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diff --git a/23207.txt b/23207.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f26c29 --- /dev/null +++ b/23207.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11881 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Americans All, 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: Americans All + Stories of American Life of To-Day + +Author: Various + +Editor: Benjamin A. Heydrick + +Release Date: October 26, 2007 [EBook #23207] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICANS ALL *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +AMERICANS ALL + +STORIES OF AMERICAN LIFE OF TO-DAY + +EDITED BY +BENJAMIN A. HEYDRICK +Editor "Types of the Short Story," etc. + +[Illustration: Publisher's logo] + +NEW YORK +HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY + + +COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY +HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC. + +PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY +THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY +RAHWAY. N. J. + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS + + +For permission to reprint the stories in this volume, acknowledgement is +made to the owners of the copyrights, as follows: + +For "The Right Promethean Fire," to Mrs. Atwood, R. Martin and +Doubleday, Page & Company. + +For "The Land of Heart's Desire," to Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Company. + +For "The Tenor," to Alice I. Bunner and to Charles Scribners' Sons. + +For "The Passing of Priscilla Winthrop," to William Allen White and The +Macmillan Company. + +For "The Gift of the Magi," to Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Company. + +For "The Gold Brick," copyright 1910, to Brand Whitlock and to The +Bobbs, Merrill Company. + +For "His Mother's Son," to Edna Ferber and the Frederick A. Stokes +Company. + +For "Bitter-Sweet," to Fannie Hurst and Harper & Brothers. + +For "The Riverman," to Stewart Edward White and Doubleday, Page & +Company. + +For "Flint and Fire," to Dorothy Canfield Fisher and Messrs. Henry Holt +& Company. + +For "The Ordeal at Mt. Hope," to Mrs. Alice Dunbar, Mrs. Mathilde +Dunbar, and Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Company. + +For "Israel Drake," to Katherine Mayo and Messrs. Houghton Mifflin +Company. + +For "The Struggles and Triumph of Isidro," to James M. Hopper. + +For "The Citizen," to James F. Dwyer and the Paget Literary Agency. + + + + +PREFACE + + +In the years before the war, when we had more time for light pursuits, a +favorite sport of reviewers was to hunt for the Great American Novel. +They gave tongue here and there, and pursued the quarry with great +excitement in various directions, now north, now south, now west, and +the inevitable disappointment at the end of the chase never deterred +them from starting off on a fresh scent next day. But in spite of all +the frenzied pursuit, the game sought, the Great American Novel, was +never captured. Will it ever be captured? The thing they sought was a +book that would be so broad, so typical, so true that it would stand as +the adequate expression in fiction of American life. Did these tireless +hunters ever stop to ask themselves, what is the Great French Novel? +what is the Great English Novel? And if neither of these nations has +produced a single book which embodies their national life, why should we +expect that our life, so much more diverse in its elements, so +multifarious in its aspects, could ever be summed up within the covers +of a single book? + +Yet while the critics continued their hopeless hunt, there was growing +up in this country a form of fiction which gave promise of some day +achieving the task that this never-to-be written novel should +accomplish. This form was the short story. It was the work of many +hands, in many places. Each writer studied closely a certain locality, +and transcribed faithfully what he saw. Thus the New England village, +the western ranch, the southern plantation, all had their chroniclers. +Nor was it only various localities that we saw in these one-reel +pictures; they dealt with typical occupations, there were stories of +travelling salesmen, stories of lumbermen, stories of politicians, +stories of the stage, stories of school and college days. If it were +possible to bring together in a single volume a group of these, each one +reflecting faithfully one facet of our many-sided life, would not such a +book be a truer picture of America than any single novel could present? + +The present volume is an attempt to do this. That it is only an attempt, +that it does not cover the whole field of our national life, no one +realizes better than the compiler. The title _Americans All_ signifies +that the characters in the book are all Americans, not that they are all +of the Americans. + +This book then differs in its purpose from other collections of short +stories. It does not aim to present the world's best short stories, nor +to illustrate the development of the form from Roman times to our own +day, nor to show how the technique of Poe differs from that of Irving: +its purpose is none of these things, but rather to use the short story +as a means of interpreting American life. Our country is so vast that +few of us know more than a small corner of it, and even in that corner +we do not know all our fellow-citizens; differences of color, of race, +of creed, of fortune, keep us in separate strata. But through books we +may learn to know our fellow-citizens, and the knowledge will make us +better Americans. + +The story by Dorothy Canfield has a unique interest for the student, in +that it is followed by the author's own account of how it was written, +from the first glimpse of the theme to the final typing of the story. +Teachers who use this book for studying the art of short story +construction may prefer to begin with "Flint and Fire" and follow with +"The Citizen," tracing in all the others indications of the authors' +methods. + + BENJAMIN A. HEYDRICK. + +NEW YORK CITY, + March, 1920. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + I. IN SCHOOL DAYS + THE RIGHT PROMETHEAN FIRE _George Madden Martin_ 3 + Sketch of George Madden Martin 16 + + II. JUST KIDS + THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE _Myra Kelly_ 21 + Sketch of Myra Kelly 37 + + III. HERO-WORSHIP + THE TENOR _H. C. Bunner_ 41 + Sketch of H. C. Bunner 54 + + IV. SOCIETY IN OUR TOWN + THE PASSING OF PRISCILLA WINTHROP _William Allen White_ 59 + Sketch of William Allen White 73 + + V. A PAIR OF LOVERS + THE GIFT OF THE MAGI _O. Henry_ 79 + Sketch of O. Henry 86 + + VI. IN POLITICS + THE GOLD BRICK _Brand Whitlock_ 91 + Sketch of Brand Whitlock 111 + + VII. THE TRAVELLING SALESMAN + HIS MOTHER'S SON _Edna Ferber_ 117 + Sketch of Edna Ferber 130 + +VIII. AFTER THE BIG STORE CLOSES + BITTER-SWEET _Fannie Hurst_ 135 + Sketch of Fannie Hurst 166 + + IX. IN THE LUMBER COUNTRY + THE RIVERMAN _Stewart Edward White_173 + Sketch of Stewart E. White 185 + + X. NEW ENGLAND GRANITE + FLINT AND FIRE _Dorothy Canfield_ 191 + HOW "FLINT AND FIRE" STARTED AND GREW _Dorothy Canfield_ 210 + Sketch of Dorothy Canfield 221 + + XI. DUSKY AMERICANS + THE ORDEAL AT MT. HOPE _Paul Laurence Dunbar_227 + Sketch of Paul Laurence Dunbar 249 + + XII. WITH THE POLICE + ISRAEL DRAKE _Katherine Mayo_ 255 + Sketch of Katherine Mayo 273 + +XIII. IN THE PHILIPPINES + THE STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPH + OF ISIDRO DE LOS MAESTROS _James M. Hopper_ 279 + Sketch of James M. Hopper 295 + + XIV. THEY WHO BRING DREAMS TO AMERICA + THE CITIZEN _James F. Dwyer_ 299 + Sketch of James F. Dwyer 318 + + XV. LIST OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES 321 + Classified by locality + + XVI. NOTES AND QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 325 + + + + +IN SCHOOL DAYS + +_Are any days more rich in experiences than school days? The day one +first enters school, whether it is the little red schoolhouse or the big +brick building that holds a thousand pupils,--that day marks the +beginning of a new life. One of the best records in fiction of the world +of the school room is called_ EMMY LOU. _In this book George Madden +Martin has traced the progress of a winsome little maid from the first +grade to the end of high school. This is the story of the first days in +the strange new world of the school room._ + + + + +THE RIGHT PROMETHEAN FIRE + +BY + +GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN + + +Emmy Lou, laboriously copying digits, looked up. The boy sitting in line +in the next row of desks was making signs to her. + +She had noticed the little boy before. He was a square little boy, with +a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of the nose and a cheerful +breadth of nostril. His teeth were wide apart, and his smile was broad +and constant. Not that Emmy Lou could have told all this. She only knew +that to her the knowledge of the little boy concerning the things +peculiar to the Primer World seemed limitless. + +And now the little boy was beckoning Emmy Lou. She did not know him, but +neither did she know any of the seventy other little boys and girls +making the Primer Class. + +Because of a popular prejudice against whooping-cough, Emmy Lou had not +entered the Primer Class until late. When she arrived, the seventy +little boys and girls were well along in Alphabetical lore, having long +since passed the a, b, c, of initiation, and become glibly eloquent to a +point where the l, m, n, o, p slipped off their tongues with the liquid +ease of repetition and familiarity. + +"But Emmy Lou can catch up," said Emmy Lou's Aunt Cordelia, a plump and +cheery lady, beaming with optimistic placidity upon the infant populace +seated in parallel rows at desks before her. + +Miss Clara, the teacher, lacked Aunt Cordelia's optimism, also her +plumpness. "No doubt she can," agreed Miss Clara, politely, but without +enthusiasm. Miss Clara had stepped from the graduating rostrum to the +schoolroom platform, and she had been there some years. And when one has +been there some years, and is already battling with seventy little boys +and girls, one cannot greet the advent of a seventy-first with acclaim. +Even the fact that one's hair is red is not an always sure indication +that one's temperament is sanguine also. + +So in answer to Aunt Cordelia, Miss Clara replied politely but without +enthusiasm, "No doubt she can." + +Then Aunt Cordelia went, and Miss Clara gave Emmy Lou a desk. And Miss +Clara then rapping sharply, and calling some small delinquent to order, +Emmy Lou's heart sank within her. + +Now Miss Clara's tones were tart because she did not know what to do +with this late comer. In a class of seventy, spare time is not offering +for the bringing up of the backward. The way of the Primer teacher