What time did you come in, Brenner, from the beach?" + +Mrs. Brenner closed her hands tightly, the interlaced fingers locking +themselves. + +"Oh, about forty minutes ago, I guess it was. Wasn't it, Olga?" Mart +said carelessly. + +"Yes." Her voice was a breath. + +"Was your boy out to-day?" + +Mart looked at his wife. "I dunno." + +Munn's glance came to the wife. + +"Yes." + +"How long ago did he come in?" + +"About an hour ago." Her voice was flat and lifeless. + +"And where had he been?" Munn's tone was gentle but insistent. + +Her terrified glance sought Mart's face. "He'd been on the beach!" she +said in a defiant tone. + +Mart continued to look at her, but there was no expression in his face. +He still wore his peculiar affable smile. + +"Where did these tracks come from, on the floor?" + +Swift horror fastened itself on Mrs. Brenner. + +"What's that to you?" she flared. + +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." + +"You did!" she cried. All about her she could feel the smoothness of a +falling trap. + +Mart smiled still more broadly. + +"Look here, Olga, don't get so warm over it. You're nervous now. Tell +the gentlemen who made those tracks." + +She turned to Munn desperately. "What do you want to know for?" she +asked him. + +The sharpness of her voice roused old Mrs. Brenner, drowsing in her +corner. + +"Blood!" she cried suddenly. "Blood on his hands!" + +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?" + +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. + +"A man--a stranger was killed upon the hill," Munn told her. + +"What's that got to do with us?" she countered. + +"Not a thing, Mrs. Brenner, probably, but I've just to make sure where +every man in the village was this afternoon." + +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. + +"Where was your son this afternoon?" + +She smiled defiance. "I told you, on the beach." + +"Whose room is that?" Munn's forefinger pointed to Tobey's closed door. + +"That's Tobey's room," said his mother. + +"The mud tracks go into that room. Did he make those tracks, Mrs. +Brenner?" + +"No! Oh, no! No!" she cried desperately. "Mart made those when he came +in. He went into Tobey's room!" + +"How about it, Brenner?" + +Mart smiled with an indulgent air. "Heard what she said, didn't you?" + +"Is it true?" + +Mart smiled more broadly. "Olga'll take my hair off if I don't agree +with her," he said. + +"Let's see your shoes, Brenner?" + +Without hesitation Mart lifted one heavy boot and then the other for +Munn's inspection. The other silent men leaned forward to examine them. + +"Nothing but pieces of seaweed," said Cottrell Hampstead. + +Munn eyed them. Then he turned to look at the floor. + +"Those are about the size of your tracks, Brenner. But they were made +in red clay. How do you account for that?" + +"Tobey wears my shoes," said Brenner. + +Mrs. Brenner gasped. She advanced to Munn. + +"What you asking all these questions for?" she pleaded. + +Munn did not answer her. After a moment he asked, "Did you hear a scream +this afternoon?" + +"Yes," she answered. + +"How long after the screaming did your son come in?" + +She hesitated. What was the best answer to make? Bewildered, she tried +to decide. "Ten minutes or so," she said. + +"Just so," agreed Munn. "Brenner, when did you come in?" + +A trace of Mart's sullenness rose in his face. "I told you that once," +he said. + +"I mean how long after Tobey?" + +"I dunno," said Mart. + +"How long, Mrs. Brenner?" + +She hesitated again. She scented a trap. "Oh, 'bout ten to fifteen +minutes, I guess," she said. + +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." + +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. + +"You chop your wood with a short, heavy ax, don't you, Brenner?" said +Munn. + +Brenner nodded. + +"It's marked with your name, isn't it?" + +Brenner nodded again. + +"_Is this the ax?_" + +Mrs. Brenner gave a short, sharp scream. Red and clotted, ever the +handle marked with bloody spots, the ax was theirs. + +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." + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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. + +Brenner smiled with a wide tolerance. "It's likely, ain't it, that I'd +change into shoes as wet as these?" + +"Those tracks are Mart's!" Olga reiterated hysterically. + +"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. + +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!" + +"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." + +Dick Roamer spoke hesitatingly, "Mebbe the old woman's right, Munn. +Mebbe those tracks are Brenner's." + +Mrs. Brenner turned to him in wild gratitude. + +"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! + +She snatched up his box of butterflies and came back to Munn. + +"This is what Tobey was doin' this afternoon!" she cried in triumph. "He +was catchin' butterflies! That ain't murder, is it?" + +"Nobody catches butterflies in a fog," said Munn. + +"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. + +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. + +"Call your son," he said. + +"What do you want of him? Tobey ain't done nothing. What you tryin' to +do to him?" + +"There is blood on this box, Mrs. Brenner." + +"Mebbe he cut himself." Mrs. Brenner was fighting. Her face was chalky +white. + +"In the box, Mrs. Brenner, _is a gold watch and chain_. The man who was +killed, Mrs. Brenner, had a piece of gold chain to match this in his +buttonhole. _The rest of it had been torn off._" + +Olga made no sound. Her burning eyes turned toward Mart. In them was all +of a heart's anguish and despair. + +"Tell 'em, Mart! Tell 'em he didn't do it!" she finally pleaded. + +Mart's face was inscrutable. + +Munn rose. The other men got to their feet. + +"Will you get the boy or shall I?" the sheriff said directly to Mrs. +Brenner. + +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. + +"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!" + +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." + +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." + +But still Mrs. Brenner's set expression did not change. + +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. + +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. + +"Tobey!" she called. Her voice broke in her throat. The tears fell +faster. + +"Huh?" He sat up, blinking at her. + +"Get into your clothes, now! Right away!" she said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Here he is!" she cried chokingly. She freed her hand and laid it on his +shoulder. + +"Look at him," she moaned. "He couldn't 'a' done it. He's--he's just a +boy!" + +Sheriff Munn rose. His men rose with him. + +"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brenner," he said. "Terrible sorry. But you can see how +it is. Things look pretty black for him." + +He paused, looked around, hesitated for a moment. Finally he said, +"Well, I guess we'd better be getting along." + +Mrs. Brenner's hand closed with convulsive force on Tobey's shoulder. + +"Tobey!" she screamed desperately, "where was you this afternoon? All +afternoon?" + +"On the beach," mumbled Tobey, shrinking into himself. + +"Tobey! Tobey! Where'd you get blood on the box?" + +He looked around. His cloudy eyes rested on her face helplessly. + +"I dunno," he said. + +Her teeth were chattering now; she laid her hand on his other shoulder. + +"Try to remember, Tobey. Try to remember. Where'd you get the watch, the +pretty watch that was in your box?" + +He blinked at her. + +"The pretty bright thing? Where did you get it?" + +His eyes brightened. His lips trembled into a smile. + +"I found it some place," he said. Eagerness to please her shone on his +face. + +"But where? What place?" The tears again made rivulets on her cheeks. + +He shook his head. "I dunno." + +Mrs. Brenner would not give up. + +"You saw your pa this afternoon, Tobey?" she coached him softly. + +He nodded. + +"Where'd you see him?" she breathed. + +He frowned. "I--I saw pa----" he began, straining to pierce the cloud +that covered him. + +"Blood! Blood!" shrieked old Mrs. Brenner. She half-rose, her head +thrust forward on her shriveled neck. + +Tobey paused, confused. "I dunno," he said. + +"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?" + +Tobey caught at the word. "The ax?" he cried. "The ax! Ugh! It was all +sticky!" He shuddered. + +"Did pa give you the ax?" + +But the cloud had settled. Tobey shook his head. "I dunno," he repeated +his feeble denial. + +Munn advanced. "No use, Mrs. Brenner, you see. Tobey, you'll have to +come along with us." + +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." + +Dick Roamer stepped to his side. He laid his hand on Tobey's arm. "Come +along," he urged. + +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. + +"Ma!" he screamed suddenly. "Ma! I don't want to go! Ma!" + +He fell on his knees. Heavy childish sobs racked him. Deserted, +terrified, he called upon the only friend he knew. + +"Ma! Please, Ma!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mart turned from the door. His eyes glittered. He advanced upon her +hungrily like a huge cat upon an enchanted mouse. + +"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?" + +"Blood!" moaned the old woman in the corner. "Blood!" + +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. + +"But I fooled you this time! Mart wasn't so dull this time, eh?" He +turned toward her again. + +Between them, disturbed in his resting-place on the table, the big +bruised yellow butterfly raised himself on his sweeping wings. + +Mart drew back a little. The butterfly flew toward Olga and brushed her +face with a velvety softness. + +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. + +"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!" + +He drew back for a blow. She did not move. Instead she mocked him, +trying to smile. + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Run!" she cried. "Run to the village!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There were voices. He cowered, cast hunted glances at the bloody figure +on the floor, bit his knuckles in a frenzy. + +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!" + +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. + +The big yellow butterfly swung low on his golden wings and came to rest +on her narrow, sunken breast. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[14] Copyright, 1920, by The Pictorial Review Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Rose Sidney. + + + + +THE ROTTER[15] + +#By# FLETA CAMPBELL SPRINGER + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Well! here he was. Home! + +Strange he hadn't thought of the automobiles and the electricity, and +the difference they would make. + +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. + +At the desk, Ayling experienced a momentary surprise to find himself +actually expected. + +"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. + +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. + +"Will you go up, sir?" + +"Later," said Ayling. "Just send up my things." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Thirty-five years, sir." + +Ayling looked at the old man in astonishment. "Do you remember me?" he +asked. + +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--" + +"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?" + +"Chedsey, sir." + +"Seems familiar--" He shook his head. "You don't recall a Mr. +Ayling--twenty-five or thirty years ago?" + +"Ayling, sir? I recall there _was_ a member of that name.... _You're_ +not Mr. Ayling, sir?" + +"We're not very flattering, either of us, it seems. But then, privilege +of the aged, I suppose." + +"Beg pardon, sir. I'm sorry--I ought to remember you." + +"We're wearing masks, Chedsey, you and I." + +"You're right, sir, I'm afraid." + +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. + +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. + +"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? + +"And where," asked Ayling, "is the major now?" + +"Major Lonsdale, sir--has been gone seven years. Hadn't you heard?" + +Lonsdale gone! Lonsdale dead! Lonsdale had begun life so brilliantly. +Ayling did feel left over and old. + +"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? + +"Yes," said Ayling. "What became of Mrs. Lonsdale?" + +"Here in London, sir." + +"Wasn't there," asked Ayling, "a child, a little girl?" + +"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 _Sketch_ recently--perhaps he could +find it for Mr. Ayling. + +"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. + +"They are living in Cambridge Terrace," Chedsey was saying. "Would Mr. +Ayling like the address?" + +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. + +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: + +"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...." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +She was, when she thought of it, a little puzzled by his looking her up. +Had he and Harry been such friends? + +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 _him_, 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----" + +"So you've come home," she said, "to stay?" + +"Yes, we all do. It's what we look forward to out there." + +"I know." With a little hospitable gesture and a step backward she +brought him in. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ayling turned about and stumbled awkwardly over a small hassock on the +floor, and they both laughed, which helped them recover themselves. + +"How long has it really been?" she asked, as she faced him beside the +fire. + +"Twenty-five years." He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Twenty-five +years!" + +"You _must_ feel the prodigal son!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't know," she said, "how I shall put in the week! After all, I've +been missing her more than I knew." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"I should love it!" she said. + +"Then come along. You've nothing to keep you here; the country's just +what you need." + +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 _was_ 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. + +Then abruptly she accepted his simplification. "I'll go," she said. + +"Good! I'll telephone through for a room for you.... When can you be +ready?" he asked. + +"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." + +"Great! I'll ask about trains." + +All at once, like two children, they became immensely exhilarated at the +prospect before them--a week's holiday! + +He went to the telephone and presently reported: "There's a train at +two-forty. Can you make it by then?" + +She looked at the clock on the mantel. "We'll make it," she said. + +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." + +He rushed away, both of them almost forgetting to say good-by, and she +went into her bedroom to pack. + +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.... + + * * * * * + +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. + +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: + +"You see! The sun _does_ 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." + +"London?" she said. "London? There's no such place!" + +"Glad you came?" he asked. + +"Glad!" Her tone was enough. + +"That's a jolly green hat," he said, and made her a little bow. + +"Glad you like it," she laughed. "And that's a jolly staff." + +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." + +She admired it critically, particularly the initials of the dark bark +left on, but suggested an improvement about the knob. + +"By Jove! you're right," he admitted, and set to work with his knife. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I _am_ sorry! Forgive me," she said. + +He smiled, embarrassed, and waited a moment for breath before he said, +"It's just the wind; it's pretty stiff." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _Peggy was +threatened_.... 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. + +She tried to pull herself together--to think; her thoughts were not +reasoning thoughts, but unrelated, floating, detached.... + +Suddenly, by some strange alchemy of her mind, three things stood out +clear. They stood out like the three facts of a simple syllogism. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +Mrs. Downey was smiling and saying in an ordinary tone, "Your +telephone." + +Bessie Lonsdale rose and crossed the room, took the receiver from its +stand, said, "Yes," and waited. + +A man's voice came over the wire. "I wish to speak to Mrs. Lonsdale, +please." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Yes," she said, "we are old friends." + +"You knew, then, I presume, that Mr. Ayling had gone away--to the +country some days ago." + +"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. + +"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." + +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--" + +She heard herself speaking: "Naturally, I--it's something of a +shock...." + +"Indeed I understand." + +Again she caught the sound of her own voice, as if it belonged to some +one else, "I suppose it was his heart." + +"He was known to have a bad heart?" + +"Yes; it has been weak for years." + +"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...." + +"I understand, perfectly." + +"Then I may come?" + +"Certainly." ... There was nothing else she could say. + + * * * * * + +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 _old_ friends." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"Formalities?" Her voice cut sharply into his. + +"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." + +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: + +"I'm afraid, my dear Mrs. Lonsdale, that she was a bit of a rotter, +whoever she was, for she--ran." + +"Ran?" She repeated the word. + +He nodded. "Disappeared." + +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." + +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. + +Suddenly she heard the word "publicity." He had stopped before her and +was looking down at her. + +"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." + +"Yes!" She grasped frantically at the straw. "Yes, by all means that!" + +"You would be willing to help?" + +"Yes, anything! But what is there I can do?" + +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?" + +"He came home from India on account of it." + +"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--" + +"Come with you? Where?" + +"To the inn, at Homebury," he said. + +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!" + +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." + +"I understand," said Mr. Burke, "how one shrinks from that sort of +thing." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +"I'm afraid," said Mr. Burke's voice, "that we're running into a storm." + +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. + +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. + +"There's an inn about half a mile farther on. Shall I make it?" + +"By all means." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Sorry, sir," he said; "it's the only place left." + +"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. + +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: + +"How very singular, Mrs. Lonsdale! This gentleman is Mr Ford, the +coroner, also on his way to Homebury!" + +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." + +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. + +"I suppose," he asked, leaning forward a little, confidentially, "that +Mrs. Lonsdale knows of the--peculiar element----" + +"The woman--yes," said Mr. Burke. And Bessie Lonsdale inclined her head +and said, "I know." + +"And do you know who she was?" + +She had only to make a negative sign, for Mr. Burke, with nice +consideration, anticipated her reply: + +"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." + +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!" + +"Rotter, I think," said Mr. Burke, "was precisely the word _I_ used." + +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. + +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.... + +"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. + +At the movement Bessie Lonsdale seemed to grow rigid in her chair. + +"Wait." + +Mr. Burke and Mr. Ford turned, startled by the strangeness of her tone. +They waited for her to speak. + +"I can't go." + +"Can't go?" They echoed it together. "Why not?" + +"Because," said she, "I am the woman you have been talking about." + +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: + +"My dear Mrs. Lonsdale, this is impossible." + +"Impossible," she said, passing her hand across her eyes, "impossible?" + +"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." + +"No," she said. "No, Mr. Burke." + +"I think," said Mr. Ford, also very gently indeed, "that perhaps Mrs. +Lonsdale is trying to shield some one." + +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: + +"I wonder--I wonder if I could make you understand!" + +They begged her to believe that that was the thing they wished most to +do. + +"I did it"--she paused, and forced herself to go on--"because of my +daughter." + +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. + +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 +_sure_ you wish to tell?" + +"No," said Bessie Lonsdale, "but I've _got_ to, don't you see?" + +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." + +Mr. Burke nodded, and they looked toward her expectantly. + +"Yes, Mrs. Lonsdale?" said Mr. Ford. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_something_, but not the thing they thought. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +"Oh, my dear Mrs. Lonsdale--!" they both began at once, but she stopped +them with a gesture of her hand. + +"I don't blame you," she said, "I don't blame you. I _was_ a rotter, to +run, but I simply didn't think of myself." + +Her tone, her gentleness, were the final proof. Only the innocent so +graciously forgive. + +"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." + +"Perhaps, Mr. Ford--" Mr. Burke began. A look passed between them, like +a question and an assent. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 +_hadn't_ an idea of it--and that alone, is why she _has_ escaped." + + * * * * * + +"I'm perfectly sure," said Peggy Lonsdale, on Saturday afternoon, "that +you _did_ 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!" + +She put down her head and kissed her, and Bessie Lonsdale patted the +fragrant young cheek. + +"Oh, I thought of you occasionally," she said. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[15] Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Fleta +Campbell Springer. + + + + +OUT OF EXILE[16] + +#By# WILBUR DANIEL STEELE + +From _The Pictorial Review_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Drop it, Joshua! Drop it, or by heavens----!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +"Drop it, Joshua!" Duncan's voice came loud and clear. + +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. + +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. + +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-ring--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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + + * * * * * + +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. + +"You don't realize, man, or else you'd stop him!" + +"Oh, I'll _stop_ him!" It was hardly above a breath. + +"I'll _stop_ him!" And throwing his greatcoat over his shoulders, Joshua +went out. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She was at home, at any rate, when Joshua Blake came back. + +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). + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _He_ 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. + +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. + +"Where's Andrew?" + +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 _now_! You hear Mary? I'll not wait!" + +"Where's Andrew?" + +"Andrew? Andrew? Why the devil do you keep on asking for Andrew? What's +_Andrew_ to you--now?" + +"Where is he?" + +"Mary, you're a fool!" + +Her voice grew if anything more monotonous; his, higher and wilder. + +"You're a fool," he cried again, "if you don't know where Andrew is." + +"He's gone." + +"Gone, yes! And how you can say it like that, so calm--God!" + +"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 _that's_ love,' he said, 'then +I'm going off somewhere and forget it, and never come back to Urkey any +more.'" + +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--_got_ to!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It's a shame, Milly, a living shame, as sure's you're alive." + +"You never said truer, Belle. As if 'twa'n't enough she should send Andy +to his death o' drownding----" + +"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----" + +"Yes, I saw him, too. A man can't stand being made a fool of...." + +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: + +"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?" + +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 _him_ had +come to. Miah turned to the bottle as another man might to prayer. + +"By the Lord!" he protested thickly. "Something's got to be done!" + +"Done? About what?" I remember my cousin peering curiously at him +through the smoke and spatter of the sausage he was frying. + +"About Josh, of course, and _her_. 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, _Who's to pay the bill? Who's to pay the bill?_ 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?" + +"Yes," Duncan agreed calmly. "But what's to be done?" + +"God knows! But look here, Dunc, you're constable, ain't you?" + +Duncan smiled pityingly, as if to say, "Don't be an idiot, Miah." + +"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 _that_ 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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Yes, yes, it was so--it _must_ 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. + +"If Joshua will answer me, and say that he _knows_ 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!" + +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. + +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.) + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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 flapping the long black tails of his coat, seemed but +to accentuate the dead weight of his attitude. + +When a minute had gone by I heard his dry voice. + +"So, Mary, you're at it again?" + +"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!" + +"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." + +She turned on him with a swift, ironical challenge. + +"You say it _now_? You _know_ 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 _knew_, why couldn't you +say it in so many words ten years ago--five years ago? _Why_?" + +"Because----" + +"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!" + +Joshua said it. + +"I know of a certainty Andrew went down that night." + +"_How_ do you know? Did you _see him go down_? Tell me that!" + +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. + +"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.... _Damn you_!" + +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. + +"Joshua!" she called to him, "Joshua, Joshua, come back!" + +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. + +"Joshua!" she called again, but he did not seem to hear. + +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. + +"Good Grandmother!" I know I grew redder and redder as I walked. "I hope +I don't have to see _her_ again--the old thing!" + +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. + +"Oh--you're--you're the Means boy." + +An embarrassment, pathetic only now in memory, came upon her. + +"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?" + +"No!" I shook off the hand that still lay, as if forgotten, on my +outraged arm. "What you want of _him_? _He's_ no good!" + +With that shot for parting I turned and stalked away. Behind me after a +moment, I heard her cry of protest, dismal beyond words. + +"Why do you say that, boy? What do you mean by that?" + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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!" + +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!") + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"Aground? Where to?" + +"On the outer bar; south'rd end of the outer bar they tell me." + +The voices came and went, whipped by the wind. + +"What vessel'd you say? Town craft?" + +"No--that ship." + +"What? Not that--that--_India ship_!" + +"Yep--that India ship." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"What you make of this, Rolldown?" + +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. + +"Got somethin' into it," he rumbled. + +"Yes, I know. Now let me have it back, Rolldown." + +"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!" + +"But it's mine, I tell you!" + +"'Tain't neither! 'Tain't neither!" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +For there on the crest before me, given in silhouette against the +fire-glow, stood the bride. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"This way!" I panted. "To the north'rd! She's heading to the north'rd. I +saw her dress just there, just now----" + +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. + +"'She shall come back,' says I, 'with the hand of iron,' says I." + +As always in this exalted state his phraseology grew Biblical. + +"'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!'" + +"Yes!" I puffed. "That's right, Miah; only hurry. _There!_" I cried. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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!" + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"He's come!" she said in a clear voice. "Andrew's come back again." + +Still she looked at Joshua. He did not move or reply. + +"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--_if you wish_." + +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. + +Joshua halted before her. Folding his hands behind him he looked her +over slowly from head to foot. + +"You lie!" That was all he said. + +"Oh, no, Joshua. I'm not lying. Andrew has come for the wedding." + +"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." + +"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----" + +With that she had the burden uncovered and held forth in her +outstretched hand. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"_Turn it over!_" + +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. + +"Mary--do as I say--_and turn it over_!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Let him go," was all she said. + +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. + +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. + +"Who is to pay the bill? Who is to pay the bill?" + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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.... + +FOOTNOTE: + +[16] Copyright, 1919, by The Pictorial Review Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Wilbur Daniel Steele. + + + + +THE THREE TELEGRAMS[17] + +#By# ETHEL STORM + +From _The Ladies' Home Journal_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Ma petite," he said, "you learn too fast to eat too little. You must be +big and well when your brothers come back." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 _must_ be +soon! And in her heart she believed that on that day grand'mère would +open her eyes. + +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. + +"I am sorry, mademoiselle," was all he said. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then she would start toward him and call: "Jacques, Jacques!" + +He would always answer, straightening in his chair: "Yes, my little one, +be not afraid. Jacques is ever near." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Listen, ma petite!" he cried. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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?" + +Claire René looked for a long time into Jacques' shining eyes; then she +whispered: "My brothers!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Claire René asked where the great man lived. + +"In Paris, ma petite." + +"And what does he look like--the brave one?" + +"He is grave and quiet, like a king." + +"And has he on his head the crown of gold?" + +"No, ma petite, but he has in his heart the Sons of France." + +"And Clément and Fernand and Alphonse also?" + +Claire René waited while Jacques passed his fingers through her hair. +"Yes, ma petite," he said at last. + +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?" + +Jacques shook his head. + +"Do you think one day from to-morrow?" + +Again Jacques shook his head. + +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?" + +"But--why--for what reason, ma petite?" + +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. + +No! She must forever keep the secret about the telegrams. Telegrams +meant sorrow; there must be only happiness in the house for the +brothers. + +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? + +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? + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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----" + +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! + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Jacques had cried out: "Ma petite, you hope too far." + +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? + +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. + +"There!" she said. "That's good." + +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. + +Claire René looked again, and then she screamed. + +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. + +She whispered: "The third telegram!" + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +There was scarcely a breath left in her body when Jacques found her at +dusk. + +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. + +She called: "Grand'mère!" + +From the outer room the voice of Jacques replied: "Yes, ma petite; I am +here." + +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. + +Presently she sat up and asked: "Did the angel come and take grand'mère +and carry her to the Holy Mother in heaven?" + +Jacques crossed his heart. "Yes, ma petite," he said. + +Faintly Claire René smiled and faintly she questioned: "But, my +brothers?" + +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. + +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. + +Jacques gave her food and care, and every day he said: "In only a little +time you will be strong again, ma petite." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Once she awoke and must have called out, for Jacques was kneeling beside +her bed. + +"Poor little one," he said, "you call, but there is only old Jacques to +come." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Jacques was with them; he was making a great many motions with his +hands. They were all walking very slowly and talking very fast. + +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. + +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. + +She was unaware when Jacques put a caressing, supporting arm about her +and said: "Listen, my child." + +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. + +"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'!" + +The tangled head shook in the angle of his arm. Claire René was crying. + +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. + +Jacques read: + + _To Mademoiselle Claire René_: 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. + +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. + +"Bonjour, messieurs," she said. + +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----" + +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." + +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. + +At this Claire René threw a frightened, wistful glance at Jacques. + +The tall man interrupted hastily. He said they had brought food with +them, and would she allow them to prepare it? + +Claire René nodded her head; her eyes looked beyond her questioner--out +into the lonely forest. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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! + +On each reverent, bowed head she placed her wreath; and when she had +finished, without tremor in her voice she said: "My brothers!" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[17] Copyright, 1919, by The Curtis Publishing Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Ethel Dodd Thomas. + + + + +THE ROMAN BATH[18] + +#By# JOHN T. WHEELWRIGHT + +From _Scribner's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +His modest modicum of port would have seemed a poor substitute to the +congenial Micawber for the punch. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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: + +"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. + +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." + +Ralph's first inclination was to say "_Thank you_," but he restrained +himself from this in time to save upsetting the foundations of British +social life, and instead he asked: + +"What kind of a morning is it?" + +"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." + +All the time he was quietly taking up Ralph's clothes, which were +scattered in convulsions around the room. + +"Shall I not unpack your box, sir?" asked the valet. + +Ralph stopped from sipping his tea to nod assent, and the man proceeded +with the unpacking with a hand which practice had made perfect. + +"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. + +"What is your name?" finally asked the American. + +"Postlethwaite, sir, but I answer to the name of 'Enery." + +"Well, 'Enery, did you ever hear of a Roman bath in a little street off +the Strand?" + +"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." + +"They used to take them, 'Enery, and my guide-book says that there is +one of theirs to this day in Strand Lane." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He bowed politely to Ralph, remarking: + +"So you, too, are waiting for a plunge into the waters of the Holywell?" + +"You are right, sir; I guess that we shall find the Roman bath cold this +morning." + +"You are an American, are you not?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"'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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +In a trice his face appeared above the surface, with no ripple or +disturbance of the water. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I too dreamed the night through," thought Ralph. "And am I dreaming +now?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Great Cæsar's ghost!" exclaimed Ralph, "Old Marley!" + +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: + +"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." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[18] Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1921, by +John T. Wheelwright. + + + + +AMAZEMENT[19] + +#By# STEPHEN FRENCH WHITMAN + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +One such prank rose, all at once, before my minds eye, and suddenly, in +the midst of my pessimism, I laughed aloud. + +I recalled the final scene of that escapade, which I myself had managed +to devise. The old café had rung 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. + +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. + +Then, too, in returning I had been so unfortunate as to find Florence on +the verge of spring. + +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. + +"After all," I thought, "it is better not to find one of the old circle. +We should make each other miserable by our reminiscences." + +No sooner had I reflected thus than I found myself face to face with +Antonio. + +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. + +"What luck!" he cried, embracing me with sincere delight. "But to think +that I should have to run into you on the street!" + +"I asked for you everywhere." + +"In the old places? I never go to them. You have not dined? Nor I. Here, +let us take this cab." + +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. + +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. + +"And Leonello, who was going to surpass Michael Angelo?" + +"Oh," my friend responded, "Leonello is still here, painting his +pictures. Like me, he could not live long beyond the air of Florence." + +Antonio, in fact, could trace his family back through Florentine history +into the Middle Ages. + +"Is Leonello the same?" I pursued. "Always up to some nonsense? But you +were not much behind him in those insane adventures." + +"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. + +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. + +"I am writing a book on such matters," I concluded. "You, of course, +will laugh at it----" + +His somber eyes, which had been watching me intently, became blank for a +time, then suddenly gave forth a flash. + +"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." + +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. + +This silence persisted while the cab bore us back into the city. + +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: + +"Fiammetta!" + +"What is it, Antonio? Are you in love?" + +He gave me a piercing look and sprang from the cab. We had reached the +door of his house. + +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. + +"No," said he, giving me another of his strange looks, "it is my +ancestor, Antonio di Manzecca, who died in the year fifteen hundred." + +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. + +"But," I protested, examining the portrait, "your resemblance to this +Antonio of the Renaissance could not possibly be closer." + +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. + +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. + +"The Castle of Manzecca," I ventured, merely to break the silence, "is +quite ruined, I suppose?" + +"No, the best part of it still stands. I have had some rooms restored." + +"You own it?" + +"I bought it back a year ago. It is there that I----" He buried his face +in his hands. + +"Antonio," I said, "you are in some great trouble." + +"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." + +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. + +Poor Antonio! What a return to Florence! + +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. + +My knock was answered by Antonio himself, his hat on his head and a +motorcoat over his arm. He seemed burning with impatience. + +"You have your overcoat? Good." And he locked the door on the outside. + +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. + +"Death!" muttered Antonio, with a sardonic grimace. "And they call it +unconquerable!" + +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. + +He burst forth at them like a man whose nervous tension is nearly +unendurable: + +"Yes, hang it all! I am quite well. Why the devil will you persist in +coddling me?" + +Leonello and Leonardo gave me a mournful look. + +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. + +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. + +"Northward. To the Castle of Manzecca, then?" I asked myself. + +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. + +The limousine glided to a standstill. + +"Here we abandon the car." + +We entered the kitchen of a humble farm-house. Strings of garlic hung +from the ceiling, and on the floor lay some valises. + +As the ladies departed into another room, Antonio mastered his emotion +and addressed me. + +"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." + +No sooner had Antonio uttered these words than he turned in a panic to +Leonello and Leonardo. + +"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." + +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: + +"Trust him. You do his quick wit an injustice." + +Finally Antonio, with a heavy sigh, unlocked the valises. + +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. + +"Are we all--" began Antonio. His voice failed him. Muffled in thick +cloaks, we faced the blustery night again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Speak, Nuta! Is she well?" he demanded. + +We followed him into the castle. + +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. + +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. + +Still, she was remarkable less for her costume than for the singularity +of her charms. + +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. + +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: + +"I present you to Madonna Fiammetta di Foscone, my affianced bride. +Madonna, this gentleman comes from a distant country to pay you homage." + +"He is welcome," she answered, in a voice that accorded with her +peculiar beauty. + +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. + + * * * * * + +I found myself with Antonio in a tower-room, whither he had brought me +on the ladies' retirement to prepare themselves for supper. + +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. + +Finally he began: + +"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. + +"In a hill-castle not far away lived another family, the Foscone. + +"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." + +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. + +But my friend continued: + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"But almost everything is discovered. Antonio's meetings with Fiammetta +became known to his elder brother. + +"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. + +"Fiammetta di Foscone had gone mad." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"You will soon understand why I am sometimes possessed with the idea +that I am dreaming." + +And he resumed his tale: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"So she went on and on----" + +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!" + +"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. + +"Yes," he repeated, releasing my arms and sitting down limply on the +bench. "As you anticipate, so it turned out." + +I was still able to protest: + +"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!" + +"The principle is the same," said Antonio, wearily. "Every mental +phenomenon has minor and major examples. But I will tell you the rest. + +"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. + +"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. + +"But I was destined to sing another tune. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"At midnight my plan was complete." + + * * * * * + +As he paused, and the conclusion became clear to me, I was taken with a +kind of stupor. + +"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. + +"That shock had restored her reason. + +"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. + +"All this was what she wanted to believe, so she believed it." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +At that he broke down. + +"Ah, if that happened, what horror should I witness?" + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +At the bottom of the winding tower staircase, in the doorway of the hall +where she had greeted us, we paused to compose ourselves. + +"At least," Antonio besought me, "when in doubt, remain silent." + +We entered the hall. Under a wooden gallery adorned with carved and +tinted shields the supper-table was laid. + +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. + +"You are pleased with the castle, messere?" + +As I was striving to respond, Antonio said to her, half aside, in that +quaint species of Italian which he had used before: + +"He speaks our language with difficulty, Madonna, and in a dialect. This +disability will embarrass him till he finds himself more at home." + +"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." + +In some manner or other I seated myself at the table. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +Did the others have similar premonitions? + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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?" + +There was a freezing moment of silence. + +"It is this great wind," muttered Leonardo, "that has brought us new air +from afar." + +"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." + +Antonio thanked his friends with an eloquent look. + +"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." + +Antonio drained his goblet at a gulp. He got out the words: + +"We are provincial, we Manzecca. Like a race apart." + +"All old families, jealous of their integrity, are the same," ventured +Laura, who looked, nevertheless, as if she were about to faint. + +"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?" + +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!" + +Antonio spoke with difficulty: + +"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." + +A quivering sigh of assent and relief went round the supper-table. But +Fiammetta protested: + +"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." + +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. + +Antonio, his jaws sagging, rose half-way out of his chair, then sank +back, speechless and livid. Unaware, eager, and imperious, Fiammetta +demanded: + +"A dagger!" + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +There was no sound except from the wind, which yelled its devilish glee +round the castle and in the chimney of the fireplace. + +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. + +"Only dust?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +Her countenance became bloodless. Her teeth chattered. She murmured: + +"What is happening to me? I am so cold!" + +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. + +There was a hysterical babble of voices: + +"She is dead! No, she has swooned! Bring vinegar! Rub her hands! Light +the fire!" + +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. + +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. + +Fiammetta di Foscone read the date. + +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. + +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. + +"Whatever it is," she breathed, "I still have you." + +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: + +"A stranger!" + +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. + +"After her!" some one shouted. + +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: + +"She will throw herself from the roof!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +What thoughts! + +"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." + +I was sure that my hair had turned white. + +And she? A vast wave of pity and longing swept over me and whirled me +away into the depths of despair. + +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. + +I cannot imagine what impulse made me rise, at last, and try the door +again. At my first touch it swung open. + +Descending the staircase, I re-entered the hall. + + * * * * * + +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. + +The company looked at me with tolerant smiles. + +"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." + +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. + +"Very _recherché_," was his comment. "Do you wear it for a whim?" + +"He is soaking wet," announced Lina, compassionately. "I think he has +been looking at the garden." + +"A botanist!" cried Laura, clapping her hands. "Will you give me some +advice, signore? What is the best preservative for damask roses?" + +"Water them with credulity," Leonello suggested. + +And they all burst out laughing in my face, with the exception of the +beautiful Fiammetta. + +Antonio, rising and bowing to me, spoke as follows: + +"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." + +While I was still trying to master my feelings, he added: + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +The fair Fiammetta, however, made a gesture of reproof, then held out +her warm hand to me. + +"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?" + +All the others looked rather chop-fallen. But Antonio soon recovered. He +retorted: + +"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!" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[19] Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Stephen +French Whitman. + + + + +SHEENER[20] + +#By# BEN AMES WILLIAMS + +From _Collier's Weekly_ + + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then I'm glad I'm a roughneck," I retorted; and Sheener shook his head. + +"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." + +"I'm waiting," I said. + +"Keep right on," Sheener advised me. "Keep right on. The old stuff is +there. It'll show. Take it from me." + +I laughed at him. "If I get you," I said, "you're looking for something +along the line of 'Noblesse Oblige.' What?" + +"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." + +"Blood will tell, eh?" + +"Take it from me," said Sheener. + +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. + +"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." + +"How does he like your running his affairs?" I asked. + +"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." + +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. + +He took it meekly enough, but not Sheener. Sheener came to me with fire +in his eye. + +"Sa-a-ay," he demanded, "what's coming off here, anyhow? What do you +think you're trying to pull?" + +I asked him what he was talking about, and he said: "Evans says you've +given him the hook." + +"That's right," I admitted. "He's through." + +"He is not," Sheener told me flatly. "You can't fire that guy." + +"Why not?" + +"He's got to live, ain't he?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"You mean to say you're still looking out for that old tramp?" I +demanded. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + +"I say, you know, I'm a bit knocked up." + +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." + +Evans moved his head on the pillow, as though lie were nodding. "A bit +tight, wasn't it, what?" he asked. + +"Say," Sheener agreed. "You said something, Bum. I thought you'd kick +off, sure." + +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." + +Sheener said: "Sure I will. Who'll I write to, Bum?" + +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.... + +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. + +"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." + +"You'll have your trouble for your pains," I told him. "The old soak is +a plain liar; that's all." + +Sheener laughed at me. "That's all right, bo," he told me. "I know. This +guy's the real cheese. You'll see." + +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. + +"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." + +"Son?" I asked. + +"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." + +"What does Bum say?" + +"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. + +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?" + +"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." + +"When's the boy coming?" + +"Gets in at midnight to-night," said Sheener. + +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. + +"The boy's really coming?" I asked. + +Sheener said proudly: "I'm telling you." + +"You heard from him?" + +"Got a wire the day he got my letter." + +"You've told Bum?" + +"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." + +"You haven't let him?" + +"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.'" + +"I noticed his new suit." + +"Sure," Sheener agreed. "I bought it for him." + +"Out of his savings?" + +"He ain't been saving much lately." + +"Sheener," I asked, "how much does he owe you? For money loaned and +spent for him." + +Sheener said hotly: "He don't owe me a cent." + +"I know. But how much have you spent on him?" + +"If I hadn't have give it to him, I'd have blowed it somehow. He needed +it." + +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." + +"If this millionaire son of his has any decency, he'll make it up to +you." + +"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." + +"And the boy gets in to-night?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +Evans nodded. "Quite so," he said with some relief. "Quite so, to be +sure." + +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." + +"You'll step back a bit, eh, what?" Evans asked. + +"Don't worry about us," Sheener told him. "Just you keep your eye +skinned for the boy. Good luck, bo." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sheener fell back to my side. They stalked past us, out to the taxi +stand. + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +If you still doubt, do as I did. Consider Sheener. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[20] Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son, Inc. Copyright, 1921, by +Ben Ames Williams. + + + + +TURKEY RED[21] + +#By# FRANCES GILCHRIST WOOD + +From _The Pictorial Review_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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." + +"God! Can't they see the other side of it? What it means to the folks +already here to wait for it?" + +The stranger thrust a suddenly interested profile above the handsome +collar of his fur coat. He looked out over the waste of snow. + +"You say there's no timber here?" + +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." + +"Any ores--mines?" + +The boy shook his head as he slid farther down in his worn buffalo coat +of the plains. + +"We're too busy rustling for something to eat first. And you can't +develop mines without tools." + +"Tools?" + +"Yes, a railroad first of all." + +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. + +"It's a god-forsaken country. Why don't you get out?" + +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.'" + +Smith regarded him irritably. "Why should any sane man ever have chosen +this frozen wilderness?" + +Hillas closed his eyes wearily. "We came in the Spring." + +"I see!" The edged voice snapped, "Visionaries!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +Dan watched the northern sky-line restlessly. "It won't be snow. Look +like a blizzard to you, Hillas?" + +The traveler sat up. "Blizzard?" + +"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." + +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." + +Dan turned. "Wouldn't, eh?" + +"No." + +"You're American?" + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"I was born here. It's my country." + +"Ever read about your Pilgrim Fathers?" + +"Why, of course." + +"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." + +"Humph!" With a contemptuous look across the desert. "Where's your +freight, your grain, cattle----" + +"_West_-bound freight, coal, feed, seed-grain, work, and more +neighbors." + +"One-sided bargain. Road that hauls empties one way doesn't pay. No +Company would risk a line through here." + +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?" + +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." + +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." + +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." + +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?" + +"Business. My own!" + +"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----" + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +"Got to keep the track 'til we--see--light!" + +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. + +"See it, Hillas?" + +"No, Dan." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"I'll get him up--or cut leaders--loose! If I don't--come back--drive to +light. _Don't--get--out!_" + +Dan disappeared in the white fury. There were sounds of a struggle; the +sled jerked sharply and stood still. Slowly it strained forward. + +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. + +"All--right--son." Dan reached for the reins. + +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. + +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. + +"Find the guide-rope to the house, Dan?" + +"On the other side, toward the shack. Where's--Smith?" + +"Here, by the shed." + +Dan turned toward the stranger's voice. + +"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." + +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. + +"Hang on to my belt, too, Hillas. Ready--Smith? Got the rope?" + +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. + +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!" + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Your nose is white, too. Thaw it out." + +Abruptly Dan indicated a bench against the wall where the two men seated +would take up less space. + +"I'm----" The stranger's voice was unsteady. "I----," but Dan had turned +his back and his attention to the homesteader. + +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. + +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. + +"How long's she been this way?" + +"She began to choke up day before yesterday, just after you passed on +the down trip." + +The driver laid big finger tips on the restless wrist. + +"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." + +The girl lifted heavy eyelids above blue semicircles of fatigue and the +compelling terror back of her eyes forced a question through dry lips. + +"Dan, do you know what membranous croup is like? Is this it?" + +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. + +"Mebbe it is, Mis' Clark, but don't you be scared. We'll help you a +spell." + +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. + +He turned to the girl, opened his lips as if to speak with a face full +of pity. + +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. + +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." + +Hillas nodded. + +"Where are her people? Where's her husband?" + +"Down in Yankton, Dan told you, working for the Winter. Got to have the +money to live." + +"Where's the doctor?" + +"Nearest one's in Haney--four days' trip away by stage." + +The traveler stared, frowningly. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"She's so little, Dan, and weak. How am I going to know if she--if +she----" + +Dan re-arranged the blanket tent. "Jest get under with her yourself, +Mis' Clark, then you'll know all that's happening." + +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. + +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. + +"Stove--fire?" with a gesture of protest against the inadequate oil +blaze. + +Hillas whispered, "Can't afford it. Coal is $9.00 in Haney, $18.00 +here." + +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. + +The child was beating the air with tiny fists, fighting for breath. The +mother stood rigid, arms out. + +"Turn her this way!" Dan shifted the struggling child, face out. "Now +watch out for the----" + +The strangling cough broke and a horrible something--"It's the membrane! +She's too weak--let me have her!" + +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. + +"Dan, is--is she----?" + +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!" + +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!" + +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!" + +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. + +"Did you get this then?" + +She nodded. "The storm threw me against the pole when I hoisted the +lantern. I thought I'd--never--get back!" + +It was Smith who translated Dan's look of appeal for the cup of warm +milk and held it to the girl's lips. + +"Drink it, Mis' Clark, you need it." + +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!" + +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. + +"Poor kid, but she's grit, clear through!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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)." + +He motioned toward the bed. "Her name?" + +Hillas nodded. Smith grinned. "Dan's right. Blood will tell, even to +damning the rest of us." + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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.'" + +He turned the torn parcel, showing the bright red within, and looked at +the cupboard and window with shining, tired eyes. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'll hitch up. We'll stop at Peterson's and tell her to come over." He +closed the door noiselessly. + +The traveler was frowning intently. Finally he turned toward the boy who +sat with his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. + +"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?" + +The low answer was toneless. "Drought killed the crops, prairie fires +burned the hay, of course the cattle starved." + +"There's no timber, ore, nothing that could be used for east-bound +shipment?" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +"Know where to dig for samples under this snow?" + +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!" + +There was the sound of jingling harness and the crunch of runners. The +men bundled into fur coats. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Dan stared. + +"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." + +"Smith! Smith! Well I'll be--aren't you a claim spotter?" + +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. + +"You're going to get a road out here?" + +"I've told Hillas I'll put money in your way to mine the coal. Then the +railroad will come." + +Dan's voice rasped with tension. "We'll get out the coal. Are you going +to see that the road's built?" + +Unconsciously the traveler held up his right hand, "I am!" + +Dan searched his face sharply. Smith nodded, "I'm making my bet on the +people--friend!" + +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!" + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[21] Copyright, 1919, by The Pictorial Review Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Frances Gilchrist Wood. + + + + +THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY, OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, +1920 + +ADDRESSES OF AMERICAN MAGAZINES PUBLISHING SHORT STORIES + + +#Note.# _This address list does not aim to be complete, but is based +simply on the magazines which I have consulted for this volume._ + +Adventure, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. +Ainslee's Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +American Boy, 142 Lafayette Boulevard, Detroit, Michigan. +American Magazine, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Argosy All-Story Weekly, 280 Broadway, New York City. +Asia, 627 Lexington Avenue, New York City. +Atlantic Monthly, 8 Arlington Street, Boston, Mass. +Black Cat, 229 West 28th Street, New York City. +Catholic World, 120 West 60th Street, New York City. +Century, 353 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Christian Herald, Bible House, New York City. +Collier's Weekly, 416 West 13th Street, New York City. +Cosmopolitan Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Delineator, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. +Dial, 152 West 13th Street, New York City. +Everybody's Magazine, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. +Freeman, 32 West 58th Street, New York City. +Good Housekeeping, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Harper's Bazar, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Harper's Magazine, Franklin Square, New York City. +Hearst's Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Holland's Magazine, Dallas, Texas. +Ladies' Home Journal, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa. +Liberator, 34 Union Square East, New York City. +Little Review, 24 West 16th Street, New York City. +Little Story Magazine, 714 Drexel Building, Philadelphia, Pa. +Live Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City. +McCall's Magazine, 236 West 37th Street, New York City. +McClure's Magazine, 76 Fifth Avenue, New York City. +Magnificat, Manchester, N. H. +Metropolitan, 432 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Midland, Glennie, Alcona County, Mich. +Munsey's Magazine, 280 Broadway, New York City. +Outlook, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Pagan, 7 East 15th Street, New York City. +Parisienne, 25 West 45th Street, New York City. +People's Favorite Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +Pictorial Review, 216 West 39th Street, New York City. +Popular Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +Queen's Work, 626 North Vandeventer Avenue, St. Louis, Mo. +Red Book Magazine, North American Building, Chicago, Ill. +Saturday Evening Post, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa. +Scribner's Magazine, 597 Fifth Avenue, New York City. +Short Stories, Garden City, Long Island, N. Y. +Smart Set, 25 West 45th Street, New York City. +Snappy Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City. +Sunset, 460 Fourth Street, San Francisco, Cal. +To-day's Housewife, Cooperstown, N. Y. +Top-Notch Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +Touchstone, 1 West 47th Street, New York City. +Woman's Home Companion, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Woman's World, 107 South Clinton Street, Chicago, Ill. + + + + +THE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ROLL OF HONOR OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES + + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + +#Note.# _Only stories by American authors are listed. The best stories are +indicated by an asterisk before the title of the story. The index +figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 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._ + +(56) #Abdullah, Achmed# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Evening Rice. + + +#Aitken, Kenneth Lyndwode.# 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. + + From the Admiralty Files. + + +#Anderson, C. Farley.# + + Octogenarian. + + +#Anderson, Jane.# + + Happiest Man in the World. + + +(3456) #Anderson, Sherwood# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Door of the Trap. + *I Want to Know Why. + *Other Woman. + *Triumph of the Egg. + + +#Anderton, Daisy.# 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. + + Belated Girlhood. + + +(3456) #Babcock, Edwina Stanton# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Gargoyle. + + +(6) #Barnes, Djuna# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Beyond the End. + *Mother. + +#Benét, Stephen Vincent.# 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. + + Summer Thunder. + + +#Bercovici, Konrad.# 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. + + *Ghitza. + + +#Boulton, Agnes.# 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. + + Hater of Mediocrity. + + +(2346) #Brown, Alice# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Old Lemuel's Journey. + + +(56) #Brownell, Agnes Mary# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Buttermilk. + Quest. + Relation. + + +#Bryner, Edna Clare.# 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. + + *Life of Five Points. + + +(1456) #Burt, Maxwell Struthers# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Dream or Two. + *Each in His Generation. + *When His Ships Came In. + + +(56) #Cabell, James Branch# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Designs of Miramon. + *Feathers of Olrun. + *Hair of Melicent. + *Head of Misery. + *Hour of Freydis. + +#Camp, (Charles) Wadsworth.# 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. + + *Signal Tower. + + +#Carnevali, Emanuel.# + + Tales of a Hurried Man. I. + + +#Chapman, Edith.# + + Classical Case. + + +(2345) #Cobb, Irvin S.# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Story That Ends Twice. + + +#Corley, Donald.# + + *Daimyo's Bowl. + + +(6) #Cram, Mildred# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Odell. + Spring of Cold Water. + Wind. + + +#Crew, Helen Coale.# 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. + + *Parting Genius. + + +#Delano, Edith Barnard.# 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. + + Life and the Tide. + + +(456) #Dobie, Charles Caldwell# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Christmas Cakes. + *Leech. + + +#Dodge, Louis.# 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. + + Case of MacIntyre. + + +(36) #Dreiser, Theodore# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Sanctuary. + + +(5) #Ellerbe, Alma and Paul# (_for biographies, see 1918_). + + Paradise Shares. + + +(4) #Ferber, Edna# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Maternal Feminine. + *You've Got To Be Selfish. + + +#Fillmore, Parker.# 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. + + Katcha and the Devil. + + +#Finger, Charles J.# Born at Willesden, England, Sept. 25, 1871. +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. + + *Ebro. + Jack Random. + + +(6) #Fish, Horace# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Doom's-Day Envelope. + + +#Follett, Wilson.# + + *Dive. + + +(4) #Folsom, Elizabeth Irons# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Alibi. + + +(12345) #Gerould, Katharine Fullerton# (_for biography, see +1917_). + + *Habakkuk. + *Honest Man. + + +(5) #Gilbert, George# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Sigh of the Bulbul. + + +(1345) #Gordon, Armistead C.# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Panjorum Bucket. + + +#Halverson, Delbert M.# 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. + + Leaves in the Wind. + + +(4) #Hartman, Lee Foster# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Judgment of Vulcan. + + +(56) #Hergesheimer, Joseph# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Blue Ice. + *Ever So Long Ago. + *Meeker Ritual (II). + *"Read Them and Weep." + +(25) #Hughes, Rupert# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Stick-in-the-Muds. + + +#Hunting, Ema S.# 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. + + Dissipation. + Soul That Sinneth. + + +#Hussey, L. M.# 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. + + Lowden Household. + Two Gentlemen of Caracas. + + +(6) #Irwin, Wallace# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + Beauty. + + +#Johns, Orrick.# + + Big Frog. + + +(256) #Johnson, Arthur# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Princess of Tork. + + +(3) #Knight, (Clifford) Reynolds.# 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. + + *Melody Jim. + + +#Komroff, Manuel.# + + Thumbs. + + +"#Kral, Carlos A. V."# 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. + + Landscape with Trees, and Colored Twilight with Music. + + +(6) #La Motte, Ellen Newbold.# 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. + + Golden Stars. + + +#McCourt, Edna Wahlert.# + + *Lichen. + + +(6) #MacManus, Seumas.# + + Conaleen and Donaleen. + Heartbreak of Norah O'Hara. + Lad from Largymore. + + +#Mann, Jane.# 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. + + Heritage. + + +#Mason, Grace Sartwell.# 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. + + *His Job. + + +(6) #"Maxwell, Helena"# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + Adolescence. + + +#Mears, Mary M.# 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. + + Forbidden Thing. + + +(36) #Montague, Margaret Prescott# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. + + +(6) #Murray, Roy Irving.# 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. + + Substitute. + + +(6) #Muth, Edna Tucker.# + + *Gallipeau. + +#O'Brien, Frederick.# 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. + + *Jade Bracelet of Ah Queen. + + +#"O'Grady, R."# 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. + + Brothers. + + +#O'Hagan, Anne.# 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. + + Return. + + +(45) #O'Higgins, Harvey J.# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Story of Big Dan Reilly. + *Story of Mrs. Murchison. + Strange Case of Warden Jupp. + + +(5) #Oppenheim, James# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Rending. + + +#Osbourne, Lloyd.# 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. + + East is East. + + +(345) #O'Sullivan, Vincent# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Dance-Hall at Unigenitus. + + +(123) #Post, Melville Davisson.# 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. + + Yellow Flower. + + +#Reindel, Margaret H.# 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. + + Fear. + + +#Rice, Louise.# + + *Lubbeny Kiss. + + +#Roche, Arthur Somers.# 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. + + *Dummy-Chucker. + + +(3) #Roche, Mazo De La.# + + Explorers of the Dawn. + + +(234) #Rosenblatt, Benjamin# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Stepping Westward. + + +#Rumsey, Frances.# 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, 1920. + + *Cash. + + +(5) #Russell, John# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Wreck on Deliverance. + + +#"Rutledge, Maryse."# 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. + + House of Fuller. + + +#Ryan, Kathryn White.# 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. + + Man of Cone. + + +#Saphier, William.# 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. + + Kites. + + +(356) #Sedgwick, Anne Douglas# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Christmas Roses. + + +(6) #Sidney, Rose.# 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. + + *Butterflies. + + +(123456) #Singmaster, Elsie# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Miss Vilda. + Salvadora. + + +(345) #Springer, Fleta Campbell# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Civilization. + *Rotter. + + +(23456) #Steele, Wilbur Daniel# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Both Judge and Jury. + *God's Mercy. + *Out of Exile. + + +#"Storm, Ethel."# 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. + + *Three Telegrams. + + +(5) #Street, Julian# (_for biography, see_ 1918). + + Hands. + + +(3456) #Vorse, Mary Heaton# (_for biography, see_ 1917). + + *Fraycar's Fist. + *Hopper. + Pink Fence. + + +#Ward, Herbert Dickinson.# 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. + + Master Note. + + +#Welles, Harriet Ogden Deen.# 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. + + According to Ruskin. + + +#Wheelwright, John T.# 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. + + *Roman Bath. + + +#Whitman, Stephen French.# + + *Amazement. + *Lost Waltz. + *To a Venetian Tune. + + +(56) #Williams, Ben Ames# (_for biography, see_ 1918). + + *Sheener. + + +#Wilson, John Fleming.# 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. + + Uncharted Reefs. + +(6) #Wilson, Margaret Adelaide.# 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. + + Drums. + + +(5) #Wood, Frances Gilchrist# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Spoiling of Pharaoh. + *Turkey Red. + + +(6) #Yezierska, Anzia# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Hunger. + + + + +THE ROLL OF HONOR OF FOREIGN SHORT STORIES IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +#Note.# _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. #English and Irish Authors# + + +(123456) #Aumonier, Stacy.# + + *Good Action. + *Golden Windmill. + *Great Unimpressionable. + *Just the Same. + *Landlord of "The-Love-a-Duck." + + +#Barker, Granville.# + + Bigamist. + + +#Beck, L. Adams.# + + Fire of Beauty. + Incomparable Lady. + + +(12356) #Blackwood, Algernon.# + + *First Hate. + *Running Wolf. + + +#Buchan, John.# + + Fullcircle. + + +(6) #Burke, Thomas.# + + *Scarlet Shoes. + + +#Dobrée, Bonamy.# + + Surfeit. + + +(456) #Dudeney, Mrs. Henry E.# + + Wild Raspberries. + + +(46) #Dunsany, Lord.# + + *Cheng Hi and the Window Framer. + *East and West. + *How the Lost Causes Were Removed from Valhalla. + *Pretty Quarrel. + + +#Ervine, St. John G.# + + Dramatist and the Leading Lady. + + +(2) #Gibbon, Perceval.# + + *Connoisseur. + Knave of Diamonds. + Lieutenant. + + +#Holding, Elizabeth Sanxay.# + + Problem that Perplexed Nicholson. + + +(4) #Lawrence, D. H.# + + *Adolf. + + +#MacManus, L.# + + Baptism. + + +#Merrick, Leonard.# + + To Daphne De Vere. + + +#Monro, Harold.# + + *Parcel of Love. + + +(456) #Mordaunt, Elinor.# + + *Adventures in the Night. + *Ginger Jar. + +#Nevinson, Henry W.# + + *In Diocletian's Day. + + +#Owen, H. Collinson.# + + Temptation of Antoine. + + +#Richardson, Dorothy M.# + + *Sunday. + + +#Sinclair, May.# + + *Fame. + + +(5) #Stephens, James.# + + *Boss. + *Desire. + *Thieves. + + +(2) Walpole, Hugh. + + *Case of Miss Morganhurst. + *Fanny's Job. + *Honourable Clive Torby. + *No Place for Absalom. + *Stealthy Visitor. + *Third Sex. + + +II. #Translations# + + +(4) #Andreyev, Leonid.# (_Russian._) + + *Promise of Spring. + + +Anonymous. (_Chinese._) + + *Romance of the Western Pavilion. + + +(6) #Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# (_Spanish._) + + Old Woman of the Movies. + Sleeping-Car Porter. + + +(6) #"France, Anatole." (Jacques Anatole Thibault.)# (_French._) + + *Lady With the White Fan. + + +#Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco.# (_Spanish._) _See_ #Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# + + +#Kotsyubinsky, Michael.# (_Russian._) + + By the Sea. + + +(6) #Level, Maurice.# (_French._) + + Empty House. + Kennel. + Maniac. + Son of His Father. + + +#Lichtenberger, André.# (_French._) + + Old Fisherwoman. + + +#Louÿs, Pierre.# (_French._) + + False Esther. + + +#Nodier, Charles.# (_French._) + + *Bibliomaniac. + + +#Rameau, Jean.# (_French._) + + Ocarina. + + +(4) #Saltykov, M. E.# (_Russian._) + + *Wild Squire. + + +#Schnitzler, Arthur.# (_German._) + + *Crumbled Blossoms. + + +#Thibault, Jacques Anatole.# (_French._) _See_ "#France, Anatole.#" + + +#Trueba, Antonio De.# (_Spanish._) + + Portal of Heaven. + + +#Yushkevitch, Semyon.# (_Russian._) + + Pietà . + + + + +THE BEST BOOKS OF SHORT STORIES OF 1920: A CRITICAL SUMMARY + + +#The Ten Best American Books# + +1. #Brown.# Homespun and Gold. Macmillan. +2. #Cather.# Youth and the Bright Medusa. Knopf. +3. #Dwight.# The Emperor of Elam. Doubleday, Page. +4. #Howells,# _Editor._ Great Modern American Stories. Boni & Liveright. +5. #Johnson.# Under the Rose. Harper. +6. #Sedgwick.# Christmas Roses. Houghton Mifflin. +7. #Smith.# Pagan. Scribner. +8. Society of Arts and Sciences. #O. Henry# Prize Stories, 1919. + Doubleday, Page. +9. #Spofford.# The Elder's People. Houghton Mifflin. +10. #Yezierska.# Hungry Hearts. Houghton Mifflin. + + +#The Ten Best English Books# + +1. #Beerbohm.# Seven Men. Knopf. +2. #Cannan.# Windmills. Huebsch. +3. #Dunsany.# Tales of Three Hemispheres. Luce. +4. #Easton.# Golden Bird. Knopf. +5. #Evans.# My Neighbours. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe. +6. #Galsworthy.# Tatterdemalion. Scribner. +7. #Huxley.# Limbo. Doran. +8. #O'Kelly.# The Golden Barque, and the Weaver's Grave. Putnam. +9. #Trevena.# By Violence. Four Seas. +10. #Wylie.# Holy Fire. Lane. + + +#The Ten Best Translations# + +1. #Aleichem.# Jewish Children. Knopf. +2. #Andreiev.# When the King Loses His Head. International Bk. Pub. +3. #Annunzio.# Tales of My Native Town. Doubleday, Page. +4. #Brown and Phoutrides#, _Editors._ Modern Greek Stories. Duffield. +5. #Chekhov.# The Chorus Girl. Macmillan. +6. #Dostoevsky.# The Honest Thief. Macmillan. +7. #Hrbkova#, _Editor._ Czecho-Slovak Stories. Duffield. +8. #Level.# Tales of Mystery and Horror. McBride. +9. #McMichael#, _Editor._ Short Stories from the Spanish. Boni & Liveright. + +10. #Mayran.# Story of Gotton Connixloo. Dutton. + + +#The Best New English Publications# + +1. #Gibbon, Perceval.# Those Who Smiled. Cassell. +2. #Mayne, Ethel Colburn.# Blindman. Chapman and Hall. +3. #Mordaunt, Elinor.# Old Wine in New Bottles. Hutchinson. +4. #O'Kelly, Seumas.# The Leprechaun of Killmeen. Martin Lester. +5. #Robinson, Lennox.# Eight Short Stories. Talbot Press. +6. #Shorter, Dora Sigerson.# A Dull Day in London. Nash. +7. #Lemaître, Jules.# Serenus. Selwyn and Blount. + + +BELOW FOLLOWS A RECORD OF NINETY-TWO DISTINCTIVE VOLUMES PUBLISHED +BETWEEN NOVEMBER 1, 1918, AND OCTOBER 1, 1920. + + +I. #American Authors# + +#The Honourable Gentlemen and Others# and #Wings: Tales of the Psychic#, by +_Achmed Abdullah_ (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. + +#Hand-Made Fables#, by _George Ade._ (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. + +#Joy in the Morning#, by _Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews_ (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. + +#Youth and the Bright Medusa#, by _Willa Cather_ (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. + +#From Place to Place#, by _Irvin S. Cobb_ (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. + +#The Life of the Party#, by _Irvin S. Cobb_ (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. + +#Hiker Joy#, by _James B. Connolly_ (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. + +#Twelve Men#, by _Theodore Dreiser_ (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. + +#The Emperor of Elam, and Other Stories#, by _H. G. Dwight_ (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. + +#The Miller's Holiday: Short Stories From the North Western Miller#, +Edited by _Randolph Edgar_ (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. + +#Half Portions#, by _Edna Ferber_ (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. + +#The Best Psychic Stories#, Edited by _Joseph Lewis French_, with an +Introduction by _Dorothy Scarborough_ (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. + +#Fantastics, and Other Fancies#, by _Lafcadio Hearn_, Edited by _Charles +Woodward Hutson_ (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. + +#Waifs and Strays: Twelve Stories#, by _O. Henry_ (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. + +#O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories#, 1919, Chosen by the _Society of Arts +and Sciences_, with an introduction by _Blanche Colton Williams_ +(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. + +#The Happy End#, by _Joseph Hergesheimer_ (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. + +#War Stories#, Selected and Edited by _Roy J. Holmes_ and _A. Starbuck_ +(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. + +#The Great Modern American Stories: An Anthology#, Compiled and edited +with an introduction by _William Dean Howells_ (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. + +#Bedouins#, by _James Huneker_ (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." + +#Humoresque#, by _Fannie Hurst_ (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. + +#Legends#, by _Walter McLaren Imrie_ (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. + +#Travelling Companions#, by _Henry James_ (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. + +#The Best American Humorous Short Stories#, Edited by _Alexander Jessup_ +(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. + +#John Stuyvesant Ancestor and Other People#, by _Alvin Johnson_ (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. + +#Under the Rose#, by _Arthur Johnson_ (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. + +#Going West#, by _Basil King_ (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. + +#Civilization: Tales of the Orient#, by _Ellen N. La Motte_ (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. + +#Short Stories of the New America#, Selected and Edited by _Mary A. +Laselle_ (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. + +#Chill Hours#, by _Helen Mackay_ (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. + +#Children in the Mist#, by _George Madden Martin_ (D. Appleton & Company), +and #More E. K. Means# (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. + +#The Gift, England to America#, and #Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge#, by +_Margaret Prescott Montague_ (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. + +#From the Life#, by _Harvey O'Higgins_ (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. + +#The Mystery at the Blue Villa#, by _Melville Davisson Post_ (D. Appleton +and Company), and #Silent, White and Beautiful#, by _Tod Robbins_ (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. + +#The Best Ghost Stories.# Introduction by _Arthur B. Reeve_ (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. + +#High Life#, by _Harrison Rhodes_ (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. + +#The Red Mark#, by _John Russell_ (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. + +#The Pagan#, by _Gordon Arthur Smith_ (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. + +#The Elder's People#, by _Harriet Prescott Spofford_ (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." + +#The Valley of Vision#, by _Henry van Dyke_ (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. + +#The Ninth Man#, by _Mary Heaton Vorse_ (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. + +#Anchors Aweigh#, by _Harriet Welles_ (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. + +#Ma Pettengill#, by _Harry Leon Wilson_ (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. + +#Hungry Hearts#, by _Anzia Yezierska_ (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. + + +II. #English and Irish Authors# + +#Windmills: A Book of Fables#, by _Gilbert Cannan_ (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. + +#The Eve of Pascua#, by "_Richard Dehan_" (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. + +#Poems and Prose#, of _Ernest Dowson_ (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." + +#The Golden Bird and Other Sketches#, by _Dorothy Eastern_, with a +foreword by _John Galsworthy_ (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. + +#My Neighbors: Stories of the Welsh People#, by _Caradoc Evans_ (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. + +#Tatterdemalion#, by _John Galsworthy_ (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. + +#Limbo#, by _Aldous Huxley_ (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. + +#Deep Waters#, by _W. W. Jacobs_ (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. + +#Lo, and Behold Ye!#, by _Seumas MacManus_ (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. + +#The Clintons, and Others#, by _Archibald Marshall_ (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. + +#The Man Who Understood Women#, and #While Paris Laughed#, by _Leonard +Merrick_ (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. + +#Workhouse Characters#, by _Margaret Wynne Nevinson_ (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. + +#The New Decameron#: 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. + +#Wrack, and Other Stories#, by "_Dermot O'Byrne_" (Dublin: The Talbot +Press, Ltd.), #The Golden Barque, and the Weaver's Grave#, by _Seumas +O'Kelly_ (Dublin: The Talbot Press, Ltd.), and #Eight Short Stories#, by +_Lennox Robinson_ (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. + +#The Old Card#, by _Roland Pertwee_ (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. + +#Old Junk#, by _H. M. Tomlinson_ (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. + +#By Violence#, by "_John Trevena_" (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. + +#Port Allington Stories#, by _R. E. Vernède_ (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. + +#Holy Fire, and Other Stories#, by _Ida A. R. Wylie_ (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. + + +III. #Translations# + +#When the King Loses His Head, and Other Stories#, by _Leonid Andreyev._ +Translated by _Archibald J. Wolfe_ (International Book Publishing +Company), and #Modern Russian Classics.