was +not made easy in a public school of twenty-five years ago. + +So Miss Clara told the new pupil to copy digits. + +Now what digits were, Emmy Lou had no idea, but being shown them on the +black-board, she copied them diligently. And as the time went on, Emmy +Lou went on copying digits. And her one endeavor being to avoid the +notice of Miss Clara, it happened the needs of Emmy Lou were frequently +lost sight of in the more assertive claims of the seventy. + +Emmy Lou was not catching up, and it was January. + +But to-day was to be different. The little boy was nodding and +beckoning. So far the seventy had left Emmy Lou alone. As a general +thing the herd crowds toward the leaders, and the laggard brings up the +rear alone. + +But to-day the little boy was beckoning. Emmy Lou looked up. Emmy Lou +was pink-cheeked and chubby and in her heart there was no guile. There +was an ease and swagger about the little boy. And he always knew when to +stand up, and what for. Emmy Lou more than once had failed to stand up, +and Miss Clara's reminder had been sharp. It was when a bell rang one +must stand up. But what for, Emmy Lou never knew, until after the others +began to do it. + +But the little boy always knew. Emmy Lou had heard him, too, out on the +bench glibly tell Miss Clara about the mat, and a bat, and a black rat. +To-day he stood forth with confidence and told about a fat hen. Emmy Lou +was glad to have the little boy beckon her. + +And in her heart there was no guile. That the little boy should be +holding out an end of a severed india-rubber band and inviting her to +take it, was no stranger than other things happening in the Primer World +every day. + +The very manner of the infant classification breathed mystery, the sheep +from the goats, so to speak, the little girls all one side the central +aisle, the little boys all the other--and to over-step the line of +demarcation a thing too dreadful to contemplate. + +Many things were strange. That one must get up suddenly when a bell +rang, was strange. + +And to copy digits until one's chubby fingers, tightly gripping the +pencil, ached, and then to be expected to take a sponge and wash those +digits off, was strange. + +And to be told crossly to sit down was bewildering, when in answer to c, +a, t, one said "Pussy." And yet there was Pussy washing her face, on the +chart, and Miss Clara's pointer pointing to her. + +So when the little boy held out the rubber band across the aisle, Emmy +Lou took the proffered end. + +At this the little boy slid back into his desk holding to his end. At +the critical moment of elongation the little boy let go. And the +property of elasticity is to rebound. + +Emmy Lou's heart stood still. Then it swelled. But in her filling eyes +there was no suspicion, only hurt. And even while a tear splashed down, +and falling upon the laboriously copied digits, wrought havoc, she +smiled bravely across at the little boy. It would have made the little +boy feel bad to know how it hurt. So Emmy Lou winked bravely and smiled. + +Whereupon the little boy wheeled about suddenly and fell to copying +digits furiously. Nor did he look Emmy Lou's way, only drove his pencil +into his slate with a fervor that made Miss Clara rap sharply on her +desk. + +Emmy Lou wondered if the little boy was mad. One would think it had +stung the little boy and not her. But since he was not looking, she felt +free to let her little fist seek her mouth for comfort. + +Nor did Emmy Lou dream, that across the aisle, remorse was eating into a +little boy's soul. Or that, along with remorse there went the image of +one Emmy Lou, defenceless, pink-cheeked, and smiling bravely. + +The next morning Emmy Lou was early. She was always early. Since +entering the Primer Class, breakfast had lost its savor to Emmy Lou in +the terror of being late. + +But this morning the little boy was there before her. Hitherto his tardy +and clattering arrival had been a daily happening, provocative of +accents sharp and energetic from Miss Clara. + +But this morning he was at his desk copying from his Primer on to his +slate. The easy, ostentatious way in which he glanced from slate to book +was not lost upon Emmy Lou, who lost her place whenever her eyes left +the rows of digits upon the blackboard. + +Emmy Lou watched the performance. And the little boy's pencil drove with +furious ease and its path was marked with flourishes. Emmy Lou never +dreamed that it was because she was watching that the little boy was +moved to this brilliant exhibition. Presently reaching the end of his +page, he looked up, carelessly, incidentally. It seemed to be borne to +him that Emmy Lou was there, whereupon he nodded. Then, as if moved by +sudden impulse, he dived into his desk, and after ostentatious search +in, on, under it, brought forth a pencil, and held it up for Emmy Lou to +see. Nor did she dream that it was for this the little boy had been +there since before Uncle Michael had unlocked the Primer door. + +Emmy Lou looked across at the pencil. It was a slate-pencil. A fine, +long, new slate-pencil grandly encased for half its length in gold +paper. One bought them at the drug-store across from the school, and one +paid for them the whole of five cents. + +Just then a bell rang. Emmy Lou got up suddenly. But it was the bell for +school to take up. So she sat down. She was glad Miss Clara was not yet +in her place. + +After the Primer Class had filed in, with panting and frosty entrance, +the bell rang again. This time it was the right bell tapped by Miss +Clara, now in her place. So again Emmy Lou got up suddenly and by +following the little girl ahead learned that the bell meant, "go out to +the bench." + +The Primer Class according to the degree of its infant precocity was +divided in three sections. Emmy Lou belonged to the third section. It +was the last section and she was the last one in it though she had no +idea what a section meant nor why she was in it. + +Yesterday the third section had said, over and over, in chorus, "One and +one are two, two and two are four," etc.--but to-day they said, "Two and +one are three, two and two are four." + +Emmy Lou wondered, four what? Which put her behind, so that when she +began again they were saying, "two and four are six." So now she knew. +Four is six. But what is six? Emmy Lou did not know. + +When she came back to her desk the pencil was there. The fine, new, long +slate-pencil encased in gold paper. And the little boy was gone. He +belonged to the first section, and the first section was now on the +bench. Emmy Lou leaned across and put the pencil back on the little +boy's desk. + +Then she prepared herself to copy digits with her stump of a pencil. +Emmy Lou's were always stumps. Her pencil had a way of rolling off her +desk while she was gone, and one pencil makes many stumps. The little +boy had generally helped her pick them up on her return. But strangely, +from this time, her pencils rolled off no more. + +But when Emmy Lou took up her slate there was a whole side filled with +digits in soldierly rows across, so her heart grew light and free from +the weight of digits, and she gave her time to the washing of her desk, +a thing in which her soul revelled, and for which, patterning after her +little girl neighbors, she kept within that desk a bottle of soapy water +and rags of gray and unpleasant nature, that never dried, because of +their frequent using. When Emmy Lou first came to school, her cleaning +paraphernalia consisted of a sponge secured by a string to her slate, +which was the badge of the new and the unsophisticated comer. Emmy Lou +had quickly learned that, and no one rejoiced in a fuller assortment of +soap, bottle, and rags than she, nor did a sponge longer dangle from the +frame of her slate. + +On coming in from recess this same day, Emmy Lou found the pencil on her +desk again, the beautiful new pencil in the gilded paper. She put it +back. + +But when she reached home, the pencil, the beautiful pencil that costs +all of five cents, was in her companion box along with her stumps and +her sponge and her grimy little slate rags. And about the pencil was +wrapped a piece of paper. It had the look of the margin of a Primer +page. The paper bore marks. They were not digits. + +Emmy Lou took the paper to Aunt Cordelia. They were at dinner. + +"Can't you read it, Emmy Lou?" asked Aunt Katie, the prettiest aunty. + +Emmy Lou shook her head. + +"I'll spell the letters," said Aunt Louise, the youngest aunty. + +But they did not help Emmy Lou one bit. + +Aunt Cordelia looked troubled. "She doesn't seem to be catching up," she +said. + +"No," said Aunt Katie. + +"No," agreed Aunt Louise. + +"Nor--on," said Uncle Charlie, the brother of the aunties, lighting up +his cigar to go downtown. + +Aunt Cordelia spread the paper out. It bore the words: + +"It is for you." + +So Emmy Lou put the pencil away in the companion, and tucked it about +with the grimy slate rags that no harm might befall it. And the next day +she took it out and used it. But first she looked over at the little +boy. The little boy was busy. But when she looked up again, he was +looking. + +The little boy grew red, and wheeling suddenly, fell to copying digits +furiously. And from that moment on the little boy was moved to strange +behavior. + +Three times before recess did he, boldly ignoring the preface of +upraised hand, swagger up to Miss Clara's desk. And going and coming, +the little boy's boots with copper toes and run-down heels marked with +thumping emphasis upon the echoing boards his processional and +recessional. And reaching his desk, the little boy slammed down his +slate with clattering reverberations. + +Emmy Lou watched him uneasily. She was miserable for him. She did not +know that there are times when the emotions are more potent than the +subtlest wines. Nor did she know that the male of some species is moved +thus to exhibition of prowess, courage, defiance, for the impressing of +the chosen female of the species. + +Emmy Lou merely knew that she was miserable and that she trembled for +the little boy. + +Having clattered his slate until Miss Clara rapped sharply, the little +boy rose and went swaggering on an excursion around the room to where +sat the bucket and dipper. And on his return he came up the center +aisle between the sheep and the goats. + +Emmy Lou had no idea what happened. It took place behind her. But there +was another little girl who did. A little girl who boasted curls, yellow +curls in tiered rows about her head. A lachrymosal little girl, who +affected great horror of the little boys. + +And what Emmy Lou failed to see was this: the little boy, in passing, +deftly lifted a cherished curl between finger and thumb and proceeded on +his way. + +The little girl did not fail the little boy. In the suddenness of the +surprise she surprised even him by her