# Introduction by _Isaac Goldberg_ +(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. + +#Prometheus: the Fall of the House of Limón: Sunday Sunlight: Poetic +Novels of Spanish Life#, by _Ramón Pérez de Ayala_, Prose translations by +_Alice P. Hubbard_: Poems done into English by _Grace Hazard Conkling_ +(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. + +#The Last Lion, and Other Tales#, by _Vicente Blasco Ibáñez_, with an +Introduction by _Mariano Joaquin Lorente_ (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. + +#The Bishop, and Other Stories#, and #The Chorus Girl, and Other Stories#, +by _Anton Chekhov_; translated from the Russian by _Constance Garnett_ +(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. + +#The Surprises of Life#, by _Georges Clémenceau_; translated by _Grace +Hall_ (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. + +#Tales of My Native Town#, by _Gabriele D'Annunzio_; translated by _G. +Mantellini_, with an Introduction by _Joseph Hergesheimer_ (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. + +#Military Servitude and Grandeur#, by _Alfred de Vigny_; translated by +_Frances Wilson Huard_ (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. + +#An Honest Thief, and Other Stories#, by _Fyodor Dostoevsky_; translated +from the Russian by _Constance Garnett_ (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. + +#Civilization#, 1914-1917, by _Georges Duhamel_; translated by _E. S. +Brooks_ (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. + +#Czecho-Slovak Stories#, translation by _Ŝárka B. Hrbkova_ (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 +ÄŒech, and Caroline SvÄštlá, 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. + +#Serenus, and Other Stories of the Past and Present#, by _Jules Lemaître_; +translated by "_Penguin_" (_A. W. Evans_) (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. + +#Tales of Mystery and Horror#, by _Maurice Level_; translated from the +French by _Alys Eyre Macklin_, with an Introduction by _Henry B. Irving_ +(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. + +#The Story of Gotton Connixloo#, followed by #Forgotten#, by _Camille +Mayran_; translated by _Van Wyck Brooks_ (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. + +#Short Stories from the Spanish#; Englished by _Charles B. McMichael_ +(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. + +#The Fairy Spinning Wheel, and the Tales It Spun#, by _Catulle Mendès_; +translated by _Thomas J. Vivian_ (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. + +#Temptations#, by _David Pinski_; translated by _Isaac Goldberg_ +(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. + +#Russian Short Stories#, edited by _Harry C. Schweikert_ (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. + +#Iolanthe's Wedding#, by _Hermann Sudermann_; translated by _Adèle S. +Seltzer_ (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. + +#Short Stories from the Balkans#; translated by _Edna Worthley Underwood_ +(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 ÄŒech, 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. + +#Modern Greek Stories#; translated by _Demetra Vaka_ and _Aristides +Phoutrides_ (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. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920: AN INDEX + + +#Note.# _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. #American Authors# + +#Abdullah, Achmed.# *Wings. McCann. + +#Abdullah, Achmed#, _and others._ Ten Foot Chain. Reynolds. + +#Ade, George.# Home Made Fables. Doubleday, Page. + +#Anderson, Emma Maria Thompson.# A 'Chu. Review and Herald Pub. Assn. + +#Anderson, Robert Gordon.# Seven O'clock Stories. Putnam. + +#Barbour, Ralph Henry.# Play That Won. Appleton. + +#Benneville, James Seguin De.# Tales of the Tokugawa. Reilly. + +#Bishop, William Henry.# Anti-Babel. Neale. + +#Boyer, Wilbur S.# Johnnie Kelly. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Bridges, Victor.# Cruise of the "Scandal." Putnam. + +#Brown, Alice.# *Homespun and Gold. Macmillan. + +#Butler, Ellis Parker.# Swatty. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Carroll, P. J.# Memory Sketches. School Plays Pub. Co. + +#Cather, Willa Sibert.# *Youth and the Bright Medusa. Knopf. + +#Chambers, Robert W.# Slayer of Souls. Doran. + +#Cohen, Octavus Roy.# Come Seven. Dodd, Mead. + +#Comfort, Will Levington#, and #Dost, Zamin Ki.# Son of Power. Doubleday, +Page. + +#Connolly, James B.# *Hiker Joy. Scribner. + +"#Crabb, Arthur.#" Samuel Lyle, Criminologist. Century Co. + +#Cram, Mildred.# Lotus Salad. Dodd, Mead. + +#Cutting, Mary Stewart.# Some of Us Are Married. Doubleday, Page. + +#Davies, Ellen Chivers.# Ward Tales. Lane. + +#Deland, Margaret.# *Small Things. Harper. + +#Dickson, Harris.# Old Reliable in Africa. Stokes. + +#Dodge, Henry Irving.# Skinner Makes It Fashionable. Harper. + +#Dost, Zami Ki.# _See_ Comfort, Will Levington and Dost, Zamin Ki. + +#Dwight, H. G.# *Emperor of Elam. Doubleday, Page. + +#Edgar, Randolph#, _editor._ *Miller's Holiday: Short Stories from The +Northwestern Miller. Miller Pub. Co. + +#Ferber, Edna.# *Half Portions. Doubleday, Page. + +#Fillmore, Parker.# *Shoemaker's Apron. Harcourt, Brace and Howe. + +#Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key.# Flappers and Philosophers. Scribner. + +#Ford, Sewell.# Meet 'Em with Shorty McCabe. Clode. + Torchy and Vee. Clode. + Torchy as a Pa. Clode. + +#French, Joseph Lewis#, _editor._ *Best Psychic Stories. Boni and +Liveright. + *Masterpieces of Mystery. 4 vol. Doubleday, Page. + +#Gittins, H. N.# Short and Sweet. Lane. + +#Graham, James C.# It Happened at Andover. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Hall, Herschel S.# Steel Preferred. Dutton. + +#Haslett, Harriet Holmes.# Impulses. Cornhill Co. + +#Heydrick, Benjamin#, _editor._ *Americans All. Harcourt, Brace, and +Howe. + +#Hill, Frederick Trevor.# Tales Out of Court. Stokes. + +#Howells, William Dean#, _editor._ *Great Modern American Stories. Boni and +Liveright. + +#Hughes, Jennie V.# Chinese Heart-Throbs. Revell. + +#Hughes, Rupert.# *Momma, and Other Unimportant People. Harper. + +#Huneker, James.# *Bedouins. Scribner. + +#Imrie, Walter McLaren.# *Legends. Midland Press. + +#Irwin, Wallace.# Suffering Husbands. Doran. + +#James, Henry.# *Master Eustace. Seltzer. + +#Jessup, Alexander#, _editor._ *Best American Humorous Short Stories. Boni +and Liveright. + +#Johnson, Arthur.# *Under the Rose. Harper. + +#Kelley, F. C.# City and the World. Extension Press. + +#Lamprey, L.# Masters of the Guild. Stokes. + +#Leacock, Stephen.# Winsome Winnie. Lane. + +#Linderman, Frank Bird.# *On a Passing Frontier. Scribner. + +#Linton, C. E.# Earthomotor. Privately Printed. + +#McCarter, Margaret Hill.# Paying Mother. Harper. + +#Mackay, Helen.# *Chill Hours. Duffield. + +#MacManus, Seumas.# *Top o' the Mornin'. Stokes. + +#McSpadden, J. Walker#, _editor._ Famous Detective Stories. Crowell. + Famous Psychic Stories. Crowell. + +#Martin, George Madden.# *Children in the Mist. Appleton. + +#Means, E. K.# *Further E. K. Means. Putnam. + +#Miller, Warren H.# Sea Fighters. Macmillan. + +#Montague, Margaret Prescott.# *England to America. Doubleday, Page. + *Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Doubleday, Page. + +#Montgomery, L. M.# Further Chronicles of Avonlea. Page. + +#Morgan, Byron.# Roaring Road. Doran. + +#O'Brien, Edward J.# Best Short Stories of 1919. Small, Maynard. + +#Paine, Ralph D.# Ships Across the Sea. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Perry, Lawrence.# For the Game's Sake. Scribner. + +#Pitman, Norman Hinsdale.# Chinese Wonder Book. Dutton. + +#Poe, Edgar Allan.# *Gold-bug. Four Seas. + +#Post, Melville Davisson.# *Sleuth of St. James's Square. Appleton. + +#Rhodes, Harrison.# *High Life. McBride. + +#Rice, Alice Hegan#, and #Rice, Cale Young.# Turn About Tales. Century Co. + +#Richards, Clarice E.# Tenderfoot Bride. Revell. + +#Richmond, Grace S.# Bells of St. John's. Doubleday, Page. + +#Rinehart, Mary Roberts.# Affinities. Doran. + +#Robbins, Tod.# *Silent, White, and Beautiful. Boni and Liveright. + +#Robinson, William Henry.# Witchery of Rita. Berryhill Co. + +#Sedgwick, Anne Douglas.# *Christmas Roses. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Smith, Gordon Arthur.# *Pagan. Scribner. + +#Society of Arts and Sciences.# *O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories, 1919. +Doubleday, Page. + +#Spofford, Harriet Prescott.# *Elder's People. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Train, Arthur.# Tutt and Mr. Tutt. Scribner. + +#Vorse, Mary Heaton.# *Ninth Man. Harper. + +#Whalen, Louise Margaret.# Father Ladden, Curate. Magnificat Pub. Co. + +#White, Stewart Edward.# Killer. Doubleday, Page. + +#Widdemer, Margaret.# Boardwalk. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe. + +#Wiggin, Kate Douglas.# *Homespun Tales. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Wiley, Hugh.# Wildcat. Doran. + +#Yezierska, Anzia.# *Hungry Hearts. Houghton Mifflin. + + +II. #English and Irish Authors# + +#Baxter, Arthur Beverley.# Blower of Bubbles. Appleton. + +#Beerbohm, Max.# *Seven Men. Knopf. + +#Cannan, Gilbert.# *Windmills. Huebsch. + +"#Dehan, Richard.#" (#Clotilde Graves#). Eve of Pascua. Doran. + +#Dell, Ethel May.# Tidal Wave. Putnam. + +#Dunsany, Lord.# *Tales of Three Hemispheres. Luce. + +#Easton, Dorothy.# *Golden Bird. Knopf. + +#Evans, Caradoc.# *My Neighbors. Harcourt, Brace, & Howe. + +#Galsworthy, John.# *Tatterdemalion. Scribner. + +#Graves, Clotilde.# _See_ "Dehan, Richard." + +#Grogan, Gerald.# William Pollok. Lane. + +#Hardy, Thomas.# *Two Wessex Tales. Four Seas. + +#Hichens, Robert.# Snake-bite. Doran. + +#Hutten, Baroness Von.# _See_ Von Hutten, Baroness. + +#Huxley, Aldous.# *Limbo. Doran. + +#James, Montague Rhodes.# *Thin Ghost. Longmans. + +#Jeffery, Jeffery E.# Side Issues. Seltzer. + +#Kipling, Rudyard.# *Man Who Would Be King. Four Seas. + +#Lipscomb, W. P.# Staff Tales. Dutton. + +#New Decameron: Second Day.# McBride. + +#O'Kelly, Seumas.# *Golden Barque, and the Weaves's Grave. Putnam. + +"#Ross, Martin.#" _See_ "Somerville, E. Å’.," and "Ross, Martin." + +#Sabatini, Rafael.# Historical Nights' Entertainment, Second Series. +Lippincott. + +"#Somerville, E. Å’.#," _and_ "#Ross, Martin#," Stray-Aways. Longmans, +Green. + +"#Trevena, John.#" *By Violence. Four Seas. + +#Vernède, R. E.# Port Allington Stories. Doran. + +#Von Hutten, Baroness.# Helping Hersey. Doran. + +#Wylie, Ida Alena Ross.# *Holy Fire. Lane. + + +III. #Translations# + +"#Aleichem, Shalom.#" _(Yiddish.)_ *Jewish Children. Knopf. + +#Andreiev, Leonid.# _(Russian.)_ *When the King Loses His Head. +International Bk. Pub. + +#Andreiev, Leonid#, _and others._ (_Russian._) *Modern Russian Classics. +Four Seas. + +#Annunzio, Gabriele D'.# _(Italian.)_ *Tales of My Native Town. +Doubleday, Page. + +#Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# _(Spanish.)_ *Last Lion. Four Seas. + +#Brown, Demetra Vaka#, and #Phoutrides, Aristides#, _trs._ (_Modern +Greek._) *Modern Greek Stories. Duffield. + +#Chekhov, Anton.# _(Russian.)_ *Chorus Girl. Macmillan. + +#Clémenceau, Georges.# _(French.)_ *Surprises of Life. Doubleday, Page. + +#Coster, Charles de.# _(French.)_ *Flemish Legends. Stokes. + +#Dostoevsky, Fedor Mikhailovich.# _(Russian.)_ *Honest Thief. Macmillan. + +#Friedlander, Gerald#, _ed. and tr._ (_Hebrew._) Jewish Fairy Tales and +Stories. Dutton. + +#Hrbkova, Sarka B.#, _editor._ (_Czecho-Slovak._) *Czecho-Slovak Stories. +Dutton. + +#Jacobsen, Jens Peter.# _(Danish.)_ *Mogens. Brown. + +#Level, Maurice.# _(French.)_ *Tales of Mystery and Horror. McBride. + +#McMichael, Charles B.#, _translator._ (_Spanish._) *Short Stories from +the Spanish. Boni & Liveright. + +#Maupassant, Guy de.# _(French.)_ *Mademoiselle Fifi. Four Seas. + +#Mayran, Camille.# _(French.)_ *Story of Gotton Connixloo. Dutton. + +#Pérez de Ayala, Ramón.# _(Spanish.)_ *Prometheus. Dutton. + +#Ragozin, Z. A.#, _editor._ (_Russian._) *Little Russian Masterpieces. +4 vol. Putnam. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND AND IRELAND ONLY + + +I. #English and Irish# + +#Andrew, Emily.# Happiness in the Valley. Charles Joscelyn. + +#Barr, Robert.# Helping Hand. Mills and Boon. + Tales of Two Continents. Mills and Boon. + +#Beerbohm, Max.# *And Even Now. Heinemann. + +#Calthrop, Dion Clayton.# *Bit at a Time. Mills and Boon. + +#Cole, Sophie.# Variety Entertainment. Mills and Boon. + +#Conyers, Dorothea.# Irish Stew. Skeffington. + +#Cross, Victoria.# Daughters of Heaven. Laurie. + +#Drury, W. P.# All the King's Men. Chapman and Hall. + +#Evans, C. S.# Nash and Some Others. Heinemann. + +#Everard, Mrs. H. D.# Death Mask. Philip Allan. + +#Forster, E. M.# *Story of the Siren. Hogarth Press. + +#Frampton, Mary.# Forty Years On. Arrowsmith. + +#Garvice, Charles.# Girl at the "Bacca" Shop. Skeffington. + +#Gaunt, Mary.# Surrender, Laurie. + +#Gibbon, Perceval.# *Those Who Smiled. Cassell. + +#Green, Peter.# Our Kid. Arnold. + +#Grimshaw, Beatrice.# Coral Palace. Mills and Boon. + +#Harvey, William Fryer.# Misadventures of Athelstan Digby. +Swarthmore Press. + +#Howard, F. Moreton.# Happy Rascals. Methuen. + +#Key, Uel.# Broken Fang. Hodder and Stoughton. + +#Knowlson, T. Sharper.# Man Who Would Not Grow Old. Laurie. + +#Leo, T. O. D. C.# Two Feasts of St. Agnes. Morland. + +#Le Queux, William.# Mysteries of a Great City. Hodder and Stoughton. + +#McGuffin, William.# Australian Tales of the Border. Lothian Book Pub. Co. + +#Mansfield, Katherine.# *Je Ne Parle Pas Français. Heron Press. + *Prelude. Hogarth Press. + +#Mayne, Ethel Colburn.# *Blindman. Chapman and Hall. + +#Mordaunt, Elinor.# *Old Wine in New Bottles. Hutchinson. + +#Muir, Ward.# Adventures in Marriage. Simpkin, Marshall. + +#Newham, C. E.# Gippo. W. P. Spalding. + +#Newman, F. J.# Romance and Law in the Divorce Court. Melrose. + +#O'Kelly, Seumas.# *Leprechaun of Killmeen. Martin Lester. + +#Palmer, Arnold.# *My Profitable Friends. Selwyn and Blount. + +#Paterson, A. B.# Three Elephant Power. Australian Book Co. + +#Riley, W.# Yorkshire Suburb. Jenkins. + +#Robins, Elizabeth.# Mills of the Gods. Butterworth. + +#Robinson, Lennox.# *Eight Short Stories. Talbot Press. + +"#Sea-Pup.#" Musings of a Martian. Heath Cranton. + +#Shorter, Dora Sigerson.# *Dull Day in London. Nash. + +#Smith, Logan Pearsall.# *Stories from the Old Testament. +Hogarth Press. + +#Stein, Gertrude.# *Three Lives. Lane. + +#Stock, Ralph.# Beach Combings. Pearson. + +#Taylor, Joshua.# Lure of the Links. Heath Cranton. + +#Warrener, Marcus and Violet.# House of Transformations. +Epworth Press. + +#Wicksteed, Hilda.# Titch. Swarthmore Press. + +#Wilderhope, John.# Arch Fear. Murray and Evenden. + +#Wildridge, Oswald.# *Clipper Folk. Blackwood. + +#Woolf, Virginia.# *Mark on the Wall. Hogarth Press. + + +II. #Translations# + +#Chekhov, Anton.# _(Russian.)_ *My Life. Daniel. + +#Kuprin, Alexander.# _(Russian.)_ *Sasha. Paul. + +#Lemaître, Jules.# _(French.)_ *Serenus. Selwyn and Blount. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN FRANCE + + +#Ageorges, Joseph.# Contes sereins. Figuière. + +#Arcos, René.# *Bien commun. Le Sablier. + +#Boylesve, René.# *Nymphes dansant avec des satyres. Calmann-Lévy. + +"#FarrÄ•re, Claude.#" Dernière déesse. Flammarion. + +#Geffroy, Gustave.# Nouveaux contes du pays d'Quest. Crès. + +#Géniaux, Charles.# Mes voisins de campagne. Flammarion. + +#Ginisty, Paul.# *Terreur. Société anonyme d'édition. + +#Herold, A. Ferdinand.# *Guirlande d'Aphrodite. Edition d'Art. + +#Hesse, Raymond.# Bouzigny! Payot. + +#Hirsch, Charles-Henry.# Craquement. Flammarion. + +Lautrec, Gabriel de. Histoires de Tom Joé. Edition française +illustrée. + +#Le Glay, Maurice.# Récits marocains. Berger-Levrault. + +#Machard, Alfred.# *Cent Gosses. Flammarion. + *Syndicat des fessés. Ferenczi. + +#Marie, Jacques.# Sous l'armure. Jouve. + +#Mille, Pierre.# *Nuit d'amour sur la montagne. Flammarion. + *Trois femmes. Calmann-Lévy. + +#Pillon, Marcel.# Contes à ma cousine. Figuière. + +#Pottecher, Maurice.# Joyeux Contes de la Cicogne d'Alsace. +Ollendorff. + +"#Rachilde.#" *Découverte de l'Amérique. Kundig. + +#Régnier, Henri de.# *Histories incertaines. Mercure de France. + +#Rhaïs, Elissa.# *Café chantant. Plon. + +#Rochefoucauld, Gabriel de la.# *Mari Calomnié. Plon-Nourrit. + +#Russo, Luigi Libero.# Contes à la cigogne. 2e série. Messein. + +#Sarcey, Yvonne.# Pour vivre heureux. + +#Sutton, Maurice.# Contes retrouvés. Edit. Formosa. Bruxelles. + +#Tisserand, Ernest.# Contes de la popote. Crès. + +#Villiers de l'Isle-Adam.# *Nouveaux Contes Cruels. Crès. + + + + +ARTICLES ON THE SHORT STORY + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +_The following abbreviations are used in this index_:-- + +_Ath._ Athenæum +_B. E. T._ Boston Evening Transcript +_Book (London)_ Bookman (London) +_Book (N. Y.)_ Bookman (New York) +_Cath. W._ Catholic World +_Chap._ Monthly Chapbook +_Cont. R._ Contemporary Review +_Edin. R._ Edinburgh Review +_Eng. R._ English Review +_Fortn. R._ Fortnightly Review +_Harp. M._ Harper's Magazine +_L. H. J._ Ladies' Home Journal +_Lib._ Liberator +_Liv. Age._ Living Age +_Lit. R._ Little Review +_L. Merc._ London Mercury +_M. de F._ Mercure de France +_Mir._ Reedy's Mirror +_Mun._ Munsey's Magazine +_Nat. (London)_ Nation (London) +_N. Rep._ New Republic +_New S._ New Statesman +_19th Cent._ Nineteenth Century and After +_N. R. F._ Nouvelle Revue Française +_Peop._ People's Favorite Magazine +_Quart. R._ Quarterly Review +_R. de D. M._ Revue des Deux Mondes +_Sat. R._ Saturday Review +_Strat. J._ Stratford Journal +_Times Lit. Suppl._ Times Literary Supplement +_Touch._ Touchstone (London) +_Yale R._ Yale Review + + +Abdullah, Achmed. + By Rebecca West. New S. May 8. (15:137.) + +"Aleichem, Shalom." + Anonymous. New S. Mar. 13. (14:682.) + +#Alexander, Grace.# + Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. Aug. 18. (23:335.) + +#Alvord, James Church.# + Typical American Short Story. Yale R. Apr. (9:650.) + +American Short Story. + By James Church Alvord. Yale R. Apr. (9:650.) + +Andreyev, Leonid. + By Eugene M. Kayden. Dial. Nov. 15, '19. (67:425.) + By Moissaye J. Olgin. N. Rep. Dec. 24, '19. (21:123.) + By A. Sokoloff. New S. Nov. 15, '19. (14:190.) + +Annunzio, Gabriele d'. + By Joseph Collins. Scr. Sept. (68:304.) + By Rebecca West. New S. June 5, (15:253.) + N. Rep. June 30. (23:155.) + +Anonymous. + Buying $2,000,000 Worth of Fiction. Peop. Oct., '19. (12.) + +Apuleius. + By Lord Ernle. Quart. R. Jul. (234:41.) + +Arcos, René. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jan. 22. (19:48.) + + +#Bailey, John.# + Henry James. London Observer. Apr. 25. + +Balkan Short Stories. + By Kate Buss. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3, p. 9.) + +Balzac, Honoré de. + By Princess Catherine Radziwill. Book. (N. Y.) Aug. (51:639.) + By Sir Frederick Wedmore. 19th Cent. Mar. (87:484.) + By M. P. Willcocks. Nation. (London.) Mar. 20. (26:864) and Mar. 27. + +Barnes, J. S. + Contemporary Italian Short Stories. New Europe. Nov. 27, '19. (13:214.) + +Beaubourg, Maurice. + By Legrand-Chabrier. M. de F. 15 août. (142:5.) + +#Beaunier, André.# + Pierre Mille. R. de D. M. 1 juillet. (6 sér. 58:191.) + +Beerbohm, Max. + Anonymous. Nation. (London.) Nov. 22, '19. (26:272.) + By Bohun Lynch. L. Merc. June. (2:168.) + By S. W. Ath. Nov. 14, '19. (1186.) + +#Bent, Silas.# + Henry James. Mir. June 3. (29:448.) June 24. (29:510.) + +Beyle, Henri. _See_ "Stendhal." + +Blackwood, Algernon. + By Henriette Reeves. Touch. May. (7:147.) + +#Bourget, Paul.# + Prosper Mérimée. R. de D. M. 15 Sept. (59:257.) + +Bourget, Paul. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 30. (19:634.) + By R. Le Clerc Phillips. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:448.) + +#Braithwaite, William Stanley.# + American Short Story. B. E. T. Mar. 27. (pt. 3. p. 10.) + +#Brooks, Van Wyck.# + Mark Twain. Dial. Mar. Nat. Apr. (68:275, 424.) + +#Buss, Kate.# + Balkan Short Stories. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 9.) + + +#Cabell, James Branch.# + Joseph Hergesheimer. Book. (N. Y.) Nov.-Dec., '19. (50:267.) + +#Calthrop, Dion Clayton.# + O. Henry. London Observer. May 2. + +#Chekhov, Anton.# + Diary. Ath. Apr. 2. (460.) + Letters. XII. Ath. Oct. 24, '19. (1078.) + XIII. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1135.) + +Chekhov, Anton. + Anonymous. Ath. Jan. 23, Feb. 6. ('20:1:124, 191.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Feb. 12, Jul. 15. (19:103, 455.) + By Edmund Gosse. London Sunday Times. Mar. 14. + By Robert Morss Lovett. Dial. May. (68:626.) + By Robert Lynd. London Daily News. Feb. 11. + By Robert Lynd. Nation (London.) Feb. 28. (26:742.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Mar. 5. ('20:1:299.) + By Robert Nichols. London Observer. Mar. 7. + By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. Feb. (68:253.) + +#Chew, Samuel C.# + Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. June 2. (23:22.) + +#Child, Harold.# + Thomas Hardy. Book. (London.) June. (58:101.) + +Clemens, Samuel L. _See_ "Twain, Mark." + +#Collins, Joseph.# + Alfredo Panzini and Luigi Pirandello. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.) + Giovanni Papini. Book. (N. Y.) (51:160.) + Gabriele D'Annunzio. Scr. Sept. (68:304.) + +#Colvin, Sir Sidney.# + Robert Louis Stevenson. Scr. Mar. (67:338.) + +#Conrad, Joseph.# + Stephen Crane. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:528.) L. Merc. Dec., '19. + (1:192.) + +Conrad, Joseph. + By Stephen Gwynn. Edin. R. Apr. (231:318.) + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) + By R. Ellis Roberts. Book. (London.) Aug. (58:160.) + By Gilbert Seldes. Dial. Aug. (69:191.) + +Coppée, François. + By Joseph J. Reilly. Cath. W. (111:614.) + +#Cor, Raphael.# + Charles Dickens. M. de F. 1 juillet. (141:82.) + +Corthis, André. + Anonymous. Rev. de D. M. 15 juin. (6 sér. 57:816.) + +#Coulon, Marcel.# + Rachilde. M. de F. 15 sept. (142:545.) + +Couperus, Louis. + By J. L. Walch. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1133.) + +Crane, Stephen. + By Joseph Conrad. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:529.) L. Merc. Dec., '19. + (1:192.) + +Cunninghame Grahame, R. B. _See_ Grahame, R. B. Cunninghame. + + +D'Annunzio, Gabriele. _See_ Annunzio, Gabriele d'. + +#Deffoux, Léon#, _and_ #Zavie, Émile.# + Editions Kistemaekers et le "Naturalisme." M. de F. 16 oct., '19. + (135:639.) + Émile Zola. M. de F. 15 fév. (138:68.) + +#Dell, Floyd.# + Mark Twain. Lib. Aug. (26.) + +#Dewey, John.# + Americanism and Localism. Dial. June. (68:684.) + +Dickens, Charles. + By Raphael Cor. M. de F. 1 juillet. (141:82.) + +Dobie, Charles Caldwell. + By Joe Whitnah. San Francisco Bulletin. Jan. 3. + +Dostoevsky, Fyodor. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 23. (19:612.) + By E. M. Forster. London Daily News. Nov. 11, '19. + By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. June. (68:774.) + +Doyle, A. Conan. + By Beverly Stark. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:579.) + +Duhamel, Georges. + By Henry J. Smith. Chicago Daily News. Dec. 3, '19. + +Dunsany, Lord. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 11, '19. (18:737.) July 8. (19:437.) + By Clayton Hamilton. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:537.) + By Norreys Jephson O'Conor. B. E. T. Oct. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 2.) + By Gilbert Seldes. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 2. p. 4.) + By F. W. Stokoe. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:202.) + By Marguerite Wilkinson. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:111.) + +#Dyer, Walter A.# + Short Story Orgy. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:217.) + + +#Edgett, Edwin F.# + O. Henry. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.) + W. W. Jacobs. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 10.) + Henry James. B. E. T. Apr. 10. + W.B. Maxwell. B. E. T. Nov. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 8.) + +#Egan, Maurice Francis.# + Henry James. Cath. W. June. (111:289.) + +"Eliot, George." + By H. C. Minchin. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:896.) + By Edward A. Parry. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:883.) + By Thomas Seccombe. Cont. R. Dec., '19. (116:660.) + +#Enoch, Helen.# + W. J. Locke. Cont. R. June. (117:855.) + +#Ernle, Lord.# + Apuleius. Quart. R. Jul. (234:41.) + +#Erskine, John.# + William Dean Howells. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:385.) + +#Evans, C.S.# + W. H. Hudson. Book. (N. Y.) Sept. (52:18.) + + +#Ferber, Edna.# + By Rebecca West. New S. Apr. 3. (14:771.) + +#Finger, Charles J.# + Hudson and Grahame. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.) + +Flaubert, Gustave. + By Marcel Proust. N. R. F. Jan. (14:72.) + By George Saintsbury. Ath. Oct. 3, '19. (983.) + By Albert Thibaudet. N. R. F. Nov., 19. (13:942.) + +#Forster, E. M.# + Fyodor Dostoevsky. London Daily News. Nov. 11, '19. + +Forster, E. M. + By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:209.) + By Rebecca West. New S. Aug. 28. (15:576.) + +Fox, John. + By Thomas Nelson Page. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:674.) + + +Gale, Zona. + By Constance Mayfield Rourke. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:315.) + +#George, W. L.# + Joseph Hergesheimer. Book. (London.) Sept. (58:193.) + +Giraudoux, Jean. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 22. (19:470.) + By Albert Thibaudet. N. R. F. Dec., '19. (13:1064.) + +#Goldberg, Isaac.# + Hungarian Short Stories. B. E. T. Oct. 8, '19. (pt.3. p.4.) + Ercole Luigi Morselli. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:557.) + Amado Nervo. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:3.) + Spanish-American Short Stories. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:565.) + +#Gorky, Maxim.# + Reminiscences of Tolstoi. L. Merc. Jul. (2:304.) + +Gorky, Maxim. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:453.) + By S. Koteliansky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:587.) + By J. W. N. S. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.) + +#Gosse, Edmund.# + Anton Chekhov. London Sunday Times. Mar. 14. + Henry James. L. Merc. Apr.-May. (1:673, 2:29.) + Scr. Apr.-May. (67:422, 548.) + +Gozzano, Guido. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:450.) + +Grahame, R. B. Cunninghame. + By Charles J. Finger. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.) + +#Gwynn, Stephen.# + Joseph Conrad. Edin. R. Apr. (231:318.) + + +#Hamilton, Clayton.# + Lord Dunsany. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:537.) + +Hardy, Thomas. + By Grace Alexander. N. Rep. Aug. 18. (23:335.) + By Samuel C. Chew. N. Rep. June 2. (23:22.) + By Harold Child. Book. (London.) June. (58:101) + By W. M. Parker, 19th Cent. Jul. (88: 63.) + By Arthur Symons. Dial. Jan. (68:66.) + +Harte, Bret. + By Agnes Day Robinson. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:445.) + +#Hawthorne, Nathaniel.# + By Mary G. Tuttiett. 19th Cent. Jan. (87:118.) + +Henriet, Maurice. + Jules Lemaître. M. De F. 1 juin. (140:289.) + +"Henry, O." + By Dion Clayton Calthrop. London Observer. May 2. + By Edwin F. Edgett. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.) + By Edward Francis Mohler. Cath. W. Sept. (111:756.) + By Raoul Narsy. Liv. Age. Oct. 11, '19. (303:86.) + By John Seymour Wood. Book. (N. Y.) Jan. (50:474.) + +Hergesheimer, Joseph. + By James Branch Cabell. Book. (N. Y.) Nov.-Dec., '19. (50:267.) + By W. L. George. Book. (London.) Sept. (58:193.) + +Holz, Arno. + Anonymous. Ath. Apr. 9. ('20:1:490.) + +Hook, Theodore. + Anonymous. Sat. R. Sept. 25. (130:254.) + +#Hopkins, Gerard.# + Short Story. Chap. Feb. (25.) + +Howells, William Dean. + Anonymous. N. Rep. May 26. (22:393.) + By John Erskine. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:385.) + By Henry A. Lappin. Cath. W. Jul. (111:445.) + By Edward S. Martin. Harp. M. Jul. (141:265.) + By Arthur Hobson Quinn. Cen. Sept. (100:674.) + By Henry Rood. L. H. J. Sept. (42.) + By Booth Tarkington. Harp. M. Aug. (141: 346.) + +Hudson, W. H. + By C. S. Evans. Book. (N. Y.) Sept. (52:18.) + By Charles J. Finger. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.) + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Lit. R. May-June. (5.) + By Ezra Pound. Lit. R. May-June. (13.) + By Ernest Rhys. 19th Cent. Jul. (88:72.) + By John Rodker. Lit. R. May-June. (18.) + +#Hueffer, Ford Madox.# + W. H. Hudson. Lit. R. May-June. (5.) + Thus to Revisit. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) + +#Huneker, James Gibbons.# + Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) May. (51:364.) + +Huneker, James Gibbons. + Anon. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:515.) + +Hungarian Short Stories. + By Isaac Goldberg. B. E. T. Oct. 8, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.) + +Huxley, Aldous. + By Michael Sadleir. Voices. June. (3:235.) + + +Italian Short Stories. + By J. S. Barnes. New Europe. Nov. 27, '19. (13:214.) + + +Jacobs, W. W. + By E. F. Edgett. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 10.) + +James, Henry. + Anonymous. Nation. (London.) May 8. (27:178.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Apr. 8. (19:217.) + Anonymous. Sat. R. June 12. (129:537.) + Anonymous. Cont. R. Jul. (118:142.) + By John Bailey. London Observer. Apr. 25. + By Silas Bent. Mir. June 3. (29: 448.) June 24. (29:510.) + By Edwin F. Edgett. B. E. T. Apr. 10. + By Maurice Francis Egan. Cath. W. June. (111:289.) + By Edmund Gosse. L. Merc. Apr.-May. (1:673:2:29.) + Scr. Apr.-May. (67:422, 548.) + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) + By James G. Huneker. Book. (N. Y.) May. (51:364.) + By Philip Littell. N. Rep. June 9. (23:63.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. May 15. (15:162.) + By Brander Matthews. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:389.) + By Thomas Moult. Eng. R. Aug. (31:183.) + By E. S. Nadal. Scr. Jul. (68:89.) + By Forrest Reid. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:520.) + By Gilbert Seldes. Dial. Jul. (69:83.) + By J. C. Squire. London Sunday Times. Apr. 18. + By Louise R. Sykes. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:240.) + By Allan Wade. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 19. (19:537.) + By A. B. Walkley. Fortn. R. June. (n. s. 107:864.) London Times. + June 16, Sept. 15. + By Sidney Waterlow. Ath. Apr. 23. ('20:1:537.) + By Edith Wharton. Quart. R. Jul. (234:188.) + +#Johnson, Alvin.# + Mark Twain. N. Rep. Jul. 14. (23:201.) + + +#Kayden, Eugene M.# + Leonid Andreyev. Dial. Nov. 15, '19. (67:425.) + +Keller, Gottfried. + By Alec W. G. Randall. Cont. R. Nov., '19. (116:532.) + +Kipling, Rudyard. + Anonymous. Sat. R. Aug. 7. (130:113.) + By Richard Le Gallienne. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:238.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. June 5. (15:249.) + By Virginia Woolf. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:75.) + +#Koteliansky, S.# + Tolstoy and Gorky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:582.) + +Kuprin, Alexander. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Nov. 27, '19. (18:691) + By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Dec. 26, '19. (1399.) + + +#Lappin, Henry A.# + William Dean Howells. Cath. W. Jul. (111:445.) + +Lawrence, D. H. + By Louis Untermeyer. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:314.) + +#Le Gallienne, Richard.# + Rudyard Kipling. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:238.) + +#Legrand-Chabrier.# + Maurice Beaubourg. M. de F. 15 août. (142:5.) + +Lemaître, Jules. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 2. (19:562.) + By Maurice Henriet. M. de F. 1 juin. (140:289.) + +#Littell, Philip.# + Henry James. N. Rep. June 9. (23:63.) + +Locke, W. J. + By Helen Enoch. Cont. R. June. (117:855.) + +London, Jack. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:519.) + By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Aug. 27. ('20:2:272.) + +#Lovett, Robert Morss.# + Anton Chekhov. Dial. May. (68:626.) + Mark Twain. Dial. Sept. (69:293.) + +#Lynch, Bohun.# + Max Beerbohm. L. Merc. June. (2:168.) + +#Lynd, Robert.# + Anton Chekhov. London Daily News. Feb. 11. + Anton Chekhov. Nation. (London.) Feb. 28. (26:742.) + George Meredith. London Daily News. Jan. 30. + +#Lysaght, S. R.# + Robert Louis Stevenson. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:713.) + + +#MacCarthy, Desmond.# + Henry James. New S. May 15. (15:162.) + Rudyard Kipling. New S. June 5. (15:249.) + +"Macleod, Fiona." (William Sharp.) + By Ethel Rolt-Wheeler. Fortn. R. Nov., '19. (112:780.) + +#Mansfield, Katharine.# + E. M. Forster. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:209.) + Alexander Kuprin. Ath. Dec. 26, '19. (1399.) + Jack London. Ath. Aug. 27. ('20:2:272.) + +#Martin, Edward S.# + William Dean Howells. Harp. M. Jul. (141:265.) + +Masefield, John. + By Edward Shanks. L. Merc. Sept. (2:578.) + +Maseras, Alfons. + By Camille Pitollet. M. de F. 15 août. (142:230.) + +#Matthews, Brander.# + Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:389). + Mark Twain. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (14.) + +Maxwell, W. B. + By E. F. Edgett, B. E. T. Nov. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 8.) + +Meredith, George. + By Robert Lynd. London Daily News. Jan. 30. + +Mérimée, Prosper. + By Paul Bourget R. de D. M. 15 sept. (59:257.) + +Mille, Pierre. + By André Beaunier. R. de D. M. 1 juillet. (6 sér. 58:191.) + +#Minchin, H. C.# + George Eliot. Fortn. R. Dec. '19. (112:896.) + +Mirbeau, Octave. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:518.) + +#Mohler, Edward Francis.# + "O. Henry." Cath. W. Sept. (111:756.) + +Morrow, W. C. + By Vincent Starrett. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:751.) + +Morselli, Ercole Luigi. + By Isaac Goldberg. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:557.) + +#Moult, Thomas.# + Henry James. Eng. R. Aug. (31:183.) + +#Murry, J. Middleton.# + Anton Chekhov. Ath. Mar. 5. ('20:1:299.) + Stendhal. Ath. Sept. 17. ('20:2:388.) + Oscar Wilde. Ath. Sept. 24. ('20:2:401.) + + +#Nadal, E. S.# + Henry James. Scr. Jul. (68:89.) + +#Narsy, Raoul.# + O. Henry. Liv. Age. Oct. 11, '19. (303:86.) + +Naturalism. _See_ #Deffoux, Léon#, _and_ #Zavie, Émile.# + +Nervo, Amado. + By Isaac Goldberg. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:3.) + +"New Decameron." + Anonymous. Sat. R. Aug. 7. (130:113.) + By F. W. Stokoe. Ath. Aug. 6. ('20:2:172.) + +#Nichols, Robert.# + Anton Chekhov. London Observer. Mar. 7. + +Nodier, Charles. + By George Saintsbury. Ath. Jan. 16. ('20:1:91.) + + +#O'Brien, Edward J.# + Best Short Stories of 1919. B. E. T. Nov. 28, '19. (14.) + +O'Brien, Fitzjames. + By Joseph J. Reilly. Cath. W. Mar. (110:751.) + +#O'Conor, Norreys Jephson.# + Lord Dunsany. B. E. T. Oct. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 2.) + +#Olgin, Moissaye J.# + Leonid Andreyev. N. Rep. Dec. 24, '19. (21:123.) + + +#Page, Thomas Nelson.# + John Fox. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:674.) + +Panzini, Alfredo. + By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.) + By Guido de Ruggiero. Ath. Feb. 13. ('20:1:222.) + +Papini, Giovanni. + By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:160.) + +#Parker, W. M.# + Thomas Hardy, 19th Cent. Jul. (88:63.) + +#Parry, Edward A.# + George Eliot. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:883.) + +#Phillips, R. Le Clerc.# + Paul Bourget. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:448.) + +Pirandello, Luigi. + By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.) + +#Pitollet, Camille.# + Alfons Maseras. M. de F. 15 août. (142:230.) + +Pontoppidan, Henrik. + By J. G. Robertson. Cont. R. Mar. (117:374.) + +#Pound, Ezra.# + W. H. Hudson. Lit. R. May-June. (13.) + +#Proust, Marcel.# + Gustave Flaubert. N. R. F. Jan. (14:72.) + +#Purcell, Gertrude M.# + Ellis Parker Butler. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:473.) + + +#Quinn, Arthur Hobson.# + William Dean Howells. Cen. Sept. (100:674.) + + +"Rachilde." (Mme. Alfred Vallette.) + By Marcel Coulon. M. de F. 15 sept. (142:545.) + +#Radziwill, Princess Catherine.# + Honoré de Balzac. Book. (N. Y.) Aug. (51:639.) + +#Randall, Alec W. G.# + Gottfried Keller. Cont. R. Nov., '19. (116:532.) + +#Raynaud, Ernest.# + Oscar Wilde. La Minerve Française. 15 août. + +Read, Opie. + By Vincent Starrett. Mir. Nov. 6, '19. (28:769.) + +#Reeves, Henriette.# + Algernon Blackwood. Touch. May. (7:147.) + +Régnier, Henri de. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Feb. 19. (19:118.) + +#Reid, Forrest.# + Henry James. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:520.) + +#Reilly, Joseph J.# + François Coppée. Cath. W. Aug. (111:614.) + Fitzjames O'Brien. Cath. W. Mar. (110:751.) + +#Rhys, Ernest.# + W. H. Hudson, 19th Cent. Jul. (88:72.) + +#Roberts, R. Ellis.# + Joseph Conrad. Book. (London.) Aug. (58:160.) + +#Robertson, J. G.# + Henrik Pontoppidan. Cont. R. Mar. (117:374.) + +#Robinson, Agnes Day.# + Bret Harte. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:445.) + +#Rodker, John.# + W. H. Hudson, Lit. R. May-June. (18.) + +#Rolt-Wheeler, Ethel.# + "Fiona Macleod." Fortn. R. Nov., '19. (112:780.). + +#Rood, Henry.# + William Dean Howells. L. H. J. Sept. (42.) + +#Rourke, Constance Mayfield.# + Zona Gale. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:315.) + +#Ruggiero, Guido de.# + Alfred Panzini. Ath. Feb. 13. ('20:1:222.) + + +S., J. W. N. + Tolstoy and Gorky. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.) + +#Sadleir, Michael.# + Aldous Huxley. Voices. June. (3:235.) + +#Saintsbury, George.# + Gustave Flaubert. Ath. Oct. 3, '19. (983.) + Charles Nodier. Ath. Jan. 16. ('20:1:91.) + +#Seccombe, Thomas.# + George Eliot. Cont. R. Dec., '19. (116:660.) + +#Seldes, Gilbert.# + Joseph Conrad. Dial. Aug. (69:191.) + Lord Dunsany. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 2. p. 4.) + Henry James. Dial. Jul. (69:83.) + +#Shanks, Edward.# + John Masefield. L. Merc. Sept. (2:578.) + Sharp, William. _See_ "Fiona Macleod." + +Singh, Kate Prosunno. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 2. (19:562.) + +#Smith, Henry J.# + Georges Duhamel. Chicago Daily News. Dec. 3, '19. + +#Sokoloff, A.# + Leonid Andreyev. New S. Nov. 15, '19. (14:190.) + +Spanish-American Short Story. See #Goldberg, Isaac.# + +#Squire, J. C.# + Henry James. London Sunday Times. Apr. 18. + +#Stark, Beverly.# + A. Conan Doyle. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:579.) + +#Starrett, Vincent.# + W. C. Morrow. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:751.) + Opie Read. Mir. Nov. 6, '19. (28:769.) + +"Stendhal," (Henri Beyle.) + By John Middleton Murry. Ath. Sept. 17. ('20:2:388.) + +Stevenson, Robert Louis. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:701.) + By Sir Sidney Colvin. Scr. Mar. (67:338.) + By S. R. Lysaght. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:713.) + +#Stokoe, F. W.# + Lord Dunsany. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:202.) + "New Decameron." Ath. Aug. 6. ('20:2:172.) + +#Sykes, Louise R.# + Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:240.) + +#Symons, Arthur.# + Thomas Hardy. Dial. Jan. (68:66.) + Oscar Wilde. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:129.) + + +#Tarkington, Booth.# + William Dean Howells. Harp. M. Aug. (141:346.) + +#Tchekhov, Anton.# _See_ Chekhov, Anton. + +#Thibaudet, Albert.# + Gustave Flaubert. N. R. F. Nov., '19. (13:942.) + Jean Giraudoux. N. R. F. Dec., '19. (13:1064.) + +Tolstoy, Count Lyof. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:453.) + Anonymous. New S. Aug. 7. (15:505.) + By Maxim Gorky. L. Merc. Jul. (2:304.) + By S. Koteliansky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:587.) + By J. W. N. S. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.) + +#Trueblood, Charles K.# + Anton Chekhov. Dial. Jan. (68:80.) + Fyodor Dostoevsky. Dial. June. (68:774.) + Edith Wharton. Dial. Jan. (68:80.) + +#Tuttiett, Mary G.# + Nathaniel Hawthorne, 19th Cent. Jan. (87:118.) + +"Twain, Mark." + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 23. (19:615.) + By Van Wyck Brooks. Dial. Mar. (68:275), and Apr. (68:424.) + By Floyd Dell. Lib. Aug. (26.) + By Alvin Johnson. N. Rep. Jul. 14. (23:201.) + By Robert Morss Lovett. Dial. Sept. (69:293.) + By Brander Matthews. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (14.) + + +#Untermeyer, Louis.# + D. H. Lawrence. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:314.) + + +Vallette, Mme. Alfred. _See_ "Rachilde." + +Villiers de l'Isle-Adam. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:711.) + + +#Wade, Allan.# + Henry James. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 19. (19:537.) + +#Walch, J. L.# + Louis Couperus. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1133.) + +#Waldo, Harold.# + Old Wests for New. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:396.) + +#Walkley, A. B.# + Henry James. Fortn. R. June. (n. s. 107:864.) + Henry James. London Times. June 16 and Sept. 15. + +#Waterlow, Sydney.# + Henry James. Ath. Apr. 23. ('20:1:537.) + +#Wedmore, Sir Frederick.# + Honoré de Balzac, 19th Cent. Mar. (87:484.) + +Wells, H. G. + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) Reply by H. G. Wells. + Eng. R. Aug. (31:178.) + +#West, Rebecca.# + Achmed Abdullah. New S. May 8. (15:137.) + Gabriele D'Annunzio. New S. June 5. (15:253.) N. Rep. June 30. (23:155.) + Edna Ferber. New S. Apr. 3. (14:771.) + E. M. Forster. New S. Aug. 28. (15:576.) + +#Wharton, Edith.# + Henry James. Quart. R. Jul. (234:188.) + +#Wharton, Edith.# + By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. Jan. (68:80.) + +#Whitnah, Joe.# + Charles Caldwell Dobie. San Francisco Bulletin. Jan. 3. + +Wilde, Oscar. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 30, '19. (18:605.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Sept. 24. ('20:2:401.) + By Ernest Raynaud. La Minerve Française. 15 août. + By Arthur Symons. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:129.) + +#Wilkinson, Marguerite.# + Lord Dunsany. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:111.) + +#Willcocks, M. P.# + Honoré de Balzac. Nation. (London.) Mar. 20. (26:864.) and Mar. 27. + +#Williams, Orlo.# + "Yellow Book." L. Merc. Sept. (2:567.) + +#Wilson, Arthur.# + "New Decameron." Dial. Nov. 1, '19. (67:372.) + +#Wood, John Seymour.# + O. Henry. Book. (N. Y.) Jan. (50:474.) + +#Woolf, Virginia.# + Rudyard Kipling. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:75.) + + +"Yellow Book." + By Orlo Williams. L. Merc. Sept. (2:567.) + + +Zola, Émile. + By Léon Deffoux and Émile Zavie. M. de F. 15 fév. (138:68.) + + + + +INDEX OF SHORT STORIES IN BOOKS + + +I. #American Authors# + +NOVEMBER, 1918, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +ABBREVIATIONS + +_Abdullah A._ Abdullah. Honorable Gentleman. +_Abdullah B._ Abdullah. Wings. +_Andrews B._ Andrews. Joy in the Morning. +_Andreyev C._ Andreyev. When the King Loses His Head. +_Ayala_ Ayala. Prometheus. +_Cannan_ Cannan. Windmills. +_Cather_ Cather. Youth and the Bright Medusa. +_Chekhov D._ Chekhov. Bishop. +_Chekhov E._ Chekhov. Chorus Girl. +_Clémenceau_ Clémenceau. Surprises of Life. +_Cobb B._ Cobb. Life of the Party. +_Cobb C._ Cobb. From Place to Place. +_Connolly A._ Connolly. Hiker Joy. +_D'Annunzio_ D'Annunzio. Tales of My Native Town. +_Dostoevsky B._ Dostoevsky. Honest Thief. +_Dowson_ Dowson. Poems and Prose. +_Dreiser B._ Dreiser. Twelve Men. +_Dwight A._ Dwight. Emperor of Elam. +_Easton_ Easton. Golden Bird. +_Edgar_ Edgar. Miller's Holiday. +_Evans A._ Evans. My Neighbors. +_Ferber B._ Ferber. Half Portions. +_French B._ French. Best Psychic Stories. +_Galsworthy B._ Galsworthy. Tatterdemalion. +_Hearn_ Hearn. Fantastics. +_Henry B._ Henry. Waifs and Strays. +_Hergesheimer B._ Hergesheimer. Happy End. +_Holmes_ Holmes and Starbuck. War Stories. +_Howells_ Howells. Great Modern American Stories. +_Hrbkova_ Hrbkova. Czecho-Slovak Stories. +_Huneker_ Huneker. Bedouins. +_Hurst B._ Hurst. Humoresque. +_Huxley_ Huxley. Limbo. +_Ibáñez_ Blasco Ibáñez. Last Lion. +_Imrie_ Imrie. Legends. +_Jacobs A._ Jacobs. Deep Waters. +_James A._ James. Travelling Companions. +_Jessup A._ Jessup. Best American Humorous Stories. +_Johnson_ Johnson. Under the Rose. +_La Motte_ La Motte. Civilization. +_Laselle_ Laselle. Short Stories of the New America. +_Lemaître_ Lemaître. Serenus. +_Level_ Level. Tales of Mystery and Horror. +_Mackay_ Mackay. Chill Hours. +_MacManus A._ MacManus. Lo, and Behold Ye! +_Marshall_ Marshall. Clintons. +_Martin_ Martin. Children in the Mist. +_Mayran_ Mayran. Story of Gotton Connixloo. +_McMichael_ McMichael. Short Stories from the Spanish. +_Merrick A._ Merrick. Man Who Understood Women. +_Merrick B._ Merrick. While Paris Laughed. +_Montague A._ Montague. Gift. +_Montague B._ Montague. England to America. +_Montague C._ Montague. Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. +_Nevinson_ Nevinson. Workhouse Characters. +_New Dec. A._ New Decameron. Prologue and First Day. +_O'Brien A._ O'Brien. Best Short Stories of 1918. +_O'Brien B._ O'Brien. Best Short Stories of 1919. +_O'Brien C._ O'Brien. Great Modern English Stories. +_O'Byrne A._ O'Byrne. Wrack. +_O'Higgins A._ O'Higgins. From the Life. +_O'Kelly B._ O'Kelly. Golden Barque. +_Pertwee_ Pertwee. Old Card. +_Pinski A._ Pinski. Temptations. +_Post B._ Post. Mystery of the Blue Villa. +_Prize A._ O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories. 1919. +_Reeve_ Reeve and French. Best Ghost Stories. +_Rhodes_ Rhodes. High Life. +_Robbins_ Robbins. Silent, White and Beautiful. +_Robinson_ Robinson. Eight Short Stories. +_Russell_ Russell. Red Mark. +_Russian A._ Modern Russian Classics. (Four Seas Co.) +_Schweikert B._ Schweikert. Russian Short Stories. +_Smith_ Smith. Pagan. +_Spofford A._ Spofford. Elder's People. +_Sudermann_ Sudermann. Iolanthe's Wedding. +_Tomlinson_ Tomlinson. Old Junk. +_Trevena_ Trevena. By Violence. +_Underwood A._ Underwood. Short Stories from the Balkans. +_Vernède_ Vernède. Port Allington Stories. +_Vaka_ Vaka and Phoutrides. Modern Greek Stories. +_Van Dyke A._ Van Dyke. Valley of Vision. +_Vigny_ Vigny. Military Servitude and Grandeur. +_Vorse_ Vorse. Ninth Man. +_Welles_ Welles. Anchors Aweigh. +_Wilson A._ Wilson. Ma Pettengill. +_Wylie_ Wylie. Holy Fire. +_Yezierska_ Yezierska. Hungry Hearts. + +#Abdullah, Achmed. (Achmed Abdullah Nadir Khan El-Durani El-Idrissyeh.#) + (1881- .) + **After His Kind. Abdullah A. 144. + ***Cobbler's Wax. Abdullah A. 112. + *Disappointment. Abdullah B. 43. + *Fear. Abdullah B. 211. + ***Hatchetman. Abdullah A. 41. + *Himself, to Himself Alone. Abdullah A. 241. + ***Honourable Gentleman. Abdullah A. 1. + **Khizr. Abdullah B. 183. + Krishnavana, Destroyer of Souls. Abdullah B. 115. + ***Light. Abdullah B. 231. + *Man Who Lost Caste. Abdullah B. 153. + *Pell Street Spring Song. Abdullah A. 73. + Renunciation. Abdullah B. 103. + **Silence. Abdullah B. 163. + ***Simple Act of Piety. Abdullah A. 196. O'Brien A. 3. + Tartar. Abdullah B. 77. + That Haunting Thing. Abdullah B. 135. + ***To be Accounted for. Abdullah B. 63. + ***Wings. Abdullah B. 1. + +#Ade, George.# (1866- .) + ***Effie Whittlesy. Howells. 288. + +#Aldrich, Thomas Bailey.# (1836-1907.) + ***Mlle. Olympe Zabriski. Howells, 110. + +#Allen, James Lane.# (1849- .) + Old Mill on the Elkhorn. Edgar. 133. + +#Alsop, Gulielma Fell.# + ***Kitchen Gods. O'Brien B. 3. Prize A. 253. + +#Ames, Jr., Fisher.# + *Sergt. Warren Comes Back from France. Laselle 171. + +#Anderson, Sherwood# (1876- .) + ***Awakening. O'Brien B. 24. + +#Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman.# (_See 1918._) + ***Ditch. Andrews B. 1. + ***Dundonald's Destroyer. Andrews B. 299. + *He That Loseth His Life Shall Find It, Andrews B. 193. + **Her Country Too. Andrews B. 37. + Only One of Them. Andrews B. 137. + Robina's Doll. Andrews B. 283. + *Russian. Andrews B. 263. + **Silver Stirrup. Andrews B. 241. + **Swallow. Andrews B. 85. + *V. C. Andrews B. 163. + + +#Babcock, Edwina Stanton.# + ***Cruelties. O'Brien A. 24 + ***Willum's Vanilla. O'Brien B, 34. + +#Barnes, Djuna.# (1892- .) + ***Night Among the Horses. O'Brien B. 65. + +#Bartlett, Frederic Orin.# (1876- .) + Château-Thierry. Laselle. 199. + ***Long, Long Ago. O'Brien B. 74. + +#Beer, Thomas.# (1889- .) + *Absent Without Leave. Holmes. 1. + +#Bierce, Ambrose.# (1842-1914.) (_See 1918._) + ***Damned Thing. Reeve. 160. + ***Eyes of the Panther. French B. 95. + ***Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. Howells. 237. + +#Brooks, Alden.# + **Out of the Sky. Holmes. 17. + +#Brown, Alice.# (1857- .) _(See 1918.)_ + ***Told in the Poorhouse. Howells. 225. + +#Brown, Katharine Holland.# + ***Buster. O'Brien A. 43. + +#Brownell, Agnes Mary.# + ***Dishes. O'Brien B. 82. + +#Bunner, Henry Cuyler.# (1855-1896.) + **Nice People. Jessup A. 141. + +#Burnet, Dana.# (1888- .) + *Christmas Fight of X 157. Holmes. 39. + *"Red, White, and Blue." Holmes. 49. + +#Burt, Maxwell Struthers.# (1882- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Blood-Red One. O'Brien B. 96. + +#Butler, Ellis Parker.# (1869- .) + ***Dey Ain't No Ghosts. Reeve. 177. + +"#Byrne, Donn.#" (#Bryan Oswald Donn-Byrne.#) (1888- .) + **Underseaboat F-33. Holmes. 61. + + +#Cabell, James Branch.# (1879- .) + **Porcelain Cups. Prize A. 210. + ***Wedding-Jest. O'Brien B. 108. + +#Cable, George Washington.# (1844- .) + ***Jean-Ah Poquelin. Howells. 390. + +#Canfield, Dorothy.# (#Dorothy Canfield Fisher.#) (1879- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Little Kansas Leaven. Laselle 1. + +#Cather, Willa Sibert.# (1875- .) + ***Coming, Aphrodite! Cather. 11. + ***"Death in the Desert." Cather. 273. + ***Diamond Mine. Cather. 79. + **Gold Slipper. Cather. 140. + ***Paul's Case. Cather. 199. + **Scandal. Cather. 169. + ***Sculptor's Funeral. Cather. 248. + ***Wagner Matinée. Cather. 235. + +#Chester, George Randolph.# (1869- .) + Bargain Day at Tutt House. Jessup A. 213. + +#Clemens, Samuel Langhorne.# _See_ "#Twain, Mark.#" + +#Cobb, Irvin Shrewsbury.# (1876- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Boys Will Be Boys. Cobb C. 96. + *Bull Called Emily. Cobb C. 382. + ***Gallowsmith. Cobb C. 11. + Hoodwinked. Cobb C. 332. + John J. Coincidence. Cobb C. 259. + **Life of the Party. Cobb B. 11. + **Luck Piece. Cobb C. 156. + ***Quality Folks. Cobb C. 206. + *Thunders of Silence. Cobb C. 55. + *When August the Second Was April the First. Cobb C. 302. + +#Connolly, James Brendan.# (1868- .) + *Aboard the Horse-Boat. Connolly A. 53. + *Flying Sailor. Connolly A. 132. + *Good-bye the Horse-Boat. Connolly A. 105. + *Jack o' Lanterns. Connolly A. 6. + *London Lights. Connolly A. 214. + *Lumber Schooner. Connolly A. 27. + *North Sea Men. Connolly A. 187. + *Undersea Men. Connolly A. 79. + *Wimmin 'n' Girls. Connolly A. 159. + +#Cook, Mrs. George Cram.# _See_ #Glaspell, Susan.# + +#Cooke, Grace MacGowan.# (1863- .) + *Call. Jessup A. 237. + +#Coolidge, Grace.# + **Indian of the Reservation. Laselle. 109. + +#Curtis, George William.# (1824-1892.) + **Titbottom's Spectacles. Jessup A. 52. + + +#Dashiell, Landon R.# + ***Aunt Sanna Terry. Howells. 352. + +#Derieux, Samuel Arthur.# (1881- .) + *Trial in Tom Belcher's Store. Prize A. 192. + +#Dobie, Charles Caldwell.# (1881- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Open Window. O'Brien A. 61. + +#Dreiser, Theodore.# (1871- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Country Doctor. Dreiser B. 110. + ***Culhane, the Solid Man. Dreiser B. 134. + ***De Maupassant, Jr. Dreiser B. 206. + ***Doer of the Word. Dreiser B. 53. + ***Lost Phoebe. Howells. 295. + ***Mayor and His People. Dreiser B. 320. + ***Mighty Rourke. Dreiser B. 287. + ***My Brother Paul. Dreiser B. 76. + ***Peter. Dreiser B. 18. + ***True Patriarch. Dreiser B. 187. + ***Vanity, Vanity. Dreiser B. 263. + ***Village Feudists. Dreiser B. 239. + ***W. L. S. Dreiser B. 344. + +#Dwight, Harry Griswold.# (1875- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Bald Spot. Dwight A. 290. + **Bathers. Dwight A. 151. + ***Behind the Door. Dwight A. 266. + ***Emperor of Elam. Dwight A. 306. + ***Henrietta Stackpole _Radiviva._ Dwight A. 32. + ***Like Michael. Dwight A. 3. + **Mrs. Derwall and the Higher Life. Dwight A. 131. + ***Pagan. Dwight A. 52. + **Retarded Bombs. Dwight A. 172. + ***Studio Smoke. Dwight A. 252. + ***Susannah and the Elder. Dwight A. 191. + ***Unto the Day. Dwight A. 108. + ***White Bombazine. Dwight A. 82. + +#Dwight, Harry Griswold.# (1875- .) (_See 1918_) _and_ #Taylor, John R. M.# + ***Emerald of Tamerlane. Dwight A. 221. + +#Dwyer, James Francis.# (1874- .) + ***Citizen. Laselle. 85. + *Little Man in the Smoker. Holmes. 79. + +#Dyke, Henry Van.# _See_ #Van Dyke, Henry.# + + +#Edwards, George Wharton.# (1859- .) + **Clavecin-Bruges. French B. 54. + +#Edwards, Harry Stillwell.# (1855- .) + **Elder Brown's Backslide. Jessup A. 109. + +#Emery, Gilbert.# + "Squads Right." Holmes. 86. + +#Empey, Arthur Guy.# (1883- .) + *Coward. Laselle. 181. + + +#Ferber, Edna.# (1887- .) + April 25th, As Usual. Ferber B. 36. Price A. 274. + *Dancing Girls. Ferber B. 280. + *Farmer in the Dell. Ferber B. 239. + *Long Distance. Ferber B. 148. + ***Maternal Feminine. Ferber B. 3. + **Old Lady Mandle. Ferber B. 76. + One Hundred Per Cent. Ferber B. 201. Holmes. 95. + *Un Morso Doo Pang. Ferber B. 157. + ***You've Got To Be Selfish. Ferber B. 113. + +#Fish, Horace.# (1885- .) + ***Wrists on the Door. O'Brien B. 123. + +#Fisher, Dorothy Canfield.# _See_ #Canfield, Dorothy.# + +#Freedley, Mary Mitchell.# (1894- .) + ***Blind Vision. Holmes. 119. O'Brien A. 85. + +#Freeman, Mary E. Wilkins.# (1862- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Revolt of Mother. Howells. 207. + +#French, Alice.# _See_ "#Thanet, Octave.#" + +#Fuller, Henry Blake.# (1857- .) + ***Striking an Average. Howells. 267. + + +#Garland, Hamlin.# (1860- .) (_See 1918._) + *Graceless Husband. Edgar. 142. + ***Return of a Private. Howells. 248. + +#Gerould, Gordon Hall.# (1877- .) + ***Imagination. O'Brien A. 92. + +#Gerry, Margarita Spalding.# (1870- .) + *Flag Factory. Holmes. 126. + +#Gilbert, George.# (1874- .) + ***In Maulmain Fever-Ward. O'Brien A. 109. + +#Gilman, Charlotte Perkins Stetson.# (1860- .) + ***Yellow Wall Paper. Howells. 320. + +#Glaspell, Susan (Keating). (Mrs. George Cram Cook.)# (1882- .) + ***"Government Goat." O'Brien B. 147. + +#Goodman, Henry.# (1893- .) + ***Stone. O'Brien B. 167. + + +#Haines, Donal Hamilton.# (1886- .) + *Bill. Holmes. 136. + +#Hale, Edward Everett.# (1822-1909.) + *First Grain Market. Edgar. 181. + ***My Double; and How He Undid Me. Howells. 3. Jessup A. 75. + +#Hallet, Richard Matthews.# (1887- .) + ***To the Bitter End. O'Brien B. 178. + +#Harris, Joel Chandler.# (1848-1908.) (_See 1918._) + ***Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, and the Tar Baby. Howells. 413. + +#Harte, Francis Bret.# (1839-1902.) (_See 1918._) + ***Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff. Jessup A. 170. + ***Outcasts of Poker Flat. Howells. 143. + +#Hastings, Wells.# (1878- .) + *Gideon. Jessup A. 260. + +#Hearn, Lafcadio.# (1850-1904.) + ***All in White. Hearn. 29. + ***Aphrodite and the King's Prisoner. Hearn. 102. + ***Bird and the Girl. Hearn. 150. + ***Black Cupid. Hearn. 71. + ***Devil's Carbuncle. Hearn. 40. + ***El Vomito. Hearn. 136. + ***Fountain of Gold. Hearn. 110. + ***Ghostly Kiss. Hearn. 66. + ***Gipsy's Story. Hearn. 174. + ***Hiouen-thsang. Hearn. 211. + ***Idyl of a French Snuff-Box. Hearn. 143. + ***Kiss Fantastical. Hearn. 152. + ***Little Red Kitten. Hearn. 33. + ***Name on the Stone. Hearn. 98. + ***One Pill-Box. Hearn. 183. + ***Post-Office. Hearn. 227. + ***Vision of the Dead Creole. Hearn. 92. + +"#Henry, O.#" (#William Sydney Porter.#) (1867-1910.) (_See 1918._) + ***Cactus. Henry B. 76. + *Church with an Overshot Wheel. Edgar. 1. + Confessions of a Humourist. Henry B. 52. + Detective Detector. Henry B. 82. + *Dog and the Playlet. Henry B. 90. + ***Duplicity of Hargraves. Jessup A. 199. + Hearts and Hands. Henry B. 72. + Little Talk About Mobs. Henry B. 97. + *Out of Nazareth. Henry B. 32. + ***Red Roses of Tonia. Henry B. 3. + **Round the Circle. Henry B. 17. + *Rubber Plant's Story. Henry B. 25. + *Sparrows in Madison Square. Henry B. 66. + +"#Henry, O.#" (#William Sydney Porter#) (1867-1910), _and_ #Lyon, +Harris Merton.# (1881-1916.) + *Snow Man. Henry B. 102. + +#Hergesheimer, Joseph.# (1880- .) (_See 1918._) + *Bread. Hergesheimer B. 193. + *Egyptian Chariot. Hergesheimer B. 55. + Flower of Spain. Hergesheimer B. 93. + **Lonely Valleys. Hergesheimer B. 11. + ***Meeker Ritual. O'Brien B. 200. + *Rosemary Roselle. Hergesheimer B. 231. + **Thrush in the Hedge. Hergesheimer B. 283. + **Tol'able David. Hergesheimer B. 155. + +#Holmes, Oliver Wendell.# (1809-1894.) + *Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters. Jessup A. 94. + +#Humphrey, George.# (1889- .) + ***Father's Hand. O'Brien A. 125. + +#Huneker, James Gibbons.# (1860- .) + **Brothers-in-Law. Huneker. 201. + **Cardinal's Fiddle. Huneker. 247. + **Grindstones. Huneker. 216. + Renunciation. Huneker. 256. + *Supreme Sin. Huneker. 177. + _Venus or Valkyr?_ Huneker. 225. + *Vision Malefic. Huneker. 261. + +#Hurst, Fannie.# (1889- .) (_See 1918._) + **Boob Spelled Backward. Hurst B. 220. + **Even as You and I. Hurst B. 262. + *"Heads." Hurst B. 170. + ***Humoresque. Hurst B. 1. Prize A. 148. + **Oats for the Woman. Hurst B. 45. + **Petal on the Current. Hurst B. 85. + **White Goods. Hurst B. 126. + *Wrong Pew. Hurst B. 300. + + + +#Imrie, Walter McLaren.# + ***Daybreak. Imrie. 7. + **Dead Men's Teeth. Imrie. 29. + ***Remembrance. Imrie. 41. + **Storm. Imrie. 15. + +#Ingersoll, Will E.# + ***Centenarian. O'Brien B. 225. + + +#James, Henry.# (1843-1916.) + ***Adina. James A. 223. + ***At Isella. James A. 125. + ***De Grey: a Romance. James A. 269. + ***Guest's Confession. James A. 157. + *** Passionate Pilgrim. Howells. 43. + ***Professor Fargo. James A. 87. + ***Sweetheart of M. Briseux. James A. 53. + ***Travelling Companions. James A. 1. + +#Jewett, Sarah Orne.# (1849-1909.) + ***Courting of Sister Wisby. Howells. 190. + +#Johnson, Arthur.# (1881- .) + ***His New Mortal Coil. Johnson 270. + How the Ship Came In. Johnson. 303. + ***Little Family. Johnson. 237. + ***Mr. Eberdeen's House. Johnson. 138. + **One Hundred Eightieth Meridian. Johnson. 115. + ***Princess of Tork. Johnson. 1. + ***Riders in the Dark. Johnson. 54. + *Two Lovers. Johnson. 183. + ***Visit of the Master. Johnson. 203. O'Brien A. 131. + +#Johnston, Calvin.# + ***Messengers. O'Brien B. 237. + +#Johnston, Richard Malcolm.# (1822-1898.) + *Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker. Jessup A. 128. + +#Jones, Howard Mumford.# + ***Mrs. Drainger's Veil. O'Brien B. 269. + + +#Kirkland, Caroline Matilda Stansbury.# (1801-1864.) Schoolmaster's +Progress. Jessup A. 18. + +#Kline, Burton.# (1877- .) + ***In the Open Code. O'Brien A. 149. + +#Kompert, Leopold.# + ***Silent Woman. Reeve. 60. + + +#La Motte, Ellen Newbold.# (1873- .) + **Canterbury Chimes. La Motte. 177. + *Civilization. La Motte. 93. + ***Cosmic Justice. La Motte. 247. + *Homesick. La Motte. 65. + **Misunderstanding. La Motte 121. + ***On the Heights. La Motte. 33 + ***Prisoners. La Motte. 141. + ***Under a Wineglass. O'Brien B. 297. La Motte. 217. + **Yellow Streak. La Motte. 11. + +#Lampton, William James.# ( -1917.) + **How the Widow Won the Deacon. Jessup A. 252. + +#Leslie, Eliza.# (1787-1858.) + Watkinson Evening. Jessup A. 34. + +#Lewars, Elsie Singmaster.# _See_ #Singmaster, Elsie.# + +#Lewis, Sinclair.# (1885- .) + ***Willow Walk. O'Brien A. 154. + +#Lieberman, Elias.# (1883- .) + ***Thing of Beauty. O'Brien B. 305. + +#London, Jack.# (1876-1916.) (_See 1918._) + *When the World Was Young. French B. 1. + +#Lummis, Charles Fletcher.# (1859- .) + *Blue-Corn Witch. Edgar. 120. + *Swearing Enchiladas. Edgar. 156. + +#Lyon, Harris Merton.# _See_ "Henry, O.", _and_ #Lyon, Harris Merton.# + + +#Mackay, Helen.# (1876- .) + **At the End. Mackay. 3. + **Cauldron. Mackay. 95. + **Footsteps. Mackay. 178. + ***"He Cost Us So Much." Mackay. 154. + **"Here Are the Shadows!" Mackay. 160. + **"I Take Pen in Hand." Mackay. 172. + **Little Cousins of No. 12. Mackay. 148. + **Madame Anna. Mackay. 143. + *Moment. Mackay. 188. + **9 and the 10. Mackay. 184. + **Odette in Pink Taffeta. Mackay. 20. + ***One or Another. Mackay. 72. + ***Second Hay. Mackay. 49. + *She Who Would Not Eat Soup. Mackay. 164. + *Their Places. Mackay. 35. + **Vow. Mackay. 168. + +#MacManus, Seumas.# (1870- .) + ***Bodach and the Boy. MacManus A. 51. + ***Dark Patrick's Blood-horse. MacManus A. 32. + ***Day of the Scholars. MacManus A. 117. + ***Donal O'Donnell's Standing Army. MacManus A. 131. + ***Far Adventures of Billy Burns. MacManus A. 71. + ***Jack and the Lord High Mayor. MacManus A. 215. + **King's Curing. MacManus A. 163. + ***Long Cromachy of the Crows. MacManus A. 196. + **Lord Thorny's Eldest Son. MacManus A. 180. + ***Mad Man, the Dead Man, and the Devil. MacManus A. 1. + *Man Who Would Dream. MacManus A. 99. + **Parvarted Bachelor. MacManus A. 150. + ***Quare Birds. MacManus A. 240. + ***Queen's Conquest. MacManus A. 16. + ***Resurrection of Dinny Muldoon. MacManus A. 263. + ***Son of Strength. MacManus A. 248. + **Tinker of Tamlacht. MacManus A. 84. + +#Marshall, Edison.# (1894- .) + **Elephant Remembers. Prize A. 78. + +#Martin, George Madden.# (1866- .) + *Blue Handkerchief. Martin. 71. + *Fire from Heaven. Martin. 223. + *Flight. Martin. 1. + *Inskip Niggah. Martin. 120. + *Malviney. Martin. 252. + *Pom. Martin. 160. + *Sixty Years After. Martin. 276. + *Sleeping Sickness. Martin. 200. + +#Matthews, James Brander.# (1852- .) + **Rival Ghosts. Reeve. 141. + +#Montague, Margaret Prescott.# (1878- .) (_See 1918._) + ***England to America. Prize A. 3. Montague B. 3. + **Gift. Montague A. 3. + ***Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Montague C. 3. + +#Morris, George Pope.# (1802-1864.) + Little Frenchman and His Water Lots. Jessup A. 1. + +#Morris, Gouverneur.# (1876- .) + Behind the Door. Holmes. 145. + ***Unsent Letter. Holmes. 155. + +#Mosley, Katherine Prescott.# + ***Story Vinton Heard at Mallorie. O'Brien A. 191. + + +#O'Brien, Mary Heaton Vorse.# _See_ #Vorse, Mary Heaton.# + +#O'Higgins, Harvey Jerrold.# (1876- .) + **Benjamin McNeil Murdock. O'Higgins A. 129. + **Conrad Norman. O'Higgins A. 171. + **District Attorney Wickson. O'Higgins A. 305. + **Hon. Benjamin P. Divins. O'Higgins A. 245. + **Jane Shore. O'Higgins A. 45. + ***Owen Carey. O'Higgins A. 3. + **Sir Watson Tyler. O'Higgins A. 269. + ***Thomas Wales Warren. O'Higgins A. 89. + ***W.T. O'Higgins A. 217. + +#Osborne, William Hamilton.# (1873- .) + Infamous Inoculation. Holmes. 166. + +#O'Sullivan, Vincent.# (1872- .) + ***Interval. Reeve. 170. + + +#Payne, Will.# (1855- .) + ***His Escape. Holmes. 196. + +#Pelley, William Dudley.# + ***Toast to Forty-Five. O'Brien A. 200. + +#Pier, Arthur Stanwood.# (1874- .) + Night Attack. Laselle. 119. + +#Poe, Edgar Allan# (1809-1849.) (_See 1918._) + *Angel of the Odd. Jessup A. 7. + ***Ligeia. French B. 61. + +#Pope, Laura Spencer Portor.# _See_ #Portor, Laura Spencer.# + +#Porter, William Sydney.# _See_ "#Henry, O.#" + +#Portor, Laura Spencer.# (#Mrs. Francis Pope.#) (_See 1918._) + ***Boy's Mother. Holmes. 217. + +#Post, Melville Davisson.# (1871- .) (_See 1918._) + Ally. Post B. 243. + ***Baron Starkheim. Post B. 333. + **Behind the Stars. Post B. 361. + **Five Thousand Dollars Reward. Prize A. 120. + *Girl in the Villa. Post B. 217. + *Girl from Galacia. Post B. 117. + **Great Legend. Post B. 55. + Laughter of Allah. Post B. 79. + **Lord Winton's Adventure. Post B. 265. + *Miller of Ostend. Post B. 199. + ***Mystery at the Blue Villa. Post B. 3. + ***New Administration. Post B. 29. + *Pacifist. Post B. 137. + ***Sleuth of the Stars. Post B. 157. + **Stolen Life. Post B. 99. + **Sunburned Lady. Post B. 311. + **Wage-Earners. Post B. 291. + *Witch of the Lecca. Post B. 179. + +#Pulver, Mary Brecht.# (1883- .) + ***Path of Glory. Laselle. 133. + +#Putnam, George Palmer.# (1887- .) + ***Sixth Man. Holmes. 233. + +#Pyle, Howard.# (1853-1911.) + **Blueskin, the Pirate. Edgar. 71. + **Captain Scarfield. Edgar. 14. + + +#Ravenel, Beatrice Witte.# (1870- .) + ***High Cost of Conscience. Prize A. 228. + +#Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield).# (1871- .) + ***Extra Men. O'Brien A. 223. + *Fair Daughter of a Fairer Mother. Rhodes. 143. + Importance of Being Mrs. Cooper. Rhodes. 171. + **Little Miracle at Tlemcar. Rhodes. 115. + **Sad Case of Quag. Rhodes. 189. + ***Spring-time. Rhodes. 213. + **Vive l'Amérique! Rhodes. 233. + +#Rice, Louise.# + ***Lubbeny Kiss. Prize A. 180. + +#Rickford, Katherine.# + ***Joseph. French B. 41. + +#Robbins, Tod.# + *For Art's Sake. Robbins. 109. + *Silent, White, and Beautiful. Robbins. 1. + ***Who Wants a Green Bottle? Robbins. 30. + **Wild Wullie, the Waster. Robbins. 71. + +#Russell, John.# (1885- .) + ***Adversary. Russell. 182. + **Amok. Russell. 374. + *Doubloon Gold. Russell. 59. + *East of Eastward. Russell. 301. + **Fourth Man. Russell. 327. + Jetsam. Russell. 273. + *Lost God. Russell. 219. + **Meaning--Chase Yourself. Russell. 251. + *Passion-Vine. Russell. 144. + **Practicing of Christopher. Russell. 114. + *Price of the Head. Russell. 356. + Red Mark. Russell. 9. + **Slanted Beam. Russell. 201. + *Wicks of Macassar. Russell. 97. + + +#Singmaster, Elsie. (Elsie Singmaster Lewars.)# (1879- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Survivors. Laselle. 43. + +#Smith, Gordon Arthur.# (1886- .) + **Bottom of the Cup. Smith. 67. + **City of Lights. Smith. 38. + ***End of the Road. Smith. 138. + *Every Move. Smith. 249. + ***Feet of Gold. Smith. 100. + ***Jeanne, The Maid. Smith. 218. + Letitia. Smith. 283. + **Pagan. Smith. 3. + ***Return. Smith. 345. + *Tropic Madness. Smith. 177. + *Young Man's Fancy. Smith. 315. + +#Sneddon, Robert W.# (1880- .) + *Son of Belgium. Holmes. 262. + +#Spofford, Harriet Prescott.# (1835- .) + **Blessing Called Peace. Spofford A. 179. + **Change of Heart. Spofford A. 27. + +#Spofford, Harriet Prescott# (_con._) + ***Circumstance. Howells. 22. + **Deacon's Whistle. Spofford A. 1. + *Father James. Spofford A. 197. + **Impossible Choice. Spofford A. 227. + **John-a-Dreams. Spofford A. 101. + ***Life in a Night. Spofford A. 293. + *Miss Mahala and Johnny. Spofford A. 311. + **Miss Mahala's Miracle. Spofford A. 125. + **Miss Mahala's Will. Spofford A. 273. + ***Old Fiddler. Spofford A. 147. + **Rural Telephone. Spofford A. 55. + **Step-Father. Spofford A. 77. + ***Village Dressmaker. Spofford A. 243. + +#Springer, Fleta Campbell.# (1886- .) + ***Solitaire. O'Brien A. 232. + +#Springer, Thomas Grant.# + *Blood of the Dragon. Prize A. 135. + +#Steele, Wilbur Daniel.# (1886- .) (_See_ 1918.) + ***Dark Hour. O'Brien A. 258. + ***"For They Know Not What They Do." Prize A. 21. + +#Stetson, Charlotte Perkins.# _See_ #Gilman, Charlotte Perkins Stetson.# + +#Stockton, Frank Richard.# (1834-1902.) + ***Buller-Podington Compact. Jessup A. 151. + ***Christmas Wreck. Howells. 155. Edgar. 203. + +#Street, Julian (Leonard).# (1879- .) + ***Bird of Serbia. O'Brien A. 268. + +#Sullivan, Francis William.# (1887- .) + Godson of Jeannette Gontreau. Holmes. 243. + + +#Tarkington, (Newton) Booth.# (1869- .) + *Captain Schlotterwerz. Holmes. 276. + +#Terhune, Albert Payson.# (1872- .) + *On Strike. Price A. 56. + Wildcat. Laselle. 55. + +"#Thanet, Octave.#" (#Alice French.#) (1850- .) + ***Labor Question at Glasscock's. Edgar. 171. + Miller's Seal. Edgar. 104. + Wild Western Way. Edgar. 35. 35. + +#Tracy, Virginia.# (1875- .) + ***Lotus Eaters. Howells. 361. + +"#Twain, Mark.#" (#Samuel Langhorne Clemens.#) (1835-1910.) + ***Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Howells. 36. + Jessup A. 102. + + +#Van Dyke, Henry.# (1852- .) + *Antwerp Road. Van Dyke A. 15. + *Boy of Nazareth Dreams. Van Dyke A. 257. + **Broken Soldier and the Maid of France. Van Dyke A. 87. + City of Refuge. Van Dyke A. 21. + Hearing Ear. Van Dyke A. 137. + *Hero and Tin Soldiers. Van Dyke A. 231. + Primitive and His Sandals. Van Dyke A. 216. + **Remembered Dream. Van Dyke A. 1. + *Salvage Point. Van Dyke A. 237. + *Sanctuary of Trees. Van Dyke A. 37. + +#Venable, Edward Carrington# (1884- .) + ***At Isham's. O'Brien A. 293. + +#Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton. (Mary Heaton Vorse O'Brien.)# + ***De Vilmarte's Luck. O'Brien A. 305. + ***Ninth Man. Vorse. 1. + ***Other Room. O'Brien B. 312. + + +#Welles, Harriet, Ogden Deen.# + **Admiral's Birthday. Welles. 33. + **Admiral's Hollyhocks. Welles. 128. + *Anchors Aweigh. Welles. 98. + **Between the Treaty Ports. Welles. 47. + *Day. Welles. 165. + **Duty First. Welles. 105. + *Flags. Welles. 251. + **Guam--and Effie. Welles. 214. + *Holding Mast. Welles. 186. + *In the Day's Work. Welles. 1. + ***Orders. Welles. 79. + **Wall. Welles. 197. + +#Weston, George (T.).# (1880- .) + **Feminine Touch. Holmes. 299. + +#Wharton, Edith.# (1862- .) + ***Mission of Jane. Howells. 170. + +#Wilkins, Mary E.# _See_ #Freeman, Mary E. Wilkins.# + +#Williams, Ben Ames.# (1889- .) + **They Grind Exceeding Small. Prize A. 42. + +#Wilson, Harry Leon.# (1866- .) + *As to Herman Wagner. Wilson A. 281. + *Can Happen! Wilson A. 234. + *Change of Venus. Wilson A. 209. + *Curls. Wilson A. 303. + Love Story. Wilson A. 38. + *Ma Pettengill and the Animal Kingdom. Wilson A. 3. + *One Arrowhead Day. Wilson A. 145. + *Porch Wren. Wilson A. 178. + *Red-Gap and the Big-League Stuff. Wilson A. 76. + *Taker-Up. Wilson A. 259. + *Vendetta. Wilson A. 109. + +#Wood, Frances Gilchrist.# + ***Turkey Red. Prize A. 105. + ***White Battalion. O'Brien A. 325. + +#Wyatt, Edith Franklin.# (1873- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Failure. Howells. 312. + +#Wynne, Madelene Yale.# (1847-1913.) + ***Little Room. Howells. 338. + + +#Yezierska, Anzia.# (1886- .) + ***"Fat of the Land." Yezierska. 178. O'Brien B. 326. + *Free Vacation House. Yezierska. 97. + **How I Found America. Yezierska. 250. + ***Hunger. Yezierska. 35. + **Lost "Beautifulness." Yezierska. 65. + ***Miracle. Yezierska. 114. + ***My Own People. Yezierska. 224. + **Soap and Water. Yezierska. 163. + **Where Lovers Dream. Yezierska. 142. + **Wings. Yezierska. 1. + + +II. English and Irish Authors + + +#Barr, Robert.# (1850-1912.) + *Dorothy of the Mill. Edgar. 53. + *Mill on the Kop. Edgar. 188. + +#Barrie, Sir James Matthew.#(1860- .) (_See 1918._) + ***How Gavin Birse Put It to Mag Lownie. O'Brien C. 111. + +#Bax, Arnold.# _See_ "#O'Byrne, Dermot.#" + +#Benson, Edward Frederic.# (1867- .) + ***Man Who Went Too Far. Reeve. 85. + +#Beresford, John Davys.# (1873- .) + ***Lost Suburb. O'Brien C. 309. + +#Blackwell, Basil.# + History of Joseph Binns. New Dec. A. 169. + +#Blackwood, Algernon.# (1869- .) + ***Man Who Played Upon the Leaf. O'Brien C. 176. + ***Return. French B. 24. + ***Second Generation. French B. 31. + ***Woman's Ghost Story. Reeve. 108. + +#Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Edward George.# (1803-1873.) (_See 1918._) + ***Haunted and the Haunters. Reeve. 31. + +#Burke, Thomas.# (1887- .) + ***Chink and the Child. O'Brien C. 250. + + +#Cannan, Gilbert.# (1884- .) + ***Birth. O'Brien C. 346. + ***Gynecologia. Cannan. 107. + ***Out of Work. Cannan. 159. + ***Samways Island. Cannan. 1. + ***Ultimus. Cannan. 49. + +#Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller.# _See_ #Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur +Thomas.# + +#Cunninghame Graham, Robert Bontine.# (1852- .) + ***Fourth Magus. O'Brien C. 214. + + +#Defoe, Daniel.# (1659-1731.) (_See 1918._) + ***Apparition of Mrs. Veal. Reeve. 3. + +#De Sélincourt, Hugh.# _See_ #Sélincourt, Hugh de.# + +#Dowson, Ernest.# (1867-1900.) + ***Case of Conscience. Dowson. 150. + ***Diary of a Successful Man. Dowson. 133. + ***_Dying of Francis Donne._ O'Brien C. 64. + ***Orchestral Violin. Dowson. 165. + ***Souvenirs of an Egoist. Dowson. 187. + *** Statute of Limitations. Dowson. 210. + + +#Easton, Dorothy.# + **Adversity. Easton. 117. + *Arbor Vitæ. Easton. 141. + *Benefactors. Easton. 137. + **Box of Chocolates. Easton. 92. + *Corner Stone. Easton. 130. + ***Day in the Country. Easton. 209. + ***For the Red Cross. Easton. 38. + ***Frog's Hole. Easton. 30. + **Genteel. Easton. 69. + ***Golden Bird. Easton. 11. + ***Heart-Breaker. Easton. 56. + **Heartless. Easton. 200. + **Impossible. Easton. 19. + **It Is Forbidden to Touch the Flowers. Easton. 191. + **Laughing Down. Easton. 26. + **Madame Pottirand. Easton. 254. + *Miss Audrey. Easton. 185. + **Old Indian. Easton. 156. + **Our Men. Easton. 172. + ***Shepherd. Easton. 123. + *Spring Evening. Easton. 77. + **Steam Mill. Easton. 48. + ***Transformation. Easton. 52. + ***Twilight. Easton. 83. + **Unfortunate. Easton. 228. + +"#Egerton, George.#" (#Mary Chavelita Golding Bright.#) + ***Empty Frame. O'Brien C. 88. + +#Evans, Caradoc.# + ***According to the Pattern. Evans A. 31. + ***Earthbred. Evans A. 81. + ***For Better. Evans A. 99. + ***Greater Than Love. O'Brien C. 340. + ***Joseph's House. Evans A. 155. + ***Like Brothers. Evans A. 173. + ***Lost Treasure. Evans A. 215. + ***Love and Hate. Evans A. 11. + ***Profit and Glory. Evans A. 231. + **Saint David and the Prophets. Evans A. 131. + ***Treasure and Trouble. Evans A. 117. + **Two Apostles. Evans A. 59. + ***Unanswered Prayers. Evans A. 199. + ***Widow Woman. Evans A. 187. + + +#Galsworthy, John.# (1867- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Bright Side. Galsworthy B. 75. + *Buttercup Night. Galsworthy B. 295. + ***"Cafard." Galsworthy B. 105. + ***Defeat. Galsworthy B. 27. + *"Dog It Was That Died." Galsworthy B. 147. + **Expectations. Galsworthy B. 227. + ***Flotsam and Jetsam. Galsworthy B. 51. + ***Grey Angel. Galsworthy B. 3. + *In Heaven and Earth. Galsworthy B. 169. + **Manna. Galsworthy B. 239. + Mother Stone. Galsworthy B. 173. + **Muffled Ship. Galsworthy B. 187. + ***Nightmare Child. Galsworthy B. 283. + *Peace Meeting. Galsworthy B. 137. + *Poirot and Bidan. Galsworthy B. 179. + *Recorded. Galsworthy B. 117. + ***Recruit. Galsworthy B. 125. + ***Spindleberries. Galsworthy B. 209. + ***Strange Thing. Galsworthy B. 255. + ***Two Looks. Galsworthy B. 271. + +#Graham, R. B. Cunninghame.# _See_ #Cunninghame Graham, Robert Bontine.# + +#Grant-Watson, E. L.# + ***Man and Brute. O'Brien C. 296. + + +#Hardy, Thomas.# (1840- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Three Strangers. O'Brien. C. 1. + +#Harvey, William F.# + **Beast with Five Fingers. New Dec. A. 29. + +#Henham, Ernest G.# _See_ "#Trevena, John.#" + +#Hewlett, Maurice (Henry).# (1861- .) + ***Quattrocentisteria. O'Brien C. 126. + +#Hudson, W. H.# + ***Old Thorn. O'Brien C. 196. + +#Huxley, Aldous.# + ***Bookshop. Huxley. 259. + ***Cynthia. Huxley. 245. + ***Death of Lully. Huxley. 269. + **Eupompus Gave Splendour to Art by Numbers. Huxley. 192. + ***Farcical History of Richard Greenow. Huxley. 1. + **Happily Ever After. Huxley. 116. + + +#Jacobs, William Wymark.# (1868- .) (_See 1918._) + Bedridden. Jacobs A. 98. + *Convert. Jacobs A. 112. + **Dirty Work. Jacobs A. 262. + *Family Cares. Jacobs A. 171. + *Husbandry. Jacobs A. 140. + *Made to Measure. Jacobs A. 51. + **Paying Off. Jacobs A. 29. + **Sam's Ghost. Jacobs A. 75. + *Shareholders. Jacobs A. 1. + *Striking Hard. Jacobs A. 234. + *Substitute. Jacobs A. 207. + Winter Offensive. Jacobs A. 199. + +#James, Montague Rhodes.# (1862- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book. Reeve. 18. + +#Jameson, M. Storm-.# _See_ #Storm-Jameson, M.# + + +#Kipling, Rudyard.# (1865- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Phantom Rickshaw. Reeve. 118. + ***Three Musketeers. O'Brien C. 93. + ***Wee Willie Winkie. O'Brien C. 99. + + +#Lawrence, David Herbert.# (1885- .) + ***Sick Collier. O'Brien C. 332. + +#Lytton, Lord. George Bulwer-.# _See_ #Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Edward George.# + + +"#Macleod, Fiona.#" (#William Sharp.#) (1856-1905.) (_See 1918._) + **Fisher of Men. O'Brien C. 117. + ***Sin-Eater. French B. 126. + +#Marshall, Archibald.# (1866- .) + *Audacious Ann. Marshall. 191. + *Bookkeeper. Marshall. 303. + *Builder. Marshall. 155. + *"In that State of Life." Marshall. 95. + *Kencote. Marshall. 3. + *Little Squire. Marshall. 175. + *Son of Service. Marshall. 63. + *Squire and the War. Marshall. 327. + *Terrors. Marshall. 41. + +#Merrick, Leonard.# (1864- .) + **Antenuptial. Merrick B. 274. + **Antiques and Amoretti. Merrick B. 228. + ***"At Home, Beloved, At Home." Merrick B. 29. + **Back of Bohemia. Merrick A. 293. + **Banquets of Kiki. Merrick B. 150. + *Bishop's Comedy. Merrick A. 344. + **Call from the Past. Merrick A. 383. + *Child in the Garden. Merrick A. 160. + ***Dead Violets. Merrick A. 239. + *Favourite Plot. Merrick A. 259. + **Frankenstein II. Merrick A. 50. + ***Lady of Lyons. Merrick A. 313. + ***Laurels and the Lady. Merrick A. 81. + ***Letter to the Duchess. Merrick A. 180. + ***Man Who Understood Women. Merrick A. 1. + ***Meeting in the Galéries Lafayette. Merrick B. 78. + ***Monsieur Blotto and the Lions. Merrick B. 54. + ***"On Est Mieux Ici qu'en Face." Merrick B. 11. + **Piece of Sugar. Merrick B. 127. + **Poet Grows Practical. Merrick B. 173. + ***Prince in the Fairy Tale. Merrick A. 200. + *Reconciliation. Merrick A. 368. + **Reformed Character. Merrick B. 205. + *Reverie. Merrick A. 364. + **Tale That Wouldn't Do. Merrick A. 68. + *Third M. Merrick A. 326. + *Time the Humorist. Merrick A. 277. + ***Very Good Thing For the Girl. Merrick A. 18. + **Waiting for Henriette. Merrick B. 251. + *With Intent to Defraud. Merrick A. 224. + **Woman in the Book. Merrick B. 102. + ***Woman Who Wished to Die. Merrick A. 35. + +#Middleton, Richard.# (1882-1911.) + ***Ghost Ship. O'Brien C. 225. + + +#Nevinson, Henry Woodd.# (1852- .) + ***Fire of Prometheus. O'Brien C. 157. + +#Nevinson, Margaret Wynne.# + *Alien. Nevinson. 130. + "And, Behold the Babe Wept." Nevinson. 47. + *Blind and Deaf. Nevinson. 39. + Daughter of the State. Nevinson. 80. + *Detained by Marital Authority. Nevinson. 21. + *Eunice Smith--Drunk. Nevinson. 13. + "Girl! God Help Her!" Nevinson. 145. + *In the Lunatic Asylum. Nevinson. 118. + *In the Phthisis Ward. Nevinson. 80. + **Irish Catholic. Nevinson. 91. + *"Mary, Mary, Pity Women!" Nevinson. 53. + *Mothers. Nevinson. 104. + **Obscure Conversationist. Nevinson. 97. + *Old Inky. Nevinson. 75. + *Publicans and Harlots. Nevinson. 68. + *Runaway. Nevinson. 138. + *Suicide. Nevinson. 61. + **Sweep's Legacy. Nevinson. 126. + "Too Old at Forty." Nevinson. 115. + ***Vow. Nevinson. 33. + *Welsh Sailor. Nevinson. 27. + *"Widows Indeed!" Nevinson. 134. + *"Your Son's Your Son." Nevinson. 110. + +#Nightingale, M. T.# + *Stone House Affair. New Dec. A. 112. + + +"#O'Byrne, Dermot.#" (#Arnold Edward Trevor Bax.#) (1883- .) + ***Before Dawn. O'Byrne A. 29. + ***Coward's Saga. O'Byrne A. 84. + ***"From the Fury of the O'Flahertys." O'Byrne A. 67. + ***Invisible City of Coolanoole. O'Byrne A. 127. + ***King's Messenger. O'Byrne A. 156. + ***Vision of St. Molaise. O'Byrne A. 172. + ***Wrack. O'Byrne A. 1. + +#O'Kelly, Seumas.# + ***Billy the Clown. O'Kelly B. 149. + ***Derelict. O'Kelly B. 173. + ***Haven. O'Kelly B. 134. + ***Hike and Calcutta. O'Kelly B. 121. + ***Man with the Gift. O'Kelly B. 200. + ***Michael and Mary. O'Kelly B. 111. + ***Weaver's Grave. O'Kelly B. 9. + + +#Pertwee, Roland.# + ***Big Chance. Pertwee 1. + ***Clouds. Pertwee. 243. + ***Cure that Worked Wonders. Pertwee. 42. + ***Dear Departed. Pertwee. 212. + ***Eliphalet Touch. Pertwee. 67. + ***Final Curtain. Pertwee. 271. + ***Gas Works. Pertwee. 143. + ***Getting the Best. Pertwee. 102. + ***Mornice June. Pertwee. 165. + ***Pistols for Two. Pertwee. 21. + ***Quicksands of Tradition. Pertwee. 120. + ***Red and White. O'Brien C. 278. + ***Reversible Favour. Pertwee. 190. + + +Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas. (1863- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Old Æson. O'Brien C. 152. + + +#Robinson, Lennox.# + ***Chalice. Robinson. 30. + ***Education. Robinson. 96. + ***Face. Robinson. 8. + ***Looking After the Girls. Robinson. 18. + ***Pair of Muddy Shoes. Robinson. 47. + ***Return. Robinson. 1. + ***Sponge. Robinson. 60. + ***Weir. Robinson. 78. + + +#Sadler, Michael.# + Tumbril Touch. New Dec. A. 189. + +#Sélincourt, Hugh De.# + ***Birth of an Artist. O'Brien C. 322. + +#Sharp, William.# _See_ "#Macleod, Fiona.#" + +#Stevenson, Robert Louis.# (1850-1894.) (_See 1918._) + ***Lodging for the Night. O'Brien C. 26. + +#Storm-Jameson, M.# + *Mother-Love. New Dec. A. 78. + + +#Tomlinson, H. M.# (1873- .) + ***Extra Hand. Tomlinson. 149. + ***Lascar's Walking-Stick. Tomlinson. 140. + +"#Trevena, John.#" (#Ernest G. Henham.#) (1878- .) + ***Business Is Business. Trevena. 45. O'Brien C. 236. + ***By Violence. Trevena. 13. + **Christening of the Fifteen Princesses. Trevena. 65. + + +#Vernède, Robert Ernest.# (1875-1917.) + Adventure of the Persian Prince. Vernède. 194. + Bad Samaritan. Vernède. 130. + Finless Death. Vernède. 178. + Greatness of Mr. Walherstone. Vernède. 33. + Madame Bluebeard. Vernède. 233. + Maze. Vernède. 301. + Missing Princess. Vernède. 251. + Night's Adventure. Vernède. 277. + Offence of Stephen Danesford. Vernède. 80. + On the Raft. Vernède. 218. + *Outrage at Port Allington. Vernède. 55. + Smoke on the Stairs. Vernède. 204. + Soaring Spirits. Vernède. 102. + Sunk Elephant. Vernède. 156. + "This is Tommy." Vernède. 13. + +#Vines, Sherard.# + **Upper Room. New Dec. A. 178. + + +#Walpole, Hugh Seymour.# (1884- .) + ***Monsieur Félicité. O'Brien C. 263. + +#Watson, E. L. Grant.# _See_ #Grant Watson, E. L.# + +#Wedmore, Sir Frederick.# (1844- .) + ***To Nancy. O'Brien C. 75. + +#Wells, Herbert George.# (1866- .) + ***Stolen Bacillus. O'Brien C. 144. + +#Wilde, Oscar# (#Fingall O'Flahertie Wills.#) (1854-1900.) + ***Star-Child. O'Brien C. 47. + +#Wylie, Ida Alena Ross.# (1885- .) + **Bridge Across. Wylie. 66. + ***Colonel Tibbit Comes Home. Wylie. 133. + Episcopal Scherzo. Wylie. 267. 195. + **Gift for St. Nicholas. Wylie. + ***Holy Fire. Wylie. 9. + ***John Prettyman's Fourth Dimension. Wylie. 231. + ***"'Melia, No Good." Wylie. 163. + ***Thirst. Wylie. 28. + **"Tinker--Tailor--" Wylie. 97. + + +III. Translations + + +#Alas, Leopoldo.# ("#ClarÃn#"). (1852-1901.) (_Spanish._) + **Adios Cordera! McMichael. 97. + +#Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich.# (1871-1919.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Ben-Tobith. Andreyev C. 273. + ***Dies Iræ. Andreyev C. 287. + ***Judas Iscariot. Andreyev C. 45. + ***Lazarus. Andreyev C. 131. + ***Life of Father Vassily. Andreyev C. 161. + ***Marseillaise. Andreyev C. 281. + ***Silence. Russian A. 11. + ***Valia. Schweikert B. 343. + ***When the King Loses His Head. Andreyev C. 5. + +#Annunzio, Gabriele D'.# (_Italian._) _See_ #D'Annunzio, Gabriele.# + +#Artzibashev, Michael.# (_Russian._) + ***Doctor. Russian A. 38. + +#Ayala, Ramón Pérez De.# (_Spanish._) + ***Fall of the House of Limón. Ayala. 77. + ***Prometheus. Ayala. 1. + ***Sunday Sunlight. Ayala. 163. + + +#Bizyenos, George T.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Sin of My Mother. Vaka. 57. + +#Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# (1867-.) (_Spanish._) + *Compassion. Ibáñez. 36. + *Last Lion. Ibáñez. 15. + ***Luxury. Ibáñez. 56. + **Rabies. Ibáñez. 61. + *Toad. Ibáñez. 26. + **Windfall. Ibáñez. 46. + + +#Caragiale, J.L.# (_Rumanian._) + Easter Candles. Underwood A. 49. + +#Carco, Francis.# (_French._) + Memory of Paris Days. New Dec. A. 217. + +#ÄŒech, Svatopluk.# (1846-1908.) (_Czech._) + ***Foltyn's Drum. Hrbkova. 55. + ***Journey. Underwood A. 75. + +#Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# (1861-1904.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***At a Country House. Chekhov E. 173. + **Bad Weather. Chekhov E. 269. + ***Bishop. Chekhov D. 3. + ***Chorus Girl. Chekhov E. 3. + ***Easter Eve. Chekhov D. 49. + ***Father. Chekhov E. 187. Russian A. 56. + **Ivan Matveyitch. Chekhov E. 279. + ***In Exile. Schweikert B. 320. + **Ivan Matveyitch. Chekhov E. 245. + ***Letter. Chekhov D. 29. + ***Murder. Chekhov D. 89. + ***My Life. Chekhov E. 37. + ***Nightmare. Chekhov D. 67. + ***On the Road. Chekhov E. 201. + ***Rothschild's Fiddle. Chekhov E. 227. + ***Steppe. Chekhov D. 161. + ***Trivial Incident. Chekhov E. 227. + ***Uprooted. Chekhov D. 135. + ***Verotchka. Chekhov E. 15. + **Zinotchka. Chekhov E. 257. + +"#ClarÃn.#" (_Spanish._) _See_ #Alas, Leopoldo.# + +#Clémenceau, Georges.# (_French._) + About Nests. Clémenceau. 185. + ***Adventure of My Curé. Clémenceau. 149. + *At the Foot of the Cross. Clémenceau. 87. + **Aunt Rosalie's Inheritance. Clémenceau. 45. + **Better than Stealing. Clémenceau. 125. + *Bullfinch and the Maker of Wooden Shoes. Clémenceau. 173. + **Descendant of Timon. Clémenceau. 19. + Domestic Drama. Clémenceau. 197. + *Evil Beneficence. Clémenceau. 101. + **Flower o' the Wheat. Clémenceau. 221. + **Giambolo. Clémenceau. 313. + *Gideon in His Grave. Clémenceau. 61. + *Gray Fox. Clémenceau. 137. + *Happy Union. Clémenceau. 263. + *Hunting Accident. Clémenceau. 301. + *Jean Piot's Feast. Clémenceau. 233. + *Lovers in Florence. Clémenceau. 287. + **Mad Thinker. Clémenceau. 113. + **Malus Vicinus. Clémenceau. 31. + *Master Baptist, Judge. Clémenceau. 161. + **Mokoubamba's Fetish. Clémenceau. 3. + *Simon, Son of Simon. Clémenceau. 73. + Six Cents. Clémenceau. 209. + **Treasure of St. Bartholomew. Clémenceau. 249. + *Well-Assorted Couple. Clémenceau. 275. + +#D'Annunzio, Gabriele# (#Rapagnetta#). (1864- .) (_Italian._) + ***Countess of Amalfi. D'Annunzio. 10. + ***Death of the Duke of Ofena. D'Annunzio. 172. + ***Downfall of Candia. D'Annunzio. 153. + ***Gold Pieces. D'Annunzio. 83. + ***Hero. D'Annunzio. 3. + ***Idolaters. D'Annunzio. 119. + ***Mungia. D'Annunzio. 140. + ***Return of Turlendana. D'Annunzio. 56. + ***Sorcery. D'Annunzio. 92. + ***Turlendana Drunk. D'Annunzio. 72. + ***Virgin Anna. D'Annunzio. 215. + ***War of the Bridge. D'Annunzio. 192. + +#Dario, Rubén.# (1867-1916.) (_Spanish._) + **Box. McMichael. 31. + ***Death of the Empress of China. McMichael. 3. + *Veil of Queen Mab. McMichael. 21. + +#De Vigny, Alfred.# (_French._) _See_ #Vigny, Alfred De.# + +#Dostoevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich.# (1821-1881.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Another Man's Wife. Dostoevsky B. 208. + ***Bobok. Dostoevsky B. 291. + ***Crocodile. Dostoevsky B. 257. + ***Dream of a Ridiculous Man. Dostoevsky B. 307. + ***Heavenly Christmas Tree. Dostoevsky B. 248. + ***Honest Thief. Dostoevsky B. 1. + ***Novel in Nine Letters. Dostoevsky B. 145. + ***Peasant Marey. Dostoevsky B. 252. + ***Thief. Schweikert B. 79. + ***Unpleasant Predicament. Dostoevsky B. 157. + +#Drosines, George.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***God-father. Vaka. 93. + + +#Eftaliotes, Argyres.# (_Modern Greek._) + Angelica. Vaka. 157. + + +#Friedenthal, Joachim.# (_German._) + ***Pogrom in Poland. Underwood A. 195. + + +#Garshin, Wsewolod Michailovich.# (1855-1888.) (_Russian._) + ***Signal. Schweikert B. 308. + +#Gjalski, Xaver-Sandor.# (_Croatian._) _See_ #Sandor-Gjalski, Xaver.# + +#Gogol, Nikolai Vasilievich.# (1809-1852.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Cloak. Schweikert B. 40. + +"#Gorki, Maxim.#" (#Alexei Maximovich Pyeshkov.#) (1868 or 1869- .) +(_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Chelkash. Schweikert B. 381. + ***Comrades. Schweikert B. 361. + ***Her Lover. Russian A. 67. + + +#Herrman, Ignat.# (1854- .) (_Czech._) + ***What Is Omitted from the Cook-book of Madame Magdálena Dobromila + Rettigová. Hrbkova. 233. + + +#Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco.# (_Spanish._) _See_ #Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# + + +#Jirásek, Alois.# (1851- .) (_Czech._) + **Philosophers. Hrbkova. 225. + + +#Karkavitsas, A.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Sea. Vaka. 23. + +#Kastanakis, Thrasyvoulos.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Frightened Soul. Vaka. 221. + +#Klecanda, Jan.# (1855- .) (_Czech._) + ***For the Land of His Fathers. Hrbkova. 241. + +#Korolenko, Vladimir Galaktionovich.# (1853- .) (_Russian._ Q.) + ***Old Bell-Ringer. Schweikert B. 334. + +#KunÄ›tická, Božena VÃková-.# (_Czech._) _See_ #Vikova-Kuneticka, +Bozena.# + +#Kuprin, Alexander.# (1870- .) (_Russian._) + ***Cain. Schweikert B. 430. + + +#Lazarevic, Lazar K.# (1851-1891.) (_Serbian._) + **Robbers. Underwood A. 145. + +#Lemaître (François Élie), Jules.# (1853-1914.) (_French._) (_See 1918._) + ***Bell. Lemaître. 105. + ***Charity. Lemaître. 175. + ***Conscience. Lemaître. 277. + ***Hellé. Lemaître. 189. + ***Lilith. Lemaître. 91. + ***Mélie. Lemaître. 259. + ***Myrrha. Lemaître. 57. + ***Nausicaa. Lemaître. 207. + ***Princess Mimi's Lovers. Lemaître. 221. + ***Saint John and the Duchess Anne. Lemaître. 117. + ***Serenus. Lemaître. 11. + ***Sophie de Montcernay. Lemaître. 237. + ***Two Flowers. Lemaître. 125. + ***White Chapel. Lemaître. 165. + +#Level, Maurice.# (_French._) + *Bastard. Level. 197. + **Beggar. Level. 151. + ***Blue Eyes. Level. 269. + **Confession. Level. 83. + *Debt Collector. Level. 3. + ***Empty House. Level. 281. + **Extenuating Circumstances. Level. 71. + **Fascination. Level. 187. + **Father. Level. 115. + **For Nothing. Level. 127. + ***Illusion. Level. 39. + ***In the Light of the Red Lamp. Level. 49. + ***In the Wheat. Level. 139. + ***Kennel. Level. 15. + **Kiss. Level. 237. + **Last Kiss. Level. 293. + ***Man Who Lay Asleep. Level. 175. + ***Maniac. Level. 249. + *Mistake. Level. 59. + **Poussette. Level. 103. + *Taint. Level. 225. + *10.50 Express. Level. 259. + **Test. Level. 95. + ***That Scoundrel Miron. Level. 211. + *Under Chloroform. Level. 163. + **Who? Level. 27. + + +#Machar, Joseph Svatopluk.# (1864- .) (_Czech._) + ***Theories of Heroism. Hrbkova. 123. + +#Mayran, Camille.# (_Belgian._) + ***Forgotten. Mayran. 95. + ***Story of Gotton Connixloo. Mayran. 1. + +Mikszáth, Koloman. (1849- .) (_Hungarian._) + ***Fiddlers Three. Underwood A. 217. + **Trip to the Other World. Underwood A. 209. + +#Mužák, Johanna Rottova.# (_Czech._) _See_ "#SvÄ›tlá, Caroline.#" + + +#NÄ›mcová, Božena.# (1820-1862.) (_Czech._) + ***"Bewitched Bára." Hrbkova. 151. + +#Neruda, Jan.# (1834-1891.) (_Czech._) + ***All Souls' Day, Underwood A. 119. + ***At the Sign of the Three Lilies. Hrbkova. 86. + ***BeneÅ¡. Hrbkova. 81. + ***Foolish Jona. Underwood A. 136. + **He was a Rascal. Hrbkova. 90. + ***Vampire. Hrbkova. 75. + +#Netto, Walther.# (_German._) + ***Swine Herd. Underwood A. 233. + + +#Palamas, Kostes.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Man's Death. Vaka. 173. + +#Papadiamanty, A.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***She That Was Homesick. Vaka. 237. + +#Pérez De Ayala, Ramón.# (_Spanish._) _See_ #Ayala, Ramón Pérez De.# + +#Picón, Jacinto Octavio.# (1852- .) (_Spanish._) + ***After the Battle. McMichael. 43. + **Menace. McMichael. 67. + **Souls in Contrast. McMichael. 81. + +#Pinski, David.# (1872- .) (_Yiddish._) + ***Beruriah. Pinski A. 3. + ***Black Cat. Pinski A. 255. + ***Drabkin. Pinski A. 171. + ***In the Storm. Pinski A. 313. + ***Johanan the High Priest. Pinski A. 101. + ***Tale of a Hungry Man. Pinski A. 277. + ***Temptations of Rabbi Akiba. Pinski A. 83. + ***Jerubbabel. Pinski A. 131. + +#Polylas, Iakovos.# (_Modern Greek._) + *Forgiveness. Vaka. 133. + +#Pushkin, Alexander Sergievich.# (1799-1837.) (_Russian._) + ***Shot, Schweikert B. 23. + +#Pyeshkov, Alexei Maximovich.# (_Russian._) _See_ "#Gorki, Maxim.#" + + +#Å andor-Gjalski, Xaver.# (_Croatian._) + **Jagica. Underwood A. 181. + **Naja. Underwood A. 165. + +"#Sologub, Feodor.#" (#Feodor Kuzmitch Teternikov.#) (1863- .) (_Russian._) + ***White Dog. Russian A. 30. + +#Sudermann, Hermann.# (_German._) + **Gooseherd. Sudermann. 341. + ***Iolanthe's Wedding. Sudermann. 9. + ***New Year's Eve Confession. Sudermann. 127. + **Woman Who Was His Friend. Sudermann. 109. + +"#SvÄ›tlá, Caroline.#" (#Johanna Rottova Mužák.#) (1830-1899.) +(_Czech._) + ***Barbara. Hrbkova. 279. + +#Svoboda, FrantiÅ¡ek Xavier.# (1860- .) (_Czech._) + ***Every Fifth Man. Hrbkova. 105. + + +#Tchekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# (_Russian._) _See_ #Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# + +#Teternikov, Feodor Kuzmitch.# (_Russian._) _See_ "#Sologub, Feodor.#" + +#Tolstoï, Lyof Nikolaievich, Count.# (1828-1910.) (_Russian._) +(_See 1918._) + ***God Sees the Truth but Waits. Schweikert B. 209. + ***Master and Man. Schweikert B. 220. + ***Three Arshins of Land. Schweikert B. 287. + +#Turgenev, Ivan Sergievich#, (1818-1883.) (_Russian._) + ***Biryuk. Schweikert B. 103. + ***Lear of the Steppes. Schweikert B. 113. + + +#Vestendorf, A. Von.# (_German._) _See_ #Von Vestendorf, A.# + +#Vigny, Alfred De.# (_French._) + ***Laurette, Vigny. 43. + +#VÃková-KunÄ›tická, Božena.# (1863- .) (_Czech._) + ***Spiritless. Hrbkova. 135. + +#Von Vestendorf, A.# (_German._) + ***Furor Illyricus. Underwood A. 37. + +#Vrchlický, Yaroslav.# (1853-1912.) (_Czech._) + ***Brother CÅ“lestin. Underwood A. 3. + + +#Xenopoulos, Gregorios.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Mangalos. Vaka. 105. + + + + +MAGAZINE AVERAGES + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +_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._ + +______________________________________________________________________ + | | | + | | NO. OF |PERCENTAGE OF + | NO. OF |DISTINCTIVE| DISTINCTIVE +PERIODICALS | STORIES | STORIES | STORIES +(OCT.