outcry. Miss Clara jumped. Emmy +Lou jumped. And the sixty-nine jumped. And, following this, the little +girl lifted her voice in lachrymal lament. + +Miss Clara sat erect. The Primer Class held its breath. It always held +its breath when Miss Clara sat erect. Emmy Lou held tightly to her desk +besides. She wondered what it was all about. + +Then Miss Clara spoke. Her accents cut the silence. + +"Billy Traver!" + +Billy Traver stood forth. It was the little boy. + +"Since you seem pleased to occupy yourself with the little girls, Billy, +_go to the pegs_!" + +Emmy Lou trembled. "Go to the pegs!" What unknown, inquisitorial terrors +lay behind those dread, laconic words, Emmy Lou knew not. + +She could only sit and watch the little boy turn and stump back down the +aisle and around the room to where along the wall hung rows of feminine +apparel. + +Here he stopped and scanned the line. Then he paused before a hat. It +was a round little hat with silky nap and a curling brim. It had +rosettes to keep the ears warm and ribbon that tied beneath the chin. It +was Emmy Lou's hat. Aunt Cordelia had cautioned her to care concerning +it. + +The little boy took it down. There seemed to be no doubt in his mind as +to what Miss Clara meant. But then he had been in the Primer Class from +the beginning. + +Having taken the hat down he proceeded to put it upon his own shock +head. His face wore its broad and constant smile. One would have said +the little boy was enjoying the affair. As he put the hat on, the +sixty-nine laughed. The seventieth did not. It was her hat, and besides, +she did not understand. + +Miss Clara still erect spoke again: "And now, since you are a little +girl, get your book, Billy, and move over with the girls." + +Nor did Emmy Lou understand why, when Billy, having gathered his +belongings together, moved across the aisle and sat down with her, the +sixty-nine laughed again. Emmy Lou did not laugh. She made room for +Billy. + +Nor did she understand when Billy treated her to a slow and +surreptitious wink, his freckled countenance grinning beneath the +rosetted hat. It never could have occurred to Emmy Lou that Billy had +laid his cunning plans to this very end. Emmy Lou understood nothing of +all this. She only pitied Billy. And presently, when public attention +had become diverted, she proffered him the hospitality of a grimy little +slate rag. When Billy returned the rag there was something in +it--something wrapped in a beautiful, glazed, shining bronze paper. It +was a candy kiss. One paid five cents for six of them at the drug-store. + +On the road home, Emmy Lou ate the candy. The beautiful, shiny paper she +put in her Primer. The slip of paper that she found within she carried +to Aunt Cordelia. It was sticky and it was smeared. But it had reading +on it. + +"But this is printing," said Aunt Cordelia; "can't you read it?" + +Emmy Lou shook her head. + +"Try," said Aunt Katie. + +"The easy words," said Aunt Louise. + +But Emmy Lou, remembering c-a-t, Pussy, shook her head. + +Aunt Cordelia looked troubled. "She certainly isn't catching up," said +Aunt Cordelia. Then she read from the slip of paper: + + + "Oh, woman, woman, thou wert made + The peace of Adam to invade." + + +The aunties laughed, but Emmy Lou put it away with the glazed paper in +her Primer. It meant quite as much to her as did the reading in that +Primer: Cat, a cat, the cat. The bat, the mat, a rat. It was the jingle +to both that appealed to Emmy Lou. + +About this time rumors began to reach Emmy Lou. She heard that it was +February, and that wonderful things were peculiar to the Fourteenth. At +recess the little girls locked arms and talked Valentines. The echoes +reached Emmy Lou. + +The valentine must come from a little boy, or it wasn't the real thing. +And to get no valentine was a dreadful--dreadful thing. And even the +timidest of the sheep began to cast eyes across at the goats. + +Emmy Lou wondered if she would get a valentine. And if not, how was she +to survive the contumely and shame? + +You must never, never breathe to a living soul what was on your +valentine. To tell even your best and truest little girl friend was to +prove faithless to the little boy sending the valentine. These things +reached Emmy Lou. + +Not for the world would she tell. Emmy Lou was sure of that, so grateful +did she feel she would be to anyone sending her a valentine. + +And in doubt and wretchedness did she wend her way to school on the +Fourteenth Day of February. The drug-store window was full of +valentines. But Emmy Lou crossed the street. She did not want to see +them. She knew the little girls would ask her if she had gotten a +valentine. And she would have to say, No. + +She was early. The big, empty room echoed back her footsteps as she went +to her desk to lay down book and slate before taking off her wraps. Nor +did Emmy Lou dream the eye of the little boy peeped through the crack of +the door from Miss Clara's dressing-room. + +Emmy Lou's hat and jacket were forgotten. On her desk lay something +square and white. It was an envelope. It was a beautiful envelope, all +over flowers and scrolls. + +Emmy Lou knew it. It was a valentine. Her cheeks grew pink. + +She took it out. It was blue. And it was gold. And it had reading on it. + +Emmy Lou's heart sank. She could not read the reading. The door opened. +Some little girls came in. Emmy Lou hid her valentine in her book, for +since you must not--she would never show her valentine--never. + +The little girls wanted to know if she had gotten a valentine, and Emmy +Lou said, Yes, and her cheeks were pink with the joy of being able to +say it. + +Through the day, she took peeps between the covers of her Primer, but no +one else might see it. + +It rested heavy on Emmy Lou's heart, however, that there was reading on +it. She studied it surreptitiously. The reading was made up of letters. +It was the first time Emmy Lou had thought about that. She knew some of +the letters. She would ask someone the letters she did not know by +pointing them out on the chart at recess. Emmy Lou was learning. It was +the first time since she came to school. + +But what did the letters make? She wondered, after recess, studying the +valentine again. + +Then she went home. She followed Aunt Cordelia about. Aunt Cordelia was +busy. + +"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou. + +Aunt Cordelia listened. + +"B," said Emmy Lou, "and e?" + +"Be," said Aunt Cordelia. + +If B was Be, it was strange that B and e were Be. But many things were +strange. + +Emmy Lou accepted them all on faith. + +After dinner she approached Aunt Katie. + +"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou, "m and y?" + +"My," said Aunt Katie. + +The rest was harder. She could not remember the letters, and had to copy +them off on her slate. Then she sought Tom, the house-boy. Tom was out +at the gate talking to another house-boy. She waited until the other boy +was gone. + +"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou, and she told the letters off the +slate. It took Tom some time, but finally he told her. + +Just then a little girl came along. She was a first-section little girl, +and at school she never noticed Emmy Lou. + +Now she was alone, so she stopped. + +"Get any valentines?" + +"Yes," said Emmy Lou. Then moved to confidence by the little girl's +friendliness, she added, "It has reading on it." + +"Pooh," said the little girl, "they all have that. My mamma's been +reading the long verses inside to me." + +"Can you show them--valentines?" asked Emmy Lou. + +"Of course, to grown-up people," said the little girl. + +The gas was lit when Emmy Lou came in. Uncle Charlie was there, and the +aunties, sitting around, reading. + +"I got a valentine," said Emmy Lou. + +They all looked up. They had forgotten it was Valentine's Day, and it +came to them that if Emmy Lou's mother had not gone away, never to come +back, the year before, Valentine's Day would not have been forgotten. +Aunt Cordelia smoothed the black dress she was wearing because of the +mother who would never come back, and looked troubled. + +But Emmy Lou laid the blue and gold valentine on Aunt Cordelia's knee. +In the valentine's center were two hands clasping. Emmy Lou's forefinger +pointed to the words beneath the clasped hands. + +"I can read it," said Emmy Lou. + +They listened. Uncle Charlie put down his paper. Aunt Louise looked over +Aunt Cordelia's shoulder. + +"B," said Emmy Lou, "e--Be." + +The aunties nodded. + +"M," said Emmy Lou, "y--my." + +Emmy Lou did not hesitate. "V," said Emmy Lou, "a, l, e, n, t, i, n, +e--Valentine. Be my Valentine." + +"There!" said Aunt Cordelia. + +"Well!" said Aunt Katie. + +"At last!" said Aunt Louise. + +"H'm!" said Uncle Charlie. + + + + +GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN + + +In the South it is not unusual to give boys' names to girls, so it +happens that George is the real name of the woman who wrote _Emmy Lou_. +George Madden was born in Louisville, Kentucky, May 3, 1866. She +attended the public schools in Louisville, but on account of ill health +did not graduate. She married Atwood R. Martin, and they made their home +at Anchorage, a suburb of Louisville. Here in an old house surrounded by +great catalpa trees, with cardinals nesting in their branches, she was +recovering from an illness, and to pass the time began to write a short +story. The title was "How They Missed the Exposition"; when it was sent +away, and a check for seventy-five dollars came in payment, she was +encouraged to go on. Her next work was the series of stories entitled +_Emmy Lou, Her Book and Heart_. This at once took rank as one of the +classics of school-room literature. It had a wide popularity in this +country, and was translated into French and German. One of the pleasant +tributes paid to the book was a review in a Pittsburgh newspaper which +took the form of a letter to Emmy Lou. It ran in part as follows: + + + Dear Little Emmy Lou: + + I have read your book, Emmy Lou, and am writing this letter to tell + you how much I love you. In my world of books I know a great + assembly of lovely ladies, Emmy Lou, crowned with beauty and + garlanded with grace, that have inspired poets to song and the + hearts of warriors to battle, but, Emmy Lou, I love you better than + them all, because you are the dearest little girl I ever met. + + I felt very sorry for you when the little boy in the Primer World, + who could so glibly tell the teacher all about the mat and the bat + and the black rat and the fat hen, hurt your chubby fist by + snapping an india-rubber band. I do not think he atoned quite + enough when he gave you that fine new long slate pencil, nor when + he sent you your first valentine. No, he has not atoned quite + enough, Emmy Lou, but now that you are Miss McLaurin, you will + doubtless even the score by