-SEPT.) |PUBLISHED | PUBLISHED | PUBLISHED + | |___________|_____________ + | | | | | | | + | | * | **|***| * | **|*** +_________________________________|__________|___|___|___|___|___|_____ + | | | | | | | +Atlantic Monthly | 19 | 18| 15| 11| 95| 78| 58 +Century | 43 | 36| 25| 12| 84| 56| 28 +Collier's Weekly | 97 | 24| 8| 4| 25| 8| 4 +Cosmopolitan | 75 | 17| 7| 3| 23| 9| 4 +Dial (including translations) | 19 | 19| 15| 11|100| 78| 58 +Everybody's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 75 | 23| 7| 0| 31| 9| 0 +Harper's Magazine | 57 | 43| 32| 15| 75| 56| 26 +Hearst's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 76 | 17| 6| 4| 22| 8| 5 +McCall's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 41 | 15| 7| 3| 37| 17| 7 +McClure's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 53 | 24| 16| 13| 45| 30| 25 +Metropolitan | 78 | 20| 12| 6| 26| 15| 8 +Midland | 13 | 11| 11| 8| 85| 85| 62 +Munsey's Magazine | 83 | 14| 5| 2| 17| 6| 2 +New York Tribune (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 48 | 31| 5| 1| 63| 11| 2 +Pagan (including translations) | 21 | 10| 8| 6| 50| 40| 30 +Pictorial Review | 46 | 30| 28| 25| 65| 61| 54 +Red Book Magazine | 117 | 17| 4| 2| 15| 4| 2 +Reedy's Mirror (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 30 | 16| 8| 4| 53| 27| 13 +Romance | 89 | 23| 6| 1| 26| 7| 1 +Scribner's Magazine | 51 | 36| 23| 10| 72| 46| 20 +Smart Set (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 127 | 51| 25| 14| 40| 20| 11 +_________________________________|__________|___|___|___|___|___|_____ + +_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._ + + +#By Percentage of Distinctive Stories# + + 1. Dial (including translations) 100% + 2. Atlantic Monthly 95% + 3. Midland 85% + 4. Century 84% + 5. Harper's Magazine 75% + 6. Scribner's Magazine 72% + 7. Pictorial Review 65% + 8. New York Tribune (including translations) 63% + 9. Reedy's Mirror (including translations) 53% +10. Pagan (including translations) 50% +11. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 45% +12. Smart Set (including translations) 40% +13. McCall's Magazine (including translations) 37% +14. Everybody's Magazine (including translations) 31% +15. Romance 26% +16. Metropolitan 26% +17. Collier's Weekly 25% +18. Cosmopolitan 23% +19. Hearst's Magazine (including translations) 22% +20. Munsey's Magazine 17% +21. Red Book Magazine 15% + + +#By Number of Distinctive Stories# + + 1. Smart Set (including translations) 51 + 2. Harper's Magazine 43 + 3. Century 36 + 4. Scribner's Magazine 36 + 5. New York Tribune (including translations) 31 + 6. Pictorial Review 30 + 7. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 24 + 8. Collier's Weekly 24 + 9. Everybody's Magazine (including translations) 23 +10. Romance 23 +11. Metropolitan 20 +12. Dial (including translations) 19 +13. Atlantic Monthly 18 +14. Cosmopolitan 17 +15. Hearst's Magazine (including translations) 17 +16. Red Book Magazine 17 +17. Reedy's Mirror (including translations) 16 +18. McCall's Magazine (including translations) 15 +19. Munsey's Magazine 14 +20. Midland 11 +21. Pagan (including translations) 10 + +_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._ + +1. abcde Harper's Magazine 32 +2. bcde Pictorial Review 28 +3. abcde Century 25 +4. abcde Smart Set (including translations) 25 +5. abcde Scribner's Magazine 23 +6. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 16 +7. Dial (including translations) 15 +8. cde Atlantic Monthly 15 +9. be Metropolitan 12 +10. c Midland 11 + + +_The following periodicals have published during the same period five or +more "three-asterisk stories." The list excludes reprints, but not +translations. The same signs are used as prefixes as in the previous +list._ + +1. acde Pictorial Review 25 +2. abcde Harper's Magazine 15 +3. de Smart Set (including translations) 14 +4. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 13 +5. abcde Century 12 +6. Dial (including translations) 11 +7. cde Atlantic Monthly 11 +8. abcde Scribner's Magazine 10 +9. ae Midland 8 +10. ace Metropolitan 6 +11. be Pagan (including translations) 6 + +_Ties in the above lists have been decided by taking relative rank in +other lists into account._ + + + + +INDEX OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES + + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + +_All short stories published in the following magazines and newspapers, +October, 1919, to September, 1920, inclusive, are indexed._ + +American Magazine +Asia +Atlantic Monthly +Catholic World +Century +Collier's Weekly (except Dec. 27) +Delineator (except Sept.) +Dial +Everybody's Magazine +Good Housekeeping (except Apr. and June) +Harper's Magazine +Ladies' Home Journal (except Mar.) +Liberator +Little Review (except Apr. and Sept.) +Metropolitan +Midland +New York Tribune +Pagan +Pictorial Review +Reedy's Mirror +Saturday Evening Post (except Jan. 31; Feb. 14, 21; Mar. 13, 20) +Scribner's Magazine +Smart Set +Stratford Journal +Sunset Magazine +Touchstone (Oct., '19-May) + +_Short stories of distinction only, published in the following magazines +during the same period, are indexed._ + +Adventure (Oct.-Dec., '19; Jul.-Sept.) +Ainslee's Magazine +All Story Weekly +American Boy +Argosy +Black Cat +Cosmopolitan +Freeman +Harper's Bazar (except Oct., '19) +Hearst's Magazine +Holland's Magazine +Little Story Magazine +Live Stories +McCall's Magazine +McClure's Magazine +Magnificat +Munsey's Magazine +Parisienne +People's Favorite Magazine +Queen's Work (except Sept.) +Red Book Magazine +Romance +Short Stories +Snappy Stories +Telling Tales +To-day's Housewife +Top-Notch Magazine +Woman's Home Companion (except Sept.) +Woman's World + +_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._ + +Detroit Sunday News +Menorah Journal +Oxford Outlook +Pearson's Magazine +Red Cross Magazine +Popular Magazine +True Stories + +_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._ + +_The following abbreviations are used in the index_:-- + +_Adv._ Adventure +_Ain._ Ainslee's Magazine +_All._ All-Story Weekly +_Am._ American Magazine +_Am. B._ American Boy +_Arg._ Argosy +_Asia_ Asia +_Atl._ Atlantic Monthly +_B. C._ Black Cat +_Cath. W._ Catholic World +_Cen._ Century +_Col._ Collier's Weekly +_Cos._ Cosmopolitan +_Del._ Delineator +_Det. N._ Detroit Sunday News +_Dial_ Dial +_Ev._ Everybody's Magazine +_Free._ Freeman +_G. H._ Good Housekeeping +_Harp. B._ Harper's Bazar +_Harp. M._ Harper's Monthly +_Hear._ Hearst's Magazine +_Holl._ Holland's Magazine +_L. H. J._ Ladies' Home Journal +_Lib._ Liberator +_Lit. R._ Little Review +_Lit. St._ Little Story Magazine +_L. St._ Live Stories +_Mag._ Magnificat +_McC._ McClure's Magazine +_McCall_ McCall's Magazine +_Men._ Menorah Journal +_Met._ Metropolitan +_Mid._ Midland +_Mir._ Reedy's Mirror +_Mun._ Munsey's Magazine +_N. Y. Trib._ New York Tribune +_O. O._ Oxford Outlook +_Pag._ Pagan +_Par._ Parisienne +_Pear._ Pearson's Magazine +_Peop._ People's Favorite Magazine +_Pict. R._ Pictorial Review +_Pop._ Popular Magazine +_Q. W._ Queen's Work +_(R.)_ Reprint +_Red Bk._ Red Book Magazine +_Red Cross_ Red Cross Magazine +_Rom._ Romance +_Scr._ Scribner's Magazine +_S. E. P._ Saturday Evening Post +_Sh. St._ Short Stories +_Sn. St._ Snappy Stories +_S. S._ Smart Set +_Strat. J._ Stratford Journal +_Sun._ Sunset Magazine +_Tod._ To-day's Housewife +_Top._ Top-Notch Magazine +_Touch._ Touchstone +_True St._ True Stories +_T. T._ Telling Tales +_W. H. C._ Woman's Home Companion +_Wom. W._ Woman's World +(161) Page 161 +(2:161) Volume 2, page 161 +(_See '15_) _See_ "Best Short Stories of 1915." + +_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._ + +#Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell.# (#Mrs. Fordyce Coburn.#) (1872- .) (_See +1915, 1918._) (_H._) + Peace On Earth, Good Will to Dogs. Col. Dec. 13-20, '19. (5, 8.) + +#Abbott, Helen Raymond.# (1888- .) (_See 1918._) + *Stop Six. Cen. March. (99:666.) + +#Abbott, Keene.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Cinders of the Cinderella Family. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (12.) + Thumb Minus Barlow. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (28.) + +#Abdullah, Achmed.# (#Achmed Abdullah Nadir Khan El-Durani El-Idrissyeh.#) +("A. A. Nadir.") (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Evening Rice. Pict. R. June. (8.) + *Hill Bred Yar Hydar. Am. B. Dec. '19. (11.) + **Indian Jataka. All. March 13. (108:2.) + *Pell Street Choice. Am. B. Nov. '19. (6.) + **Tao. Cen. Apr. (99:819.) + +#Abt, Marion.# + Epithalamium. S. S. Sept. (63.) + +#Adams, Charles Magee.# + Fathers and Sons. Am. May. (28.) + Todd's Plunge. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (41.) + +#Adams, H. Austin.# (_See "H" under_ #Adams, Austin.#) + "Bugs, But No One's Fool." Sun. Sept. (43.) + +#Adams, Samuel Hopkins.# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Guardian of God's Acre. Col. June 12. (18.) + *Home Seekers. Col. Apr. 10. (13.) + *House of Silvery Voices. Col. Mar. 20. (18.) + *Patroness of Art. Col. Jul. 17. (5.) + Pink Roses and the Wallop. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (12.) + +#Addis, H. A. Noureddin.# (_See 1918._) + **Weaver. Asia. Jan. (20:13.) + +#Addison, Thomas.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) + Tricks in All Trades. Ev. Apr. (76.) + +*#Ades, Albert.# + *Mme. Grandvoinet. N. Y. Trib. March 21. + +#Agee, Fannie Heaslip Lea.# _See_ #Lea, Fannie Heaslip.# + +#Aitken, Kenneth Lyndwode.# (1881-1919.) + ***From the Admiralty Files. Cen. Dec. '19. (99:241.) + **Wee Bit Ghost. Met. March. (34.) + +#Akins, Zoë.# (1886- .) (_See 1919._) + *Bruised Reed. Cos. July. (32.) + **Sister of the Sun. Cen. Dec. '19. (99:217.) + +#Aldrich, Bess Streeter.# ("#Margaret Dean Stevens.#") (1881- .) +(_See 1919._) (_See 1916 under_ #Stevens, Margaret Dean.#) + *Across the smiling Meadow. L. H. J. Feb. (20.) + Ginger Cookies. L. H. J. Jan. (25.) + "Last Night, When You Kissed Blanche Thompson----." Am. Aug. (28.) + Marcia Mason's Lucky Star. Am. March. (23.) + Mason Family Now on Exhibition. Am. Nov. '19. (45.) + Mother Mason Gives Some + Good Advice. Am. May. (49.) + Tillie Cuts Loose. Am. April. (50.) + +"#Alexander, Mary.#" _See_ #Kilbourne, Fannie.# + +#Alexander, Nell Stewart.# + Cutting the Cat's Claws. L. H. J. Sept. (34.) + +#Alexander, Sandra.# (_See 1919._) + According to Otto. Col. Mar. 27. (10.) + Goer. Met. Nov. '19. (34.) + +"#Amid, John.#" (#M. M. Stearns.#) (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Seravido Money. Mir. Nov. 20, '19. (28:812.) + +#Anderson, C. Farley.# + ***Octogenarian. S. S. Dec. '19. (119.) + +#Anderson, Frederick Irving.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *King's Thumb. Ev. Dec. '19. (45.) + +#Anderson, Jane.# (_H._) + ***Happiest Man in the World. Cen. Jan. (99:330.) + +#Anderson, Sherwood.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Door of the Trap. Dial. May. (68:567.) + ***I Want to Know Why. S. S. Nov. '19. (35.) + ***Other Woman. Lit. R. May-June. (37.) + ***Triumph of the Egg. Dial. Mar. (68:295.) + +#Anderson, William Ashley.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + **Black Man Without a Country. Harp. M. June. (141:90.) + Bwana Poor. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (41.) + **Parable of Trifles. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (28.) + +#Anderton, Daisy.# (_See 1919._) + ***Belated Girlhood. Pag. Jan. (37.) + +*#Andreieff, Leonid Nikolaevich.# _See_ #Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich.# + +#Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Broken Wings. Scr. Aug. (68:129.) + +#Andrews, Roland F.# (_H._) + For the Honor of Sam Butler. Ev. Mar. (38.) + **Wallababy. Met. Aug. (38.) + +*#Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich.# (1871-1919.) (_See 1916, 1917._) +(_See "H" under_ #Andreieff.#) + ***Promise of Spring. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (6.) + +#Anonymous.# + *Bird of Passage. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 28, '19. + *His Last Rendezvous. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 30, '19. + *Incompatibles. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 23, '19. + ***Romance of the Western Pavilion. Asia. May. (20:392.) + "Stranger." N. Y. Trib. May 30. + +#Armstrong, LeRoy.# (1854- .) (_H._) + "Patsy, Keep Your Head." Met. Oct., '19. (29.) + +#Aspinwall, Marguerite.# (_See 1918._) + First Rung. Del. Feb. (11.) + +#Atherton, Sarah.# + Lie and the Litany. Scr. Aug. (68:186.) + *Necessary Dependent. Scr. June. (67:747.) + *Paths from Diamond Patch. Scr. Jul. (68:65.) + +*#Aumonier, Stacy.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Golden Windmill. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (14.) + ***Good Action. Cen. Aug. (100:454.) + ***Great Unimpressionable. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (12.) + ***Just the Same. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (12.) + ***Landlord of "The Love-a-Duck." Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (8.) + +*#Auriol, Georges.# + Heart of the Mother. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (33.) + +*#Austin, Frederick Britten.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Buried Treasure. Hear. Dec., '19. (14.) + *Yellow Magic. Red. Bk. Apr. (28.) + +#Austin-Ball, Mrs. T.# _See_ #Steele, Alice Garland.# + +#Avery, Hascal T.# (_See 1919._) + *Corpus Delicti. Atl. Feb. (125:200.) + +#Avery, Stephen Morehouse.# + Lemon or Cream? L. H. J. Feb. (24.) + + +#Babcock, Edwina Stanton.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Gargoyle. Harp. M. Sept. (141:417.) + **Porch of the Maidens. Harp. M. March. (140:460.) + +#Bailey (Irene), Temple.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Beggars on Horseback. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (20.) + **Gay Cockade. Harp. M. Feb. (140:290.) + +#Ball, Mrs. T. Austin.# _See_ #Steele, Alice Garland.# + +#Balmer, Edwin.# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_Hb._) + Acheron Run. Ev. May. (59.) + Jim Culver Learns the Secret of Teamwork. Am. Aug. (49.) + On the 7:50 Express. Am. April. (13.) + Paolina. Ev. Feb. (59.) + Santa Claus Breaks Into the Kelly Pool Game. Am. Dec., '19. (40.) + Upon the Record Made. L. H. J. Jul. (7.) + +*#Bargone, Charles.# _See_ "#Farrère, Claude.#" + +*#Barker (Harley), Granville.# (1877- .) (_See 1916._) + ***Bigamist. Free. May 5. (1:176.) + +#Barnard, Leslie Gordon.# + Jealousy of Mother McCurdy. Am. June. (39.) + Why They Called Her "Little Ireland." Am. July. (49.) + +#Barnes, Djuna.# (1892- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + ***Beyond the End. Lit. R. Dec., '19. (7.) + ***Mother. Lit. R. Jul.-Aug. (10.) + +#Barratt, Louise Rand Bascom.# _See_ #Bascom, Louise Rand.# + +#Barrett, Arabel Moulton.# (_See 1919._) + Little Brown Bird. Cath. W. Oct., '19. (110:29.) + +#Barrett, Richmond Brooks.# + At Thirty-three. S. S. Sept. (55.) + Daughter of the Bernsteins. S. S. Jul. (83.) + Divine Right of Tenors. S. S. March. (73.) + *Satanic Saint. S. S. April. (103.) + +#Bartlett, Frederick Orin.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Everlasting Hills. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (30.) + **Inside. Del. Jan. (7.) + Junior Member. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (14.) + Later Boat. Ev. Apr. (68.) + Strip of Green Paper. Ev. Sept. (51.) + +#Barton, C. P.# + *Life, Liberty, and Happiness. All. Apr. 10. (109:135.) + +#Bascom, Louise Rand.# (#Mrs. G. W. Barrett.#) (_See 1915, 1916, +1918._) (_H._) + *Question of Dress. B. C. Jul. (13.) + +#Bash, Mrs. Louis H.# _See_ #Runkle, Bertha (Brooks.)# + +#Beadle, Charles.# (_See 1918._) + *Inner Hero. Rom. Nov., '19. (113.) + +#Beale, William C.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Eternal Knout. Ev. Nov., '19. (34.) + +#Beard, Wolcott le Cléar.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + *Sun God Functions. Arg. Nov. 1, '19. (114:18.) + +#Bechdolt, Frederick Ritchie.# (1874- .) (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Cleaning Up of Lathrop. S. E. P. May 15. (46.) + On the Lordsburg Road. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (42.) + +*#Beck, L. Adams.# + ***Fire of Beauty. Atl. Sept. (126:359.) + ***Incomparable Lady. Atl. Aug. (126:178.) + +#Beer, Thomas.# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Boy Flag. S. E. P. June 5. (12.) + *Cool. Cen. Sept. (100:604.) + Curious Behavior of Myra Cotes. Met. Oct., '19. (32.) + Lorena. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (18.) + Poison Pen. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (16.) + *Refuge. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (18.) + Totem. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (42.) + *Zerbetta and the Black Arts. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (22.) + +#Beffel, John Nicholas.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Crosby Crew. Mir. Oct. 23, '19. (28:730.) + *Out of the Cage. Mir. Nov. 20, '19. (28:816.) 18, '19. (28:816.) + Seneca's Ghost House. Mir. Dec. 18, '19. (28:936.) + Woman at the Door. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:899.) + +#Behrman, S. N.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *That Second Man. S. S. Nov., '19. (73.) + +#Belden, Jacques.# + *Song of Home. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:230.) + +#Benét, Stephen Vincent.# (1898- .) (_See 1916._) + *Funeral of John Bixby. Mun. Jul. (70:382.) + ***Summer Thunder. S. S. Sept. (79.) + +#Bercovici, Konrad.# (1882- .) + ***Ghitza. Dial. Feb. (68:154.) + *Yahde, the Proud One. Rom. Aug. (100.) + +*#Beresford, John Davys.# (1873- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + **Convert. Free. May, '19. (1:225.) + +*"#Bertheroy, Jean.#" (#Berthe Carianne Le Barillier.#) (1860- .) (_See +1918, 1919._) + *Candlemas Day. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 29. + *From Beyond the Grace. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 1. + +#Bidwell, Anna Cabot.# + Fairest Adonis. Cen. March (99:610.) + +*#Binet-Valmer.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + Armistice Night. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 4. + *Withered Flowers. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 4. + +*"#Birmingham, George A.#" (#Canon James O. Hannay.#) (1865- .) (_See +1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Bands of Ballyguttery. Ev. Jul. (63.) + +#Bishop, Ola.# (_See 1919._) + Dawson Gang. Met. Nov., '19. (52.) + Wilda MacIvor-Horsethief. Met. Feb. (42.) + +*#Bizet, René.# + Devil's Peak. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 18. + *Lie. N. Y. Trib. May 16. + +*#Blackwood, Algernon.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Chinese Magic. Rom. June. (26.) + ***First Hate. McC. Feb. (22.) + ***Running Wolf. Cen. Aug. (100:482.) + +*#Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# (1867- .) (_See 1919 under_ #Ibáñez, Vicente +Blasco.#) + *Caburé Feather. McC. Sept. (20.) + *Four Sons of Eve. McC. Jul. (8.) + *Mad Virgins. Ev. Dec., '19. (25.) + ***Old Woman of the Movies. McC. May. (9.) + *Shot in the Dark. McCall. Jul. (6.) + ***Sleeping-Car Porter. Del. Oct., '19. (15.) + +#Bloch, Bertram.# (_See '18._) + Modern Improvements. S. S. Feb. (79.) + +#Block, Rudolph.# _See_ "Lessing, Bruno." + +#Blum, Henry S.# + Oil. Met. Aug. (34.) + +#Boas, George.# + **Officer, but a Gentleman. Atl. Aug. (126:194.) + +#Bodenheim, Maxwell.# (1893- .) + **Religion. Lit. R. May-June. (32.) + +#Bois, Boice Du.# _See_ #Du Bois, Boice.# + +#Boogher, Susan M.# (_See 1919._) + Mrs. Hagey and the Follies. L. H. J. Sept. (22.) + +#Booth, Frederick.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + *Duel, Ain. Apr. (126.) + +*#Bottome, Phyllis# (#Mrs. Forbes Dennis#). (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Man of the "Chat Noir." Ain. June-Jul. (41.) + **Residue. Cen. Sept, (100:665.) + +#Boulton, Agnes#, (#Mrs. Eugene G. O'Neill.#) (1893- .) + **Hater of Mediocrity. S. S. Jul. (119.) + +*#Boutet, Fréderic.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + *Her Magnificent Recollections. Par. June. (37.) + *His Wife's Correspondents. Par. Sept. (65.) + **Laura. N. Y. Trib. Sept., '19. + *M. Octave Boullay. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 1. + *Two Dinners. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 22. + +#Bowman, Earl Wayland.# + Blunt Nose. Am. Feb. (62.) + High Stakes. Am. Sept. (56.) + +#Boyer, Wilbur S.# (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Tutti-Frutti. Ev. May. (69.) + +#Brace, Blanche.# + Adventure of the Lost Trousseau. L. H. J. Sept. (14.) + Tuesday and Thursday Evenings. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (20.) + +#Bradley, Mary Hastings.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + His Neighbor's Wife. Met. Sept. (25.) + Salvage, Met. May. (16.) + +#Brand, Max.# (_See 1918._) + *Out of the Dark. All. March. 13. (108:9.) + +#Breakspear, Matilda.# + Humberto, S. S. Jan. (108.) + +#Brooks, Jonathan.# + Bills Payable. Col. Sept. 18. (5.) + Hand and Foot. Col. May 15. (14.) + High and Handsome. Col. June 19. (5.) + Hot Blood and Cold. Col. Aug. 7. (5.) + Rewarded, By Virtue. Col. Apr. 3. (5.) + +#Brooks, Paul.# + Immolation. S. S. Sept. (101.) + +#Brown, Alice.# (1857- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Captives. McCall. May. (6.) + *Mistletoe. W. H. C. Dec., '19. (23.) + ***Old Lemuel's Journey. Atl. June. (125:782.) + +#Brown, Estelle Aubrey.# + Elizabeth--Convex. L. H. J. Jan. (9.) + +#Brown, Hearty Earl.# (1886- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Gold-Piece. Atl. Jul. (126:67.) + +#Brown, Katharine Holland.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *House on the Sand. W. H. C. May. (29.) + **Very Anxious Mother. Scr. Dec. 1919. (66:749.) + +#Brown, Royal.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Eighth Box. L. H. J. Dec., 1919. (14.) + Game for Quentina. L. H. J. June. (18.) + Too Much Canvas. L. H. J. Nov., 1919. (20.) + +#Brown, W. S.# + *Albert Bean's Tranquillity. Dial. Mar. (68:306.) + +#Brownell, Agnes Mary.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Buttermilk. Mir. Dec. 11, 1919. (28:887.) + **Coquette. McCall. May. (16.) + **Cure. Mid. Sept. (6:138.) + **Evergreen. G. H. Dec., 1919. (49.) + *Forty-Love. McCall. Jul. (16.) + **Grampa. Del. Apr. (24.) + *Intentions. Rome. Apr. (33.) + *Oxalis. Del. Feb. (21.) + ***Quest. Mid. Sept.-Oct. '19. (5:220.) + **Red Fiddle. Arg. Jul. 31. (123:699.) + ***Relation. Pict. R. June. (12.) + *Wannie--and Her Heart's Desire. Am. Jul. (44.) + +#Brownell, Mrs. Baker.# _See_ "#Maxwell, Helena.#" + +#Brubaker, Howard.# (1892- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Decline and Fall. Harp. M. Jul. (141:244.) + *Little Friends of All the Arts. Harp. M. Feb. (140:386.) + +#Bruno, GuÃdo.# (1884- .) (_See 1915._) + Adultery on Washington Square. Mir. Jul. 15. (29:563.) + +*#Bruno, Ruby, J.# + *Unbreakable Chain. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 18. + Woman's Will. N. Y. Trib. July 11. + +#Bryan, Grace Lovell.# + Class! S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (46.) + Rowena Pulls the Wheeze! S. E. P. July 31. (16.) + "You Never Can Tell--" S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (40.) + +#Bryner, Edna Clare.# + ***Life of Five Points. Dial. (69:225.) + +*#Buchan, John.# (1875- .) (_H._) + ***Fullcircle. Atl. Jan. (125:36.) + +*#Buchanan, Meriel.# + Miracle of St. Nicholas. Scr. Aug. (68:137.) + +#Buck, Oscar MacMillan.# + **Village of Dara's Mercy. Asia. June. (20:481.) + +#Bulger, Bozeman.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_See also_ #Terhune, +Albert Payson#, _and_ #Bulger, Bozeman.#) + Logansport Breeze. S. E. P. June, '19. (30.) + Real Shine. Ev. June. (25.) + +#Burke, Kenneth.# + *Mrs. Mæcenas. Dial. Mar. (68:346.) + **Soul of Kajn Tafha. Dial. Jul. (69:29.) + +*#Burke, Thomas.# (1887- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) + ***Scarlet Shoes. Cos. Apr. (69.) + **Twelve Golden Curls. Cos. Mar. (37.) + +*#Burland, John Burland Harris.# (1870- .) + *Green Flame. T. T. Apr. (27.) + **Window. L. St. Dec. '19 (94.) + +#Burnet, Dana.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Last of the Oldmasters. Ev. Jan. (37.) + Romance of a Country Road. G. H. Oct., '19. (34.) + +#Burt, Maxwell Struthers.# (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **"Bally Old" Knot. Scr. Aug. (68:194.) + *Devilled Sweetbreads. Scr. Apr. (67:411.) + ***Dream or Two. Harp. M. May. (140:744.) + ***Each in His Generation. Scr. Jul. (68:42.) + ***When His Ships Came In. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:721.) + +#Butler, Ellis Parker.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Criminals Three. Pict. R. March. (16.) + **Economic Waste. Ev. Oct., '19. (46.) + *Jury of His Peers. Ev. Sept. (42.) + Knight Without Reproach. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (69.) + Potting Marjotta. Col. Jan. 17. (11.) + +"#Byrne, Donn.#" (#Bryan Oswald Donn-Byrne.#) (1888- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *And Zabad Begat Ephlal. Hear. May. (31.) + *Bride's Play. Hear. Sept. (8.) + + +#Cabell, James Branch.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Designs of Miramon. Cen. Aug. (100:533.) + ***Feathers of Olrun. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:193.) + ***Hair of Melicent. McC. Sept. (24.) + ***Head of Misery. McC. Jul. (21.) + ***Hour of Freydis. McC. May. (14.) + **Porcelain Cups. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:20.) + +#Calvin, L.# + Twenty Stories Above Lake Level. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (16.) + +#Cameron, Margaret.# (#Margaret Cameron Lewis.#) (1867- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917._) (_H._) + Personal: Object Matrimony. Harp. M. Apr. (140:621.) + +#Camp, (Charles) Wadsworth.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + Black Cap. Col. Jan. 24. (10.) + **Dangerous Tavern. Col. Jul. 24. (5.) + Hate. Col. Apr. 3. (18.) + ***Signal Tower. Met. May. (32.) + +#Campbell, Marjorie Prentiss.# (_See 1919._) + Guests for Dinner. Del. Mar. (11.) + Tight Skirts and the Sea. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (20.) + +#Canda, Elizabeth Holden.# + Broken Glass. L. H. J. Feb. (15.) + +*#Cannan, Gilbert.# (1884- .) + **Tragic End. Dial. Jan. (68:47.) + +#Carmichael, Catherine.# + Fairy of the Fire-place. Met. June. (13.) + +#Carnevali, Emanuel.# + Tales of a Hurried Man. I. Lit. R. Oct., '19. (16.) + Tales of a Hurried Man. II. Lit. R. Nov., '19. (22.) + Tales of a Hurried Man. III. Lit. R. Mar. (28.) + +#Carson, Shirley.# + *Old Woman's Story. Hol. June. (11.) + +#Carver, George.# (_See 1918._) + **About the Sixth Hour. Mir. March 18. (29:203.) + +#Cary, Gladys Gill.# + It's So Hard for a Girl. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (18.) + +#Cary, Harold.# + She and He. Ev. Feb. (31.) + +*#Cary, Joyce.# _See_ "#Joyce, Thomas.#" + +*#Casement, Roger.# + *Guti. (_R._) Mir. May 20. (29:415.) + +#Casey Patrick#, _and_ #Casey, Terence.# (_See 1915, 1917._) (_See "H" +under_ #Casey, Patrick.#) + **Wedding of Quesada. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (12.) + +#Casseres, Benjamin De.# (1873- .) (_See "H" under_ #De Casseres, +Benjamin.#) + *Last Satire of a Famous Titan. S. S. June. (79.) + +*#Castle, Agnes (Sweetman)#, _and_ #Castle, Egerton.# (1858-1920.) +(_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Fair Fatality. Rom. Apr. (137.) + +#Castle, Everett Rhodes.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Ain't Men So Transparent--S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (61.) + Golfers Three. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (49.) + +#Cather, Willa Sibert.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Her Boss. S. S. Oct., '19. (95.) + +#Catton, George L.# (_See 1918._) + *Coincidence. Lit. St. Sept. (1.) + *Speaking of Crops. Arg. Mar. 6. (118:475.) + +#Cavendish, John C.# (_See 1919._) + *Dawn. S. S. Dec., '19. (57.) + Last Love. S. S. Feb. (117.) + *Little Grisette. S. S. Nov., '19. (41.) + +#Chadwick, Charles.# + Broken Promise. L. H. J. May. (27.) + +#Chalmers, Mary.# + **Liberation of Christine Googe. Sn. St. March 18. (59.) + +#Chamberlain, Lucia.# (_See 1917._) (_H._) + Policeman X. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (16.) + +#Chambrun, Countess De.# _See_ #De Chambrun, Clara Longworth, Countess.# + +#Chandler, Josephine C.# + Habeas Corpus. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (35.) + +#Chapin, Carl Mattison.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Too Much Is Enough. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (46.) + +#Chapman, Edith.# + ***Classical Case. Pag. June. (4.) + *Emancipation. S. S. June. (99). + **Golden Fleece. Pag. Feb. (4.) + Inevitable Eve. S. S. Aug. (61.) + Mid-Victorians. S. S. Feb. (53.) + *Pandora. S. S. May. (85.) + *Question of Values. S. S. Sept. (29.) + Reductio ad Absurdum. S. S. Jan. (59.) + **Self-Deliverance, or The Stanton Way. Pag. Apr.-May. (12.) + +#Charles, Tennyson.# + *Riding the Crack of Doom. Am. B. Apr. (18.) + +#Chase, Mary Ellen.# (1887- .) (_See 1919._) + *Sure Dwellings. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:869.) + +*#Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# (1860-1904.) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917 under_ +#Tchekov.#) (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***At a Country House. (_R._) Touch. May. (7:126.) + +#Chenault, Fletcher.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + On Nubbin Ridge. Col. Dec. 6, '19. (20.) + +#Chester, George Randolph.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1919._) (_H._) + Pouff. Ev. Mar. (64.) + +*#Chesterton, Gilbert Keith.# (1874- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + **Face in the Target. Harp. M. Apr. (140:577.) + *Garden of Smoke. Hear. Jan. (15.) + **Soul of the Schoolboy. Harp. M. Sept. (141:512.) + **Vanishing Prince. Harp. M. Aug. (141:320.) + +#Child, Richard Washburn.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Bomb. McC. Jan. (11.) + Thief Indeed. Pict. R. June. (6.) + +#Church, F.S.# (_See 1919._) + How I Spent My Vacation. Scr. Aug. (68:155.) + +#Churchill, David.# (_See 1919._) + Igor's Trail. Ev. May. (46.) + +#Churchill, Roy P.# (_See 1919._) + Bold Adventure of Jimmie the Watchmaker. Am. May. (40.) + +#Clark, (Charles) Badger.# + All for Nothing. Sun. Apr (40.) + Gloria Kids. Sun. Jul. (52.) + In the Natural. Sun. June (43.) + Little Widow. Sun. May. (36.) + Sacred Salt. Sun. Aug. (39.) + +#Clark, Valma.# + *Big Man. Holl. Aug. (7.) + +#Clausen, Carl.# + **Perfect Crime. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (18.) + *Regan. Rom. April. (114.) + +#Cleghorn, Sarah N(orcliffe).# (1876- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *"And She Never Could Understand." Cen. Jan. (99:387.) + +#Clemans, Ella V.# + *Mother May's Morals. G. H. May. (25.) + +*#Clémenceau, Georges.# + *How I Became Long-Sighted. Hear. Aug. (12.) + +*#Clifford, Mrs. W. K.# (#Lucy Lane Clifford.#) (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + Antidote. Scr. Sept. (68:259.) + +#Clive, Julian.# (_See 1919._) + Climate. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:835.) + Of the Nature of Himself. Mir. Feb. 26. (29:145.) + +#Cobb, Irvin (Shrewsbury).# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *It Could Happen Again To-morrow. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (10.) + ***Story That Ends Twice. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (8.) + *Wasted Headline. S. E. P. May 8. (10.) + *When August the Second Was April the First. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (10.) + Why Mr. Lobel Had Apoplexy. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (8.) + +#Coburn, Mrs. Fordyce.# _See_ #Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell.# + +#Cohen, Bella.# + *"Children of the Asphalt." L. St. Jan. (75.) + *Chrysanthemums. Arg. May 29. (121:395.) + **Hands. Touch. Aug.-Sept. (7:383.) + *Roaches are Golden. L. St. Sept. (69.) + *Sara Resnikoff. Arg. Dec. 13, '19. (115:503.) + **Voices of Spring on the East Side. Touch. Jan. (6:195.) + +#Cohen, Octavus Roy.# (1891- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + All's Swell That Ends Swell. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (12.) + Auto-Intoxication. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (20.) + Gravey. S. E. P. June 19. (12.) + Here Comes the Bribe. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (12.) + Mistuh Macbeth. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (12.) + Night-Blooming Serious. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (12.) + Noblesse Obliged. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (14.) + Survival of the Fattest. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (16.) + Ultima Fool. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (20.) + +#Collins, Charles.# + Girl on the End. Met. Apr. (24.) + Sins of Saint Anthony. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (16.) + When Marcia Fell. S. E. P. May 15. (20.) + +#Comfort, Will Levington#, (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) _See also_ #Comfort, Will Levington#, _and_ #Dost, +Zamin Ki.# + Gamester. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (28.) + +#Comfort, Will Levington.# (1878- .), _and_ #Dost, Zamin Ki.# _See +also_ #Comfort, Will Levington.# + *Bear Knob. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (29.) + *Lair. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (20.) + +#Condon, Frank.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Any Nest for a Hen. Col. June 12. (10.) + Circus Stuff. Col. Jan. 31. (10.) + Fade Out. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (54.) + *Jones--Balloonatic. Col. Mar. 13. (8.) + Sacred Elephant. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (28.) + +#Connolly, James Brendan.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Fiery Sea. Col. Feb. 21. (13.) + *Wimmin and Girls. Col. May 22. (12.) + +#Cook, Mrs. George Cram.# _See_ #Glaspell, Susan.# + +#Cook, Lyle.# + Dancing Shoes. L. H. J. May. (20.) + Wing Dust. L. H. J. Apr. (14.) + +#Cooke, Grace MacGowan.# _See_ #MacGowan, Alice#, _and_ #Cooke, Grace +MacGowan.# + +#Cooper, Courtney Ryley.# (1886- .) (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Thrill That Cured Him. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (29.) + Unconquered. S. E. P. June 5. (30.) + +#Corbaley, Kate.# + Hangers-On. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (17.) + Pair of Blue Rompers. L. H. J. Jan. (15.) + +#Corcoran, Captain A. P.# + Middle Watch. L. H. J. Jan. (26.) + +#Corley, Donald.# + ***Daimyo's Bowl. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:810.) + +#Cornell, V. H.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + His Big Moment. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (38.) + +"#Crabb, Arthur.#" (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Among Gentlemen. Col. Feb. 14. (21.) + Bill Riggs Comes Back. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (61.) + Harold Child, Bachelor. L. H. J. Oct.-Nov., '19. (11:28.) + In the Last Analysis. Col. Sept. 4. (10.) + Janet. Met. March. (42.) + Kiss. Met. Oct., '19. (21.) + Lanning Cup. Ev. Apr. (49.) + Little God of Hunches. Ev. Jul. (21.) + Masher. Met. Apr. (36.) + Max Solis Gives an Option. Met. Sept. (28.) + Mr. Dog-in-the-Manger. Del. Jul.-Aug. (16.) + More or Less Innocent Bystander. Met. Feb. (21.) + Queer Business. Ev. May. (9.) + Rape of the Key. Sun. Dec., '19. (37.) + Reformation of Orchid. Met. Jan. (38.) + Represented by Counsel. Met. Nov., '19. (26.) + Sammy, Old Fox. Ev. Sept. (21.) + Story Apropos. Col. March 13. (20.) + Tony Comes Back. Del. Jan. (12.) + Yielded Torch. Cen. Apr. (99:758.) + +#Cram, Mildred R.# (1889- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + *Concerning Courage. L. H. J. Feb. (7.) + **Ember. McCall. June. (12.) + Fade Out. Col. May 22. (21.) + ***Odell. Red Bk. May. (58.) + Romance--Unlimited. Col. June 5. (18.) + ***Spring of Cold Water. Harp. B. Aug. (50.) + **Stuff of Dreams. Harp. B. Feb. (72.) + ***Wind. Mun. Aug. (70:413.) + +#Crane, Clarkson.# (_See 1916._) + Furlough. S. S. May. (113.) + +#Crane, Mifflin.# (_See 1919._) + Betrayal. S. S. March. (109.) + Captive. S. S. Nov., '19. (97.) + *Cycle. S. S. April. (73.) + *Impossible Romance. S. S. Aug. (37.) + Negligible Ones. S. S. Dec., '19. (73.) + Older Woman. S. S. Feb. (87.) + +#Crew, Helen Coale.# (1866- .) (_H._) + ***Parting Genius. Mid. Jul. (6:95.) + +#Crissey, Forrest.# (1864- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + **Gumshoes 4-B. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:116.) + +#Croff, Grace A.# (_See 1915._) + *Forbidden Meadow. G. H. Sept. (60.) + Minds of Milly. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (43.) + *Stroke of Genius. Rom. Sept (161.) + +#Cummings, Ray.# + *Old Man Davey. Arg. Sept. 4. (125:110.) + +#Cummins, T. D. Pendleton. "T. D. Pendleton."# (_see 1915, 1916._) + *Biscuit. Mir. Aug. 19. (29:644.) + +"#Curly, Roger.#" + Tael of a Tail-Spinner. Harp. M. June. (141:137.) + Three on an Island. Harp. M. Aug. (141:409.) + +#Curran, Pearl Lenore.# + Rosa Alvaro, Entrante. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (18.) + +#Curtiss, Philip (Everett).# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Crocodile's Half-Sister. Harp. M. May. (140:824.) + First of the Cuties. Ev. Mar. (45.) + **Holy Roman Empire of the Bronx. Harp. M. Sept. (141:465.) + *Temperament. Harp. B. Mar. (52.) + + +#Dallett, Morris.# + Lost Love. S. S. Dec., '19. (75.) + +#Davies, Oma Almona.# (_See 1915, 1918._) + Tunis Hoopstetter, Early Bloomer. S. E. P. May 15. (30.) + +#Davis, Charles Belmont.# (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + His Sister. Met. Feb. (28.) + +#Davis, Martha King.# + David Stands Pat. L. H. J. Jul. (30.) + Transplanting Mother. Am. Feb. (20.) + +#Davis, Maurice.# + Droll Secret of Mademoiselle. S. S. Sept. (39.) + *Tradition of the House of Monsieur. S. S. May. (23.) + +#Davron, Mary Clare.# + Ladies Who Loved Don Juan. Met. Dec., '19. (19.) + +*#Dawson, Coningsby (William).# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Loneliest Fellow. G. H. Dec., '19. (17.) + +#Day, Holman Francis.# (1865- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Deodat's in Town. Red Bk. Apr. (38.) + Nooning at the Devilbrew. Col. Apr. 10. (10.) + Two Beans and Bomazeen. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (12.) + +#De Casseres, Benjamin.# _See_ #Casseres, Benjamin De.# + +#De Chambrun, Clara Longworth, Countess.# + "Little Archie." Scr. Aug. (68:222.) + +*#Deeping, (George) Warwick.# (1877- .) (_H._) + *Hunger and Two Golden Salvers. Rom. Jul. (73.) + *Pride and the Woman. Par. April. (109.) + *Secret Orchard. Rom. Sept. (96.) + +#De Jagers, Dorothy.# (_See 1916._) + Mary Lou and the Hall-Room Tradition. Ev. Apr. (21.) + Polly Wants a Backer. Ev. Aug. (28.) + +#Delano, Edith Barnard.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_See "H" under_ +#Barnard, Edith#, _and_ #Delano, Edith Barnard.#) + **Blue Flowers from Red. L. H. J. Sept. (10.) + *Face to Face. L. H. J. June. (7.) + ***Life and the Tide. Pict. R. Apr. (27.) + +#De La Roche, Mazo.# _See_ #Roche, Mazo De La.# + +*#Delarue-Madrus, Lucie.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Rober. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 15. + +#Delgado, F. P.# (_H._) + Monna. S. S. Feb. (125.) + +#Denison, Katharine.# + My Father. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:757.) + +*#Dennis, Mrs. Forbes.# _See_ #Bottome, Phyllis.# + +#Derieux, Samuel A.# (1881- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Old Frank Sees It Through. Am. Nov., '19. (56.) + **Terrible Charge Against Jeff Poter. Am. Feb. (38.) + +*#Derys, Gaston.# + Rabbits. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 11. + +*#Desmond, Shaw.# (1877- .) (_See 1919._) + *Sunset. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:577.) + +#Dew, Natalie.# + Romance _and_ Mary Low. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (9.) + +#Dickson, Harris.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Breeches for Two. Cos. Mar. (85.) + *Relapse of Captain Hotstuff. Cos. Jan. (81.) + *Sticky Fingers. Cos. Apr. (85.) + +#Dobie, Charles Caldwell.# (1881- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Christmas Cakes. Harp. M. Jan. (140:200.) + ***Leech. Harp. M. Apr. (140:654.) + **Young China. L. H. J. Aug. (10.) + +*#Dobrée, Bonamy.# + ***Surfeit. Lit. R. Dec., '19. (15.) + +#Dodge, Henry Irving.# (1861- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Skinner Makes It Fashionable. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (5.) + Wrong Hat on the Wrong Man. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (28.) + +#Dodge, Louis.# (1870- .) (_See 1917, 1918._) + ***Case of McIntyre. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:539.) + **Message from the Minority. Holl. Mar. (5.) + +#Donnell, Annie Hamilton.# (1862- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Beauty Hat. Del. June. (24.) + Crazy Day. Del. Dec., '19. (20.) + +#Dost, Zamin Ki.# _See_ #Comfort, Will Levington#, _and_ #Dost, Zamin Ki.# + +#Douglas, Ford.# (_H._) + Come-Back. S. S. June. (35.) + Home-Made. S. S. Aug. (27.) + Mr. Duncan's Gin. S. S. Jul. (75.) + +#Douglas, George.# + *Three Ghosts and a Widow. Q. W. Aug. (12:213.) + +#Dounce, Harry Esty.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + Mr. Torbert Malingers. Cen. Oct., '19. (98:758.) + +#Dowst, Henry Payson.# (187*- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + Bonds of Matrimony. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (8.) + Bostwick Budget. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (5.) + Cadbury's Ghosts. Ev. Feb. (48.) + He Needed the Money. S. E. P. June 26. (12.) + Pioneer and Pattenbury. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (3.) + Symbols. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (16.) + +#Dreier, Thomas.# (1884- .) + Broken Mirror. Met. Jan. (18.) + +#Dreiser, Theodore.# (1871- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Sanctuary. S. S. Oct., '19. (35.) + +#Drew, Helen.# + *Flag in the Dust. All. Feb., 28. (107:461.) + +#Driggs, Laurence La Tourette.# (1876- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Curé of Givenchy. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (14.) + +#Drucker, Rebecca.# + *Old Lace. (_R._) Mir. March 18. (29:233.) + +#Du Bois, Boice.# (_See 1919._) + Ancestral Hang-Over. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (49.) + Come-Back of a Send-Off. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (20.) + Downfall of an Uplift. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (46.) + Hortense the Helpful. S. E. P. June 5. (20.) + +*#Dubreuil, René.# + *Estelle and Francis. N. Y. Trib. June. 20. + +*#Dudeney, Mrs. Henry E.# (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Wild Raspberries. Harp. M. Jan. (140:217.) + +#Duganne, Phyllis.# (_See 1919._) + Extravagance. Met. Feb. (18.) + True Art. Met. Aug. (20.) + +#Dunaway, Anna Brownell.# (_H._) + *Estate. Col. Jul. 31. (10.) + +*#Dunsany, Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett#, _18th_ #Baron#, (1878- .) +(_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) + ***Cheng Hi and the Window Framer. S. S. Nov., '19 (2.) + ***East and West. S. S. Dec., '19. (41.) + ***How the Lost Causes Were Removed from Valhalla. S. S. Oct., '19. (1.) + **Opal Arrow-Head. Harp. M. May. (140:809.) + ***Pretty Quarrel. Atl. Apr. (125:512.) Mir. Apr. 1. (29:284.) + +#Durand, Ruth Sawyer.# _See_ #Sawyer, Ruth.# + +#Dutton, Louise Elizabeth.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Facing Facts. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (6.) + Framed. Met. Dec., '19. (15.) + +#Dwyer, James Francis.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Bridal Roses of Shang. Holl. Nov., '19. (5.) + *Bronze Horses of Ballymeena. W. H. C. Oct., '19. (23.) + *Devil's Glue. B. C. Feb. (37.) + Devil's Whisper. Col. Dec. 13, '19. (11.) + *Fair Deborah. Col. June 19. (10.) + Green Hassocks of Gods. Col. Aug. 28-Sept. 4. (5, 16.) + Little Brown Butterfly. Del. March. (23.) + *"Maryland, My Maryland!" Col. Mar. 20. (7.) + *Thin, Thin Man. Sn. St. Sep. 25. (61.) + Titled Bus Horse. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (23.) + +#Dyer, Walter Alden.# (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Mr. Geraniums. Holl. May. (14.) + *Phantom Hound. Top. Mar. 1-15. (145.) + + +#Eastman, Rebecca Hooper.# (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + One Room and Bath. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (14.) + Salesman and the Star. S. E. P. May 8. (14.) + String-Bean House. G. H. Nov., '19. (39.) + +#Edgelow, Thomas.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + Enchantment of Youth. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:739.) + +*#Edginton, May.# (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Man from Hell. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (10.) + *Man's Size. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (12.) + +#Edholm, Charlton Lawrence.# (1879- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Maker of Images. L. H. J. May. (17.) + **"Trouble Never Troubles Me." L. H. J. June. (20.) + +#Edwards, Cleveland.# + *Dream That Would Not Fade. Arg. Aug. 21. (124:571.) + +#Edwards, Frederick Beecher.# + Thank-You-Please Perkins. S. E. P. May 8. (30.) + +#Eldridge, Paul.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + **Their Dreams. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:148.) + +#Ellerbe, Alma Martin Estabrook.# (1871- .), _and_ #Ellerbe, Paul Lee.# +(_See 1915 under_ #Estabrook, Alma Martin#; _1917 under_ #Ellerbe, Alma +Estabrook#; _1919 under_ #Ellerbe, Alma Martin#, _and_ #Ellerbe, Paul +Lee.#) (_See "H" under_ #Ellerbe, Paul Lee.#) + ***Paradise Shares. Cen. Jul. (100:312.) + *Wiped off the Slate. Am. Feb. (10.) + +#Ellerbe, Rose L.# (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *Key to Freedom. L. H. J. Aug. (18.) + +*#Ervine, St. John G(reer.)# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Dramatist and the Leading Lady. Harp. B. Aug. (36.) + +#Evans, Frank E. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Pearls or Ap#ples? Ev. Jul. (32.) + +#Evans, Ida May.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Eternal Biangle. G. H. Feb. (33.) + +#Evarts, Hal G.# + Bald-Face. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (34.) + Big Bull of Shoshone. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (46.) + Black Ram of Sunlight. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (5.) + Convincing a Lady. Col. Aug. 14. (10.) + Dog Town. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (12.) + Protective Coloration. Col. Dec. 20, '19. (19.) + Straight and Narrow. Sun. Nov., '19. (27.) + + +#Fargo, Ruth.# + Birthday Tale. Del. Feb. (19.) + *"Nobody Else's Home Seems Just Right." Am. Apr. (57.) + +#Farnham, Mateel Howe.# (_H._) + One Day to Do as They Pleased. Del. Dec., '19. (8.) + +*"#Farrère, Claude.#" (#Charles Bargone.#) (1876- .) (_See 1919._) + *Fall of the House of Hia. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 25. + +#Ferber, Edna.# (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Ain't Nature Wonderful! McC. Aug. (12.) + *Dancing Girls. Col. March 13. (5.) + ***Maternal Feminine. McC. Feb. (18.) + **Old Lady Mandle. Col. Jan. 17. (5.) + ***You've Got to Be Selfish. McC. Mar.-Apr. (14.) + +#Field, Flora.# (_See 1918._) + **Mister Montague. Del. Nov., '19. (23.) + +#Fillmore, Parker (Hoysted).# (1878- .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + ***Katcha and the Devil. (R.) Mir. Jan. 22. (29:59.) + +#Finger, Charles J.# (1871- .) (_See 1919._) + *Canassa. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:744.) + **Dust to Dust. Mir. Jul. 15. (29:561.) + ***Ebro. Mir. June 10. (29:469.) + *Incongruity. S.S. Jan. (65.) + ***Jack Random. Mir. Aug. 26. (29:660.) + *Ma-Ha-Su-Ma. Mir. March 18. (29:213.) + **Phonograph. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:903.) + **Some Mischievous Thing. S. S. Aug. (119.) + +#Fish, Horace.# (1885- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + ***Doom's-Day Envelope. Rom. June. (43.) + +#Fisher, Helen Dwight.# _See_ #Harold, Henry#, _and_ #Fisher, Helen +Dwight.# + +#Fisher, Raymond Henry.# + *Yeng. Lit. St. June. (25.) + +#Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key.# + Benediction. S. S. Feb. (35.) + Bernice Bobs Her Hair. S. E. P. May 1. (14.) + Camel's Back. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (16.) + **Cut-Glass Bowl. Ser. May. (67:582.) + Dalyrimple Goes Wrong. S. S. Feb. (107.) + **Four Fists. Ser. June. (67:669.) + Ice Palace. S. E. P. May 22. 18.) + Offshore Pirate. S. E. P. May 29. (10.) + Smilers. S. S. June (107.) + +#Flandrau, Grace Hodgson.# (_See 1918._) + Dukes and Diamonds. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (50.) + Let That Pass. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (28.) + +*#Fletcher, A. Byers.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + *According to Whang Foo. Hear. Jan. (32.) + *End of a Perfect Day. Hear. Mar. (33.) + +#Flint, Homer Eon.# + *Greater Miracle. All. Apr. 24. (109:340.) + +#Foley, James William, Jr.# (1874- .) (_H._) + *Letters of William Green. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (109.) + *Letters of William Green. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (46.) + +#Follett, Wilson.# + ***Dive. Atl. Dec., '19-Jan. (124:729; 125:67.) + +#Folsom, Elizabeth Irons.# (1876- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Alibi. Sun. May. (49.) + Bain Twins and the "Detective." Am. Oct., '19. (51.) + *No Better Than She Should Be. Met. Mar. (32.) + +#Foote, John Taintor.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Allegheny. Am. Dec., '19. (11.) + +#Ford, Torrey.# + Over and Back with Scuds. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (57.) + +#Foster, A. K.# + Rebel-Hearted. Touch. Apr. (7:10.) + +#Foster, Maximillian.# (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Big-Town Stuff. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (18.) + Mrs. Fifty-Fifty. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (6.) + +#Fraiken, Wanda L.# (_See 1919._) + **Rubber-Tired Buggy. Mid. Aug. (6:105.) + +*"#France, Anatole.#" (#Jacques Anatole Thibault.#) (1844- .) (_See 1919._) + ***Lady with the White Fan. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:83.) + +#Francis, Dominic.# + **Son of the Morning. Mag. Apr. (25:288.) + *"Woman--at Endor." Mag. Sept. (26:232.) + +#Frazer, Elizabeth.# (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + Derelict Isle. S. E. P. May 29. (18.) + +#Frederickson, H. Blanche.# + Maiden Aunt. Met. May. (27.) + +*#Freeman, Lewis R.# + "His Wonders to Perform." Ev. Sept. (60.) + +#Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins.# (1862- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + *Gospel According to Joan. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:77.) + +#Friedenthal, Joachim.# + ***Pogrom in Poland. (R.) Mir. Oct. 23, '19. (28:726.) + +*#Friedlaender, V. H.# (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) + *New Love. S. S. Sept. (117.) + *Rendezvous. Harp. M. Feb. (140:328.) + +#Frost, Walter Archer# (1876- .), _and_ #Frost, Susan#, (_See 1916 and +"H" under_ #Frost, Walter Archer.#) + **His Hold. Ev. Jan. (24.) + +#Fullerton, Hugh Stewart.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Jaundice's Last Race. Ev. Nov., '19. (119.) + + +#Gale, Zona.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Arpeggio. Ev. Mar. (68.) + Arpeggio Helps. Ev. Apr. (44.) + Barbara's Aunt Beatrix. G. H. Oct., '19. (53.) + Love in the Valley. G. H. Feb. (30.) + *Lovingest Lady. W. H. C. June (16.) + +*#Galsworthy, John.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Expectations. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:643.) + +#Garrett, Garet.# (1878- .) (_See 1917._) + Gilded Telegrapher. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (20.) + Red Night. S. E. P. Apr. 2. (42.) + Shyest Man. Ev. Sept. (65.) + +#Gasch, Marie Manning.# _See_ #Manning, Marie.# + +#Gauss, Marianne.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + **Justice. Atl. May. (125:613.) + +#Geer, Cornelia Throop.# _See_ #Le Boutillier, Cornelia Geer.# + +#Gelzer, Jay.# + **In the Street of a Thousand Delights. Sn. St. Aug. 4. (25.) + +*#George, W. L.# (1882- .) (_See 1917._) + *Romance. Harp. B. Aug. (64.) + +#Gerould, Katherine Fullerton.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Habakkuk. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:547.) + ***Honest Man. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:777.) + +#Gerry, Margarita Spalding.# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + Food for the Minotaur. Harp. M. March. (140:488.) + +*#Gibbon, Perceval.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Abdication. Cos. Jul. (89.) + ***Connoisseur. Cos. Oct., '19. (73.) + *Dark Moment. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (8.) + *Elopement. McCall. Mar. (8.) + **Heiress. Cos. Aug. (53.) + **Hostage to Misfortune. McC. Aug. (23.) + ***Knave of Diamonds. McCall. May (5.) + *Last of the Duellists. McC. Dec., '19. (18.) + ***Lieutenant. Pict. R. Mar. (10.) + *Spotless. S. E. P. May 8. (15.) + +#Gibbs, A. Hamilton.# + Conqueror of To-morrow. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (30.) + +#Giersch, Ruth Henrietta.# + In Old Salem. L. H. J. Dec. '19. (23.) + + +#Gilbert, George.# (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) + *Cleansing Kiss. Mun. Mar. (69:253.) + *Old Yellow Mixing Bowl, T. T. Nov., '19. (35.) + ***Sigh of the Bulbul. Asia. Jul. (20:563.) + +#Gilchrist, Beth Bradford.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + *Eyes That See. Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:629.) + **Miracle. Harp. M. Jul. (141:217.) + +#Gilpatric, John Guy.# (_H._) + *Black Art and Ambrose. Col. Aug. 21. (14.) + +#Glaspell, Susan (Keating).# (#Mrs. George Cram Cook.#) (1882- .) (_See +1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Escape. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:29.) + Nervous Pig. Harp. M. Feb. (140:309.) + +#Glass, Montague Marsden.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + Cousins of Convenience. Cos. Jul. (26.) + +#Godfrey, Winona.# (1877- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Does Marriage Clip the Wings of Youth? Am. Feb. (51.) + Gods of Derision. Mir. Jan. 15. (29:38.) + +#Goetchius, Marie Louise.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +#Goldsborough, Ann.# + Answer to Joe Trice's Prayer. Am. Aug. (62.) + +#Goodfellow, Grace.# + **In The Street of the Flying Dragon. Rom. Sept. (126.) + +#Goodloe, Abbie Carter.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *McHenry and the Ghost-Bird. Scr. Jan. (67:105.) + **Return of the Monks. Scr. Oct. '19. (66:460.) + +#Goodman, Henry.# (1893- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + **Hundred Dollar Bill. Pear. Aug. (44.) + +#Goodwin, Ernest.# (_See 1918._) + Very Ordinary Young Man. Met. Dec., '19. (50.) + +#Gordon, Armistead Churchill.# (1855- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Panjorum Bucket. Scr. Feb (67:232.) + +#Graeve, Oscar.# (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918 1919._) (_H._) + Alonzo the Magnificent. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (16.) + Careless World. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (16.) + Cyrilian Cycle. S. E. P. May 1. (22.) + Lydia Leads the Way. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (14.) + +#Grahame, Ferdinand.# + *Four Bits. Arg. June 12. (122:59.) + +#Grandegge, Stephanie.# + Recapture. Pag. Feb. (20.) + +#Granich, Irwin.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + *Two Mexicos. Lib. May. (29.) + +#Granich, Irwin#, _and_ #Roy, Manabendra Nath.# + *Champak. Lib. Feb. (8.) + +#Grant, Ethel Watts-Mumford.# _See_ #Mumford, Ethel Watts.# + +#Grant, Louise.# + *In Search of Life. Touch. Mar. (6:358.) + +#Graves, Louis.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + I. D. R. 125. Met. Nov., '19. (48.) + +*"#Greene, Lewis Patrick.#" (#Louis Montague Greene.#) (1891- .) +(_See 1918._) + *Man Who Stayed. Adv. Jul. 18. (106.) + +#Greenfield, Will H.# (_See 1919._) + *Lost Lotos. Mir. Jul. 8. (29:548.) + +#Greig, Algernon.# + "Oh You February 29." Met. Septa. (27.) + +#Griffith, Helen Sherman.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Billy Allen's Coal-Mine. Del. Jul.-Aug. (18.) + "Poor Little Sara." Del. Apr. (21.) + +*#Grimshaw, Beatrice.# (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Devil's Gold. Red Bk. Feb. (59.) + *Maddox and the Emma-Pea. Red Bk. Rpr. (68.) + *When the O-O Called. Red Bk. Mar. (49.) + + +#Haines, Donald Hamilton.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Forty-Five. Ev. Feb. (50.) + +#Haldeman-Julius, Mr.# _and_ #Mrs. Emanuel.# _See_ #Julius, Mr.# _and_ +#Mrs. Emanuel Haldeman-.# + +#Hale, Maryse Rutledge.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +#Hall, Herschel S.# (_See 1919 under_ #Hall, H. S.#) + Beeves from the Arggentyne. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (32.) + Bouillon. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (8.) + Cat Clause. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (8.) + Chance. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (8.) + Hot Metal. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (18.) + Key Man. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (24.) + Promoted. S. E. P. June 12. (20.) + *Sacrifice. Red Bk. May. (83.) + Steel Preferred. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (3.) + Stum Puckett, Cinder Monkey. S. E. P. Oct. 11. '19. (14.) + Wellington Gay. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (20.) + White Lines. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (14.) + Yancona Yillies. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (20.) + +"#Hall, Holworthy.#" (#Harold Everett Porter.#) (1887- .) (_See 1915, + 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Ancestors. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (20.) + Below the Medicinal Hundred. Ev. Oct., '19. (30.) + Bonds of Patrimony. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (10.) + Ego, Sherburne and Company. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (16.) + Girl Who Couldn't Knit. Pict. R. May. (8.) + G.P. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (12.) + Humorist. Pict. R. Sept. (16.) + Long Carry. Col. June 5. (5.) + Round and Round and Round. Col. Sept. 11. (5.) + Slippery Metal. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (10.) + Sniffski. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (3.) + +#Hall, May Emery.# (1874- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Laying Captain Morley's Ghost. Arg. May 8. (120:547.) + +#Hall, Wilbur (Jay).# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Art of Buying. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (14.) + Business Neurology. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (11.) + Johnny Cucabod. S. E. P. June 12. (5.) + Le Lupercalia. Sun. Feb. (39.) + Let the Seller Beware! S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (10.) + Martin Quest and Wife--Purchasing Agents. Am. Apr. (39.) + Melancholy Mallard. S. E. P. NOV. 22, '19. (13.) + Mercenary Little Wretch. Am. March. (41.) + Super-Soviet. Col. Mar. 27. (5.) + +#Hallet, Richard Matthews.# (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1919._) (_H._) + *First Lady of Cranberry Isle. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (18.) + Inspiration Jule. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (58.) + **Interpreter's Wife. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (42.) + Wake-Up Archie. Col. Feb. 14. (7.) + +#Halverson, Delbert M.# + ***Leaves in the Wind. Mid. Apr. (6:28.) + Red Foam. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (14.) + That Dangerous Person. Ev. Nov., '19. (53.) + +#Hamilton, Edith Hulbert.# + Anyone Can Write. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (20.) + +#Hamilton, Gertrude Brooke.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + On Whom the Ladies Dote. S. S. Feb. (89.) + Open Eyes. S. S. Jan. (41.) + Pause. S. S. Apr. (59.) + **Shall We Dine, Melisse? S. S. Nov., '19. (43.) + Where Is Your Mother? G. H. May. (47.) + +#Hampton, Edgar Lloyd.# (_See 1915._) + Once One is Two. Met. Jan. (28.) + **Return of Foo Chow. Met. Mar. (13.) + +#Hanford, Helen Ellwanger.# + **Willow Pond. Atl. Mar. (125:363.) + +*#Hannay, Canon James O.# _See_ "#Birmingham, George A.#" + +*#Haraucourt, Edmond.# (1856- .) (_See 1918._) (_H._) + Dies Iræ. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 25. + *Posthumous Sonnet. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 7, '19. + Skunk Collar. N. Y. Trib. May 2. + *Two Profiles in the Crowd. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 5. + +#Harben, Will(iam) N(athaniel).# (1858- .) (_H._) + *Timely Intervention. Mun. Apr. (69:468.) + +#Hardy, Arthur Sherburne.# (1847 .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + **Mystery of Célestine. Harp. M. Mar. (140:442.) + +#Haring, Ethel Chapman.# (_See 1916._) (_H._) + Giver. Del. Nov., '19. (21.) + Ten Dollars a Month. Del. May. (15.) + +#Harold, Henry#, _and_ #Fisher, Helen Dwight.# + **White Petunias. Rom. Apr. (104.) + +#Harper, C. A.# + Vestal Venus. S. S. Apr. (101.) + +*#Harrington, Katherine.# + *O'Hara's Leg. Met. June (28.) + +#Harris, Corra (May White).# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + *Widow Ambrose. L. H. J. Aug. (7.) + +#Harris, Kennett.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Beauty and the Butterflies. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (59.) + Benny and Her Familee. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (10.) + Concerning Cautious Clyde. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (8.) + Most Popular Lady. S. E. P. July 10. (5.) + Rosemary Risks It. S. E. P. May 8. (20.) + Triptolemus the Mascot. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (3.) + +#Harris, May.# (1873- .) (_H._) + Back Again. All. Nov. 1, '19. (103:332.) + +*#Harris-Burland, J. B.# _See_ #Burland, J. B. Harris-.# + +#Harrison, Henry Snydor.# (1880- .) (_H._) + Big People. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (3.) + +#Harry, Franklin P.# + *Retribution and a Rabbit's Foot. T. T. Jul. (49.) + *Tan. Blu. Ox. 850. T. T. Oct., '19. (80.) + +#Hartman, Lee Foster.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Judgment of Vulcan. Harp. M. Mar. (140:520.) + +#Harvey, Alexander.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) + Great Third Act. Mir. Dec. 18, '19. (28:923.) + +#Haskell, Helen E.# (_See 1919._) + In Their Middle Years. Met. June. (31.) + +#Hatch, Leonard.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Links. Scr. Sept. (68:312.) + +#Hawley, J. B.# + Dancing Dog. S. S. June (51.) + *Tarnished Brass. S. S. Jul. (33.) + +#Henderson, Victor.# (_H._) + Poor Old Thing. S. S. Jul. (103.) + +#Hergesheimer, Joseph.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Blue Ice. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (8.) + ***Ever So Long Ago. Red Bk. Apr. (23.) + ***Meeker Ritual. (II.) Cen. Oct., '19. (98:737.) + ***"Read Them and Weep." Cen. Jan. (99:289.) + +#Hewes, Robert E.# (_See 1919._) + Pawnbroker of Shanghai. Met. Oct., '19. (34.) + +#Hewitt, Lew.# + Third Woman. S. S. Aug. (111.) + +#Hill, Mabel.# (1864- .) + Miss Lizzie--Parlor Bolshevist. Scr. Feb. (67:165.) + +#Hinds, Roy W.# (_See 1918._) + *Debts. Arg. Jul. 24. (123: 458.) + +*#Hirsch, Charles-Henry.# (1870-.) (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Autographed Mirror. N. Y. Trib. May 9. + +#Holbrook, Weare.# (_See 1919._) + Feast of St. Cecile. Pag. Apr.-May. (47.) + +*#Holding, Elizabeth Sanxay.# + **Patrick on the Mountain. S. S. Jul. (109.) + ***Problem that Perplexed Nicholson. S. S. Aug. (117.) + +#Holland, Rupert Sargent.# (1878- .) (_H._) + *Arcadians in the Attic. Scr. May. (67:618.) + Flying Man. L. H. J. Aug. (40.) + +#Hollingsworth, Ceylon.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Harp of a Thousand Strings. Col. Feb. 28. (9.) + **Mind of a Man. Col. Jan. 31. (5.) + *Pants. Col. Jul. 3. (5.) + +#Holt, Henry P.# (_See 1915, 1918._) (_H._) + Devil Cat Meets Her Match. Am. June. (29.) + *In The Cabin of the Chloe. Sh. St. Aug. (173.) + +#Hooker (william), Brian.# (1880- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + **Branwen. Rom. June. (132.) + +#Hopper, James (Marie).# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Education of Percy Skinner. Ev. May. (23.) + Pessimist Rewarded. Harp. M. Aug. (141: 351.) + +#Horn, R. de S.# + *Joss of the Golden Wheel. B. C. Jul. (3.) + +#Hostetter, Van Vechten.# Superwoman. S. S. Nov., '19. (53.) + They're All Alike. S. S. March. (99.) + +#House, Roy Temple#, _and_ #Saint-Valéry, Leon De.# + **Count Roland's Ruby. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:143.) + +#Hughes, Rupert.# (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Broken Flange. Cos. Nov., '19. (67.) + *Father of Waters. Cos. Jan. (43.) + *Momma. Col. June 26. (5.) + ***Stick-in-the-Muds. Col. Sept. 25. (5.) + +#Hull, Alexander.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Argosies. Scr. Sept. (68:285.) + +#Hull, Helen R.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Flaw. Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:747.) + **Separation. Touch. Mar. (6:371.) + +#Hunting, Ema S.# (1885- .) + ***Dissipation. Mid. May. (6:47.) + ***Soul that Sinneth. Mid. Aug. (6:128.) + +#Hurst, Fannie.# (1889- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Back Pay. Cos. Nov., '19. (35.) + +#Hurst, S. B. H.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *What Happened Between. Rom. Jul. (146.) + +#Hurwitz, Maximilian.# + *"Eili, Eili, Lomo Asavtoni?" Men. Feb. + +#Hussey, L. M.# (_See 1919._) + **Believer. S. S. April. (29.) + **Family. Cen. Sept. (100:682.) + Father. S. S. Jan. (121.) + Gift of Illusion. S. S. June. (113.) + Hope Chest. S. S. Feb. (59.) + ***Lowden Household. S. S. Aug. (97.) + *Memories. S. S. Nov., '19. (121.) + *Opponent. S. S. Oct., '19. (61.) + Renunciation. S. S. May (39.) + **Sisters. S. S. Nov., '19. (55.) + *Twilight of Love. S. S. Dec., '19. (43.) + ***Two Gentlemen of Caracas. S. S. Dec., '19. (89.) + +*#Hutchinson, Arthur Stuart Menteth.# (1880- .) (_H._) + **Bit of Luck. Ev. Feb. (66.) + + +*#Ibáñez, Vicente Blasco.# _See_ #Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente.# + +#Imrie, Walter McLaren.# (_See 1919._) + *Wife Who Needed Two Chairs. S. S. June. (91.) + +#Irwin, Inez Haynes. (Inez Haynes Gillmore.)# (1873- .) (_See 1915 +under_ #Gillmore, Inez Haynes#; _1916, 1917, 1918, 1919 under_ #Irwin, +Inez Haynes.#) (_See "H" under_ #Gillmore, Inez Haynes.#) + *Long Carry. Met. Oct., '19. (42.) + +#Irwin, Wallace.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Beauty. McC. Aug. (8.) + Direct Action. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (8.) + "Ham and Eggs." Pict. R. June. (18.) + Joke. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (12.) + Mr. Rundle's Exit. Pict. R. May. (34.) + Moonshine. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (12.) + On to the Next. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (12.) + Waste Motions. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (10.) + Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? S. E. P. May 22. (14.) + +#Irwin, Will(iam Henry).# (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Copper Dan Imbibes. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (12.) + In The Tower of Silence. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (20.) + There Is a Santa Claus. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (20.) + +#Ittner, Anna Belle Rood.# + *Old Glory Bill. Scr. June. (67: 686.) + + +#Jackson, Charles Tenney.# (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + *Little Girl Who Never Saw a Hill. Arg. Mar. 13. (118:501.) + +*#Jacobs, W(illiam) W(ymark).# (1863- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Artful Cards. Hear. Dec., '19 (17.) + +#Jagers, Dorothy De.# _See_ #De Jagers, Dorothy.# + +*#Jaloux, Edmond.# (_See 1918._) + **At the Telephone. N. Y. Trib. June 13. + **Poet's Revenge. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 8. + +#Jenkin, A. I.# + Premonition. S. S. Aug. (45.) + +#Jenkins, Charles Christopher.# (_See 1918._) + *Bayonet of Henry Laberge. Arg. Feb. 21. (118:154.) + *Man Beneath. Arg. Oct. 25, '19. (113:691.) + +#Jenkins, George B., Jr.# + Four Faint Freckles and a Cheerful Disposition. S. S. Jan. (111.) + +#John, W. A. P.# + No'th Af'ican Lloyds, Ltd. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (16.) + +#Johns, Orrick.# + ***Big Frog. S. S. Sept. (87.) + +#Johnson, Arthur.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Mortimer. Scr. Jan. (67:57.) + ***Princess of Tork. Met. Aug. (15.) + +#Johnson, Burges.# (1877- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **In the Barn. Cen. June. (100:198.) + +#Johnson, Olive McClintic.# + "Deep Ellum." Col. Dec. 20, '19. (14.) + "Didja Getcha Feet Wet?" Col. Feb. 21. (7.) + +#Johnson, Olive McClintic# (_con._) + Disagreeable as a Husband. Col. May 29. (5.) + Great Grief! Col. June 26. (10.) + Moons--Full, Blue, and Honey. Col. Jan. 3. (12.) + Turquoise Skies. Col. Feb. 7. (10.) + +#Joor, Harriet.# (_H._) + Passing of the Littlest Twin. Mid. Nov.-Dec., '19. (5:260.) + Ship Island Box. Mid. Nov.-Dec., '19. (5:263.) + +#Jordan, Elizabeth (Garver).# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1919._) (_H._) + *At the Dim Gate. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (5.) + *Luncheon at One. Col. Aug. 21. (5.) + +#Jordan, Kate. (Mrs. F. M. Vermilye.)# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Made Over. S. E. P. July 3. (12.) + +*"#Joyce, Thomas.#" (#Joyce Gary.#) + **Bad Samaritan. S. E. P. July 3. (40.) + Consistent Woman. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (30.) + **Cure. S. E. P. May 1. (30.) + None But the Brave. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (18.) + **Piece of Honesty. S. E. P. June 26. (66.) + *Reformation. S. E. P. May 22. (20.) + Springs of Youth. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (30.) + +#Judson, Jeanne.# + Her Man. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (13.) + +#Julius, Emanuel Haldeman-# (1888- .), _and_ #Julius, Mrs. Emanuel +Haldeman-.#) (_See 1919._) (_See 1917, 1918 under_ #Julius, Emanuel +Haldeman.# + **Caught. Atl. Nov., '19. (124:628.) + + +#Kahler, Hugh MacNair.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + Babel. S. E. P. June 19. (6.) + Buckpasser. Sept. 11. (5.) + Hammer. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (12.) + KWYW. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (8.) + Lazy Duckling. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (6.) + Obligee. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (8.) + Sensible Year. S. E. P. May 8. (6.) + Wild Carrot. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (8.) + +#Kavanagh, Herminie Templeton.# (_See "H" under_ #Templeton, Herminie.#) + **Bridgeen and the Leprechaun. L. H. J. Sept. (26.) + +#Kelland, Clarence Budington.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Appetite for Marriage. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (24.) + Backwoods Chess. Ev. Sept. (27.) + Cheese in the Trap. Ev. June. (15.) + His Wife's Place. Ev. Nov., '19. (16.) + Ivanhoe Sagg's Keynote. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (28.) + Knots and Wind-Shakes. Ev. Apr. (39.) + Martha Jib on the High Seas. Pict. R. Sep. (27.) + *Mysterious Murder of Myron Goodspeed. Am. Sept. (20.) + Scattergood Administers Soothing Sirup. Am. Jan. (52.) + *Scattergood and the Prodigal's Mother. Am. Jul. (28.) + Scattergood Borrows a Grandmother. Am. Dec., '19. (20.) + Scattergood Dips in His Spoon. Am. Nov., '19. (50.) + Scattergood Invests in Salvation. Am. Mar. (28.) + Scattergood Matches Wits with a Pair of Sharpers. Am. Oct., '19. (40.) + Scattergood Meddles with the Dangerous Age. Am. June. (56.) + Scattergood Moves to Adjourn. Am. May. (62.) + Scattergood Skims a Little Cream. Am. Aug. (40.) + +#Kelley, Leon.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + Carnival Queen. Pict. R. May. (6.) + "Speeches Ain't Business." Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (14.) + +#Kelly, Eleanor Mercein.# (1880- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Our Mr. Allerby. Cen. Apr. (99:737.) + +#Kelsey, Vera.# + **Late Harvests. Sun. Mar. (40.) + +#Kemper, S. H.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *O You Xenophon! Atl. Jul. (126:39.) + +*#Kennedy, Rowland.# + *Flame. Dial. Feb. (68:221.) + **Preparing for Passengers. Dial. Feb. (68:228.) + *Talkin'. Dial. Feb. (68:224.) + +#Kennon, Harry B.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Grandmother's Ghost. Mir. Nov. 13, '19. (28:784.) + Odd Roman. Mir, Jan. 8. (29:30.) + Single Cussedness. Mir. Jul. 22. (29:581.) + +#Kenton, Edna.# (1876- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *Branch of Wild Crab. L. St. Sept. (55.) + +#Kenyon, Camilla E. L.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + His Professional Honor. Sun. June. (36.) + Lost Uncle. Sun. May. (41.) + +#Kerr, Sophie.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_See +"H" under_ #Underwood, Sophie Kerr.#) + *Genius. W. H. C. Feb. (21.) + Sitting On the World. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (16.) + +#Kilbourne, Fannie. ("Mary Alexander.")# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918 under_ +#Kilbourne, Fannie#, _and 1917 under_ #Alexander, Mary.#) + Betty Bell and the Leading Man. Del. Jan. (11.) + Getting Even with Dulcie. Am. May. (23.) + James Dunfield Grows Up. Del. Oct., '19. (22.) + Stealing Cleopatra's Stuff. Am. June. (23.) + +#King, J. A.# + Solid Comfort. Am. Sept. (70.) + +#Kirkland, Jeanne.# + *Old Miss Mamie Dearborn's Helmet. Pag. June. (22.) + Ralph's Return. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (22.) + +#Knibbs, Henry Herbert.# (1874- .) + *Horse Deal in Hardpan. Pop. Sept. 20. (52.) + +#Knight, (Clifford) Reynolds.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + ***Melody Jim. Mid. Nov.-Dec. '19. (5:271.) + +*#Kobrin, Leon.# + **Lithuanian Idyll. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:236.) + +#Komroff, Manuel.# (_See 1919._) + ***Thumbs. (_R._) Mir. Jan. 22. (29:55.) + +*#Kotsyubinsky, Michael.# + ***By the Sea. Asia. May. (20:411.) + +"#Kral, Carlos A. V.#" (1890- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Landscape with Trees, and Colored Twilight with Music. Lit. R. + Jan. (4.) + +#Kraus, Harry.# + Interlude. S. S. Apr. (113.) + + +#La Motte, Elen Newbold.# (1873- .) (_See 1919._) + ***Golden Stars. Cen. Oct., '19. (98:787.) + **Malay Girl. Cen. Aug. (100:555.) + *Widows and Orphans. Cen, Sept. (100:586.) + +#Langebek, Dorothy May Wyon.# (_See 1919._) + **"Seven." Mid. June. (6:64.) + +*#Langlais, Marc.# + Against Orders. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 2, '19. + +#Lapham, Frank.# (_See 1919._) + Telegram That Johnny Didn't See. Am. Oct., '19. (21.) + +#La Parde, Malcolm.# + Still Waters. Harp. M. Jul. (141:273.) + +#Lardner, Ring W.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Beautiful Katie, S. E. P. Jul. 10. (14.) + Busher Pulls a Mays. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (16.) + +#Larson, Mabel Curtius.# + Spark. L. H. J. Feb. (13.) + +*#Lawrence, David Herbert.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Adolf. Dial. Sept. (69:269.) + +#Lawson, Cora Schilling.# (_See 1919._) + "Which Woman, John?" Am. Mar. (56.) + +#Lazar, Maurice.# (_See 1917._) + Heavenly Sophists. S. S. Dec., '19. (116.) + +#Lea, Fannie Heaslip. (Mrs. H. P. Agee.)# (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, +1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Crooked Stick. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (22.) + Happily Ever After. Del. Apr. + Miss Casabianca. Del. Mar. (9.) + Story Not Without Words. Del. June. (11.) + +#Leach, Paul R.# + Nerves. Col. Jul. 10. (8.) + +*#Le Barillier, Berthe Carianne.# _See_ "#Bertheroy, Jean.#" + +#Lebhar, Bertram.# + Athletics for Cold Cash. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (23.) + +#Le Boutillier, Cornelia Geer.# (1894- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919 under_ +#Geer, Cornelia Throop.#) + **Chaff. Scr. Aug. (68:204.) + Picking and Stealing. Col. Jan. 31. (17.) + +#Lee, Jennette (Barbour Perry.)# (1860- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Cat and the King. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (10.) + 'Twixt Cup and Lip. L. H. J. Jan. (23.) + +#Lee, Muna.# (_See 1915._) + *Dream. S. S. Oct., '19. (125.) + *Moonlight Sonata. S. S. Mar. (81.) + **Years Ahead. S. S. Dec., '19. (99.) + +*#Lehmann, René.# + Sensation Hunter. N. Y. Trib. May 23. + +#Lemly, Rowan Palmer.# + *Pagari. L. H. J. Apr. (24.) + +#Leo, Rita Wellman.# _See_ #Wellman, Rita.# + +"#Lessing, Bruno.#" (#Rudolph Block.#) (1870- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + Explosion of Leah. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (6.) + Treating 'Em Rough. Pict. R. Sept. (42.) + +*#Level, Maurice.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Begar. Hear. Apr. (12.) + *Debt Collector. Hear. Nov., '19. (40.) + ***Empty House. Hear. Sept. (20.) + **Extenuating Circumstances. Hear. Oct., '19. (25.) + ***Kennel. Hear. Aug. (16.) + ***Maniac. Hear. Mar. (12.) + ***Son of His Father. Hear. Jul. (22.) + *Ten-Fifty Express. Hear. June. (33.) + +#Leverage, Henry.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Sea Beef. B. C. Apr. (3.) + *Uncharted. Adv. Oct. 3., '19. (129.) + +#Levick, Milnes.# (_See 1919._) + *In Court. S. S. Oct., '19. (123.) + **Jest in the Household. S. S. Dec., '19. (126.) + Out of Modoc. S. S. June. (71.) + +#Levison, Eric.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + **Gloria in Excelsis. T. T. Jan. (63.) + *Home. T. T. June. (35.) + **Mordecai. T. T. Nov., '19. (41.) + *Where There Is No Light. T. T. Dec., '19. (29.) + +#Lewars, Elsie Singmaster.# _See_ #Singmaster, Elsie.# + +#Lewis, Addison.# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Mrs. Dinehart. Mir. Dec. 11. '19. (28:882.) + +#Lewis, Margaret Cameron.# _See_ #Cameron, Margaret.# + +#Lewis, Orlando Faulkland.# (1873- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Alma Mater. Red Bk. June. (53.) + +#Lewis, Orlando Faulkland# (_con._) + Case of Aunt Mary. L. H. J. Feb. (21.) + Man to Man. L. H. J. Jan. (13.) + +#Lewis, Oscar.# (_See 1916._) + Face Is Unfamiliar. S. S. Mar. (41.) + Girl Who Accepted No Compromise. S. S. Aug. (65.) + +#Lewis, Sinclair.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Bronze Bars. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (12.) + Danger--Run Slow. S. E. P. Oct. 18, 25, '19. (3, 22.) + Habeas Corpus. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (10.) + Way I See It. S. E. P. May 29. (14.) + +*#Lichtenberger, André.# (1870- .) (_H._) + ***Old Fisherwoman. Pag. Oct., '19. (6.) + +#Lighton, William R(heem).# (1866- .), _and_ #Lighton, Louis Duryea.# +(_See 1916, 1917, 1918; and 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, and "H" under_ +#Lighton, William Rheem.#) + Why Olaf Proposed in the Month of March. Am. Jan. (38.) + +#Lindsay, Donald.# + Old Violets. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (4.) + +#Livingstone, Florence Bingham.# + Who Will Kiss Miss Parker? Sun. Dec., '19. (29.) + +#Lockwood, Scammon.# (_See 1916._) + Girl Who Slept in Bryant Park. L. H. J. Feb. (26.) + +#Loud, Lingard.# + Mister Jolly Well Murders His Wife. S. E. P. June 26. (20.) + Pink Knickers and the Desperate Ship. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (16.) + +*#Louÿs, Pierre.# + **Birth of Prometheus. Mun. Oct., '19. (68:81.) + ***False Esther. Mir. June 24. (29:511.) + +#Lovewell, Reinette.# + All Mrs. Flaherty's Fault. Am. Nov., '19. (28.) + +#Lowe, Corinne.# (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Single Fellows. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (10.) + +#Lurie, R. L.# + Quick Work by Philip. Am. May. (57.) + +*#Lyons, A(lbert Michael) Neil.# (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + *Deputy. Ev. May. (44.) + **Mr. and Mrs. Oddy. Ev. Jul. (42.) + + +#Mabie, Louise Kennedy.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Mystery of the Red-Haired Girl, Am. Apr. (23.) + +#McClure, John.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + *Tale of Krang. L. St. Nov., '19. (63.) + +#McCourt, Edna Wahlert.# (_See 1915, 1917._) + ***Lichen. Dial. May. (68:586.) + +#McCrea, Marion.# (_See 1918._) + Miss Vannah of Our Ad-Shop. Ev. June. (44.) + +#McDonnell, Eleanor Kinsella.# + Let's Pretend. L. H. J. Jul. (16.) + +#MacFarlane, Peter Clark.# (1871- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Guile of Woman. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (28.) + In the Game Called Life. L. H. J. May. (7.) + Mad Hack Henderson. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (24.) + +#McGibney, Donald.# + Come-Back. L. H. J. Jul. (18.) + Shift of Fate. L. H. J. Aug. (22.) + When the Desert Calls. L. H. J. May. (23.) + White Angel. L. H. J. June. (22.) + +#MacGowan, Alice# (1858- .), and #Cooke, Grace MacGowan# (1863- .) +(_See 1915 under_ #Cooke, Grace MacGowan#; _1916, 1917 under_ +#MacGowan, Alice#; _"H" under both heads._) + Little Girl Eve. S. E. P. June 26. (16.) + +#McGuirk, Charles J.# + Fogarty's Flivver. Col. June 5. (23.) + +#Mackendrick, Marda.# (_See 1919._) + Jean--In the Negative. Met. Mar. (29.) + +*#MacManus, L.# + ***Baptism. Cath. W. Sept. (111:780.) + +#MacManus, Seumas.# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Conaleen and Donaleen. Pict. R. Sept. (15.) + ***Heart-Break of Norah O'Hara. Pict. R. Mar. (8.) + ***Lad from Largymore. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (21.) + +*#McNeille, Cyril ("Sapper").# (1888- .) (_See 1917, 1919 under_ +"#Sapper.#") + *"Good Hunting, Old Chap." Harp. B. Sept. (52.) + +*#Mac-Richard, J.# + Electric Shoes. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 25. + +#Macy, J. Edward.# + *Sea Ginger. Scr. Sept. (68:343.) + +*#Madrus, Lucie Delarue-.# _See_ #Delarue-Madrus, Lucie.# + +#Mahoney, James.# + *Showing Up of Henry Widdemer. McCall. Aug. (12.) + +#Mann, Jane.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Heritage. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:47.) + +#Manning, Marie. (Mrs. Herman E. Gasch.)# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + Liver Bank. Harp. M. Aug. (141:382.) + +*#Marchand, Leopold.# + In Extremis. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 29. + +#Markey, Gene.# + Bugler. Scr. June. (67:704.) + +#Marquis, Don (Robert Perry).# (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + Bubbles. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (10.) + *Kale. Ev. Sept. (46.) + *Never Say Die. Ev. Apr. (73.) + +#Marquis, Neeta.# + Violets for Sentiment. S. S. Sept. (65.) + +#Marriott, Crittenden.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + *What Dreams May Come True. L. St. Mar. (27.) + +#Marsden, Griffis.# (_See 1919._) + Enter Lucy. Sun. Aug. (25.) + Here Comes the Bride! Sun. Sept. (28.) + Marrying Them. Sun. Nov., '19. (20.) + Wrong Medicine. Sun. Jan. (26.) + +#Marshall, Bernard.# + Spilled Beans. Sun. Feb. (29.) + +#Marshall, Edison.# (1894- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) + Argali the Ram. Met. Jan.-Feb. (21:38.) + "Count a Thousand--Slow--Between Each Drop." Am. Mar. (44.) + **Elephant Remembers. Ev. Oct., '19. (17.) + Its Name Will Be Long-Ear Joe. Met. June. (34.) + "Never Stop--Never Give Up." Am. June. (14.) + *Shadow of Africa. All. Nov. 1, '19. (103:332.) + +#Martin, Helen R(eimensnyder).# (1868- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Birdie Reduces. Cen. May. (100:136.) + +*#Martovitch, Les.# + **Dance. Dial. Jul. (69:47.) + +*#Mason, Alfred Edward Woodley.# (1865- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + *Pilgrimage. Rom. Mar. (3.) + +#Mason, Elmer Brown.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Does Money Talk? Col. Jul. 24. (16.) + +#Mason, Grace Sartwell.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Charm. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (8.) + ***His Job. Scr. Apr. (67:470.) + *Shining Moment. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (34.) + +#Mason, Gregory.# (1889- .) + Jade Idol. Met. Feb. (23.) + +#Mason, Laura Kent.# + On Receiving a Luncheon Invitation. S. S. Dec., '19. (53.) + +#Masson, Thomas L(ansing).# (1866- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + "Nibs." Met. Oct., '19. (38.) + +#Matteson, Herman Howard.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + He Is Singing to Me. Col. Dec. 20, '19. (12.) + "No Abaft This Notice." Sun. Apr. (33.) + +"#Maxwell, Helena.#" (#Mrs. Baker Brownell.#) (1896- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + ***Adolescence. Pag. Apr.-May. (5.) + *Her First Appearance. Lib. May. (24.) + +#May, Eric Paul.# + Proposal. S. S. Oct., '19. (34.) + +#Means, Eldred Kurtz.# (1878- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Concerning a Red Head. Peop. Aug. (9.) + **Plumb Nauseated. All. Mar. 13. (108:19.) + *Prize-Money. All. June 26. (111:483.) + *Proof of Holy Writ. Mun. Sept. (70:645.) + *Ten-Share Horse. Mun. May. (69:605.) + +#Mears, Mary M.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Forbidden Thing. Met. Apr. (22.) + +*#Merrick, Leonard.# (1864- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + *"I Recall a Seat." Harp. B. Jul. (50.) + *That Villain Her Father. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (16.) + ***To Daphne De Vere. McC. Feb. (13.) + +#Merwin, Samuel.# (1874- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Utter Selfishness of J. A. Peters. McC. Mar.-Apr. (18.) + +#Meyer, Josephine Amelia.# (1864-.) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Cave Stuff. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (53.) + +#Mezquida, Anna Blake.# (_See 1915._) + Don't Be Too Sure--Mr. Hurd! Am. Jan. (11.) + +#Michener, Carroll K.# (_See 1919._) + *Dragon-Tongued Orchid. Sn. St. Aug. 18. (51.) + *Golden Dragon. McC. Jul (18.) + +#Milbrite, Felden E.# + Étude for the Organ. S. S. Aug. (126.) + +*#Mille, Pierre.# (1864- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **"End of the World." N. Y. Trib. Mar. 14. + Truth of History. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 8. + +#Miller, Alice Duer.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + *Slow Poison. S. E. P. June 12. (8.) + +#Miller, Helen Topping.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) + *B-Flat Barto. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (32.) + *Damour Blood. B. C. May. (19.) + +#Miller, Mary Britton.# + **From Morn to Dewy Eve. Touch. Feb. (6:299.) + **Sicilian Idyl. Touch. Jan. (6:218.) + +#Millis, Walter.# + *Second Mate. Adv. Aug. 3. (51.) + +#Millring, Ruth Brierley.# + Homely Is As Homely Does. Del. Jan. (6.) + +#Minnigerode, Meade.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + Ball of Fire. Col. Apr. 10. (15.) + Ground Floor Front. Col. May 29. (15.) + Jimmy Repays. Col. Feb. 14. (10.) + Monkeying with the Buzz Saw. Col. Mar. 6. (18.) + Mysteries. Col. Mar. 27. (13.) + Pure Gold. Col. Jan. 17. (12.) + +#Mitchell, Mary Esther#, (1863- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **"Vendoo." Harp. M. June. (141:107.) + +#Mitchell, Ruth Comfort.# (#Mrs. Sanborn Young.#) (_See 1916, 1917, +1918, 1919._) + Bad Boy. Del. Apr. (20.) + Carriage Waits. Ev. Dec., '19. (34.) + Poor Mister Morrison. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:876.) + +#Mitchell, Ruth Comfort#, _and_ #Young, William Sanborn.# + Ranching of Nan. Del. Jul.-Aug. (7.) + +*#Monro, Harold.# + ***Parcel of Love. Lit. R. Nov., '19. (16.) + +#Montague, Margaret Prescott.# (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Atl. June. (125:721.) + +#Mooney, Ralph E.# (_See 1919._) + Between Six O'Clock and Midnight. L. H. J. May. (9.) + Miss Kent Understands. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (50.) + Professor Comes Back. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (21.) + +*#Moore, Leslie.# + **Magician of Globes. Cath. W. Aug. (111:631.) + +#Moravsky, Maria.# (1890- .) (_See 1919._) + **Bracelet from the Grave. Rom. Jul. (156.) + *Remembrance that Kills. L. St. Sept. (3.) + **White Camels. Met. May. (25.) + +*#Mordaunt, Elinor.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Adventures in the Night. Met. June. (11.) + ***Ginger Jar. Met. Nov., '19. (17.) + +#Morgan, J. L.# + For the World's Championship. S. S. Jan. (31.) + Literature. S. S. Feb. (27.) + Personally Conducted. S. S. Oct., '19. (69.) + +#Morley, Felix.# + *Legend of Nantucket. O. O. June. (2:214.) + +#Moroso, John Antonio.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Danny's Gold Star. L. H. J. Apr. (16.) + Glint of Gold. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (24.) + House in the Woods. L. H. J. Feb. (23.) + Sweet Sally Magee. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (32.) + +#Mosher, John Chapin.# + Belle Hobbs. S. S. May. (63.) + +#Mumford, Ethel Watts.# (#Mrs. Ethel Watts-Mumford Grant.#) (1878- .) +(_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Look of the Copperleys. L. H. J. Apr. (8.) + Manifestation of Henry Ort. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (22.) + *Unto Her a Child Was Born. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (9.) + +#Munsterberg, Margarete.# + *Silent Music. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:57.) + +#Murray, Roy Irving.# (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) + ***Substitute. Scr. Jul. (68:82.) + +#Muth, Edna Tucker.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) + ***Gallipeau. Harp. M. Oct., 19. (139:721.) + Tidal Waif. Sun. Oct., '19. (39.) + +#Myers, Elizabeth (Fettor) Lehman.# (1869- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + **Autumn Blooming. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (22.) + +#Mygatt, Gerard.# (_H._) + Félice. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (20.) + Starter. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (8.) + + + +#Neidig, William Jonathan.# (1870- .) (_See 1916 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Bloodhound. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (10.) + *Brother Act. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (12.) + Shansi Woman. Ev. Aug. (9.) + Stained Fingers. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (18.) + Sweat of Her Brow. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (18.) + +*#Nervo, Amado.# + **Leah and Rachel. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:7.) + +*#Nevinson, Henry W(oodd).# (1852- .) (_H._) + ***In Diocletian's Day. Atl. Oct. '19. (124:472.) + +*#Newton, W. Douglas.# (_See 1915._) + *Life o' Dreams. Sn. St. Mar. 4. (75.) + +#Nicholson, Meredith.# (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Housewarming. L. H. J. May. (28.) + My Roger. Del. Nov., '19. (8.) + +#Niles, Blair.# + **Tropic Frogs. Harp. M. Apr. (140:671.) + +*#Nodier, Charles.# (1780-1844.) + ***Bibliomaniac. Strat. J. Oct.-Dec. (5:177.) + +#Norris, Kathleen.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Engine Trouble. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (28.) + Friday the 13th. G. H. Nov., '19. (17.) + "God's in His Heaven." G. H. Oct., '19. (15.) + Home. G. H. Sept. (27.) + Silvester Birch's Child. G. H. Mar. (30.) + With Christmas Love from Barbara. G. H. Dec., '19. (26.) + +*#Noyes, Alfred.# (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Beyond the Desert. Red Bk. Aug. (57.) + Bill's Phantasm. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (20.) + *Court-Martial. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (18.) + *Troglodyte. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (22.) + *Wine Beyond the World. S. E. P. May 8. (5.) + + +#O'Brien, Frederick.# (_See 1919 under_ #O'Brien, Frederick#, _and_ +#Lane, Rose Wilder.#) + ***Jade Bracelet of Ah Queen. Col. May 22. (5.) + *Taboo of Oomoa. Harp. B. June. (60.) + +#O'Brien, Mary Heaton Vorse.# _See_ #Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton.# + +"#O'Grady, R.#" (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Brothers. Mid. Jan.-Mar. (6:7.) + +#O'Hagan, Anne. (Anne O'Hagan Shinin.)# (1869- .) (_See 1918._) (_H._) + ***Return. Touch. Jan. (6: 181.) + +#O'Hara, Frank Hurburt.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + *Life of Eddie Slaggin. Pict. R. Apr. (24.) + Now Wasn't that Just Like Father! Am. Jul. (62.) + +#O'Higgins, Harvey Jerrold.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Story of Big Dan Reilly. McC. Mar.-Apr. (25.) + ***Story of Mrs. Murchison. McC. May-June. (25, 27.) + ***Strange Case of Warden Jupp. McC. Aug. (27.) + +#Oliver, Owen.# (_See 1915._) + *Wanted: a Kind Fairy. Holl. Sept. (11.) + +#O'Malley, Austin.# (1858- .) + **Strong Box. (_R._) Mir. May 27. (29: 437.) + +#O'Neill, Agnes Boulton.# _See_ #Boulton, Agnes.# + +#Oppenheim, James.# (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Rending. Dial. Jul. (69: 35.) + +#Oppenheimer, James.# + Sweet Kanuck. Met. Jan. (33.) + +#Osborne, William Hamilton.