snapping the india-rubber band of your + disdain at his heart. But only to show him how it stings, and then, + of course, you'll make up for the hurt and be his valentine--won't + you, Emmy Lou?... + + And when, at twelve years, you find yourself dreaming, Emmy Lou, + and watching the clouds through the schoolroom window, still I love + you, Emmy Lou, for your conscience, which William told about in his + essay. You remember, the two girls who met a cow. + + "Look her right in the face and pretend we aren't afraid," said the + biggest girl. But the littlest girl--that was you--had a + conscience. "Won't it be deceiving the cow?" she wanted to know. + Brave, honest Emmy Lou! + + Yes, I love you, Emmy Lou, better than all the proud and beauteous + heroines in the big grown-up books, because you are so sunshiny and + trustful, so sweet and brave--because you have a heart of gold, + Emmy Lou. And I want you to tell George Madden Martin how glad I am + that she has told us all about you, the dearest little girl since + Alice dropped down into Wonderland. + + George Seibel. + + +The book is more than a delightful piece of fiction. Through its +faithful study of the development of a child's mind, and its criticism +of the methods employed in many schools, it becomes a valuable +contribution to education. As such it is used in the School of Pedagogy +of Harvard University. + +George Madden Martin told more about Emmy Lou in a second book of +stories entitled _Emmy Lou's Road to Grace_, which relates the little +girl's experience at home and in Sunday school. Other works from her pen +are: _A Warwickshire Lad_, the story of William Shakespeare's early +life; _The House of Fulfillment_, a novel; _Abbie Ann_, a story for +children; _Letitia; Nursery Corps, U. S. A._, a story of a child, also +showing various aspects of army life; _Selina_, the story of a young +girl who has been brought up in luxury, and finds herself confronted +with the necessity of earning a living without any equipment for the +task. None of these has equalled the success of her first book, but that +is one of the few successful portrayals of child life in fiction. + + + + +JUST KIDS + +_That part of New York City known as the East Side, the region south of +Fourteenth Street and east of Broadway, is the most densely populated +square mile on earth. Its people are of all races; Chinatown, Little +Hungary and Little Italy elbow each other; streets where the signs are +in Hebrew characters, theatres where plays are given in Yiddish, notices +in the parks in four or five languages, make one rub his eyes and wonder +if he is not in some foreign land. Into this region Myra Kelly went as a +teacher in the public school. Her pupils were largely Russian Jews, and +in a series of delightfully humorous stories she has drawn these little +citizens to the life._ + + + + +THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE + +BY + +MYRA KELLY + + +Isaac Borrachsohn, that son of potentates and of Assemblymen, had been +taken to Central Park by a proud uncle. For weeks thereafter he was the +favorite bard of the First Reader Class and an exceeding great trouble +to its sovereign, Miss Bailey, who found him now as garrulous as he had +once been silent. There was no subject in the Course of Study to which +he could not correlate the wonders of his journey, and Teacher asked +herself daily and in vain whether it were more pedagogically correct to +encourage "spontaneous self-expression" or to insist upon "logically +essential sequence." + +But the other members of the class suffered no such uncertainty. They +voted solidly for spontaneity in a self which found expression thus: + +"Und in the Central Park stands a water-lake, und in the water-lake +stands birds--a big all of birds--und fishes. Und sooner you likes you +should come over the water-lake you calls a bird, und you sets on the +bird, und the bird makes go his legs, und you comes over the +water-lake." + +"They could be awful polite birds," Eva Gonorowsky was beginning when +Morris interrupted with: + +"I had once a auntie und she had a bird, a awful polite bird; on'y +sooner somebody calls him he _couldn't_ to come the while he sets in a +cage." + +"Did he have a rubber neck?" Isaac inquired, and Morris reluctantly +admitted that he had not been so blessed. + +"In the Central Park," Isaac went on, "all the birds is got rubber +necks." + +"What color from birds be they?" asked Eva. + +"All colors. Blue und white und red und yellow." + +"Und green," Patrick Brennan interjected determinedly. "The green ones +is the best." + +"Did you go once?" asked Isaac, slightly disconcerted. + +"Naw, but I know. Me big brother told me." + +"They could to be stylish birds, too," said Eva wistfully. "Stylish und +polite. From red und green birds is awful stylish for hats." + +"But these birds is big. Awful big! Mans could ride on 'em und ladies +und boys." + +"Und little girls, Ikey? Ain't they fer little girls?" asked the only +little girl in the group. And a very small girl she was, with a softly +gentle voice and darkly gentle eyes fixed pleadingly now upon the bard. + +"Yes," answered Isaac grudgingly; "sooner they sets by somebody's side +little girls could to go. But sooner nobody holds them by the hand they +could to have fraids over the rubber-neck-boat-birds und the water-lake, +und the fishes." + +"What kind from fishes?" demanded Morris Mogilewsky, monitor of Miss +Bailey's gold fish bowl, with professional interest. + +"From gold fishes und red fishes und black fishes"--Patrick stirred +uneasily and Isaac remembered--"und green fishes; the green ones is the +biggest; and blue fishes und _all_ kinds from fishes. They lives way +down in the water the while they have fraids over the +rubber-neck-boat-birds. Say--what you think? Sooner a +rubber-neck-boat-bird needs he should eat he longs down his neck und +eats a from-gold fish." + +"'Out fryin'?" asked Eva, with an incredulous shudder. + +"Yes, 'out fryin'. Ain't I told you little girls could to have fraids +over 'em? Boys could have fraids too," cried Isaac; and then spurred by +the calm of his rival, he added: "The rubber-neck-boat-birds they +hollers somethin' fierce." + +"I wouldn't be afraid of them. Me pop's a cop," cried Patrick stoutly. +"I'd just as lief set on 'em. I'd like to." + +"Ah, but you ain't seen 'em, und you ain't heard 'em holler," Isaac +retorted. + +"Well, I'm goin' to. An' I'm goin' to see the lions an' the tigers an' +the el'phants, an' I'm goin' to ride on the water-lake." + +"Oh, how I likes I should go too!" Eva broke out. "O-o-oh, _how_ I likes +I should look on them things! On'y I don't know do I need a ride on +somethings what hollers. I don't know be they fer me." + +"Well, I'll take ye with me if your mother leaves you go," said Patrick +grandly. "An' ye can hold me hand if ye're scared." + +"Me too?" implored Morris. "Oh, Patrick, c'n I go too?" + +"I guess so," answered the Leader of the Line graciously. But he turned +a deaf ear to Isaac Borrachsohn's implorings to be allowed to join the +party. Full well did Patrick know of the grandeur of Isaac's holiday +attire and the impressionable nature of Eva's soul, and gravely did he +fear that his own Sunday finery, albeit fashioned from the blue cloth +and brass buttons of his sire, might be outshone. + +At Eva's earnest request, Sadie, her cousin, was invited, and Morris +suggested that the Monitor of the Window Boxes should not be slighted by +his colleagues of the gold fish and the line. So Nathan Spiderwitz was +raised to Alpine heights of anticipation by visions of a window box "as +big as blocks and streets," where every plant, in contrast to his lanky +charges, bore innumerable blossoms. Ignatius Aloysius Diamantstein was +unanimously nominated as a member of the expedition; by Patrick, because +they were neighbors at St. Mary's Sunday-school; by Morris, because they +were classmates under the same rabbi at the synagogue; by Nathan, +because Ignatius Aloysius was a member of the "Clinton Street gang"; by +Sadie, because he had "long pants sailor suit"; by Eva, because the +others wanted him. + +Eva reached home that afternoon tingling with anticipation and +uncertainty. What if her mother, with one short word, should close +forever the gates of joy and boat-birds? But Mrs. Gonorowsky met her +small daughter's elaborate plea with the simple question: + +"Who pays you the car-fare?" + +"Does it need car-fare to go?" faltered Eva. + +"Sure does it," answered her mother. "I don't know how much, but some it +needs. Who pays it?" + +"Patrick ain't said." + +"Well, you should better ask him," Mrs. Gonorowsky advised, and, on the +next morning, Eva did. She thereby buried the leader under the ruins of +his fallen castle of clouds, but he struggled through them with the +suggestion that each of his guests should be her, or his, own banker. + +"But ain't you got _no_ money 't all?" asked the guest of honor. + +"Not a cent," responded the host. "But I'll get it. How much have you?" + +"A penny. How much do I need?" + +"I don't know. Let's ask Miss Bailey." + +School had not yet formally begun and Teacher was reading. She was +hardly disturbed when the children drove sharp elbows into her shoulder +and her lap, and she answered Eva's--"Miss Bailey--oh, Missis Bailey," +with an abstracted--"Well, dear?" + +"Missis Bailey, how much money takes car-fare to the Central Park?" + +Still with divided attention, Teacher replied--"Five cents, honey," and +read on, while Patrick called a meeting of his forces and made +embarrassing explanations with admirable tact. + +There ensued weeks of struggle and economy for the exploring party, to +which had been added a chaperon in the large and reassuring person of +Becky Zalmonowsky, the class idiot. Sadie Gonorowsky's careful mother +had considered Patrick too immature to bear the whole responsibility, +and he, with a guile which promised well for his future, had complied +with her desires and preserved his own authority unshaken. For Becky, +poor child, though twelve years old and of an aspect eminently +calculated to inspire trust in those who had never held speech with her, +was a member of the First Reader Class only until such time as room +could be found for her in some of the institutions where such +unfortunates are bestowed. + +Slowly and in diverse ways each of the children acquired the essential +nickel. Some begged, some stole, some gambled, some bartered, some +earned, but their greatest source of income, Miss Bailey, was denied to +them. For Patrick knew that she would have insisted upon some really +efficient guardian from a higher class, and he announced with much heat +that he would not go at all under those circumstances. + +At last the leader was called upon to set the day and appointed a +Saturday in late May. He was disconcerted to find that only Ignatius +Aloysius would travel on that day. + +"It's holidays, all Saturdays," Morris explained; "und we dassent to +ride on no cars." + +"Why not?" asked Patrick. + +"It's law, the rabbi says," Nathan supplemented. "I don't know why is +it; on'y rides on holidays ain't fer us." + +"I guess," Eva sagely surmised; "I guess rubber-neck-boat-birds rides +even ain't fer us on holidays. But I don't know do I need rides on birds +what hollers." + +"You'll be all right," Patrick assured her. "I'm goin' to let ye hold me +hand. If ye can't go on Saturday, I'll take ye on Sunday--next Sunday. +Yous all must meet me here on the school steps. Bring yer money and +bring yer lunch too. It's a long way and ye'll be hungry when ye get +there. Ye get a terrible long ride for five cents." + +"Does it take all that to get there?" asked the practical Nathan. "Then +how are we goin' to get back?" + +Poor little poet soul! Celtic and improvident! Patrick's visions had +shown him only the triumphant arrival of his host and the beatific joy +of Eva as she floated by his side on the most "fancy" of boat-birds. Of +the return journey he had taken no thought. And so the saving and +planning had to be done all over again. The struggle for the first +nickel had been wearing and wearying, but the amassment of the second +was beyond description difficult. The children were worn from long +strife and many sacrifices, for the temptations to spend six or nine +cents are so much more insistent and unusual than are yearnings to +squander lesser sums. Almost daily some member of the band would confess +a fall from grace and solvency, and almost daily Isaac Borrachsohn was +called upon to descant anew upon the glories of the Central Park. Becky, +the chaperon, was the most desultory collector of the party. Over and +over she reached the proud heights of seven or even eight cents, only to +lavish her hoard on the sticky joys of the candy cart of Isidore +Belchatosky's papa or on the suddy charms of a strawberry soda. + +Then tearfully would she repent of her folly, and bitterly would the +others upbraid her, telling again of the joys and wonders she had +squandered. Then loudly would she bewail her weakness and plead in +extenuation: "I seen the candy. Mouses from choc'late und Foxy Gran'pas +from sugar--und I ain't never seen no Central Park." + +"But don't you know how Isaac says?" Eva would urge. "Don't you know how +all things what is nice fer us stands in the Central Park? Say, Isaac, +you should better tell Becky, some more, how the Central Park stands." + +And Isaac's tales grew daily more wild and independent of fact until the +little girls quivered with yearning terror and the boys burnished up +forgotten cap pistols. He told of lions, tigers, elephants, bears, and +buffaloes, all of enormous size and strength of lung, so that before +many days had passed he had debarred himself, by whole-hearted lying, +from the very possibility of joining the expedition and seeing the +disillusionment of his public. With true artistic spirit he omitted all +mention of confining house or cage and bestowed the gift of speech upon +all the characters, whether brute or human, in his epic. The +merry-go-round he combined with the menagerie into a whole which was not +to be resisted. + +"Und all the am'blins," he informed his entranced listeners; "they goes +around, und around, und around, where music plays und flags is. Und I +sets a lion und he runs around, und runs around, und runs around. +Say--what you think? He had smiling looks und hair on the neck, und +sooner he says like that 'I'm awful thirsty,' I gives him a peanut und I +gets a golden ring." + +"Where is it?" asked the jealous and incredulous Patrick. + +"To my house." Isaac valiantly lied, for well he remembered the scene in +which his scandalized but sympathetic uncle had discovered his attempt +to purloin the brass ring which, with countless blackened duplicates, is +plucked from a slot by the brandishing swords of the riders upon the +merry-go-round. Truly, its possession had won him another ride--this +time upon an elephant with upturned trunk and wide ears--but in his mind +the return of that ring still ranked as the only grief in an otherwise +perfect day. + +Miss Bailey--ably assisted by AEsop, Rudyard Kipling, and Thompson +Seton--had prepared the First Reader Class to accept garrulous and +benevolent lions, cows, panthers, and elephants, and the exploring +party's absolute credulity encouraged Isaac to higher and yet higher +flights, until Becky was strengthened against temptation. + +At last, on a Sunday in late June, the cavalcade in splendid raiment met +on the wide steps, boarded a Grand Street car, and set out for Paradise. +Some confusion occurred at the very beginning of things when Becky +Zalmonowsky curtly refused to share her pennies with the conductor. When +she was at last persuaded to yield, an embarrassing five minutes was +consumed in searching for the required amount in the nooks and crannies +of her costume where, for safe-keeping, she had cached her fund. One +penny was in her shoe, another in her stocking, two in the lining of her +hat, and one in the large and dilapidated chatelaine bag which dangled +at her knees. + +Nathan Spiderwitz, who had preserved absolute silence, now contributed +his fare, moist and warm, from his mouth, and Eva turned to him +admonishingly. + +"Ain't Teacher told you money in the mouth ain't healthy fer you?" she +sternly questioned, and Nathan, when he had removed other pennies, was +able to answer: + +"I washed 'em off--first." And they were indeed most brightly clean. +"There's holes in me these here pockets," he explained, and promptly +corked himself anew with currency. + +"But they don't tastes nice, do they?" Morris remonstrated. Nathan shook +a corroborative head. "Und," the Monitor of the Gold Fish further urged, +"you could to swallow 'em und then you couldn't never to come by your +house no more." + +But Nathan was not to be dissuaded, even when the impressionable and +experimental Becky tried his storage system and suffered keen discomfort +before her penny was restored to her by a resourceful fellow traveler +who thumped her right lustily on the back until her crowings ceased and +the coin was once more in her hand. + +At the meeting of Grand Street with the Bowery, wild confusion was made +wilder by the addition of seven small persons armed with transfers and +clamoring--all except Nathan--for Central Park. Two newsboys and a +policeman bestowed them upon a Third Avenue car and all went well until +Patrick missed his lunch and charged Ignatius Aloysius with its +abstraction. Words ensued which were not easily to be forgotten even +when the refreshment was found--flat and horribly distorted--under the +portly frame of the chaperon. + +Jealousy may have played some part in the misunderstanding, for it was +undeniable that there was a sprightliness, a joyant brightness, in the +flowing red scarf on Ignatius Aloysius's nautical breast, which was +nowhere paralleled in Patrick's more subdued array. And the tenth +commandment seemed very arbitrary to Patrick, the star of St. Mary's +Sunday-school, when he saw that the red silk was attracting nearly all +the attention of his female contingent. If Eva admired flaunting ties it +were well that she should say so now. There was yet time to spare +himself the agony of riding on rubber-neck-boat-birds with one whose +interest wandered from brass buttons. Darkly Patrick scowled upon his +unconscious rival, and guilefully he remarked to Eva: + +"Red neckties is nice, don't you think?" + +"Awful nice," Eva agreed; "but they ain't so stylish like high-stiffs. +High-stiffs und derbies is awful stylish." + +Gloom and darkness vanished from the heart and countenance of the Knight +of Munster, for around his neck he wore, with suppressed agony, the +highest and stiffest of "high-stiffs" and his brows--and the back of his +neck--were encircled by his big brother's work-a-day derby. Again he saw +and described to Eva the vision which had lived in his hopes for now so +many weeks: against a background of teeming jungle, mysterious and alive +with wild beasts, an amiable boat-bird floated on the water-lake: and +upon the boat-bird, trembling but reassured, sat Eva Gonorowsky, hand in +hand with her brass-buttoned protector. + +As the car sped up the Bowery the children felt that they were indeed +adventurers. The clattering Elevated trains overhead, the crowds of +brightly decked Sunday strollers, the clanging trolley cars, and the +glimpses they caught of shining green as they passed the streets leading +to the smaller squares and parks, all contributed to the holiday +upliftedness which swelled their unaccustomed hearts. At each vista of +green they made ready to disembark and were restrained only by the +conductor and by the sage counsel of Eva, who reminded her impulsive +companions that the Central Park could be readily identified by "the +hollers from all those things what hollers." And so, in happy watching +and calm trust of the conductor, they were borne far beyond 59th Street, +the first and most popular entrance to the park, before an interested +passenger came to their rescue. They tumbled off the car and pressed +towards the green only to find themselves shut out by a high stone wall, +against which they crouched and listened in vain for identifying +hollers. The silence began to frighten them, when suddenly the quiet air +was shattered by a shriek which would have done credit to the biggest of +boat-birds or of lions, but which was--the children discovered after a +moment's panic--only the prelude to an outburst of grief on the +chaperon's part. When the inarticulate stage of her sorrow was passed, +she demanded instant speech with her mamma. She would seem to have +expressed a sentiment common to the majority, for three heads in Spring +finery leaned dejectedly against the stone barrier while Nathan removed +his car-fare to contribute the remark that he was growing hungry. +Patrick was forced to seek aid in the passing crowd on Fifth Avenue, and +in response to his pleading eyes and the depression of his party, a lady +of gentle aspect and "kind looks" stopped and spoke to them. + +"Indeed, yes," she reassured them; "this is Central Park." + +"It has looks off the country," Eva commented. + +"Because it is a piece of the country," the lady explained. + +"Then we dassent to go, the while we ain't none of us got no sickness," +cried Eva forlornly. "We're all, all healthy, und the country is for +sick childrens." + +"I am glad you are well," said the lady kindly; "but you may certainly +play in the park. It is meant for all little children. The gate is near. +Just walk on near this wall until you come to it." + +It was only a few blocks, and they were soon in the land of their +hearts' desire, where were waving trees and