# (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Amazing Indiscretion. Met. Apr.-May. (20, 18.) + Handsomely Trimmed. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (12.) + Rush to Cover. S. E. P. May 15. (12.) + Seeing Things Again. S. E. P. May 8. (18.) + Turn of the Wrist. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (32.) + +#Osbourne, Lloyd.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***East Is East. Met. Apr. (11.) + Ghosts Go West. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (20.) + +#O'Sullivan, Vincent.# (1872- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) + ***Dance-Hall at Unigenitus. S. S. Mar. (53.) + +#O'Toole, E. J.# + First Snow. Cath. W. Jan. (110:476.) + +*#Owen, H. Collinson.# + ***Temptation of Antoine. Pict. R. Sept. (5.) + +#Owen, Margaret Dale.# + *Point of View. All. Oct. 18, '19. (102:690.) + +"#Oxford, John Barton.#" _See_ #Shelton, Richard Barker.# + + +#Paine, Albert Bigelow.# (1861- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Being a Landlord. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:929.) + Murphy's Kitchen. Harp. M. Feb. (140:424.) + +#Paine, Ralph Delahaye.# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + *Mrs. Tredick's Husband. Scr. Mar. (67:297.) + +#Pangborn, Georgia Wood.# (1872- .) (_See 1911, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + *Andy MacPherson's House. Rom. Aug. (78.) + **Children of Mount Pyb. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:98.) + *When the Ice Went Out. Rom. May. (72.) + +#Parkhurst, Genevieve.# + Blind Alleys. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (29.) + +#Parkhurst, Winthrop.# + Holy Matrimony. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (23.) + Law of Averages. S. S. Apr. (91.) + Spooks. S. S. Nov., '19. (107.) + +#Parmenter, Christine Whiting.# (1877- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Christmas Magic. Am. Dec., '19. (29.) + "I Never Could Have Married Anybody Else." Am. Mar. (11.) + Jilted--Because of Her Clothes! Am. Feb. (29.) + Marcia Lets Her Conscience Take a Brief Vacation. Am. Jan. (20.) + Peach in Pink. Met. Jan. (42.) + +#Parsons, Lewis.# + Dick Tresco and the Yellow Streak. Am. Mar. (62.) + Wonderful Dog with a Dual Nature. Am. Oct., '19. (14.) + +#Partridge, Edward Bellamy.# (_See 1916._) + Floating Foot. Met. Aug. (31.) + *Loan Shark. Met. June. (18.) + +#Pattullo, George.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Captain. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (8.) + Madame Patsy, the Gusher Queen. S. E. P. May 22. (10.) + Oo, Là , Là ! S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (30.) + *Romance of Thomás Dozal. S. E. P. June 19. (3.) + +#Payne, Elizabeth Stancy.# + *Trying Age. Ev. Jan. (55.) + +#Payne, Will.# (1855- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Age of Chivalry. Det. N. Jul. 18. (pt. 6 p. 6.) + *Eye for an Eye. Cos. Aug. (75.) + *Lucky Mary. Red Bk. Mar. (59.) + *Unbidden Guest. Cos. Sept. (75.) + +#Pearce, Theodocia.# + Little Spice Out of Life. L. H. J. Aug. (20.) + +#Pearsall, Robert J.# (_H._) + *Escape. Adv. Aug. 18. (166.) + +#Pelley, William Dudley.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Auctioneer. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (24.) + **Conversion of John Carver. Red Bk. Oct., '19. (23.) + *Devil Dog. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (26.) + *February-Third Joe. All. Feb. 28. (107:342.) + *They Called Her Old Mother Hubbard. Red Bk. Dec., '19. (64.) + *Trails to Santa Fé. Red Bk. Sept. (78.) + +#Peltier, Florence.# + *Left-Handed Jingoro and the Irate Landlord. Asia. Sept. (20:802.) + +"#Pendleton, T. D.#" _see_ #Cummins#, #T. D. Pendleton.# + +#Perry, Clay.# + White Light. Met. June. (29.) + +#Perry, Lawrence.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Dilettante. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (12.) + Lothario of the Sea Bird. L. H. J. Aug. (16.) + Matter of Sentiment. Scr. Oct., '19. (66:438.) + Real Game. Ev. Jul. (13.) + Spoiled Boy. Ev. Nov., '19. (22.) + +#Perry, Montanye.# + Three Kings. Del. Dec., '19. (5.) + +*#Pertwee, Roland.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Elizabeth Anne. S. E. P. May 15. (16.) + *Mary Ottery. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (14.) + Various Relations. S. E. P. June 5. (16.) + +#Phillips, Michael James.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Silken Bully. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (10.) + +*#Phillpotts, Eden.# (1862- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Amy Up a Tree. Del. June. (5.) + *Mother of the Rain. Rom. Mar. (78.) + *Tyrant. Cen. Feb. (99:450.) + +#Pickthall, Marjorie L(owry) C(hristie).# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Boy in the Corner. W. H. C. May. (17.) + *Name. Sun. Mar. (33.) + **Without the Light. G. H. Mar. (33.) + +#Picón, Jacinto Octavio.# (1852- .) +***After the Battle. (_R._) Mir. Aug. 26. (29:664.) + +#Polk, Paul M.# + *Prayer and Faith. Tod. Oct., '19. (5.) + +#Porter, Harold Everett.# _see_ "#Hall, Holworthy.#" + +#Porter, Katherine Anne.# + *Adventures of Hadji. Asia. Aug. (20:683.) + +#Post, Melville Davisson.# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *House by the Loch. Hear. May. (35.) + *Lost Lady. McCall. June. (10.) +***Yellow Flower. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (12.) + +#Potter, Jane Grey.# + Lass Who Loved a Sailor. Scr. May. (67:603.) + Strong Arm. Scr. Feb. (67:224.) + +#Pottle, Emery# (#Bemsley#). (1875- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + **Little House. Touch. Apr. (7:51.) + +#Pottle, Juliet Wilbor Tompkins.# _see_ #Tompkins, Juliet Wilbor.# + +#Pulver, Mary Brecht.# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Fortune's Favorites. Ev. Mar. (9.) + *Lucifer. Del. Feb. (7.) + *Wings of Love. Del. June. (13.) + +#Putnam, Nina Wilcox.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Comme Si, Comme Ça. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (10.) + Higher the Fewer. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (16.) + Immediate Possession. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (29.) + Price of Pickles. S. E. P. May 15. (8.) + Ring-Around-a-Rosy. S. E. P. June 12. (16.) + Seeing's Believing. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (14.) + Spiritualism Frumenti. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (6.) + + +#Rabel, Du Vernet.# + Her Last Affair. L. H. J. Apr. (18.) + Kin of William the Norman. L. H. J. Jul. (22.) + Material Motives. Ev. Jan. (37.) + West Window. Met. Nov., '19. (30.) + You Can't Take That to Simpson's. Ev. Oct., '19. (24.) + +*#Rameau, Jean.# (_See 1919._) + *Nouveau Riche Cat. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 15. + ***Ocarina. N. Y. Trib. June 6. + *Prayer. N. Y. Trib. Mar. 7. + +#Ramsay, Robert E.# + Tabitha Mehitabel Sweet. L. H. J. June. (27.) + +#Ranck, Edwin Carty.# (1879- .) (_See 1916, 1918._) + Just Plain Dog. Met. Apr. (31.) + +#Raphaelson, Sampson.# + Great Li'l' Old Town. Del. May. (14.) + +#Ravenel, Beatrice Witte.# (1870- .) (_See 1919._) + Love Is Free. Harp. M. Feb. (140:346.) + *Something to Remember. Harp. M. Jan. (140:236.) + +#Ray, Marie Beynon.# + *Lost Marquise. S. S. Mar. (33.) + *Pride of Race. Harp. B. Dec., '19. (70.) + +#Redington, Sarah.# (_See 1919._) + Anne Thinks It Over. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:592.) + "Why I Dislike My Husband." Sun. June. (52.) + +#Reese, Lowell Otus.# (1866- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Bachelor. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (6.) + Behind the Velvet. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (12.) + Clink of the Spurs. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (40.) + Foster Fathers. Col. Sept. 11. (8.) + Table Butte. Col. May 29. (12.) + +*#Régis, Roger.# (_See 1916._) (_H._) + Test. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 22. + +#Reid, M. F.# + Doodle Buys a Bull Pup. Ev. Aug. (64.) + *Initiation of Scorp-for-Short. Cen. Aug. (100:570.) + +#Reindel, Margaret H.# (1896- .) + ***Fear. Touch. Mar. (6:400.) + +"#Relonde, Maurice.#" (_See 1917._) + *Holy Pilgrimage. Pag. Jan. (18.) + +#Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield).# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Fair Daughter of a Fairer Mother. Ev. Mar. (79.) + *Shy Ghost. McC. Sept. (29.) + *Small Frog. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:49.) + Style in Hats. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (16.) + Thomas Robinson's Affair with an Actress. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (10.) + +#Rice, Alice (Caldwell) Hegan.# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Nut. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:1.) + +#Rice, Cale Young.# (1872- .) + **Aaron Harwood. Cen. Jul. (100:346.) + *Lowry. Cen. Feb. (99:549.) + +#Rice, Louise.# (_See 1918._) (_H._) + ***Lubbeny Kiss. Ain. Oct. + +*#Richardson, Dorothy M.# + ***Sunday. (_R._) Mir. Oct. 16, '19. (28:709.) + +#Richardson, Norval.# (1877- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + **Bracelet. McC. Jul. (29.) + +*#Riche, Daniel.# + First Call. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 14, '19. + *Royal Canary. N. Y. Trib. Mar. 28. + +#Richens, Christine Eadie.# + Inner Enemy. Del. Mar. (15.) + +#Richter, Conrad.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Cabbages and Shoes. Ev. Mar. (61.) + Making of "Val" Pierce. Am. Apr. (30.) + Man Who Hid Himself. Am. Jul. (21.) + +#Rideout, Henry Milner.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Toad. S. E. P. June 19. (16.) + +#Rinehart, Mary Roberts.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Finders Keepers. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (3.) + +#Riper, Charles King Van.# _See_ #Van Riper, Charles King.# + +#Ritchie, Robert Welles.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Odd Case of the Second Back. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (28.) + +#Rivers, Stuart.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Circular Letter. Peop. Mar. (43.) + Fresh Guy. Met. Feb. (30.) + Genius. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (50.) + +#Robbins, Leonard H.# (1877- .) + "Ain't This the Darndest World!" Am. May. (70.) + Christmas Card. Met. Dec., '19 (42.) + Professor Todd's Used Car. Ev. Jul. (37.) + +#Roberts, Kenneth Lewis.# (1885- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Pergola Preferred. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (15.) + +#Roberts, Walter Adolphe.# (1886- .) + *Adventure of the Portrait. Ain. Mar. (111.) + +#Robinson, Mabel L.# + Daughter of a Diplomat. Del. Mar. (19.) + Dr. Tam O'Shanter. Del. Nov., '19. (19.) + Dr. Tam O'Shanter Comes to Town. Del. Jan. (15.) + Sakes Alive! Del. May. (23.) + +#Roche, Arthur Somers.# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Dummy-Chucker. Cos. June. (20.) + +#Roche, Mazo De La.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_See "H" under_ #De La +Roche, Mazo.#) + *"D'ye Ken John Peel?" W. H. C. Nov., '19. (14.) + ***Explorers of the Dawn. Atl. Oct., '19. (124:532.) + +#Roe, Vingie E.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Black Rose of El Forja. Sun. Jul. (25.) + Land of Unforgetting. Pict. R. Sept. (10.) + "Let's Go with Honor." Sun. Oct., '19. (20.) + Monsieur Plays. Sun. Dec., '19. (17.) + Prides of Black Coulee. Pict. R. Mar. (12.) + Red Dapple. Ev. Aug. (22.) + Sign of High Endeavor. Met. Nov., '19. (38.) + Third Degree at Port O'Light. Met. Oct., '19. (13.) + +*"#Hohmer, Sax.#" (#Arthur Sarsfield Ward.#) (1883- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917._) (_H._) + House of the Golden Joss. Col. Aug. 7. (10.) + Man with the Shaven Skull. Col. Sept. 18. (8.) + +#Roof, Katharine Metcalf.# _(See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Exile. Touch. Feb. (6:314.) + +#Rosenblatt, Benjamin.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Stepping Westward. Mid. Sept.-Oct., '19. (5:217.) + **Transformation. Strat. J. Oct.-Dec., '19. (5:217.) + +*#Rosny, J. H.# _aîné._ + Bolshevist Marat. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 26. + Girl in the Engraving. N. Y. Trib. June 27. + +#Roy, Manabendra Nath.# _See_ #Granich, Irwin# _and_ #Roy, Manabendra +Nath.# + +*#Ruby, J. Bruno-.# _See_ #Bruno-Ruby, J.# + +#Rumsey, Frances.# (1886- .) + ***Cash. Cen. Aug. (100:433.) + +#Runkle, Bertha (Brooks). (Mrs. Louis H. Bash.)# (_H._) + Who's Who in America. Am. Oct., '19. (27.) + +#Russell, Alice Dyar.# (_See 1919._) + Her Birthright. Del. Apr. (9.) + +#Russell, John.# (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *One Drop of Moonshine. McC. Mar.-Apr. (27.) + ***Wreck on Deliverance. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (5.) + Yellow Professor. Col. May 15. (12.) + +#Russell, Phillips.# (_See 1918._) + *Troubadour. S.S. Jan. (115.) + +"#Rutledge, Maryse.#" (#Maryse Rutledge Hale.#) ("#Marice Rutledge.#") +(#Marie Louise Goetchius.#) (#Marie Louise van Saanen.#) (1884- .) +(_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918 under_ #Van Saanen, Marie Louise.#) +(_See "H" under_ #Goetchius, Marie Louise.#) + ***House of Fuller. S. E. P. May 29. (30.) + **Thing They Loved. Cen. May. (100:110.) + +#Ryan, Kathryn White.# (_See 1919._) + ***Man of Cone. Mun. Mar. (69:231.) + **Mrs. Levering. Mun. Jul. (70:346.) + **Sea. All. May 1. (109:454.) + *Swine of Circe. S. S. Feb. (99.) + +#Ryerson, Florence.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Babs and the Little Gray Man. Aug. (21.) + + +#Saanen, Marie Louise Van.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +*#Sabatini, Rafael.# (1875- .) (_H._) + *Scapulary. Rom. Aug. (49.) + +*#Saint-Valéry, Leon De.# _See_ #House, Roy Temple#, _and_ +#Saint-Valéry, Leon De.# + +#Saltus, Edgar (Evertson).# (1858- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Ghost Story. Mun. Jul. (70:224.) + +*#Saltykov, M. Y. ("N. Schedrin.")# (_See 1917._) (_H._) + ***Wild Squire. S. S. June (123.) + +#Sangster, Margaret Elizabeth, Jr.# (1894- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, +1919._) + City Dust. G. H. May. (39.) + +#Saphier, William.# (1883- .) + ***Kites. Lit. R. Dec., '19. + **Wise Man. Lit. R. Mar. (7.) + +#Sapinsky, Joseph.# + *Crazy Gambler Paul. McCall. June. (14.) + +*"#Sapper.#" _See_ #McNeille, Cyril.# + +#Sawhill, Myra.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + How Much Did Good Clothes Help Bob Gilmore? Am. Sept. (39.) + Rev. Mr. Deering Sues His Congregation. Am. Jul. (39.) + +#Sawyer, Ruth.# (#Mrs. Albert C. Durand.#) (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, +1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Glorious Comedy. L. H. J. Jan. (10.) + Simple Simon and the Fourth Dimension. Ev. June. (54.) + +#Saxby, Charles.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Betrayal. Ev. Mar. (27.) + *Cucharo. Met. Dec., '19. (37.) + *In Camera. Ev. Feb. (23.) + +#Scarborough, Dorothy.# (_See 1918._) + **Drought. Cen. May. (100:12.) + +#Schauffler, Margaret Widdemer.# _See_ #Widdemer, Margaret.# + +*"#Schedrin#, N." _See_ #Saltykov, M. Y.# + +#Scheffauer, Herman George.# (1878- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Brother of the Woods. Mun. Mar. (69:307.) + **Drama in Dust. Mun. Feb. (69:111.) + +*#Scheffer, Robert.# + *Road of Long Ago. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 18. + +*#Schnitzler, Arthur.# (1862- .) (_See 1916._) + ***Crumbled Blossoms. Dial. June. (68:711.) + +#Scoggins, C. E.# (_See 1919._) + Home for Ho Fat Wun. L. H. J. June. (10.) + +#Scott, Arthur P.# + Yvette. Harp. M. Apr. (140:713.) + +#Scott, Donna R.# + Convictions. Pag. Oct., '19. (23.) + +#Scott, Margretta.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) + *Mrs. Lionel Felker--Accompanist. Mir. May 13. (29:388.) + Spring at Schlosser's. Mir. Mar. 11. (29:180.) + +#Scoville, Samuel, Jr.# (1872- .) (_H._) + Blackbear. L. H. J. Jan. (8.) + Cleanleys. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (7.) + +#Seaman, Augusta Huiell.# (_See 1919._) + Dream Bread. Del. Oct., '19. (21.) + +#Sedgwick, Anne Douglas. (Mrs. Basil, De Sélincourt.)# (1873- .) (_See +1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Christmas Roses. Atl. Nov.-Dec., '19. (124:674, 796.) + +#Seeley, Herman Gastrell.# (1891- .) + *Craven. B. C. Aug. (46.) + +#Seifert, Shirley L.# (_See 1919._) + Nicest Boy. Del. Jul.-Aug. (17.) + P. Gadsby--Venturer. Met. May. (23.) + Terry's Youthful Ideal. Met. Nov., '19. (15.) + To-morrow. S. E. P. June 19. (20.) + +#Seifert, Marjorie Allen.# (1885- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + **Lizzie. Mir. Jul. 1. (29:527.) + Shipwreck. Mir. Dec. 25, '19. (28:953.) + +#Sélincourt, Mrs. Basil De.# _See_ #Sedgwick, Anne Douglas.# + +#Senior, Mary.# + **"Died of Other Causes." Touch. Oct., '19. (6:47.) + +#Sexton, Bernard.# + *How a Hermit Gained Kingdom and Treasure. Asia. Aug. (20:702.) + *Jackal and the Rats. Asia. June. (20:513.) + *King Discovers His First Gray Hair. Asia. Sept. (20:815.) + *Stonecutter and the Mouse. Asia. May. (20:378.) + *Tortoise Who Talked. Asia. Jul. (20:624.) + +#Shawe, Victor.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + In the Big Timber. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (21.) + Seattle Slim and the Two Per Cent Theory. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (12.) + +#Shelton (Richard), Barker.# (_See 1916, 1917 under_ "#Oxford, John +Barton.#") (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Bridegroom Cometh. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (38.) + *Little of Both. Ev. May. (37.) + *Private Performance. L. H. J. June. (16.) + Subjunctive Mood. Ev. Aug. (49.) + +#Shields, Gertrude M.# (1890- .) (_See 1918._) + *Her Promised Land. Cen. Jul. (100:393.) + +#Shinn, Anne O'Hagan.# _See_ #O'Hagan, Anne.# + +#Shipp, Margaret Busbee.# (1871- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + Closed Gentians. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:171.) + Priscilla and Her Penates. Ev. Jan. (69.) + +#Shore, Nancy.# + **Secret of the Neals. Red Bk. Jan. (44.) + +#Shore, Viola Brothers.# (_See 1919._) + Cast Upon the Waters. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (42.) + Dimi and the Double Life. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (18.) + "Hand That Jerks the Strings." Am. Jan. (27.) + We Can't Afford It. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (16.) + Young Adventuress. S. E. P. June 19. (49.) + +#Shute, Henry Augustus.# (1856- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + *Scholastic Fourth. Del. Jul.-Aug. (5.) + +#Sidney, Rose.# (1888- .) (_See 1919._) + ***Butterflies. Pict. R. Sept. (12.) + +#Simpson, Robert.# + *Whoso Diggeth a Pit. Met. Feb. (15.) + +#Sinclair, May.# (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + ***Fame. Pict. R. May. (10.) + +#Singmaster, Elsie. (Elsie Singmaster Lewards.)# (1879- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Madness of Henrietta Havisham. McCall. Feb. (5.) + ***Miss Vilda. Scr. Jul. (68:98.) + ***Salvadora. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:135.) + +#Slyke, Lucille Baldwin Van.# _See_ #Van Slyke, Lucille Baldwin.# + +*#Smale, Fred C.# (_See 1916, 1919._) + *Experts. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:624.) + +#Smith, Elizabeth Parker.# + Algy Allen's Celadon. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:684.) + +#Smith, Garret.# + *Host at No. 10. Met. Jan. (23.) + Old Hutch Lives Up to It. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (14.) + +#Smith, Gordon Arthur.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Bottom of the Cup. Scr. Mar. (67:355.) + *No Flowers. Harp. M. May. (140:785.) + They All Go Mad in June. Ev. June. (20.) + +#Smith, Maxwell.# (_See 1919._) + Dated. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (18.) + Funny Fingers. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (12.) + +#Sneddon, Robert W.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Bank of Love. Arg. June 12. (122:23.) + *Bonds of Bohemia. Arg. Jul. 17. (123:203.) + *Figures of Wax. Sn. St. Nov. 18, '19. (*7.) + *Full o' the Moon. L. St. May. (15.) + *"Golden Snail Is Born." L. St. Oct., '19. (19.) + *Guardian Angels of Charlot. T.T. Aug. (53.) + *Little Finot. Sn. St. Feb. 18. (33.) + *Love and Lions. Ain. Apr. (46.) + +Solano, Solita. + Her Honeymoon. S. S. June. (57.) + +#Solomons. Theodore Seixa.# (_See 1915._) + *In the Maw of the Ice. Adv. Sept. 3. (75.) + +#Spears, Raymond Smiley.# (1876- .) (_See 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Bump. Col. Feb. 28. (6.) + +#Sprague, J. R.# + Expired Loans. S. E. P. May 1. (20.) + Factory Chasers. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (22.) + Nothing But Business. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (30.) + +#Springer, Fleta Campbell.# (1886- .) (_See 1915 1916, 1918; see 1917 +under_ #Campbell, Fleta.#) (_H._) + ***Civilization. Harp. M. March. (140:544.) + *Romance. Mun. Aug. (70:556.) + ***Rotter. Harp. M. Jul. (141:157.) + +#Stabler, Harry Snowden.# (_H._) + *Zebra Mule. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (5.) + +*#Stacpoole, Henry De Vere Stacpoole-.# (1865- .) (_See 1916, +1918._) (_H._) + *Middle Bedroom. All. Nov. 29, '19. (104:199.) + +#Starrett, Vincent.# (_See 1918._) + End of the Story. S. S. Sept. (25.) + Penny Walk. Mir. Mar. 18. (29:205.) + +#Stearns, M. M.# _See_ "#Amid, John.#" + +#Steele, Alice Garland. (Mrs. T. Austin-Ball.)# (1880- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Awake, Thou Sleeper! Wom. W. Apr. (7.) + Blossom in Waste Places. Am. Aug. (57.) + Same Old Corker. Am. Dec., '19. (54.) + +#Steele, Rufus (Milas).# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + Trouble Doc. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (32.) + +#Steele, Wilbur Daniel.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Both Judge and Jury. Harp. M. Jan. (140:179.) + *Clay and the Cloven Hoof. Harp. M. Oct.-Nov., '19. (139:683; 889.) + ***Out of Exile. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (14.) + ***God's Mercy. Pict. R. Jul. Aug. (17.) + +*#Stéphane, B.# + *Adéle. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 4. + +#Stephens, James.# (_See 1915, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Boss. Dial. Apr. (68:411.) + ***Desire. Dial. June. (68:277.) + ***Thieves. Dial. Aug. (69:142.) + +#Stetson, Cushing.# (_H._) + Third Light from a Match. Met. Aug. (32.) + +"#Stevens, Margaret Dean.#" _See_ #Aldrich, Bess Streeter.# + +#Stevenson, Philip E.# + *Reward of a Prodigal. Lit. St. June. (19.) + +*#Stock, Ralph.# (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Out of the Rut. Col. Jan. 10. (13.) + +#Stolper, B. J.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *New Moon. Rom. Nov., '19. (105.) + +"#Storm, Ethel.#" (_See 1917._) + ***Three Telegrams. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (20.) + +#Strahan, Kay Cleaver.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + Dollars and Sense. Am. June. (70.) + Imitation Paradise. Del. May. (10.) + Mr. Machiavelli. Del. Oct., '19. (23.) + +#Street, Julian (Leonard).# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Case of Mrs. Allison. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (5.) + ***Hands. McC. Sept. (8.) + +#Streeter, Edward.# (1891- .) + Back to Nature--and Back. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (12.) + *Laughing Horse of Gallup Street. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (3.) + +#Stribling, T. S.# + Passing of the St. Louis Bearcat. Ev. Dec., '19. (51.) + +#Stringer, Arthur (John Arbuthnott).# (1874- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Cuff Shooter. S. E. P. May 22. (5.) + +#Strunsky, Rose.# (_H._) + **Peter Karpovitch. Asia. Feb.-Mar. (20:214.) + +*#Sugimoto, Hanano Inagaki.# + **Ivory Skull. Scr. Jan. (67:83.) + +#Sullivan, Charles J.# (_See 1915._) + **From Out the Centuries. B. C. Apr. (25.) + +#Sutphen (William Gilbert), Van Tassel.# (1861- .) (_H._) + Match-Maker. Harp. M. June. (141:45.) + +#Swain, John D.# (_See 1918._) (_H._) + *Affairs at Baker's Bluff. All. Nov. 22, '19. (104:20.) + *Deadwood. Arg. Jul. 31. (123:561.) + Fighting Machine. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (22.) + *From Appetites to Arcadia. S. E. P. May 15. (40.) + *Man Who Was Never Knocked Out. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (18.) + **Unfinished Game. Arg. Mar. 6. (118:443.) + +*#Sylvaire, Dominique.# + Choice. N. Y. Trib. Oct. 5, '19. + +#Synon, Mary.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Night of the Charity Ball. Red Bk. Apr. (43.) + *On Scarlet Wings. Red Bk. Jul. (57.) + **Second-Best. McCall. Sept. (9.) + **Top of the Ladder. McC. Aug. (20.) + + +#Tanner, Marion.# + Enemy of Santa Claus. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:153.) + +#Tarkington (Newton), Booth.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Dishonorable Dolls. Met. Apr. (14.) + **Other Things of Life. Met. Jan. (15.) + +#Tarleau, Lisa Ysaye.# + *Blue Roses. Atl. Nov., '19. (124:614.) + +#Taylor, Anne Leland.# (_See 1918._) (_H._) + Man's Mind. S. S. Apr. (37.) + +#Taylor, D. Wooster.# + Murphy's Mummy. Am. Nov., 10. (20.) + +*#Tchekov, Anton Pavlovich.# _See_ #Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# + +#Templeton, Herminie.# _See_ #Kavanagh, Herminie Templeton.# + +#Terhune, Albert Payson.# (1872- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Bean Spiller. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (18.) + Dub of Peace. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (16.) + Foul Fancier. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (18.) + Heroine. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (16.) + Ringer. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (8.) + +#Terhune, Albert Payson#, _and_ #Bulger, Bozeman.# (_See also_ #Bulger, +Bozeman.#) + *Yas-Suh, 'At's er Dog! S. E. P. Apr. 10. (20.) + +#Thayer, Mabel Dunham.# (_See 1917._) + Little Clay Puppets. Met. June. (16.) + Uplifting Mary. S. E. P. May 8. (40.) + +*#Thibault, Jacques Anatole.# _See_ "#France, Anatole.#" + +#Thompson, James Henry.# (_See 1918._) + **$.89 Worth of Devotion. B. C. Jul. (21.) + +#Tildesley, Alice L.# (_See 1916, 1919._) + Cabell Drives the Nail. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (16.) + Lewis Dare. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (10.) + +#Titus, Harold.# (1888- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Aliens. L. H. J. May (10.) + Crowded Hearthstone. Ev. Jul. (44.) + +*#Tolstoy, Count Ilya.# + *Bolshevik Soldier. Ev. Oct., '19. (86.) + +#Tompkins, Juliet Wilbor.# (#Juliet Wilbor Tompkins Pottle.#) (1871- .) + Great Man. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (16.) + Sic Semper. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (14.) + +#Tonjoroff, Svetozar (Ivanoff).# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + Across the Bridge of Sighs. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (26.) + *From Hopeless Soil. L. H. J. Apr. (21.) + +#Toohey, John Peter.# (1880- .) (_See 1919._) + Days of His Youth. Met. Dec., '19. (25.) + Prince There Wasn't. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (16.) + Water's Fine. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (16.) + +#Torrey, Grace.# (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Maroon-Colored, with Wire Wheels. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (20.) + Tone of Lafayette Arms. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (21.) + +#Towne, Charles Hanson.# (1877- .) (_H._) + Upper Ten. S. S. Jul. (63.) + +#Train, Arthur (Cheney).# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Beyond a Reasonable Doubt. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (14.) + Dog Andrew. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (20.) + Hocus-Pocus. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (24.) + *"Honor Among Thieves." S. E. P. Apr. 24. (20.) + In re Misella. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (24.) + Kid and the Camel. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (20.) + Passing of Caput Magnus. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (20.) + Shyster. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (12.) + Ways That Are Dark. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (8.) + +#Train, Ethel Kissam.# (#Mrs. Arthur Train.#) (1875- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) + In the Garden. Met. Aug. (18.) + +#Trapnell, Edna Valentine.# + *Old Lady. L. St. Oct., '19. (13.) + +*#Trueba, Antonio De.# + ***Portal of Hegaven. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:86.) + +#Tuckerman, Arthur.# + *Black Magic. Scr. Aug. (68:166.) + +#Turnbull, Agnes Sligh.# + Lost--a $2,500 Engagement Ring. Am. Sept. (47.) + +#Turner, George Kibbe.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Clank Clinkscales' Duodenum. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (3.) + Gloama, the Beautiful Ticket Agent. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (6.) + Golden Name. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (20.) + Old General Jazz. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (8.) + + +#Ueland, Brenda.# + Good Natured Girl. Met. May. (36.) + Hootch Hound. Met. Sept. (23.) + +#Underbill, Ruth Murray.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + Goldfish Bowl. L. H. J. Aug. (30.) + +#Underwood, Edna Worthley.# (1873- .) + **Orchid of Asia. Asia. Aug.-Sept. (20:657, 771.) + +#Underwood, Sophie Kerr.# _See_ #Kerr, Sophie.# + +#Updegraff, Allan#, (1883- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Harrying Fiend. Harp. M. Jan. (140:160.) + +#Updegraff, Robert R.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + Old Specification. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (30.) + Rip Van Winkle Lands an Order. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (12.) + +#Upper, Joseph.# + Cheque. S. S. Feb. (101.) + Little Gray Doves. S. S. Feb. (76.) + Sisterhood. S. S. Mar. (125.) + + +"#Vail, Lawrence.#" (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + Conrad's Apology for Earth. S. S. March. (29.) + Passing of Don Quixote. S. S. Jul. (117.) + Swan Song of a Kiss. S. S. Sept. (111.) + Twilight Adventure. S. S. Apr. (51.) + +*#Valdagne, Pierre.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Seat of the Right. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 12. + +*#Valmer, Binet-.# _See_ #Binet-Valmer.# + +#Van, Stephen Ta.# + Sheep-Face. S. S. Mar. (67.) + Sheep-Face II. S. S. May. (103.) + +#Van De Water, Virginia (Belle) Terhune.# (1865- .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + As Water Spilled on the Ground. S. S. May. (93.) + +#Van Riper, Charles King.# + Hole in the Doughnut. S. S. Mar. (85.) + Triumph. S. S. May. (123.) + +#Van Saanen, Marie Louise.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +#Van Slyke, Lucille Baldwin.# (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Boy Who Missed the War. Del. Jan. (16.) + Man Who Was Tired of His Wife. Del. May. (7.) + You Have to Keep in Tune. L. H. J. Jul. (25.) + +#Vermilye, Kate Jordan.# _See_ #Jordan, Kate.# + +*#Volland, Gabriel.# + Black Siren. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 11. + *Original. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 16, '19. + +#Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton. (Mary Heaton Vorse O'Brien.)# (_See +1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + * Dream Killers. Rom. Jan. (38.) + ***Fraycar's Fist. Lib. Sept. (17.) + ***Hopper. Lib. Apr. (34.) + **House of Storms. W. H. C. Mar. (7.) + ***Pink Fence. McCall. Jul. (5.) + *True Talisman. W. H. C. Aug. (11.) + + +#Waldo, Harold.# + *Old Twelve Hundred. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (22.) + +#Walker, Beatrice McKay.# + *Tomley's Gossoon. Holl. Jul. (11.) + +*#Wallace, Edgar.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Mother o' Mine. Met. Mar. (21.) + +*#Walpole, Hugh.# (1884- .) (_See 1915._) + ***Case of Miss Morganhurst. Pict. R. May. (17.) + ***Fanny's Job. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (19.) + ***Honourable Clive Torby. Pict. R. June. (10.) + ***No Place for Absalom. Pict. R. Apr. (16.) + ***Stealthy Visitor. Pict. R. Mar. (14.) + ***Third Six. Pict. R. Sept. (8.) + +#Walton, Emma Lee.# (H.) + *His Masterpiece. Am. Oct., '19. (49.) + +*#Ward, Arthur Sarsfield.# _See_ "#Rohmer, Sax.#" + +#Ward, Herbert Dickinson.# (1861- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + **Greater Than Creed. L. H. J. Apr. (22.) + ***Master Note. L. H. J. Jan. (20.) + Under the Silk-Cotton Tree. L. H. J. Jul. (10.) + +#Ward, Winifred.# + Skyscraper. Met. Aug. (26.) + *Sleeping Beauty. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:18.) + +#Wasson, David A.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) + Blind Goddess Nods. B. C. Dec., '19. (114.) + +#Water, Virginia Terhune Van De.# _See_ #Van De Water, Virginia Terhune.# + +#Waterhouse, Irma.# + *Aftermath. Cen. Mar. (99:584.) + *Closed Road. Cen. June. (100:165.) + +#Weed, Dole.# + *Flying Hours. T. T. Feb. (117.) + +#Weiman, Rita.# (1889- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) + Back Drop. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (8.) + Curtain! S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (8.) + +#Weitzenhorn, Louis.# (1893- .) + Adventure of His Daily Bread. Met. May. (30.) + Adventure of the Code. Met. Apr. (18.) + Adventure of the Diamond Watches. Met. Mar. (23.) + +#Welles, Harriett Ogden Deen.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***According to Ruskin. W. H. C. June. (21.) + **Chinese Interlude. Scr. Apr. (67:431.) + *Distracting Adeline. Scr. May. (67:558.) + **One Hundred Years Too Soon. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:663.) + *Thrush. Harp. B. May. (80.) + +#Wellman, Rita.# (#Mrs. Edgar F. Leo.#) (1890- .) (_See 1919._) + Clerk. S. S. Oct., '19. (117.) + **Little Priest of Percé. S. S. Aug. (107.) + *Spanish Knife. S. S. Jul, (39.) + *Two Lovers, Ain. Sept. (119.) + +#Welty, Ruth.# + Crises. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (12.) + +#Weston, George (T.).# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Diplomatic Corps. S. E. P. June 5. (8.) + Fool of the Family. S. E. P. May 1. (18.) + Girls Don't Gamble Any More. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (8.) + Hard-Boiled Mabel. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (5.) + +*#Wharton, Anthony.# (_See 1919._) + "Gingerbread for Two." Pict. R. June. (14.) + *Miss Ashton's House. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (16.) + +#Wharton, Francis Willing.# (_H._) + Byway of Darby. Ev. Mar. (74.) + +#Wheeler, Post.# (1869- .) + *Talking Skull. Rom. Sept. (77.) + +#Wheelwright, John Tyler.# (1856- .) + ***Roman Bath. Scr. Jan. (67:33.) + +#White, Nelia Gardner.# + Girl Next Door to Old Pinchpenny's. Am. Sept. (27.) + +#Whiting, Robert Rudd.# (1877- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Romance of a Practising Ph.D. Scr. Oct., '19. (66:487.) + +#Whitman, Stephen French.# (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Amazement, Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:654.) + **Last Room of All. Harp. M. June. (141:27.) + ***Lost Waltz. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (26.) + ***To a Venetian Tune. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:836.) + +#Whitson, Beth Slater.# (_See 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + **Birthmark. True St. Nov., '19. (33.) + +#Widdemer, Margaret.# (#Margaret Widdemer Schauffler.#) (_See 1915, +1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Changeling. Col. Jan. 10-17. (9:18.) + Secondary Wife. Del. Dec., '19. (13.) + +#Wilde, Percival.# (1887- .) + Sequel. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (11.) + +#Wiley, Hugh.# (1894- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Christmas Drifter. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (8.) + *Driftwood. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (12.) + Excess Baggage. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (10.) + *Hop. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (8.) + *Jade. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (6.) + **Junk. S. E. P. June 12. (12.) + *Konkrin' Hero. S. E. P. June 26. (8.) + *Mister Lady Luck. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (14.) + Prowling Prodigal. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (10.) + *Ramble Gamble. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (14.) + Red Rock. S. E. P. May 1. (10.) + *Solitaire. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (20.) + +#Williams, Ben Ames# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Another Man's Poison. Col Dec. 6, '19. (9.) + *Climax. Cos. Aug. (81.) + *Mine Enemy's Dog. Col. Jan. 10. (5.) + Most Disastrous Chances. Col Aug. 14. (5.) + Not a Drum Was Heard. Col. June 12. (5). + *Old Tantrybogus. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (8.) + ***Sheener. Col. Jul. 10. (5.) + +#Willie, Linda Buntyn.# (_See 1917._) + What Mother Had Always Wanted. Am. Apr. (66.) + +#Willrich, Erica.# + Fulfillment. Pag. Oct., '19. (49.) + +#Wilson, John Fleming.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Class. S. E. P. June 26. (22.) + Dough Candles. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (18.) + Ninety Days. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (20.) + Number 1100. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (12.) + Salving of John Somers. Ev. Aug. (34.) + ***Uncharted Reefs. McCall. Aug. (8.) + +#Wilson, Margaret Adelaide.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Cæsar's Ghost. Atl. Oct., '19. (124:483.) + ***Drums. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:702.) + +#Wingate, Robert.# + Rough-Shod Mr. Billings and Where His Ride Led Him. Am. Nov., '19. (38.) + +#Winslow, Thyra Samter.# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Aunt Ida. S. S. Dec., '19. (103.) + **City Folks. S. S. Oct., '19. (53.) + Corinna and Her Man. S. S. May. (53.) + **Mamie Carpenter. S. S. Aug. (77.) + *Perfume Counter. S. S. Jan. (87.) + +#Winthrop, Arthur.# + Mystic Rose. Lit. R. Jan. (21.) + +#Wisehart, Karl.# + **Hunger. Cen. Feb. (98:483.) + +#Witwer, Harry Charles.# (1890- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Ellen of Troy. Am. Jul. (68.) + Fool and His Money. Col. Jul. 31. (8.) + Freedom of the She's. Col. Jan. 3. (14.) + Girl at the Switchboard. Am. Feb. (44.) + League of Relations. Col. Apr. 3. (13.) + Leather Pushers. Round One. Col. May 15. (5.) + Leather Pushers. Round Two. Col. June 5. (9.) + Merchant of Venus. Col. Nov. 29, '19. (5.) + Nights of Columbus. Col. Mar. 20. (11.) + Paul and West Virginia. Am. June. (46.) + Payment Through the Nose. Col. Jul. 3. (8.) + So This Is Cincinnati! Col. Oct. 4, '19. (9.) + Taming of the Shrewd. Col. Aug. 28. (10.) + Word to the Wives. Col. Mar. 6. (8.) + +*#Wodehouse, Pelham Grenville.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Ordeal by Golf. Col. Dec. 6, '19- (5.) + +#Wolcott, Helen Louise.# + Reality. S. S. June. (65.) + +#Wolff, William Almon, Jr.# (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Cellar Door. Col. Nov. 15, '19. (5.) + Middle of the Ladder. Col. Jan. 3. (8.) + Ugly Ducklings. Sun. Jan. (45.) + Wash Your Own Dishes. Col. Jan. 24. (8.) + +#Woljeska, Helen.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Exquisite Episode. S. S. Feb. (68.) + +#Wood, C. Rowland.# + Jimmie Pulls a Miracle. Ev. June. (62.) + +#Wood, Frances Gilchrist.# (_See 1918._) + ***Spoiling of Pharaoh. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (18.) + ***Turkey Red. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (18.) + +#Wood, Jr., Leonard.# (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + Hills of To-Morrow. Scr. Mar. (67:316.) + +#Woollcott, Alexander.# + **Old Woman of Margivrault Farm. Cen. June. (100:259.) + +#Wormser, Gwendolyn Ranger.# (_See 1919._) + **Tumanoff. Sn. St. Oct. 18, '19. (33.) + +#Worts, George Frank.# (1892- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Bonuses and Bunkers. Col. Feb. 7. (19.) + Cat and the Burglar. Ev. Apr. (54.) + Fine Feathers and Overalls. Sun. Apr. (45.) + +#Wright, Richardson (Little).# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) + "Kitty! Kitty!" Del. Feb. (15.) + + +#Yates, L. B.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Hunches. S. E. P. May 22. (30.) + Reincarnation of Chan Hop. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (30.) + +#Yezierska, Anna.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) + ***Hunger. Harp. M. Apr. (140:604.) + **"Lost Beautifulness." Red Cross. Mar. (35.) + **Wings. McCall. Sept. (11.) + +#Young, Mrs. Sanborn.# _See_ #Mitchell, Ruth Comfort#, _and_ #Young, +William Sanborn.# + +*#Yushkevitch, Semyon.# + ***Pietà . Pag. Jan. (4.) + +*#Yver, Colette.# + Good Queen's Christmas Eve. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 21, '19. + + +*#Zartarjian, Roopen.# + **Then Man Was Immortal. Asia. Sept. (20:821.) + + + + + + +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 22091-8.txt or 22091-8.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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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: ASCII + +*** 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 + + + + + + + + + + + + + +THE +BEST SHORT STORIES +OF 1920 + +AND THE + +YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN +SHORT STORY + +EDITED BY +EDWARD J. O'BRIEN + +EDITOR OF "THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1915" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1916" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1917" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1918" +"THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1919" +"THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH STORIES," ETC. + +[Illustration] + +BOSTON +SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY +PUBLISHERS + + + + +Copyright, 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons, The Pictorial Review +Company, The Curtis Publishing Company, and Harper & Brothers. + +Copyright, 1920, by The Boston Transcript Company. + +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. + +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. + +Copyright, 1921, by Small, Maynard & Company, Inc. + + + + +TO + +SHERWOOD ANDERSON + + + + +BY WAY OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT + + +Grateful acknowledgment for permission to include the stories and other +material in this volume is made to the following authors, editors, and +publishers: + +To Miss Margaret C. Anderson, the Editor of _Harper's Magazine_, the +Editor of _The Dial_, the Editor of _The Metropolitan_, Mr. John T. +Frederick, the Editor of _Scribner's Magazine_, the Editor of _Collier's +Weekly_, the Editor of _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_, the Editor of _The +Pictorial Review_, the _Curtis Publishing Company_, 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. + +Acknowledgments are specially due to _The Boston Evening Transcript_ for +permission to reprint the large body of material previously published in +its pages. + +I shall be grateful to my readers for corrections, and particularly for +suggestions leading to the wider usefulness of this annual volume. In +particular, I shall welcome the receipt, from authors, editors, and +publishers, of stories printed during the period between October, 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 _Forest Hill, Oxfordshire, +England_. + +E. J. O. + + + + +CONTENTS[1] + + + PAGE +#Introduction.# By the Editor xiii + +#The Other Woman.# By Sherwood Anderson 3 +(From _The Little Review_) + +#Gargoyle.# By Edwina Stanton Babcock 12 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#Ghitza.# By Konrad Bercovici 36 +(From _The Dial_) + +#The Life of Five Points.# By Edna Clare Bryner 49 +(From _The Dial_) + +#The Signal Tower.# By Wadsworth Camp 66 +(From _The Metropolitan_) + +#The Parting Genius.# By Helen Coale Crew 83 +(From _The Midland_) + +#Habakkuk.# By Katharine Fullerton Gerould 90 +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +#The Judgment of Vulcan.# By Lee Foster Hartman 116 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#The Stick-in-the-Muds.# By Rupert Hughes 148 +(From _Collier's Weekly_) + +#His Job.# By Grace Sartwell Mason 169 +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +#The Rending.# By James Oppenheim 187 +(From _The Dial_) + +#The Dummy-Chucker.# By Arthur Somers Roche 198 +(From _The Cosmopolitan_) + +#Butterflies.# By Rose Sidney 214 +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + +#The Rotter.# By Fleta Campbell Springer 236 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#Out of Exile.# By Wilbur Daniel Steele 266 +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + +#The Three Telegrams.# By Ethel Storm 293 +(From _The Ladies' Home Journal_) + +#The Roman Bath.# By John T. Wheelwright 312 +(From _Scribner's Magazine_) + +#Amazement.# By Stephen French Whitman 320 +(From _Harper's Magazine_) + +#Sheener.# By Ben Ames Williams 348 +(From _Collier's Weekly_) + +#Turkey Red.# By Frances Gilchrist Wood 359 +(From _The Pictorial Review_) + +#The Yearbook of the American Short Story, +October, 1919, To September, 1920# 375 + +Addresses of American Magazines Publishing +Short Stories 377 + +The Bibliographical Roll of Honor of American +Short Stories 379 + +The Roll of Honor of Foreign Short Stories in +American Magazines 390 + +The Best Books of Short Stories of 1920: A +Critical Summary 392 + +Volumes of Short Stories Published, October, +1919, to September, 1920: A Index 414 + +Articles on the Short Stories: An Index 421 + +Index of Short Stories in Books, November, +1918, to September, 1920 434 + +Index of Short Stories Published in American +Magazines, October, 1919, to September, 1920 456 + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] The order in which the stories in this volume are printed is not +intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Atlantic +Monthly_, and what holds the interest of the reader of the _Ladies' Home +Journal_. + +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 _Saturday Evening +Post_ and the best stories in _Harper's Magazine_ 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. + +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 _Planet Magazine_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Collier's +Weekly_ as he is in _Scribner's Magazine_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +formulA|, 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. + +No substance is of importance in fiction, unless it is organic +substance, that is to say, substance in which the pulse of life is +beating. Inorganic fiction has been our curse in the past, and bids fair +to remain so, unless we exercise much greater artistic discrimination +than we display at present. + +The present record covers the period from October, 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. + +But a second test is necessary if the story is to take rank above other +stories. The true artist will seek to shape this living substance into +the most beautiful and satisfying form, by skilful selection and +arrangement of his materials, and by the most direct and appealing +presentation of it in portrayal and characterization. + +The short stories which I have examined in this study, as in previous +years, have fallen naturally into four groups. The first 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. + +The third group, which is composed of stories of still greater +distinction, includes such narratives as may lay convincing claim to a +second reading, because each of them has survived both tests, the test +of substance and the test of form. Stories included in this group are +indicated in the yearbook index by two asterisks prefixed to the title. + +Finally, I have recorded the names of a small group of stories which +possess, I believe, 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. + +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. + +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. + +#Edward J. O'Brien.# + +#Forest Hill, Oxon, England,# +November 8, 1920. + + + + +THE BEST SHORT STORIES OF 1920 + + +#Note.#--The order in which the stories in this volume are printed is not +intended as an indication of their comparative excellence; the +arrangement is alphabetical by authors. + + + + +THE OTHER WOMAN[2] + +BY SHERWOOD ANDERSON + +From _The Little Review_ + + +"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. + +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. + +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 fiancA(C)e, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"It was on that morning, just the day before my marriage, that I got a +long and very beautiful letter from my fiancA(C)e. 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? + +"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.' + +"Now you see clearly enough into what a mess I had got. In my office, +after I read my fiancA(C)e'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 fiancA(C)e. '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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 fiancA(C)e 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. + +"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 fiancA(C)e'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.' + +"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 +fiancA(C)e 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 fiancA(C)e +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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[2] Copyright, 1920, by Margaret C. Anderson. Copyright, 1921, by +Sherwood Anderson. + + + + +GARGOYLE[3] + +By EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +Gargoyle stole up the piazza steps. His arms were full of field flowers. +He stood there staring over his burden. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I should think an uncanny little person like that would get on Mrs. +Strang's nerves; he gives me the creeps!" + +"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?" + +The mistress of Heartholm, looking over at the two, shook a deprecating +head. But Strang seemed to derive amusement from the guest's +disapproval. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"Let the child run about," the village doctors had advised. "Let him run +about in the sun and make himself useful." + +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. + +Strang with his amused laugh fended off all protest and neighborly +advice. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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_ only saw and smelled the +flowers; Gargoyle looked as if he _felt_ 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.'" + +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." + +"By the way," he said once, "that reminds me, have you ever seen our +young Solomon of the flower-harem smile?" + +"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." + +The banker kept his eyes on the treetops; he had his finger-tips nicely +balanced before he remarked, with seeming irrelevance: + +"You know that nest in the tree we call the Siegfried tree?" + +She nodded. + +"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 _comprehend_ it fully and delightedly. He laughed." Strang +stopped, looking intently at his wife. + +"I can imagine that laugh," she mused. + +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_ could imagine that Gargoyle--well--that he _saw_ 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." + +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.'" + +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. + +Just before the funeral Strang's sister came to Doctor Milton. + +"Evelyn!" in whispered response to his concerned look. "Oh, doctor, I +cannot think that this calmness is _right_ 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 _saw_ something----!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Milton stood there, hesitating; he looked abstractedly at the apathetic +little figure of Gargoyle sitting in the chair. + +"We talk of inherent human nature," said the doctor, slowly, "as if we +had all knowledge concerning the _possibilities_ 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." + +The Swiss doctor nodded, magnetic eyes and mouth smiling. + +"Meanwhile"--in his slow, careful speech--"meanwhile we do what we can +to preserve the type which from long experience we know _wears_ best." + +Milton nodded. He moved to go, one hand on Gargoyle's unresponsive +shoulder, when the office door swung open. + +"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." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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: + + Your young John Strang Berber, alias Gargoyle, can talk now, with + only one drawback: as yet he doesn't know any words! + +The rapidly aging mother at the gardener's cottage took worldly pride in +what was happening to her youngest. + +"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!" + +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." + +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." + +He himself seemed never to hear this whisper. What things--superimposed +on the new teeming world of material actualities--he _did_ 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. + +Doctor Milton, dropping into the smoking-room of a popular confrA"re, got +a whiff of the prevailing gossip about his protA(C)gA(C). + +"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.'" + +"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?" + +Some one remarked that in the case of Berber, born of a simple country +woman and her uneducated husband, this was impossible. + +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?" + +Milton, smiling at it all, withdrew. He sat down and wrote a +long-deferred letter to Mrs. Strang. + + I have asked John Berber if he would care to revisit his old home. + It seemed never to have occurred to him that he _had_ 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 _normal diversion-environments_ and _friendships_. 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! + +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." + +"That is hardly suitable work for a distinguished horticulturist," the +mistress of Heartholm smiled at the wilting piles of pusley and sorrel. + +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." + +"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. + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +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: + +"_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?_" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"I suppose," thoughtfully, "that that is the man to whom I should feel +more grateful than to any other human being." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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 _see_!" + +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 _now_." + +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! + +Berber lifted on high a mass of thickly welded bulbs clinging to a +single dahlia stalk. He met her gaze triumphantly. + +"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. + +"Go on, John Berber. What you have to say is always interesting." + +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. + +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? + +Suddenly, nervousness impelling her, she broke in upon his revery: + +"How wonderful, with such dreams as you must have had, to be educated! +How very grateful you must be to Doctor Mach." + +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! + +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: + +"You see, I wish they had not educated me!" + +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: + +"No--I wish they had not taught me. I have not really gained _knowledge_ +by being taught." + +Mrs. Strang was genuinely puzzled. Yet she understood; it was merely +_theories about life_ 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 _newly made_ 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? + +Trying to keep her voice steady, she reproached him: + +"No? With all that being educated means, all the gift for humanity?" + +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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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 +_unrestraint_, if you choose to call it that," he summed up, "and was of +no use in the world. Now I have the curse of _mental restraint_ 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. + +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: + +"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 _what_ 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----" + +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 protA(C)gA(C) was staring gravely at her, as if she had proposed some +guilty and shameful thing. + +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. + +"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 _now_--I can't answer!" The boy +gave her his slow, serious smile, reminding her. + +"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: + +"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 _how_ glad!" + +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 _backward_." + +She moved impatiently; the youth, seeing the question in her face, +answered the demand of its trembling eagerness, explaining: + +"Do you not see--I have--sometimes _known_, not 'guessed' nor +'believed,' but _known_ 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----" + +"Yes?--Yes?" breathed the eager woman. "Tell me--tell me----" + +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: + +"Do you not think that I am doing wrong to speak of these things?" +Berber asked, with dignity. + +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 "_backward educated_" 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! + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"It is _not_ 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 _cannot_ be all, not for me! The world must never be told--it could +not understand; but _I_ must know, I _must_ know." She took desperate +steps back and forth. + +"John Berber, if there is anything in your memory, your knowledge; even +if it is only that you have _imagined_ 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 _me_. I authorize it, I command it." + +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. + +"I--of all the world," her whisper insisted. "If you might never speak +again--I should understand." + +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. + +"You--you dare?" the youth breathed, thickly. + +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. + +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: + +"I cannot--It--it will not come--It is as I told you--I have been taught +no _words_--I _cannot_ say _what I know_." + +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. + +She stood there helpless, dumfounded at his agony. + +"You--you cannot speak?" she faltered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[3] Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Edwina +Stanton Babcock. + + + + +GHITZA[4] + +#By# KONRAD BERCOVICI + +From _The Dial_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +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." + +"It is not a Bible, it is a book of stories, Murdo." + +"Stories! Well, that's another thing." + +He looked over my shoulders into the book. As I turned the page he +asked: + +"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." + +I explained as best I could and he marvelled. I had to give an example, +so I read a full page from a storybook. + +"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?" + +"Of neither, Murdo. Only about all the great heroes that have lived in +this world of cowards." + +"About every one of them?" he asked again. "That's good. It is good to +tell the stories of the heroes." + +He returned to the fireplace to light his pipe; then he came to me +again. + +"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?" + +I turned the pages one by one to the end of the book and then reported, +"Nothing, Murdo. Not even his name is mentioned." + +"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...." + +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.... + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Death could not have stopped the dance more suddenly. The musicians +stopped playing. The feet stopped dancing. The arms freed themselves and +hung limply. + +The smith's helper faced Ghitza with his arm uplifted. + +"You cursed tzigan! You low-born gypsy! How dare you break into our +dance? Our dance!" Other voices said the same. + +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: + +"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." + +And as he finished speaking he grasped the smith's helper around the +waist and called to the musicians: + +"Play, play." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Whoa, whoa, you old swindler! Wake up! Day is come and I am thirsty." + +After a long drink, he went to his tent to play with the dogs, as he did +early every morning. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Lupu, old chief, didst thou not once say that I was an oak? Why dost +thou speak of candles now?" + +And he carried on as before. And ever so good, and ever so merry, and +ever such a good trader. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I bet three of my horses that my man can down him," the Tartar chief +called. + +"I take the bet against a hundred ducats in gold," the innkeeper +answered. + +"It's a bet," the Tartar said. + +"Any more horses to bet?" others called out. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"If your man is thrown, this very night you leave our shore, for the +other side." + +Ghitza kissed Maria and Lupu, the chief. Then the fight began. + +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: + +"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. + +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. + +"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: + +"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." + +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! + +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. + + * * * * * + +"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?" + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[4] Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. Copyright, +1921, by Konrad Bercovici. + + + + +THE LIFE OF FIVE POINTS[5] + +#By# EDNA CLARE BRYNER + +From _The Dial_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Argus_ issued weekly its two pages from the dingy +office behind the drug store. Graham's Livery did a big business down +near the station. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 keeping 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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.... + +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...." + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"Too big, too big," cried the lumber folk, gesturing back over their +shoulders. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +"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 ..." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[5] Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. Copyright, +1921, by Edna Clare Bryner. + + + + +THE SIGNAL TOWER[6] + +#By# WADSWORTH CAMP + +From _The Metropolitan_ + + +"I get afraid when you leave me alone this way at night." + +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. + +"What are you afraid of?" Tolliver scoffed. + +The stagnant loneliness, the perpetual drudgery, had not yet conquered +his wife's beauty, dark and desirable. She motioned towards the boy. + +"He's afraid, too, when the sun goes down." + +For a time Tolliver listened to the wind, which assaulted the frame +house with the furious voices of witches demanding admittance. + +"It's that----" he commenced. + +She cut him short, almost angrily. + +"It isn't that with me," she whispered. + +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. + +"Don't go! I'm afraid!" + +The child was quiet now, staring at them with round, reflective eyes. + +"Joe," Tolliver said gently, "will be sore if I don't relieve him on +time." + +She pressed her head against his coat and clung tighter. He closed his +eyes. + +"You're afraid of Joe," he said wearily. + +Without looking up, she nodded. Her voice was muffled. + +"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." + +"Why didn't you tell me before?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +He put on his great coat. He pulled his cap over his ears. The child +spoke in a high, apprehensive voice. + +"Don't go away, papa." + +He stared at the child, considering. + +"Put his things on, Sally," he directed at last. + +"What for?" + +"I'll send him back from the tower with something that will make you +feel easier." + +Her eyes brightened. + +"Isn't that against the rules?" + +"Guess I can afford to break one for a change," he said. "I'm not likely +to need it myself to-night. Come, Sonny." + +The child shrank in the corner, his pudgy hands raised defensively. + +"It's only a little ways, and Sonny can run home fast," his mother +coaxed. + +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. + +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. + +"Here at last, eh?" + +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. + +Joe was as large as Tolliver, and younger. From that commanding +position, he appeared gigantic. + +"Cutting it pretty fine," he grumbled. + +Tolliver came on up, set the child down, and took off his overcoat. + +"Fact is," he drawled, "I got held back a minute--sort of unexpected." + +His eyes fixed the impatient man. + +"What you planning to do, Joe, between now and relieving me at +midnight?" + +Joe shifted his feet. + +"Don't know," he said uncomfortably. "What you bring the kid for? Want +me to drop him at the house?" + +Tolliver shook his head. He placed his hands on his hips. + +"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." + +Joe's face flushed angrily. + +"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." + +Tolliver shook his head. + +"Not to our house, if we don't want you." + +The other leered. + +"You so darned sure Sally don't want me?" + +Impulsively Tolliver stepped forward, closing his fists. + +"You drop that sort of talk, or----" + +Joe interrupted, laughing. + +"One thing's sure, Tolliver. If it came to a fight between me and you +I'd be almost ashamed to hit you." + +Through his passion Tolliver recognized the justice of that appraisal. +Physically he was no match for the younger man. + +"Things," he said softly, "are getting so we can't work here together." + +"Then," Joe flung back, as he went down the stairs, "you'd better be +looking for another job." + +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. + +"What's this special, Joe?" + +The other's feet stumped on the stairs again. + +"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." + +Tolliver with an increasing anxiety continued to examine the yellow +slips. + +"And thirty-three's late, and still losing." + +Joe nodded. + +"Makes it sort of uncertain." + +"Seems to me," Tolliver said, "you might have mentioned it." + +"Maybe," Joe sneered, "you'd like me to stay and do your job." + +He went down the stairs and slammed the lower door. + +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. + +"Hands off, Sonny!" Tolliver said kindly. "You must run back to mother +now." + +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. + +"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." + +The child nodded. Tolliver placed the revolver in the side pocket of the +little overcoat, and, the boy following him, went down stairs. + +"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." + +The child glanced back at the festive lights with an anguished +hesitation. Tolliver had to thrust him away from the tower. + +"A nickel in the morning----" he bribed. + +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. + +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. + +Tolliver's restlessness grew. He hoped the meeting would take place +after Joe had relieved him, or else to the north or south. + +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. + +Joe must have been drunk when he tried to get in the house last night. +Had he been drinking to-night? + +The sounder jarred rapidly. + +"LR. LR. LR." + +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. + +Pound. Pound. Pound. The hard striking of the metal had the effect of a +trip-hammer on his brain. + +"Allen reports special left Oldtown at 9.45." + +Joe had certainly been drinking that night last week when he had got +fresh with Sally. + +"Thirty-three still losing south of Anderson." + +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. + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +His own call. Tolliver shrank from the sharp blows. He forced himself to +a minute attention. It was division headquarters. + +"Holding twenty-one here until thirty-three and the special have +cleared." + +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. + +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. + +"LR. LR. LR." + +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. + +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. + +Tolliver shrank from the assaults of the sounder. + +Where was Joe now? At the inn, drinking; or---- + +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. + +While the hands crawled towards midnight the wind increased, shrieking +around the tower as if the pounding angered it. + +Above the shaking of the windows Tolliver caught another sound, gentle +and disturbing, as if countless fingers tapped softly, simultaneously +against the panes. + +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. + +Tolliver clenched his hands. If Joe didn't come! + +He shrank from the force of his imagination. + +He was glad Sally had the revolver. + +He glanced at his watch, half believing that the clock had stopped. + +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. + +Where was Joe? And Sally and the boy alone at the house! + +Quarter past twelve. + +What vast interest could have made Joe forget his relief at the probable +loss of his job? + +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! + +The sounder jarred furiously. Tolliver half raised his hand, as if to +destroy it. + +It was the division superintendent himself at the key. + +"NT. NT. NT. Is it storming bad with you?" + +"Pretty thick." + +"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." + +Tolliver's mouth opened, but no sound came. His face assumed the +expression of one who undergoes the application of some destructive +barbarity. + +"I get afraid when you leave me alone this way at night." + +He visualized his wife, beautiful, dark, and desirable, urging him not +to go to the tower. + +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. + +Tolliver's first elation died in new uncertainty. + +"Where you been?" he demanded fiercely. + +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. + +"Don't you wish you knew?" + +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. + +"You tell me where you been----" + +"NT. NT. NT." + +Joe leered. + +"Joe! You got to tell me where you been." + +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. + +"Switch whichever arrives first, and hold until the other is through." + +It was difficult to understand clearly, because Joe's laughter +persisted, crashing against Tolliver's brain as brutally as the sounder. + +"You got to tell me if you been bothering Sally." + +The hatred and the cunning of the mottled face grew. + +"Why don't you ask Sally?" + +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. + +"Get up," he directed. "I guess you got sense enough to know you're on +duty." + +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. + +"Special!" Joe mumbled. "And--Hell! Ain't thirty-three through yet?" + +He swayed, snatching at the edge of the table. + +Tolliver lowered his hands. The division superintendent had pounded out +something about fuses. What had it been exactly? "Keep fuses burning." + +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. + +"Ain't you listening?" Tolliver blurted out. + +"Huh?" + +"Why don't you light a fuse?" + +It was quite obvious that Joe had heard nothing. + +"Fuse!" Joe repeated. + +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. + +"What about fuse?" he murmured. + +His eyes closed. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +While Tolliver stared Joe abandoned his masquerade. Wide-eyed, he got +lightly to his feet and started for the trap. + +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. + +"Where you going?" he asked hoarsely. + +Joe laughed happily. + +"To keep Sally company while you look after the special and +thirty-three." + +Tolliver advanced cautiously, watching for a chance. When he spoke his +voice had the appealing quality of a child's. + +"It's my time off. If I do your work you got to stay at least." + +Joe laughed again. + +"No. It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed." + +Tolliver sprang then, but Joe avoided the heavier, clumsier man. He +grasped a chair, swinging it over his head. + +"I'll teach you," he grunted, "to kick me out like dirt. I'll teach you +and Sally." + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +He struggled to his knees, his hands at his head. + +"No, by God! I won't listen to you." + +"Thirty-three cleared LR at 12:47." + +One tower north! Thirty-three was coming down on him, but he was only +glad that the pounding had ceased. It commenced again. + +"NT. NT. NT. Special cleared JV at 12:48." + +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? + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +There was something in his brain about stopping a train in time. + +"It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed." + +Somebody had told him that. What did it mean? What had altered here in +the tower all at once? + +There was no longer any red. + +"NT. NT. NT." + +"I won't answer." + +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. + +"NT. NT. NT. Why don't you answer? What's wrong. No O. K. Are you +burning fuses? Wake up. Send an O. K." + +The sounder crashed frantically. It conquered him. + +He lurched to the table, touched the key, and stuttered out: + +"O. K. NT." + +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.! + +He lighted another fuse, flung it from the window, and started with +automatic movements for the trap. + +Let them crash. Let them splinter, and burn, and die. What was the lot +of them compared with Sally and Sonny? + +The red glare from the fuse sprang into the room. Tolliver paused, +bathed in blood. + +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. + +A bitter cold sprang up the trap. He heard the sobbing of a child. + +"Sonny!" + +It was becoming clear enough now. + +The child crawled up the steps on his hands and knees. Tolliver took him +in his arms, straining at him passionately. + +"What is it, Sonny? Where's mama?" + +"Papa, come quick. Come quick." + +He kept gasping it out until Tolliver stopped him. + +"Joe! Did Joe come?" + +The child nodded. He caught his breath. + +"Joe broke down the door," he said. + +"But mama had the gun," Tolliver said hoarsely. + +The boy shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +"Come quick! Come quick! Come quick!" + +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? + +He jotted down thirty-three's orders. + +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. + +"Papa! Won't you come quick to mama?" + +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. + +"It's too late now, Sonny," he said to the importunate child. + +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. + +Someone ran swiftly up the stairs. It was the engineer of thirty-three, +surprised and impatient. + +"Where are my orders, Tolliver? I don't want to lie over here all +night." + +He paused. His tone became curious. + +"What ails you, Tolliver?" + +Tolliver handed him the orders, trembling. + +"I guess maybe my wife at the house is dead, or--You'll go see." + +The engineer shook his head. + +"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." + +Tolliver's trembling grew. He mumbled incoherently: + +"But I didn't murder all those people----" + +"Report to division headquarters," the engineer advised. "They'll send +you help to-morrow." + +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. + +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. + +"Don't touch me," she whispered. "What am I going to do?" + +"Joe?" + +"Why do you tremble so?" she asked in her colorless voice, without +resonance. "Why didn't you come?" + +"Joe?" he repeated hysterically. + +She drew away from him. + +"You won't want to touch me again." + +He pointed to the repellant bruises. She shook her head. + +"He didn't hurt me much," she whispered, "because I--I killed him." + +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. + +She covered her face and shrank against the wall. + +"I've killed a man----" + +Through her fingers she looked at her husband fearfully. After a time +she whispered: + +"Why don't you say something?" + +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. + +In a corner he arranged his overcoat as a sort of a bed for the boy. + +"Won't you speak to me?" she sobbed. "I didn't mean to, but I had to. +You got to understand. I had to." + +He went to the table and commenced to tap vigorously on the key. She ran +across and grasped at his arm. + +"What you telling them?" she demanded wildly. + +"Why, Sally!" he said. "What's the matter with you?--To send another man +now Joe is gone." + +Truths emerged from his measureless relief, lending themselves to words. +He trembled again for a moment. + +"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." + +He sat down, caught her in his arms, drew her to his knee, and held her +close. + +"You ain't going to scold?" she asked wonderingly. + +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. + +So, while the boy slept, they waited together for someone to take Joe's +place. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[6] Copyright, 1920, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company. Copyright, +1921, by Charles Wadsworth Camp. + + + + +THE PARTING GENIUS[7] + +#By# HELEN COALE CREW + +From _The Midland_ + + +"_The parting genius is with sighing sent._" + +#Milton's# _Hymn on the Nativity._ + +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. + +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. + +"I hate it!" he muttered vehemently. + +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. + +"Hate?" questioned a golden, care-free voice at his side. "Thou'rt +overyoung to hate. What is it thou dost hate?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Hate is evil," he said. + +"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--" + +"Hate is the thing that comes up in my throat and chokes me when I think +of tyranny," interrupted the boy, his eyes darkening. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I have lived nearly twelve years." + +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. _Aie! Aie!_ There is but the moaning of doves when the +glad hymns sounded, and cold ashes and dead drifted leaves on the once +warm altars!" + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Repentance," said the boy. + +"I pity thee. Repentance is bitter of taste." + +"No," said the boy. "It is warm and sweet. It moves my heart and my +understanding." + +"What has become of thy hatred?" + +"I shall never hate again." + +"What wilt thou do, then?" + +"I shall love," said the boy. "_Love_," he repeated softly. "_How came I +never to think of that before?_" + +"Wilt thou love tyranny and forbear to kill the tyrant?" + +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." + +"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. + +"What is thy name?" asked the boy. + +"They called me once the Great God Pan. And thou?" + +"My father is Joseph the carpenter. My mother calls me Jesus." + +"_Ah_ ..." said Pan, "... _is it Thou?_" + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[7] Copyright, 1920, by John T. Frederick. Copyright, 1921, by Helen +Coale Crew. + + + + +HABAKKUK[8] + +#By# KATHARINE FULLERTON GEROULD + +From _Scribner's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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 A|sthetic 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 KaA-rouan 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. + +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 _and_ 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 _parti pris_, 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. + +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. + +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, _plus_ the shock of his death, _plus_ 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. + +Then they carried Kathleen Somers to the hills. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"What is it like?" + +"It's dreadful." + +"How dreadful?" + +Mildred's large blue eyes popped at me with sincere sorrow. + +"Well, there's no plumbing, and no furnace." + +"Is it in a village?" + +"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." + +"Is it a beautiful view?" + +"My dear man, don't ask me what a beautiful view is. My education was +neglected." + +"Does Kathleen Somers think it beautiful?" + +"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." + +"Who is the other woman?" + +"An heirloom. Melora Meigs. _Miss_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My good man, you had better go away. I can't put you up." + +That was her greeting. Melora Meigs was snuffling in the hallway +outside--listening, I suppose. + +"Oh, yes, you can. If you can't I'm sure Joel Blake will. I've come to +stay a while, Miss Somers." + +"Can you eat porridge and salt pork for supper?" + +"I can eat tenpenny nails, if necessary. Also I can sleep in the barn." + +"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?" + +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. + +"There's nothing to sleep on. Barn's empty." + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"Why do you play with that silly thing?" + +"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." + +"Why did you keep it out of all the things you had?" + +"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?" + +"Much better not, I should think. You needed surgeons." + +"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." + +"It's not hideous. It's even very beautiful--so wild and untouched; such +lovely contours to the mountains." + +"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?" + +"The beauty of it last night and this morning has knocked me over," I +replied hardily. + +"Oh, really! How very interesting!" By which she meant that she was not +interested at all. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Are you incapable of caring for nature--just scenery?" + +"Quite." She closed her eyes, and stopped her gentle, even stroking of +the idol. + +"Of course you never did see America first," I laughed. + +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." + +"You don't care for just beauty, regardless," I mused. + +"Not a bit. Not unless it has meant something to man. I'm a humanist, +I'm afraid." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You've not precisely the spirit of the pioneer, I can see." + +"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. + +"Why don't you get out?" + +"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." + +"You could, I suppose, be a companion." Of course I did not mean it, but +she took it up very seriously. + +"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." + +Well, of course it wouldn't do. I had never thought it would. I tried +another opening. + +"When is Withrow coming back?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"I shall certainly not let him come," she retorted. "He would have the +grace to ask first, you know." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _live_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"You go, then," he said finally. "I'll take care of her." + +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. + +Then they came back to the imminent question. + +"I'll tell her when I do up her room," she faltered. + +"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. + +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?" + +"I can't." + +"My good woman, you'd better leave this afternoon." + +"Not"--the tone itself was firm, through the shaky sobs--"until there is +some one to take my place." + +"I'll telegraph for some one. You shan't see her again. But I will see +her at once." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I promise. Only you must come. I give you half an hour." + +"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. + +"I believe you," muttered Withrow under his breath. + +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: + +"She has come downstairs in a wrapper. She hasn't been down for weeks. +And she has found your hepaticas." + +"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. + +"She's all right, I think. She seemed to like them." + +"Oh, Lord!" Withrow's brain was spinning. "Here, I'll go. If she can +stand those beastly flowers, she can stand me." + +"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." + +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. + +He saw Kathleen Somers raise her arm slowly--with difficulty, it seemed. +She pointed at the noble shoulder of a mountain. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Later he caught at Miss Willis excitedly. "Is she better? Is she worse? +Is she well? Or is she going to die?" + +"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." + +"I'm going to stay. It's you who are going." + +"You needn't telegraph just yet," the nurse replied dryly. She looked +another woman from the nervous, sobbing creature on the chopping-block. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He found her there, he told me afterward, sitting on the step, the door +unlocked behind her but shut. + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[8] Copyright, 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1921, by +Katharine Fullerton Gerould. + + + + +THE JUDGMENT OF VULCAN[9] + +#By# LEE FOSTER HARTMAN + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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 _Sylph_, to seek out Leavitt and make some inquiries--very +important inquiries, it seemed, in Miss Stanleigh's behalf. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 _Sylph_ +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. + +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. + +"Well, at last we have got all the facts," Major Stanleigh sighed with +satisfaction when the _Sylph_ 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. + +"The evidence is conclusive, don't you think?--the grave, Farquharson's +personal effects, those pages of the poor devil's diary." + +I nodded assent. In my capacity as owner of the _Sylph_ 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. + +"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." + +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 +biography 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Is he so old?" she caught me up quickly. + +"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." + +"Why does he stay there?" + +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----" + +"Isn't it dangerous?" + +"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." + +"Is it, then, just scientific curiosity?" mused Miss Stanleigh. + +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. + +"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----" + +"Does he talk about himself?" + +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. + +"Did you get the impression that the two men had very much in common?" + +"Quite the contrary," I answered. "But Major Stanleigh should know----" + +"My uncle never met Mr. Farquharson." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. Barnaby," she finally broke the silence, and paused. "I have +decided to tell you something. This Mr. Farquharson was my husband." + +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. + +"I was young--and very foolish, I suppose." + +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. + +"I did not see him for four years--did not wish to.... And he vanished +completely.... Four years!--just a welcome blank!" + +Her shoulders lifted and a little shiver went over her. + +"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." + +My murmur of polite dissent led her to repeat her words. + +"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." + +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. + +"It must be a great relief to you," I murmured at length, "to have it +all definitely settled at last." + +"If I could only feel that it was!" + +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. + +"I want you to take me to that island--to-morrow." + +"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----" + +"And having died there?" + +"Surely Leavitt wouldn't have fabricated that! If you had talked with +him----" + +"I should not care to talk with Mr. Leavitt," Miss Stanleigh cut me +short. "I want only to go and see--if he _is_ Mr. Leavitt." + +"If he _is_ Mr. Leavitt!" For a moment I was mystified, and then in a +sudden flash I understood. "But that's preposterous--impossible!" + +I tried to conceive of Leavitt in so monstrous a rA'le, 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +I assured Miss Stanleigh that the _Sylph_ was at her service. + + * * * * * + +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 _Sylph_ 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 _Sylph_, 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. + +"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. + +"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 +_would_ 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?" + +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. + +We reached Muloa just before nightfall, letting go the anchor in placid +water under the lee of the shore while the _Sylph_ 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. + +There was no sign of Leavitt, although the _Sylph_ 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. + +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: + +"Is it far inland--the place? Will it be difficult to find in the dark?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"This is he," she said, taking up one of the faded prints. + +"Yes--Leavitt," I answered. + +"_Leavitt_?" 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. + +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. + +"Where is he? I must speak to him," said Miss Stanleigh. + +"One might think he were deliberately hiding," I muttered, for I was at +a loss to account for Leavitt's absence. + +"Then find him," the girl commanded. + +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. + +"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. + +The girl listened a moment, and then started up. "I hear +voices--somewhere." + +"Voices?" I strained my ears for sounds other than the insistent ferment +of the great cone above our heads. "Perhaps Leavitt----" + +"Why do you still call him Leavitt?" + +"Then you're quite certain----" I began, but an involuntary exclamation +from her cut me short. + +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. + +"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." + +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 +_tuan_, 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 _tuan_--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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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 +_Sylph_, since the next sailing of the mail-boat would have necessitated +a further fortnight's delay. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +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. + +"I'm trusting you not to take Eleanor near that dreadful island, Mr. +Barnaby," was the admonition shouted across the widening gap of water. + +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. + +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. + +"Just as you like, Captain," Joyce replied, indifferently. + +"We may get a shower of ashes by doing so, if the wind should shift." I +looked across the table at Mrs. Joyce. + +"But we shall reach Malduna that much sooner?" she queried. + +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. + +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." + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"It has turned out most happily," I murmured. + +"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." + +"But surely the courts----" + +She shook her head with decision. "My church does not recognize that +sort of freedom." + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + + +It was after midnight. The _Sylph_ 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. + +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. + +"What do you make of this?" he exclaimed, as I called for the lead. + +"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 _Sylph_ should have turned the +point of the island without a mishap, as she had done scores of times. + +"It's the volcano we have to thank for this," was my conjecture. "Its +recent activity has caused some displacement of the sea bottom." + +Jackson's head went back in sudden comprehension. "It's a miracle you +didn't plow into it under full sail." + +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." + +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. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Farquharson!" I breathed aloud, utterly dumfounded. + +"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." + +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. + +"It was not your intention to stop at Muloa," he observed, dryly, for +the plight of the schooner was obvious. + +"We'll float clear with the tide," I muttered. + +"But in the meantime"--there was something almost menacing in his +deliberate pause--"I have the pleasure of this little call upon you." + +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. + +"Whatever possessed you to swim out here in the middle of the night?" I +demanded, in a harsh whisper. + +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. + +"Of late, Captain Barnaby, we seem to have taken to visiting each other +rather frequently, don't you think?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +I nodded assent in a dumb, helpless way. + +"And I have a notion that even you, Captain Barnaby, will never dispute +that fact." + +He threw back his head suddenly--for all the world like the dancing +faun--and laughed silently at the stars. + +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. + +"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." + +"As a matter of fact I am, and I was wondering if you would not offer me +something to drink." + +"You shall have a bottle to take along," I promised, with alacrity, but +he demurred. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I must ask you to keep quiet," I said, stiffly. + +"As a tomb," he agreed, and his eyes twinkled disagreeably in the +darkness. "You forget that I am supposed to be in one." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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!" + +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----" + +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----" + +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. + +"I'm a plain man of the sea," I rejoined, bluntly. "I take life as it +comes." + +He smiled derisively, drained his glass, and held it out again. "But you +have your secrets, rather clumsily guarded, to be sure----" + +"What secrets?" I cried out, goaded almost beyond endurance. + +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?" + +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. + +"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. _Place aux dames_, 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?" + +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. + +"Come, Captain," he urged, "you, too, have shared in smoothing the path +for these lovers. Shall we not drink to their happy union?" + +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. + +"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. + +He gave me a quick, evil look. "Besides, the noise might disturb your +passengers." + +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. + +"What makes you think I have passengers?" I parried, weakly. + +With intent or not, he was again fingering the fringe of the scarf that +hung over the arm of the chair. + +"It is not your usual practice, but you have been carrying them lately." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +"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: + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +I leaned over the oars, panting from my exertions, indifferent to his +rhapsody. + +"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. + +He leaped over the gunwale and strode up the beach. Again he struck his +priestlike attitude and invoked me to follow. + +"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. + +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 _Sylph_, 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. + +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 _Sylph_ 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. + +"You have been awake long?" I ventured to ask. + +"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. + +"Mrs. Joyce!" I remonstrated, sharply. + +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: + +"What other way out is there?" + +"Never that," I said, shortly. I urged her forward again. "Is your +husband asleep?" + +"Thank God, yes!" + +"Then you have been awake----" + +"For over an hour," she confessed, and I detected the shudder that went +over her body. + +"The man is mad----" + +"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 _can_ you take me? Don't you see that +there is no escape--from this?" + +The _Sylph_ rose and sank to the first long roll of the open sea. + +"When we reach Malduna----" I began, but the words were only torture. + +"I cannot--cannot go on. Take me back!--to that island. Let me live +abandoned--or rather die----" + +"Mrs. Joyce, I beg of you...." + +The schooner rose and dipped again. + +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. + +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. + +"Good God! It's carried away the whole island!" I heard the mate's voice +bellowing above the cries of the men. The _Sylph_ scudded before the +approaching storm of fire redescending from the sky.... + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[9] Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Lee +Foster Hartman. + + + + +THE STICK-IN-THE-MUDS[10] + +#By# RUPERT HUGHES + +From _Collier's Weekly_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 A†olian harp shuddering with ecstasy in a +wind too gentle to make it audible. + +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. + +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. + +He had redeemed himself for his pretended brag by a meek admission: + +"But I'm afraid my boy will never write another 'Hamlet.'" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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---- + +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. + +And yet it had no Shakespeare. + +And yet again it might have had if---- + +The twilight was so deep now that he shipped his oars in the gloom and +gave himself back to the past. + +He was in another twilight, only it was the counter twilight between +star quench and sun blaze. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Joel remembered saying: "I wonder if they're turnin' off the stars up +there to save gas too." + +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." + +(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.) + +As the boys paused, the air quivered with a hoarse _moo_! 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +To his amazement, Luke, who had always been more sensitive than he, +shook his head and turned away. + +"Gosh, what do you want for ten cents?" Joel demanded, feeling called +upon to defend the worthiness of the dawn. + +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. + +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. + +"I was up here at midnight last night, and I don't like this place any +more." + +"You didn't come all by yourself? Gee!" + +"No, Momma was here too." + +"What she bring you out here at a time like that for?" + +"She didn't know I was here." + +"Didn't know--What she doin' out here, then?" + +"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." + +"Gee!" + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!' + +"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." + +Luke wept helplessly at the memory of his poltroonery, and Joel tried +roughly to comfort him with questions. + +"Gee! I don't blame you. I don't guess I could have either. But what was +it all about, d'you s'pose?" + +"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. + +"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." + +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----" + +"Aw, say!" was Joel's protest. His knighthood as a sworn chum was put in +question and he was cruelly hurt. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Joel's father was an editor; Luke's kept a hardware store. + +So Joel wanted to go into trade and Luke wanted to be a writer. + +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: + +"Gee, you durned fool, watcha want gointa business for?" + +"Durned fool your own self! Watcha wanta be a writer for?" + +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. + +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. + +Joel Wixon read for excitement; Luke Mellows for information as to the +machinery of authorship. + +Young as they were, they went to the theatre--to the op'ra house, which +never housed opera. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +After the early and unceasing misunderstandings as to motives and +standards of honor and dignity came the civil war over education. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As for any further learning, he thought it a waste of time, a kind of +wantonness. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was Sunday afternoon before Luke came round, a different Luke, a +lean, wan, worn-out shred of a youth. His welcome was sickly. + +"Gee-min-_ent_-ly!" Joel roared. "I thought you was mad at me about +something. You never came near." + +"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." + +"Gee, that's damn tough," said Joel, who had grown from darn to damn. + +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?" + +"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." + +"What you been writin', then?" + +"Miles of figures and entries about one gross bottles lemon, two gross +sassaprilla, one gross empties returned." + +"No more poetry?" + +"No more nothin'." + +Joel was obstinately cheerful. "Well, you been makin' money, anyways; +that's something." + +"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." + +"Gee, can't you go buggy ridin' even with Kit?" + +"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." + +"How about her goin' away to be a great singer?" + +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.'" + +The nightingale annoyed the owl and was hushed, and the poet rimed sums +in a daybook. + +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. + +Joel listened to Luke's elegy and groaned: "Gee!" + +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." + +"I've got over believin' in Sandy Claus," said Luke. + +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. + +"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." + +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----" + +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." + +Joel wanted to say: "I should think that depended on the parents." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He was twenty-one when he went to London, but he went. + +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. + +But the main thing was that they left home. That might mean a noble or a +selfish ambition, but it took action. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +THE ANONYMOUS + +#By Luke Mellows# + +Sometimes at night within a wooded park + Like an ocean cavern, fathoms deep in bloom, + Sweet scents, like hymns, from hidden flowers fume, +And make the wanderer happy, though the dark + Obscures their tint, their name, their shapely bloom. + +So, in the thick-set chronicles of fame, + There hover deathless feats of souls unknown. + They linger like the fragrant smoke wreaths blown +From liberal sacrifice. Gone face and name; + The deeds, like homeless ghosts, live on alone. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Luke Mellows had written: + + "#Dear Old Joel#: + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "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. + + "They go where they came from, I guess--in and out of nothing and + back again. + + "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. + + "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. + + "Yours for old sake's sake. #Luke.#" + +Vaguely remembering this letter now Joel inhaled a bit of the merciful +chloroform that deadens the pain of thwarted ambition. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The old boatman was surly with waiting. He did not thank the foreigner +for his liberal largeness, and did not answer his good night. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[10] Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son, Inc. Copyright, 1921, by +Rupert Hughes. + + + + +HIS JOB[11] + +#By# GRACE SARTWELL MASON + +From _Scribner's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +"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----" + +"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----" + +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." + +"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?" + +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 _pays_ 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." + +"What do they pay?" asked Mrs. Van Vechten, her lip curling. + +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." + +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. + +"Very interesting," murmured Mrs. Van Vechten; "but I hardly see how it +concerns us." + +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 _real_." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'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!'" + +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? + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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...." + +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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'Then you'll have all this work and difficulty for nothing?' the girl +asked. 'You may actually lose money on the job?' + +"'Looks that way,' he admitted. + +"'Then why do you go on?' she cried. + +"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.'" + +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. + +"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. + +"'Would you object,' he asked the lawyer, 'to taking a case against +personal friends of yours, the owners of the Rockford bank building?' + +"'Not at all--and if you're right, I'll lick 'em! What's your case?' + +"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.' + +"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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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!'" + +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.' + +"'What is it?' she asked, as he turned away from the telephone and she +saw his face. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!' + +"'How do you know?' he besought her. + +"'I just went past there and I seen it,' her voice came back at him. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I must run along," she said. "I like to get home before John does. You +going my way, Sally?" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[11] Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1921, by +Grace Sartwell Mason. + + + + +THE RENDING[12] + +#By# JAMES OPPENHEIM + +From _The Dial_ + + +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." + +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.... + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"All right," he flashed. "It sha'n't. I'll get out." + +"I suppose you'll marry," she said, "on fifteen a week." + +He spoke bitterly: + +"I'll get out of New York altogether. I'll work my way through +college...." + +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.... + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +He went to the bedside.... + +"Mother!" + +"Paul!" + +He took her hand. + +"Are you feeling better?" he asked. + +"A little more quiet, Paul...." + +"I am very glad...." + +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. + +Starting to speak, he sat down on the chair beside the bed, still +holding her hand.... + +"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!" + +His mother began to cry. She spoke at first as she always spoke, and +then more like a mother in a poem. + +"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...." + +The tears rolled down Paul's cheeks. He pressed her hand now with both +of his. + +"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." + +"But when are you going, Paul?" + +"To-night." + +His mother flung her arms about him desperately and clung to him.... + +"I can't let you go, Paul," she moaned. + +"Oh, mother," he sobbed. "This is breaking my heart...." + +"It is Agnes you are going to," she whispered. + +"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...." + +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.... + +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.... + +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.... + +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? + +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. + +"Paul," she said in a peremptory tone, clothed with all the authority of +his mother.... + +He grew cold all over, his eyelids narrowed; he felt brutal.... + +"What is it?" he asked hard. + +"Mother wants you to come right down." + +"I will come," he said. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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.... + +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." + +She said: "Paul, this has got to end." + +His tongue seemed the fork of a snake, his words came with such deadly +coldness.... + +"It will end to-night." + +"How ... to-night?" + +"I'm leaving.... I'm going west...." + +"West.... Where?" + +"To Sam's...." + +"Oh," said his mother.... + +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.... + +"This is the end of me...." + +Still he said nothing. She turned toward him, with a groan. + +"Have you nothing to say?" + +Again he spoke with deadly coldness.... + +"Nothing...." + +She waited a moment: then she spoke.... + +"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...." + +He was amazed: he trembling there, guilty, afraid, horrified, his whole +soul beseeching the comfort of her arms! He a cold trampler? + +He stood, with all the feeling of one who is falsely condemned, and yet +with all the guilt of one who has sinned.... + +And then, suddenly, a wild animal cry came from his mother's throat.... + +"Oh," she cried, "how terrible it is to have children!" + +His heart echoed her cry.... The executioner's knife seemed to strike +his throat.... + +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: + +"She's going to sleep." + +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.... + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[12] Copyright, 1920, by The Dial Publishing Company. Copyright, 1921, +by James Oppenheim. + + + + +THE DUMMY-CHUCKER[13] + +#By# ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE + +From _The Cosmopolitan_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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---- + +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. + +"He's gotta fit!" + +The neighbor bent over the prostrate dummy-chucker. + +"Ep'lepsy," she announced. "Look at the foam on his lips." + +"Aw, the poor man!" + +"Him so strong-looking, too!" + +"Ain't it the truth? These husky-looking men sometimes are the +sickliest." + +The dummy-chucker stirred. He sat up feebly. With his sleeve, he wiped +away the foam. Dazedly he spoke. + +"If I had a bite to eat----" + +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. + +"T'ank, ladies," he murmured. "If I can get a bite to eat and rest +up----" + +"'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." + +"Can't you see the man's sick?" The stoutest one turned indignantly upon +the newsboy. But the scoffer held his ground. + +"'Sick?' Sure he's sick! Eatin' soap makes anyone sick. Youse dames is +easy. He's chuckin' a dummy." + +"'A dummy?'" + +The dummy-chucker sat a bit straighter. + +"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----" + +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. + +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. + +"Better hop aboard," he suggested. "That policeman is fat, but he has +speed." + +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. + +"Thanks, feller," he grunted. "A li'l speed, please." + +The young man chuckled. He rounded the corner into Eighth Avenue and +darted north among the trucks. + +At Columbus Circle, the dummy-chucker spoke. + +"Thanks again, friend," he said. "I'll be steppin' off here." + +His rescuer glanced at him. + +"Want to earn a hundred dollars?" + +"Quitcher kiddin'," said the dummy-chucker. + +"No, no; this is serious," said the young man. + +The dummy-chucker leaned luxuriously back in his seat. + +"Take me _anywhere_, friend," he said. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You seem hungry," commented the young man. + +The dummy-chucker reached for another sandwich with his left hand while +he poured himself a drink of genuine Scotch with his right. + +"_And_ thirsty," he grunted. + +"Go to it," observed his host genially. + +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. + +"Smoke?" asked his host. + +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. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Better than cuttin' the end off," explained the dummy-chucker. "It's a +good smoke," he added, puffing. + +"You know tobacco," said his host. "Where did you learn?" + +"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." + +"Doesn't seem to bother you," said his host. + +"It don't," asserted the dummy-chucker. "Except when the police butt +into my game. I just got off Blackwell's Island this morning." + +"And almost went back this afternoon." + +The dummy-chucker nodded. + +"Almost," he said. His eyes wandered around the room. "_Some_ dump!" he +stated. Then his manner became business-like. "You mentioned a hundred +dollars--what for?" + +The young man shrugged. + +"Not hard work. You merely have to look like a gentleman, and act +like----" + +"Like a bum?" asked the dummy-chucker. + +"Well, something like that." + +The dummy-chucker passed his hand across his stubby chin. + +"Shoot!" he said. "Anything short of murder--_anything_, friend." + +His host leaned eagerly forward. + +"There's a girl--" he began. + +The dummy-chucker nodded. + +"There always is," he interrupted. "I forgot to mention that I bar +kidnaping, too." + +"It's barred," said the young man. He hitched his chair a trifle nearer +his guest. "She's beautiful. She's young." + +"And the money? The coin? The good red gold?" + +"I have enough for two. I don't care about her money." + +"Neither do I," said the dummy-chucker; "so long as I get my hundred. +Shoot!" + +"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." + +The dummy-chucker inhaled happily. + +"Call him any darned thing you like," he said cheerily. + +"Jones was a drunkard," said the host. + +"And she married him?" The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted slightly. + +"No. She told him that if he'd quit drinking she'd marry him. She +stipulated that he go without drink for one year." + +The dummy-chucker reached for a fresh cigar. He lighted it and leaned +back farther in the comfortable chair. + +"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." + +"A game guy," commented the dummy-chucker. "Well, what happened?" + +"He died of jungle-fever two months ago," was the answer. "The news just +reached Rio Janeiro yesterday." + +The dummy-chucker lifted his glass of Scotch. + +"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?" + +"She doesn't know," said the host quietly. + +The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted again. + +"I begin to get you," he said. "I'm the messenger from Brazil who breaks +the sad news to her, eh?" + +The young man shook his head. + +"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." + +"Except me," said the dummy-chucker. + +The young man smiled dryly. + +"Except you. And you won't tell. Ever wear evening clothes?" + +The dummy-chucker stiffened. Then he laughed sardonically. + +"Oh, yes; when I was at Princeton. What's the idea?" + +His host studied him carefully. + +"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." + +The dummy-chucker carefully brushed the ashes from his cigar upon a +tray. + +"I guess I'm pretty stupid to-night. I still don't see it." + +"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." + +"'Throw him over?' But he's _dead_!" said the dummy-chucker. + +"She doesn't know that," retorted his host. + +"Why don't you tell her?" + +"Because I want to marry her." + +"Well, I should think the quickest way to get her would be to tell her +about Jones----" + +"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." + +"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." + +His host leaned eagerly forward now. + +"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, _drunk_! She'd marry me to-morrow." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"I see," said the dummy-chucker slowly. "And you want me to----" + +"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----" + +"How long will I be all that--in the hotel?" asked the dummy-chucker +dryly. + +"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 _mAcitre d'hA'tel_ 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. + +"And then?" asked the dummy-chucker. + +"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." + +"And you really think that I look enough like Jones to put this over?" + +"In the shaded light of the dining-room, in Jones' clothes--well, I'm +risking a hundred dollars on it. Will you do it?" + +The dummy-chucker grinned. + +"Didn't I say I'd do _anything_, barring murder? Where are the clothes?" + +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. + +"Will I do?" he asked. + +"Better than I'd hoped," said the other. "You look like a gentleman." + +The dummy-chucker laughed gaily. + +"I feel like one," he declared. + +"You understand what you are to do?" demanded the host. + +"It ain't a hard part to act," replied the dummy-chucker. + +"And you _can_ act," said the other. "The way you fooled those women in +front of the Concorde proved that you----" + +"Sh-sh!" exclaimed the dummy-chucker reproachfully. "Please don't remind +me of what I was before I became a gentleman." + +His host laughed. + +"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----" + +"Oh, I've got it all right," said the dummy-chucker. "Better slip me +something on account. I may have to pay something----" + +"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." + +The dummy-chucker returned his gaze scornfully. + +"Do I look," he asked, "like the sort of man who'd _steal_?" + +His host shook his head. + +"You certainly don't," he admitted. + +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. + +Down-stairs, he spoke to Andrews, the chauffeur. + +"Drive across the Fifty-ninth Street bridge first." + +The chauffeur stared at him. + +"Who you given' orders to?" he demanded. + +The dummy-chucker stepped closer to the man. + +"You heard my order?" + +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. + +"Yes, sir," he muttered. + +The dummy-chucker smiled. + +"The lower classes," he said to himself, "know rank and position when +they see it." + +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. + +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: + +"The Park Square, Andrews." + +An obsequious doorman threw open the limousine door as the car stopped +before the great hotel. He handed the dummy-chucker a ticket. + +"Number of your car, sir," he said obsequiously. + +"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. + +A uniformed boy whirled the revolving door that the dummy-chucker might +pass into the hotel. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Beg pardon, sir. May I assist you?" + +The dummy-chucker smiled a grateful assent. The old gentleman fumbled a +moment with the tie. + +"I think that's better," he said. He bowed as one man of the world might +to another, and turned away. + +Under his breath, the dummy-chucker swore gently. + +"You'd think, the way he helped me, that I belonged to the Four +Hundred." + +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. + +"One of themselves," said the dummy-chucker to himself. + +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. + +The _mAcitre d'hA'tel_ stepped forward inquiringly as the dummy-chucker +hesitated in the doorway. + +"A table, sir?" + +"You have one reserved for me. This right-hand one by the door." + +"Ah, yes, of course, sir. This way, sir." + +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. + +"A lady!" said the dummy-chucker, under his breath. "The real thing!" + +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 +_mAcitre d'hA'tel_ beckoned, he remembered that he had left the flask, the +monogrammed flask, in his overcoat pocket. + +"Just a moment," he said. + +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. + +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. + +"I've changed my mind," he said. "My coat, please." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"I hardly expected to find you here," he said. + +The dummy-chucker shrugged. + +"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. + +"'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?" + +The dummy-chucker turned languidly in his chair. He eyed his host +curiously. + +"Listen, feller," he said: "I told you that I drew the line at murder, +didn't I?" + +"'Murder?' What do you mean? What murder was involved?" + +The dummy-chucker idly blew a smoke ring. + +"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?" + +The young man stood over him. + +"Bannon," he called. The valet entered the room. "Take the clothes off +this--this bum!" snapped the host. "Give him his rags." + +He clenched his fists, but the dummy-chucker merely shrugged. The young +man drew back while his guest followed the valet into another room. + +Ten minutes later, the host seized the dummy-chucker by the tattered +sleeve of his grimy jacket. He drew him before the mirror. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Bannon," called the host, "throw him out!" + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"He's gotta fit!" she cried. + +"Ep'lepsy," said her companion pityingly. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[13] Copyright, 1920, by The International Magazine Company. Copyright, +1921, by Arthur Somers Roche. + + + + +BUTTERFLIES[14] + +#By# ROSE SIDNEY + +From _The Pictorial Review_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Must have been that bit of wind," she meditated. "It plays queer tricks +sometimes." + +She went to the mantel and lighted the dull lamp. By the flicker she +read the face of the clock. + +"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. + +"It's a fearful night for him to be out!" she muttered. + +"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. + +Mrs. Brenner threw her shriveled and wizened mother-in-law an angry and +contemptuous glance. + +"Be still!" she commanded. "'Pears to me that's all you ever +say--blood!" + +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!" + +Mrs. Brenner shuddered. "Seems like you could shut up a spell!" she +complained. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +"Tobey!" cried Mrs. Brenner, her face rigid. + +The old woman began to pick at her ragged skirt, mumbling "Blood! Blood +on his hands! I see it!" + +"That was on the hill," said Mrs. Brenner slowly, steadying her voice. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +Tobey stumbled past her headlong into the house, muttering, "I'm cold!" + +She shut the door and followed him to the stove, where he stood shaking +himself and beating at his damp clothes with clumsy fingers. + +"What was that scream?" she asked him tensely. She knotted her rough +fingers as she waited for his answer. + +"I dunno," he grunted sullenly. His thick lower lip shoved itself +forward, baby-fashion. + +"Where you been?" she persisted. + +As he did not answer she coaxed him, "Aw, come on, Tobey. Tell ma. Where +you been?" + +"I been catching butterflies," he answered. "I got a big one this time," +with an air of triumph. + +"Where was you when you heard the scream?" she asked him cunningly. + +He gave a slow shake of his head. "I dunno," he answered in his dull +voice. + +A big shiver shook him. His teeth chattered and he crouched down on his +knees before the open oven-door. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Naw!" Tobey protested. "I seen pa already. I want my supper out here! I +don't want to go to bed!" + +Mrs. Brenner paused. "Where was pa?" she asked. + +But Tobey's stretch of coherent thinking was past. "I dunno!" he +muttered. + +Mrs. Brenner sighed. She pulled off the sticky shoes and rose stiffly. + +"Go get in bed," she said. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"I've cut myself," she said aloud. "There's blood on my hand. It must +'a' been on those lacings of Tobey's." + +The old woman in the corner roused. "Blood!" she screeched. "Olga! Blood +on his hands!" + +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? + +And who was it that had screamed on the hill? She felt herself enwrapped +in a mist of puzzling doubts. + +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. + +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. + +"Here's where I found his hat. That's why I turned off back of these +trees. And right there I found his body!" + +"Are you sure he's dead?" quavered another voice. + +"Stone-dead!" + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" he snapped. A sardonic smile twisted his face. "Caught you, +didn't I?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"No harm done," he said, almost amiably. Shaking with relief, she +stretched out her hand. + +"I'll dry 'em," she said. "Give me your shoes and I'll get the mud off." + +Her husband shook his head. He was still smiling. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"I'll get a rag and wipe up the mud right off." + +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. + +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. + +"You can put your feet in the oven, Mart, to dry 'em." + +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. + +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. + +"Well?" she asked ungraciously. + +"We want to see Brenner!" one of them said. + +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. + +Her husband reluctantly stood up. + +"Evening!" he said, with his unusual smile. "Bad out, ain't it?" + +"Yep!" Munn replied. "Heavy fog. We're soaked." + +Olga Brenner's pitiful instinct of hospitality rose in her breast. + +"I got some hot soup on the stove. Set a spell and I'll dish you some," +she urged. + +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." + +"Not a bit," she cried eagerly. She bustled about, searching her meager +stock of chinaware for uncracked bowls. + +"Set down?" suggested Mart. + +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. + +"Must 'a' got your feet wet, Brenner?" the sheriff said with heavy +jocularity. + +Brenner nodded, "You bet I did," he replied. "Been down on the beach all +afternoon." + +"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. + +Munn's eyes dropped from her face to the floor. There they became fixed +on the tracks of red clay. + +"No, nothin' but the sea. It must be rough outside to-night, for the bay +was whinin' like a sick cat," said Mart calmly. + +"Didn't hear a scream, or nothing like that, I suppose?" Munn persisted. + +"Couldn't hear a thing but the water. Why?" + +"Oh--nothing," said Munn. + +Mrs. Brenner finished pouring out the soup and set the bowls on the +table. + +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. + +Blowing out a big blue breath of the pleasant smoke, he inquired, "Been +any strangers around to-day?" + +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." + +"See anybody later--say about half an hour ago?" + +Mart shook his head. "No. I come up from the beach and I didn't pass +nobody." + +The sheriff pulled on his pipe for a moment. "That boy of yours still +catching butterflies?" he asked presently. + +Mart scowled. He swung out a long arm toward the walls with their floods +of butterflies. But he did not answer. + +"Uh-huh!" said Munn, following the gesture with his quiet eyes. He +puffed several times before he spoke again. + +"What time did you come in, Brenner, from the beach?" + +Mrs. Brenner closed her hands tightly, the interlaced fingers locking +themselves. + +"Oh, about forty minutes ago, I guess it was. Wasn't it, Olga?" Mart +said carelessly. + +"Yes." Her voice was a breath. + +"Was your boy out to-day?" + +Mart looked at his wife. "I dunno." + +Munn's glance came to the wife. + +"Yes." + +"How long ago did he come in?" + +"About an hour ago." Her voice was flat and lifeless. + +"And where had he been?" Munn's tone was gentle but insistent. + +Her terrified glance sought Mart's face. "He'd been on the beach!" she +said in a defiant tone. + +Mart continued to look at her, but there was no expression in his face. +He still wore his peculiar affable smile. + +"Where did these tracks come from, on the floor?" + +Swift horror fastened itself on Mrs. Brenner. + +"What's that to you?" she flared. + +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." + +"You did!" she cried. All about her she could feel the smoothness of a +falling trap. + +Mart smiled still more broadly. + +"Look here, Olga, don't get so warm over it. You're nervous now. Tell +the gentlemen who made those tracks." + +She turned to Munn desperately. "What do you want to know for?" she +asked him. + +The sharpness of her voice roused old Mrs. Brenner, drowsing in her +corner. + +"Blood!" she cried suddenly. "Blood on his hands!" + +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?" + +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. + +"A man--a stranger was killed upon the hill," Munn told her. + +"What's that got to do with us?" she countered. + +"Not a thing, Mrs. Brenner, probably, but I've just to make sure where +every man in the village was this afternoon." + +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. + +"Where was your son this afternoon?" + +She smiled defiance. "I told you, on the beach." + +"Whose room is that?" Munn's forefinger pointed to Tobey's closed door. + +"That's Tobey's room," said his mother. + +"The mud tracks go into that room. Did he make those tracks, Mrs. +Brenner?" + +"No! Oh, no! No!" she cried desperately. "Mart made those when he came +in. He went into Tobey's room!" + +"How about it, Brenner?" + +Mart smiled with an indulgent air. "Heard what she said, didn't you?" + +"Is it true?" + +Mart smiled more broadly. "Olga'll take my hair off if I don't agree +with her," he said. + +"Let's see your shoes, Brenner?" + +Without hesitation Mart lifted one heavy boot and then the other for +Munn's inspection. The other silent men leaned forward to examine them. + +"Nothing but pieces of seaweed," said Cottrell Hampstead. + +Munn eyed them. Then he turned to look at the floor. + +"Those are about the size of your tracks, Brenner. But they were made +in red clay. How do you account for that?" + +"Tobey wears my shoes," said Brenner. + +Mrs. Brenner gasped. She advanced to Munn. + +"What you asking all these questions for?" she pleaded. + +Munn did not answer her. After a moment he asked, "Did you hear a scream +this afternoon?" + +"Yes," she answered. + +"How long after the screaming did your son come in?" + +She hesitated. What was the best answer to make? Bewildered, she tried +to decide. "Ten minutes or so," she said. + +"Just so," agreed Munn. "Brenner, when did you come in?" + +A trace of Mart's sullenness rose in his face. "I told you that once," +he said. + +"I mean how long after Tobey?" + +"I dunno," said Mart. + +"How long, Mrs. Brenner?" + +She hesitated again. She scented a trap. "Oh, 'bout ten to fifteen +minutes, I guess," she said. + +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." + +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. + +"You chop your wood with a short, heavy ax, don't you, Brenner?" said +Munn. + +Brenner nodded. + +"It's marked with your name, isn't it?" + +Brenner nodded again. + +"_Is this the ax?_" + +Mrs. Brenner gave a short, sharp scream. Red and clotted, ever the +handle marked with bloody spots, the ax was theirs. + +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." + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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. + +Brenner smiled with a wide tolerance. "It's likely, ain't it, that I'd +change into shoes as wet as these?" + +"Those tracks are Mart's!" Olga reiterated hysterically. + +"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. + +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!" + +"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." + +Dick Roamer spoke hesitatingly, "Mebbe the old woman's right, Munn. +Mebbe those tracks are Brenner's." + +Mrs. Brenner turned to him in wild gratitude. + +"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! + +She snatched up his box of butterflies and came back to Munn. + +"This is what Tobey was doin' this afternoon!" she cried in triumph. "He +was catchin' butterflies! That ain't murder, is it?" + +"Nobody catches butterflies in a fog," said Munn. + +"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. + +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. + +"Call your son," he said. + +"What do you want of him? Tobey ain't done nothing. What you tryin' to +do to him?" + +"There is blood on this box, Mrs. Brenner." + +"Mebbe he cut himself." Mrs. Brenner was fighting. Her face was chalky +white. + +"In the box, Mrs. Brenner, _is a gold watch and chain_. The man who was +killed, Mrs. Brenner, had a piece of gold chain to match this in his +buttonhole. _The rest of it had been torn off._" + +Olga made no sound. Her burning eyes turned toward Mart. In them was all +of a heart's anguish and despair. + +"Tell 'em, Mart! Tell 'em he didn't do it!" she finally pleaded. + +Mart's face was inscrutable. + +Munn rose. The other men got to their feet. + +"Will you get the boy or shall I?" the sheriff said directly to Mrs. +Brenner. + +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. + +"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!" + +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." + +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." + +But still Mrs. Brenner's set expression did not change. + +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. + +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. + +"Tobey!" she called. Her voice broke in her throat. The tears fell +faster. + +"Huh?" He sat up, blinking at her. + +"Get into your clothes, now! Right away!" she said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Here he is!" she cried chokingly. She freed her hand and laid it on his +shoulder. + +"Look at him," she moaned. "He couldn't 'a' done it. He's--he's just a +boy!" + +Sheriff Munn rose. His men rose with him. + +"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brenner," he said. "Terrible sorry. But you can see how +it is. Things look pretty black for him." + +He paused, looked around, hesitated for a moment. Finally he said, +"Well, I guess we'd better be getting along." + +Mrs. Brenner's hand closed with convulsive force on Tobey's shoulder. + +"Tobey!" she screamed desperately, "where was you this afternoon? All +afternoon?" + +"On the beach," mumbled Tobey, shrinking into himself. + +"Tobey! Tobey! Where'd you get blood on the box?" + +He looked around. His cloudy eyes rested on her face helplessly. + +"I dunno," he said. + +Her teeth were chattering now; she laid her hand on his other shoulder. + +"Try to remember, Tobey. Try to remember. Where'd you get the watch, the +pretty watch that was in your box?" + +He blinked at her. + +"The pretty bright thing? Where did you get it?" + +His eyes brightened. His lips trembled into a smile. + +"I found it some place," he said. Eagerness to please her shone on his +face. + +"But where? What place?" The tears again made rivulets on her cheeks. + +He shook his head. "I dunno." + +Mrs. Brenner would not give up. + +"You saw your pa this afternoon, Tobey?" she coached him softly. + +He nodded. + +"Where'd you see him?" she breathed. + +He frowned. "I--I saw pa----" he began, straining to pierce the cloud +that covered him. + +"Blood! Blood!" shrieked old Mrs. Brenner. She half-rose, her head +thrust forward on her shriveled neck. + +Tobey paused, confused. "I dunno," he said. + +"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?" + +Tobey caught at the word. "The ax?" he cried. "The ax! Ugh! It was all +sticky!" He shuddered. + +"Did pa give you the ax?" + +But the cloud had settled. Tobey shook his head. "I dunno," he repeated +his feeble denial. + +Munn advanced. "No use, Mrs. Brenner, you see. Tobey, you'll have to +come along with us." + +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." + +Dick Roamer stepped to his side. He laid his hand on Tobey's arm. "Come +along," he urged. + +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. + +"Ma!" he screamed suddenly. "Ma! I don't want to go! Ma!" + +He fell on his knees. Heavy childish sobs racked him. Deserted, +terrified, he called upon the only friend he knew. + +"Ma! Please, Ma!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mart turned from the door. His eyes glittered. He advanced upon her +hungrily like a huge cat upon an enchanted mouse. + +"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?" + +"Blood!" moaned the old woman in the corner. "Blood!" + +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. + +"But I fooled you this time! Mart wasn't so dull this time, eh?" He +turned toward her again. + +Between them, disturbed in his resting-place on the table, the big +bruised yellow butterfly raised himself on his sweeping wings. + +Mart drew back a little. The butterfly flew toward Olga and brushed her +face with a velvety softness. + +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. + +"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!" + +He drew back for a blow. She did not move. Instead she mocked him, +trying to smile. + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Run!" she cried. "Run to the village!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There were voices. He cowered, cast hunted glances at the bloody figure +on the floor, bit his knuckles in a frenzy. + +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!" + +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. + +The big yellow butterfly swung low on his golden wings and came to rest +on her narrow, sunken breast. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[14] Copyright, 1920, by The Pictorial Review Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Rose Sidney. + + + + +THE ROTTER[15] + +#By# FLETA CAMPBELL SPRINGER + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Well! here he was. Home! + +Strange he hadn't thought of the automobiles and the electricity, and +the difference they would make. + +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. + +At the desk, Ayling experienced a momentary surprise to find himself +actually expected. + +"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. + +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. + +"Will you go up, sir?" + +"Later," said Ayling. "Just send up my things." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Thirty-five years, sir." + +Ayling looked at the old man in astonishment. "Do you remember me?" he +asked. + +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--" + +"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?" + +"Chedsey, sir." + +"Seems familiar--" He shook his head. "You don't recall a Mr. +Ayling--twenty-five or thirty years ago?" + +"Ayling, sir? I recall there _was_ a member of that name.... _You're_ +not Mr. Ayling, sir?" + +"We're not very flattering, either of us, it seems. But then, privilege +of the aged, I suppose." + +"Beg pardon, sir. I'm sorry--I ought to remember you." + +"We're wearing masks, Chedsey, you and I." + +"You're right, sir, I'm afraid." + +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. + +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. + +"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? + +"And where," asked Ayling, "is the major now?" + +"Major Lonsdale, sir--has been gone seven years. Hadn't you heard?" + +Lonsdale gone! Lonsdale dead! Lonsdale had begun life so brilliantly. +Ayling did feel left over and old. + +"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? + +"Yes," said Ayling. "What became of Mrs. Lonsdale?" + +"Here in London, sir." + +"Wasn't there," asked Ayling, "a child, a little girl?" + +"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 _Sketch_ recently--perhaps he could +find it for Mr. Ayling. + +"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. + +"They are living in Cambridge Terrace," Chedsey was saying. "Would Mr. +Ayling like the address?" + +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. + +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: + +"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...." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +She was, when she thought of it, a little puzzled by his looking her up. +Had he and Harry been such friends? + +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 _him_, 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----" + +"So you've come home," she said, "to stay?" + +"Yes, we all do. It's what we look forward to out there." + +"I know." With a little hospitable gesture and a step backward she +brought him in. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ayling turned about and stumbled awkwardly over a small hassock on the +floor, and they both laughed, which helped them recover themselves. + +"How long has it really been?" she asked, as she faced him beside the +fire. + +"Twenty-five years." He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Twenty-five +years!" + +"You _must_ feel the prodigal son!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't know," she said, "how I shall put in the week! After all, I've +been missing her more than I knew." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"I should love it!" she said. + +"Then come along. You've nothing to keep you here; the country's just +what you need." + +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 _was_ 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. + +Then abruptly she accepted his simplification. "I'll go," she said. + +"Good! I'll telephone through for a room for you.... When can you be +ready?" he asked. + +"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." + +"Great! I'll ask about trains." + +All at once, like two children, they became immensely exhilarated at the +prospect before them--a week's holiday! + +He went to the telephone and presently reported: "There's a train at +two-forty. Can you make it by then?" + +She looked at the clock on the mantel. "We'll make it," she said. + +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." + +He rushed away, both of them almost forgetting to say good-by, and she +went into her bedroom to pack. + +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.... + + * * * * * + +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. + +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: + +"You see! The sun _does_ 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." + +"London?" she said. "London? There's no such place!" + +"Glad you came?" he asked. + +"Glad!" Her tone was enough. + +"That's a jolly green hat," he said, and made her a little bow. + +"Glad you like it," she laughed. "And that's a jolly staff." + +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." + +She admired it critically, particularly the initials of the dark bark +left on, but suggested an improvement about the knob. + +"By Jove! you're right," he admitted, and set to work with his knife. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I _am_ sorry! Forgive me," she said. + +He smiled, embarrassed, and waited a moment for breath before he said, +"It's just the wind; it's pretty stiff." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _Peggy was +threatened_.... 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. + +She tried to pull herself together--to think; her thoughts were not +reasoning thoughts, but unrelated, floating, detached.... + +Suddenly, by some strange alchemy of her mind, three things stood out +clear. They stood out like the three facts of a simple syllogism. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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 crAªpe, 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. + +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 crAªpe, +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.... + +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. + +Mrs. Downey was smiling and saying in an ordinary tone, "Your +telephone." + +Bessie Lonsdale rose and crossed the room, took the receiver from its +stand, said, "Yes," and waited. + +A man's voice came over the wire. "I wish to speak to Mrs. Lonsdale, +please." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Yes," she said, "we are old friends." + +"You knew, then, I presume, that Mr. Ayling had gone away--to the +country some days ago." + +"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. + +"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." + +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--" + +She heard herself speaking: "Naturally, I--it's something of a +shock...." + +"Indeed I understand." + +Again she caught the sound of her own voice, as if it belonged to some +one else, "I suppose it was his heart." + +"He was known to have a bad heart?" + +"Yes; it has been weak for years." + +"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...." + +"I understand, perfectly." + +"Then I may come?" + +"Certainly." ... There was nothing else she could say. + + * * * * * + +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 _old_ friends." + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"Formalities?" Her voice cut sharply into his. + +"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." + +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: + +"I'm afraid, my dear Mrs. Lonsdale, that she was a bit of a rotter, +whoever she was, for she--ran." + +"Ran?" She repeated the word. + +He nodded. "Disappeared." + +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." + +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. + +Suddenly she heard the word "publicity." He had stopped before her and +was looking down at her. + +"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." + +"Yes!" She grasped frantically at the straw. "Yes, by all means that!" + +"You would be willing to help?" + +"Yes, anything! But what is there I can do?" + +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?" + +"He came home from India on account of it." + +"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--" + +"Come with you? Where?" + +"To the inn, at Homebury," he said. + +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!" + +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." + +"I understand," said Mr. Burke, "how one shrinks from that sort of +thing." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +"I'm afraid," said Mr. Burke's voice, "that we're running into a storm." + +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. + +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. + +"There's an inn about half a mile farther on. Shall I make it?" + +"By all means." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Sorry, sir," he said; "it's the only place left." + +"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. + +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: + +"How very singular, Mrs. Lonsdale! This gentleman is Mr Ford, the +coroner, also on his way to Homebury!" + +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." + +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. + +"I suppose," he asked, leaning forward a little, confidentially, "that +Mrs. Lonsdale knows of the--peculiar element----" + +"The woman--yes," said Mr. Burke. And Bessie Lonsdale inclined her head +and said, "I know." + +"And do you know who she was?" + +She had only to make a negative sign, for Mr. Burke, with nice +consideration, anticipated her reply: + +"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." + +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!" + +"Rotter, I think," said Mr. Burke, "was precisely the word _I_ used." + +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. + +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.... + +"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. + +At the movement Bessie Lonsdale seemed to grow rigid in her chair. + +"Wait." + +Mr. Burke and Mr. Ford turned, startled by the strangeness of her tone. +They waited for her to speak. + +"I can't go." + +"Can't go?" They echoed it together. "Why not?" + +"Because," said she, "I am the woman you have been talking about." + +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: + +"My dear Mrs. Lonsdale, this is impossible." + +"Impossible," she said, passing her hand across her eyes, "impossible?" + +"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." + +"No," she said. "No, Mr. Burke." + +"I think," said Mr. Ford, also very gently indeed, "that perhaps Mrs. +Lonsdale is trying to shield some one." + +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: + +"I wonder--I wonder if I could make you understand!" + +They begged her to believe that that was the thing they wished most to +do. + +"I did it"--she paused, and forced herself to go on--"because of my +daughter." + +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. + +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 +_sure_ you wish to tell?" + +"No," said Bessie Lonsdale, "but I've _got_ to, don't you see?" + +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." + +Mr. Burke nodded, and they looked toward her expectantly. + +"Yes, Mrs. Lonsdale?" said Mr. Ford. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_something_, but not the thing they thought. + +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: + +"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 fiancA(C),--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!" + +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. + +"Oh, my dear Mrs. Lonsdale--!" they both began at once, but she stopped +them with a gesture of her hand. + +"I don't blame you," she said, "I don't blame you. I _was_ a rotter, to +run, but I simply didn't think of myself." + +Her tone, her gentleness, were the final proof. Only the innocent so +graciously forgive. + +"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." + +"Perhaps, Mr. Ford--" Mr. Burke began. A look passed between them, like +a question and an assent. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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 +_hadn't_ an idea of it--and that alone, is why she _has_ escaped." + + * * * * * + +"I'm perfectly sure," said Peggy Lonsdale, on Saturday afternoon, "that +you _did_ 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!" + +She put down her head and kissed her, and Bessie Lonsdale patted the +fragrant young cheek. + +"Oh, I thought of you occasionally," she said. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[15] Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Fleta +Campbell Springer. + + + + +OUT OF EXILE[16] + +#By# WILBUR DANIEL STEELE + +From _The Pictorial Review_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Drop it, Joshua! Drop it, or by heavens----!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +"Drop it, Joshua!" Duncan's voice came loud and clear. + +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. + +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. + +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-ring--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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + + * * * * * + +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. + +"You don't realize, man, or else you'd stop him!" + +"Oh, I'll _stop_ him!" It was hardly above a breath. + +"I'll _stop_ him!" And throwing his greatcoat over his shoulders, Joshua +went out. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She was at home, at any rate, when Joshua Blake came back. + +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). + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _He_ 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. + +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. + +"Where's Andrew?" + +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 _now_! You hear Mary? I'll not wait!" + +"Where's Andrew?" + +"Andrew? Andrew? Why the devil do you keep on asking for Andrew? What's +_Andrew_ to you--now?" + +"Where is he?" + +"Mary, you're a fool!" + +Her voice grew if anything more monotonous; his, higher and wilder. + +"You're a fool," he cried again, "if you don't know where Andrew is." + +"He's gone." + +"Gone, yes! And how you can say it like that, so calm--God!" + +"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 _that's_ love,' he said, 'then +I'm going off somewhere and forget it, and never come back to Urkey any +more.'" + +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--_got_ to!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It's a shame, Milly, a living shame, as sure's you're alive." + +"You never said truer, Belle. As if 'twa'n't enough she should send Andy +to his death o' drownding----" + +"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----" + +"Yes, I saw him, too. A man can't stand being made a fool of...." + +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: + +"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?" + +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 _him_ had +come to. Miah turned to the bottle as another man might to prayer. + +"By the Lord!" he protested thickly. "Something's got to be done!" + +"Done? About what?" I remember my cousin peering curiously at him +through the smoke and spatter of the sausage he was frying. + +"About Josh, of course, and _her_. 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, _Who's to pay the bill? Who's to pay the bill?_ 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?" + +"Yes," Duncan agreed calmly. "But what's to be done?" + +"God knows! But look here, Dunc, you're constable, ain't you?" + +Duncan smiled pityingly, as if to say, "Don't be an idiot, Miah." + +"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 _that_ 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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Yes, yes, it was so--it _must_ 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. + +"If Joshua will answer me, and say that he _knows_ 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!" + +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. + +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.) + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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 flapping the long black tails of his coat, seemed but +to accentuate the dead weight of his attitude. + +When a minute had gone by I heard his dry voice. + +"So, Mary, you're at it again?" + +"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!" + +"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." + +She turned on him with a swift, ironical challenge. + +"You say it _now_? You _know_ 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 _knew_, why couldn't you +say it in so many words ten years ago--five years ago? _Why_?" + +"Because----" + +"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!" + +Joshua said it. + +"I know of a certainty Andrew went down that night." + +"_How_ do you know? Did you _see him go down_? Tell me that!" + +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. + +"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.... _Damn you_!" + +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. + +"Joshua!" she called to him, "Joshua, Joshua, come back!" + +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. + +"Joshua!" she called again, but he did not seem to hear. + +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. + +"Good Grandmother!" I know I grew redder and redder as I walked. "I hope +I don't have to see _her_ again--the old thing!" + +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. + +"Oh--you're--you're the Means boy." + +An embarrassment, pathetic only now in memory, came upon her. + +"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?" + +"No!" I shook off the hand that still lay, as if forgotten, on my +outraged arm. "What you want of _him_? _He's_ no good!" + +With that shot for parting I turned and stalked away. Behind me after a +moment, I heard her cry of protest, dismal beyond words. + +"Why do you say that, boy? What do you mean by that?" + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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!" + +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!") + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"Aground? Where to?" + +"On the outer bar; south'rd end of the outer bar they tell me." + +The voices came and went, whipped by the wind. + +"What vessel'd you say? Town craft?" + +"No--that ship." + +"What? Not that--that--_India ship_!" + +"Yep--that India ship." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"What you make of this, Rolldown?" + +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. + +"Got somethin' into it," he rumbled. + +"Yes, I know. Now let me have it back, Rolldown." + +"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!" + +"But it's mine, I tell you!" + +"'Tain't neither! 'Tain't neither!" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +For there on the crest before me, given in silhouette against the +fire-glow, stood the bride. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"This way!" I panted. "To the north'rd! She's heading to the north'rd. I +saw her dress just there, just now----" + +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. + +"'She shall come back,' says I, 'with the hand of iron,' says I." + +As always in this exalted state his phraseology grew Biblical. + +"'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!'" + +"Yes!" I puffed. "That's right, Miah; only hurry. _There!_" I cried. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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!" + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +"He's come!" she said in a clear voice. "Andrew's come back again." + +Still she looked at Joshua. He did not move or reply. + +"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--_if you wish_." + +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. + +Joshua halted before her. Folding his hands behind him he looked her +over slowly from head to foot. + +"You lie!" That was all he said. + +"Oh, no, Joshua. I'm not lying. Andrew has come for the wedding." + +"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." + +"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----" + +With that she had the burden uncovered and held forth in her +outstretched hand. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"_Turn it over!_" + +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. + +"Mary--do as I say--_and turn it over_!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Let him go," was all she said. + +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. + +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. + +"Who is to pay the bill? Who is to pay the bill?" + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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.... + +FOOTNOTE: + +[16] Copyright, 1919, by The Pictorial Review Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Wilbur Daniel Steele. + + + + +THE THREE TELEGRAMS[17] + +#By# ETHEL STORM + +From _The Ladies' Home Journal_ + + +For two years Claire RenA(C)'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'mA"re--there was always grand'mA"re to +care for. Often in the afternoon Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re never stopped. It was hard for Claire RenA(C) to understand. + +There was no one left in her land except grand'mA"re 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. + +Claire RenA(C) 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 ClA(C)ment 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." +ClA(C)ment 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 +RenA(C) back to the door of the tiny house, where grand'mA"re would be +waiting and scolding and smiling and ruddy of cheek. Grand'mA"re never +scolded any more; she never smiled, and her cheeks were like dried figs. + +Claire RenA(C) didn't often let herself think of the day that such a +dreadful thing had happened. Many days after ClA(C)ment and Fernand and +Alphonse had gone away, grand'mA"re had started to walk to the nearest +town four miles distant. She was gone for hours and hours; Claire RenA(C) +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. + +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'mA"re; 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'mA"re, lying on the bed with her eyes +closed. In the morning, Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re was +blind--and she was deaf. + +Jacques explained how it all happened; Claire RenA(C) 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, ClA(C)ment 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. + +Claire RenA(C) had a great deal to do after that. She had to bathe and +dress grand'mA"re; she had to cook the food and scrub the floor and scour +the pots and pans. She kept the pans very bright. Grand'mA"re might some +day open her eyes, and there would be a great scolding if the pans were +not bright. Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C) the keys. + +"Ma petite," he said, "you learn too fast to eat too little. You must be +big and well when your brothers come back." + +All the winter long Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C) there lay a hidden fear +about telegrams. Years before, grand'mA"re had cried for many days when +Jacques had brought from the town just such a thin, crackling envelope. +And Claire RenA(C) knew that after that she had no longer any young mother +or father--only grand'mA"re and her three brothers. + +Grand'mA"re had enough of sorrow. The telegram was better hidden in the +room of her brothers. Grand'mA"re 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 RenA(C); 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. + +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 ClA(C)ment and Fernand and Alphonse come home before the +night fell over their sleeping place. When she placed the telegram under +the first high pillow (ClA(C)ment's pillow) it made a sound that frightened +her. + +In the evenings grand'mA"re's chair was pulled to the great hearth fire. +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +Claire RenA(C) would spring from her chair and kneel beside the dumb +figure. "Grand'mA"re!" she would call. "Do you see? Have you the eyes +again?" + +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'mA"re. +She never cried; it might make a noise in the still, whitewashed room to +frighten her. Grand'mA"re 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'mA"re had shivered when her fingers found the hollows in +Claire RenA(C)'s cheeks. After that the child puffed out her cheeks while +the knotted hands made their daily journey. Grand'mA"re'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. + +Claire RenA(C) would pile more logs on the fire and wonder what thoughts +lay in grand'mA"re'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'mA"re'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 RenA(C) to drink it all, but she +would choke and say it was sour and sickened her; only thus could she +save enough for grand'mA"re's coffee in the morning. + +There were many things to think about, to look at on the winter evenings +by the firelight: ClA(C)ment'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 RenA(C) 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. ClA(C)ment and +Fernand and Alphonse must be crowned, given the reward when they came +home from killing wicked men to save La Belle France! + +All the months of the summer before she had watched and tended the +flowers. The seeds she had found in grand'mA"re's cupboard. Jacques had +scolded about the place that had been given them in the garden patch. +But Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C) on her rigid shoulders and she thought +his eyes were just like wet, black beads. + +On the other side of the hearth, away from grand'mA"re's chair, she +twined and wound the wreaths. No one must know. The Great Day _must_ be +soon! And in her heart she believed that on that day grand'mA"re would +open her eyes. + +In the spring Claire RenA(C) 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. + +"I am sorry, mademoiselle," was all he said. + +She watched him disappear through the garden gate; she listened until +his steps died in the forest. Grand'mA"re stirred in her chair by the +window; Claire RenA(C) thought a flicker of pain traveled over the worn +face; she thought the closed eyes twitched; Madame Populet stretched out +her hands. + +Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re had enough of +sorrow; she must never know of the second telegram in the house. + +Thoughts came crowding into Claire RenA(C)'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 RenA(C). 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? + +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 ClA(C)ment 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. + +She went downstairs singing. The sound was strange in her throat, but +she must finish the song. She stood behind grand'mA"re'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. + +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +She danced to the dark closet under the stairs. There they were, the +wreaths, for her three brothers! The deep golden one for ClA(C)ment--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. + +Claire RenA(C) 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! + +She shut the closet door softly, and went to kneel beside grand'mA"re'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. + +The noise died away entirely as the spring advanced. The silence grew +greater and greater. There were few seeds for Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C) had plenty of strength +to uproot them angrily and throw them into the overgrown path. + +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 RenA(C) and grand'mA"re +and Jacques. + +Grand'mA"re lay in her bed most of the day. Sometimes, when the sun shone +and the birds sang, Claire RenA(C) would make her aching arms bathe and +dress grand'mA"re 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. + +At times she thought of making frocks for herself out of grand'mA"re's +calico dresses, folded so neatly in the cupboard. But grand'mA"re, she +argued, would need them for herself when the Great Day came, when +ClA(C)ment and Fernand and Alphonse would come with ringing laughter +through the forest--laughter that would surely open grand'mA"re's +eyes--and her ears. When the birds sang and the sun shone Claire RenA(C) +believed that day would come. + +Jacques was always kind. But he had become a part of the great silence; +almost as still as grand'mA"re he was. For hours he would sit and look at +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +Then she would start toward him and call: "Jacques, Jacques!" + +He would always answer, straightening in his chair: "Yes, my little one, +be not afraid. Jacques is ever near." + +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +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. + +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +Once, when Claire RenA(C) 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. + +"Listen, ma petite!" he cried. + +He dropped on the mossy place beside her and rocked back and forth with +his hands clasped about his shaking knees. Claire RenA(C) was used to +waiting. She waited until Jacques found breath for speech. + +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! + +Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C) hoped his tongue would not be too +tired to answer one of her questions. + +"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." + +Claire RenA(C) 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 ClA(C)ment 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. + +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." + +Presently he ceased for a moment and held Claire RenA(C)'s cold hands +against his grizzled cheek. "But, my little one, why are you cold?" + +Claire RenA(C) looked for a long time into Jacques' shining eyes; then she +whispered: "My brothers!" + +High among the tall trees of the forest the wind was singing and +sighing; beneath on a green moss bank Jacques gathered Claire RenA(C) 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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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 ClA(C)ment 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? + +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. + +Claire RenA(C) asked where the great man lived. + +"In Paris, ma petite." + +"And what does he look like--the brave one?" + +"He is grave and quiet, like a king." + +"And has he on his head the crown of gold?" + +"No, ma petite, but he has in his heart the Sons of France." + +"And ClA(C)ment and Fernand and Alphonse also?" + +Claire RenA(C) waited while Jacques passed his fingers through her hair. +"Yes, ma petite," he said at last. + +Claire RenA(C) 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?" + +Jacques shook his head. + +"Do you think one day from to-morrow?" + +Again Jacques shook his head. + +But Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C), will you?" + +"But--why--for what reason, ma petite?" + +She would send a letter! She would herself write to the "Great Man," and +tell him about ClA(C)ment and Fernand and Alphonse, tell him how good and +brave they were, and about grand'mA"re and the silence of her eyes and +ears, and about--Claire RenA(C) looked frightened and clapped her fingers +over her mouth. + +No! She must forever keep the secret about the telegrams. Telegrams +meant sorrow; there must be only happiness in the house for the +brothers. + +Long after twilight had fallen she pleaded with Jacques about the +letter. By the firelight that same night she would write. Grand'mA"re 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? + +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? + +She thought: "Old people are like that. Grand'mA"re is like that; she, +too, grows tired with the end of the day. They had so many long days +behind them to remember--grand'mA"re and Jacques. And the days ahead of +them?" + +Claire RenA(C) was often puzzled about their days ahead. They were so +tired! But they would be soon happy. And grand'mA"re would open her eyes +to see and her ears to hear when ClA(C)ment and Fernand and Alphonse came +back again. + +Claire RenA(C) ate only a mouthful of her cooked roots on that evening. For +grand'mA"re 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'mA"re was half the shape she used to be; the brothers would surely +scold when they saw her so gone away. + +Claire RenA(C) 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? + +Until the dawn crept through the windows Claire RenA(C) 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----" + +A step in the still room startled her. Grand'mA"re was coming from her +room, fully dressed. Claire RenA(C) flew to her side, but Madame Populet +stood erect; she walked alone to her chair by the window. Claire RenA(C) +knelt beside her, and the hands that were laid on her head had a new +firmness in their pressure. And grand'mA"re was smiling! + +Claire RenA(C) 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." + +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'mA"re. Good-by." + +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. + +Two hours later Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re and ClA(C)ment and Fernand and +Alphonse could kneel and thank the good God that they were again +together. + +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 RenA(C) had stooped and kissed the +feet that had so many miles to go. + +Jacques had cried out: "Ma petite, you hope too far." + +But Claire RenA(C)'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'mA"re would stand waiting and smiling--and perhaps +scolding; who could tell? + +She pushed her way through the doorway. The berries and leaves made a +tall screen about her; she could barely see grand'mA"re in her chair by +the window. She laid the branches on the hearth. + +"There!" she said. "That's good." + +Grand'mA"re was very quiet in her chair by the window. Her hands were +folded over her breast. There was something between her still fingers. + +Claire RenA(C) looked again, and then she screamed. + +Madame Populet's eyes were open; they were fixed on the thin +blue-and-white envelope clasped in her hands. Claire RenA(C) pressed her +fingers into her temples; she was afraid to speak aloud. + +She whispered: "The third telegram!" + +Who had brought it? Who had given it to grand'mA"re? Why was she so +still? Why were her eyes open, without seeing? Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re's hands were cold. Her silence was more +terrible than any silence Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re was now like them. + +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'mA"re 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? + +Claire RenA(C) 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'mA"re? + +ClA(C)ment 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'mA"re had so much of sorrow here on earth; +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +There was scarcely a breath left in her body when Jacques found her at +dusk. + +Three days later she opened her eyes in her little bed beside +grand'mA"re's bed. Grand'mA"re's bed was smooth and high and white. Claire +RenA(C) was puzzled. + +She called: "Grand'mA"re!" + +From the outer room the voice of Jacques replied: "Yes, ma petite; I am +here." + +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. + +Presently she sat up and asked: "Did the angel come and take grand'mA"re +and carry her to the Holy Mother in heaven?" + +Jacques crossed his heart. "Yes, ma petite," he said. + +Faintly Claire RenA(C) smiled and faintly she questioned: "But, my +brothers?" + +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. + +In the days that followed Claire RenA(C) never spoke of grand'mA"re; 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'mA"re was gone. +Everything was different. + +Jacques gave her food and care, and every day he said: "In only a little +time you will be strong again, ma petite." + +But something in his eyes kept her from speaking about ClA(C)ment 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. + +He never spoke any more about the "Great Man from America." Jacques was +like grand'mA"re; he was old, he was full of sorrow. Claire RenA(C) was +afraid to ask about her letter; she thought about it each day. + +But on the morning she was carried to ClA(C)ment'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. + +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +Once she awoke and must have called out, for Jacques was kneeling beside +her bed. + +"Poor little one," he said, "you call, but there is only old Jacques to +come." + +Claire RenA(C) put out her hand and let it rest on the old man's head. +"Dear Jacques," she whispered, "always I will love you." + +The sun was streaming through the tiny house the next morning. Jacques +had left Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C) 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'mA"re +used to do. + +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. + +Jacques was with them; he was making a great many motions with his +hands. They were all walking very slowly and talking very fast. + +As they neared the house Jacques pointed to Claire RenA(C), and the three +strange men held back. Jacques came slowly forward. The sound of his +step on the hard ground interrupted Claire RenA(C)'s reverie; she looked up +and around. She saw the three men standing at attention beyond the +garden gate. + +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. + +She was unaware when Jacques put a caressing, supporting arm about her +and said: "Listen, my child." + +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 RenA(C). + +"The letter is for you, ma petite." Jacques voice was infinitely tender; +the added pressure of his arm made Claire RenA(C) 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 RenA(C)--from the +'Great Man from America'!" + +The tangled head shook in the angle of his arm. Claire RenA(C) was crying. + +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. + +Jacques read: + + _To Mademoiselle Claire RenA(C)_: The soil of France now covers the + bodies of your three brothers, ClA(C)ment 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. + +Claire RenA(C) 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. + +"Bonjour, messieurs," she said. + +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----" + +But Claire RenA(C) 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." + +The tall man lingered with his thoughts a moment before he spoke; he was +standing close to Claire RenA(C) 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. + +At this Claire RenA(C) threw a frightened, wistful glance at Jacques. + +The tall man interrupted hastily. He said they had brought food with +them, and would she allow them to prepare it? + +Claire RenA(C) nodded her head; her eyes looked beyond her questioner--out +into the lonely forest. + +Jacques presently lifted her into his arms and carried her within the +house. With reverence he placed her in grand'mA"re'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. + +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. + +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 +ClA(C)ment 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." + +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. + +With no word on her lips Claire RenA(C) watched from Grand'mA"re'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. + +Dimly she saw all this, but clearly she saw the inside of a great man's +mind. She, Claire RenA(C), had work to do; she was called--for France! + +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 RenA(C) +braced herself with a sharp sigh. No soldier ever went into battle with +a more self-made courage than hers. + +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. + +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 AmA(C)ricains! + +On each reverent, bowed head she placed her wreath; and when she had +finished, without tremor in her voice she said: "My brothers!" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[17] Copyright, 1919, by The Curtis Publishing Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Ethel Dodd Thomas. + + + + +THE ROMAN BATH[18] + +#By# JOHN T. WHEELWRIGHT + +From _Scribner's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +His modest modicum of port would have seemed a poor substitute to the +congenial Micawber for the punch. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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: + +"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. + +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." + +Ralph's first inclination was to say "_Thank you_," but he restrained +himself from this in time to save upsetting the foundations of British +social life, and instead he asked: + +"What kind of a morning is it?" + +"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." + +All the time he was quietly taking up Ralph's clothes, which were +scattered in convulsions around the room. + +"Shall I not unpack your box, sir?" asked the valet. + +Ralph stopped from sipping his tea to nod assent, and the man proceeded +with the unpacking with a hand which practice had made perfect. + +"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. + +"What is your name?" finally asked the American. + +"Postlethwaite, sir, but I answer to the name of 'Enery." + +"Well, 'Enery, did you ever hear of a Roman bath in a little street off +the Strand?" + +"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." + +"They used to take them, 'Enery, and my guide-book says that there is +one of theirs to this day in Strand Lane." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He bowed politely to Ralph, remarking: + +"So you, too, are waiting for a plunge into the waters of the Holywell?" + +"You are right, sir; I guess that we shall find the Roman bath cold this +morning." + +"You are an American, are you not?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"'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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +In a trice his face appeared above the surface, with no ripple or +disturbance of the water. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I too dreamed the night through," thought Ralph. "And am I dreaming +now?