flowering shrubs and +smoothly sloping lawns, and, framed in all these wonders, a beautiful +little water-lake all dotted and brightened by fleets of tiny boats. The +pilgrims from the East Side stood for a moment at gaze and then bore +down upon the jewel, straight over grass and border, which is a course +not lightly to be followed within park precincts and in view of park +policemen. The ensuing reprimand dashed their spirits not at all and +they were soon assembled close to the margin of the lake, where they got +entangled in guiding strings and drew to shore many a craft, to the +disgust of many a small owner. Becky Zalmonowsky stood so closely over +the lake that she shed the chatelaine bag into its shallow depths and +did irreparable damage to her gala costume in her attempts to "dibble" +for her property. It was at last recovered, no wetter than the toilette +it was intended to adorn, and the cousins Gonorowsky had much difficulty +in balking Becky's determination to remove her gown and dry it then and +there. + +Then Ignatius Aloysius, the exacting, remembered garrulously that he had +as yet seen nothing of the rubber-neck-boat-birds and suggested that +they were even now graciously "hollering like an'thing" in some remote +fastness of the park. So Patrick gave commands and the march was resumed +with bliss now beaming on all the faces so lately clouded. Every turn of +the endless walks brought new wonders to these little ones who were +gazing for the first time upon the great world of growing things of +which Miss Bailey had so often told them. The policeman's warning had +been explicit and they followed decorously in the paths and picked none +of the flowers which as Eva had heard of old, were sticking right up out +of the ground. But other flowers there were dangling high or low on tree +or shrub, while here and there across the grass a bird came hopping or a +squirrel ran. But the pilgrims never swerved. Full well they knew that +these delights were not for such as they. + +It was, therefore, with surprise and concern that they at last +debouched upon a wide green space where a flag waved at the top of a +towering pole; for, behold, the grass was covered thick with children, +with here and there a beneficent policeman looking serenely on. + +"Dast _we_ walk on it?" cried Morris. "Oh, Patrick, dast we?" + +"Ask the cop," Nathan suggested. It was his first speech for an hour, +for Becky's misadventure with the chatelaine bag and the water-lake had +made him more than ever sure that his own method of safe-keeping was the +best. + +"Ask him yerself," retorted Patrick. He had quite intended to accost a +large policeman, who would of course recognize and revere the buttons of +Mr. Brennan _pere_, but a commander cannot well accept the advice of his +subordinates. But Nathan was once more beyond the power of speech, and +it was Morris Mogilewsky who asked for and obtained permission to walk +on God's green earth. With little spurts of running and tentative jumps +to test its spring, they crossed Peacock Lawn to the grateful shade of +the trees at its further edge and there disposed themselves upon the +ground and ate their luncheon. Nathan Spiderwitz waited until Sadie had +finished and then entrusted the five gleaming pennies to her care while +he wildly bolted an appetizing combination of dark brown bread and +uncooked eel. + +Becky reposed flat upon the chatelaine bag and waved her still damp +shoes exultantly. Eva lay, face downward beside her, and peered +wonderingly deep into the roots of things. + +"Don't it smells nice!" she gloated. "Don't it looks nice! My, ain't we +havin' the party-time!" + +"Don't mention it," said Patrick, in careful imitation of his mother's +hostess manner. "I'm pleased to see you, I'm sure." + +"The Central Park is awful pretty," Sadie soliloquized as she lay on her +back and watched the waving branches and blue sky far above. "Awful +pretty! I likes we should live here all the time." + +"Well," began Ignatius Aloysius Diamantstein, in slight disparagement of +his rival's powers as a cicerone; "well, I ain't seen no lions, nor no +rubber-neck-boat-birds. Und we ain't had no rides on nothings. Und I +ain't heard no hollers neither." + +As if in answer to this criticism there arose, upon the road beyond the +trees, a snorting, panting noise, growing momentarily louder and +culminating, just as East Side nerves were strained to breaking point, +in a long hoarse and terrifying yell. There was a flash of red, a cloud +of dust, three other toots of agony, and the thing was gone. Gone, too, +were the explorers and gone their peaceful rest. To a distant end of the +field they flew, led by the panic-stricken chaperon, and followed by Eva +and Patrick, hand in hand, he making show of bravery he was far from +feeling, and she frankly terrified. In a secluded corner, near the +restaurant, the chaperon was run to earth by her breathless charges: + +"I seen the lion," she panted over and over. "I seen the fierce, big red +lion, und I don't know where is my mamma." + +Patrick saw that one of the attractions had failed to attract, so he +tried another. + +"Le's go an' see the cows," he proposed. "Don't you know the po'try +piece Miss Bailey learned us about cows?" + +Again the emotional chaperon interrupted. "I'm loving much mit Miss +Bailey, too," she wailed. "Und I don't know where is she neither." But +the pride of learning upheld the others and they chanted in sing-song +chorus, swaying rhythmically the while from leg to leg: + + + "The friendly cow all red and white, + I love with all my heart: + She gives me cream with all her might, + To eat with apple-tart Robert Louis Stevenson." + + +Becky's tears ceased. "Be there cows in the Central Park?" she +demanded. + +"Sure," said Patrick. + +"Und what kind from cream will he give us? Ice cream?" + +"Sure," said Patrick again. + +"Let's go," cried the emotional chaperon. A passing stranger turned the +band in the general direction of the menagerie and the reality of the +cow brought the whole "memory gem" into strange and undreamed reality. + +Gaily they set out through new and always beautiful ways; through +tunnels where feet and voices rang with ghostly boomings most pleasant +to the ear; over bridges whence they saw--in partial proof of Isaac +Borrachsohn's veracity--"mans und ladies ridin'." Of a surety they rode +nothing more exciting than horses, but that was, to East Side eyes, an +unaccustomed sight, and Eva opined that it was owing, probably, to the +shortness of their watch that they saw no lions and tigers similarly +amiable. The cows, too, seemed far to seek, but the trees and grass and +flowers were everywhere. Through long stretches of "for sure country" +they picked their way, until they came, hot but happy, to a green and +shady summerhouse on a hill. There they halted to rest, and there +Ignatius Aloysius, with questionable delicacy, began to insist once more +upon the full measure of his bond. + +"We ain't seen the rubber-neck-boat-birds," he complained. "Und we ain't +had no rides on nothings." + +"You don't know what is polite," cried Eva, greatly shocked at this +carping spirit in the presence of a hard-worked host. "You could to +think shame over how you says somethings like that on a party." + +"This ain't no party," Ignatius Aloysius retorted. "It's a 'scursion. To +a party somebody _gives_ you what you should eat; to a 'scursion you +_brings_ it. Und anyway, we ain't had no rides." + +"But we heard a holler," the guest of honor reminded him. "We heard a +fierce, big holler from a lion. I don't know do I need a ride on +something what hollers. I could to have a fraid maybe." + +"Ye wouldn't be afraid on the boats when I hold yer hand, would ye?" +Patrick anxiously inquired, and Eva shyly admitted that, thus supported, +she might not be dismayed. To work off the pride and joy caused by this +avowal, Patrick mounted the broad seat extending all around the +summerhouse and began to walk clatteringly upon it. The other pilgrims +followed suit and the whole party stamped and danced with infinite +enjoyment. Suddenly the leader halted with a loud cry of triumph and +pointed grandly out through one of the wistaria-hung openings. Not De +Soto on the banks of the Mississippi nor Balboa above the Pacific could +have felt more victorious than Patrick did as he announced: + +"There's the water-lake!" + +His followers closed in upon him so impetuously that he was borne down +under their charge and fell ignominiously out on the grass. But he was +hardly missed, he had served his purpose. For there, beyond the rocks +and lawns and red japonicas, lay the blue and shining water-lake in its +confining banks of green. And upon its softly quivering surface floated +the rubber-neck-boat-birds, white and sweetly silent instead of red and +screaming--and the superlative length and arched beauty of their necks +surpassed the wildest of Ikey Borrachsohn's descriptions. And relying +upon the strength and politeness of these wondrous birds there were +indeed "mans und ladies und boys und little girls" embarking, +disembarking, and placidly weaving in and out and round about through +scenes of hidden but undoubted beauty. + +Over rocks and grass the army charged towards bliss unutterable, +strewing their path with overturned and howling babies of prosperity +who, clumsy from many nurses and much pampering, failed to make way. +Past all barriers, accidental or official, they pressed, nor halted to +draw rein or breath until they were established, beatified, upon the +waiting swan-boat. + +Three minutes later they were standing outside the railings of the +landing and regarding, through welling tears, the placid lake, the sunny +slopes of grass and tree, the brilliant sky and the gleaming +rubber-neck-boat-bird which, as Ikey described, "made go its legs," but +only, as he had omitted to mention, for money. So there they stood, +seven sorrowful little figures engulfed in the rayless despair of +childhood and the bitterness of poverty. For these were the children of +the poor, and full well they knew that money was not to be diverted from +its mission: that car-fare could not be squandered on bliss. + +Becky's woe was so strong and loud that the bitter wailings of the +others served merely as its background. But Patrick cared not at all for +the general despair. His remorseful eyes never strayed from the bowed +figure of Eva Gonorowsky, for whose pleasure and honor he had striven so +long and vainly. Slowly she conquered her sobs, slowly she raised her +daisy-decked head, deliberately she blew her small pink nose, softly she +approached her conquered knight, gently and all untruthfully she +faltered, with yearning eyes on the majestic swans: + +"Don't you have no sad feelings, Patrick. I ain't got none. Ain't I told +you from long, how I don't need no rubber-neck-boat-bird