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Great CA|sar's ghost!" exclaimed Ralph, "Old Marley!" + +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: + +"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." + +FOOTNOTE: + +[18] Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Copyright, 1921, by +John T. Wheelwright. + + + + +AMAZEMENT[19] + +#By# STEPHEN FRENCH WHITMAN + +From _Harper's Magazine_ + + +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. + +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. + +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 cafA(C)s, in an +atmosphere of youthful gaiety, where at any moment one might be enmeshed +in a Florentine prank that Boccaccio could not have bettered. + +One such prank rose, all at once, before my minds eye, and suddenly, in +the midst of my pessimism, I laughed aloud. + +I recalled the final scene of that escapade, which I myself had managed +to devise. The old cafA(C) had rung 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. + +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. + +Then, too, in returning I had been so unfortunate as to find Florence on +the verge of spring. + +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. + +"After all," I thought, "it is better not to find one of the old circle. +We should make each other miserable by our reminiscences." + +No sooner had I reflected thus than I found myself face to face with +Antonio. + +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. + +"What luck!" he cried, embracing me with sincere delight. "But to think +that I should have to run into you on the street!" + +"I asked for you everywhere." + +"In the old places? I never go to them. You have not dined? Nor I. Here, +let us take this cab." + +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. + +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. + +"And Leonello, who was going to surpass Michael Angelo?" + +"Oh," my friend responded, "Leonello is still here, painting his +pictures. Like me, he could not live long beyond the air of Florence." + +Antonio, in fact, could trace his family back through Florentine history +into the Middle Ages. + +"Is Leonello the same?" I pursued. "Always up to some nonsense? But you +were not much behind him in those insane adventures." + +"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. + +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. + +"I am writing a book on such matters," I concluded. "You, of course, +will laugh at it----" + +His somber eyes, which had been watching me intently, became blank for a +time, then suddenly gave forth a flash. + +"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." + +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. + +This silence persisted while the cab bore us back into the city. + +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: + +"Fiammetta!" + +"What is it, Antonio? Are you in love?" + +He gave me a piercing look and sprang from the cab. We had reached the +door of his house. + +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-A -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. + +"No," said he, giving me another of his strange looks, "it is my +ancestor, Antonio di Manzecca, who died in the year fifteen hundred." + +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. + +"But," I protested, examining the portrait, "your resemblance to this +Antonio of the Renaissance could not possibly be closer." + +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. + +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. + +"The Castle of Manzecca," I ventured, merely to break the silence, "is +quite ruined, I suppose?" + +"No, the best part of it still stands. I have had some rooms restored." + +"You own it?" + +"I bought it back a year ago. It is there that I----" He buried his face +in his hands. + +"Antonio," I said, "you are in some great trouble." + +"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." + +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. + +Poor Antonio! What a return to Florence! + +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. + +My knock was answered by Antonio himself, his hat on his head and a +motorcoat over his arm. He seemed burning with impatience. + +"You have your overcoat? Good." And he locked the door on the outside. + +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. + +"Death!" muttered Antonio, with a sardonic grimace. "And they call it +unconquerable!" + +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. + +He burst forth at them like a man whose nervous tension is nearly +unendurable: + +"Yes, hang it all! I am quite well. Why the devil will you persist in +coddling me?" + +Leonello and Leonardo gave me a mournful look. + +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. + +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. + +"Northward. To the Castle of Manzecca, then?" I asked myself. + +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. + +The limousine glided to a standstill. + +"Here we abandon the car." + +We entered the kitchen of a humble farm-house. Strings of garlic hung +from the ceiling, and on the floor lay some valises. + +As the ladies departed into another room, Antonio mastered his emotion +and addressed me. + +"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." + +No sooner had Antonio uttered these words than he turned in a panic to +Leonello and Leonardo. + +"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." + +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: + +"Trust him. You do his quick wit an injustice." + +Finally Antonio, with a heavy sigh, unlocked the valises. + +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. + +"Are we all--" began Antonio. His voice failed him. Muffled in thick +cloaks, we faced the blustery night again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Speak, Nuta! Is she well?" he demanded. + +We followed him into the castle. + +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. + +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. + +Still, she was remarkable less for her costume than for the singularity +of her charms. + +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. + +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: + +"I present you to Madonna Fiammetta di Foscone, my affianced bride. +Madonna, this gentleman comes from a distant country to pay you homage." + +"He is welcome," she answered, in a voice that accorded with her +peculiar beauty. + +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. + + * * * * * + +I found myself with Antonio in a tower-room, whither he had brought me +on the ladies' retirement to prepare themselves for supper. + +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. + +Finally he began: + +"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. + +"In a hill-castle not far away lived another family, the Foscone. + +"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." + +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. + +But my friend continued: + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"But almost everything is discovered. Antonio's meetings with Fiammetta +became known to his elder brother. + +"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. + +"Fiammetta di Foscone had gone mad." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"You will soon understand why I am sometimes possessed with the idea +that I am dreaming." + +And he resumed his tale: + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"So she went on and on----" + +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!" + +"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. + +"Yes," he repeated, releasing my arms and sitting down limply on the +bench. "As you anticipate, so it turned out." + +I was still able to protest: + +"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!" + +"The principle is the same," said Antonio, wearily. "Every mental +phenomenon has minor and major examples. But I will tell you the rest. + +"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. + +"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. + +"But I was destined to sing another tune. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"At midnight my plan was complete." + + * * * * * + +As he paused, and the conclusion became clear to me, I was taken with a +kind of stupor. + +"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. + +"That shock had restored her reason. + +"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. + +"All this was what she wanted to believe, so she believed it." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +At that he broke down. + +"Ah, if that happened, what horror should I witness?" + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +At the bottom of the winding tower staircase, in the doorway of the hall +where she had greeted us, we paused to compose ourselves. + +"At least," Antonio besought me, "when in doubt, remain silent." + +We entered the hall. Under a wooden gallery adorned with carved and +tinted shields the supper-table was laid. + +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. + +"You are pleased with the castle, messere?" + +As I was striving to respond, Antonio said to her, half aside, in that +quaint species of Italian which he had used before: + +"He speaks our language with difficulty, Madonna, and in a dialect. This +disability will embarrass him till he finds himself more at home." + +"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." + +In some manner or other I seated myself at the table. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +Did the others have similar premonitions? + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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?" + +There was a freezing moment of silence. + +"It is this great wind," muttered Leonardo, "that has brought us new air +from afar." + +"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." + +Antonio thanked his friends with an eloquent look. + +"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." + +Antonio drained his goblet at a gulp. He got out the words: + +"We are provincial, we Manzecca. Like a race apart." + +"All old families, jealous of their integrity, are the same," ventured +Laura, who looked, nevertheless, as if she were about to faint. + +"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?" + +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!" + +Antonio spoke with difficulty: + +"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." + +A quivering sigh of assent and relief went round the supper-table. But +Fiammetta protested: + +"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." + +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. + +Antonio, his jaws sagging, rose half-way out of his chair, then sank +back, speechless and livid. Unaware, eager, and imperious, Fiammetta +demanded: + +"A dagger!" + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +There was no sound except from the wind, which yelled its devilish glee +round the castle and in the chimney of the fireplace. + +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. + +"Only dust?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +Her countenance became bloodless. Her teeth chattered. She murmured: + +"What is happening to me? I am so cold!" + +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. + +There was a hysterical babble of voices: + +"She is dead! No, she has swooned! Bring vinegar! Rub her hands! Light +the fire!" + +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. + +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. + +Fiammetta di Foscone read the date. + +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. + +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. + +"Whatever it is," she breathed, "I still have you." + +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: + +"A stranger!" + +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. + +"After her!" some one shouted. + +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: + +"She will throw herself from the roof!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +What thoughts! + +"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." + +I was sure that my hair had turned white. + +And she? A vast wave of pity and longing swept over me and whirled me +away into the depths of despair. + +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. + +I cannot imagine what impulse made me rise, at last, and try the door +again. At my first touch it swung open. + +Descending the staircase, I re-entered the hall. + + * * * * * + +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. + +The company looked at me with tolerant smiles. + +"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." + +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. + +"Very _recherchA(C)_," was his comment. "Do you wear it for a whim?" + +"He is soaking wet," announced Lina, compassionately. "I think he has +been looking at the garden." + +"A botanist!" cried Laura, clapping her hands. "Will you give me some +advice, signore? What is the best preservative for damask roses?" + +"Water them with credulity," Leonello suggested. + +And they all burst out laughing in my face, with the exception of the +beautiful Fiammetta. + +Antonio, rising and bowing to me, spoke as follows: + +"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." + +While I was still trying to master my feelings, he added: + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +The fair Fiammetta, however, made a gesture of reproof, then held out +her warm hand to me. + +"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?" + +All the others looked rather chop-fallen. But Antonio soon recovered. He +retorted: + +"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!" + +FOOTNOTE: + +[19] Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1921, by Stephen +French Whitman. + + + + +SHEENER[20] + +#By# BEN AMES WILLIAMS + +From _Collier's Weekly_ + + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then I'm glad I'm a roughneck," I retorted; and Sheener shook his head. + +"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." + +"I'm waiting," I said. + +"Keep right on," Sheener advised me. "Keep right on. The old stuff is +there. It'll show. Take it from me." + +I laughed at him. "If I get you," I said, "you're looking for something +along the line of 'Noblesse Oblige.' What?" + +"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." + +"Blood will tell, eh?" + +"Take it from me," said Sheener. + +It will be perceived that Evans had in Sheener not only a disciple; he +had an advocate and a defender. And Sheener in these rA'les 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. + +"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." + +"How does he like your running his affairs?" I asked. + +"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." + +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. + +He took it meekly enough, but not Sheener. Sheener came to me with fire +in his eye. + +"Sa-a-ay," he demanded, "what's coming off here, anyhow? What do you +think you're trying to pull?" + +I asked him what he was talking about, and he said: "Evans says you've +given him the hook." + +"That's right," I admitted. "He's through." + +"He is not," Sheener told me flatly. "You can't fire that guy." + +"Why not?" + +"He's got to live, ain't he?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"You mean to say you're still looking out for that old tramp?" I +demanded. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + +"I say, you know, I'm a bit knocked up." + +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." + +Evans moved his head on the pillow, as though lie were nodding. "A bit +tight, wasn't it, what?" he asked. + +"Say," Sheener agreed. "You said something, Bum. I thought you'd kick +off, sure." + +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." + +Sheener said: "Sure I will. Who'll I write to, Bum?" + +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.... + +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. + +"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." + +"You'll have your trouble for your pains," I told him. "The old soak is +a plain liar; that's all." + +Sheener laughed at me. "That's all right, bo," he told me. "I know. This +guy's the real cheese. You'll see." + +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. + +"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." + +"Son?" I asked. + +"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." + +"What does Bum say?" + +"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. + +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?" + +"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." + +"When's the boy coming?" + +"Gets in at midnight to-night," said Sheener. + +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. + +"The boy's really coming?" I asked. + +Sheener said proudly: "I'm telling you." + +"You heard from him?" + +"Got a wire the day he got my letter." + +"You've told Bum?" + +"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." + +"You haven't let him?" + +"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.'" + +"I noticed his new suit." + +"Sure," Sheener agreed. "I bought it for him." + +"Out of his savings?" + +"He ain't been saving much lately." + +"Sheener," I asked, "how much does he owe you? For money loaned and +spent for him." + +Sheener said hotly: "He don't owe me a cent." + +"I know. But how much have you spent on him?" + +"If I hadn't have give it to him, I'd have blowed it somehow. He needed +it." + +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." + +"If this millionaire son of his has any decency, he'll make it up to +you." + +"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." + +"And the boy gets in to-night?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +Evans nodded. "Quite so," he said with some relief. "Quite so, to be +sure." + +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." + +"You'll step back a bit, eh, what?" Evans asked. + +"Don't worry about us," Sheener told him. "Just you keep your eye +skinned for the boy. Good luck, bo." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sheener fell back to my side. They stalked past us, out to the taxi +stand. + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +If you still doubt, do as I did. Consider Sheener. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[20] Copyright, 1920, by P. F. Collier & Son, Inc. Copyright, 1921, by +Ben Ames Williams. + + + + +TURKEY RED[21] + +#By# FRANCES GILCHRIST WOOD + +From _The Pictorial Review_ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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." + +"God! Can't they see the other side of it? What it means to the folks +already here to wait for it?" + +The stranger thrust a suddenly interested profile above the handsome +collar of his fur coat. He looked out over the waste of snow. + +"You say there's no timber here?" + +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." + +"Any ores--mines?" + +The boy shook his head as he slid farther down in his worn buffalo coat +of the plains. + +"We're too busy rustling for something to eat first. And you can't +develop mines without tools." + +"Tools?" + +"Yes, a railroad first of all." + +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. + +"It's a god-forsaken country. Why don't you get out?" + +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.'" + +Smith regarded him irritably. "Why should any sane man ever have chosen +this frozen wilderness?" + +Hillas closed his eyes wearily. "We came in the Spring." + +"I see!" The edged voice snapped, "Visionaries!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +Dan watched the northern sky-line restlessly. "It won't be snow. Look +like a blizzard to you, Hillas?" + +The traveler sat up. "Blizzard?" + +"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." + +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." + +Dan turned. "Wouldn't, eh?" + +"No." + +"You're American?" + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"I was born here. It's my country." + +"Ever read about your Pilgrim Fathers?" + +"Why, of course." + +"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." + +"Humph!" With a contemptuous look across the desert. "Where's your +freight, your grain, cattle----" + +"_West_-bound freight, coal, feed, seed-grain, work, and more +neighbors." + +"One-sided bargain. Road that hauls empties one way doesn't pay. No +Company would risk a line through here." + +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?" + +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." + +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." + +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." + +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?" + +"Business. My own!" + +"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----" + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +"Got to keep the track 'til we--see--light!" + +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. + +"See it, Hillas?" + +"No, Dan." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"I'll get him up--or cut leaders--loose! If I don't--come back--drive to +light. _Don't--get--out!_" + +Dan disappeared in the white fury. There were sounds of a struggle; the +sled jerked sharply and stood still. Slowly it strained forward. + +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. + +"All--right--son." Dan reached for the reins. + +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. + +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. + +"Find the guide-rope to the house, Dan?" + +"On the other side, toward the shack. Where's--Smith?" + +"Here, by the shed." + +Dan turned toward the stranger's voice. + +"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." + +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. + +"Hang on to my belt, too, Hillas. Ready--Smith? Got the rope?" + +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. + +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!" + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Your nose is white, too. Thaw it out." + +Abruptly Dan indicated a bench against the wall where the two men seated +would take up less space. + +"I'm----" The stranger's voice was unsteady. "I----," but Dan had turned +his back and his attention to the homesteader. + +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. + +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. + +"How long's she been this way?" + +"She began to choke up day before yesterday, just after you passed on +the down trip." + +The driver laid big finger tips on the restless wrist. + +"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." + +The girl lifted heavy eyelids above blue semicircles of fatigue and the +compelling terror back of her eyes forced a question through dry lips. + +"Dan, do you know what membranous croup is like? Is this it?" + +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. + +"Mebbe it is, Mis' Clark, but don't you be scared. We'll help you a +spell." + +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. + +He turned to the girl, opened his lips as if to speak with a face full +of pity. + +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. + +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." + +Hillas nodded. + +"Where are her people? Where's her husband?" + +"Down in Yankton, Dan told you, working for the Winter. Got to have the +money to live." + +"Where's the doctor?" + +"Nearest one's in Haney--four days' trip away by stage." + +The traveler stared, frowningly. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"She's so little, Dan, and weak. How am I going to know if she--if +she----" + +Dan re-arranged the blanket tent. "Jest get under with her yourself, +Mis' Clark, then you'll know all that's happening." + +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. + +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. + +"Stove--fire?" with a gesture of protest against the inadequate oil +blaze. + +Hillas whispered, "Can't afford it. Coal is $9.00 in Haney, $18.00 +here." + +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. + +The child was beating the air with tiny fists, fighting for breath. The +mother stood rigid, arms out. + +"Turn her this way!" Dan shifted the struggling child, face out. "Now +watch out for the----" + +The strangling cough broke and a horrible something--"It's the membrane! +She's too weak--let me have her!" + +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. + +"Dan, is--is she----?" + +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!" + +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!" + +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!" + +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. + +"Did you get this then?" + +She nodded. "The storm threw me against the pole when I hoisted the +lantern. I thought I'd--never--get back!" + +It was Smith who translated Dan's look of appeal for the cup of warm +milk and held it to the girl's lips. + +"Drink it, Mis' Clark, you need it." + +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!" + +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. + +"Poor kid, but she's grit, clear through!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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)." + +He motioned toward the bed. "Her name?" + +Hillas nodded. Smith grinned. "Dan's right. Blood will tell, even to +damning the rest of us." + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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.'" + +He turned the torn parcel, showing the bright red within, and looked at +the cupboard and window with shining, tired eyes. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'll hitch up. We'll stop at Peterson's and tell her to come over." He +closed the door noiselessly. + +The traveler was frowning intently. Finally he turned toward the boy who +sat with his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. + +"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?" + +The low answer was toneless. "Drought killed the crops, prairie fires +burned the hay, of course the cattle starved." + +"There's no timber, ore, nothing that could be used for east-bound +shipment?" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +"Know where to dig for samples under this snow?" + +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!" + +There was the sound of jingling harness and the crunch of runners. The +men bundled into fur coats. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Dan stared. + +"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." + +"Smith! Smith! Well I'll be--aren't you a claim spotter?" + +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. + +"You're going to get a road out here?" + +"I've told Hillas I'll put money in your way to mine the coal. Then the +railroad will come." + +Dan's voice rasped with tension. "We'll get out the coal. Are you going +to see that the road's built?" + +Unconsciously the traveler held up his right hand, "I am!" + +Dan searched his face sharply. Smith nodded, "I'm making my bet on the +people--friend!" + +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!" + +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. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[21] Copyright, 1919, by The Pictorial Review Company. Copyright, 1921, +by Frances Gilchrist Wood. + + + + +THE YEARBOOK OF THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY, OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, +1920 + +ADDRESSES OF AMERICAN MAGAZINES PUBLISHING SHORT STORIES + + +#Note.# _This address list does not aim to be complete, but is based +simply on the magazines which I have consulted for this volume._ + +Adventure, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. +Ainslee's Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +American Boy, 142 Lafayette Boulevard, Detroit, Michigan. +American Magazine, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Argosy All-Story Weekly, 280 Broadway, New York City. +Asia, 627 Lexington Avenue, New York City. +Atlantic Monthly, 8 Arlington Street, Boston, Mass. +Black Cat, 229 West 28th Street, New York City. +Catholic World, 120 West 60th Street, New York City. +Century, 353 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Christian Herald, Bible House, New York City. +Collier's Weekly, 416 West 13th Street, New York City. +Cosmopolitan Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Delineator, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. +Dial, 152 West 13th Street, New York City. +Everybody's Magazine, Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City. +Freeman, 32 West 58th Street, New York City. +Good Housekeeping, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Harper's Bazar, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Harper's Magazine, Franklin Square, New York City. +Hearst's Magazine, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. +Holland's Magazine, Dallas, Texas. +Ladies' Home Journal, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa. +Liberator, 34 Union Square East, New York City. +Little Review, 24 West 16th Street, New York City. +Little Story Magazine, 714 Drexel Building, Philadelphia, Pa. +Live Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City. +McCall's Magazine, 236 West 37th Street, New York City. +McClure's Magazine, 76 Fifth Avenue, New York City. +Magnificat, Manchester, N. H. +Metropolitan, 432 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Midland, Glennie, Alcona County, Mich. +Munsey's Magazine, 280 Broadway, New York City. +Outlook, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Pagan, 7 East 15th Street, New York City. +Parisienne, 25 West 45th Street, New York City. +People's Favorite Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +Pictorial Review, 216 West 39th Street, New York City. +Popular Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +Queen's Work, 626 North Vandeventer Avenue, St. Louis, Mo. +Red Book Magazine, North American Building, Chicago, Ill. +Saturday Evening Post, Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa. +Scribner's Magazine, 597 Fifth Avenue, New York City. +Short Stories, Garden City, Long Island, N. Y. +Smart Set, 25 West 45th Street, New York City. +Snappy Stories, 35 West 39th Street, New York City. +Sunset, 460 Fourth Street, San Francisco, Cal. +To-day's Housewife, Cooperstown, N. Y. +Top-Notch Magazine, 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City. +Touchstone, 1 West 47th Street, New York City. +Woman's Home Companion, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City. +Woman's World, 107 South Clinton Street, Chicago, Ill. + + + + +THE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ROLL OF HONOR OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES + + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + +#Note.# _Only stories by American authors are listed. The best stories are +indicated by an asterisk before the title of the story. The index +figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 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._ + +(56) #Abdullah, Achmed# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Evening Rice. + + +#Aitken, Kenneth Lyndwode.# 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. + + From the Admiralty Files. + + +#Anderson, C. Farley.# + + Octogenarian. + + +#Anderson, Jane.# + + Happiest Man in the World. + + +(3456) #Anderson, Sherwood# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Door of the Trap. + *I Want to Know Why. + *Other Woman. + *Triumph of the Egg. + + +#Anderton, Daisy.# 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. + + Belated Girlhood. + + +(3456) #Babcock, Edwina Stanton# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Gargoyle. + + +(6) #Barnes, Djuna# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Beyond the End. + *Mother. + +#BenA(C)t, Stephen Vincent.# 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. + + Summer Thunder. + + +#Bercovici, Konrad.# 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. + + *Ghitza. + + +#Boulton, Agnes.# 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. + + Hater of Mediocrity. + + +(2346) #Brown, Alice# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Old Lemuel's Journey. + + +(56) #Brownell, Agnes Mary# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Buttermilk. + Quest. + Relation. + + +#Bryner, Edna Clare.# 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. + + *Life of Five Points. + + +(1456) #Burt, Maxwell Struthers# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Dream or Two. + *Each in His Generation. + *When His Ships Came In. + + +(56) #Cabell, James Branch# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Designs of Miramon. + *Feathers of Olrun. + *Hair of Melicent. + *Head of Misery. + *Hour of Freydis. + +#Camp, (Charles) Wadsworth.# 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. + + *Signal Tower. + + +#Carnevali, Emanuel.# + + Tales of a Hurried Man. I. + + +#Chapman, Edith.# + + Classical Case. + + +(2345) #Cobb, Irvin S.# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Story That Ends Twice. + + +#Corley, Donald.# + + *Daimyo's Bowl. + + +(6) #Cram, Mildred# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Odell. + Spring of Cold Water. + Wind. + + +#Crew, Helen Coale.# 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. + + *Parting Genius. + + +#Delano, Edith Barnard.# 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. + + Life and the Tide. + + +(456) #Dobie, Charles Caldwell# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Christmas Cakes. + *Leech. + + +#Dodge, Louis.# 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. + + Case of MacIntyre. + + +(36) #Dreiser, Theodore# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Sanctuary. + + +(5) #Ellerbe, Alma and Paul# (_for biographies, see 1918_). + + Paradise Shares. + + +(4) #Ferber, Edna# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Maternal Feminine. + *You've Got To Be Selfish. + + +#Fillmore, Parker.# 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. + + Katcha and the Devil. + + +#Finger, Charles J.# Born at Willesden, England, Sept. 25, 1871. +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. + + *Ebro. + Jack Random. + + +(6) #Fish, Horace# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Doom's-Day Envelope. + + +#Follett, Wilson.# + + *Dive. + + +(4) #Folsom, Elizabeth Irons# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Alibi. + + +(12345) #Gerould, Katharine Fullerton# (_for biography, see +1917_). + + *Habakkuk. + *Honest Man. + + +(5) #Gilbert, George# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Sigh of the Bulbul. + + +(1345) #Gordon, Armistead C.# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Panjorum Bucket. + + +#Halverson, Delbert M.# 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. + + Leaves in the Wind. + + +(4) #Hartman, Lee Foster# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Judgment of Vulcan. + + +(56) #Hergesheimer, Joseph# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Blue Ice. + *Ever So Long Ago. + *Meeker Ritual (II). + *"Read Them and Weep." + +(25) #Hughes, Rupert# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Stick-in-the-Muds. + + +#Hunting, Ema S.# 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. + + Dissipation. + Soul That Sinneth. + + +#Hussey, L. M.# 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. + + Lowden Household. + Two Gentlemen of Caracas. + + +(6) #Irwin, Wallace# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + Beauty. + + +#Johns, Orrick.# + + Big Frog. + + +(256) #Johnson, Arthur# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Princess of Tork. + + +(3) #Knight, (Clifford) Reynolds.# 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. + + *Melody Jim. + + +#Komroff, Manuel.# + + Thumbs. + + +"#Kral, Carlos A. V."# 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. + + Landscape with Trees, and Colored Twilight with Music. + + +(6) #La Motte, Ellen Newbold.# 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. + + Golden Stars. + + +#McCourt, Edna Wahlert.# + + *Lichen. + + +(6) #MacManus, Seumas.# + + Conaleen and Donaleen. + Heartbreak of Norah O'Hara. + Lad from Largymore. + + +#Mann, Jane.# 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. + + Heritage. + + +#Mason, Grace Sartwell.# 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. + + *His Job. + + +(6) #"Maxwell, Helena"# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + Adolescence. + + +#Mears, Mary M.# 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. + + Forbidden Thing. + + +(36) #Montague, Margaret Prescott# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. + + +(6) #Murray, Roy Irving.# 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. + + Substitute. + + +(6) #Muth, Edna Tucker.# + + *Gallipeau. + +#O'Brien, Frederick.# 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. + + *Jade Bracelet of Ah Queen. + + +#"O'Grady, R."# 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. + + Brothers. + + +#O'Hagan, Anne.# 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. + + Return. + + +(45) #O'Higgins, Harvey J.# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Story of Big Dan Reilly. + *Story of Mrs. Murchison. + Strange Case of Warden Jupp. + + +(5) #Oppenheim, James# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Rending. + + +#Osbourne, Lloyd.# 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. + + East is East. + + +(345) #O'Sullivan, Vincent# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Dance-Hall at Unigenitus. + + +(123) #Post, Melville Davisson.# 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. + + Yellow Flower. + + +#Reindel, Margaret H.# 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. + + Fear. + + +#Rice, Louise.# + + *Lubbeny Kiss. + + +#Roche, Arthur Somers.# 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. + + *Dummy-Chucker. + + +(3) #Roche, Mazo De La.# + + Explorers of the Dawn. + + +(234) #Rosenblatt, Benjamin# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Stepping Westward. + + +#Rumsey, Frances.# 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, 1920. + + *Cash. + + +(5) #Russell, John# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + Wreck on Deliverance. + + +#"Rutledge, Maryse."# 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 TrA(C)boul," 1904; "The Blind Who See"; "Wild Grapes," 1912; +"Children of Fate," 1917. Divides her time between Paris +and New York City. + + House of Fuller. + + +#Ryan, Kathryn White.# 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. + + Man of Cone. + + +#Saphier, William.# 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. + + Kites. + + +(356) #Sedgwick, Anne Douglas# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Christmas Roses. + + +(6) #Sidney, Rose.# 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. + + *Butterflies. + + +(123456) #Singmaster, Elsie# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + Miss Vilda. + Salvadora. + + +(345) #Springer, Fleta Campbell# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Civilization. + *Rotter. + + +(23456) #Steele, Wilbur Daniel# (_for biography, see 1917_). + + *Both Judge and Jury. + *God's Mercy. + *Out of Exile. + + +#"Storm, Ethel."# 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. + + *Three Telegrams. + + +(5) #Street, Julian# (_for biography, see_ 1918). + + Hands. + + +(3456) #Vorse, Mary Heaton# (_for biography, see_ 1917). + + *Fraycar's Fist. + *Hopper. + Pink Fence. + + +#Ward, Herbert Dickinson.# 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. + + Master Note. + + +#Welles, Harriet Ogden Deen.# 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. + + According to Ruskin. + + +#Wheelwright, John T.# 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. + + *Roman Bath. + + +#Whitman, Stephen French.# + + *Amazement. + *Lost Waltz. + *To a Venetian Tune. + + +(56) #Williams, Ben Ames# (_for biography, see_ 1918). + + *Sheener. + + +#Wilson, John Fleming.# 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. + + Uncharted Reefs. + +(6) #Wilson, Margaret Adelaide.# 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. + + Drums. + + +(5) #Wood, Frances Gilchrist# (_for biography, see 1918_). + + *Spoiling of Pharaoh. + *Turkey Red. + + +(6) #Yezierska, Anzia# (_for biography, see 1919_). + + *Hunger. + + + + +THE ROLL OF HONOR OF FOREIGN SHORT STORIES IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +#Note.# _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. #English and Irish Authors# + + +(123456) #Aumonier, Stacy.# + + *Good Action. + *Golden Windmill. + *Great Unimpressionable. + *Just the Same. + *Landlord of "The-Love-a-Duck." + + +#Barker, Granville.# + + Bigamist. + + +#Beck, L. Adams.# + + Fire of Beauty. + Incomparable Lady. + + +(12356) #Blackwood, Algernon.# + + *First Hate. + *Running Wolf. + + +#Buchan, John.# + + Fullcircle. + + +(6) #Burke, Thomas.# + + *Scarlet Shoes. + + +#DobrA(C)e, Bonamy.# + + Surfeit. + + +(456) #Dudeney, Mrs. Henry E.# + + Wild Raspberries. + + +(46) #Dunsany, Lord.# + + *Cheng Hi and the Window Framer. + *East and West. + *How the Lost Causes Were Removed from Valhalla. + *Pretty Quarrel. + + +#Ervine, St. John G.# + + Dramatist and the Leading Lady. + + +(2) #Gibbon, Perceval.# + + *Connoisseur. + Knave of Diamonds. + Lieutenant. + + +#Holding, Elizabeth Sanxay.# + + Problem that Perplexed Nicholson. + + +(4) #Lawrence, D. H.# + + *Adolf. + + +#MacManus, L.# + + Baptism. + + +#Merrick, Leonard.# + + To Daphne De Vere. + + +#Monro, Harold.# + + *Parcel of Love. + + +(456) #Mordaunt, Elinor.# + + *Adventures in the Night. + *Ginger Jar. + +#Nevinson, Henry W.# + + *In Diocletian's Day. + + +#Owen, H. Collinson.# + + Temptation of Antoine. + + +#Richardson, Dorothy M.# + + *Sunday. + + +#Sinclair, May.# + + *Fame. + + +(5) #Stephens, James.# + + *Boss. + *Desire. + *Thieves. + + +(2) Walpole, Hugh. + + *Case of Miss Morganhurst. + *Fanny's Job. + *Honourable Clive Torby. + *No Place for Absalom. + *Stealthy Visitor. + *Third Sex. + + +II. #Translations# + + +(4) #Andreyev, Leonid.# (_Russian._) + + *Promise of Spring. + + +Anonymous. (_Chinese._) + + *Romance of the Western Pavilion. + + +(6) #Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# (_Spanish._) + + Old Woman of the Movies. + Sleeping-Car Porter. + + +(6) #"France, Anatole." (Jacques Anatole Thibault.)# (_French._) + + *Lady With the White Fan. + + +#IbAiA+-ez, Vicente Blasco.# (_Spanish._) _See_ #Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# + + +#Kotsyubinsky, Michael.# (_Russian._) + + By the Sea. + + +(6) #Level, Maurice.# (_French._) + + Empty House. + Kennel. + Maniac. + Son of His Father. + + +#Lichtenberger, AndrA(C).# (_French._) + + Old Fisherwoman. + + +#LouA?s, Pierre.# (_French._) + + False Esther. + + +#Nodier, Charles.# (_French._) + + *Bibliomaniac. + + +#Rameau, Jean.# (_French._) + + Ocarina. + + +(4) #Saltykov, M. E.# (_Russian._) + + *Wild Squire. + + +#Schnitzler, Arthur.# (_German._) + + *Crumbled Blossoms. + + +#Thibault, Jacques Anatole.# (_French._) _See_ "#France, Anatole.#" + + +#Trueba, Antonio De.# (_Spanish._) + + Portal of Heaven. + + +#Yushkevitch, Semyon.# (_Russian._) + + PietA . + + + + +THE BEST BOOKS OF SHORT STORIES OF 1920: A CRITICAL SUMMARY + + +#The Ten Best American Books# + +1. #Brown.# Homespun and Gold. Macmillan. +2. #Cather.# Youth and the Bright Medusa. Knopf. +3. #Dwight.# The Emperor of Elam. Doubleday, Page. +4. #Howells,# _Editor._ Great Modern American Stories. Boni & Liveright. +5. #Johnson.# Under the Rose. Harper. +6. #Sedgwick.# Christmas Roses. Houghton Mifflin. +7. #Smith.# Pagan. Scribner. +8. Society of Arts and Sciences. #O. Henry# Prize Stories, 1919. + Doubleday, Page. +9. #Spofford.# The Elder's People. Houghton Mifflin. +10. #Yezierska.# Hungry Hearts. Houghton Mifflin. + + +#The Ten Best English Books# + +1. #Beerbohm.# Seven Men. Knopf. +2. #Cannan.# Windmills. Huebsch. +3. #Dunsany.# Tales of Three Hemispheres. Luce. +4. #Easton.# Golden Bird. Knopf. +5. #Evans.# My Neighbours. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe. +6. #Galsworthy.# Tatterdemalion. Scribner. +7. #Huxley.# Limbo. Doran. +8. #O'Kelly.# The Golden Barque, and the Weaver's Grave. Putnam. +9. #Trevena.# By Violence. Four Seas. +10. #Wylie.# Holy Fire. Lane. + + +#The Ten Best Translations# + +1. #Aleichem.# Jewish Children. Knopf. +2. #Andreiev.# When the King Loses His Head. International Bk. Pub. +3. #Annunzio.# Tales of My Native Town. Doubleday, Page. +4. #Brown and Phoutrides#, _Editors._ Modern Greek Stories. Duffield. +5. #Chekhov.# The Chorus Girl. Macmillan. +6. #Dostoevsky.# The Honest Thief. Macmillan. +7. #Hrbkova#, _Editor._ Czecho-Slovak Stories. Duffield. +8. #Level.# Tales of Mystery and Horror. McBride. +9. #McMichael#, _Editor._ Short Stories from the Spanish. Boni & Liveright. + +10. #Mayran.# Story of Gotton Connixloo. Dutton. + + +#The Best New English Publications# + +1. #Gibbon, Perceval.# Those Who Smiled. Cassell. +2. #Mayne, Ethel Colburn.# Blindman. Chapman and Hall. +3. #Mordaunt, Elinor.# Old Wine in New Bottles. Hutchinson. +4. #O'Kelly, Seumas.# The Leprechaun of Killmeen. Martin Lester. +5. #Robinson, Lennox.# Eight Short Stories. Talbot Press. +6. #Shorter, Dora Sigerson.# A Dull Day in London. Nash. +7. #LemaA(R)tre, Jules.# Serenus. Selwyn and Blount. + + +BELOW FOLLOWS A RECORD OF NINETY-TWO DISTINCTIVE VOLUMES PUBLISHED +BETWEEN NOVEMBER 1, 1918, AND OCTOBER 1, 1920. + + +I. #American Authors# + +#The Honourable Gentlemen and Others# and #Wings: Tales of the Psychic#, by +_Achmed Abdullah_ (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. + +#Hand-Made Fables#, by _George Ade._ (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. + +#Joy in the Morning#, by _Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews_ (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. + +#Youth and the Bright Medusa#, by _Willa Cather_ (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. + +#From Place to Place#, by _Irvin S. Cobb_ (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. + +#The Life of the Party#, by _Irvin S. Cobb_ (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. + +#Hiker Joy#, by _James B. Connolly_ (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. + +#Twelve Men#, by _Theodore Dreiser_ (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. + +#The Emperor of Elam, and Other Stories#, by _H. G. Dwight_ (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. + +#The Miller's Holiday: Short Stories From the North Western Miller#, +Edited by _Randolph Edgar_ (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. + +#Half Portions#, by _Edna Ferber_ (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. + +#The Best Psychic Stories#, Edited by _Joseph Lewis French_, with an +Introduction by _Dorothy Scarborough_ (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. + +#Fantastics, and Other Fancies#, by _Lafcadio Hearn_, Edited by _Charles +Woodward Hutson_ (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 HA(C)rA(C)dia, 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. + +#Waifs and Strays: Twelve Stories#, by _O. Henry_ (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. + +#O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories#, 1919, Chosen by the _Society of Arts +and Sciences_, with an introduction by _Blanche Colton Williams_ +(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. + +#The Happy End#, by _Joseph Hergesheimer_ (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. + +#War Stories#, Selected and Edited by _Roy J. Holmes_ and _A. Starbuck_ +(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. + +#The Great Modern American Stories: An Anthology#, Compiled and edited +with an introduction by _William Dean Howells_ (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. + +#Bedouins#, by _James Huneker_ (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." + +#Humoresque#, by _Fannie Hurst_ (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. + +#Legends#, by _Walter McLaren Imrie_ (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 A%lie 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. + +#Travelling Companions#, by _Henry James_ (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. + +#The Best American Humorous Short Stories#, Edited by _Alexander Jessup_ +(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. + +#John Stuyvesant Ancestor and Other People#, by _Alvin Johnson_ (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. + +#Under the Rose#, by _Arthur Johnson_ (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. + +#Going West#, by _Basil King_ (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. + +#Civilization: Tales of the Orient#, by _Ellen N. La Motte_ (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. + +#Short Stories of the New America#, Selected and Edited by _Mary A. +Laselle_ (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. + +#Chill Hours#, by _Helen Mackay_ (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. + +#Children in the Mist#, by _George Madden Martin_ (D. Appleton & Company), +and #More E. K. Means# (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. + +#The Gift, England to America#, and #Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge#, by +_Margaret Prescott Montague_ (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. + +#From the Life#, by _Harvey O'Higgins_ (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. + +#The Mystery at the Blue Villa#, by _Melville Davisson Post_ (D. Appleton +and Company), and #Silent, White and Beautiful#, by _Tod Robbins_ (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. + +#The Best Ghost Stories.# Introduction by _Arthur B. Reeve_ (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. + +#High Life#, by _Harrison Rhodes_ (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. + +#The Red Mark#, by _John Russell_ (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. + +#The Pagan#, by _Gordon Arthur Smith_ (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. + +#The Elder's People#, by _Harriet Prescott Spofford_ (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." + +#The Valley of Vision#, by _Henry van Dyke_ (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 anA|mia +which is so characteristic of much of American life. + +#The Ninth Man#, by _Mary Heaton Vorse_ (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 +mediA|val 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. + +#Anchors Aweigh#, by _Harriet Welles_ (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. + +#Ma Pettengill#, by _Harry Leon Wilson_ (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. + +#Hungry Hearts#, by _Anzia Yezierska_ (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 anA|mic +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. + + +II. #English and Irish Authors# + +#Windmills: A Book of Fables#, by _Gilbert Cannan_ (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. + +#The Eve of Pascua#, by "_Richard Dehan_" (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. + +#Poems and Prose#, of _Ernest Dowson_ (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." + +#The Golden Bird and Other Sketches#, by _Dorothy Eastern_, with a +foreword by _John Galsworthy_ (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. + +#My Neighbors: Stories of the Welsh People#, by _Caradoc Evans_ (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. + +#Tatterdemalion#, by _John Galsworthy_ (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. + +#Limbo#, by _Aldous Huxley_ (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. + +#Deep Waters#, by _W. W. Jacobs_ (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. + +#Lo, and Behold Ye!#, by _Seumas MacManus_ (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. + +#The Clintons, and Others#, by _Archibald Marshall_ (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. + +#The Man Who Understood Women#, and #While Paris Laughed#, by _Leonard +Merrick_ (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. + +#Workhouse Characters#, by _Margaret Wynne Nevinson_ (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. + +#The New Decameron#: 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. + +#Wrack, and Other Stories#, by "_Dermot O'Byrne_" (Dublin: The Talbot +Press, Ltd.), #The Golden Barque, and the Weaver's Grave#, by _Seumas +O'Kelly_ (Dublin: The Talbot Press, Ltd.), and #Eight Short Stories#, by +_Lennox Robinson_ (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. + +#The Old Card#, by _Roland Pertwee_ (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. + +#Old Junk#, by _H. M. Tomlinson_ (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. + +#By Violence#, by "_John Trevena_" (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. + +#Port Allington Stories#, by _R. E. VernA"de_ (George H. Doran Company). +This volume of stories which is drawn from the late Lieutenant +VernA"de'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. + +#Holy Fire, and Other Stories#, by _Ida A. R. Wylie_ (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. + + +III. #Translations# + +#When the King Loses His Head, and Other Stories#, by _Leonid Andreyev._ +Translated by _Archibald J. Wolfe_ (International Book Publishing +Company), and #Modern Russian Classics.# Introduction by _Isaac Goldberg_ +(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 IrA|" 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. + +#Prometheus: the Fall of the House of LimA cubedn: Sunday Sunlight: Poetic +Novels of Spanish Life#, by _RamA cubedn PA(C)rez de Ayala_, Prose translations by +_Alice P. Hubbard_: Poems done into English by _Grace Hazard Conkling_ +(E. P. Dutton & Co.). SeA+-or PA(C)rez 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 PA(C)rez 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. + +#The Last Lion, and Other Tales#, by _Vicente Blasco IbAiA+-ez_, with an +Introduction by _Mariano Joaquin Lorente_ (The Four Seas Company). The +present vogue of SeA+-or Blasco IbAiA+-ez 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. + +#The Bishop, and Other Stories#, and #The Chorus Girl, and Other Stories#, +by _Anton Chekhov_; translated from the Russian by _Constance Garnett_ +(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. + +#The Surprises of Life#, by _Georges ClA(C)menceau_; translated by _Grace +Hall_ (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. ClA(C)menceau'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 CurA(C)" is a successful +story. + +#Tales of My Native Town#, by _Gabriele D'Annunzio_; translated by _G. +Mantellini_, with an Introduction by _Joseph Hergesheimer_ (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. + +#Military Servitude and Grandeur#, by _Alfred de Vigny_; translated by +_Frances Wilson Huard_ (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. + +#An Honest Thief, and Other Stories#, by _Fyodor Dostoevsky_; translated +from the Russian by _Constance Garnett_ (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. + +#Civilization#, 1914-1917, by _Georges Duhamel_; translated by _E. S. +Brooks_ (The Century Co.). This volume shares with A%lie 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. + +#Czecho-Slovak Stories#, translation by _AoeAirka B. Hrbkova_ (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 +AeOEech, and Caroline SvAestlAi, 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. + +#Serenus, and Other Stories of the Past and Present#, by _Jules LemaA(R)tre_; +translated by "_Penguin_" (_A. W. Evans_) (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 LemaA(R)tre 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. + +#Tales of Mystery and Horror#, by _Maurice Level_; translated from the +French by _Alys Eyre Macklin_, with an Introduction by _Henry B. Irving_ +(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. + +#The Story of Gotton Connixloo#, followed by #Forgotten#, by _Camille +Mayran_; translated by _Van Wyck Brooks_ (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. + +#Short Stories from the Spanish#; Englished by _Charles B. McMichael_ +(Boni and Liveright, Inc.). The present volume contains seven short +stories by RubA(C)n Dario, Jacinto Octavio PicA cubedn, 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 RubA(C)n +Dario, and "After the Battle" by the Spaniard Jacinto Octavio PicA cubedn. The +other stories are of unequal value, so far as we can judge from Mr. +McMichael's translation. + +#The Fairy Spinning Wheel, and the Tales It Spun#, by _Catulle MendA"s_; +translated by _Thomas J. Vivian_ (The Four Seas Company). It was a happy +thought to reprint this translation of M. MendA"s' 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. MendA"s' style has +been successfully transferred to the English version. + +#Temptations#, by _David Pinski_; translated by _Isaac Goldberg_ +(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. + +#Russian Short Stories#, edited by _Harry C. Schweikert_ (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. + +#Iolanthe's Wedding#, by _Hermann Sudermann_; translated by _AdA"le S. +Seltzer_ (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. + +#Short Stories from the Balkans#; translated by _Edna Worthley Underwood_ +(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 AeOEech, 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 +VrchlickA1/2, the Rumanian Caragiale, and the Hungarian MikszAith. The +translation seems competently done. + +#Modern Greek Stories#; translated by _Demetra Vaka_ and _Aristides +Phoutrides_ (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. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920: AN INDEX + + +#Note.# _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. #American Authors# + +#Abdullah, Achmed.# *Wings. McCann. + +#Abdullah, Achmed#, _and others._ Ten Foot Chain. Reynolds. + +#Ade, George.# Home Made Fables. Doubleday, Page. + +#Anderson, Emma Maria Thompson.# A 'Chu. Review and Herald Pub. Assn. + +#Anderson, Robert Gordon.# Seven O'clock Stories. Putnam. + +#Barbour, Ralph Henry.# Play That Won. Appleton. + +#Benneville, James Seguin De.# Tales of the Tokugawa. Reilly. + +#Bishop, William Henry.# Anti-Babel. Neale. + +#Boyer, Wilbur S.# Johnnie Kelly. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Bridges, Victor.# Cruise of the "Scandal." Putnam. + +#Brown, Alice.# *Homespun and Gold. Macmillan. + +#Butler, Ellis Parker.# Swatty. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Carroll, P. J.# Memory Sketches. School Plays Pub. Co. + +#Cather, Willa Sibert.# *Youth and the Bright Medusa. Knopf. + +#Chambers, Robert W.# Slayer of Souls. Doran. + +#Cohen, Octavus Roy.# Come Seven. Dodd, Mead. + +#Comfort, Will Levington#, and #Dost, Zamin Ki.# Son of Power. Doubleday, +Page. + +#Connolly, James B.# *Hiker Joy. Scribner. + +"#Crabb, Arthur.#" Samuel Lyle, Criminologist. Century Co. + +#Cram, Mildred.# Lotus Salad. Dodd, Mead. + +#Cutting, Mary Stewart.# Some of Us Are Married. Doubleday, Page. + +#Davies, Ellen Chivers.# Ward Tales. Lane. + +#Deland, Margaret.# *Small Things. Harper. + +#Dickson, Harris.# Old Reliable in Africa. Stokes. + +#Dodge, Henry Irving.# Skinner Makes It Fashionable. Harper. + +#Dost, Zami Ki.# _See_ Comfort, Will Levington and Dost, Zamin Ki. + +#Dwight, H. G.# *Emperor of Elam. Doubleday, Page. + +#Edgar, Randolph#, _editor._ *Miller's Holiday: Short Stories from The +Northwestern Miller. Miller Pub. Co. + +#Ferber, Edna.# *Half Portions. Doubleday, Page. + +#Fillmore, Parker.# *Shoemaker's Apron. Harcourt, Brace and Howe. + +#Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key.# Flappers and Philosophers. Scribner. + +#Ford, Sewell.# Meet 'Em with Shorty McCabe. Clode. + Torchy and Vee. Clode. + Torchy as a Pa. Clode. + +#French, Joseph Lewis#, _editor._ *Best Psychic Stories. Boni and +Liveright. + *Masterpieces of Mystery. 4 vol. Doubleday, Page. + +#Gittins, H. N.# Short and Sweet. Lane. + +#Graham, James C.# It Happened at Andover. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Hall, Herschel S.# Steel Preferred. Dutton. + +#Haslett, Harriet Holmes.# Impulses. Cornhill Co. + +#Heydrick, Benjamin#, _editor._ *Americans All. Harcourt, Brace, and +Howe. + +#Hill, Frederick Trevor.# Tales Out of Court. Stokes. + +#Howells, William Dean#, _editor._ *Great Modern American Stories. Boni and +Liveright. + +#Hughes, Jennie V.# Chinese Heart-Throbs. Revell. + +#Hughes, Rupert.# *Momma, and Other Unimportant People. Harper. + +#Huneker, James.# *Bedouins. Scribner. + +#Imrie, Walter McLaren.# *Legends. Midland Press. + +#Irwin, Wallace.# Suffering Husbands. Doran. + +#James, Henry.# *Master Eustace. Seltzer. + +#Jessup, Alexander#, _editor._ *Best American Humorous Short Stories. Boni +and Liveright. + +#Johnson, Arthur.# *Under the Rose. Harper. + +#Kelley, F. C.# City and the World. Extension Press. + +#Lamprey, L.# Masters of the Guild. Stokes. + +#Leacock, Stephen.# Winsome Winnie. Lane. + +#Linderman, Frank Bird.# *On a Passing Frontier. Scribner. + +#Linton, C. E.# Earthomotor. Privately Printed. + +#McCarter, Margaret Hill.# Paying Mother. Harper. + +#Mackay, Helen.# *Chill Hours. Duffield. + +#MacManus, Seumas.# *Top o' the Mornin'. Stokes. + +#McSpadden, J. Walker#, _editor._ Famous Detective Stories. Crowell. + Famous Psychic Stories. Crowell. + +#Martin, George Madden.# *Children in the Mist. Appleton. + +#Means, E. K.# *Further E. K. Means. Putnam. + +#Miller, Warren H.# Sea Fighters. Macmillan. + +#Montague, Margaret Prescott.# *England to America. Doubleday, Page. + *Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Doubleday, Page. + +#Montgomery, L. M.# Further Chronicles of Avonlea. Page. + +#Morgan, Byron.# Roaring Road. Doran. + +#O'Brien, Edward J.# Best Short Stories of 1919. Small, Maynard. + +#Paine, Ralph D.# Ships Across the Sea. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Perry, Lawrence.# For the Game's Sake. Scribner. + +#Pitman, Norman Hinsdale.# Chinese Wonder Book. Dutton. + +#Poe, Edgar Allan.# *Gold-bug. Four Seas. + +#Post, Melville Davisson.# *Sleuth of St. James's Square. Appleton. + +#Rhodes, Harrison.# *High Life. McBride. + +#Rice, Alice Hegan#, and #Rice, Cale Young.# Turn About Tales. Century Co. + +#Richards, Clarice E.# Tenderfoot Bride. Revell. + +#Richmond, Grace S.# Bells of St. John's. Doubleday, Page. + +#Rinehart, Mary Roberts.# Affinities. Doran. + +#Robbins, Tod.# *Silent, White, and Beautiful. Boni and Liveright. + +#Robinson, William Henry.# Witchery of Rita. Berryhill Co. + +#Sedgwick, Anne Douglas.# *Christmas Roses. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Smith, Gordon Arthur.# *Pagan. Scribner. + +#Society of Arts and Sciences.# *O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories, 1919. +Doubleday, Page. + +#Spofford, Harriet Prescott.# *Elder's People. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Train, Arthur.# Tutt and Mr. Tutt. Scribner. + +#Vorse, Mary Heaton.# *Ninth Man. Harper. + +#Whalen, Louise Margaret.# Father Ladden, Curate. Magnificat Pub. Co. + +#White, Stewart Edward.# Killer. Doubleday, Page. + +#Widdemer, Margaret.# Boardwalk. Harcourt, Brace, and Howe. + +#Wiggin, Kate Douglas.# *Homespun Tales. Houghton Mifflin. + +#Wiley, Hugh.# Wildcat. Doran. + +#Yezierska, Anzia.# *Hungry Hearts. Houghton Mifflin. + + +II. #English and Irish Authors# + +#Baxter, Arthur Beverley.# Blower of Bubbles. Appleton. + +#Beerbohm, Max.# *Seven Men. Knopf. + +#Cannan, Gilbert.# *Windmills. Huebsch. + +"#Dehan, Richard.#" (#Clotilde Graves#). Eve of Pascua. Doran. + +#Dell, Ethel May.# Tidal Wave. Putnam. + +#Dunsany, Lord.# *Tales of Three Hemispheres. Luce. + +#Easton, Dorothy.# *Golden Bird. Knopf. + +#Evans, Caradoc.# *My Neighbors. Harcourt, Brace, & Howe. + +#Galsworthy, John.# *Tatterdemalion. Scribner. + +#Graves, Clotilde.# _See_ "Dehan, Richard." + +#Grogan, Gerald.# William Pollok. Lane. + +#Hardy, Thomas.# *Two Wessex Tales. Four Seas. + +#Hichens, Robert.# Snake-bite. Doran. + +#Hutten, Baroness Von.# _See_ Von Hutten, Baroness. + +#Huxley, Aldous.# *Limbo. Doran. + +#James, Montague Rhodes.# *Thin Ghost. Longmans. + +#Jeffery, Jeffery E.# Side Issues. Seltzer. + +#Kipling, Rudyard.# *Man Who Would Be King. Four Seas. + +#Lipscomb, W. P.# Staff Tales. Dutton. + +#New Decameron: Second Day.# McBride. + +#O'Kelly, Seumas.# *Golden Barque, and the Weaves's Grave. Putnam. + +"#Ross, Martin.#" _See_ "Somerville, E. A'.," and "Ross, Martin." + +#Sabatini, Rafael.# Historical Nights' Entertainment, Second Series. +Lippincott. + +"#Somerville, E. A'.#," _and_ "#Ross, Martin#," Stray-Aways. Longmans, +Green. + +"#Trevena, John.#" *By Violence. Four Seas. + +#VernA"de, R. E.# Port Allington Stories. Doran. + +#Von Hutten, Baroness.# Helping Hersey. Doran. + +#Wylie, Ida Alena Ross.# *Holy Fire. Lane. + + +III. #Translations# + +"#Aleichem, Shalom.#" _(Yiddish.)_ *Jewish Children. Knopf. + +#Andreiev, Leonid.# _(Russian.)_ *When the King Loses His Head. +International Bk. Pub. + +#Andreiev, Leonid#, _and others._ (_Russian._) *Modern Russian Classics. +Four Seas. + +#Annunzio, Gabriele D'.# _(Italian.)_ *Tales of My Native Town. +Doubleday, Page. + +#Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# _(Spanish.)_ *Last Lion. Four Seas. + +#Brown, Demetra Vaka#, and #Phoutrides, Aristides#, _trs._ (_Modern +Greek._) *Modern Greek Stories. Duffield. + +#Chekhov, Anton.# _(Russian.)_ *Chorus Girl. Macmillan. + +#ClA(C)menceau, Georges.# _(French.)_ *Surprises of Life. Doubleday, Page. + +#Coster, Charles de.# _(French.)_ *Flemish Legends. Stokes. + +#Dostoevsky, Fedor Mikhailovich.# _(Russian.)_ *Honest Thief. Macmillan. + +#Friedlander, Gerald#, _ed. and tr._ (_Hebrew._) Jewish Fairy Tales and +Stories. Dutton. + +#Hrbkova, Sarka B.#, _editor._ (_Czecho-Slovak._) *Czecho-Slovak Stories. +Dutton. + +#Jacobsen, Jens Peter.# _(Danish.)_ *Mogens. Brown. + +#Level, Maurice.# _(French.)_ *Tales of Mystery and Horror. McBride. + +#McMichael, Charles B.#, _translator._ (_Spanish._) *Short Stories from +the Spanish. Boni & Liveright. + +#Maupassant, Guy de.# _(French.)_ *Mademoiselle Fifi. Four Seas. + +#Mayran, Camille.# _(French.)_ *Story of Gotton Connixloo. Dutton. + +#PA(C)rez de Ayala, RamA cubedn.# _(Spanish.)_ *Prometheus. Dutton. + +#Ragozin, Z. A.#, _editor._ (_Russian._) *Little Russian Masterpieces. +4 vol. Putnam. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND AND IRELAND ONLY + + +I. #English and Irish# + +#Andrew, Emily.# Happiness in the Valley. Charles Joscelyn. + +#Barr, Robert.# Helping Hand. Mills and Boon. + Tales of Two Continents. Mills and Boon. + +#Beerbohm, Max.# *And Even Now. Heinemann. + +#Calthrop, Dion Clayton.# *Bit at a Time. Mills and Boon. + +#Cole, Sophie.# Variety Entertainment. Mills and Boon. + +#Conyers, Dorothea.# Irish Stew. Skeffington. + +#Cross, Victoria.# Daughters of Heaven. Laurie. + +#Drury, W. P.# All the King's Men. Chapman and Hall. + +#Evans, C. S.# Nash and Some Others. Heinemann. + +#Everard, Mrs. H. D.# Death Mask. Philip Allan. + +#Forster, E. M.# *Story of the Siren. Hogarth Press. + +#Frampton, Mary.# Forty Years On. Arrowsmith. + +#Garvice, Charles.# Girl at the "Bacca" Shop. Skeffington. + +#Gaunt, Mary.# Surrender, Laurie. + +#Gibbon, Perceval.# *Those Who Smiled. Cassell. + +#Green, Peter.# Our Kid. Arnold. + +#Grimshaw, Beatrice.# Coral Palace. Mills and Boon. + +#Harvey, William Fryer.# Misadventures of Athelstan Digby. +Swarthmore Press. + +#Howard, F. Moreton.# Happy Rascals. Methuen. + +#Key, Uel.# Broken Fang. Hodder and Stoughton. + +#Knowlson, T. Sharper.# Man Who Would Not Grow Old. Laurie. + +#Leo, T. O. D. C.# Two Feasts of St. Agnes. Morland. + +#Le Queux, William.# Mysteries of a Great City. Hodder and Stoughton. + +#McGuffin, William.# Australian Tales of the Border. Lothian Book Pub. Co. + +#Mansfield, Katherine.# *Je Ne Parle Pas FranASec.ais. Heron Press. + *Prelude. Hogarth Press. + +#Mayne, Ethel Colburn.# *Blindman. Chapman and Hall. + +#Mordaunt, Elinor.# *Old Wine in New Bottles. Hutchinson. + +#Muir, Ward.# Adventures in Marriage. Simpkin, Marshall. + +#Newham, C. E.# Gippo. W. P. Spalding. + +#Newman, F. J.# Romance and Law in the Divorce Court. Melrose. + +#O'Kelly, Seumas.# *Leprechaun of Killmeen. Martin Lester. + +#Palmer, Arnold.# *My Profitable Friends. Selwyn and Blount. + +#Paterson, A. B.# Three Elephant Power. Australian Book Co. + +#Riley, W.# Yorkshire Suburb. Jenkins. + +#Robins, Elizabeth.# Mills of the Gods. Butterworth. + +#Robinson, Lennox.# *Eight Short Stories. Talbot Press. + +"#Sea-Pup.#" Musings of a Martian. Heath Cranton. + +#Shorter, Dora Sigerson.# *Dull Day in London. Nash. + +#Smith, Logan Pearsall.# *Stories from the Old Testament. +Hogarth Press. + +#Stein, Gertrude.# *Three Lives. Lane. + +#Stock, Ralph.# Beach Combings. Pearson. + +#Taylor, Joshua.# Lure of the Links. Heath Cranton. + +#Warrener, Marcus and Violet.# House of Transformations. +Epworth Press. + +#Wicksteed, Hilda.# Titch. Swarthmore Press. + +#Wilderhope, John.# Arch Fear. Murray and Evenden. + +#Wildridge, Oswald.# *Clipper Folk. Blackwood. + +#Woolf, Virginia.# *Mark on the Wall. Hogarth Press. + + +II. #Translations# + +#Chekhov, Anton.# _(Russian.)_ *My Life. Daniel. + +#Kuprin, Alexander.# _(Russian.)_ *Sasha. Paul. + +#LemaA(R)tre, Jules.# _(French.)_ *Serenus. Selwyn and Blount. + + + + +VOLUMES OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN FRANCE + + +#Ageorges, Joseph.# Contes sereins. FiguiA"re. + +#Arcos, RenA(C).# *Bien commun. Le Sablier. + +#Boylesve, RenA(C).# *Nymphes dansant avec des satyres. Calmann-LA(C)vy. + +"#FarrAe•re, Claude.#" DerniA"re dA(C)esse. Flammarion. + +#Geffroy, Gustave.# Nouveaux contes du pays d'Quest. CrA"s. + +#GA(C)niaux, Charles.# Mes voisins de campagne. Flammarion. + +#Ginisty, Paul.# *Terreur. SociA(C)tA(C) anonyme d'A(C)dition. + +#Herold, A. Ferdinand.# *Guirlande d'Aphrodite. Edition d'Art. + +#Hesse, Raymond.# Bouzigny! Payot. + +#Hirsch, Charles-Henry.# Craquement. Flammarion. + +Lautrec, Gabriel de. Histoires de Tom JoA(C). Edition franASec.aise +illustrA(C)e. + +#Le Glay, Maurice.# RA(C)cits marocains. Berger-Levrault. + +#Machard, Alfred.# *Cent Gosses. Flammarion. + *Syndicat des fessA(C)s. Ferenczi. + +#Marie, Jacques.# Sous l'armure. Jouve. + +#Mille, Pierre.# *Nuit d'amour sur la montagne. Flammarion. + *Trois femmes. Calmann-LA(C)vy. + +#Pillon, Marcel.# Contes A ma cousine. FiguiA"re. + +#Pottecher, Maurice.# Joyeux Contes de la Cicogne d'Alsace. +Ollendorff. + +"#Rachilde.#" *DA(C)couverte de l'AmA(C)rique. Kundig. + +#RA(C)gnier, Henri de.# *Histories incertaines. Mercure de France. + +#RhaA-s, Elissa.# *CafA(C) chantant. Plon. + +#Rochefoucauld, Gabriel de la.# *Mari CalomniA(C). Plon-Nourrit. + +#Russo, Luigi Libero.# Contes A la cigogne. 2e sA(C)rie. Messein. + +#Sarcey, Yvonne.# Pour vivre heureux. + +#Sutton, Maurice.# Contes retrouvA(C)s. Edit. Formosa. Bruxelles. + +#Tisserand, Ernest.# Contes de la popote. CrA"s. + +#Villiers de l'Isle-Adam.# *Nouveaux Contes Cruels. CrA"s. + + + + +ARTICLES ON THE SHORT STORY + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +_The following abbreviations are used in this index_:-- + +_Ath._ AthenA|um +_B. E. T._ Boston Evening Transcript +_Book (London)_ Bookman (London) +_Book (N. Y.)_ Bookman (New York) +_Cath. W._ Catholic World +_Chap._ Monthly Chapbook +_Cont. R._ Contemporary Review +_Edin. R._ Edinburgh Review +_Eng. R._ English Review +_Fortn. R._ Fortnightly Review +_Harp. M._ Harper's Magazine +_L. H. J._ Ladies' Home Journal +_Lib._ Liberator +_Liv. Age._ Living Age +_Lit. R._ Little Review +_L. Merc._ London Mercury +_M. de F._ Mercure de France +_Mir._ Reedy's Mirror +_Mun._ Munsey's Magazine +_Nat. (London)_ Nation (London) +_N. Rep._ New Republic +_New S._ New Statesman +_19th Cent._ Nineteenth Century and After +_N. R. F._ Nouvelle Revue FranASec.aise +_Peop._ People's Favorite Magazine +_Quart. R._ Quarterly Review +_R. de D. M._ Revue des Deux Mondes +_Sat. R._ Saturday Review +_Strat. J._ Stratford Journal +_Times Lit. Suppl._ Times Literary Supplement +_Touch._ Touchstone (London) +_Yale R._ Yale Review + + +Abdullah, Achmed. + By Rebecca West. New S. May 8. (15:137.) + +"Aleichem, Shalom." + Anonymous. New S. Mar. 13. (14:682.) + +#Alexander, Grace.# + Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. Aug. 18. (23:335.) + +#Alvord, James Church.# + Typical American Short Story. Yale R. Apr. (9:650.) + +American Short Story. + By James Church Alvord. Yale R. Apr. (9:650.) + +Andreyev, Leonid. + By Eugene M. Kayden. Dial. Nov. 15, '19. (67:425.) + By Moissaye J. Olgin. N. Rep. Dec. 24, '19. (21:123.) + By A. Sokoloff. New S. Nov. 15, '19. (14:190.) + +Annunzio, Gabriele d'. + By Joseph Collins. Scr. Sept. (68:304.) + By Rebecca West. New S. June 5, (15:253.) + N. Rep. June 30. (23:155.) + +Anonymous. + Buying $2,000,000 Worth of Fiction. Peop. Oct., '19. (12.) + +Apuleius. + By Lord Ernle. Quart. R. Jul. (234:41.) + +Arcos, RenA(C). + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jan. 22. (19:48.) + + +#Bailey, John.# + Henry James. London Observer. Apr. 25. + +Balkan Short Stories. + By Kate Buss. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3, p. 9.) + +Balzac, HonorA(C) de. + By Princess Catherine Radziwill. Book. (N. Y.) Aug. (51:639.) + By Sir Frederick Wedmore. 19th Cent. Mar. (87:484.) + By M. P. Willcocks. Nation. (London.) Mar. 20. (26:864) and Mar. 27. + +Barnes, J. S. + Contemporary Italian Short Stories. New Europe. Nov. 27, '19. (13:214.) + +Beaubourg, Maurice. + By Legrand-Chabrier. M. de F. 15 aoA"t. (142:5.) + +#Beaunier, AndrA(C).# + Pierre Mille. R. de D. M. 1 juillet. (6 sA(C)r. 58:191.) + +Beerbohm, Max. + Anonymous. Nation. (London.) Nov. 22, '19. (26:272.) + By Bohun Lynch. L. Merc. June. (2:168.) + By S. W. Ath. Nov. 14, '19. (1186.) + +#Bent, Silas.# + Henry James. Mir. June 3. (29:448.) June 24. (29:510.) + +Beyle, Henri. _See_ "Stendhal." + +Blackwood, Algernon. + By Henriette Reeves. Touch. May. (7:147.) + +#Bourget, Paul.# + Prosper MA(C)rimA(C)e. R. de D. M. 15 Sept. (59:257.) + +Bourget, Paul. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 30. (19:634.) + By R. Le Clerc Phillips. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:448.) + +#Braithwaite, William Stanley.# + American Short Story. B. E. T. Mar. 27. (pt. 3. p. 10.) + +#Brooks, Van Wyck.# + Mark Twain. Dial. Mar. Nat. Apr. (68:275, 424.) + +#Buss, Kate.# + Balkan Short Stories. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 9.) + + +#Cabell, James Branch.# + Joseph Hergesheimer. Book. (N. Y.) Nov.-Dec., '19. (50:267.) + +#Calthrop, Dion Clayton.# + O. Henry. London Observer. May 2. + +#Chekhov, Anton.# + Diary. Ath. Apr. 2. (460.) + Letters. XII. Ath. Oct. 24, '19. (1078.) + XIII. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1135.) + +Chekhov, Anton. + Anonymous. Ath. Jan. 23, Feb. 6. ('20:1:124, 191.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Feb. 12, Jul. 15. (19:103, 455.) + By Edmund Gosse. London Sunday Times. Mar. 14. + By Robert Morss Lovett. Dial. May. (68:626.) + By Robert Lynd. London Daily News. Feb. 11. + By Robert Lynd. Nation (London.) Feb. 28. (26:742.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Mar. 5. ('20:1:299.) + By Robert Nichols. London Observer. Mar. 7. + By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. Feb. (68:253.) + +#Chew, Samuel C.# + Thomas Hardy. N. Rep. June 2. (23:22.) + +#Child, Harold.# + Thomas Hardy. Book. (London.) June. (58:101.) + +Clemens, Samuel L. _See_ "Twain, Mark." + +#Collins, Joseph.# + Alfredo Panzini and Luigi Pirandello. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.) + Giovanni Papini. Book. (N. Y.) (51:160.) + Gabriele D'Annunzio. Scr. Sept. (68:304.) + +#Colvin, Sir Sidney.# + Robert Louis Stevenson. Scr. Mar. (67:338.) + +#Conrad, Joseph.# + Stephen Crane. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:528.) L. Merc. Dec., '19. + (1:192.) + +Conrad, Joseph. + By Stephen Gwynn. Edin. R. Apr. (231:318.) + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) + By R. Ellis Roberts. Book. (London.) Aug. (58:160.) + By Gilbert Seldes. Dial. Aug. (69:191.) + +CoppA(C)e, FranASec.ois. + By Joseph J. Reilly. Cath. W. (111:614.) + +#Cor, Raphael.# + Charles Dickens. M. de F. 1 juillet. (141:82.) + +Corthis, AndrA(C). + Anonymous. Rev. de D. M. 15 juin. (6 sA(C)r. 57:816.) + +#Coulon, Marcel.# + Rachilde. M. de F. 15 sept. (142:545.) + +Couperus, Louis. + By J. L. Walch. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1133.) + +Crane, Stephen. + By Joseph Conrad. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:529.) L. Merc. Dec., '19. + (1:192.) + +Cunninghame Grahame, R. B. _See_ Grahame, R. B. Cunninghame. + + +D'Annunzio, Gabriele. _See_ Annunzio, Gabriele d'. + +#Deffoux, LA(C)on#, _and_ #Zavie, A%mile.# + Editions Kistemaekers et le "Naturalisme." M. de F. 16 oct., '19. + (135:639.) + A%mile Zola. M. de F. 15 fA(C)v. (138:68.) + +#Dell, Floyd.# + Mark Twain. Lib. Aug. (26.) + +#Dewey, John.# + Americanism and Localism. Dial. June. (68:684.) + +Dickens, Charles. + By Raphael Cor. M. de F. 1 juillet. (141:82.) + +Dobie, Charles Caldwell. + By Joe Whitnah. San Francisco Bulletin. Jan. 3. + +Dostoevsky, Fyodor. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 23. (19:612.) + By E. M. Forster. London Daily News. Nov. 11, '19. + By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. June. (68:774.) + +Doyle, A. Conan. + By Beverly Stark. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:579.) + +Duhamel, Georges. + By Henry J. Smith. Chicago Daily News. Dec. 3, '19. + +Dunsany, Lord. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 11, '19. (18:737.) July 8. (19:437.) + By Clayton Hamilton. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:537.) + By Norreys Jephson O'Conor. B. E. T. Oct. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 2.) + By Gilbert Seldes. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 2. p. 4.) + By F. W. Stokoe. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:202.) + By Marguerite Wilkinson. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:111.) + +#Dyer, Walter A.# + Short Story Orgy. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:217.) + + +#Edgett, Edwin F.# + O. Henry. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.) + W. W. Jacobs. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 10.) + Henry James. B. E. T. Apr. 10. + W.B. Maxwell. B. E. T. Nov. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 8.) + +#Egan, Maurice Francis.# + Henry James. Cath. W. June. (111:289.) + +"Eliot, George." + By H. C. Minchin. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:896.) + By Edward A. Parry. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:883.) + By Thomas Seccombe. Cont. R. Dec., '19. (116:660.) + +#Enoch, Helen.# + W. J. Locke. Cont. R. June. (117:855.) + +#Ernle, Lord.# + Apuleius. Quart. R. Jul. (234:41.) + +#Erskine, John.# + William Dean Howells. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:385.) + +#Evans, C.S.# + W. H. Hudson. Book. (N. Y.) Sept. (52:18.) + + +#Ferber, Edna.# + By Rebecca West. New S. Apr. 3. (14:771.) + +#Finger, Charles J.# + Hudson and Grahame. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.) + +Flaubert, Gustave. + By Marcel Proust. N. R. F. Jan. (14:72.) + By George Saintsbury. Ath. Oct. 3, '19. (983.) + By Albert Thibaudet. N. R. F. Nov., 19. (13:942.) + +#Forster, E. M.# + Fyodor Dostoevsky. London Daily News. Nov. 11, '19. + +Forster, E. M. + By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:209.) + By Rebecca West. New S. Aug. 28. (15:576.) + +Fox, John. + By Thomas Nelson Page. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:674.) + + +Gale, Zona. + By Constance Mayfield Rourke. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:315.) + +#George, W. L.# + Joseph Hergesheimer. Book. (London.) Sept. (58:193.) + +Giraudoux, Jean. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 22. (19:470.) + By Albert Thibaudet. N. R. F. Dec., '19. (13:1064.) + +#Goldberg, Isaac.# + Hungarian Short Stories. B. E. T. Oct. 8, '19. (pt.3. p.4.) + Ercole Luigi Morselli. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:557.) + Amado Nervo. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:3.) + Spanish-American Short Stories. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:565.) + +#Gorky, Maxim.# + Reminiscences of Tolstoi. L. Merc. Jul. (2:304.) + +Gorky, Maxim. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:453.) + By S. Koteliansky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:587.) + By J. W. N. S. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.) + +#Gosse, Edmund.# + Anton Chekhov. London Sunday Times. Mar. 14. + Henry James. L. Merc. Apr.-May. (1:673, 2:29.) + Scr. Apr.-May. (67:422, 548.) + +Gozzano, Guido. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:450.) + +Grahame, R. B. Cunninghame. + By Charles J. Finger. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.) + +#Gwynn, Stephen.# + Joseph Conrad. Edin. R. Apr. (231:318.) + + +#Hamilton, Clayton.# + Lord Dunsany. Book. (N. Y.) Feb. (50:537.) + +Hardy, Thomas. + By Grace Alexander. N. Rep. Aug. 18. (23:335.) + By Samuel C. Chew. N. Rep. June 2. (23:22.) + By Harold Child. Book. (London.) June. (58:101) + By W. M. Parker, 19th Cent. Jul. (88: 63.) + By Arthur Symons. Dial. Jan. (68:66.) + +Harte, Bret. + By Agnes Day Robinson. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:445.) + +#Hawthorne, Nathaniel.# + By Mary G. Tuttiett. 19th Cent. Jan. (87:118.) + +Henriet, Maurice. + Jules LemaA(R)tre. M. De F. 1 juin. (140:289.) + +"Henry, O." + By Dion Clayton Calthrop. London Observer. May 2. + By Edwin F. Edgett. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.) + By Edward Francis Mohler. Cath. W. Sept. (111:756.) + By Raoul Narsy. Liv. Age. Oct. 11, '19. (303:86.) + By John Seymour Wood. Book. (N. Y.) Jan. (50:474.) + +Hergesheimer, Joseph. + By James Branch Cabell. Book. (N. Y.) Nov.-Dec., '19. (50:267.) + By W. L. George. Book. (London.) Sept. (58:193.) + +Holz, Arno. + Anonymous. Ath. Apr. 9. ('20:1:490.) + +Hook, Theodore. + Anonymous. Sat. R. Sept. 25. (130:254.) + +#Hopkins, Gerard.# + Short Story. Chap. Feb. (25.) + +Howells, William Dean. + Anonymous. N. Rep. May 26. (22:393.) + By John Erskine. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:385.) + By Henry A. Lappin. Cath. W. Jul. (111:445.) + By Edward S. Martin. Harp. M. Jul. (141:265.) + By Arthur Hobson Quinn. Cen. Sept. (100:674.) + By Henry Rood. L. H. J. Sept. (42.) + By Booth Tarkington. Harp. M. Aug. (141: 346.) + +Hudson, W. H. + By C. S. Evans. Book. (N. Y.) Sept. (52:18.) + By Charles J. Finger. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:836.) + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Lit. R. May-June. (5.) + By Ezra Pound. Lit. R. May-June. (13.) + By Ernest Rhys. 19th Cent. Jul. (88:72.) + By John Rodker. Lit. R. May-June. (18.) + +#Hueffer, Ford Madox.# + W. H. Hudson. Lit. R. May-June. (5.) + Thus to Revisit. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) + +#Huneker, James Gibbons.# + Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) May. (51:364.) + +Huneker, James Gibbons. + Anon. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:515.) + +Hungarian Short Stories. + By Isaac Goldberg. B. E. T. Oct. 8, '19. (pt. 3. p. 4.) + +Huxley, Aldous. + By Michael Sadleir. Voices. June. (3:235.) + + +Italian Short Stories. + By J. S. Barnes. New Europe. Nov. 27, '19. (13:214.) + + +Jacobs, W. W. + By E. F. Edgett. B. E. T. Oct. 18, '19. (pt. 3. p. 10.) + +James, Henry. + Anonymous. Nation. (London.) May 8. (27:178.) + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Apr. 8. (19:217.) + Anonymous. Sat. R. June 12. (129:537.) + Anonymous. Cont. R. Jul. (118:142.) + By John Bailey. London Observer. Apr. 25. + By Silas Bent. Mir. June 3. (29: 448.) June 24. (29:510.) + By Edwin F. Edgett. B. E. T. Apr. 10. + By Maurice Francis Egan. Cath. W. June. (111:289.) + By Edmund Gosse. L. Merc. Apr.-May. (1:673:2:29.) + Scr. Apr.-May. (67:422, 548.) + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) + By James G. Huneker. Book. (N. Y.) May. (51:364.) + By Philip Littell. N. Rep. June 9. (23:63.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. May 15. (15:162.) + By Brander Matthews. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:389.) + By Thomas Moult. Eng. R. Aug. (31:183.) + By E. S. Nadal. Scr. Jul. (68:89.) + By Forrest Reid. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:520.) + By Gilbert Seldes. Dial. Jul. (69:83.) + By J. C. Squire. London Sunday Times. Apr. 18. + By Louise R. Sykes. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:240.) + By Allan Wade. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 19. (19:537.) + By A. B. Walkley. Fortn. R. June. (n. s. 107:864.) London Times. + June 16, Sept. 15. + By Sidney Waterlow. Ath. Apr. 23. ('20:1:537.) + By Edith Wharton. Quart. R. Jul. (234:188.) + +#Johnson, Alvin.# + Mark Twain. N. Rep. Jul. 14. (23:201.) + + +#Kayden, Eugene M.# + Leonid Andreyev. Dial. Nov. 15, '19. (67:425.) + +Keller, Gottfried. + By Alec W. G. Randall. Cont. R. Nov., '19. (116:532.) + +Kipling, Rudyard. + Anonymous. Sat. R. Aug. 7. (130:113.) + By Richard Le Gallienne. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:238.) + By Desmond MacCarthy. New S. June 5. (15:249.) + By Virginia Woolf. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:75.) + +#Koteliansky, S.# + Tolstoy and Gorky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:582.) + +Kuprin, Alexander. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Nov. 27, '19. (18:691) + By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Dec. 26, '19. (1399.) + + +#Lappin, Henry A.# + William Dean Howells. Cath. W. Jul. (111:445.) + +Lawrence, D. H. + By Louis Untermeyer. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:314.) + +#Le Gallienne, Richard.# + Rudyard Kipling. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:238.) + +#Legrand-Chabrier.# + Maurice Beaubourg. M. de F. 15 aoA"t. (142:5.) + +LemaA(R)tre, Jules. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 2. (19:562.) + By Maurice Henriet. M. de F. 1 juin. (140:289.) + +#Littell, Philip.# + Henry James. N. Rep. June 9. (23:63.) + +Locke, W. J. + By Helen Enoch. Cont. R. June. (117:855.) + +London, Jack. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:519.) + By Katherine Mansfield. Ath. Aug. 27. ('20:2:272.) + +#Lovett, Robert Morss.# + Anton Chekhov. Dial. May. (68:626.) + Mark Twain. Dial. Sept. (69:293.) + +#Lynch, Bohun.# + Max Beerbohm. L. Merc. June. (2:168.) + +#Lynd, Robert.# + Anton Chekhov. London Daily News. Feb. 11. + Anton Chekhov. Nation. (London.) Feb. 28. (26:742.) + George Meredith. London Daily News. Jan. 30. + +#Lysaght, S. R.# + Robert Louis Stevenson. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:713.) + + +#MacCarthy, Desmond.# + Henry James. New S. May 15. (15:162.) + Rudyard Kipling. New S. June 5. (15:249.) + +"Macleod, Fiona." (William Sharp.) + By Ethel Rolt-Wheeler. Fortn. R. Nov., '19. (112:780.) + +#Mansfield, Katharine.# + E. M. Forster. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:209.) + Alexander Kuprin. Ath. Dec. 26, '19. (1399.) + Jack London. Ath. Aug. 27. ('20:2:272.) + +#Martin, Edward S.# + William Dean Howells. Harp. M. Jul. (141:265.) + +Masefield, John. + By Edward Shanks. L. Merc. Sept. (2:578.) + +Maseras, Alfons. + By Camille Pitollet. M. de F. 15 aoA"t. (142:230.) + +#Matthews, Brander.# + Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:389). + Mark Twain. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (14.) + +Maxwell, W. B. + By E. F. Edgett, B. E. T. Nov. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 8.) + +Meredith, George. + By Robert Lynd. London Daily News. Jan. 30. + +MA(C)rimA(C)e, Prosper. + By Paul Bourget R. de D. M. 15 sept. (59:257.) + +Mille, Pierre. + By AndrA(C) Beaunier. R. de D. M. 1 juillet. (6 sA(C)r. 58:191.) + +#Minchin, H. C.# + George Eliot. Fortn. R. Dec. '19. (112:896.) + +Mirbeau, Octave. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:518.) + +#Mohler, Edward Francis.# + "O. Henry." Cath. W. Sept. (111:756.) + +Morrow, W. C. + By Vincent Starrett. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:751.) + +Morselli, Ercole Luigi. + By Isaac Goldberg. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:557.) + +#Moult, Thomas.# + Henry James. Eng. R. Aug. (31:183.) + +#Murry, J. Middleton.# + Anton Chekhov. Ath. Mar. 5. ('20:1:299.) + Stendhal. Ath. Sept. 17. ('20:2:388.) + Oscar Wilde. Ath. Sept. 24. ('20:2:401.) + + +#Nadal, E. S.# + Henry James. Scr. Jul. (68:89.) + +#Narsy, Raoul.# + O. Henry. Liv. Age. Oct. 11, '19. (303:86.) + +Naturalism. _See_ #Deffoux, LA(C)on#, _and_ #Zavie, A%mile.# + +Nervo, Amado. + By Isaac Goldberg. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:3.) + +"New Decameron." + Anonymous. Sat. R. Aug. 7. (130:113.) + By F. W. Stokoe. Ath. Aug. 6. ('20:2:172.) + +#Nichols, Robert.# + Anton Chekhov. London Observer. Mar. 7. + +Nodier, Charles. + By George Saintsbury. Ath. Jan. 16. ('20:1:91.) + + +#O'Brien, Edward J.# + Best Short Stories of 1919. B. E. T. Nov. 28, '19. (14.) + +O'Brien, Fitzjames. + By Joseph J. Reilly. Cath. W. Mar. (110:751.) + +#O'Conor, Norreys Jephson.# + Lord Dunsany. B. E. T. Oct. 22, '19. (pt. 3. p. 2.) + +#Olgin, Moissaye J.# + Leonid Andreyev. N. Rep. Dec. 24, '19. (21:123.) + + +#Page, Thomas Nelson.# + John Fox. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:674.) + +Panzini, Alfredo. + By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.) + By Guido de Ruggiero. Ath. Feb. 13. ('20:1:222.) + +Papini, Giovanni. + By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:160.) + +#Parker, W. M.# + Thomas Hardy, 19th Cent. Jul. (88:63.) + +#Parry, Edward A.# + George Eliot. Fortn. R. Dec., '19. (112:883.) + +#Phillips, R. Le Clerc.# + Paul Bourget. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:448.) + +Pirandello, Luigi. + By Joseph Collins. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:410.) + +#Pitollet, Camille.# + Alfons Maseras. M. de F. 15 aoA"t. (142:230.) + +Pontoppidan, Henrik. + By J. G. Robertson. Cont. R. Mar. (117:374.) + +#Pound, Ezra.# + W. H. Hudson. Lit. R. May-June. (13.) + +#Proust, Marcel.# + Gustave Flaubert. N. R. F. Jan. (14:72.) + +#Purcell, Gertrude M.# + Ellis Parker Butler. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:473.) + + +#Quinn, Arthur Hobson.# + William Dean Howells. Cen. Sept. (100:674.) + + +"Rachilde." (Mme. Alfred Vallette.) + By Marcel Coulon. M. de F. 15 sept. (142:545.) + +#Radziwill, Princess Catherine.# + HonorA(C) de Balzac. Book. (N. Y.) Aug. (51:639.) + +#Randall, Alec W. G.# + Gottfried Keller. Cont. R. Nov., '19. (116:532.) + +#Raynaud, Ernest.# + Oscar Wilde. La Minerve FranASec.aise. 15 aoA"t. + +Read, Opie. + By Vincent Starrett. Mir. Nov. 6, '19. (28:769.) + +#Reeves, Henriette.# + Algernon Blackwood. Touch. May. (7:147.) + +RA(C)gnier, Henri de. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Feb. 19. (19:118.) + +#Reid, Forrest.# + Henry James. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 12. (19:520.) + +#Reilly, Joseph J.# + FranASec.ois CoppA(C)e. Cath. W. Aug. (111:614.) + Fitzjames O'Brien. Cath. W. Mar. (110:751.) + +#Rhys, Ernest.# + W. H. Hudson, 19th Cent. Jul. (88:72.) + +#Roberts, R. Ellis.# + Joseph Conrad. Book. (London.) Aug. (58:160.) + +#Robertson, J. G.# + Henrik Pontoppidan. Cont. R. Mar. (117:374.) + +#Robinson, Agnes Day.# + Bret Harte. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:445.) + +#Rodker, John.# + W. H. Hudson, Lit. R. May-June. (18.) + +#Rolt-Wheeler, Ethel.# + "Fiona Macleod." Fortn. R. Nov., '19. (112:780.). + +#Rood, Henry.# + William Dean Howells. L. H. J. Sept. (42.) + +#Rourke, Constance Mayfield.# + Zona Gale. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:315.) + +#Ruggiero, Guido de.# + Alfred Panzini. Ath. Feb. 13. ('20:1:222.) + + +S., J. W. N. + Tolstoy and Gorky. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.) + +#Sadleir, Michael.# + Aldous Huxley. Voices. June. (3:235.) + +#Saintsbury, George.# + Gustave Flaubert. Ath. Oct. 3, '19. (983.) + Charles Nodier. Ath. Jan. 16. ('20:1:91.) + +#Seccombe, Thomas.# + George Eliot. Cont. R. Dec., '19. (116:660.) + +#Seldes, Gilbert.# + Joseph Conrad. Dial. Aug. (69:191.) + Lord Dunsany. B. E. T. Oct. 15, '19. (pt. 2. p. 4.) + Henry James. Dial. Jul. (69:83.) + +#Shanks, Edward.# + John Masefield. L. Merc. Sept. (2:578.) + Sharp, William. _See_ "Fiona Macleod." + +Singh, Kate Prosunno. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 2. (19:562.) + +#Smith, Henry J.# + Georges Duhamel. Chicago Daily News. Dec. 3, '19. + +#Sokoloff, A.# + Leonid Andreyev. New S. Nov. 15, '19. (14:190.) + +Spanish-American Short Story. See #Goldberg, Isaac.# + +#Squire, J. C.# + Henry James. London Sunday Times. Apr. 18. + +#Stark, Beverly.# + A. Conan Doyle. Book. (N. Y.) Jul. (51:579.) + +#Starrett, Vincent.# + W. C. Morrow. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:751.) + Opie Read. Mir. Nov. 6, '19. (28:769.) + +"Stendhal," (Henri Beyle.) + By John Middleton Murry. Ath. Sept. 17. ('20:2:388.) + +Stevenson, Robert Louis. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:701.) + By Sir Sidney Colvin. Scr. Mar. (67:338.) + By S. R. Lysaght. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:713.) + +#Stokoe, F. W.# + Lord Dunsany. Ath. Aug. 13. ('20:2:202.) + "New Decameron." Ath. Aug. 6. ('20:2:172.) + +#Sykes, Louise R.# + Henry James. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:240.) + +#Symons, Arthur.# + Thomas Hardy. Dial. Jan. (68:66.) + Oscar Wilde. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:129.) + + +#Tarkington, Booth.# + William Dean Howells. Harp. M. Aug. (141:346.) + +#Tchekhov, Anton.# _See_ Chekhov, Anton. + +#Thibaudet, Albert.# + Gustave Flaubert. N. R. F. Nov., '19. (13:942.) + Jean Giraudoux. N. R. F. Dec., '19. (13:1064.) + +Tolstoy, Count Lyof. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Jul. 15. (19:453.) + Anonymous. New S. Aug. 7. (15:505.) + By Maxim Gorky. L. Merc. Jul. (2:304.) + By S. Koteliansky. Ath. Apr. 30. ('20:1:587.) + By J. W. N. S. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:77.) + +#Trueblood, Charles K.# + Anton Chekhov. Dial. Jan. (68:80.) + Fyodor Dostoevsky. Dial. June. (68:774.) + Edith Wharton. Dial. Jan. (68:80.) + +#Tuttiett, Mary G.# + Nathaniel Hawthorne, 19th Cent. Jan. (87:118.) + +"Twain, Mark." + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Sept. 23. (19:615.) + By Van Wyck Brooks. Dial. Mar. (68:275), and Apr. (68:424.) + By Floyd Dell. Lib. Aug. (26.) + By Alvin Johnson. N. Rep. Jul. 14. (23:201.) + By Robert Morss Lovett. Dial. Sept. (69:293.) + By Brander Matthews. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (14.) + + +#Untermeyer, Louis.# + D. H. Lawrence. N. Rep. Aug. 11. (23:314.) + + +Vallette, Mme. Alfred. _See_ "Rachilde." + +Villiers de l'Isle-Adam. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Dec. 4, '19. (18:711.) + + +#Wade, Allan.# + Henry James. Times Lit. Suppl. Aug. 19. (19:537.) + +#Walch, J. L.# + Louis Couperus. Ath. Oct. 31, '19. (1133.) + +#Waldo, Harold.# + Old Wests for New. Book. (N. Y.) June. (51:396.) + +#Walkley, A. B.# + Henry James. Fortn. R. June. (n. s. 107:864.) + Henry James. London Times. June 16 and Sept. 15. + +#Waterlow, Sydney.# + Henry James. Ath. Apr. 23. ('20:1:537.) + +#Wedmore, Sir Frederick.# + HonorA(C) de Balzac, 19th Cent. Mar. (87:484.) + +Wells, H. G. + By Ford Madox Hueffer. Eng. R. Jul.-Aug. (31:5, 107.) + Dial. Jul.-Aug. (69:52, 132.) Reply by H. G. Wells. + Eng. R. Aug. (31:178.) + +#West, Rebecca.# + Achmed Abdullah. New S. May 8. (15:137.) + Gabriele D'Annunzio. New S. June 5. (15:253.) N. Rep. June 30. (23:155.) + Edna Ferber. New S. Apr. 3. (14:771.) + E. M. Forster. New S. Aug. 28. (15:576.) + +#Wharton, Edith.# + Henry James. Quart. R. Jul. (234:188.) + +#Wharton, Edith.# + By Charles K. Trueblood. Dial. Jan. (68:80.) + +#Whitnah, Joe.# + Charles Caldwell Dobie. San Francisco Bulletin. Jan. 3. + +Wilde, Oscar. + Anonymous. Times Lit. Suppl. Oct. 30, '19. (18:605.) + By J. Middleton Murry. Ath. Sept. 24. ('20:2:401.) + By Ernest Raynaud. La Minerve FranASec.aise. 15 aoA"t. + By Arthur Symons. Book. (N. Y.) Apr. (51:129.) + +#Wilkinson, Marguerite.# + Lord Dunsany. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:111.) + +#Willcocks, M. P.# + HonorA(C) de Balzac. Nation. (London.) Mar. 20. (26:864.) and Mar. 27. + +#Williams, Orlo.# + "Yellow Book." L. Merc. Sept. (2:567.) + +#Wilson, Arthur.# + "New Decameron." Dial. Nov. 1, '19. (67:372.) + +#Wood, John Seymour.# + O. Henry. Book. (N. Y.) Jan. (50:474.) + +#Woolf, Virginia.# + Rudyard Kipling. Ath. Jul. 16. ('20:2:75.) + + +"Yellow Book." + By Orlo Williams. L. Merc. Sept. (2:567.) + + +Zola, A%mile. + By LA(C)on Deffoux and A%mile Zavie. M. de F. 15 fA(C)v. (138:68.) + + + + +INDEX OF SHORT STORIES IN BOOKS + + +I. #American Authors# + +NOVEMBER, 1918, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +ABBREVIATIONS + +_Abdullah A._ Abdullah. Honorable Gentleman. +_Abdullah B._ Abdullah. Wings. +_Andrews B._ Andrews. Joy in the Morning. +_Andreyev C._ Andreyev. When the King Loses His Head. +_Ayala_ Ayala. Prometheus. +_Cannan_ Cannan. Windmills. +_Cather_ Cather. Youth and the Bright Medusa. +_Chekhov D._ Chekhov. Bishop. +_Chekhov E._ Chekhov. Chorus Girl. +_ClA(C)menceau_ ClA(C)menceau. Surprises of Life. +_Cobb B._ Cobb. Life of the Party. +_Cobb C._ Cobb. From Place to Place. +_Connolly A._ Connolly. Hiker Joy. +_D'Annunzio_ D'Annunzio. Tales of My Native Town. +_Dostoevsky B._ Dostoevsky. Honest Thief. +_Dowson_ Dowson. Poems and Prose. +_Dreiser B._ Dreiser. Twelve Men. +_Dwight A._ Dwight. Emperor of Elam. +_Easton_ Easton. Golden Bird. +_Edgar_ Edgar. Miller's Holiday. +_Evans A._ Evans. My Neighbors. +_Ferber B._ Ferber. Half Portions. +_French B._ French. Best Psychic Stories. +_Galsworthy B._ Galsworthy. Tatterdemalion. +_Hearn_ Hearn. Fantastics. +_Henry B._ Henry. Waifs and Strays. +_Hergesheimer B._ Hergesheimer. Happy End. +_Holmes_ Holmes and Starbuck. War Stories. +_Howells_ Howells. Great Modern American Stories. +_Hrbkova_ Hrbkova. Czecho-Slovak Stories. +_Huneker_ Huneker. Bedouins. +_Hurst B._ Hurst. Humoresque. +_Huxley_ Huxley. Limbo. +_IbAiA+-ez_ Blasco IbAiA+-ez. Last Lion. +_Imrie_ Imrie. Legends. +_Jacobs A._ Jacobs. Deep Waters. +_James A._ James. Travelling Companions. +_Jessup A._ Jessup. Best American Humorous Stories. +_Johnson_ Johnson. Under the Rose. +_La Motte_ La Motte. Civilization. +_Laselle_ Laselle. Short Stories of the New America. +_LemaA(R)tre_ LemaA(R)tre. Serenus. +_Level_ Level. Tales of Mystery and Horror. +_Mackay_ Mackay. Chill Hours. +_MacManus A._ MacManus. Lo, and Behold Ye! +_Marshall_ Marshall. Clintons. +_Martin_ Martin. Children in the Mist. +_Mayran_ Mayran. Story of Gotton Connixloo. +_McMichael_ McMichael. Short Stories from the Spanish. +_Merrick A._ Merrick. Man Who Understood Women. +_Merrick B._ Merrick. While Paris Laughed. +_Montague A._ Montague. Gift. +_Montague B._ Montague. England to America. +_Montague C._ Montague. Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. +_Nevinson_ Nevinson. Workhouse Characters. +_New Dec. A._ New Decameron. Prologue and First Day. +_O'Brien A._ O'Brien. Best Short Stories of 1918. +_O'Brien B._ O'Brien. Best Short Stories of 1919. +_O'Brien C._ O'Brien. Great Modern English Stories. +_O'Byrne A._ O'Byrne. Wrack. +_O'Higgins A._ O'Higgins. From the Life. +_O'Kelly B._ O'Kelly. Golden Barque. +_Pertwee_ Pertwee. Old Card. +_Pinski A._ Pinski. Temptations. +_Post B._ Post. Mystery of the Blue Villa. +_Prize A._ O. Henry Memorial Prize Stories. 1919. +_Reeve_ Reeve and French. Best Ghost Stories. +_Rhodes_ Rhodes. High Life. +_Robbins_ Robbins. Silent, White and Beautiful. +_Robinson_ Robinson. Eight Short Stories. +_Russell_ Russell. Red Mark. +_Russian A._ Modern Russian Classics. (Four Seas Co.) +_Schweikert B._ Schweikert. Russian Short Stories. +_Smith_ Smith. Pagan. +_Spofford A._ Spofford. Elder's People. +_Sudermann_ Sudermann. Iolanthe's Wedding. +_Tomlinson_ Tomlinson. Old Junk. +_Trevena_ Trevena. By Violence. +_Underwood A._ Underwood. Short Stories from the Balkans. +_VernA"de_ VernA"de. Port Allington Stories. +_Vaka_ Vaka and Phoutrides. Modern Greek Stories. +_Van Dyke A._ Van Dyke. Valley of Vision. +_Vigny_ Vigny. Military Servitude and Grandeur. +_Vorse_ Vorse. Ninth Man. +_Welles_ Welles. Anchors Aweigh. +_Wilson A._ Wilson. Ma Pettengill. +_Wylie_ Wylie. Holy Fire. +_Yezierska_ Yezierska. Hungry Hearts. + +#Abdullah, Achmed. (Achmed Abdullah Nadir Khan El-Durani El-Idrissyeh.#) + (1881- .) + **After His Kind. Abdullah A. 144. + ***Cobbler's Wax. Abdullah A. 112. + *Disappointment. Abdullah B. 43. + *Fear. Abdullah B. 211. + ***Hatchetman. Abdullah A. 41. + *Himself, to Himself Alone. Abdullah A. 241. + ***Honourable Gentleman. Abdullah A. 1. + **Khizr. Abdullah B. 183. + Krishnavana, Destroyer of Souls. Abdullah B. 115. + ***Light. Abdullah B. 231. + *Man Who Lost Caste. Abdullah B. 153. + *Pell Street Spring Song. Abdullah A. 73. + Renunciation. Abdullah B. 103. + **Silence. Abdullah B. 163. + ***Simple Act of Piety. Abdullah A. 196. O'Brien A. 3. + Tartar. Abdullah B. 77. + That Haunting Thing. Abdullah B. 135. + ***To be Accounted for. Abdullah B. 63. + ***Wings. Abdullah B. 1. + +#Ade, George.# (1866- .) + ***Effie Whittlesy. Howells. 288. + +#Aldrich, Thomas Bailey.# (1836-1907.) + ***Mlle. Olympe Zabriski. Howells, 110. + +#Allen, James Lane.# (1849- .) + Old Mill on the Elkhorn. Edgar. 133. + +#Alsop, Gulielma Fell.# + ***Kitchen Gods. O'Brien B. 3. Prize A. 253. + +#Ames, Jr., Fisher.# + *Sergt. Warren Comes Back from France. Laselle 171. + +#Anderson, Sherwood# (1876- .) + ***Awakening. O'Brien B. 24. + +#Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman.# (_See 1918._) + ***Ditch. Andrews B. 1. + ***Dundonald's Destroyer. Andrews B. 299. + *He That Loseth His Life Shall Find It, Andrews B. 193. + **Her Country Too. Andrews B. 37. + Only One of Them. Andrews B. 137. + Robina's Doll. Andrews B. 283. + *Russian. Andrews B. 263. + **Silver Stirrup. Andrews B. 241. + **Swallow. Andrews B. 85. + *V. C. Andrews B. 163. + + +#Babcock, Edwina Stanton.# + ***Cruelties. O'Brien A. 24 + ***Willum's Vanilla. O'Brien B, 34. + +#Barnes, Djuna.# (1892- .) + ***Night Among the Horses. O'Brien B. 65. + +#Bartlett, Frederic Orin.# (1876- .) + ChActeau-Thierry. Laselle. 199. + ***Long, Long Ago. O'Brien B. 74. + +#Beer, Thomas.# (1889- .) + *Absent Without Leave. Holmes. 1. + +#Bierce, Ambrose.# (1842-1914.) (_See 1918._) + ***Damned Thing. Reeve. 160. + ***Eyes of the Panther. French B. 95. + ***Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. Howells. 237. + +#Brooks, Alden.# + **Out of the Sky. Holmes. 17. + +#Brown, Alice.# (1857- .) _(See 1918.)_ + ***Told in the Poorhouse. Howells. 225. + +#Brown, Katharine Holland.# + ***Buster. O'Brien A. 43. + +#Brownell, Agnes Mary.# + ***Dishes. O'Brien B. 82. + +#Bunner, Henry Cuyler.# (1855-1896.) + **Nice People. Jessup A. 141. + +#Burnet, Dana.# (1888- .) + *Christmas Fight of X 157. Holmes. 39. + *"Red, White, and Blue." Holmes. 49. + +#Burt, Maxwell Struthers.# (1882- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Blood-Red One. O'Brien B. 96. + +#Butler, Ellis Parker.# (1869- .) + ***Dey Ain't No Ghosts. Reeve. 177. + +"#Byrne, Donn.#" (#Bryan Oswald Donn-Byrne.#) (1888- .) + **Underseaboat F-33. Holmes. 61. + + +#Cabell, James Branch.# (1879- .) + **Porcelain Cups. Prize A. 210. + ***Wedding-Jest. O'Brien B. 108. + +#Cable, George Washington.# (1844- .) + ***Jean-Ah Poquelin. Howells. 390. + +#Canfield, Dorothy.# (#Dorothy Canfield Fisher.#) (1879- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Little Kansas Leaven. Laselle 1. + +#Cather, Willa Sibert.# (1875- .) + ***Coming, Aphrodite! Cather. 11. + ***"Death in the Desert." Cather. 273. + ***Diamond Mine. Cather. 79. + **Gold Slipper. Cather. 140. + ***Paul's Case. Cather. 199. + **Scandal. Cather. 169. + ***Sculptor's Funeral. Cather. 248. + ***Wagner MatinA(C)e. Cather. 235. + +#Chester, George Randolph.# (1869- .) + Bargain Day at Tutt House. Jessup A. 213. + +#Clemens, Samuel Langhorne.# _See_ "#Twain, Mark.#" + +#Cobb, Irvin Shrewsbury.# (1876- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Boys Will Be Boys. Cobb C. 96. + *Bull Called Emily. Cobb C. 382. + ***Gallowsmith. Cobb C. 11. + Hoodwinked. Cobb C. 332. + John J. Coincidence. Cobb C. 259. + **Life of the Party. Cobb B. 11. + **Luck Piece. Cobb C. 156. + ***Quality Folks. Cobb C. 206. + *Thunders of Silence. Cobb C. 55. + *When August the Second Was April the First. Cobb C. 302. + +#Connolly, James Brendan.# (1868- .) + *Aboard the Horse-Boat. Connolly A. 53. + *Flying Sailor. Connolly A. 132. + *Good-bye the Horse-Boat. Connolly A. 105. + *Jack o' Lanterns. Connolly A. 6. + *London Lights. Connolly A. 214. + *Lumber Schooner. Connolly A. 27. + *North Sea Men. Connolly A. 187. + *Undersea Men. Connolly A. 79. + *Wimmin 'n' Girls. Connolly A. 159. + +#Cook, Mrs. George Cram.# _See_ #Glaspell, Susan.# + +#Cooke, Grace MacGowan.# (1863- .) + *Call. Jessup A. 237. + +#Coolidge, Grace.# + **Indian of the Reservation. Laselle. 109. + +#Curtis, George William.# (1824-1892.) + **Titbottom's Spectacles. Jessup A. 52. + + +#Dashiell, Landon R.# + ***Aunt Sanna Terry. Howells. 352. + +#Derieux, Samuel Arthur.# (1881- .) + *Trial in Tom Belcher's Store. Prize A. 192. + +#Dobie, Charles Caldwell.# (1881- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Open Window. O'Brien A. 61. + +#Dreiser, Theodore.# (1871- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Country Doctor. Dreiser B. 110. + ***Culhane, the Solid Man. Dreiser B. 134. + ***De Maupassant, Jr. Dreiser B. 206. + ***Doer of the Word. Dreiser B. 53. + ***Lost Phoebe. Howells. 295. + ***Mayor and His People. Dreiser B. 320. + ***Mighty Rourke. Dreiser B. 287. + ***My Brother Paul. Dreiser B. 76. + ***Peter. Dreiser B. 18. + ***True Patriarch. Dreiser B. 187. + ***Vanity, Vanity. Dreiser B. 263. + ***Village Feudists. Dreiser B. 239. + ***W. L. S. Dreiser B. 344. + +#Dwight, Harry Griswold.# (1875- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Bald Spot. Dwight A. 290. + **Bathers. Dwight A. 151. + ***Behind the Door. Dwight A. 266. + ***Emperor of Elam. Dwight A. 306. + ***Henrietta Stackpole _Radiviva._ Dwight A. 32. + ***Like Michael. Dwight A. 3. + **Mrs. Derwall and the Higher Life. Dwight A. 131. + ***Pagan. Dwight A. 52. + **Retarded Bombs. Dwight A. 172. + ***Studio Smoke. Dwight A. 252. + ***Susannah and the Elder. Dwight A. 191. + ***Unto the Day. Dwight A. 108. + ***White Bombazine. Dwight A. 82. + +#Dwight, Harry Griswold.# (1875- .) (_See 1918_) _and_ #Taylor, John R. M.# + ***Emerald of Tamerlane. Dwight A. 221. + +#Dwyer, James Francis.# (1874- .) + ***Citizen. Laselle. 85. + *Little Man in the Smoker. Holmes. 79. + +#Dyke, Henry Van.# _See_ #Van Dyke, Henry.# + + +#Edwards, George Wharton.# (1859- .) + **Clavecin-Bruges. French B. 54. + +#Edwards, Harry Stillwell.# (1855- .) + **Elder Brown's Backslide. Jessup A. 109. + +#Emery, Gilbert.# + "Squads Right." Holmes. 86. + +#Empey, Arthur Guy.# (1883- .) + *Coward. Laselle. 181. + + +#Ferber, Edna.# (1887- .) + April 25th, As Usual. Ferber B. 36. Price A. 274. + *Dancing Girls. Ferber B. 280. + *Farmer in the Dell. Ferber B. 239. + *Long Distance. Ferber B. 148. + ***Maternal Feminine. Ferber B. 3. + **Old Lady Mandle. Ferber B. 76. + One Hundred Per Cent. Ferber B. 201. Holmes. 95. + *Un Morso Doo Pang. Ferber B. 157. + ***You've Got To Be Selfish. Ferber B. 113. + +#Fish, Horace.# (1885- .) + ***Wrists on the Door. O'Brien B. 123. + +#Fisher, Dorothy Canfield.# _See_ #Canfield, Dorothy.# + +#Freedley, Mary Mitchell.# (1894- .) + ***Blind Vision. Holmes. 119. O'Brien A. 85. + +#Freeman, Mary E. Wilkins.# (1862- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Revolt of Mother. Howells. 207. + +#French, Alice.# _See_ "#Thanet, Octave.#" + +#Fuller, Henry Blake.# (1857- .) + ***Striking an Average. Howells. 267. + + +#Garland, Hamlin.# (1860- .) (_See 1918._) + *Graceless Husband. Edgar. 142. + ***Return of a Private. Howells. 248. + +#Gerould, Gordon Hall.# (1877- .) + ***Imagination. O'Brien A. 92. + +#Gerry, Margarita Spalding.# (1870- .) + *Flag Factory. Holmes. 126. + +#Gilbert, George.# (1874- .) + ***In Maulmain Fever-Ward. O'Brien A. 109. + +#Gilman, Charlotte Perkins Stetson.# (1860- .) + ***Yellow Wall Paper. Howells. 320. + +#Glaspell, Susan (Keating). (Mrs. George Cram Cook.)# (1882- .) + ***"Government Goat." O'Brien B. 147. + +#Goodman, Henry.# (1893- .) + ***Stone. O'Brien B. 167. + + +#Haines, Donal Hamilton.# (1886- .) + *Bill. Holmes. 136. + +#Hale, Edward Everett.# (1822-1909.) + *First Grain Market. Edgar. 181. + ***My Double; and How He Undid Me. Howells. 3. Jessup A. 75. + +#Hallet, Richard Matthews.# (1887- .) + ***To the Bitter End. O'Brien B. 178. + +#Harris, Joel Chandler.# (1848-1908.) (_See 1918._) + ***Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, and the Tar Baby. Howells. 413. + +#Harte, Francis Bret.# (1839-1902.) (_See 1918._) + ***Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff. Jessup A. 170. + ***Outcasts of Poker Flat. Howells. 143. + +#Hastings, Wells.# (1878- .) + *Gideon. Jessup A. 260. + +#Hearn, Lafcadio.# (1850-1904.) + ***All in White. Hearn. 29. + ***Aphrodite and the King's Prisoner. Hearn. 102. + ***Bird and the Girl. Hearn. 150. + ***Black Cupid. Hearn. 71. + ***Devil's Carbuncle. Hearn. 40. + ***El Vomito. Hearn. 136. + ***Fountain of Gold. Hearn. 110. + ***Ghostly Kiss. Hearn. 66. + ***Gipsy's Story. Hearn. 174. + ***Hiouen-thsang. Hearn. 211. + ***Idyl of a French Snuff-Box. Hearn. 143. + ***Kiss Fantastical. Hearn. 152. + ***Little Red Kitten. Hearn. 33. + ***Name on the Stone. Hearn. 98. + ***One Pill-Box. Hearn. 183. + ***Post-Office. Hearn. 227. + ***Vision of the Dead Creole. Hearn. 92. + +"#Henry, O.#" (#William Sydney Porter.#) (1867-1910.) (_See 1918._) + ***Cactus. Henry B. 76. + *Church with an Overshot Wheel. Edgar. 1. + Confessions of a Humourist. Henry B. 52. + Detective Detector. Henry B. 82. + *Dog and the Playlet. Henry B. 90. + ***Duplicity of Hargraves. Jessup A. 199. + Hearts and Hands. Henry B. 72. + Little Talk About Mobs. Henry B. 97. + *Out of Nazareth. Henry B. 32. + ***Red Roses of Tonia. Henry B. 3. + **Round the Circle. Henry B. 17. + *Rubber Plant's Story. Henry B. 25. + *Sparrows in Madison Square. Henry B. 66. + +"#Henry, O.#" (#William Sydney Porter#) (1867-1910), _and_ #Lyon, +Harris Merton.# (1881-1916.) + *Snow Man. Henry B. 102. + +#Hergesheimer, Joseph.# (1880- .) (_See 1918._) + *Bread. Hergesheimer B. 193. + *Egyptian Chariot. Hergesheimer B. 55. + Flower of Spain. Hergesheimer B. 93. + **Lonely Valleys. Hergesheimer B. 11. + ***Meeker Ritual. O'Brien B. 200. + *Rosemary Roselle. Hergesheimer B. 231. + **Thrush in the Hedge. Hergesheimer B. 283. + **Tol'able David. Hergesheimer B. 155. + +#Holmes, Oliver Wendell.# (1809-1894.) + *Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters. Jessup A. 94. + +#Humphrey, George.# (1889- .) + ***Father's Hand. O'Brien A. 125. + +#Huneker, James Gibbons.# (1860- .) + **Brothers-in-Law. Huneker. 201. + **Cardinal's Fiddle. Huneker. 247. + **Grindstones. Huneker. 216. + Renunciation. Huneker. 256. + *Supreme Sin. Huneker. 177. + _Venus or Valkyr?_ Huneker. 225. + *Vision Malefic. Huneker. 261. + +#Hurst, Fannie.# (1889- .) (_See 1918._) + **Boob Spelled Backward. Hurst B. 220. + **Even as You and I. Hurst B. 262. + *"Heads." Hurst B. 170. + ***Humoresque. Hurst B. 1. Prize A. 148. + **Oats for the Woman. Hurst B. 45. + **Petal on the Current. Hurst B. 85. + **White Goods. Hurst B. 126. + *Wrong Pew. Hurst B. 300. + + + +#Imrie, Walter McLaren.# + ***Daybreak. Imrie. 7. + **Dead Men's Teeth. Imrie. 29. + ***Remembrance. Imrie. 41. + **Storm. Imrie. 15. + +#Ingersoll, Will E.# + ***Centenarian. O'Brien B. 225. + + +#James, Henry.# (1843-1916.) + ***Adina. James A. 223. + ***At Isella. James A. 125. + ***De Grey: a Romance. James A. 269. + ***Guest's Confession. James A. 157. + *** Passionate Pilgrim. Howells. 43. + ***Professor Fargo. James A. 87. + ***Sweetheart of M. Briseux. James A. 53. + ***Travelling Companions. James A. 1. + +#Jewett, Sarah Orne.# (1849-1909.) + ***Courting of Sister Wisby. Howells. 190. + +#Johnson, Arthur.# (1881- .) + ***His New Mortal Coil. Johnson 270. + How the Ship Came In. Johnson. 303. + ***Little Family. Johnson. 237. + ***Mr. Eberdeen's House. Johnson. 138. + **One Hundred Eightieth Meridian. Johnson. 115. + ***Princess of Tork. Johnson. 1. + ***Riders in the Dark. Johnson. 54. + *Two Lovers. Johnson. 183. + ***Visit of the Master. Johnson. 203. O'Brien A. 131. + +#Johnston, Calvin.# + ***Messengers. O'Brien B. 237. + +#Johnston, Richard Malcolm.# (1822-1898.) + *Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker. Jessup A. 128. + +#Jones, Howard Mumford.# + ***Mrs. Drainger's Veil. O'Brien B. 269. + + +#Kirkland, Caroline Matilda Stansbury.# (1801-1864.) Schoolmaster's +Progress. Jessup A. 18. + +#Kline, Burton.# (1877- .) + ***In the Open Code. O'Brien A. 149. + +#Kompert, Leopold.# + ***Silent Woman. Reeve. 60. + + +#La Motte, Ellen Newbold.# (1873- .) + **Canterbury Chimes. La Motte. 177. + *Civilization. La Motte. 93. + ***Cosmic Justice. La Motte. 247. + *Homesick. La Motte. 65. + **Misunderstanding. La Motte 121. + ***On the Heights. La Motte. 33 + ***Prisoners. La Motte. 141. + ***Under a Wineglass. O'Brien B. 297. La Motte. 217. + **Yellow Streak. La Motte. 11. + +#Lampton, William James.# ( -1917.) + **How the Widow Won the Deacon. Jessup A. 252. + +#Leslie, Eliza.# (1787-1858.) + Watkinson Evening. Jessup A. 34. + +#Lewars, Elsie Singmaster.# _See_ #Singmaster, Elsie.# + +#Lewis, Sinclair.# (1885- .) + ***Willow Walk. O'Brien A. 154. + +#Lieberman, Elias.# (1883- .) + ***Thing of Beauty. O'Brien B. 305. + +#London, Jack.# (1876-1916.) (_See 1918._) + *When the World Was Young. French B. 1. + +#Lummis, Charles Fletcher.# (1859- .) + *Blue-Corn Witch. Edgar. 120. + *Swearing Enchiladas. Edgar. 156. + +#Lyon, Harris Merton.# _See_ "Henry, O.", _and_ #Lyon, Harris Merton.# + + +#Mackay, Helen.# (1876- .) + **At the End. Mackay. 3. + **Cauldron. Mackay. 95. + **Footsteps. Mackay. 178. + ***"He Cost Us So Much." Mackay. 154. + **"Here Are the Shadows!" Mackay. 160. + **"I Take Pen in Hand." Mackay. 172. + **Little Cousins of No. 12. Mackay. 148. + **Madame Anna. Mackay. 143. + *Moment. Mackay. 188. + **9 and the 10. Mackay. 184. + **Odette in Pink Taffeta. Mackay. 20. + ***One or Another. Mackay. 72. + ***Second Hay. Mackay. 49. + *She Who Would Not Eat Soup. Mackay. 164. + *Their Places. Mackay. 35. + **Vow. Mackay. 168. + +#MacManus, Seumas.# (1870- .) + ***Bodach and the Boy. MacManus A. 51. + ***Dark Patrick's Blood-horse. MacManus A. 32. + ***Day of the Scholars. MacManus A. 117. + ***Donal O'Donnell's Standing Army. MacManus A. 131. + ***Far Adventures of Billy Burns. MacManus A. 71. + ***Jack and the Lord High Mayor. MacManus A. 215. + **King's Curing. MacManus A. 163. + ***Long Cromachy of the Crows. MacManus A. 196. + **Lord Thorny's Eldest Son. MacManus A. 180. + ***Mad Man, the Dead Man, and the Devil. MacManus A. 1. + *Man Who Would Dream. MacManus A. 99. + **Parvarted Bachelor. MacManus A. 150. + ***Quare Birds. MacManus A. 240. + ***Queen's Conquest. MacManus A. 16. + ***Resurrection of Dinny Muldoon. MacManus A. 263. + ***Son of Strength. MacManus A. 248. + **Tinker of Tamlacht. MacManus A. 84. + +#Marshall, Edison.# (1894- .) + **Elephant Remembers. Prize A. 78. + +#Martin, George Madden.# (1866- .) + *Blue Handkerchief. Martin. 71. + *Fire from Heaven. Martin. 223. + *Flight. Martin. 1. + *Inskip Niggah. Martin. 120. + *Malviney. Martin. 252. + *Pom. Martin. 160. + *Sixty Years After. Martin. 276. + *Sleeping Sickness. Martin. 200. + +#Matthews, James Brander.# (1852- .) + **Rival Ghosts. Reeve. 141. + +#Montague, Margaret Prescott.# (1878- .) (_See 1918._) + ***England to America. Prize A. 3. Montague B. 3. + **Gift. Montague A. 3. + ***Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Montague C. 3. + +#Morris, George Pope.# (1802-1864.) + Little Frenchman and His Water Lots. Jessup A. 1. + +#Morris, Gouverneur.# (1876- .) + Behind the Door. Holmes. 145. + ***Unsent Letter. Holmes. 155. + +#Mosley, Katherine Prescott.# + ***Story Vinton Heard at Mallorie. O'Brien A. 191. + + +#O'Brien, Mary Heaton Vorse.# _See_ #Vorse, Mary Heaton.# + +#O'Higgins, Harvey Jerrold.# (1876- .) + **Benjamin McNeil Murdock. O'Higgins A. 129. + **Conrad Norman. O'Higgins A. 171. + **District Attorney Wickson. O'Higgins A. 305. + **Hon. Benjamin P. Divins. O'Higgins A. 245. + **Jane Shore. O'Higgins A. 45. + ***Owen Carey. O'Higgins A. 3. + **Sir Watson Tyler. O'Higgins A. 269. + ***Thomas Wales Warren. O'Higgins A. 89. + ***W.T. O'Higgins A. 217. + +#Osborne, William Hamilton.# (1873- .) + Infamous Inoculation. Holmes. 166. + +#O'Sullivan, Vincent.# (1872- .) + ***Interval. Reeve. 170. + + +#Payne, Will.# (1855- .) + ***His Escape. Holmes. 196. + +#Pelley, William Dudley.# + ***Toast to Forty-Five. O'Brien A. 200. + +#Pier, Arthur Stanwood.# (1874- .) + Night Attack. Laselle. 119. + +#Poe, Edgar Allan# (1809-1849.) (_See 1918._) + *Angel of the Odd. Jessup A. 7. + ***Ligeia. French B. 61. + +#Pope, Laura Spencer Portor.# _See_ #Portor, Laura Spencer.# + +#Porter, William Sydney.# _See_ "#Henry, O.#" + +#Portor, Laura Spencer.# (#Mrs. Francis Pope.#) (_See 1918._) + ***Boy's Mother. Holmes. 217. + +#Post, Melville Davisson.# (1871- .) (_See 1918._) + Ally. Post B. 243. + ***Baron Starkheim. Post B. 333. + **Behind the Stars. Post B. 361. + **Five Thousand Dollars Reward. Prize A. 120. + *Girl in the Villa. Post B. 217. + *Girl from Galacia. Post B. 117. + **Great Legend. Post B. 55. + Laughter of Allah. Post B. 79. + **Lord Winton's Adventure. Post B. 265. + *Miller of Ostend. Post B. 199. + ***Mystery at the Blue Villa. Post B. 3. + ***New Administration. Post B. 29. + *Pacifist. Post B. 137. + ***Sleuth of the Stars. Post B. 157. + **Stolen Life. Post B. 99. + **Sunburned Lady. Post B. 311. + **Wage-Earners. Post B. 291. + *Witch of the Lecca. Post B. 179. + +#Pulver, Mary Brecht.# (1883- .) + ***Path of Glory. Laselle. 133. + +#Putnam, George Palmer.# (1887- .) + ***Sixth Man. Holmes. 233. + +#Pyle, Howard.# (1853-1911.) + **Blueskin, the Pirate. Edgar. 71. + **Captain Scarfield. Edgar. 14. + + +#Ravenel, Beatrice Witte.# (1870- .) + ***High Cost of Conscience. Prize A. 228. + +#Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield).# (1871- .) + ***Extra Men. O'Brien A. 223. + *Fair Daughter of a Fairer Mother. Rhodes. 143. + Importance of Being Mrs. Cooper. Rhodes. 171. + **Little Miracle at Tlemcar. Rhodes. 115. + **Sad Case of Quag. Rhodes. 189. + ***Spring-time. Rhodes. 213. + **Vive l'AmA(C)rique! Rhodes. 233. + +#Rice, Louise.# + ***Lubbeny Kiss. Prize A. 180. + +#Rickford, Katherine.# + ***Joseph. French B. 41. + +#Robbins, Tod.# + *For Art's Sake. Robbins. 109. + *Silent, White, and Beautiful. Robbins. 1. + ***Who Wants a Green Bottle? Robbins. 30. + **Wild Wullie, the Waster. Robbins. 71. + +#Russell, John.# (1885- .) + ***Adversary. Russell. 182. + **Amok. Russell. 374. + *Doubloon Gold. Russell. 59. + *East of Eastward. Russell. 301. + **Fourth Man. Russell. 327. + Jetsam. Russell. 273. + *Lost God. Russell. 219. + **Meaning--Chase Yourself. Russell. 251. + *Passion-Vine. Russell. 144. + **Practicing of Christopher. Russell. 114. + *Price of the Head. Russell. 356. + Red Mark. Russell. 9. + **Slanted Beam. Russell. 201. + *Wicks of Macassar. Russell. 97. + + +#Singmaster, Elsie. (Elsie Singmaster Lewars.)# (1879- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Survivors. Laselle. 43. + +#Smith, Gordon Arthur.# (1886- .) + **Bottom of the Cup. Smith. 67. + **City of Lights. Smith. 38. + ***End of the Road. Smith. 138. + *Every Move. Smith. 249. + ***Feet of Gold. Smith. 100. + ***Jeanne, The Maid. Smith. 218. + Letitia. Smith. 283. + **Pagan. Smith. 3. + ***Return. Smith. 345. + *Tropic Madness. Smith. 177. + *Young Man's Fancy. Smith. 315. + +#Sneddon, Robert W.# (1880- .) + *Son of Belgium. Holmes. 262. + +#Spofford, Harriet Prescott.# (1835- .) + **Blessing Called Peace. Spofford A. 179. + **Change of Heart. Spofford A. 27. + +#Spofford, Harriet Prescott# (_con._) + ***Circumstance. Howells. 22. + **Deacon's Whistle. Spofford A. 1. + *Father James. Spofford A. 197. + **Impossible Choice. Spofford A. 227. + **John-a-Dreams. Spofford A. 101. + ***Life in a Night. Spofford A. 293. + *Miss Mahala and Johnny. Spofford A. 311. + **Miss Mahala's Miracle. Spofford A. 125. + **Miss Mahala's Will. Spofford A. 273. + ***Old Fiddler. Spofford A. 147. + **Rural Telephone. Spofford A. 55. + **Step-Father. Spofford A. 77. + ***Village Dressmaker. Spofford A. 243. + +#Springer, Fleta Campbell.# (1886- .) + ***Solitaire. O'Brien A. 232. + +#Springer, Thomas Grant.# + *Blood of the Dragon. Prize A. 135. + +#Steele, Wilbur Daniel.# (1886- .) (_See_ 1918.) + ***Dark Hour. O'Brien A. 258. + ***"For They Know Not What They Do." Prize A. 21. + +#Stetson, Charlotte Perkins.# _See_ #Gilman, Charlotte Perkins Stetson.# + +#Stockton, Frank Richard.# (1834-1902.) + ***Buller-Podington Compact. Jessup A. 151. + ***Christmas Wreck. Howells. 155. Edgar. 203. + +#Street, Julian (Leonard).# (1879- .) + ***Bird of Serbia. O'Brien A. 268. + +#Sullivan, Francis William.# (1887- .) + Godson of Jeannette Gontreau. Holmes. 243. + + +#Tarkington, (Newton) Booth.# (1869- .) + *Captain Schlotterwerz. Holmes. 276. + +#Terhune, Albert Payson.# (1872- .) + *On Strike. Price A. 56. + Wildcat. Laselle. 55. + +"#Thanet, Octave.#" (#Alice French.#) (1850- .) + ***Labor Question at Glasscock's. Edgar. 171. + Miller's Seal. Edgar. 104. + Wild Western Way. Edgar. 35. 35. + +#Tracy, Virginia.# (1875- .) + ***Lotus Eaters. Howells. 361. + +"#Twain, Mark.#" (#Samuel Langhorne Clemens.#) (1835-1910.) + ***Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Howells. 36. + Jessup A. 102. + + +#Van Dyke, Henry.# (1852- .) + *Antwerp Road. Van Dyke A. 15. + *Boy of Nazareth Dreams. Van Dyke A. 257. + **Broken Soldier and the Maid of France. Van Dyke A. 87. + City of Refuge. Van Dyke A. 21. + Hearing Ear. Van Dyke A. 137. + *Hero and Tin Soldiers. Van Dyke A. 231. + Primitive and His Sandals. Van Dyke A. 216. + **Remembered Dream. Van Dyke A. 1. + *Salvage Point. Van Dyke A. 237. + *Sanctuary of Trees. Van Dyke A. 37. + +#Venable, Edward Carrington# (1884- .) + ***At Isham's. O'Brien A. 293. + +#Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton. (Mary Heaton Vorse O'Brien.)# + ***De Vilmarte's Luck. O'Brien A. 305. + ***Ninth Man. Vorse. 1. + ***Other Room. O'Brien B. 312. + + +#Welles, Harriet, Ogden Deen.# + **Admiral's Birthday. Welles. 33. + **Admiral's Hollyhocks. Welles. 128. + *Anchors Aweigh. Welles. 98. + **Between the Treaty Ports. Welles. 47. + *Day. Welles. 165. + **Duty First. Welles. 105. + *Flags. Welles. 251. + **Guam--and Effie. Welles. 214. + *Holding Mast. Welles. 186. + *In the Day's Work. Welles. 1. + ***Orders. Welles. 79. + **Wall. Welles. 197. + +#Weston, George (T.).# (1880- .) + **Feminine Touch. Holmes. 299. + +#Wharton, Edith.# (1862- .) + ***Mission of Jane. Howells. 170. + +#Wilkins, Mary E.# _See_ #Freeman, Mary E. Wilkins.# + +#Williams, Ben Ames.# (1889- .) + **They Grind Exceeding Small. Prize A. 42. + +#Wilson, Harry Leon.# (1866- .) + *As to Herman Wagner. Wilson A. 281. + *Can Happen! Wilson A. 234. + *Change of Venus. Wilson A. 209. + *Curls. Wilson A. 303. + Love Story. Wilson A. 38. + *Ma Pettengill and the Animal Kingdom. Wilson A. 3. + *One Arrowhead Day. Wilson A. 145. + *Porch Wren. Wilson A. 178. + *Red-Gap and the Big-League Stuff. Wilson A. 76. + *Taker-Up. Wilson A. 259. + *Vendetta. Wilson A. 109. + +#Wood, Frances Gilchrist.# + ***Turkey Red. Prize A. 105. + ***White Battalion. O'Brien A. 325. + +#Wyatt, Edith Franklin.# (1873- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Failure. Howells. 312. + +#Wynne, Madelene Yale.# (1847-1913.) + ***Little Room. Howells. 338. + + +#Yezierska, Anzia.# (1886- .) + ***"Fat of the Land." Yezierska. 178. O'Brien B. 326. + *Free Vacation House. Yezierska. 97. + **How I Found America. Yezierska. 250. + ***Hunger. Yezierska. 35. + **Lost "Beautifulness." Yezierska. 65. + ***Miracle. Yezierska. 114. + ***My Own People. Yezierska. 224. + **Soap and Water. Yezierska. 163. + **Where Lovers Dream. Yezierska. 142. + **Wings. Yezierska. 1. + + +II. English and Irish Authors + + +#Barr, Robert.# (1850-1912.) + *Dorothy of the Mill. Edgar. 53. + *Mill on the Kop. Edgar. 188. + +#Barrie, Sir James Matthew.#(1860- .) (_See 1918._) + ***How Gavin Birse Put It to Mag Lownie. O'Brien C. 111. + +#Bax, Arnold.# _See_ "#O'Byrne, Dermot.#" + +#Benson, Edward Frederic.# (1867- .) + ***Man Who Went Too Far. Reeve. 85. + +#Beresford, John Davys.# (1873- .) + ***Lost Suburb. O'Brien C. 309. + +#Blackwell, Basil.# + History of Joseph Binns. New Dec. A. 169. + +#Blackwood, Algernon.# (1869- .) + ***Man Who Played Upon the Leaf. O'Brien C. 176. + ***Return. French B. 24. + ***Second Generation. French B. 31. + ***Woman's Ghost Story. Reeve. 108. + +#Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Edward George.# (1803-1873.) (_See 1918._) + ***Haunted and the Haunters. Reeve. 31. + +#Burke, Thomas.# (1887- .) + ***Chink and the Child. O'Brien C. 250. + + +#Cannan, Gilbert.# (1884- .) + ***Birth. O'Brien C. 346. + ***Gynecologia. Cannan. 107. + ***Out of Work. Cannan. 159. + ***Samways Island. Cannan. 1. + ***Ultimus. Cannan. 49. + +#Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller.# _See_ #Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur +Thomas.# + +#Cunninghame Graham, Robert Bontine.# (1852- .) + ***Fourth Magus. O'Brien C. 214. + + +#Defoe, Daniel.# (1659-1731.) (_See 1918._) + ***Apparition of Mrs. Veal. Reeve. 3. + +#De SA(C)lincourt, Hugh.# _See_ #SA(C)lincourt, Hugh de.# + +#Dowson, Ernest.# (1867-1900.) + ***Case of Conscience. Dowson. 150. + ***Diary of a Successful Man. Dowson. 133. + ***_Dying of Francis Donne._ O'Brien C. 64. + ***Orchestral Violin. Dowson. 165. + ***Souvenirs of an Egoist. Dowson. 187. + *** Statute of Limitations. Dowson. 210. + + +#Easton, Dorothy.# + **Adversity. Easton. 117. + *Arbor VitA|. Easton. 141. + *Benefactors. Easton. 137. + **Box of Chocolates. Easton. 92. + *Corner Stone. Easton. 130. + ***Day in the Country. Easton. 209. + ***For the Red Cross. Easton. 38. + ***Frog's Hole. Easton. 30. + **Genteel. Easton. 69. + ***Golden Bird. Easton. 11. + ***Heart-Breaker. Easton. 56. + **Heartless. Easton. 200. + **Impossible. Easton. 19. + **It Is Forbidden to Touch the Flowers. Easton. 191. + **Laughing Down. Easton. 26. + **Madame Pottirand. Easton. 254. + *Miss Audrey. Easton. 185. + **Old Indian. Easton. 156. + **Our Men. Easton. 172. + ***Shepherd. Easton. 123. + *Spring Evening. Easton. 77. + **Steam Mill. Easton. 48. + ***Transformation. Easton. 52. + ***Twilight. Easton. 83. + **Unfortunate. Easton. 228. + +"#Egerton, George.#" (#Mary Chavelita Golding Bright.#) + ***Empty Frame. O'Brien C. 88. + +#Evans, Caradoc.# + ***According to the Pattern. Evans A. 31. + ***Earthbred. Evans A. 81. + ***For Better. Evans A. 99. + ***Greater Than Love. O'Brien C. 340. + ***Joseph's House. Evans A. 155. + ***Like Brothers. Evans A. 173. + ***Lost Treasure. Evans A. 215. + ***Love and Hate. Evans A. 11. + ***Profit and Glory. Evans A. 231. + **Saint David and the Prophets. Evans A. 131. + ***Treasure and Trouble. Evans A. 117. + **Two Apostles. Evans A. 59. + ***Unanswered Prayers. Evans A. 199. + ***Widow Woman. Evans A. 187. + + +#Galsworthy, John.# (1867- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Bright Side. Galsworthy B. 75. + *Buttercup Night. Galsworthy B. 295. + ***"Cafard." Galsworthy B. 105. + ***Defeat. Galsworthy B. 27. + *"Dog It Was That Died." Galsworthy B. 147. + **Expectations. Galsworthy B. 227. + ***Flotsam and Jetsam. Galsworthy B. 51. + ***Grey Angel. Galsworthy B. 3. + *In Heaven and Earth. Galsworthy B. 169. + **Manna. Galsworthy B. 239. + Mother Stone. Galsworthy B. 173. + **Muffled Ship. Galsworthy B. 187. + ***Nightmare Child. Galsworthy B. 283. + *Peace Meeting. Galsworthy B. 137. + *Poirot and Bidan. Galsworthy B. 179. + *Recorded. Galsworthy B. 117. + ***Recruit. Galsworthy B. 125. + ***Spindleberries. Galsworthy B. 209. + ***Strange Thing. Galsworthy B. 255. + ***Two Looks. Galsworthy B. 271. + +#Graham, R. B. Cunninghame.# _See_ #Cunninghame Graham, Robert Bontine.# + +#Grant-Watson, E. L.# + ***Man and Brute. O'Brien C. 296. + + +#Hardy, Thomas.# (1840- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Three Strangers. O'Brien. C. 1. + +#Harvey, William F.# + **Beast with Five Fingers. New Dec. A. 29. + +#Henham, Ernest G.# _See_ "#Trevena, John.#" + +#Hewlett, Maurice (Henry).# (1861- .) + ***Quattrocentisteria. O'Brien C. 126. + +#Hudson, W. H.# + ***Old Thorn. O'Brien C. 196. + +#Huxley, Aldous.# + ***Bookshop. Huxley. 259. + ***Cynthia. Huxley. 245. + ***Death of Lully. Huxley. 269. + **Eupompus Gave Splendour to Art by Numbers. Huxley. 192. + ***Farcical History of Richard Greenow. Huxley. 1. + **Happily Ever After. Huxley. 116. + + +#Jacobs, William Wymark.# (1868- .) (_See 1918._) + Bedridden. Jacobs A. 98. + *Convert. Jacobs A. 112. + **Dirty Work. Jacobs A. 262. + *Family Cares. Jacobs A. 171. + *Husbandry. Jacobs A. 140. + *Made to Measure. Jacobs A. 51. + **Paying Off. Jacobs A. 29. + **Sam's Ghost. Jacobs A. 75. + *Shareholders. Jacobs A. 1. + *Striking Hard. Jacobs A. 234. + *Substitute. Jacobs A. 207. + Winter Offensive. Jacobs A. 199. + +#James, Montague Rhodes.# (1862- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book. Reeve. 18. + +#Jameson, M. Storm-.# _See_ #Storm-Jameson, M.# + + +#Kipling, Rudyard.# (1865- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Phantom Rickshaw. Reeve. 118. + ***Three Musketeers. O'Brien C. 93. + ***Wee Willie Winkie. O'Brien C. 99. + + +#Lawrence, David Herbert.# (1885- .) + ***Sick Collier. O'Brien C. 332. + +#Lytton, Lord. George Bulwer-.# _See_ #Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Edward George.# + + +"#Macleod, Fiona.#" (#William Sharp.#) (1856-1905.) (_See 1918._) + **Fisher of Men. O'Brien C. 117. + ***Sin-Eater. French B. 126. + +#Marshall, Archibald.# (1866- .) + *Audacious Ann. Marshall. 191. + *Bookkeeper. Marshall. 303. + *Builder. Marshall. 155. + *"In that State of Life." Marshall. 95. + *Kencote. Marshall. 3. + *Little Squire. Marshall. 175. + *Son of Service. Marshall. 63. + *Squire and the War. Marshall. 327. + *Terrors. Marshall. 41. + +#Merrick, Leonard.# (1864- .) + **Antenuptial. Merrick B. 274. + **Antiques and Amoretti. Merrick B. 228. + ***"At Home, Beloved, At Home." Merrick B. 29. + **Back of Bohemia. Merrick A. 293. + **Banquets of Kiki. Merrick B. 150. + *Bishop's Comedy. Merrick A. 344. + **Call from the Past. Merrick A. 383. + *Child in the Garden. Merrick A. 160. + ***Dead Violets. Merrick A. 239. + *Favourite Plot. Merrick A. 259. + **Frankenstein II. Merrick A. 50. + ***Lady of Lyons. Merrick A. 313. + ***Laurels and the Lady. Merrick A. 81. + ***Letter to the Duchess. Merrick A. 180. + ***Man Who Understood Women. Merrick A. 1. + ***Meeting in the GalA(C)ries Lafayette. Merrick B. 78. + ***Monsieur Blotto and the Lions. Merrick B. 54. + ***"On Est Mieux Ici qu'en Face." Merrick B. 11. + **Piece of Sugar. Merrick B. 127. + **Poet Grows Practical. Merrick B. 173. + ***Prince in the Fairy Tale. Merrick A. 200. + *Reconciliation. Merrick A. 368. + **Reformed Character. Merrick B. 205. + *Reverie. Merrick A. 364. + **Tale That Wouldn't Do. Merrick A. 68. + *Third M. Merrick A. 326. + *Time the Humorist. Merrick A. 277. + ***Very Good Thing For the Girl. Merrick A. 18. + **Waiting for Henriette. Merrick B. 251. + *With Intent to Defraud. Merrick A. 224. + **Woman in the Book. Merrick B. 102. + ***Woman Who Wished to Die. Merrick A. 35. + +#Middleton, Richard.# (1882-1911.) + ***Ghost Ship. O'Brien C. 225. + + +#Nevinson, Henry Woodd.# (1852- .) + ***Fire of Prometheus. O'Brien C. 157. + +#Nevinson, Margaret Wynne.# + *Alien. Nevinson. 130. + "And, Behold the Babe Wept." Nevinson. 47. + *Blind and Deaf. Nevinson. 39. + Daughter of the State. Nevinson. 80. + *Detained by Marital Authority. Nevinson. 21. + *Eunice Smith--Drunk. Nevinson. 13. + "Girl! God Help Her!" Nevinson. 145. + *In the Lunatic Asylum. Nevinson. 118. + *In the Phthisis Ward. Nevinson. 80. + **Irish Catholic. Nevinson. 91. + *"Mary, Mary, Pity Women!" Nevinson. 53. + *Mothers. Nevinson. 104. + **Obscure Conversationist. Nevinson. 97. + *Old Inky. Nevinson. 75. + *Publicans and Harlots. Nevinson. 68. + *Runaway. Nevinson. 138. + *Suicide. Nevinson. 61. + **Sweep's Legacy. Nevinson. 126. + "Too Old at Forty." Nevinson. 115. + ***Vow. Nevinson. 33. + *Welsh Sailor. Nevinson. 27. + *"Widows Indeed!" Nevinson. 134. + *"Your Son's Your Son." Nevinson. 110. + +#Nightingale, M. T.# + *Stone House Affair. New Dec. A. 112. + + +"#O'Byrne, Dermot.#" (#Arnold Edward Trevor Bax.#) (1883- .) + ***Before Dawn. O'Byrne A. 29. + ***Coward's Saga. O'Byrne A. 84. + ***"From the Fury of the O'Flahertys." O'Byrne A. 67. + ***Invisible City of Coolanoole. O'Byrne A. 127. + ***King's Messenger. O'Byrne A. 156. + ***Vision of St. Molaise. O'Byrne A. 172. + ***Wrack. O'Byrne A. 1. + +#O'Kelly, Seumas.# + ***Billy the Clown. O'Kelly B. 149. + ***Derelict. O'Kelly B. 173. + ***Haven. O'Kelly B. 134. + ***Hike and Calcutta. O'Kelly B. 121. + ***Man with the Gift. O'Kelly B. 200. + ***Michael and Mary. O'Kelly B. 111. + ***Weaver's Grave. O'Kelly B. 9. + + +#Pertwee, Roland.# + ***Big Chance. Pertwee 1. + ***Clouds. Pertwee. 243. + ***Cure that Worked Wonders. Pertwee. 42. + ***Dear Departed. Pertwee. 212. + ***Eliphalet Touch. Pertwee. 67. + ***Final Curtain. Pertwee. 271. + ***Gas Works. Pertwee. 143. + ***Getting the Best. Pertwee. 102. + ***Mornice June. Pertwee. 165. + ***Pistols for Two. Pertwee. 21. + ***Quicksands of Tradition. Pertwee. 120. + ***Red and White. O'Brien C. 278. + ***Reversible Favour. Pertwee. 190. + + +Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas. (1863- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Old A†son. O'Brien C. 152. + + +#Robinson, Lennox.# + ***Chalice. Robinson. 30. + ***Education. Robinson. 96. + ***Face. Robinson. 8. + ***Looking After the Girls. Robinson. 18. + ***Pair of Muddy Shoes. Robinson. 47. + ***Return. Robinson. 1. + ***Sponge. Robinson. 60. + ***Weir. Robinson. 78. + + +#Sadler, Michael.# + Tumbril Touch. New Dec. A. 189. + +#SA(C)lincourt, Hugh De.# + ***Birth of an Artist. O'Brien C. 322. + +#Sharp, William.# _See_ "#Macleod, Fiona.#" + +#Stevenson, Robert Louis.# (1850-1894.) (_See 1918._) + ***Lodging for the Night. O'Brien C. 26. + +#Storm-Jameson, M.# + *Mother-Love. New Dec. A. 78. + + +#Tomlinson, H. M.# (1873- .) + ***Extra Hand. Tomlinson. 149. + ***Lascar's Walking-Stick. Tomlinson. 140. + +"#Trevena, John.#" (#Ernest G. Henham.#) (1878- .) + ***Business Is Business. Trevena. 45. O'Brien C. 236. + ***By Violence. Trevena. 13. + **Christening of the Fifteen Princesses. Trevena. 65. + + +#VernA"de, Robert Ernest.# (1875-1917.) + Adventure of the Persian Prince. VernA"de. 194. + Bad Samaritan. VernA"de. 130. + Finless Death. VernA"de. 178. + Greatness of Mr. Walherstone. VernA"de. 33. + Madame Bluebeard. VernA"de. 233. + Maze. VernA"de. 301. + Missing Princess. VernA"de. 251. + Night's Adventure. VernA"de. 277. + Offence of Stephen Danesford. VernA"de. 80. + On the Raft. VernA"de. 218. + *Outrage at Port Allington. VernA"de. 55. + Smoke on the Stairs. VernA"de. 204. + Soaring Spirits. VernA"de. 102. + Sunk Elephant. VernA"de. 156. + "This is Tommy." VernA"de. 13. + +#Vines, Sherard.# + **Upper Room. New Dec. A. 178. + + +#Walpole, Hugh Seymour.# (1884- .) + ***Monsieur FA(C)licitA(C). O'Brien C. 263. + +#Watson, E. L. Grant.# _See_ #Grant Watson, E. L.# + +#Wedmore, Sir Frederick.# (1844- .) + ***To Nancy. O'Brien C. 75. + +#Wells, Herbert George.# (1866- .) + ***Stolen Bacillus. O'Brien C. 144. + +#Wilde, Oscar# (#Fingall O'Flahertie Wills.#) (1854-1900.) + ***Star-Child. O'Brien C. 47. + +#Wylie, Ida Alena Ross.# (1885- .) + **Bridge Across. Wylie. 66. + ***Colonel Tibbit Comes Home. Wylie. 133. + Episcopal Scherzo. Wylie. 267. 195. + **Gift for St. Nicholas. Wylie. + ***Holy Fire. Wylie. 9. + ***John Prettyman's Fourth Dimension. Wylie. 231. + ***"'Melia, No Good." Wylie. 163. + ***Thirst. Wylie. 28. + **"Tinker--Tailor--" Wylie. 97. + + +III. Translations + + +#Alas, Leopoldo.# ("#ClarA-n#"). (1852-1901.) (_Spanish._) + **Adios Cordera! McMichael. 97. + +#Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich.# (1871-1919.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Ben-Tobith. Andreyev C. 273. + ***Dies IrA|. Andreyev C. 287. + ***Judas Iscariot. Andreyev C. 45. + ***Lazarus. Andreyev C. 131. + ***Life of Father Vassily. Andreyev C. 161. + ***Marseillaise. Andreyev C. 281. + ***Silence. Russian A. 11. + ***Valia. Schweikert B. 343. + ***When the King Loses His Head. Andreyev C. 5. + +#Annunzio, Gabriele D'.# (_Italian._) _See_ #D'Annunzio, Gabriele.# + +#Artzibashev, Michael.# (_Russian._) + ***Doctor. Russian A. 38. + +#Ayala, RamA cubedn PA(C)rez De.# (_Spanish._) + ***Fall of the House of LimA cubedn. Ayala. 77. + ***Prometheus. Ayala. 1. + ***Sunday Sunlight. Ayala. 163. + + +#Bizyenos, George T.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Sin of My Mother. Vaka. 57. + +#Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# (1867-.) (_Spanish._) + *Compassion. IbAiA+-ez. 36. + *Last Lion. IbAiA+-ez. 15. + ***Luxury. IbAiA+-ez. 56. + **Rabies. IbAiA+-ez. 61. + *Toad. IbAiA+-ez. 26. + **Windfall. IbAiA+-ez. 46. + + +#Caragiale, J.L.# (_Rumanian._) + Easter Candles. Underwood A. 49. + +#Carco, Francis.# (_French._) + Memory of Paris Days. New Dec. A. 217. + +#AeOEech, Svatopluk.# (1846-1908.) (_Czech._) + ***Foltyn's Drum. Hrbkova. 55. + ***Journey. Underwood A. 75. + +#Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# (1861-1904.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***At a Country House. Chekhov E. 173. + **Bad Weather. Chekhov E. 269. + ***Bishop. Chekhov D. 3. + ***Chorus Girl. Chekhov E. 3. + ***Easter Eve. Chekhov D. 49. + ***Father. Chekhov E. 187. Russian A. 56. + **Ivan Matveyitch. Chekhov E. 279. + ***In Exile. Schweikert B. 320. + **Ivan Matveyitch. Chekhov E. 245. + ***Letter. Chekhov D. 29. + ***Murder. Chekhov D. 89. + ***My Life. Chekhov E. 37. + ***Nightmare. Chekhov D. 67. + ***On the Road. Chekhov E. 201. + ***Rothschild's Fiddle. Chekhov E. 227. + ***Steppe. Chekhov D. 161. + ***Trivial Incident. Chekhov E. 227. + ***Uprooted. Chekhov D. 135. + ***Verotchka. Chekhov E. 15. + **Zinotchka. Chekhov E. 257. + +"#ClarA-n.#" (_Spanish._) _See_ #Alas, Leopoldo.# + +#ClA(C)menceau, Georges.# (_French._) + About Nests. ClA(C)menceau. 185. + ***Adventure of My CurA(C). ClA(C)menceau. 149. + *At the Foot of the Cross. ClA(C)menceau. 87. + **Aunt Rosalie's Inheritance. ClA(C)menceau. 45. + **Better than Stealing. ClA(C)menceau. 125. + *Bullfinch and the Maker of Wooden Shoes. ClA(C)menceau. 173. + **Descendant of Timon. ClA(C)menceau. 19. + Domestic Drama. ClA(C)menceau. 197. + *Evil Beneficence. ClA(C)menceau. 101. + **Flower o' the Wheat. ClA(C)menceau. 221. + **Giambolo. ClA(C)menceau. 313. + *Gideon in His Grave. ClA(C)menceau. 61. + *Gray Fox. ClA(C)menceau. 137. + *Happy Union. ClA(C)menceau. 263. + *Hunting Accident. ClA(C)menceau. 301. + *Jean Piot's Feast. ClA(C)menceau. 233. + *Lovers in Florence. ClA(C)menceau. 287. + **Mad Thinker. ClA(C)menceau. 113. + **Malus Vicinus. ClA(C)menceau. 31. + *Master Baptist, Judge. ClA(C)menceau. 161. + **Mokoubamba's Fetish. ClA(C)menceau. 3. + *Simon, Son of Simon. ClA(C)menceau. 73. + Six Cents. ClA(C)menceau. 209. + **Treasure of St. Bartholomew. ClA(C)menceau. 249. + *Well-Assorted Couple. ClA(C)menceau. 275. + +#D'Annunzio, Gabriele# (#Rapagnetta#). (1864- .) (_Italian._) + ***Countess of Amalfi. D'Annunzio. 10. + ***Death of the Duke of Ofena. D'Annunzio. 172. + ***Downfall of Candia. D'Annunzio. 153. + ***Gold Pieces. D'Annunzio. 83. + ***Hero. D'Annunzio. 3. + ***Idolaters. D'Annunzio. 119. + ***Mungia. D'Annunzio. 140. + ***Return of Turlendana. D'Annunzio. 56. + ***Sorcery. D'Annunzio. 92. + ***Turlendana Drunk. D'Annunzio. 72. + ***Virgin Anna. D'Annunzio. 215. + ***War of the Bridge. D'Annunzio. 192. + +#Dario, RubA(C)n.# (1867-1916.) (_Spanish._) + **Box. McMichael. 31. + ***Death of the Empress of China. McMichael. 3. + *Veil of Queen Mab. McMichael. 21. + +#De Vigny, Alfred.# (_French._) _See_ #Vigny, Alfred De.# + +#Dostoevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich.# (1821-1881.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Another Man's Wife. Dostoevsky B. 208. + ***Bobok. Dostoevsky B. 291. + ***Crocodile. Dostoevsky B. 257. + ***Dream of a Ridiculous Man. Dostoevsky B. 307. + ***Heavenly Christmas Tree. Dostoevsky B. 248. + ***Honest Thief. Dostoevsky B. 1. + ***Novel in Nine Letters. Dostoevsky B. 145. + ***Peasant Marey. Dostoevsky B. 252. + ***Thief. Schweikert B. 79. + ***Unpleasant Predicament. Dostoevsky B. 157. + +#Drosines, George.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***God-father. Vaka. 93. + + +#Eftaliotes, Argyres.# (_Modern Greek._) + Angelica. Vaka. 157. + + +#Friedenthal, Joachim.# (_German._) + ***Pogrom in Poland. Underwood A. 195. + + +#Garshin, Wsewolod Michailovich.# (1855-1888.) (_Russian._) + ***Signal. Schweikert B. 308. + +#Gjalski, Xaver-Sandor.# (_Croatian._) _See_ #Sandor-Gjalski, Xaver.# + +#Gogol, Nikolai Vasilievich.# (1809-1852.) (_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Cloak. Schweikert B. 40. + +"#Gorki, Maxim.#" (#Alexei Maximovich Pyeshkov.#) (1868 or 1869- .) +(_Russian._) (_See 1918._) + ***Chelkash. Schweikert B. 381. + ***Comrades. Schweikert B. 361. + ***Her Lover. Russian A. 67. + + +#Herrman, Ignat.# (1854- .) (_Czech._) + ***What Is Omitted from the Cook-book of Madame MagdAilena Dobromila + RettigovAi. Hrbkova. 233. + + +#IbAiA+-ez, Vicente Blasco.# (_Spanish._) _See_ #Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# + + +#JirAisek, Alois.# (1851- .) (_Czech._) + **Philosophers. Hrbkova. 225. + + +#Karkavitsas, A.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Sea. Vaka. 23. + +#Kastanakis, Thrasyvoulos.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Frightened Soul. Vaka. 221. + +#Klecanda, Jan.# (1855- .) (_Czech._) + ***For the Land of His Fathers. Hrbkova. 241. + +#Korolenko, Vladimir Galaktionovich.# (1853- .) (_Russian._ Q.) + ***Old Bell-Ringer. Schweikert B. 334. + +#KunAe>tickAi, BoA3/4ena VA-kovAi-.# (_Czech._) _See_ #Vikova-Kuneticka, +Bozena.# + +#Kuprin, Alexander.# (1870- .) (_Russian._) + ***Cain. Schweikert B. 430. + + +#Lazarevic, Lazar K.# (1851-1891.) (_Serbian._) + **Robbers. Underwood A. 145. + +#LemaA(R)tre (FranASec.ois A%lie), Jules.# (1853-1914.) (_French._) (_See 1918._) + ***Bell. LemaA(R)tre. 105. + ***Charity. LemaA(R)tre. 175. + ***Conscience. LemaA(R)tre. 277. + ***HellA(C). LemaA(R)tre. 189. + ***Lilith. LemaA(R)tre. 91. + ***MA(C)lie. LemaA(R)tre. 259. + ***Myrrha. LemaA(R)tre. 57. + ***Nausicaa. LemaA(R)tre. 207. + ***Princess Mimi's Lovers. LemaA(R)tre. 221. + ***Saint John and the Duchess Anne. LemaA(R)tre. 117. + ***Serenus. LemaA(R)tre. 11. + ***Sophie de Montcernay. LemaA(R)tre. 237. + ***Two Flowers. LemaA(R)tre. 125. + ***White Chapel. LemaA(R)tre. 165. + +#Level, Maurice.# (_French._) + *Bastard. Level. 197. + **Beggar. Level. 151. + ***Blue Eyes. Level. 269. + **Confession. Level. 83. + *Debt Collector. Level. 3. + ***Empty House. Level. 281. + **Extenuating Circumstances. Level. 71. + **Fascination. Level. 187. + **Father. Level. 115. + **For Nothing. Level. 127. + ***Illusion. Level. 39. + ***In the Light of the Red Lamp. Level. 49. + ***In the Wheat. Level. 139. + ***Kennel. Level. 15. + **Kiss. Level. 237. + **Last Kiss. Level. 293. + ***Man Who Lay Asleep. Level. 175. + ***Maniac. Level. 249. + *Mistake. Level. 59. + **Poussette. Level. 103. + *Taint. Level. 225. + *10.50 Express. Level. 259. + **Test. Level. 95. + ***That Scoundrel Miron. Level. 211. + *Under Chloroform. Level. 163. + **Who? Level. 27. + + +#Machar, Joseph Svatopluk.# (1864- .) (_Czech._) + ***Theories of Heroism. Hrbkova. 123. + +#Mayran, Camille.# (_Belgian._) + ***Forgotten. Mayran. 95. + ***Story of Gotton Connixloo. Mayran. 1. + +MikszAith, Koloman. (1849- .) (_Hungarian._) + ***Fiddlers Three. Underwood A. 217. + **Trip to the Other World. Underwood A. 209. + +#MuA3/4Aik, Johanna Rottova.# (_Czech._) _See_ "#SvAe>tlAi, Caroline.#" + + +#NAe>mcovAi, BoA3/4ena.# (1820-1862.) (_Czech._) + ***"Bewitched BAira." Hrbkova. 151. + +#Neruda, Jan.# (1834-1891.) (_Czech._) + ***All Souls' Day, Underwood A. 119. + ***At the Sign of the Three Lilies. Hrbkova. 86. + ***BeneAi. Hrbkova. 81. + ***Foolish Jona. Underwood A. 136. + **He was a Rascal. Hrbkova. 90. + ***Vampire. Hrbkova. 75. + +#Netto, Walther.# (_German._) + ***Swine Herd. Underwood A. 233. + + +#Palamas, Kostes.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Man's Death. Vaka. 173. + +#Papadiamanty, A.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***She That Was Homesick. Vaka. 237. + +#PA(C)rez De Ayala, RamA cubedn.# (_Spanish._) _See_ #Ayala, RamA cubedn PA(C)rez De.# + +#PicA cubedn, Jacinto Octavio.# (1852- .) (_Spanish._) + ***After the Battle. McMichael. 43. + **Menace. McMichael. 67. + **Souls in Contrast. McMichael. 81. + +#Pinski, David.# (1872- .) (_Yiddish._) + ***Beruriah. Pinski A. 3. + ***Black Cat. Pinski A. 255. + ***Drabkin. Pinski A. 171. + ***In the Storm. Pinski A. 313. + ***Johanan the High Priest. Pinski A. 101. + ***Tale of a Hungry Man. Pinski A. 277. + ***Temptations of Rabbi Akiba. Pinski A. 83. + ***Jerubbabel. Pinski A. 131. + +#Polylas, Iakovos.# (_Modern Greek._) + *Forgiveness. Vaka. 133. + +#Pushkin, Alexander Sergievich.# (1799-1837.) (_Russian._) + ***Shot, Schweikert B. 23. + +#Pyeshkov, Alexei Maximovich.# (_Russian._) _See_ "#Gorki, Maxim.#" + + +#A andor-Gjalski, Xaver.# (_Croatian._) + **Jagica. Underwood A. 181. + **Naja. Underwood A. 165. + +"#Sologub, Feodor.#" (#Feodor Kuzmitch Teternikov.#) (1863- .) (_Russian._) + ***White Dog. Russian A. 30. + +#Sudermann, Hermann.# (_German._) + **Gooseherd. Sudermann. 341. + ***Iolanthe's Wedding. Sudermann. 9. + ***New Year's Eve Confession. Sudermann. 127. + **Woman Who Was His Friend. Sudermann. 109. + +"#SvAe>tlAi, Caroline.#" (#Johanna Rottova MuA3/4Aik.#) (1830-1899.) +(_Czech._) + ***Barbara. Hrbkova. 279. + +#Svoboda, FrantiAiek Xavier.# (1860- .) (_Czech._) + ***Every Fifth Man. Hrbkova. 105. + + +#Tchekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# (_Russian._) _See_ #Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# + +#Teternikov, Feodor Kuzmitch.# (_Russian._) _See_ "#Sologub, Feodor.#" + +#TolstoA-, Lyof Nikolaievich, Count.# (1828-1910.) (_Russian._) +(_See 1918._) + ***God Sees the Truth but Waits. Schweikert B. 209. + ***Master and Man. Schweikert B. 220. + ***Three Arshins of Land. Schweikert B. 287. + +#Turgenev, Ivan Sergievich#, (1818-1883.) (_Russian._) + ***Biryuk. Schweikert B. 103. + ***Lear of the Steppes. Schweikert B. 113. + + +#Vestendorf, A. Von.# (_German._) _See_ #Von Vestendorf, A.# + +#Vigny, Alfred De.# (_French._) + ***Laurette, Vigny. 43. + +#VA-kovAi-KunAe>tickAi, BoA3/4ena.# (1863- .) (_Czech._) + ***Spiritless. Hrbkova. 135. + +#Von Vestendorf, A.# (_German._) + ***Furor Illyricus. Underwood A. 37. + +#VrchlickA1/2, Yaroslav.# (1853-1912.) (_Czech._) + ***Brother CA"lestin. Underwood A. 3. + + +#Xenopoulos, Gregorios.# (_Modern Greek._) + ***Mangalos. Vaka. 105. + + + + +MAGAZINE AVERAGES + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + + +_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._ + +______________________________________________________________________ + | | | + | | NO. OF |PERCENTAGE OF + | NO. OF |DISTINCTIVE| DISTINCTIVE +PERIODICALS | STORIES | STORIES | STORIES +(OCT.-SEPT.) |PUBLISHED | PUBLISHED | PUBLISHED + | |___________|_____________ + | | | | | | | + | | * | **|***| * | **|*** +_________________________________|__________|___|___|___|___|___|_____ + | | | | | | | +Atlantic Monthly | 19 | 18| 15| 11| 95| 78| 58 +Century | 43 | 36| 25| 12| 84| 56| 28 +Collier's Weekly | 97 | 24| 8| 4| 25| 8| 4 +Cosmopolitan | 75 | 17| 7| 3| 23| 9| 4 +Dial (including translations) | 19 | 19| 15| 11|100| 78| 58 +Everybody's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 75 | 23| 7| 0| 31| 9| 0 +Harper's Magazine | 57 | 43| 32| 15| 75| 56| 26 +Hearst's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 76 | 17| 6| 4| 22| 8| 5 +McCall's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 41 | 15| 7| 3| 37| 17| 7 +McClure's Magazine (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 53 | 24| 16| 13| 45| 30| 25 +Metropolitan | 78 | 20| 12| 6| 26| 15| 8 +Midland | 13 | 11| 11| 8| 85| 85| 62 +Munsey's Magazine | 83 | 14| 5| 2| 17| 6| 2 +New York Tribune (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 48 | 31| 5| 1| 63| 11| 2 +Pagan (including translations) | 21 | 10| 8| 6| 50| 40| 30 +Pictorial Review | 46 | 30| 28| 25| 65| 61| 54 +Red Book Magazine | 117 | 17| 4| 2| 15| 4| 2 +Reedy's Mirror (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 30 | 16| 8| 4| 53| 27| 13 +Romance | 89 | 23| 6| 1| 26| 7| 1 +Scribner's Magazine | 51 | 36| 23| 10| 72| 46| 20 +Smart Set (including | | | | | | | + translations) | 127 | 51| 25| 14| 40| 20| 11 +_________________________________|__________|___|___|___|___|___|_____ + +_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._ + + +#By Percentage of Distinctive Stories# + + 1. Dial (including translations) 100% + 2. Atlantic Monthly 95% + 3. Midland 85% + 4. Century 84% + 5. Harper's Magazine 75% + 6. Scribner's Magazine 72% + 7. Pictorial Review 65% + 8. New York Tribune (including translations) 63% + 9. Reedy's Mirror (including translations) 53% +10. Pagan (including translations) 50% +11. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 45% +12. Smart Set (including translations) 40% +13. McCall's Magazine (including translations) 37% +14. Everybody's Magazine (including translations) 31% +15. Romance 26% +16. Metropolitan 26% +17. Collier's Weekly 25% +18. Cosmopolitan 23% +19. Hearst's Magazine (including translations) 22% +20. Munsey's Magazine 17% +21. Red Book Magazine 15% + + +#By Number of Distinctive Stories# + + 1. Smart Set (including translations) 51 + 2. Harper's Magazine 43 + 3. Century 36 + 4. Scribner's Magazine 36 + 5. New York Tribune (including translations) 31 + 6. Pictorial Review 30 + 7. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 24 + 8. Collier's Weekly 24 + 9. Everybody's Magazine (including translations) 23 +10. Romance 23 +11. Metropolitan 20 +12. Dial (including translations) 19 +13. Atlantic Monthly 18 +14. Cosmopolitan 17 +15. Hearst's Magazine (including translations) 17 +16. Red Book Magazine 17 +17. Reedy's Mirror (including translations) 16 +18. McCall's Magazine (including translations) 15 +19. Munsey's Magazine 14 +20. Midland 11 +21. Pagan (including translations) 10 + +_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._ + +1. abcde Harper's Magazine 32 +2. bcde Pictorial Review 28 +3. abcde Century 25 +4. abcde Smart Set (including translations) 25 +5. abcde Scribner's Magazine 23 +6. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 16 +7. Dial (including translations) 15 +8. cde Atlantic Monthly 15 +9. be Metropolitan 12 +10. c Midland 11 + + +_The following periodicals have published during the same period five or +more "three-asterisk stories." The list excludes reprints, but not +translations. The same signs are used as prefixes as in the previous +list._ + +1. acde Pictorial Review 25 +2. abcde Harper's Magazine 15 +3. de Smart Set (including translations) 14 +4. McClure's Magazine (including translations) 13 +5. abcde Century 12 +6. Dial (including translations) 11 +7. cde Atlantic Monthly 11 +8. abcde Scribner's Magazine 10 +9. ae Midland 8 +10. ace Metropolitan 6 +11. be Pagan (including translations) 6 + +_Ties in the above lists have been decided by taking relative rank in +other lists into account._ + + + + +INDEX OF SHORT STORIES PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES + + +OCTOBER, 1919, TO SEPTEMBER, 1920 + +_All short stories published in the following magazines and newspapers, +October, 1919, to September, 1920, inclusive, are indexed._ + +American Magazine +Asia +Atlantic Monthly +Catholic World +Century +Collier's Weekly (except Dec. 27) +Delineator (except Sept.) +Dial +Everybody's Magazine +Good Housekeeping (except Apr. and June) +Harper's Magazine +Ladies' Home Journal (except Mar.) +Liberator +Little Review (except Apr. and Sept.) +Metropolitan +Midland +New York Tribune +Pagan +Pictorial Review +Reedy's Mirror +Saturday Evening Post (except Jan. 31; Feb. 14, 21; Mar. 13, 20) +Scribner's Magazine +Smart Set +Stratford Journal +Sunset Magazine +Touchstone (Oct., '19-May) + +_Short stories of distinction only, published in the following magazines +during the same period, are indexed._ + +Adventure (Oct.-Dec., '19; Jul.-Sept.) +Ainslee's Magazine +All Story Weekly +American Boy +Argosy +Black Cat +Cosmopolitan +Freeman +Harper's Bazar (except Oct., '19) +Hearst's Magazine +Holland's Magazine +Little Story Magazine +Live Stories +McCall's Magazine +McClure's Magazine +Magnificat +Munsey's Magazine +Parisienne +People's Favorite Magazine +Queen's Work (except Sept.) +Red Book Magazine +Romance +Short Stories +Snappy Stories +Telling Tales +To-day's Housewife +Top-Notch Magazine +Woman's Home Companion (except Sept.) +Woman's World + +_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._ + +Detroit Sunday News +Menorah Journal +Oxford Outlook +Pearson's Magazine +Red Cross Magazine +Popular Magazine +True Stories + +_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._ + +_The following abbreviations are used in the index_:-- + +_Adv._ Adventure +_Ain._ Ainslee's Magazine +_All._ All-Story Weekly +_Am._ American Magazine +_Am. B._ American Boy +_Arg._ Argosy +_Asia_ Asia +_Atl._ Atlantic Monthly +_B. C._ Black Cat +_Cath. W._ Catholic World +_Cen._ Century +_Col._ Collier's Weekly +_Cos._ Cosmopolitan +_Del._ Delineator +_Det. N._ Detroit Sunday News +_Dial_ Dial +_Ev._ Everybody's Magazine +_Free._ Freeman +_G. H._ Good Housekeeping +_Harp. B._ Harper's Bazar +_Harp. M._ Harper's Monthly +_Hear._ Hearst's Magazine +_Holl._ Holland's Magazine +_L. H. J._ Ladies' Home Journal +_Lib._ Liberator +_Lit. R._ Little Review +_Lit. St._ Little Story Magazine +_L. St._ Live Stories +_Mag._ Magnificat +_McC._ McClure's Magazine +_McCall_ McCall's Magazine +_Men._ Menorah Journal +_Met._ Metropolitan +_Mid._ Midland +_Mir._ Reedy's Mirror +_Mun._ Munsey's Magazine +_N. Y. Trib._ New York Tribune +_O. O._ Oxford Outlook +_Pag._ Pagan +_Par._ Parisienne +_Pear._ Pearson's Magazine +_Peop._ People's Favorite Magazine +_Pict. R._ Pictorial Review +_Pop._ Popular Magazine +_Q. W._ Queen's Work +_(R.)_ Reprint +_Red Bk._ Red Book Magazine +_Red Cross_ Red Cross Magazine +_Rom._ Romance +_Scr._ Scribner's Magazine +_S. E. P._ Saturday Evening Post +_Sh. St._ Short Stories +_Sn. St._ Snappy Stories +_S. S._ Smart Set +_Strat. J._ Stratford Journal +_Sun._ Sunset Magazine +_Tod._ To-day's Housewife +_Top._ Top-Notch Magazine +_Touch._ Touchstone +_True St._ True Stories +_T. T._ Telling Tales +_W. H. C._ Woman's Home Companion +_Wom. W._ Woman's World +(161) Page 161 +(2:161) Volume 2, page 161 +(_See '15_) _See_ "Best Short Stories of 1915." + +_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._ + +#Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell.# (#Mrs. Fordyce Coburn.#) (1872- .) (_See +1915, 1918._) (_H._) + Peace On Earth, Good Will to Dogs. Col. Dec. 13-20, '19. (5, 8.) + +#Abbott, Helen Raymond.# (1888- .) (_See 1918._) + *Stop Six. Cen. March. (99:666.) + +#Abbott, Keene.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Cinders of the Cinderella Family. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (12.) + Thumb Minus Barlow. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (28.) + +#Abdullah, Achmed.# (#Achmed Abdullah Nadir Khan El-Durani El-Idrissyeh.#) +("A. A. Nadir.") (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Evening Rice. Pict. R. June. (8.) + *Hill Bred Yar Hydar. Am. B. Dec. '19. (11.) + **Indian Jataka. All. March 13. (108:2.) + *Pell Street Choice. Am. B. Nov. '19. (6.) + **Tao. Cen. Apr. (99:819.) + +#Abt, Marion.# + Epithalamium. S. S. Sept. (63.) + +#Adams, Charles Magee.# + Fathers and Sons. Am. May. (28.) + Todd's Plunge. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (41.) + +#Adams, H. Austin.# (_See "H" under_ #Adams, Austin.#) + "Bugs, But No One's Fool." Sun. Sept. (43.) + +#Adams, Samuel Hopkins.# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Guardian of God's Acre. Col. June 12. (18.) + *Home Seekers. Col. Apr. 10. (13.) + *House of Silvery Voices. Col. Mar. 20. (18.) + *Patroness of Art. Col. Jul. 17. (5.) + Pink Roses and the Wallop. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (12.) + +#Addis, H. A. Noureddin.# (_See 1918._) + **Weaver. Asia. Jan. (20:13.) + +#Addison, Thomas.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) + Tricks in All Trades. Ev. Apr. (76.) + +*#Ades, Albert.# + *Mme. Grandvoinet. N. Y. Trib. March 21. + +#Agee, Fannie Heaslip Lea.# _See_ #Lea, Fannie Heaslip.# + +#Aitken, Kenneth Lyndwode.# (1881-1919.) + ***From the Admiralty Files. Cen. Dec. '19. (99:241.) + **Wee Bit Ghost. Met. March. (34.) + +#Akins, ZoA".# (1886- .) (_See 1919._) + *Bruised Reed. Cos. July. (32.) + **Sister of the Sun. Cen. Dec. '19. (99:217.) + +#Aldrich, Bess Streeter.# ("#Margaret Dean Stevens.#") (1881- .) +(_See 1919._) (_See 1916 under_ #Stevens, Margaret Dean.#) + *Across the smiling Meadow. L. H. J. Feb. (20.) + Ginger Cookies. L. H. J. Jan. (25.) + "Last Night, When You Kissed Blanche Thompson----." Am. Aug. (28.) + Marcia Mason's Lucky Star. Am. March. (23.) + Mason Family Now on Exhibition. Am. Nov. '19. (45.) + Mother Mason Gives Some + Good Advice. Am. May. (49.) + Tillie Cuts Loose. Am. April. (50.) + +"#Alexander, Mary.#" _See_ #Kilbourne, Fannie.# + +#Alexander, Nell Stewart.# + Cutting the Cat's Claws. L. H. J. Sept. (34.) + +#Alexander, Sandra.# (_See 1919._) + According to Otto. Col. Mar. 27. (10.) + Goer. Met. Nov. '19. (34.) + +"#Amid, John.#" (#M. M. Stearns.#) (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Seravido Money. Mir. Nov. 20, '19. (28:812.) + +#Anderson, C. Farley.# + ***Octogenarian. S. S. Dec. '19. (119.) + +#Anderson, Frederick Irving.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *King's Thumb. Ev. Dec. '19. (45.) + +#Anderson, Jane.# (_H._) + ***Happiest Man in the World. Cen. Jan. (99:330.) + +#Anderson, Sherwood.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Door of the Trap. Dial. May. (68:567.) + ***I Want to Know Why. S. S. Nov. '19. (35.) + ***Other Woman. Lit. R. May-June. (37.) + ***Triumph of the Egg. Dial. Mar. (68:295.) + +#Anderson, William Ashley.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + **Black Man Without a Country. Harp. M. June. (141:90.) + Bwana Poor. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (41.) + **Parable of Trifles. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (28.) + +#Anderton, Daisy.# (_See 1919._) + ***Belated Girlhood. Pag. Jan. (37.) + +*#Andreieff, Leonid Nikolaevich.# _See_ #Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich.# + +#Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Broken Wings. Scr. Aug. (68:129.) + +#Andrews, Roland F.# (_H._) + For the Honor of Sam Butler. Ev. Mar. (38.) + **Wallababy. Met. Aug. (38.) + +*#Andreyev, Leonid Nikolaevich.# (1871-1919.) (_See 1916, 1917._) +(_See "H" under_ #Andreieff.#) + ***Promise of Spring. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (6.) + +#Anonymous.# + *Bird of Passage. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 28, '19. + *His Last Rendezvous. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 30, '19. + *Incompatibles. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 23, '19. + ***Romance of the Western Pavilion. Asia. May. (20:392.) + "Stranger." N. Y. Trib. May 30. + +#Armstrong, LeRoy.# (1854- .) (_H._) + "Patsy, Keep Your Head." Met. Oct., '19. (29.) + +#Aspinwall, Marguerite.# (_See 1918._) + First Rung. Del. Feb. (11.) + +#Atherton, Sarah.# + Lie and the Litany. Scr. Aug. (68:186.) + *Necessary Dependent. Scr. June. (67:747.) + *Paths from Diamond Patch. Scr. Jul. (68:65.) + +*#Aumonier, Stacy.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Golden Windmill. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (14.) + ***Good Action. Cen. Aug. (100:454.) + ***Great Unimpressionable. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (12.) + ***Just the Same. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (12.) + ***Landlord of "The Love-a-Duck." Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (8.) + +*#Auriol, Georges.# + Heart of the Mother. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (33.) + +*#Austin, Frederick Britten.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Buried Treasure. Hear. Dec., '19. (14.) + *Yellow Magic. Red. Bk. Apr. (28.) + +#Austin-Ball, Mrs. T.# _See_ #Steele, Alice Garland.# + +#Avery, Hascal T.# (_See 1919._) + *Corpus Delicti. Atl. Feb. (125:200.) + +#Avery, Stephen Morehouse.# + Lemon or Cream? L. H. J. Feb. (24.) + + +#Babcock, Edwina Stanton.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Gargoyle. Harp. M. Sept. (141:417.) + **Porch of the Maidens. Harp. M. March. (140:460.) + +#Bailey (Irene), Temple.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Beggars on Horseback. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (20.) + **Gay Cockade. Harp. M. Feb. (140:290.) + +#Ball, Mrs. T. Austin.# _See_ #Steele, Alice Garland.# + +#Balmer, Edwin.# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_Hb._) + Acheron Run. Ev. May. (59.) + Jim Culver Learns the Secret of Teamwork. Am. Aug. (49.) + On the 7:50 Express. Am. April. (13.) + Paolina. Ev. Feb. (59.) + Santa Claus Breaks Into the Kelly Pool Game. Am. Dec., '19. (40.) + Upon the Record Made. L. H. J. Jul. (7.) + +*#Bargone, Charles.# _See_ "#FarrA"re, Claude.#" + +*#Barker (Harley), Granville.# (1877- .) (_See 1916._) + ***Bigamist. Free. May 5. (1:176.) + +#Barnard, Leslie Gordon.# + Jealousy of Mother McCurdy. Am. June. (39.) + Why They Called Her "Little Ireland." Am. July. (49.) + +#Barnes, Djuna.# (1892- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + ***Beyond the End. Lit. R. Dec., '19. (7.) + ***Mother. Lit. R. Jul.-Aug. (10.) + +#Barratt, Louise Rand Bascom.# _See_ #Bascom, Louise Rand.# + +#Barrett, Arabel Moulton.# (_See 1919._) + Little Brown Bird. Cath. W. Oct., '19. (110:29.) + +#Barrett, Richmond Brooks.# + At Thirty-three. S. S. Sept. (55.) + Daughter of the Bernsteins. S. S. Jul. (83.) + Divine Right of Tenors. S. S. March. (73.) + *Satanic Saint. S. S. April. (103.) + +#Bartlett, Frederick Orin.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Everlasting Hills. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (30.) + **Inside. Del. Jan. (7.) + Junior Member. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (14.) + Later Boat. Ev. Apr. (68.) + Strip of Green Paper. Ev. Sept. (51.) + +#Barton, C. P.# + *Life, Liberty, and Happiness. All. Apr. 10. (109:135.) + +#Bascom, Louise Rand.# (#Mrs. G. W. Barrett.#) (_See 1915, 1916, +1918._) (_H._) + *Question of Dress. B. C. Jul. (13.) + +#Bash, Mrs. Louis H.# _See_ #Runkle, Bertha (Brooks.)# + +#Beadle, Charles.# (_See 1918._) + *Inner Hero. Rom. Nov., '19. (113.) + +#Beale, William C.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Eternal Knout. Ev. Nov., '19. (34.) + +#Beard, Wolcott le ClA(C)ar.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + *Sun God Functions. Arg. Nov. 1, '19. (114:18.) + +#Bechdolt, Frederick Ritchie.# (1874- .) (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Cleaning Up of Lathrop. S. E. P. May 15. (46.) + On the Lordsburg Road. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (42.) + +*#Beck, L. Adams.# + ***Fire of Beauty. Atl. Sept. (126:359.) + ***Incomparable Lady. Atl. Aug. (126:178.) + +#Beer, Thomas.# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Boy Flag. S. E. P. June 5. (12.) + *Cool. Cen. Sept. (100:604.) + Curious Behavior of Myra Cotes. Met. Oct., '19. (32.) + Lorena. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (18.) + Poison Pen. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (16.) + *Refuge. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (18.) + Totem. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (42.) + *Zerbetta and the Black Arts. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (22.) + +#Beffel, John Nicholas.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Crosby Crew. Mir. Oct. 23, '19. (28:730.) + *Out of the Cage. Mir. Nov. 20, '19. (28:816.) 18, '19. (28:816.) + Seneca's Ghost House. Mir. Dec. 18, '19. (28:936.) + Woman at the Door. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:899.) + +#Behrman, S. N.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *That Second Man. S. S. Nov., '19. (73.) + +#Belden, Jacques.# + *Song of Home. Mun. Nov., '19. (68:230.) + +#BenA(C)t, Stephen Vincent.# (1898- .) (_See 1916._) + *Funeral of John Bixby. Mun. Jul. (70:382.) + ***Summer Thunder. S. S. Sept. (79.) + +#Bercovici, Konrad.# (1882- .) + ***Ghitza. Dial. Feb. (68:154.) + *Yahde, the Proud One. Rom. Aug. (100.) + +*#Beresford, John Davys.# (1873- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + **Convert. Free. May, '19. (1:225.) + +*"#Bertheroy, Jean.#" (#Berthe Carianne Le Barillier.#) (1860- .) (_See +1918, 1919._) + *Candlemas Day. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 29. + *From Beyond the Grace. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 1. + +#Bidwell, Anna Cabot.# + Fairest Adonis. Cen. March (99:610.) + +*#Binet-Valmer.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + Armistice Night. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 4. + *Withered Flowers. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 4. + +*"#Birmingham, George A.#" (#Canon James O. Hannay.#) (1865- .) (_See +1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Bands of Ballyguttery. Ev. Jul. (63.) + +#Bishop, Ola.# (_See 1919._) + Dawson Gang. Met. Nov., '19. (52.) + Wilda MacIvor-Horsethief. Met. Feb. (42.) + +*#Bizet, RenA(C).# + Devil's Peak. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 18. + *Lie. N. Y. Trib. May 16. + +*#Blackwood, Algernon.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Chinese Magic. Rom. June. (26.) + ***First Hate. McC. Feb. (22.) + ***Running Wolf. Cen. Aug. (100:482.) + +*#Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# (1867- .) (_See 1919 under_ #IbAiA+-ez, Vicente +Blasco.#) + *CaburA(C) Feather. McC. Sept. (20.) + *Four Sons of Eve. McC. Jul. (8.) + *Mad Virgins. Ev. Dec., '19. (25.) + ***Old Woman of the Movies. McC. May. (9.) + *Shot in the Dark. McCall. Jul. (6.) + ***Sleeping-Car Porter. Del. Oct., '19. (15.) + +#Bloch, Bertram.# (_See '18._) + Modern Improvements. S. S. Feb. (79.) + +#Block, Rudolph.# _See_ "Lessing, Bruno." + +#Blum, Henry S.# + Oil. Met. Aug. (34.) + +#Boas, George.# + **Officer, but a Gentleman. Atl. Aug. (126:194.) + +#Bodenheim, Maxwell.# (1893- .) + **Religion. Lit. R. May-June. (32.) + +#Bois, Boice Du.# _See_ #Du Bois, Boice.# + +#Boogher, Susan M.# (_See 1919._) + Mrs. Hagey and the Follies. L. H. J. Sept. (22.) + +#Booth, Frederick.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + *Duel, Ain. Apr. (126.) + +*#Bottome, Phyllis# (#Mrs. Forbes Dennis#). (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Man of the "Chat Noir." Ain. June-Jul. (41.) + **Residue. Cen. Sept, (100:665.) + +#Boulton, Agnes#, (#Mrs. Eugene G. O'Neill.#) (1893- .) + **Hater of Mediocrity. S. S. Jul. (119.) + +*#Boutet, FrA(C)deric.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + *Her Magnificent Recollections. Par. June. (37.) + *His Wife's Correspondents. Par. Sept. (65.) + **Laura. N. Y. Trib. Sept., '19. + *M. Octave Boullay. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 1. + *Two Dinners. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 22. + +#Bowman, Earl Wayland.# + Blunt Nose. Am. Feb. (62.) + High Stakes. Am. Sept. (56.) + +#Boyer, Wilbur S.# (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Tutti-Frutti. Ev. May. (69.) + +#Brace, Blanche.# + Adventure of the Lost Trousseau. L. H. J. Sept. (14.) + Tuesday and Thursday Evenings. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (20.) + +#Bradley, Mary Hastings.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + His Neighbor's Wife. Met. Sept. (25.) + Salvage, Met. May. (16.) + +#Brand, Max.# (_See 1918._) + *Out of the Dark. All. March. 13. (108:9.) + +#Breakspear, Matilda.# + Humberto, S. S. Jan. (108.) + +#Brooks, Jonathan.# + Bills Payable. Col. Sept. 18. (5.) + Hand and Foot. Col. May 15. (14.) + High and Handsome. Col. June 19. (5.) + Hot Blood and Cold. Col. Aug. 7. (5.) + Rewarded, By Virtue. Col. Apr. 3. (5.) + +#Brooks, Paul.# + Immolation. S. S. Sept. (101.) + +#Brown, Alice.# (1857- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Captives. McCall. May. (6.) + *Mistletoe. W. H. C. Dec., '19. (23.) + ***Old Lemuel's Journey. Atl. June. (125:782.) + +#Brown, Estelle Aubrey.# + Elizabeth--Convex. L. H. J. Jan. (9.) + +#Brown, Hearty Earl.# (1886- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Gold-Piece. Atl. Jul. (126:67.) + +#Brown, Katharine Holland.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *House on the Sand. W. H. C. May. (29.) + **Very Anxious Mother. Scr. Dec. 1919. (66:749.) + +#Brown, Royal.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Eighth Box. L. H. J. Dec., 1919. (14.) + Game for Quentina. L. H. J. June. (18.) + Too Much Canvas. L. H. J. Nov., 1919. (20.) + +#Brown, W. S.# + *Albert Bean's Tranquillity. Dial. Mar. (68:306.) + +#Brownell, Agnes Mary.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Buttermilk. Mir. Dec. 11, 1919. (28:887.) + **Coquette. McCall. May. (16.) + **Cure. Mid. Sept. (6:138.) + **Evergreen. G. H. Dec., 1919. (49.) + *Forty-Love. McCall. Jul. (16.) + **Grampa. Del. Apr. (24.) + *Intentions. Rome. Apr. (33.) + *Oxalis. Del. Feb. (21.) + ***Quest. Mid. Sept.-Oct. '19. (5:220.) + **Red Fiddle. Arg. Jul. 31. (123:699.) + ***Relation. Pict. R. June. (12.) + *Wannie--and Her Heart's Desire. Am. Jul. (44.) + +#Brownell, Mrs. Baker.# _See_ "#Maxwell, Helena.#" + +#Brubaker, Howard.# (1892- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Decline and Fall. Harp. M. Jul. (141:244.) + *Little Friends of All the Arts. Harp. M. Feb. (140:386.) + +#Bruno, GuA-do.# (1884- .) (_See 1915._) + Adultery on Washington Square. Mir. Jul. 15. (29:563.) + +*#Bruno, Ruby, J.# + *Unbreakable Chain. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 18. + Woman's Will. N. Y. Trib. July 11. + +#Bryan, Grace Lovell.# + Class! S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (46.) + Rowena Pulls the Wheeze! S. E. P. July 31. (16.) + "You Never Can Tell--" S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (40.) + +#Bryner, Edna Clare.# + ***Life of Five Points. Dial. (69:225.) + +*#Buchan, John.# (1875- .) (_H._) + ***Fullcircle. Atl. Jan. (125:36.) + +*#Buchanan, Meriel.# + Miracle of St. Nicholas. Scr. Aug. (68:137.) + +#Buck, Oscar MacMillan.# + **Village of Dara's Mercy. Asia. June. (20:481.) + +#Bulger, Bozeman.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_See also_ #Terhune, +Albert Payson#, _and_ #Bulger, Bozeman.#) + Logansport Breeze. S. E. P. June, '19. (30.) + Real Shine. Ev. June. (25.) + +#Burke, Kenneth.# + *Mrs. MA|cenas. Dial. Mar. (68:346.) + **Soul of Kajn Tafha. Dial. Jul. (69:29.) + +*#Burke, Thomas.# (1887- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) + ***Scarlet Shoes. Cos. Apr. (69.) + **Twelve Golden Curls. Cos. Mar. (37.) + +*#Burland, John Burland Harris.# (1870- .) + *Green Flame. T. T. Apr. (27.) + **Window. L. St. Dec. '19 (94.) + +#Burnet, Dana.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Last of the Oldmasters. Ev. Jan. (37.) + Romance of a Country Road. G. H. Oct., '19. (34.) + +#Burt, Maxwell Struthers.# (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **"Bally Old" Knot. Scr. Aug. (68:194.) + *Devilled Sweetbreads. Scr. Apr. (67:411.) + ***Dream or Two. Harp. M. May. (140:744.) + ***Each in His Generation. Scr. Jul. (68:42.) + ***When His Ships Came In. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:721.) + +#Butler, Ellis Parker.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Criminals Three. Pict. R. March. (16.) + **Economic Waste. Ev. Oct., '19. (46.) + *Jury of His Peers. Ev. Sept. (42.) + Knight Without Reproach. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (69.) + Potting Marjotta. Col. Jan. 17. (11.) + +"#Byrne, Donn.#" (#Bryan Oswald Donn-Byrne.#) (1888- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *And Zabad Begat Ephlal. Hear. May. (31.) + *Bride's Play. Hear. Sept. (8.) + + +#Cabell, James Branch.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Designs of Miramon. Cen. Aug. (100:533.) + ***Feathers of Olrun. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:193.) + ***Hair of Melicent. McC. Sept. (24.) + ***Head of Misery. McC. Jul. (21.) + ***Hour of Freydis. McC. May. (14.) + **Porcelain Cups. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:20.) + +#Calvin, L.# + Twenty Stories Above Lake Level. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (16.) + +#Cameron, Margaret.# (#Margaret Cameron Lewis.#) (1867- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917._) (_H._) + Personal: Object Matrimony. Harp. M. Apr. (140:621.) + +#Camp, (Charles) Wadsworth.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + Black Cap. Col. Jan. 24. (10.) + **Dangerous Tavern. Col. Jul. 24. (5.) + Hate. Col. Apr. 3. (18.) + ***Signal Tower. Met. May. (32.) + +#Campbell, Marjorie Prentiss.# (_See 1919._) + Guests for Dinner. Del. Mar. (11.) + Tight Skirts and the Sea. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (20.) + +#Canda, Elizabeth Holden.# + Broken Glass. L. H. J. Feb. (15.) + +*#Cannan, Gilbert.# (1884- .) + **Tragic End. Dial. Jan. (68:47.) + +#Carmichael, Catherine.# + Fairy of the Fire-place. Met. June. (13.) + +#Carnevali, Emanuel.# + Tales of a Hurried Man. I. Lit. R. Oct., '19. (16.) + Tales of a Hurried Man. II. Lit. R. Nov., '19. (22.) + Tales of a Hurried Man. III. Lit. R. Mar. (28.) + +#Carson, Shirley.# + *Old Woman's Story. Hol. June. (11.) + +#Carver, George.# (_See 1918._) + **About the Sixth Hour. Mir. March 18. (29:203.) + +#Cary, Gladys Gill.# + It's So Hard for a Girl. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (18.) + +#Cary, Harold.# + She and He. Ev. Feb. (31.) + +*#Cary, Joyce.# _See_ "#Joyce, Thomas.#" + +*#Casement, Roger.# + *Guti. (_R._) Mir. May 20. (29:415.) + +#Casey Patrick#, _and_ #Casey, Terence.# (_See 1915, 1917._) (_See "H" +under_ #Casey, Patrick.#) + **Wedding of Quesada. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (12.) + +#Casseres, Benjamin De.# (1873- .) (_See "H" under_ #De Casseres, +Benjamin.#) + *Last Satire of a Famous Titan. S. S. June. (79.) + +*#Castle, Agnes (Sweetman)#, _and_ #Castle, Egerton.# (1858-1920.) +(_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Fair Fatality. Rom. Apr. (137.) + +#Castle, Everett Rhodes.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Ain't Men So Transparent--S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (61.) + Golfers Three. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (49.) + +#Cather, Willa Sibert.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Her Boss. S. S. Oct., '19. (95.) + +#Catton, George L.# (_See 1918._) + *Coincidence. Lit. St. Sept. (1.) + *Speaking of Crops. Arg. Mar. 6. (118:475.) + +#Cavendish, John C.# (_See 1919._) + *Dawn. S. S. Dec., '19. (57.) + Last Love. S. S. Feb. (117.) + *Little Grisette. S. S. Nov., '19. (41.) + +#Chadwick, Charles.# + Broken Promise. L. H. J. May. (27.) + +#Chalmers, Mary.# + **Liberation of Christine Googe. Sn. St. March 18. (59.) + +#Chamberlain, Lucia.# (_See 1917._) (_H._) + Policeman X. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (16.) + +#Chambrun, Countess De.# _See_ #De Chambrun, Clara Longworth, Countess.# + +#Chandler, Josephine C.# + Habeas Corpus. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (35.) + +#Chapin, Carl Mattison.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Too Much Is Enough. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (46.) + +#Chapman, Edith.# + ***Classical Case. Pag. June. (4.) + *Emancipation. S. S. June. (99). + **Golden Fleece. Pag. Feb. (4.) + Inevitable Eve. S. S. Aug. (61.) + Mid-Victorians. S. S. Feb. (53.) + *Pandora. S. S. May. (85.) + *Question of Values. S. S. Sept. (29.) + Reductio ad Absurdum. S. S. Jan. (59.) + **Self-Deliverance, or The Stanton Way. Pag. Apr.-May. (12.) + +#Charles, Tennyson.# + *Riding the Crack of Doom. Am. B. Apr. (18.) + +#Chase, Mary Ellen.# (1887- .) (_See 1919._) + *Sure Dwellings. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:869.) + +*#Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# (1860-1904.) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917 under_ +#Tchekov.#) (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***At a Country House. (_R._) Touch. May. (7:126.) + +#Chenault, Fletcher.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + On Nubbin Ridge. Col. Dec. 6, '19. (20.) + +#Chester, George Randolph.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1919._) (_H._) + Pouff. Ev. Mar. (64.) + +*#Chesterton, Gilbert Keith.# (1874- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + **Face in the Target. Harp. M. Apr. (140:577.) + *Garden of Smoke. Hear. Jan. (15.) + **Soul of the Schoolboy. Harp. M. Sept. (141:512.) + **Vanishing Prince. Harp. M. Aug. (141:320.) + +#Child, Richard Washburn.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Bomb. McC. Jan. (11.) + Thief Indeed. Pict. R. June. (6.) + +#Church, F.S.# (_See 1919._) + How I Spent My Vacation. Scr. Aug. (68:155.) + +#Churchill, David.# (_See 1919._) + Igor's Trail. Ev. May. (46.) + +#Churchill, Roy P.# (_See 1919._) + Bold Adventure of Jimmie the Watchmaker. Am. May. (40.) + +#Clark, (Charles) Badger.# + All for Nothing. Sun. Apr (40.) + Gloria Kids. Sun. Jul. (52.) + In the Natural. Sun. June (43.) + Little Widow. Sun. May. (36.) + Sacred Salt. Sun. Aug. (39.) + +#Clark, Valma.# + *Big Man. Holl. Aug. (7.) + +#Clausen, Carl.# + **Perfect Crime. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (18.) + *Regan. Rom. April. (114.) + +#Cleghorn, Sarah N(orcliffe).# (1876- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *"And She Never Could Understand." Cen. Jan. (99:387.) + +#Clemans, Ella V.# + *Mother May's Morals. G. H. May. (25.) + +*#ClA(C)menceau, Georges.# + *How I Became Long-Sighted. Hear. Aug. (12.) + +*#Clifford, Mrs. W. K.# (#Lucy Lane Clifford.#) (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + Antidote. Scr. Sept. (68:259.) + +#Clive, Julian.# (_See 1919._) + Climate. Mir. Nov. 27, '19. (28:835.) + Of the Nature of Himself. Mir. Feb. 26. (29:145.) + +#Cobb, Irvin (Shrewsbury).# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *It Could Happen Again To-morrow. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (10.) + ***Story That Ends Twice. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (8.) + *Wasted Headline. S. E. P. May 8. (10.) + *When August the Second Was April the First. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (10.) + Why Mr. Lobel Had Apoplexy. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (8.) + +#Coburn, Mrs. Fordyce.# _See_ #Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell.# + +#Cohen, Bella.# + *"Children of the Asphalt." L. St. Jan. (75.) + *Chrysanthemums. Arg. May 29. (121:395.) + **Hands. Touch. Aug.-Sept. (7:383.) + *Roaches are Golden. L. St. Sept. (69.) + *Sara Resnikoff. Arg. Dec. 13, '19. (115:503.) + **Voices of Spring on the East Side. Touch. Jan. (6:195.) + +#Cohen, Octavus Roy.# (1891- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + All's Swell That Ends Swell. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (12.) + Auto-Intoxication. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (20.) + Gravey. S. E. P. June 19. (12.) + Here Comes the Bribe. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (12.) + Mistuh Macbeth. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (12.) + Night-Blooming Serious. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (12.) + Noblesse Obliged. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (14.) + Survival of the Fattest. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (16.) + Ultima Fool. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (20.) + +#Collins, Charles.# + Girl on the End. Met. Apr. (24.) + Sins of Saint Anthony. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (16.) + When Marcia Fell. S. E. P. May 15. (20.) + +#Comfort, Will Levington#, (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) _See also_ #Comfort, Will Levington#, _and_ #Dost, +Zamin Ki.# + Gamester. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (28.) + +#Comfort, Will Levington.# (1878- .), _and_ #Dost, Zamin Ki.# _See +also_ #Comfort, Will Levington.# + *Bear Knob. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (29.) + *Lair. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (20.) + +#Condon, Frank.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Any Nest for a Hen. Col. June 12. (10.) + Circus Stuff. Col. Jan. 31. (10.) + Fade Out. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (54.) + *Jones--Balloonatic. Col. Mar. 13. (8.) + Sacred Elephant. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (28.) + +#Connolly, James Brendan.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Fiery Sea. Col. Feb. 21. (13.) + *Wimmin and Girls. Col. May 22. (12.) + +#Cook, Mrs. George Cram.# _See_ #Glaspell, Susan.# + +#Cook, Lyle.# + Dancing Shoes. L. H. J. May. (20.) + Wing Dust. L. H. J. Apr. (14.) + +#Cooke, Grace MacGowan.# _See_ #MacGowan, Alice#, _and_ #Cooke, Grace +MacGowan.# + +#Cooper, Courtney Ryley.# (1886- .) (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Thrill That Cured Him. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (29.) + Unconquered. S. E. P. June 5. (30.) + +#Corbaley, Kate.# + Hangers-On. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (17.) + Pair of Blue Rompers. L. H. J. Jan. (15.) + +#Corcoran, Captain A. P.# + Middle Watch. L. H. J. Jan. (26.) + +#Corley, Donald.# + ***Daimyo's Bowl. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:810.) + +#Cornell, V. H.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + His Big Moment. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (38.) + +"#Crabb, Arthur.#" (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Among Gentlemen. Col. Feb. 14. (21.) + Bill Riggs Comes Back. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (61.) + Harold Child, Bachelor. L. H. J. Oct.-Nov., '19. (11:28.) + In the Last Analysis. Col. Sept. 4. (10.) + Janet. Met. March. (42.) + Kiss. Met. Oct., '19. (21.) + Lanning Cup. Ev. Apr. (49.) + Little God of Hunches. Ev. Jul. (21.) + Masher. Met. Apr. (36.) + Max Solis Gives an Option. Met. Sept. (28.) + Mr. Dog-in-the-Manger. Del. Jul.-Aug. (16.) + More or Less Innocent Bystander. Met. Feb. (21.) + Queer Business. Ev. May. (9.) + Rape of the Key. Sun. Dec., '19. (37.) + Reformation of Orchid. Met. Jan. (38.) + Represented by Counsel. Met. Nov., '19. (26.) + Sammy, Old Fox. Ev. Sept. (21.) + Story Apropos. Col. March 13. (20.) + Tony Comes Back. Del. Jan. (12.) + Yielded Torch. Cen. Apr. (99:758.) + +#Cram, Mildred R.# (1889- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + *Concerning Courage. L. H. J. Feb. (7.) + **Ember. McCall. June. (12.) + Fade Out. Col. May 22. (21.) + ***Odell. Red Bk. May. (58.) + Romance--Unlimited. Col. June 5. (18.) + ***Spring of Cold Water. Harp. B. Aug. (50.) + **Stuff of Dreams. Harp. B. Feb. (72.) + ***Wind. Mun. Aug. (70:413.) + +#Crane, Clarkson.# (_See 1916._) + Furlough. S. S. May. (113.) + +#Crane, Mifflin.# (_See 1919._) + Betrayal. S. S. March. (109.) + Captive. S. S. Nov., '19. (97.) + *Cycle. S. S. April. (73.) + *Impossible Romance. S. S. Aug. (37.) + Negligible Ones. S. S. Dec., '19. (73.) + Older Woman. S. S. Feb. (87.) + +#Crew, Helen Coale.# (1866- .) (_H._) + ***Parting Genius. Mid. Jul. (6:95.) + +#Crissey, Forrest.# (1864- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + **Gumshoes 4-B. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:116.) + +#Croff, Grace A.# (_See 1915._) + *Forbidden Meadow. G. H. Sept. (60.) + Minds of Milly. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (43.) + *Stroke of Genius. Rom. Sept (161.) + +#Cummings, Ray.# + *Old Man Davey. Arg. Sept. 4. (125:110.) + +#Cummins, T. D. Pendleton. "T. D. Pendleton."# (_see 1915, 1916._) + *Biscuit. Mir. Aug. 19. (29:644.) + +"#Curly, Roger.#" + Tael of a Tail-Spinner. Harp. M. June. (141:137.) + Three on an Island. Harp. M. Aug. (141:409.) + +#Curran, Pearl Lenore.# + Rosa Alvaro, Entrante. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (18.) + +#Curtiss, Philip (Everett).# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Crocodile's Half-Sister. Harp. M. May. (140:824.) + First of the Cuties. Ev. Mar. (45.) + **Holy Roman Empire of the Bronx. Harp. M. Sept. (141:465.) + *Temperament. Harp. B. Mar. (52.) + + +#Dallett, Morris.# + Lost Love. S. S. Dec., '19. (75.) + +#Davies, Oma Almona.# (_See 1915, 1918._) + Tunis Hoopstetter, Early Bloomer. S. E. P. May 15. (30.) + +#Davis, Charles Belmont.# (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + His Sister. Met. Feb. (28.) + +#Davis, Martha King.# + David Stands Pat. L. H. J. Jul. (30.) + Transplanting Mother. Am. Feb. (20.) + +#Davis, Maurice.# + Droll Secret of Mademoiselle. S. S. Sept. (39.) + *Tradition of the House of Monsieur. S. S. May. (23.) + +#Davron, Mary Clare.# + Ladies Who Loved Don Juan. Met. Dec., '19. (19.) + +*#Dawson, Coningsby (William).# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Loneliest Fellow. G. H. Dec., '19. (17.) + +#Day, Holman Francis.# (1865- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Deodat's in Town. Red Bk. Apr. (38.) + Nooning at the Devilbrew. Col. Apr. 10. (10.) + Two Beans and Bomazeen. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (12.) + +#De Casseres, Benjamin.# _See_ #Casseres, Benjamin De.# + +#De Chambrun, Clara Longworth, Countess.# + "Little Archie." Scr. Aug. (68:222.) + +*#Deeping, (George) Warwick.# (1877- .) (_H._) + *Hunger and Two Golden Salvers. Rom. Jul. (73.) + *Pride and the Woman. Par. April. (109.) + *Secret Orchard. Rom. Sept. (96.) + +#De Jagers, Dorothy.# (_See 1916._) + Mary Lou and the Hall-Room Tradition. Ev. Apr. (21.) + Polly Wants a Backer. Ev. Aug. (28.) + +#Delano, Edith Barnard.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_See "H" under_ +#Barnard, Edith#, _and_ #Delano, Edith Barnard.#) + **Blue Flowers from Red. L. H. J. Sept. (10.) + *Face to Face. L. H. J. June. (7.) + ***Life and the Tide. Pict. R. Apr. (27.) + +#De La Roche, Mazo.