rides? I don't +need 'em! I don't need 'em! I"--with a sob of passionate longing--"I'm +got all times a awful scare over 'em. Let's go home, Patrick. Becky +needs she should see her mamma, und I guess I needs my mamma too." + + + + +MYRA KELLY + + +Is it necessary to say that she was Irish? The humor, the sympathy, the +quick understanding, the tenderness, that play through all her stories +are the birthright of the children of Erin. Myra Kelly was born in +Dublin, Ireland. Her father was Dr. John E. Kelly, a well-known surgeon. +When Myra was little more than a baby, the family came to New York City. +Here she was educated at the Horace Mann High School, and afterwards at +Teachers College, a department of Columbia University, New York. She +graduated from Teachers College in 1899. Her first school was in the +primary department of Public School 147, on East Broadway, New York, +where she taught from 1899 to 1901. Here she met all the "little +aliens," the Morris and Isidore, Yetta and Eva of her stories, and won +her way into their hearts. To her friends she would sometimes tell of +these children, with their odd ideas of life and their dialect. "Why +don't you write these stories down?" they asked her, and at last she sat +down and wrote her first story, "A Christmas Present for a Lady." She +had no knowledge of editorial methods, so she made four copies of the +story and sent them to four different magazines. Two of them returned +the story, and two of them accepted it, much to her embarrassment. The +two acceptances came from _McClure's Magazine_ and _The Century_. As +_McClure's_ replied first she gave the story to them, and most of her +other stories were first published in that magazine. + +When they appeared in book form, they were welcomed by readers all over +the country. Even the President of the United States wrote to express +his thanks to her, in the following letter: + + + Oyster Bay, N. Y. + July, 26, 1905. + + My dear Miss Kelly:-- + + Mrs. Roosevelt and I and most of the children know your very + amusing and very pathetic accounts of East Side school children + almost by heart, and I really think you must let me write and thank + you for them. When I was Police Commissioner I quite often went to + the Houston Street public school, and was immensely impressed by + what I saw there. I thought there were a good many Miss Baileys + there, and the work they were doing among their scholars (who were + largely of Russian-Jewish parentage like the children you write of) + was very much like what your Miss Bailey has done. + + Very sincerely yours, + Theodore Roosevelt. + + +After two years of school room work, Miss Kelly's health broke down, and +she retired from teaching, although she served as critic teacher in the +Speyer School, Teachers College, for a year longer. One of the persons +who had read her books with delight was Allen Macnaughton. Soon after he +met Miss Kelly, and in 1905 they were married. They lived for a time at +Oldchester Village, New Jersey, in the Orange mountains, in a colony of +literary people which her husband was interested in establishing. After +several years of very successful literary work, she developed +tuberculosis. She went to Torquay, England, in search of health, and +died there March 31, 1910. + +Her works include the following titles: _Little Citizens_; _The Isle of +Dreams_; _Wards of Liberty_; _Rosnah_; _the Golden Season_; _Little +Aliens_; _New Faces_. One of the leading magazines speaks of her as the +creator of a new dialect. + + + + +HERO WORSHIP + +_Most of us are hero-worshippers at some time of our lives. The boy +finds his hero in the baseball player or athlete, the girl in the +matinee idol, or the "movie" star. These objects of worship are not +always worthy of the adoration they inspire, but this does not matter +greatly, since their worshippers seldom find it out. There is something +fine in absolute loyalty to an ideal, even if the ideal is far from +reality. "The Tenor" is the story of a famous singer and two of his +devoted admirers_. + + + + +THE TENOR[1] + +BY + +H. C. BUNNER + + +It was a dim, quiet room in an old-fashioned New York house, with +windows opening upon a garden that was trim and attractive, even in its +wintry days--for the rose-bushes were all bundled up in straw ulsters. +The room was ample, yet it had a cosy air. Its dark hangings suggested +comfort and luxury, with no hint of gloom. A hundred pretty trifles told +that it was a young girl's room: in the deep alcove nestled her dainty +white bed, draped with creamy lace and ribbons. + +"I was _so_ afraid that I'd be late!" + +The door opened, and two pretty girls came in, one in hat and furs, the +other in a modest house dress. The girl in the furs, who had been afraid +that she would be late, was fair, with a bright color in her cheeks, and +an eager, intent look in her clear brown eyes. The other girl was +dark-eyed and dark-haired, dreamy, with a soft, warm dusky color in her +face. They were two very pretty girls indeed--or, rather, two girls +about to be very pretty, for neither one was eighteen years old. + +The dark girl glanced at a little porcelain clock. + +"You are in time, dear," she said, and helped her companion to take off +her wraps. + +Then the two girls crossed the room, and with a caressing and almost a +reverent touch, the dark girl opened the doors of a little carven +cabinet that hung upon the wall, above a small table covered with a +delicate white cloth. In its depths, framed in a mat of odorous double +violets, stood the photograph of the face of a handsome man of forty--a +face crowned with clustering black locks, from beneath which a pair of +large, mournful eyes looked out with something like religious fervor in +their rapt gaze. It was the face of a foreigner. + +"O Esther!" cried the other girl, "how beautifully you have dressed him +to-day!" + +"I wanted to get more," Esther said; "but I've spent almost all my +allowance--and violets do cost so shockingly. Come, now--" with another +glance at the clock--"don't let's lose any more time, Louise dear." + +She brought a couple of tiny candles in Sevres candlesticks, and two +little silver saucers, in which she lit fragrant pastilles. As the pale +gray smoke arose, floating in faint wreaths and spirals before the +enshrined photograph, Louise sat down and gazed intently upon the little +altar. Esther went to her piano and watched the clock. It struck two. +Her hands fell softly on the keys, and, studying a printed program in +front of her, she began to play an overture. After the overture she +played one or two pieces of the regular concert stock. Then she paused. + +"I can't play the Tschaikowski piece." + +"Never mind," said the other. "Let us wait for him in silence." + +The hands of the clock pointed to 2:29. Each girl drew a quick breath, +and then the one at the piano began to sing softly, almost inaudibly, +"les Rameaux" in a transcription for tenor of Faure's great song. When +it was ended, she played and sang the _encore_. Then, with her fingers +touching the keys so softly that they awakened only an echo-like sound, +she ran over the numbers that intervened between the first tenor solo +and the second. Then she sang again, as softly as before. + +The fair-haired girl sat by the little table, gazing intently on the +picture. Her great eyes seemed to devour it, and yet there was something +absent-minded, speculative, in her steady look. She did not speak until +Esther played the last number on the program. + +"He had three encores for that last Saturday," she said, and Esther +played the three encores. + +Then they closed the piano and the little cabinet, and exchanged an +innocent girlish kiss, and Louise went out, and found her father's coupe +waiting for her, and was driven away to her great, gloomy, brown-stone +home near Central Park. + +Louise Laura Latimer and Esther Van Guilder were the only children of +two families which, though they were possessed of the three "Rs" which +are all and more than are needed to insure admission to New York +society--Riches, Respectability and Religion--yet were not in Society; +or, at least, in the society that calls itself Society. This was not +because Society was not willing to have them. It was because they +thought the world too worldly. Perhaps this was one reason--although the +social horizon of the two families had expanded somewhat as the girls +grew up--why Louise and Esther, who had been playmates from their +nursery days, and had grown up to be two uncommonly sentimental, +fanciful, enthusiastically morbid girls, were to be found spending a +bright Winter afternoon holding a ceremonial service of worship before +the photograph of a fashionable French tenor. + +It happened to be a French tenor whom they were worshiping. It might as +well have been anybody or any thing else. They were both at that period +of girlish growth when the young female bosom is torn by a hysterical +craving to worship something--any thing. They had been studying music +and they had selected the tenor who was the sensation of the hour in New +York for their idol. They had heard him only on the concert stage; they +were never likely to see him nearer. But it was a mere matter of chance +that the idol was not a Boston Transcendentalist, a Popular Preacher, a +Faith-Cure Healer, or a ringleted old maid with advanced ideas of +Woman's Mission. The ceremonies might have been different in form: the +worship would have been the same. + +M. Hyppolite Remy was certainly the musical hero of the hour. When his +advance notices first appeared, the New York critics, who are a +singularly unconfiding, incredulous lot, were inclined to discount his +European reputation. + +When they learned that M. Remy was not only a great artist, but a man +whose character was "wholly free from that deplorable laxity which is so +often a blot on the proud escutcheon of his noble profession;" that he +had married an American lady; that he had "embraced the Protestant +religion"--no sect was specified, possibly to avoid jealousy--and that +his health was delicate, they were moved to suspect that he might have +to ask that allowances be made for his singing. But when he arrived, his +triumph was complete. He was as handsome as his picture, if he _was_ a +trifle short, a shade too stout. + +He was a singer of genius, too; with a splendid voice and a sound +method--on the whole. It was before the days of the Wagner autocracy, +and perhaps his tremolo passed unchallenged as it could not now; but he +was a great artist. He knew his business as well as his advance-agent +knew his. The Remy Concerts were a splendid success. Reserved seats, $5. +For the Series of Six, $25. + + * * * * * + +On the following Monday, Esther Van Guilder returned her friend's call, +in response to an urgent invitation, despatched by mail. Louise +Latimer's great bare room was incapable of transmutation into a cosy +nest of a boudoir. There was too much of its heavy raw silk +furniture--too much of its vast, sarcophagus-like bed--too much of its +upholsterer's elegance, regardless of cost--and taste. An enlargement +from an ambrotype of the original Latimer, as he arrived in New York +from New Hampshire, and a photograph of a "child subject" by Millais, +were all her works of art. It was not to be doubted that they had +climbed upstairs from a front parlor of an earlier stage of social +development. The farm-house was six generations behind Esther; two +behind Louise. + +Esther found her friend in a state of almost feverish excitement. Her +eyes shone; the color burned high on her clear cheeks. + +"You never would guess what I've done, dear!" she began, as soon as they +were alone in the big room. "I'm going to see _him_--to speak to +him--_Esther!