# _See_ #Roche, Mazo De La.# + +*#Delarue-Madrus, Lucie.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Rober. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 15. + +#Delgado, F. P.# (_H._) + Monna. S. S. Feb. (125.) + +#Denison, Katharine.# + My Father. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:757.) + +*#Dennis, Mrs. Forbes.# _See_ #Bottome, Phyllis.# + +#Derieux, Samuel A.# (1881- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Old Frank Sees It Through. Am. Nov., '19. (56.) + **Terrible Charge Against Jeff Poter. Am. Feb. (38.) + +*#Derys, Gaston.# + Rabbits. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 11. + +*#Desmond, Shaw.# (1877- .) (_See 1919._) + *Sunset. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:577.) + +#Dew, Natalie.# + Romance _and_ Mary Low. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (9.) + +#Dickson, Harris.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Breeches for Two. Cos. Mar. (85.) + *Relapse of Captain Hotstuff. Cos. Jan. (81.) + *Sticky Fingers. Cos. Apr. (85.) + +#Dobie, Charles Caldwell.# (1881- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Christmas Cakes. Harp. M. Jan. (140:200.) + ***Leech. Harp. M. Apr. (140:654.) + **Young China. L. H. J. Aug. (10.) + +*#DobrA(C)e, Bonamy.# + ***Surfeit. Lit. R. Dec., '19. (15.) + +#Dodge, Henry Irving.# (1861- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Skinner Makes It Fashionable. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (5.) + Wrong Hat on the Wrong Man. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (28.) + +#Dodge, Louis.# (1870- .) (_See 1917, 1918._) + ***Case of McIntyre. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:539.) + **Message from the Minority. Holl. Mar. (5.) + +#Donnell, Annie Hamilton.# (1862- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Beauty Hat. Del. June. (24.) + Crazy Day. Del. Dec., '19. (20.) + +#Dost, Zamin Ki.# _See_ #Comfort, Will Levington#, _and_ #Dost, Zamin Ki.# + +#Douglas, Ford.# (_H._) + Come-Back. S. S. June. (35.) + Home-Made. S. S. Aug. (27.) + Mr. Duncan's Gin. S. S. Jul. (75.) + +#Douglas, George.# + *Three Ghosts and a Widow. Q. W. Aug. (12:213.) + +#Dounce, Harry Esty.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + Mr. Torbert Malingers. Cen. Oct., '19. (98:758.) + +#Dowst, Henry Payson.# (187*- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + Bonds of Matrimony. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (8.) + Bostwick Budget. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (5.) + Cadbury's Ghosts. Ev. Feb. (48.) + He Needed the Money. S. E. P. June 26. (12.) + Pioneer and Pattenbury. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (3.) + Symbols. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (16.) + +#Dreier, Thomas.# (1884- .) + Broken Mirror. Met. Jan. (18.) + +#Dreiser, Theodore.# (1871- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Sanctuary. S. S. Oct., '19. (35.) + +#Drew, Helen.# + *Flag in the Dust. All. Feb., 28. (107:461.) + +#Driggs, Laurence La Tourette.# (1876- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + CurA(C) of Givenchy. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (14.) + +#Drucker, Rebecca.# + *Old Lace. (_R._) Mir. March 18. (29:233.) + +#Du Bois, Boice.# (_See 1919._) + Ancestral Hang-Over. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (49.) + Come-Back of a Send-Off. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (20.) + Downfall of an Uplift. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (46.) + Hortense the Helpful. S. E. P. June 5. (20.) + +*#Dubreuil, RenA(C).# + *Estelle and Francis. N. Y. Trib. June. 20. + +*#Dudeney, Mrs. Henry E.# (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Wild Raspberries. Harp. M. Jan. (140:217.) + +#Duganne, Phyllis.# (_See 1919._) + Extravagance. Met. Feb. (18.) + True Art. Met. Aug. (20.) + +#Dunaway, Anna Brownell.# (_H._) + *Estate. Col. Jul. 31. (10.) + +*#Dunsany, Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett#, _18th_ #Baron#, (1878- .) +(_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) + ***Cheng Hi and the Window Framer. S. S. Nov., '19 (2.) + ***East and West. S. S. Dec., '19. (41.) + ***How the Lost Causes Were Removed from Valhalla. S. S. Oct., '19. (1.) + **Opal Arrow-Head. Harp. M. May. (140:809.) + ***Pretty Quarrel. Atl. Apr. (125:512.) Mir. Apr. 1. (29:284.) + +#Durand, Ruth Sawyer.# _See_ #Sawyer, Ruth.# + +#Dutton, Louise Elizabeth.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Facing Facts. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (6.) + Framed. Met. Dec., '19. (15.) + +#Dwyer, James Francis.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Bridal Roses of Shang. Holl. Nov., '19. (5.) + *Bronze Horses of Ballymeena. W. H. C. Oct., '19. (23.) + *Devil's Glue. B. C. Feb. (37.) + Devil's Whisper. Col. Dec. 13, '19. (11.) + *Fair Deborah. Col. June 19. (10.) + Green Hassocks of Gods. Col. Aug. 28-Sept. 4. (5, 16.) + Little Brown Butterfly. Del. March. (23.) + *"Maryland, My Maryland!" Col. Mar. 20. (7.) + *Thin, Thin Man. Sn. St. Sep. 25. (61.) + Titled Bus Horse. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (23.) + +#Dyer, Walter Alden.# (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Mr. Geraniums. Holl. May. (14.) + *Phantom Hound. Top. Mar. 1-15. (145.) + + +#Eastman, Rebecca Hooper.# (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + One Room and Bath. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (14.) + Salesman and the Star. S. E. P. May 8. (14.) + String-Bean House. G. H. Nov., '19. (39.) + +#Edgelow, Thomas.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + Enchantment of Youth. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:739.) + +*#Edginton, May.# (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Man from Hell. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (10.) + *Man's Size. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (12.) + +#Edholm, Charlton Lawrence.# (1879- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Maker of Images. L. H. J. May. (17.) + **"Trouble Never Troubles Me." L. H. J. June. (20.) + +#Edwards, Cleveland.# + *Dream That Would Not Fade. Arg. Aug. 21. (124:571.) + +#Edwards, Frederick Beecher.# + Thank-You-Please Perkins. S. E. P. May 8. (30.) + +#Eldridge, Paul.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + **Their Dreams. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:148.) + +#Ellerbe, Alma Martin Estabrook.# (1871- .), _and_ #Ellerbe, Paul Lee.# +(_See 1915 under_ #Estabrook, Alma Martin#; _1917 under_ #Ellerbe, Alma +Estabrook#; _1919 under_ #Ellerbe, Alma Martin#, _and_ #Ellerbe, Paul +Lee.#) (_See "H" under_ #Ellerbe, Paul Lee.#) + ***Paradise Shares. Cen. Jul. (100:312.) + *Wiped off the Slate. Am. Feb. (10.) + +#Ellerbe, Rose L.# (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *Key to Freedom. L. H. J. Aug. (18.) + +*#Ervine, St. John G(reer.)# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Dramatist and the Leading Lady. Harp. B. Aug. (36.) + +#Evans, Frank E. (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Pearls or Ap#ples? Ev. Jul. (32.) + +#Evans, Ida May.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Eternal Biangle. G. H. Feb. (33.) + +#Evarts, Hal G.# + Bald-Face. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (34.) + Big Bull of Shoshone. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (46.) + Black Ram of Sunlight. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (5.) + Convincing a Lady. Col. Aug. 14. (10.) + Dog Town. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (12.) + Protective Coloration. Col. Dec. 20, '19. (19.) + Straight and Narrow. Sun. Nov., '19. (27.) + + +#Fargo, Ruth.# + Birthday Tale. Del. Feb. (19.) + *"Nobody Else's Home Seems Just Right." Am. Apr. (57.) + +#Farnham, Mateel Howe.# (_H._) + One Day to Do as They Pleased. Del. Dec., '19. (8.) + +*"#FarrA"re, Claude.#" (#Charles Bargone.#) (1876- .) (_See 1919._) + *Fall of the House of Hia. N. Y. Trib. Apr. 25. + +#Ferber, Edna.# (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Ain't Nature Wonderful! McC. Aug. (12.) + *Dancing Girls. Col. March 13. (5.) + ***Maternal Feminine. McC. Feb. (18.) + **Old Lady Mandle. Col. Jan. 17. (5.) + ***You've Got to Be Selfish. McC. Mar.-Apr. (14.) + +#Field, Flora.# (_See 1918._) + **Mister Montague. Del. Nov., '19. (23.) + +#Fillmore, Parker (Hoysted).# (1878- .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + ***Katcha and the Devil. (R.) Mir. Jan. 22. (29:59.) + +#Finger, Charles J.# (1871- .) (_See 1919._) + *Canassa. Mir. Oct. 30, '19. (28:744.) + **Dust to Dust. Mir. Jul. 15. (29:561.) + ***Ebro. Mir. June 10. (29:469.) + *Incongruity. S.S. Jan. (65.) + ***Jack Random. Mir. Aug. 26. (29:660.) + *Ma-Ha-Su-Ma. Mir. March 18. (29:213.) + **Phonograph. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:903.) + **Some Mischievous Thing. S. S. Aug. (119.) + +#Fish, Horace.# (1885- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + ***Doom's-Day Envelope. Rom. June. (43.) + +#Fisher, Helen Dwight.# _See_ #Harold, Henry#, _and_ #Fisher, Helen +Dwight.# + +#Fisher, Raymond Henry.# + *Yeng. Lit. St. June. (25.) + +#Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key.# + Benediction. S. S. Feb. (35.) + Bernice Bobs Her Hair. S. E. P. May 1. (14.) + Camel's Back. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (16.) + **Cut-Glass Bowl. Ser. May. (67:582.) + Dalyrimple Goes Wrong. S. S. Feb. (107.) + **Four Fists. Ser. June. (67:669.) + Ice Palace. S. E. P. May 22. 18.) + Offshore Pirate. S. E. P. May 29. (10.) + Smilers. S. S. June (107.) + +#Flandrau, Grace Hodgson.# (_See 1918._) + Dukes and Diamonds. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (50.) + Let That Pass. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (28.) + +*#Fletcher, A. Byers.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + *According to Whang Foo. Hear. Jan. (32.) + *End of a Perfect Day. Hear. Mar. (33.) + +#Flint, Homer Eon.# + *Greater Miracle. All. Apr. 24. (109:340.) + +#Foley, James William, Jr.# (1874- .) (_H._) + *Letters of William Green. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (109.) + *Letters of William Green. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (46.) + +#Follett, Wilson.# + ***Dive. Atl. Dec., '19-Jan. (124:729; 125:67.) + +#Folsom, Elizabeth Irons.# (1876- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Alibi. Sun. May. (49.) + Bain Twins and the "Detective." Am. Oct., '19. (51.) + *No Better Than She Should Be. Met. Mar. (32.) + +#Foote, John Taintor.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Allegheny. Am. Dec., '19. (11.) + +#Ford, Torrey.# + Over and Back with Scuds. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (57.) + +#Foster, A. K.# + Rebel-Hearted. Touch. Apr. (7:10.) + +#Foster, Maximillian.# (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Big-Town Stuff. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (18.) + Mrs. Fifty-Fifty. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (6.) + +#Fraiken, Wanda L.# (_See 1919._) + **Rubber-Tired Buggy. Mid. Aug. (6:105.) + +*"#France, Anatole.#" (#Jacques Anatole Thibault.#) (1844- .) (_See 1919._) + ***Lady with the White Fan. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:83.) + +#Francis, Dominic.# + **Son of the Morning. Mag. Apr. (25:288.) + *"Woman--at Endor." Mag. Sept. (26:232.) + +#Frazer, Elizabeth.# (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + Derelict Isle. S. E. P. May 29. (18.) + +#Frederickson, H. Blanche.# + Maiden Aunt. Met. May. (27.) + +*#Freeman, Lewis R.# + "His Wonders to Perform." Ev. Sept. (60.) + +#Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins.# (1862- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + *Gospel According to Joan. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:77.) + +#Friedenthal, Joachim.# + ***Pogrom in Poland. (R.) Mir. Oct. 23, '19. (28:726.) + +*#Friedlaender, V. H.# (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) + *New Love. S. S. Sept. (117.) + *Rendezvous. Harp. M. Feb. (140:328.) + +#Frost, Walter Archer# (1876- .), _and_ #Frost, Susan#, (_See 1916 and +"H" under_ #Frost, Walter Archer.#) + **His Hold. Ev. Jan. (24.) + +#Fullerton, Hugh Stewart.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Jaundice's Last Race. Ev. Nov., '19. (119.) + + +#Gale, Zona.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Arpeggio. Ev. Mar. (68.) + Arpeggio Helps. Ev. Apr. (44.) + Barbara's Aunt Beatrix. G. H. Oct., '19. (53.) + Love in the Valley. G. H. Feb. (30.) + *Lovingest Lady. W. H. C. June (16.) + +*#Galsworthy, John.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Expectations. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:643.) + +#Garrett, Garet.# (1878- .) (_See 1917._) + Gilded Telegrapher. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (20.) + Red Night. S. E. P. Apr. 2. (42.) + Shyest Man. Ev. Sept. (65.) + +#Gasch, Marie Manning.# _See_ #Manning, Marie.# + +#Gauss, Marianne.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + **Justice. Atl. May. (125:613.) + +#Geer, Cornelia Throop.# _See_ #Le Boutillier, Cornelia Geer.# + +#Gelzer, Jay.# + **In the Street of a Thousand Delights. Sn. St. Aug. 4. (25.) + +*#George, W. L.# (1882- .) (_See 1917._) + *Romance. Harp. B. Aug. (64.) + +#Gerould, Katherine Fullerton.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Habakkuk. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:547.) + ***Honest Man. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:777.) + +#Gerry, Margarita Spalding.# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + Food for the Minotaur. Harp. M. March. (140:488.) + +*#Gibbon, Perceval.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Abdication. Cos. Jul. (89.) + ***Connoisseur. Cos. Oct., '19. (73.) + *Dark Moment. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (8.) + *Elopement. McCall. Mar. (8.) + **Heiress. Cos. Aug. (53.) + **Hostage to Misfortune. McC. Aug. (23.) + ***Knave of Diamonds. McCall. May (5.) + *Last of the Duellists. McC. Dec., '19. (18.) + ***Lieutenant. Pict. R. Mar. (10.) + *Spotless. S. E. P. May 8. (15.) + +#Gibbs, A. Hamilton.# + Conqueror of To-morrow. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (30.) + +#Giersch, Ruth Henrietta.# + In Old Salem. L. H. J. Dec. '19. (23.) + + +#Gilbert, George.# (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) + *Cleansing Kiss. Mun. Mar. (69:253.) + *Old Yellow Mixing Bowl, T. T. Nov., '19. (35.) + ***Sigh of the Bulbul. Asia. Jul. (20:563.) + +#Gilchrist, Beth Bradford.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + *Eyes That See. Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:629.) + **Miracle. Harp. M. Jul. (141:217.) + +#Gilpatric, John Guy.# (_H._) + *Black Art and Ambrose. Col. Aug. 21. (14.) + +#Glaspell, Susan (Keating).# (#Mrs. George Cram Cook.#) (1882- .) (_See +1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Escape. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:29.) + Nervous Pig. Harp. M. Feb. (140:309.) + +#Glass, Montague Marsden.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + Cousins of Convenience. Cos. Jul. (26.) + +#Godfrey, Winona.# (1877- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Does Marriage Clip the Wings of Youth? Am. Feb. (51.) + Gods of Derision. Mir. Jan. 15. (29:38.) + +#Goetchius, Marie Louise.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +#Goldsborough, Ann.# + Answer to Joe Trice's Prayer. Am. Aug. (62.) + +#Goodfellow, Grace.# + **In The Street of the Flying Dragon. Rom. Sept. (126.) + +#Goodloe, Abbie Carter.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *McHenry and the Ghost-Bird. Scr. Jan. (67:105.) + **Return of the Monks. Scr. Oct. '19. (66:460.) + +#Goodman, Henry.# (1893- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + **Hundred Dollar Bill. Pear. Aug. (44.) + +#Goodwin, Ernest.# (_See 1918._) + Very Ordinary Young Man. Met. Dec., '19. (50.) + +#Gordon, Armistead Churchill.# (1855- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Panjorum Bucket. Scr. Feb (67:232.) + +#Graeve, Oscar.# (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918 1919._) (_H._) + Alonzo the Magnificent. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (16.) + Careless World. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (16.) + Cyrilian Cycle. S. E. P. May 1. (22.) + Lydia Leads the Way. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (14.) + +#Grahame, Ferdinand.# + *Four Bits. Arg. June 12. (122:59.) + +#Grandegge, Stephanie.# + Recapture. Pag. Feb. (20.) + +#Granich, Irwin.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + *Two Mexicos. Lib. May. (29.) + +#Granich, Irwin#, _and_ #Roy, Manabendra Nath.# + *Champak. Lib. Feb. (8.) + +#Grant, Ethel Watts-Mumford.# _See_ #Mumford, Ethel Watts.# + +#Grant, Louise.# + *In Search of Life. Touch. Mar. (6:358.) + +#Graves, Louis.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + I. D. R. 125. Met. Nov., '19. (48.) + +*"#Greene, Lewis Patrick.#" (#Louis Montague Greene.#) (1891- .) +(_See 1918._) + *Man Who Stayed. Adv. Jul. 18. (106.) + +#Greenfield, Will H.# (_See 1919._) + *Lost Lotos. Mir. Jul. 8. (29:548.) + +#Greig, Algernon.# + "Oh You February 29." Met. Septa. (27.) + +#Griffith, Helen Sherman.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Billy Allen's Coal-Mine. Del. Jul.-Aug. (18.) + "Poor Little Sara." Del. Apr. (21.) + +*#Grimshaw, Beatrice.# (_See 1915, 1916._) (_H._) + *Devil's Gold. Red Bk. Feb. (59.) + *Maddox and the Emma-Pea. Red Bk. Rpr. (68.) + *When the O-O Called. Red Bk. Mar. (49.) + + +#Haines, Donald Hamilton.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Forty-Five. Ev. Feb. (50.) + +#Haldeman-Julius, Mr.# _and_ #Mrs. Emanuel.# _See_ #Julius, Mr.# _and_ +#Mrs. Emanuel Haldeman-.# + +#Hale, Maryse Rutledge.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +#Hall, Herschel S.# (_See 1919 under_ #Hall, H. S.#) + Beeves from the Arggentyne. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (32.) + Bouillon. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (8.) + Cat Clause. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (8.) + Chance. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (8.) + Hot Metal. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (18.) + Key Man. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (24.) + Promoted. S. E. P. June 12. (20.) + *Sacrifice. Red Bk. May. (83.) + Steel Preferred. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (3.) + Stum Puckett, Cinder Monkey. S. E. P. Oct. 11. '19. (14.) + Wellington Gay. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (20.) + White Lines. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (14.) + Yancona Yillies. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (20.) + +"#Hall, Holworthy.#" (#Harold Everett Porter.#) (1887- .) (_See 1915, + 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Ancestors. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (20.) + Below the Medicinal Hundred. Ev. Oct., '19. (30.) + Bonds of Patrimony. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (10.) + Ego, Sherburne and Company. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (16.) + Girl Who Couldn't Knit. Pict. R. May. (8.) + G.P. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (12.) + Humorist. Pict. R. Sept. (16.) + Long Carry. Col. June 5. (5.) + Round and Round and Round. Col. Sept. 11. (5.) + Slippery Metal. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (10.) + Sniffski. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (3.) + +#Hall, May Emery.# (1874- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Laying Captain Morley's Ghost. Arg. May 8. (120:547.) + +#Hall, Wilbur (Jay).# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Art of Buying. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (14.) + Business Neurology. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (11.) + Johnny Cucabod. S. E. P. June 12. (5.) + Le Lupercalia. Sun. Feb. (39.) + Let the Seller Beware! S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (10.) + Martin Quest and Wife--Purchasing Agents. Am. Apr. (39.) + Melancholy Mallard. S. E. P. NOV. 22, '19. (13.) + Mercenary Little Wretch. Am. March. (41.) + Super-Soviet. Col. Mar. 27. (5.) + +#Hallet, Richard Matthews.# (1887- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1919._) (_H._) + *First Lady of Cranberry Isle. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (18.) + Inspiration Jule. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (58.) + **Interpreter's Wife. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (42.) + Wake-Up Archie. Col. Feb. 14. (7.) + +#Halverson, Delbert M.# + ***Leaves in the Wind. Mid. Apr. (6:28.) + Red Foam. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (14.) + That Dangerous Person. Ev. Nov., '19. (53.) + +#Hamilton, Edith Hulbert.# + Anyone Can Write. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (20.) + +#Hamilton, Gertrude Brooke.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + On Whom the Ladies Dote. S. S. Feb. (89.) + Open Eyes. S. S. Jan. (41.) + Pause. S. S. Apr. (59.) + **Shall We Dine, Melisse? S. S. Nov., '19. (43.) + Where Is Your Mother? G. H. May. (47.) + +#Hampton, Edgar Lloyd.# (_See 1915._) + Once One is Two. Met. Jan. (28.) + **Return of Foo Chow. Met. Mar. (13.) + +#Hanford, Helen Ellwanger.# + **Willow Pond. Atl. Mar. (125:363.) + +*#Hannay, Canon James O.# _See_ "#Birmingham, George A.#" + +*#Haraucourt, Edmond.# (1856- .) (_See 1918._) (_H._) + Dies IrA|. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 25. + *Posthumous Sonnet. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 7, '19. + Skunk Collar. N. Y. Trib. May 2. + *Two Profiles in the Crowd. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 5. + +#Harben, Will(iam) N(athaniel).# (1858- .) (_H._) + *Timely Intervention. Mun. Apr. (69:468.) + +#Hardy, Arthur Sherburne.# (1847 .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + **Mystery of CA(C)lestine. Harp. M. Mar. (140:442.) + +#Haring, Ethel Chapman.# (_See 1916._) (_H._) + Giver. Del. Nov., '19. (21.) + Ten Dollars a Month. Del. May. (15.) + +#Harold, Henry#, _and_ #Fisher, Helen Dwight.# + **White Petunias. Rom. Apr. (104.) + +#Harper, C. A.# + Vestal Venus. S. S. Apr. (101.) + +*#Harrington, Katherine.# + *O'Hara's Leg. Met. June (28.) + +#Harris, Corra (May White).# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + *Widow Ambrose. L. H. J. Aug. (7.) + +#Harris, Kennett.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Beauty and the Butterflies. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (59.) + Benny and Her Familee. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (10.) + Concerning Cautious Clyde. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (8.) + Most Popular Lady. S. E. P. July 10. (5.) + Rosemary Risks It. S. E. P. May 8. (20.) + Triptolemus the Mascot. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (3.) + +#Harris, May.# (1873- .) (_H._) + Back Again. All. Nov. 1, '19. (103:332.) + +*#Harris-Burland, J. B.# _See_ #Burland, J. B. Harris-.# + +#Harrison, Henry Snydor.# (1880- .) (_H._) + Big People. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (3.) + +#Harry, Franklin P.# + *Retribution and a Rabbit's Foot. T. T. Jul. (49.) + *Tan. Blu. Ox. 850. T. T. Oct., '19. (80.) + +#Hartman, Lee Foster.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Judgment of Vulcan. Harp. M. Mar. (140:520.) + +#Harvey, Alexander.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) + Great Third Act. Mir. Dec. 18, '19. (28:923.) + +#Haskell, Helen E.# (_See 1919._) + In Their Middle Years. Met. June. (31.) + +#Hatch, Leonard.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Links. Scr. Sept. (68:312.) + +#Hawley, J. B.# + Dancing Dog. S. S. June (51.) + *Tarnished Brass. S. S. Jul. (33.) + +#Henderson, Victor.# (_H._) + Poor Old Thing. S. S. Jul. (103.) + +#Hergesheimer, Joseph.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Blue Ice. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (8.) + ***Ever So Long Ago. Red Bk. Apr. (23.) + ***Meeker Ritual. (II.) Cen. Oct., '19. (98:737.) + ***"Read Them and Weep." Cen. Jan. (99:289.) + +#Hewes, Robert E.# (_See 1919._) + Pawnbroker of Shanghai. Met. Oct., '19. (34.) + +#Hewitt, Lew.# + Third Woman. S. S. Aug. (111.) + +#Hill, Mabel.# (1864- .) + Miss Lizzie--Parlor Bolshevist. Scr. Feb. (67:165.) + +#Hinds, Roy W.# (_See 1918._) + *Debts. Arg. Jul. 24. (123: 458.) + +*#Hirsch, Charles-Henry.# (1870-.) (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Autographed Mirror. N. Y. Trib. May 9. + +#Holbrook, Weare.# (_See 1919._) + Feast of St. Cecile. Pag. Apr.-May. (47.) + +*#Holding, Elizabeth Sanxay.# + **Patrick on the Mountain. S. S. Jul. (109.) + ***Problem that Perplexed Nicholson. S. S. Aug. (117.) + +#Holland, Rupert Sargent.# (1878- .) (_H._) + *Arcadians in the Attic. Scr. May. (67:618.) + Flying Man. L. H. J. Aug. (40.) + +#Hollingsworth, Ceylon.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Harp of a Thousand Strings. Col. Feb. 28. (9.) + **Mind of a Man. Col. Jan. 31. (5.) + *Pants. Col. Jul. 3. (5.) + +#Holt, Henry P.# (_See 1915, 1918._) (_H._) + Devil Cat Meets Her Match. Am. June. (29.) + *In The Cabin of the Chloe. Sh. St. Aug. (173.) + +#Hooker (william), Brian.# (1880- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + **Branwen. Rom. June. (132.) + +#Hopper, James (Marie).# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Education of Percy Skinner. Ev. May. (23.) + Pessimist Rewarded. Harp. M. Aug. (141: 351.) + +#Horn, R. de S.# + *Joss of the Golden Wheel. B. C. Jul. (3.) + +#Hostetter, Van Vechten.# Superwoman. S. S. Nov., '19. (53.) + They're All Alike. S. S. March. (99.) + +#House, Roy Temple#, _and_ #Saint-ValA(C)ry, Leon De.# + **Count Roland's Ruby. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:143.) + +#Hughes, Rupert.# (1872- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Broken Flange. Cos. Nov., '19. (67.) + *Father of Waters. Cos. Jan. (43.) + *Momma. Col. June 26. (5.) + ***Stick-in-the-Muds. Col. Sept. 25. (5.) + +#Hull, Alexander.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Argosies. Scr. Sept. (68:285.) + +#Hull, Helen R.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Flaw. Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:747.) + **Separation. Touch. Mar. (6:371.) + +#Hunting, Ema S.# (1885- .) + ***Dissipation. Mid. May. (6:47.) + ***Soul that Sinneth. Mid. Aug. (6:128.) + +#Hurst, Fannie.# (1889- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Back Pay. Cos. Nov., '19. (35.) + +#Hurst, S. B. H.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *What Happened Between. Rom. Jul. (146.) + +#Hurwitz, Maximilian.# + *"Eili, Eili, Lomo Asavtoni?" Men. Feb. + +#Hussey, L. M.# (_See 1919._) + **Believer. S. S. April. (29.) + **Family. Cen. Sept. (100:682.) + Father. S. S. Jan. (121.) + Gift of Illusion. S. S. June. (113.) + Hope Chest. S. S. Feb. (59.) + ***Lowden Household. S. S. Aug. (97.) + *Memories. S. S. Nov., '19. (121.) + *Opponent. S. S. Oct., '19. (61.) + Renunciation. S. S. May (39.) + **Sisters. S. S. Nov., '19. (55.) + *Twilight of Love. S. S. Dec., '19. (43.) + ***Two Gentlemen of Caracas. S. S. Dec., '19. (89.) + +*#Hutchinson, Arthur Stuart Menteth.# (1880- .) (_H._) + **Bit of Luck. Ev. Feb. (66.) + + +*#IbAiA+-ez, Vicente Blasco.# _See_ #Blasco IbAiA+-ez, Vicente.# + +#Imrie, Walter McLaren.# (_See 1919._) + *Wife Who Needed Two Chairs. S. S. June. (91.) + +#Irwin, Inez Haynes. (Inez Haynes Gillmore.)# (1873- .) (_See 1915 +under_ #Gillmore, Inez Haynes#; _1916, 1917, 1918, 1919 under_ #Irwin, +Inez Haynes.#) (_See "H" under_ #Gillmore, Inez Haynes.#) + *Long Carry. Met. Oct., '19. (42.) + +#Irwin, Wallace.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Beauty. McC. Aug. (8.) + Direct Action. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (8.) + "Ham and Eggs." Pict. R. June. (18.) + Joke. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (12.) + Mr. Rundle's Exit. Pict. R. May. (34.) + Moonshine. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (12.) + On to the Next. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (12.) + Waste Motions. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (10.) + Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? S. E. P. May 22. (14.) + +#Irwin, Will(iam Henry).# (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Copper Dan Imbibes. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (12.) + In The Tower of Silence. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (20.) + There Is a Santa Claus. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (20.) + +#Ittner, Anna Belle Rood.# + *Old Glory Bill. Scr. June. (67: 686.) + + +#Jackson, Charles Tenney.# (1874- .) (_See 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + *Little Girl Who Never Saw a Hill. Arg. Mar. 13. (118:501.) + +*#Jacobs, W(illiam) W(ymark).# (1863- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Artful Cards. Hear. Dec., '19 (17.) + +#Jagers, Dorothy De.# _See_ #De Jagers, Dorothy.# + +*#Jaloux, Edmond.# (_See 1918._) + **At the Telephone. N. Y. Trib. June 13. + **Poet's Revenge. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 8. + +#Jenkin, A. I.# + Premonition. S. S. Aug. (45.) + +#Jenkins, Charles Christopher.# (_See 1918._) + *Bayonet of Henry Laberge. Arg. Feb. 21. (118:154.) + *Man Beneath. Arg. Oct. 25, '19. (113:691.) + +#Jenkins, George B., Jr.# + Four Faint Freckles and a Cheerful Disposition. S. S. Jan. (111.) + +#John, W. A. P.# + No'th Af'ican Lloyds, Ltd. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (16.) + +#Johns, Orrick.# + ***Big Frog. S. S. Sept. (87.) + +#Johnson, Arthur.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Mortimer. Scr. Jan. (67:57.) + ***Princess of Tork. Met. Aug. (15.) + +#Johnson, Burges.# (1877- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **In the Barn. Cen. June. (100:198.) + +#Johnson, Olive McClintic.# + "Deep Ellum." Col. Dec. 20, '19. (14.) + "Didja Getcha Feet Wet?" Col. Feb. 21. (7.) + +#Johnson, Olive McClintic# (_con._) + Disagreeable as a Husband. Col. May 29. (5.) + Great Grief! Col. June 26. (10.) + Moons--Full, Blue, and Honey. Col. Jan. 3. (12.) + Turquoise Skies. Col. Feb. 7. (10.) + +#Joor, Harriet.# (_H._) + Passing of the Littlest Twin. Mid. Nov.-Dec., '19. (5:260.) + Ship Island Box. Mid. Nov.-Dec., '19. (5:263.) + +#Jordan, Elizabeth (Garver).# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1919._) (_H._) + *At the Dim Gate. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (5.) + *Luncheon at One. Col. Aug. 21. (5.) + +#Jordan, Kate. (Mrs. F. M. Vermilye.)# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Made Over. S. E. P. July 3. (12.) + +*"#Joyce, Thomas.#" (#Joyce Gary.#) + **Bad Samaritan. S. E. P. July 3. (40.) + Consistent Woman. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (30.) + **Cure. S. E. P. May 1. (30.) + None But the Brave. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (18.) + **Piece of Honesty. S. E. P. June 26. (66.) + *Reformation. S. E. P. May 22. (20.) + Springs of Youth. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (30.) + +#Judson, Jeanne.# + Her Man. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (13.) + +#Julius, Emanuel Haldeman-# (1888- .), _and_ #Julius, Mrs. Emanuel +Haldeman-.#) (_See 1919._) (_See 1917, 1918 under_ #Julius, Emanuel +Haldeman.# + **Caught. Atl. Nov., '19. (124:628.) + + +#Kahler, Hugh MacNair.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + Babel. S. E. P. June 19. (6.) + Buckpasser. Sept. 11. (5.) + Hammer. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (12.) + KWYW. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (8.) + Lazy Duckling. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (6.) + Obligee. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (8.) + Sensible Year. S. E. P. May 8. (6.) + Wild Carrot. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (8.) + +#Kavanagh, Herminie Templeton.# (_See "H" under_ #Templeton, Herminie.#) + **Bridgeen and the Leprechaun. L. H. J. Sept. (26.) + +#Kelland, Clarence Budington.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Appetite for Marriage. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (24.) + Backwoods Chess. Ev. Sept. (27.) + Cheese in the Trap. Ev. June. (15.) + His Wife's Place. Ev. Nov., '19. (16.) + Ivanhoe Sagg's Keynote. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (28.) + Knots and Wind-Shakes. Ev. Apr. (39.) + Martha Jib on the High Seas. Pict. R. Sep. (27.) + *Mysterious Murder of Myron Goodspeed. Am. Sept. (20.) + Scattergood Administers Soothing Sirup. Am. Jan. (52.) + *Scattergood and the Prodigal's Mother. Am. Jul. (28.) + Scattergood Borrows a Grandmother. Am. Dec., '19. (20.) + Scattergood Dips in His Spoon. Am. Nov., '19. (50.) + Scattergood Invests in Salvation. Am. Mar. (28.) + Scattergood Matches Wits with a Pair of Sharpers. Am. Oct., '19. (40.) + Scattergood Meddles with the Dangerous Age. Am. June. (56.) + Scattergood Moves to Adjourn. Am. May. (62.) + Scattergood Skims a Little Cream. Am. Aug. (40.) + +#Kelley, Leon.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + Carnival Queen. Pict. R. May. (6.) + "Speeches Ain't Business." Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (14.) + +#Kelly, Eleanor Mercein.# (1880- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Our Mr. Allerby. Cen. Apr. (99:737.) + +#Kelsey, Vera.# + **Late Harvests. Sun. Mar. (40.) + +#Kemper, S. H.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *O You Xenophon! Atl. Jul. (126:39.) + +*#Kennedy, Rowland.# + *Flame. Dial. Feb. (68:221.) + **Preparing for Passengers. Dial. Feb. (68:228.) + *Talkin'. Dial. Feb. (68:224.) + +#Kennon, Harry B.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Grandmother's Ghost. Mir. Nov. 13, '19. (28:784.) + Odd Roman. Mir, Jan. 8. (29:30.) + Single Cussedness. Mir. Jul. 22. (29:581.) + +#Kenton, Edna.# (1876- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + *Branch of Wild Crab. L. St. Sept. (55.) + +#Kenyon, Camilla E. L.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + His Professional Honor. Sun. June. (36.) + Lost Uncle. Sun. May. (41.) + +#Kerr, Sophie.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_See +"H" under_ #Underwood, Sophie Kerr.#) + *Genius. W. H. C. Feb. (21.) + Sitting On the World. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (16.) + +#Kilbourne, Fannie. ("Mary Alexander.")# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918 under_ +#Kilbourne, Fannie#, _and 1917 under_ #Alexander, Mary.#) + Betty Bell and the Leading Man. Del. Jan. (11.) + Getting Even with Dulcie. Am. May. (23.) + James Dunfield Grows Up. Del. Oct., '19. (22.) + Stealing Cleopatra's Stuff. Am. June. (23.) + +#King, J. A.# + Solid Comfort. Am. Sept. (70.) + +#Kirkland, Jeanne.# + *Old Miss Mamie Dearborn's Helmet. Pag. June. (22.) + Ralph's Return. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (22.) + +#Knibbs, Henry Herbert.# (1874- .) + *Horse Deal in Hardpan. Pop. Sept. 20. (52.) + +#Knight, (Clifford) Reynolds.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + ***Melody Jim. Mid. Nov.-Dec. '19. (5:271.) + +*#Kobrin, Leon.# + **Lithuanian Idyll. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:236.) + +#Komroff, Manuel.# (_See 1919._) + ***Thumbs. (_R._) Mir. Jan. 22. (29:55.) + +*#Kotsyubinsky, Michael.# + ***By the Sea. Asia. May. (20:411.) + +"#Kral, Carlos A. V.#" (1890- .) (_See 1918._) + ***Landscape with Trees, and Colored Twilight with Music. Lit. R. + Jan. (4.) + +#Kraus, Harry.# + Interlude. S. S. Apr. (113.) + + +#La Motte, Elen Newbold.# (1873- .) (_See 1919._) + ***Golden Stars. Cen. Oct., '19. (98:787.) + **Malay Girl. Cen. Aug. (100:555.) + *Widows and Orphans. Cen, Sept. (100:586.) + +#Langebek, Dorothy May Wyon.# (_See 1919._) + **"Seven." Mid. June. (6:64.) + +*#Langlais, Marc.# + Against Orders. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 2, '19. + +#Lapham, Frank.# (_See 1919._) + Telegram That Johnny Didn't See. Am. Oct., '19. (21.) + +#La Parde, Malcolm.# + Still Waters. Harp. M. Jul. (141:273.) + +#Lardner, Ring W.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Beautiful Katie, S. E. P. Jul. 10. (14.) + Busher Pulls a Mays. S. E. P. Oct. 18, '19. (16.) + +#Larson, Mabel Curtius.# + Spark. L. H. J. Feb. (13.) + +*#Lawrence, David Herbert.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Adolf. Dial. Sept. (69:269.) + +#Lawson, Cora Schilling.# (_See 1919._) + "Which Woman, John?" Am. Mar. (56.) + +#Lazar, Maurice.# (_See 1917._) + Heavenly Sophists. S. S. Dec., '19. (116.) + +#Lea, Fannie Heaslip. (Mrs. H. P. Agee.)# (1884- .) (_See 1915, 1916, +1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Crooked Stick. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (22.) + Happily Ever After. Del. Apr. + Miss Casabianca. Del. Mar. (9.) + Story Not Without Words. Del. June. (11.) + +#Leach, Paul R.# + Nerves. Col. Jul. 10. (8.) + +*#Le Barillier, Berthe Carianne.# _See_ "#Bertheroy, Jean.#" + +#Lebhar, Bertram.# + Athletics for Cold Cash. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (23.) + +#Le Boutillier, Cornelia Geer.# (1894- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919 under_ +#Geer, Cornelia Throop.#) + **Chaff. Scr. Aug. (68:204.) + Picking and Stealing. Col. Jan. 31. (17.) + +#Lee, Jennette (Barbour Perry.)# (1860- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Cat and the King. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (10.) + 'Twixt Cup and Lip. L. H. J. Jan. (23.) + +#Lee, Muna.# (_See 1915._) + *Dream. S. S. Oct., '19. (125.) + *Moonlight Sonata. S. S. Mar. (81.) + **Years Ahead. S. S. Dec., '19. (99.) + +*#Lehmann, RenA(C).# + Sensation Hunter. N. Y. Trib. May 23. + +#Lemly, Rowan Palmer.# + *Pagari. L. H. J. Apr. (24.) + +#Leo, Rita Wellman.# _See_ #Wellman, Rita.# + +"#Lessing, Bruno.#" (#Rudolph Block.#) (1870- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + Explosion of Leah. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (6.) + Treating 'Em Rough. Pict. R. Sept. (42.) + +*#Level, Maurice.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Begar. Hear. Apr. (12.) + *Debt Collector. Hear. Nov., '19. (40.) + ***Empty House. Hear. Sept. (20.) + **Extenuating Circumstances. Hear. Oct., '19. (25.) + ***Kennel. Hear. Aug. (16.) + ***Maniac. Hear. Mar. (12.) + ***Son of His Father. Hear. Jul. (22.) + *Ten-Fifty Express. Hear. June. (33.) + +#Leverage, Henry.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Sea Beef. B. C. Apr. (3.) + *Uncharted. Adv. Oct. 3., '19. (129.) + +#Levick, Milnes.# (_See 1919._) + *In Court. S. S. Oct., '19. (123.) + **Jest in the Household. S. S. Dec., '19. (126.) + Out of Modoc. S. S. June. (71.) + +#Levison, Eric.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + **Gloria in Excelsis. T. T. Jan. (63.) + *Home. T. T. June. (35.) + **Mordecai. T. T. Nov., '19. (41.) + *Where There Is No Light. T. T. Dec., '19. (29.) + +#Lewars, Elsie Singmaster.# _See_ #Singmaster, Elsie.# + +#Lewis, Addison.# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Mrs. Dinehart. Mir. Dec. 11. '19. (28:882.) + +#Lewis, Margaret Cameron.# _See_ #Cameron, Margaret.# + +#Lewis, Orlando Faulkland.# (1873- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Alma Mater. Red Bk. June. (53.) + +#Lewis, Orlando Faulkland# (_con._) + Case of Aunt Mary. L. H. J. Feb. (21.) + Man to Man. L. H. J. Jan. (13.) + +#Lewis, Oscar.# (_See 1916._) + Face Is Unfamiliar. S. S. Mar. (41.) + Girl Who Accepted No Compromise. S. S. Aug. (65.) + +#Lewis, Sinclair.# (1885- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Bronze Bars. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (12.) + Danger--Run Slow. S. E. P. Oct. 18, 25, '19. (3, 22.) + Habeas Corpus. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (10.) + Way I See It. S. E. P. May 29. (14.) + +*#Lichtenberger, AndrA(C).# (1870- .) (_H._) + ***Old Fisherwoman. Pag. Oct., '19. (6.) + +#Lighton, William R(heem).# (1866- .), _and_ #Lighton, Louis Duryea.# +(_See 1916, 1917, 1918; and 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919, and "H" under_ +#Lighton, William Rheem.#) + Why Olaf Proposed in the Month of March. Am. Jan. (38.) + +#Lindsay, Donald.# + Old Violets. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (4.) + +#Livingstone, Florence Bingham.# + Who Will Kiss Miss Parker? Sun. Dec., '19. (29.) + +#Lockwood, Scammon.# (_See 1916._) + Girl Who Slept in Bryant Park. L. H. J. Feb. (26.) + +#Loud, Lingard.# + Mister Jolly Well Murders His Wife. S. E. P. June 26. (20.) + Pink Knickers and the Desperate Ship. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (16.) + +*#LouA?s, Pierre.# + **Birth of Prometheus. Mun. Oct., '19. (68:81.) + ***False Esther. Mir. June 24. (29:511.) + +#Lovewell, Reinette.# + All Mrs. Flaherty's Fault. Am. Nov., '19. (28.) + +#Lowe, Corinne.# (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Single Fellows. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (10.) + +#Lurie, R. L.# + Quick Work by Philip. Am. May. (57.) + +*#Lyons, A(lbert Michael) Neil.# (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + *Deputy. Ev. May. (44.) + **Mr. and Mrs. Oddy. Ev. Jul. (42.) + + +#Mabie, Louise Kennedy.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Mystery of the Red-Haired Girl, Am. Apr. (23.) + +#McClure, John.# (_See 1916, 1917._) + *Tale of Krang. L. St. Nov., '19. (63.) + +#McCourt, Edna Wahlert.# (_See 1915, 1917._) + ***Lichen. Dial. May. (68:586.) + +#McCrea, Marion.# (_See 1918._) + Miss Vannah of Our Ad-Shop. Ev. June. (44.) + +#McDonnell, Eleanor Kinsella.# + Let's Pretend. L. H. J. Jul. (16.) + +#MacFarlane, Peter Clark.# (1871- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Guile of Woman. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (28.) + In the Game Called Life. L. H. J. May. (7.) + Mad Hack Henderson. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (24.) + +#McGibney, Donald.# + Come-Back. L. H. J. Jul. (18.) + Shift of Fate. L. H. J. Aug. (22.) + When the Desert Calls. L. H. J. May. (23.) + White Angel. L. H. J. June. (22.) + +#MacGowan, Alice# (1858- .), and #Cooke, Grace MacGowan# (1863- .) +(_See 1915 under_ #Cooke, Grace MacGowan#; _1916, 1917 under_ +#MacGowan, Alice#; _"H" under both heads._) + Little Girl Eve. S. E. P. June 26. (16.) + +#McGuirk, Charles J.# + Fogarty's Flivver. Col. June 5. (23.) + +#Mackendrick, Marda.# (_See 1919._) + Jean--In the Negative. Met. Mar. (29.) + +*#MacManus, L.# + ***Baptism. Cath. W. Sept. (111:780.) + +#MacManus, Seumas.# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Conaleen and Donaleen. Pict. R. Sept. (15.) + ***Heart-Break of Norah O'Hara. Pict. R. Mar. (8.) + ***Lad from Largymore. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (21.) + +*#McNeille, Cyril ("Sapper").# (1888- .) (_See 1917, 1919 under_ +"#Sapper.#") + *"Good Hunting, Old Chap." Harp. B. Sept. (52.) + +*#Mac-Richard, J.# + Electric Shoes. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 25. + +#Macy, J. Edward.# + *Sea Ginger. Scr. Sept. (68:343.) + +*#Madrus, Lucie Delarue-.# _See_ #Delarue-Madrus, Lucie.# + +#Mahoney, James.# + *Showing Up of Henry Widdemer. McCall. Aug. (12.) + +#Mann, Jane.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Heritage. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:47.) + +#Manning, Marie. (Mrs. Herman E. Gasch.)# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + Liver Bank. Harp. M. Aug. (141:382.) + +*#Marchand, Leopold.# + In Extremis. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 29. + +#Markey, Gene.# + Bugler. Scr. June. (67:704.) + +#Marquis, Don (Robert Perry).# (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + Bubbles. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (10.) + *Kale. Ev. Sept. (46.) + *Never Say Die. Ev. Apr. (73.) + +#Marquis, Neeta.# + Violets for Sentiment. S. S. Sept. (65.) + +#Marriott, Crittenden.# (1867- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + *What Dreams May Come True. L. St. Mar. (27.) + +#Marsden, Griffis.# (_See 1919._) + Enter Lucy. Sun. Aug. (25.) + Here Comes the Bride! Sun. Sept. (28.) + Marrying Them. Sun. Nov., '19. (20.) + Wrong Medicine. Sun. Jan. (26.) + +#Marshall, Bernard.# + Spilled Beans. Sun. Feb. (29.) + +#Marshall, Edison.# (1894- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) + Argali the Ram. Met. Jan.-Feb. (21:38.) + "Count a Thousand--Slow--Between Each Drop." Am. Mar. (44.) + **Elephant Remembers. Ev. Oct., '19. (17.) + Its Name Will Be Long-Ear Joe. Met. June. (34.) + "Never Stop--Never Give Up." Am. June. (14.) + *Shadow of Africa. All. Nov. 1, '19. (103:332.) + +#Martin, Helen R(eimensnyder).# (1868- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Birdie Reduces. Cen. May. (100:136.) + +*#Martovitch, Les.# + **Dance. Dial. Jul. (69:47.) + +*#Mason, Alfred Edward Woodley.# (1865- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, +1918._) (_H._) + *Pilgrimage. Rom. Mar. (3.) + +#Mason, Elmer Brown.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Does Money Talk? Col. Jul. 24. (16.) + +#Mason, Grace Sartwell.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Charm. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (8.) + ***His Job. Scr. Apr. (67:470.) + *Shining Moment. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (34.) + +#Mason, Gregory.# (1889- .) + Jade Idol. Met. Feb. (23.) + +#Mason, Laura Kent.# + On Receiving a Luncheon Invitation. S. S. Dec., '19. (53.) + +#Masson, Thomas L(ansing).# (1866- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + "Nibs." Met. Oct., '19. (38.) + +#Matteson, Herman Howard.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + He Is Singing to Me. Col. Dec. 20, '19. (12.) + "No Abaft This Notice." Sun. Apr. (33.) + +"#Maxwell, Helena.#" (#Mrs. Baker Brownell.#) (1896- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + ***Adolescence. Pag. Apr.-May. (5.) + *Her First Appearance. Lib. May. (24.) + +#May, Eric Paul.# + Proposal. S. S. Oct., '19. (34.) + +#Means, Eldred Kurtz.# (1878- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Concerning a Red Head. Peop. Aug. (9.) + **Plumb Nauseated. All. Mar. 13. (108:19.) + *Prize-Money. All. June 26. (111:483.) + *Proof of Holy Writ. Mun. Sept. (70:645.) + *Ten-Share Horse. Mun. May. (69:605.) + +#Mears, Mary M.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Forbidden Thing. Met. Apr. (22.) + +*#Merrick, Leonard.# (1864- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + *"I Recall a Seat." Harp. B. Jul. (50.) + *That Villain Her Father. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (16.) + ***To Daphne De Vere. McC. Feb. (13.) + +#Merwin, Samuel.# (1874- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Utter Selfishness of J. A. Peters. McC. Mar.-Apr. (18.) + +#Meyer, Josephine Amelia.# (1864-.) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Cave Stuff. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (53.) + +#Mezquida, Anna Blake.# (_See 1915._) + Don't Be Too Sure--Mr. Hurd! Am. Jan. (11.) + +#Michener, Carroll K.# (_See 1919._) + *Dragon-Tongued Orchid. Sn. St. Aug. 18. (51.) + *Golden Dragon. McC. Jul (18.) + +#Milbrite, Felden E.# + A%tude for the Organ. S. S. Aug. (126.) + +*#Mille, Pierre.# (1864- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **"End of the World." N. Y. Trib. Mar. 14. + Truth of History. N. Y. Trib. Aug. 8. + +#Miller, Alice Duer.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + *Slow Poison. S. E. P. June 12. (8.) + +#Miller, Helen Topping.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) + *B-Flat Barto. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (32.) + *Damour Blood. B. C. May. (19.) + +#Miller, Mary Britton.# + **From Morn to Dewy Eve. Touch. Feb. (6:299.) + **Sicilian Idyl. Touch. Jan. (6:218.) + +#Millis, Walter.# + *Second Mate. Adv. Aug. 3. (51.) + +#Millring, Ruth Brierley.# + Homely Is As Homely Does. Del. Jan. (6.) + +#Minnigerode, Meade.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + Ball of Fire. Col. Apr. 10. (15.) + Ground Floor Front. Col. May 29. (15.) + Jimmy Repays. Col. Feb. 14. (10.) + Monkeying with the Buzz Saw. Col. Mar. 6. (18.) + Mysteries. Col. Mar. 27. (13.) + Pure Gold. Col. Jan. 17. (12.) + +#Mitchell, Mary Esther#, (1863- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **"Vendoo." Harp. M. June. (141:107.) + +#Mitchell, Ruth Comfort.# (#Mrs. Sanborn Young.#) (_See 1916, 1917, +1918, 1919._) + Bad Boy. Del. Apr. (20.) + Carriage Waits. Ev. Dec., '19. (34.) + Poor Mister Morrison. Mir. Dec. 11, '19. (28:876.) + +#Mitchell, Ruth Comfort#, _and_ #Young, William Sanborn.# + Ranching of Nan. Del. Jul.-Aug. (7.) + +*#Monro, Harold.# + ***Parcel of Love. Lit. R. Nov., '19. (16.) + +#Montague, Margaret Prescott.# (1878- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge. Atl. June. (125:721.) + +#Mooney, Ralph E.# (_See 1919._) + Between Six O'Clock and Midnight. L. H. J. May. (9.) + Miss Kent Understands. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (50.) + Professor Comes Back. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (21.) + +*#Moore, Leslie.# + **Magician of Globes. Cath. W. Aug. (111:631.) + +#Moravsky, Maria.# (1890- .) (_See 1919._) + **Bracelet from the Grave. Rom. Jul. (156.) + *Remembrance that Kills. L. St. Sept. (3.) + **White Camels. Met. May. (25.) + +*#Mordaunt, Elinor.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***Adventures in the Night. Met. June. (11.) + ***Ginger Jar. Met. Nov., '19. (17.) + +#Morgan, J. L.# + For the World's Championship. S. S. Jan. (31.) + Literature. S. S. Feb. (27.) + Personally Conducted. S. S. Oct., '19. (69.) + +#Morley, Felix.# + *Legend of Nantucket. O. O. June. (2:214.) + +#Moroso, John Antonio.# (1874- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Danny's Gold Star. L. H. J. Apr. (16.) + Glint of Gold. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (24.) + House in the Woods. L. H. J. Feb. (23.) + Sweet Sally Magee. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (32.) + +#Mosher, John Chapin.# + Belle Hobbs. S. S. May. (63.) + +#Mumford, Ethel Watts.# (#Mrs. Ethel Watts-Mumford Grant.#) (1878- .) +(_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + *Look of the Copperleys. L. H. J. Apr. (8.) + Manifestation of Henry Ort. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (22.) + *Unto Her a Child Was Born. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (9.) + +#Munsterberg, Margarete.# + *Silent Music. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:57.) + +#Murray, Roy Irving.# (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) + ***Substitute. Scr. Jul. (68:82.) + +#Muth, Edna Tucker.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) + ***Gallipeau. Harp. M. Oct., 19. (139:721.) + Tidal Waif. Sun. Oct., '19. (39.) + +#Myers, Elizabeth (Fettor) Lehman.# (1869- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + **Autumn Blooming. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (22.) + +#Mygatt, Gerard.# (_H._) + FA(C)lice. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (20.) + Starter. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (8.) + + + +#Neidig, William Jonathan.# (1870- .) (_See 1916 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Bloodhound. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (10.) + *Brother Act. S. E. P. Jul. 31. (12.) + Shansi Woman. Ev. Aug. (9.) + Stained Fingers. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (18.) + Sweat of Her Brow. S. E. P. Jan. 24. (18.) + +*#Nervo, Amado.# + **Leah and Rachel. Strat. J. Jan.-Mar. (6:7.) + +*#Nevinson, Henry W(oodd).# (1852- .) (_H._) + ***In Diocletian's Day. Atl. Oct. '19. (124:472.) + +*#Newton, W. Douglas.# (_See 1915._) + *Life o' Dreams. Sn. St. Mar. 4. (75.) + +#Nicholson, Meredith.# (1866- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Housewarming. L. H. J. May. (28.) + My Roger. Del. Nov., '19. (8.) + +#Niles, Blair.# + **Tropic Frogs. Harp. M. Apr. (140:671.) + +*#Nodier, Charles.# (1780-1844.) + ***Bibliomaniac. Strat. J. Oct.-Dec. (5:177.) + +#Norris, Kathleen.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Engine Trouble. G. H. Jul.-Aug. (28.) + Friday the 13th. G. H. Nov., '19. (17.) + "God's in His Heaven." G. H. Oct., '19. (15.) + Home. G. H. Sept. (27.) + Silvester Birch's Child. G. H. Mar. (30.) + With Christmas Love from Barbara. G. H. Dec., '19. (26.) + +*#Noyes, Alfred.# (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Beyond the Desert. Red Bk. Aug. (57.) + Bill's Phantasm. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (20.) + *Court-Martial. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (18.) + *Troglodyte. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (22.) + *Wine Beyond the World. S. E. P. May 8. (5.) + + +#O'Brien, Frederick.# (_See 1919 under_ #O'Brien, Frederick#, _and_ +#Lane, Rose Wilder.#) + ***Jade Bracelet of Ah Queen. Col. May 22. (5.) + *Taboo of Oomoa. Harp. B. June. (60.) + +#O'Brien, Mary Heaton Vorse.# _See_ #Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton.# + +"#O'Grady, R.#" (_See 1915._) (_H._) + ***Brothers. Mid. Jan.-Mar. (6:7.) + +#O'Hagan, Anne. (Anne O'Hagan Shinin.)# (1869- .) (_See 1918._) (_H._) + ***Return. Touch. Jan. (6: 181.) + +#O'Hara, Frank Hurburt.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) + *Life of Eddie Slaggin. Pict. R. Apr. (24.) + Now Wasn't that Just Like Father! Am. Jul. (62.) + +#O'Higgins, Harvey Jerrold.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Story of Big Dan Reilly. McC. Mar.-Apr. (25.) + ***Story of Mrs. Murchison. McC. May-June. (25, 27.) + ***Strange Case of Warden Jupp. McC. Aug. (27.) + +#Oliver, Owen.# (_See 1915._) + *Wanted: a Kind Fairy. Holl. Sept. (11.) + +#O'Malley, Austin.# (1858- .) + **Strong Box. (_R._) Mir. May 27. (29: 437.) + +#O'Neill, Agnes Boulton.# _See_ #Boulton, Agnes.# + +#Oppenheim, James.# (1882- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Rending. Dial. Jul. (69: 35.) + +#Oppenheimer, James.# + Sweet Kanuck. Met. Jan. (33.) + +#Osborne, William Hamilton.# (1873- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Amazing Indiscretion. Met. Apr.-May. (20, 18.) + Handsomely Trimmed. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (12.) + Rush to Cover. S. E. P. May 15. (12.) + Seeing Things Again. S. E. P. May 8. (18.) + Turn of the Wrist. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (32.) + +#Osbourne, Lloyd.# (1868- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***East Is East. Met. Apr. (11.) + Ghosts Go West. S. E. P. Dec. 13, '19. (20.) + +#O'Sullivan, Vincent.# (1872- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) + ***Dance-Hall at Unigenitus. S. S. Mar. (53.) + +#O'Toole, E. J.# + First Snow. Cath. W. Jan. (110:476.) + +*#Owen, H. Collinson.# + ***Temptation of Antoine. Pict. R. Sept. (5.) + +#Owen, Margaret Dale.# + *Point of View. All. Oct. 18, '19. (102:690.) + +"#Oxford, John Barton.#" _See_ #Shelton, Richard Barker.# + + +#Paine, Albert Bigelow.# (1861- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Being a Landlord. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:929.) + Murphy's Kitchen. Harp. M. Feb. (140:424.) + +#Paine, Ralph Delahaye.# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) (_H._) + *Mrs. Tredick's Husband. Scr. Mar. (67:297.) + +#Pangborn, Georgia Wood.# (1872- .) (_See 1911, 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + *Andy MacPherson's House. Rom. Aug. (78.) + **Children of Mount Pyb. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:98.) + *When the Ice Went Out. Rom. May. (72.) + +#Parkhurst, Genevieve.# + Blind Alleys. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (29.) + +#Parkhurst, Winthrop.# + Holy Matrimony. Pag. Nov.-Dec., '19. (23.) + Law of Averages. S. S. Apr. (91.) + Spooks. S. S. Nov., '19. (107.) + +#Parmenter, Christine Whiting.# (1877- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Christmas Magic. Am. Dec., '19. (29.) + "I Never Could Have Married Anybody Else." Am. Mar. (11.) + Jilted--Because of Her Clothes! Am. Feb. (29.) + Marcia Lets Her Conscience Take a Brief Vacation. Am. Jan. (20.) + Peach in Pink. Met. Jan. (42.) + +#Parsons, Lewis.# + Dick Tresco and the Yellow Streak. Am. Mar. (62.) + Wonderful Dog with a Dual Nature. Am. Oct., '19. (14.) + +#Partridge, Edward Bellamy.# (_See 1916._) + Floating Foot. Met. Aug. (31.) + *Loan Shark. Met. June. (18.) + +#Pattullo, George.# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Captain. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (8.) + Madame Patsy, the Gusher Queen. S. E. P. May 22. (10.) + Oo, LA , LA ! S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (30.) + *Romance of ThomAis Dozal. S. E. P. June 19. (3.) + +#Payne, Elizabeth Stancy.# + *Trying Age. Ev. Jan. (55.) + +#Payne, Will.# (1855- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Age of Chivalry. Det. N. Jul. 18. (pt. 6 p. 6.) + *Eye for an Eye. Cos. Aug. (75.) + *Lucky Mary. Red Bk. Mar. (59.) + *Unbidden Guest. Cos. Sept. (75.) + +#Pearce, Theodocia.# + Little Spice Out of Life. L. H. J. Aug. (20.) + +#Pearsall, Robert J.# (_H._) + *Escape. Adv. Aug. 18. (166.) + +#Pelley, William Dudley.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + **Auctioneer. Pict. R. Jan.-Feb. (24.) + **Conversion of John Carver. Red Bk. Oct., '19. (23.) + *Devil Dog. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (26.) + *February-Third Joe. All. Feb. 28. (107:342.) + *They Called Her Old Mother Hubbard. Red Bk. Dec., '19. (64.) + *Trails to Santa FA(C). Red Bk. Sept. (78.) + +#Peltier, Florence.# + *Left-Handed Jingoro and the Irate Landlord. Asia. Sept. (20:802.) + +"#Pendleton, T. D.#" _see_ #Cummins#, #T. D. Pendleton.# + +#Perry, Clay.# + White Light. Met. June. (29.) + +#Perry, Lawrence.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Dilettante. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (12.) + Lothario of the Sea Bird. L. H. J. Aug. (16.) + Matter of Sentiment. Scr. Oct., '19. (66:438.) + Real Game. Ev. Jul. (13.) + Spoiled Boy. Ev. Nov., '19. (22.) + +#Perry, Montanye.# + Three Kings. Del. Dec., '19. (5.) + +*#Pertwee, Roland.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Elizabeth Anne. S. E. P. May 15. (16.) + *Mary Ottery. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (14.) + Various Relations. S. E. P. June 5. (16.) + +#Phillips, Michael James.# (_See 1919._) (_H._) + Silken Bully. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (10.) + +*#Phillpotts, Eden.# (1862- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Amy Up a Tree. Del. June. (5.) + *Mother of the Rain. Rom. Mar. (78.) + *Tyrant. Cen. Feb. (99:450.) + +#Pickthall, Marjorie L(owry) C(hristie).# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Boy in the Corner. W. H. C. May. (17.) + *Name. Sun. Mar. (33.) + **Without the Light. G. H. Mar. (33.) + +#PicA cubedn, Jacinto Octavio.# (1852- .) +***After the Battle. (_R._) Mir. Aug. 26. (29:664.) + +#Polk, Paul M.# + *Prayer and Faith. Tod. Oct., '19. (5.) + +#Porter, Harold Everett.# _see_ "#Hall, Holworthy.#" + +#Porter, Katherine Anne.# + *Adventures of Hadji. Asia. Aug. (20:683.) + +#Post, Melville Davisson.# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *House by the Loch. Hear. May. (35.) + *Lost Lady. McCall. June. (10.) +***Yellow Flower. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (12.) + +#Potter, Jane Grey.# + Lass Who Loved a Sailor. Scr. May. (67:603.) + Strong Arm. Scr. Feb. (67:224.) + +#Pottle, Emery# (#Bemsley#). (1875- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + **Little House. Touch. Apr. (7:51.) + +#Pottle, Juliet Wilbor Tompkins.# _see_ #Tompkins, Juliet Wilbor.# + +#Pulver, Mary Brecht.# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Fortune's Favorites. Ev. Mar. (9.) + *Lucifer. Del. Feb. (7.) + *Wings of Love. Del. June. (13.) + +#Putnam, Nina Wilcox.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Comme Si, Comme A‡a. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (10.) + Higher the Fewer. S. E. P. Oct. 11, '19. (16.) + Immediate Possession. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (29.) + Price of Pickles. S. E. P. May 15. (8.) + Ring-Around-a-Rosy. S. E. P. June 12. (16.) + Seeing's Believing. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (14.) + Spiritualism Frumenti. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (6.) + + +#Rabel, Du Vernet.# + Her Last Affair. L. H. J. Apr. (18.) + Kin of William the Norman. L. H. J. Jul. (22.) + Material Motives. Ev. Jan. (37.) + West Window. Met. Nov., '19. (30.) + You Can't Take That to Simpson's. Ev. Oct., '19. (24.) + +*#Rameau, Jean.# (_See 1919._) + *Nouveau Riche Cat. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 15. + ***Ocarina. N. Y. Trib. June 6. + *Prayer. N. Y. Trib. Mar. 7. + +#Ramsay, Robert E.# + Tabitha Mehitabel Sweet. L. H. J. June. (27.) + +#Ranck, Edwin Carty.# (1879- .) (_See 1916, 1918._) + Just Plain Dog. Met. Apr. (31.) + +#Raphaelson, Sampson.# + Great Li'l' Old Town. Del. May. (14.) + +#Ravenel, Beatrice Witte.# (1870- .) (_See 1919._) + Love Is Free. Harp. M. Feb. (140:346.) + *Something to Remember. Harp. M. Jan. (140:236.) + +#Ray, Marie Beynon.# + *Lost Marquise. S. S. Mar. (33.) + *Pride of Race. Harp. B. Dec., '19. (70.) + +#Redington, Sarah.# (_See 1919._) + Anne Thinks It Over. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:592.) + "Why I Dislike My Husband." Sun. June. (52.) + +#Reese, Lowell Otus.# (1866- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Bachelor. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (6.) + Behind the Velvet. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (12.) + Clink of the Spurs. S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (40.) + Foster Fathers. Col. Sept. 11. (8.) + Table Butte. Col. May 29. (12.) + +*#RA(C)gis, Roger.# (_See 1916._) (_H._) + Test. N. Y. Trib. Feb. 22. + +#Reid, M. F.# + Doodle Buys a Bull Pup. Ev. Aug. (64.) + *Initiation of Scorp-for-Short. Cen. Aug. (100:570.) + +#Reindel, Margaret H.# (1896- .) + ***Fear. Touch. Mar. (6:400.) + +"#Relonde, Maurice.#" (_See 1917._) + *Holy Pilgrimage. Pag. Jan. (18.) + +#Rhodes, Harrison (Garfield).# (1871- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Fair Daughter of a Fairer Mother. Ev. Mar. (79.) + *Shy Ghost. McC. Sept. (29.) + *Small Frog. Harp. M. Dec., '19. (140:49.) + Style in Hats. S. E. P. Aug. 14. (16.) + Thomas Robinson's Affair with an Actress. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (10.) + +#Rice, Alice (Caldwell) Hegan.# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Nut. Cen. Nov., '19. (99:1.) + +#Rice, Cale Young.# (1872- .) + **Aaron Harwood. Cen. Jul. (100:346.) + *Lowry. Cen. Feb. (99:549.) + +#Rice, Louise.# (_See 1918._) (_H._) + ***Lubbeny Kiss. Ain. Oct. + +*#Richardson, Dorothy M.# + ***Sunday. (_R._) Mir. Oct. 16, '19. (28:709.) + +#Richardson, Norval.# (1877- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + **Bracelet. McC. Jul. (29.) + +*#Riche, Daniel.# + First Call. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 14, '19. + *Royal Canary. N. Y. Trib. Mar. 28. + +#Richens, Christine Eadie.# + Inner Enemy. Del. Mar. (15.) + +#Richter, Conrad.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Cabbages and Shoes. Ev. Mar. (61.) + Making of "Val" Pierce. Am. Apr. (30.) + Man Who Hid Himself. Am. Jul. (21.) + +#Rideout, Henry Milner.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Toad. S. E. P. June 19. (16.) + +#Rinehart, Mary Roberts.# (1876- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Finders Keepers. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (3.) + +#Riper, Charles King Van.# _See_ #Van Riper, Charles King.# + +#Ritchie, Robert Welles.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Odd Case of the Second Back. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (28.) + +#Rivers, Stuart.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Circular Letter. Peop. Mar. (43.) + Fresh Guy. Met. Feb. (30.) + Genius. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (50.) + +#Robbins, Leonard H.# (1877- .) + "Ain't This the Darndest World!" Am. May. (70.) + Christmas Card. Met. Dec., '19 (42.) + Professor Todd's Used Car. Ev. Jul. (37.) + +#Roberts, Kenneth Lewis.# (1885- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Pergola Preferred. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (15.) + +#Roberts, Walter Adolphe.# (1886- .) + *Adventure of the Portrait. Ain. Mar. (111.) + +#Robinson, Mabel L.# + Daughter of a Diplomat. Del. Mar. (19.) + Dr. Tam O'Shanter. Del. Nov., '19. (19.) + Dr. Tam O'Shanter Comes to Town. Del. Jan. (15.) + Sakes Alive! Del. May. (23.) + +#Roche, Arthur Somers.# (1883- .) (_See 1915, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Dummy-Chucker. Cos. June. (20.) + +#Roche, Mazo De La.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1919._) (_See "H" under_ #De La +Roche, Mazo.#) + *"D'ye Ken John Peel?" W. H. C. Nov., '19. (14.) + ***Explorers of the Dawn. Atl. Oct., '19. (124:532.) + +#Roe, Vingie E.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Black Rose of El Forja. Sun. Jul. (25.) + Land of Unforgetting. Pict. R. Sept. (10.) + "Let's Go with Honor." Sun. Oct., '19. (20.) + Monsieur Plays. Sun. Dec., '19. (17.) + Prides of Black Coulee. Pict. R. Mar. (12.) + Red Dapple. Ev. Aug. (22.) + Sign of High Endeavor. Met. Nov., '19. (38.) + Third Degree at Port O'Light. Met. Oct., '19. (13.) + +*"#Hohmer, Sax.#" (#Arthur Sarsfield Ward.#) (1883- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917._) (_H._) + House of the Golden Joss. Col. Aug. 7. (10.) + Man with the Shaven Skull. Col. Sept. 18. (8.) + +#Roof, Katharine Metcalf.# _(See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Exile. Touch. Feb. (6:314.) + +#Rosenblatt, Benjamin.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Stepping Westward. Mid. Sept.-Oct., '19. (5:217.) + **Transformation. Strat. J. Oct.-Dec., '19. (5:217.) + +*#Rosny, J. H.# _aA(R)nA(C)._ + Bolshevist Marat. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 26. + Girl in the Engraving. N. Y. Trib. June 27. + +#Roy, Manabendra Nath.# _See_ #Granich, Irwin# _and_ #Roy, Manabendra +Nath.# + +*#Ruby, J. Bruno-.# _See_ #Bruno-Ruby, J.# + +#Rumsey, Frances.# (1886- .) + ***Cash. Cen. Aug. (100:433.) + +#Runkle, Bertha (Brooks). (Mrs. Louis H. Bash.)# (_H._) + Who's Who in America. Am. Oct., '19. (27.) + +#Russell, Alice Dyar.# (_See 1919._) + Her Birthright. Del. Apr. (9.) + +#Russell, John.# (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *One Drop of Moonshine. McC. Mar.-Apr. (27.) + ***Wreck on Deliverance. Col. Oct. 4, '19. (5.) + Yellow Professor. Col. May 15. (12.) + +#Russell, Phillips.# (_See 1918._) + *Troubadour. S.S. Jan. (115.) + +"#Rutledge, Maryse.#" (#Maryse Rutledge Hale.#) ("#Marice Rutledge.#") +(#Marie Louise Goetchius.#) (#Marie Louise van Saanen.#) (1884- .) +(_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918 under_ #Van Saanen, Marie Louise.#) +(_See "H" under_ #Goetchius, Marie Louise.#) + ***House of Fuller. S. E. P. May 29. (30.) + **Thing They Loved. Cen. May. (100:110.) + +#Ryan, Kathryn White.# (_See 1919._) + ***Man of Cone. Mun. Mar. (69:231.) + **Mrs. Levering. Mun. Jul. (70:346.) + **Sea. All. May 1. (109:454.) + *Swine of Circe. S. S. Feb. (99.) + +#Ryerson, Florence.# (_See 1915, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Babs and the Little Gray Man. Aug. (21.) + + +#Saanen, Marie Louise Van.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +*#Sabatini, Rafael.# (1875- .) (_H._) + *Scapulary. Rom. Aug. (49.) + +*#Saint-ValA(C)ry, Leon De.# _See_ #House, Roy Temple#, _and_ +#Saint-ValA(C)ry, Leon De.# + +#Saltus, Edgar (Evertson).# (1858- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Ghost Story. Mun. Jul. (70:224.) + +*#Saltykov, M. Y. ("N. Schedrin.")# (_See 1917._) (_H._) + ***Wild Squire. S. S. June (123.) + +#Sangster, Margaret Elizabeth, Jr.# (1894- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, +1919._) + City Dust. G. H. May. (39.) + +#Saphier, William.# (1883- .) + ***Kites. Lit. R. Dec., '19. + **Wise Man. Lit. R. Mar. (7.) + +#Sapinsky, Joseph.# + *Crazy Gambler Paul. McCall. June. (14.) + +*"#Sapper.#" _See_ #McNeille, Cyril.# + +#Sawhill, Myra.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + How Much Did Good Clothes Help Bob Gilmore? Am. Sept. (39.) + Rev. Mr. Deering Sues His Congregation. Am. Jul. (39.) + +#Sawyer, Ruth.# (#Mrs. Albert C. Durand.#) (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, +1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Glorious Comedy. L. H. J. Jan. (10.) + Simple Simon and the Fourth Dimension. Ev. June. (54.) + +#Saxby, Charles.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Betrayal. Ev. Mar. (27.) + *Cucharo. Met. Dec., '19. (37.) + *In Camera. Ev. Feb. (23.) + +#Scarborough, Dorothy.# (_See 1918._) + **Drought. Cen. May. (100:12.) + +#Schauffler, Margaret Widdemer.# _See_ #Widdemer, Margaret.# + +*"#Schedrin#, N." _See_ #Saltykov, M. Y.# + +#Scheffauer, Herman George.# (1878- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + *Brother of the Woods. Mun. Mar. (69:307.) + **Drama in Dust. Mun. Feb. (69:111.) + +*#Scheffer, Robert.# + *Road of Long Ago. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 18. + +*#Schnitzler, Arthur.# (1862- .) (_See 1916._) + ***Crumbled Blossoms. Dial. June. (68:711.) + +#Scoggins, C. E.# (_See 1919._) + Home for Ho Fat Wun. L. H. J. June. (10.) + +#Scott, Arthur P.# + Yvette. Harp. M. Apr. (140:713.) + +#Scott, Donna R.# + Convictions. Pag. Oct., '19. (23.) + +#Scott, Margretta.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918._) + *Mrs. Lionel Felker--Accompanist. Mir. May 13. (29:388.) + Spring at Schlosser's. Mir. Mar. 11. (29:180.) + +#Scoville, Samuel, Jr.# (1872- .) (_H._) + Blackbear. L. H. J. Jan. (8.) + Cleanleys. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (7.) + +#Seaman, Augusta Huiell.# (_See 1919._) + Dream Bread. Del. Oct., '19. (21.) + +#Sedgwick, Anne Douglas. (Mrs. Basil, De SA(C)lincourt.)# (1873- .) (_See +1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Christmas Roses. Atl. Nov.-Dec., '19. (124:674, 796.) + +#Seeley, Herman Gastrell.# (1891- .) + *Craven. B. C. Aug. (46.) + +#Seifert, Shirley L.# (_See 1919._) + Nicest Boy. Del. Jul.-Aug. (17.) + P. Gadsby--Venturer. Met. May. (23.) + Terry's Youthful Ideal. Met. Nov., '19. (15.) + To-morrow. S. E. P. June 19. (20.) + +#Seifert, Marjorie Allen.# (1885- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + **Lizzie. Mir. Jul. 1. (29:527.) + Shipwreck. Mir. Dec. 25, '19. (28:953.) + +#SA(C)lincourt, Mrs. Basil De.# _See_ #Sedgwick, Anne Douglas.# + +#Senior, Mary.# + **"Died of Other Causes." Touch. Oct., '19. (6:47.) + +#Sexton, Bernard.# + *How a Hermit Gained Kingdom and Treasure. Asia. Aug. (20:702.) + *Jackal and the Rats. Asia. June. (20:513.) + *King Discovers His First Gray Hair. Asia. Sept. (20:815.) + *Stonecutter and the Mouse. Asia. May. (20:378.) + *Tortoise Who Talked. Asia. Jul. (20:624.) + +#Shawe, Victor.# (_See 1917, 1919._) + In the Big Timber. S. E. P. Oct. 25, '19. (21.) + Seattle Slim and the Two Per Cent Theory. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (12.) + +#Shelton (Richard), Barker.# (_See 1916, 1917 under_ "#Oxford, John +Barton.#") (_See 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Bridegroom Cometh. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (38.) + *Little of Both. Ev. May. (37.) + *Private Performance. L. H. J. June. (16.) + Subjunctive Mood. Ev. Aug. (49.) + +#Shields, Gertrude M.# (1890- .) (_See 1918._) + *Her Promised Land. Cen. Jul. (100:393.) + +#Shinn, Anne O'Hagan.# _See_ #O'Hagan, Anne.# + +#Shipp, Margaret Busbee.# (1871- .) (_See 1917._) (_H._) + Closed Gentians. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:171.) + Priscilla and Her Penates. Ev. Jan. (69.) + +#Shore, Nancy.# + **Secret of the Neals. Red Bk. Jan. (44.) + +#Shore, Viola Brothers.# (_See 1919._) + Cast Upon the Waters. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (42.) + Dimi and the Double Life. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (18.) + "Hand That Jerks the Strings." Am. Jan. (27.) + We Can't Afford It. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (16.) + Young Adventuress. S. E. P. June 19. (49.) + +#Shute, Henry Augustus.# (1856- .) (_See 1919._) (_H._) + *Scholastic Fourth. Del. Jul.-Aug. (5.) + +#Sidney, Rose.# (1888- .) (_See 1919._) + ***Butterflies. Pict. R. Sept. (12.) + +#Simpson, Robert.# + *Whoso Diggeth a Pit. Met. Feb. (15.) + +#Sinclair, May.# (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + ***Fame. Pict. R. May. (10.) + +#Singmaster, Elsie. (Elsie Singmaster Lewards.)# (1879- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Madness of Henrietta Havisham. McCall. Feb. (5.) + ***Miss Vilda. Scr. Jul. (68:98.) + ***Salvadora. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:135.) + +#Slyke, Lucille Baldwin Van.# _See_ #Van Slyke, Lucille Baldwin.# + +*#Smale, Fred C.# (_See 1916, 1919._) + *Experts. Scr. Nov., '19. (66:624.) + +#Smith, Elizabeth Parker.# + Algy Allen's Celadon. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:684.) + +#Smith, Garret.# + *Host at No. 10. Met. Jan. (23.) + Old Hutch Lives Up to It. S. E. P. Feb. 28. (14.) + +#Smith, Gordon Arthur.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **Bottom of the Cup. Scr. Mar. (67:355.) + *No Flowers. Harp. M. May. (140:785.) + They All Go Mad in June. Ev. June. (20.) + +#Smith, Maxwell.# (_See 1919._) + Dated. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (18.) + Funny Fingers. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (12.) + +#Sneddon, Robert W.# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Bank of Love. Arg. June 12. (122:23.) + *Bonds of Bohemia. Arg. Jul. 17. (123:203.) + *Figures of Wax. Sn. St. Nov. 18, '19. (*7.) + *Full o' the Moon. L. St. May. (15.) + *"Golden Snail Is Born." L. St. Oct., '19. (19.) + *Guardian Angels of Charlot. T.T. Aug. (53.) + *Little Finot. Sn. St. Feb. 18. (33.) + *Love and Lions. Ain. Apr. (46.) + +Solano, Solita. + Her Honeymoon. S. S. June. (57.) + +#Solomons. Theodore Seixa.# (_See 1915._) + *In the Maw of the Ice. Adv. Sept. 3. (75.) + +#Spears, Raymond Smiley.# (1876- .) (_See 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Bump. Col. Feb. 28. (6.) + +#Sprague, J. R.# + Expired Loans. S. E. P. May 1. (20.) + Factory Chasers. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (22.) + Nothing But Business. S. E. P. Jul. 10. (30.) + +#Springer, Fleta Campbell.# (1886- .) (_See 1915 1916, 1918; see 1917 +under_ #Campbell, Fleta.#) (_H._) + ***Civilization. Harp. M. March. (140:544.) + *Romance. Mun. Aug. (70:556.) + ***Rotter. Harp. M. Jul. (141:157.) + +#Stabler, Harry Snowden.# (_H._) + *Zebra Mule. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (5.) + +*#Stacpoole, Henry De Vere Stacpoole-.# (1865- .) (_See 1916, +1918._) (_H._) + *Middle Bedroom. All. Nov. 29, '19. (104:199.) + +#Starrett, Vincent.# (_See 1918._) + End of the Story. S. S. Sept. (25.) + Penny Walk. Mir. Mar. 18. (29:205.) + +#Stearns, M. M.# _See_ "#Amid, John.#" + +#Steele, Alice Garland. (Mrs. T. Austin-Ball.)# (1880- .) (_See 1915, +1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + **Awake, Thou Sleeper! Wom. W. Apr. (7.) + Blossom in Waste Places. Am. Aug. (57.) + Same Old Corker. Am. Dec., '19. (54.) + +#Steele, Rufus (Milas).# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + Trouble Doc. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (32.) + +#Steele, Wilbur Daniel.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + ***Both Judge and Jury. Harp. M. Jan. (140:179.) + *Clay and the Cloven Hoof. Harp. M. Oct.-Nov., '19. (139:683; 889.) + ***Out of Exile. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (14.) + ***God's Mercy. Pict. R. Jul. Aug. (17.) + +*#StA(C)phane, B.# + *AdA(C)le. N. Y. Trib. Jul. 4. + +#Stephens, James.# (_See 1915, 1918._) (_H._) + ***Boss. Dial. Apr. (68:411.) + ***Desire. Dial. June. (68:277.) + ***Thieves. Dial. Aug. (69:142.) + +#Stetson, Cushing.# (_H._) + Third Light from a Match. Met. Aug. (32.) + +"#Stevens, Margaret Dean.#" _See_ #Aldrich, Bess Streeter.# + +#Stevenson, Philip E.# + *Reward of a Prodigal. Lit. St. June. (19.) + +*#Stock, Ralph.# (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Out of the Rut. Col. Jan. 10. (13.) + +#Stolper, B. J.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *New Moon. Rom. Nov., '19. (105.) + +"#Storm, Ethel.#" (_See 1917._) + ***Three Telegrams. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (20.) + +#Strahan, Kay Cleaver.# (1888- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + Dollars and Sense. Am. June. (70.) + Imitation Paradise. Del. May. (10.) + Mr. Machiavelli. Del. Oct., '19. (23.) + +#Street, Julian (Leonard).# (1879- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Case of Mrs. Allison. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (5.) + ***Hands. McC. Sept. (8.) + +#Streeter, Edward.# (1891- .) + Back to Nature--and Back. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (12.) + *Laughing Horse of Gallup Street. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (3.) + +#Stribling, T. S.# + Passing of the St. Louis Bearcat. Ev. Dec., '19. (51.) + +#Stringer, Arthur (John Arbuthnott).# (1874- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Cuff Shooter. S. E. P. May 22. (5.) + +#Strunsky, Rose.# (_H._) + **Peter Karpovitch. Asia. Feb.-Mar. (20:214.) + +*#Sugimoto, Hanano Inagaki.# + **Ivory Skull. Scr. Jan. (67:83.) + +#Sullivan, Charles J.# (_See 1915._) + **From Out the Centuries. B. C. Apr. (25.) + +#Sutphen (William Gilbert), Van Tassel.# (1861- .) (_H._) + Match-Maker. Harp. M. June. (141:45.) + +#Swain, John D.# (_See 1918._) (_H._) + *Affairs at Baker's Bluff. All. Nov. 22, '19. (104:20.) + *Deadwood. Arg. Jul. 31. (123:561.) + Fighting Machine. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (22.) + *From Appetites to Arcadia. S. E. P. May 15. (40.) + *Man Who Was Never Knocked Out. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (18.) + **Unfinished Game. Arg. Mar. 6. (118:443.) + +*#Sylvaire, Dominique.# + Choice. N. Y. Trib. Oct. 5, '19. + +#Synon, Mary.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Night of the Charity Ball. Red Bk. Apr. (43.) + *On Scarlet Wings. Red Bk. Jul. (57.) + **Second-Best. McCall. Sept. (9.) + **Top of the Ladder. McC. Aug. (20.) + + +#Tanner, Marion.# + Enemy of Santa Claus. Cen. Dec., '19. (99:153.) + +#Tarkington (Newton), Booth.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + **Dishonorable Dolls. Met. Apr. (14.) + **Other Things of Life. Met. Jan. (15.) + +#Tarleau, Lisa Ysaye.# + *Blue Roses. Atl. Nov., '19. (124:614.) + +#Taylor, Anne Leland.# (_See 1918._) (_H._) + Man's Mind. S. S. Apr. (37.) + +#Taylor, D. Wooster.# + Murphy's Mummy. Am. Nov., 10. (20.) + +*#Tchekov, Anton Pavlovich.# _See_ #Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich.# + +#Templeton, Herminie.# _See_ #Kavanagh, Herminie Templeton.# + +#Terhune, Albert Payson.# (1872- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Bean Spiller. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (18.) + Dub of Peace. S. E. P. Jul. 24. (16.) + Foul Fancier. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (18.) + Heroine. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (16.) + Ringer. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (8.) + +#Terhune, Albert Payson#, _and_ #Bulger, Bozeman.# (_See also_ #Bulger, +Bozeman.#) + *Yas-Suh, 'At's er Dog! S. E. P. Apr. 10. (20.) + +#Thayer, Mabel Dunham.# (_See 1917._) + Little Clay Puppets. Met. June. (16.) + Uplifting Mary. S. E. P. May 8. (40.) + +*#Thibault, Jacques Anatole.# _See_ "#France, Anatole.#" + +#Thompson, James Henry.# (_See 1918._) + **$.89 Worth of Devotion. B. C. Jul. (21.) + +#Tildesley, Alice L.# (_See 1916, 1919._) + Cabell Drives the Nail. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (16.) + Lewis Dare. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (10.) + +#Titus, Harold.# (1888- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Aliens. L. H. J. May (10.) + Crowded Hearthstone. Ev. Jul. (44.) + +*#Tolstoy, Count Ilya.# + *Bolshevik Soldier. Ev. Oct., '19. (86.) + +#Tompkins, Juliet Wilbor.# (#Juliet Wilbor Tompkins Pottle.#) (1871- .) + Great Man. S. E. P. Aug. 21. (16.) + Sic Semper. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (14.) + +#Tonjoroff, Svetozar (Ivanoff).# (1870- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + Across the Bridge of Sighs. L. H. J. Oct., '19. (26.) + *From Hopeless Soil. L. H. J. Apr. (21.) + +#Toohey, John Peter.# (1880- .) (_See 1919._) + Days of His Youth. Met. Dec., '19. (25.) + Prince There Wasn't. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (16.) + Water's Fine. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (16.) + +#Torrey, Grace.# (_See 1917, 1919._) (_H._) + Maroon-Colored, with Wire Wheels. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (20.) + Tone of Lafayette Arms. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (21.) + +#Towne, Charles Hanson.# (1877- .) (_H._) + Upper Ten. S. S. Jul. (63.) + +#Train, Arthur (Cheney).# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Beyond a Reasonable Doubt. S. E. P. Sept. 11. (14.) + Dog Andrew. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (20.) + Hocus-Pocus. S. E. P. Jan. 3. (24.) + *"Honor Among Thieves." S. E. P. Apr. 24. (20.) + In re Misella. S. E. P. Dec. 6, '19. (24.) + Kid and the Camel. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (20.) + Passing of Caput Magnus. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (20.) + Shyster. S. E. P. Aug. 7. (12.) + Ways That Are Dark. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (8.) + +#Train, Ethel Kissam.# (#Mrs. Arthur Train.#) (1875- .) (_See 1916, 1917._) + In the Garden. Met. Aug. (18.) + +#Trapnell, Edna Valentine.# + *Old Lady. L. St. Oct., '19. (13.) + +*#Trueba, Antonio De.# + ***Portal of Hegaven. Strat. J. Apr.-June. (6:86.) + +#Tuckerman, Arthur.# + *Black Magic. Scr. Aug. (68:166.) + +#Turnbull, Agnes Sligh.# + Lost--a $2,500 Engagement Ring. Am. Sept. (47.) + +#Turner, George Kibbe.# (1869- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + *Clank Clinkscales' Duodenum. S. E. P. Nov. 15, '19. (3.) + Gloama, the Beautiful Ticket Agent. S. E. P. Apr. 17. (6.) + Golden Name. S. E. P. Nov. 8, '19. (20.) + Old General Jazz. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (8.) + + +#Ueland, Brenda.# + Good Natured Girl. Met. May. (36.) + Hootch Hound. Met. Sept. (23.) + +#Underbill, Ruth Murray.# (_See 1917, 1918._) + Goldfish Bowl. L. H. J. Aug. (30.) + +#Underwood, Edna Worthley.# (1873- .) + **Orchid of Asia. Asia. Aug.-Sept. (20:657, 771.) + +#Underwood, Sophie Kerr.# _See_ #Kerr, Sophie.# + +#Updegraff, Allan#, (1883- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Harrying Fiend. Harp. M. Jan. (140:160.) + +#Updegraff, Robert R.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + Old Specification. S. E. P. Sept. 18. (30.) + Rip Van Winkle Lands an Order. S. E. P. Nov. 29, '19. (12.) + +#Upper, Joseph.# + Cheque. S. S. Feb. (101.) + Little Gray Doves. S. S. Feb. (76.) + Sisterhood. S. S. Mar. (125.) + + +"#Vail, Lawrence.#" (_See 1916, 1917, 1919._) + Conrad's Apology for Earth. S. S. March. (29.) + Passing of Don Quixote. S. S. Jul. (117.) + Swan Song of a Kiss. S. S. Sept. (111.) + Twilight Adventure. S. S. Apr. (51.) + +*#Valdagne, Pierre.# (_See 1918, 1919._) + *Seat of the Right. N. Y. Trib. Sept. 12. + +*#Valmer, Binet-.# _See_ #Binet-Valmer.# + +#Van, Stephen Ta.# + Sheep-Face. S. S. Mar. (67.) + Sheep-Face II. S. S. May. (103.) + +#Van De Water, Virginia (Belle) Terhune.# (1865- .) (_See 1916._) (_H._) + As Water Spilled on the Ground. S. S. May. (93.) + +#Van Riper, Charles King.# + Hole in the Doughnut. S. S. Mar. (85.) + Triumph. S. S. May. (123.) + +#Van Saanen, Marie Louise.# _See_ "#Rutledge, Maryse.#" + +#Van Slyke, Lucille Baldwin.# (1880- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Boy Who Missed the War. Del. Jan. (16.) + Man Who Was Tired of His Wife. Del. May. (7.) + You Have to Keep in Tune. L. H. J. Jul. (25.) + +#Vermilye, Kate Jordan.# _See_ #Jordan, Kate.# + +*#Volland, Gabriel.# + Black Siren. N. Y. Trib. Jan. 11. + *Original. N. Y. Trib. Nov. 16, '19. + +#Vorse, Mary (Marvin) Heaton. (Mary Heaton Vorse O'Brien.)# (_See +1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + * Dream Killers. Rom. Jan. (38.) + ***Fraycar's Fist. Lib. Sept. (17.) + ***Hopper. Lib. Apr. (34.) + **House of Storms. W. H. C. Mar. (7.) + ***Pink Fence. McCall. Jul. (5.) + *True Talisman. W. H. C. Aug. (11.) + + +#Waldo, Harold.# + *Old Twelve Hundred. S. E. P. Nov. 1, '19. (22.) + +#Walker, Beatrice McKay.# + *Tomley's Gossoon. Holl. Jul. (11.) + +*#Wallace, Edgar.# (1875- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + *Mother o' Mine. Met. Mar. (21.) + +*#Walpole, Hugh.# (1884- .) (_See 1915._) + ***Case of Miss Morganhurst. Pict. R. May. (17.) + ***Fanny's Job. Pict. R. Jul.-Aug. (19.) + ***Honourable Clive Torby. Pict. R. June. (10.) + ***No Place for Absalom. Pict. R. Apr. (16.) + ***Stealthy Visitor. Pict. R. Mar. (14.) + ***Third Six. Pict. R. Sept. (8.) + +#Walton, Emma Lee.# (H.) + *His Masterpiece. Am. Oct., '19. (49.) + +*#Ward, Arthur Sarsfield.# _See_ "#Rohmer, Sax.#" + +#Ward, Herbert Dickinson.# (1861- .) (_See 1916, 1919._) (_H._) + **Greater Than Creed. L. H. J. Apr. (22.) + ***Master Note. L. H. J. Jan. (20.) + Under the Silk-Cotton Tree. L. H. J. Jul. (10.) + +#Ward, Winifred.# + Skyscraper. Met. Aug. (26.) + *Sleeping Beauty. Touch. Dec., '19. (6:18.) + +#Wasson, David A.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1917._) + Blind Goddess Nods. B. C. Dec., '19. (114.) + +#Water, Virginia Terhune Van De.# _See_ #Van De Water, Virginia Terhune.# + +#Waterhouse, Irma.# + *Aftermath. Cen. Mar. (99:584.) + *Closed Road. Cen. June. (100:165.) + +#Weed, Dole.# + *Flying Hours. T. T. Feb. (117.) + +#Weiman, Rita.# (1889- .) (_See 1915, 1919._) + Back Drop. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (8.) + Curtain! S. E. P. Dec. 20, '19. (8.) + +#Weitzenhorn, Louis.# (1893- .) + Adventure of His Daily Bread. Met. May. (30.) + Adventure of the Code. Met. Apr. (18.) + Adventure of the Diamond Watches. Met. Mar. (23.) + +#Welles, Harriett Ogden Deen.# (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + ***According to Ruskin. W. H. C. June. (21.) + **Chinese Interlude. Scr. Apr. (67:431.) + *Distracting Adeline. Scr. May. (67:558.) + **One Hundred Years Too Soon. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:663.) + *Thrush. Harp. B. May. (80.) + +#Wellman, Rita.# (#Mrs. Edgar F. Leo.#) (1890- .) (_See 1919._) + Clerk. S. S. Oct., '19. (117.) + **Little Priest of PercA(C). S. S. Aug. (107.) + *Spanish Knife. S. S. Jul, (39.) + *Two Lovers, Ain. Sept. (119.) + +#Welty, Ruth.# + Crises. Pag. Jul.-Sept. (12.) + +#Weston, George (T.).# (1880- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Diplomatic Corps. S. E. P. June 5. (8.) + Fool of the Family. S. E. P. May 1. (18.) + Girls Don't Gamble Any More. S. E. P. Apr. 24. (8.) + Hard-Boiled Mabel. S. E. P. Apr. 3. (5.) + +*#Wharton, Anthony.# (_See 1919._) + "Gingerbread for Two." Pict. R. June. (14.) + *Miss Ashton's House. S. E. P. Aug. 28. (16.) + +#Wharton, Francis Willing.# (_H._) + Byway of Darby. Ev. Mar. (74.) + +#Wheeler, Post.# (1869- .) + *Talking Skull. Rom. Sept. (77.) + +#Wheelwright, John Tyler.# (1856- .) + ***Roman Bath. Scr. Jan. (67:33.) + +#White, Nelia Gardner.# + Girl Next Door to Old Pinchpenny's. Am. Sept. (27.) + +#Whiting, Robert Rudd.# (1877- .) (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Romance of a Practising Ph.D. Scr. Oct., '19. (66:487.) + +#Whitman, Stephen French.# (_See 1915, 1919._) (_H._) + ***Amazement, Harp. M. Oct., '19. (139:654.) + **Last Room of All. Harp. M. June. (141:27.) + ***Lost Waltz. L. H. J. Dec., '19. (26.) + ***To a Venetian Tune. Harp. M. Nov., '19. (139:836.) + +#Whitson, Beth Slater.# (_See 1916, 1917._) (_H._) + **Birthmark. True St. Nov., '19. (33.) + +#Widdemer, Margaret.# (#Margaret Widdemer Schauffler.#) (_See 1915, +1917, 1918._) (_H._) + Changeling. Col. Jan. 10-17. (9:18.) + Secondary Wife. Del. Dec., '19. (13.) + +#Wilde, Percival.# (1887- .) + Sequel. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (11.) + +#Wiley, Hugh.# (1894- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Christmas Drifter. S. E. P. Dec. 27, '19. (8.) + *Driftwood. S. E. P. Oct. 4, '19. (12.) + Excess Baggage. S. E. P. Sept. 25. (10.) + *Hop. S. E. P. Apr. 10. (8.) + *Jade. S. E. P. Mar. 27. (6.) + **Junk. S. E. P. June 12. (12.) + *Konkrin' Hero. S. E. P. June 26. (8.) + *Mister Lady Luck. S. E. P. Jan. 17. (14.) + Prowling Prodigal. S. E. P. Nov. 22, '19. (10.) + *Ramble Gamble. S. E. P. Jan. 10. (14.) + Red Rock. S. E. P. May 1. (10.) + *Solitaire. S. E. P. Sept. 4. (20.) + +#Williams, Ben Ames# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + *Another Man's Poison. Col Dec. 6, '19. (9.) + *Climax. Cos. Aug. (81.) + *Mine Enemy's Dog. Col. Jan. 10. (5.) + Most Disastrous Chances. Col Aug. 14. (5.) + Not a Drum Was Heard. Col. June 12. (5). + *Old Tantrybogus. S. E. P. Mar. 6. (8.) + ***Sheener. Col. Jul. 10. (5.) + +#Willie, Linda Buntyn.# (_See 1917._) + What Mother Had Always Wanted. Am. Apr. (66.) + +#Willrich, Erica.# + Fulfillment. Pag. Oct., '19. (49.) + +#Wilson, John Fleming.# (1877- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + *Class. S. E. P. June 26. (22.) + Dough Candles. L. H. J. Nov., '19. (18.) + Ninety Days. S. E. P. Jul. 17. (20.) + Number 1100. S. E. P. Feb. 7. (12.) + Salving of John Somers. Ev. Aug. (34.) + ***Uncharted Reefs. McCall. Aug. (8.) + +#Wilson, Margaret Adelaide.# (_See 1916, 1917, 1918._) (_H._) + **CA|sar's Ghost. Atl. Oct., '19. (124:483.) + ***Drums. Scr. Dec., '19. (66:702.) + +#Wingate, Robert.# + Rough-Shod Mr. Billings and Where His Ride Led Him. Am. Nov., '19. (38.) + +#Winslow, Thyra Samter.# (1889- .) (_See 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Aunt Ida. S. S. Dec., '19. (103.) + **City Folks. S. S. Oct., '19. (53.) + Corinna and Her Man. S. S. May. (53.) + **Mamie Carpenter. S. S. Aug. (77.) + *Perfume Counter. S. S. Jan. (87.) + +#Winthrop, Arthur.# + Mystic Rose. Lit. R. Jan. (21.) + +#Wisehart, Karl.# + **Hunger. Cen. Feb. (98:483.) + +#Witwer, Harry Charles.# (1890- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919._) + Ellen of Troy. Am. Jul. (68.) + Fool and His Money. Col. Jul. 31. (8.) + Freedom of the She's. Col. Jan. 3. (14.) + Girl at the Switchboard. Am. Feb. (44.) + League of Relations. Col. Apr. 3. (13.) + Leather Pushers. Round One. Col. May 15. (5.) + Leather Pushers. Round Two. Col. June 5. (9.) + Merchant of Venus. Col. Nov. 29, '19. (5.) + Nights of Columbus. Col. Mar. 20. (11.) + Paul and West Virginia. Am. June. (46.) + Payment Through the Nose. Col. Jul. 3. (8.) + So This Is Cincinnati! Col. Oct. 4, '19. (9.) + Taming of the Shrewd. Col. Aug. 28. (10.) + Word to the Wives. Col. Mar. 6. (8.) + +*#Wodehouse, Pelham Grenville.# (1881- .) (_See 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Ordeal by Golf. Col. Dec. 6, '19- (5.) + +#Wolcott, Helen Louise.# + Reality. S. S. June. (65.) + +#Wolff, William Almon, Jr.# (1885- .) (_See 1916, 1917, 1918, +1919._) (_H._) + Cellar Door. Col. Nov. 15, '19. (5.) + Middle of the Ladder. Col. Jan. 3. (8.) + Ugly Ducklings. Sun. Jan. (45.) + Wash Your Own Dishes. Col. Jan. 24. (8.) + +#Woljeska, Helen.# (_See 1915._) (_H._) + Exquisite Episode. S. S. Feb. (68.) + +#Wood, C. Rowland.# + Jimmie Pulls a Miracle. Ev. June. (62.) + +#Wood, Frances Gilchrist.# (_See 1918._) + ***Spoiling of Pharaoh. Pict. R. Oct., '19. (18.) + ***Turkey Red. Pict. R. Nov., '19. (18.) + +#Wood, Jr., Leonard.# (_See 1915, 1917._) (_H._) + Hills of To-Morrow. Scr. Mar. (67:316.) + +#Woollcott, Alexander.# + **Old Woman of Margivrault Farm. Cen. June. (100:259.) + +#Wormser, Gwendolyn Ranger.# (_See 1919._) + **Tumanoff. Sn. St. Oct. 18, '19. (33.) + +#Worts, George Frank.# (1892- .) (_See 1918, 1919._) + Bonuses and Bunkers. Col. Feb. 7. (19.) + Cat and the Burglar. Ev. Apr. (54.) + Fine Feathers and Overalls. Sun. Apr. (45.) + +#Wright, Richardson (Little).# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) + "Kitty! Kitty!" Del. Feb. (15.) + + +#Yates, L. B.# (_See 1915, 1916, 1918, 1919._) (_H._) + Hunches. S. E. P. May 22. (30.) + Reincarnation of Chan Hop. S. E. P. Jul. 3. (30.) + +#Yezierska, Anna.# (1886- .) (_See 1915, 1918, 1919._) + ***Hunger. Harp. M. Apr. (140:604.) + **"Lost Beautifulness." Red Cross. Mar. (35.) + **Wings. McCall. Sept. (11.) + +#Young, Mrs. Sanborn.# _See_ #Mitchell, Ruth Comfort#, _and_ #Young, +William Sanborn.# + +*#Yushkevitch, Semyon.# + ***PietA . Pag. Jan. (4.) + +*#Yver, Colette.# + Good Queen's Christmas Eve. N. Y. Trib. Dec. 21, '19. + + +*#Zartarjian, Roopen.# + **Then Man Was Immortal. Asia. Sept. (20:821.) + + + + + + +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.txt or 22091.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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