_" Her voice was solemnly hushed, "to _serve_ him!" + +"Oh, Louise! what _do_ you mean?" + +"To serve him--with my own hands! To--to--help him on with his coat--I +don't know--to do something that a servant does--anything, so that I can +say that once, once only, just for an hour, I have been near him, been +of use to him, served him in one little thing as loyally as he serves +OUR ART." + +Music was THEIR art, and no capitals could tell how much it was theirs +or how much of an art it was. + +"Louise," demanded Esther, with a frightened look, "are you crazy?" + +"No. Read this!" She handed the other girl a clipping from the +advertising columns of a newspaper. + + + CHAMBERMAID AND WAITRESS.--WANTED, A NEAT and willing girl, for + light work. Apply to Mme. Remy, The Midlothian, ... Broadway. + + +"I saw it just by accident, Saturday, after I left you. Papa had left +his paper in the coupe. I was going up to my First Aid to the Injured +Class--it's at four o'clock now, you know. I made up my mind right +off--it came to me like an inspiration. I just waited until it came to +the place where they showed how to tie up arteries, and then I slipped +out. Lots of the girls slip out in the horrid parts, you know. And then, +instead of waiting in the ante-room, I put on my wrap, and pulled the +hood over my head and ran off to the Midlothian--it's just around the +corner, you know. And I saw his wife." + +"What was she like?" queried Esther, eagerly. + +"Oh, I don't know. Sort of horrid--actressy. She had a pink silk wrapper +with swansdown all over it--at four o'clock, think! I was _awfully_ +frightened when I got there; but it wasn't the least trouble. She hardly +looked at me, and she engaged me right off. She just asked me if I was +willing to do a whole lot of things--I forgot what they were--and where +I'd worked before. I said at Mrs. Barcalow's." + +"Mrs. Barcalow's?" + +"Why, yes--my Aunt Amanda, don't you know--up in Framingham. I always +have to wash the teacups when I go there. Aunty says that everybody has +got to do _something_ in _her_ house." + +"Oh, Louise!" cried her friend, in shocked admiration; "how can you +think of such things?" + +"Well, I did. And she--his wife, you know--just said: 'Oh, I suppose +you'll do as well as any one--all you girls are alike.'" + +"But did she really take you for a--servant?" + +"Why, yes, indeed. It was raining. I had that old ulster on, you know. +I'm to go at twelve o'clock next Saturday." + +"But, Louise!" cried Esther, aghast, "you don't truly mean to go!" + +"I do!" cried Louise, beaming triumphantly. + +"_Oh, Louise!_" + +"Now, listen, dear," said Miss Latimer, with the decision of an +enthusiastic young lady with New England blood in her veins. "Don't say +a word till I tell you what my plan is. I've thought it all out, and +you've got to help me." + +Esther shuddered. + +"You foolish child!" cried Louise. Her eyes were sparkling: she was in a +state of ecstatic excitement; she could see no obstacles to the +carrying out of her plan. "You don't think I mean to _stay_ there, do +you? I'm just going at twelve o'clock, and at four he comes back from +the matinee, and at five o'clock I'm going to slip on my things and run +downstairs, and have you waiting for me in the coupe, and off we go. Now +do you see?" + +It took some time to bring Esther's less venturesome spirit up to the +point of assisting in this undertaking; but she began, after a while, to +feel the delights of vicarious enterprise, and in the end the two girls, +their cheeks flushed, their eyes shining feverishly, their voices +tremulous with childish eagerness, resolved themselves into a committee +of ways and means; for they were two well-guarded young women, and to +engineer five hours of liberty was difficult to the verge of +impossibility. However, there is a financial manoeuvre known as +"kiting checks," whereby A exchanges a check with B and B swaps with A +again, playing an imaginary balance against Time and the Clearing House; +and by a similar scheme, which an acute student of social ethics has +called "kiting calls," the girls found that they could make Saturday +afternoon their own, without one glance from the watchful eyes of +Esther's mother or Louise's aunt--Louise had only an aunt to reckon +with. + +"And, oh, Esther!" cried the bolder of the conspirators, "I've thought +of a trunk--of course I've got to have a trunk, or she would ask me +where it was, and I couldn't tell her a fib. Don't you remember the +French maid who died three days after she came here? Her trunk is up in +the store-room still, and I don't believe anybody will ever come for +it--it's been there seven years now. Let's go up and look at it." + +The girls romped upstairs to the great unused upper story, where heaps +of household rubbish obscured the dusty half-windows. In a corner, +behind Louise's baby chair and an unfashionable hat-rack of the old +steering-wheel pattern, they found the little brown-painted tin trunk, +corded up with clothesline. + +"Louise!" said Esther, hastily, "what did you tell her your name was?" + +"I just said 'Louise'." + +Esther pointed to the name painted on the trunk, + + + LOUISE LEVY + + +"It is the hand of Providence," she said. "Somehow, now, I'm _sure_ +you're quite right to go." + +And neither of these conscientious young ladies reflected for one minute +on the discomfort which might be occasioned to Madame Remy by the +defection of her new servant a half-hour before dinner-time on Saturday +night. + + * * * * * + +"Oh, child, it's you, is it?" was Mme. Remy's greeting at twelve o'clock +on Saturday. "Well, you're punctual--and you look clean. Now, are you +going to break my dishes or are you going to steal my rings? Well, we'll +find out soon enough. Your trunk's up in your room. Go up to the +servant's quarters--right at the top of those stairs there. Ask for the +room that belongs to apartment 11. You are to room with their girl." + +Louise was glad of a moment's respite. She had taken the plunge; she was +determined to go through to the end. But her heart _would_ beat and her +hands _would_ tremble. She climbed up six flights of winding stairs, and +found herself weak and dizzy when she reached the top and gazed around +her. She was in a great half-story room, eighty feet square. The most of +it was filled with heaps of old furniture and bedding, rolls of carpet, +of canvas, of oilcloth, and odds and ends of discard of unused household +gear--the dust thick over all. A little space had been left around three +sides, to give access to three rows of cell-like rooms, in each of which +the ceiling sloped from the very door to a tiny window at the level of +the floor. In each room was a bed, a bureau that served for wash-stand, +a small looking-glass, and one or two trunks. Women's dresses hung on +the whitewashed walls. She found No. 11, threw off, desperately, her hat +and jacket, and sunk down on the little brown tin trunk, all trembling +from head to foot. + +"Hello," called a cheery voice. She looked up and saw a girl in a dirty +calico dress. + +"Just come?" inquired this person, with agreeable informality. She was a +good-looking large girl, with red hair and bright cheeks. She leaned +against the door-post and polished her finger-nails with a little brush. +Her hands were shapely. + +"Ain't got onto the stair-climbing racket yet, eh? You'll get used to +it. 'Louise Levy,'" she read the name on the trunk. "You don't look like +a sheeny. Can't tell nothin' 'bout names, can you? My name's Slattery. +You'd think I was Irish, wouldn't you? Well, I'm straight Ne' York. I'd +be dead before I was Irish. Born here. Ninth Ward an' next to an engine +house. How's that? There's white Jews, too. I worked for one, pickin' +sealskins down in Prince Street. Most took the lungs out of me. But that +wasn't why I shook the biz. It queered my hands--see? I'm goin' to be +married in the Fall to a German gentleman. He ain't so Dutch when you +know him, though. He's a grocer. Drivin' now; but he buys out the boss +in the Fall. How's that? He's dead stuck on my hooks, an' I have to keep +'em lookin' good. I come here because the work was light. I don't have +to work--only to be doin' somethin', see? Only got five halls and the +lamps. You got a fam'ly job, I s'pose? I wouldn't have that. I don't +mind the Sooprintendent; but I'd be dead before I'd be bossed by a +woman, see? Say, what fam'ly did you say you was with?" + +The stream of talk had acted like a nerve-tonic on Louise. She was able +to answer: + +"M--Mr. Remy." + +"Ramy?--oh, lord! Got the job with His Tonsils? Well, you won't keep it +long. They're meaner'n three balls, see? Rent their room up here and +chip in with eleven. Their girls don't never stay. Well, I got to step, +or the Sooprintendent'll be borin' my ear. Well--so long!" + +But Louise had fled down the stairs. "His Tonsils" rang in her ears. +What blasphemy! What sacrilege! She could scarcely pretend to listen to +Mme. Remy's first instructions. + +The household _was_ parsimonious. Louise washed the caterer's dishes--he +made a reduction in his price. Thus she learned that a late breakfast +took the place of luncheon. She began to feel what this meant. The beds +had been made; but there was work enough. She helped Mme. Remy to sponge +a heap of faded finery--_her_ dresses. If they had been _his_ coats! +Louise bent her hot face over the tawdry silks and satins, and clasped +her parboiled little finger-tips over the wet sponge. At half-past three +Mme. Remy broke the silence. + +"We must get ready for Musseer," she said. An ecstatic joy filled +Louise's being. The hour of her reward was at hand. + +Getting ready for "Musseer" proved to be an appalling process. First +they brewed what Mme. Remy called a "teaze Ann." After the _tisane_, a +host of strange foreign drugs and cosmetics were marshalled in order. +Then water was set to heat on a gas-stove. Then a little table was +neatly set. + +"Musseer has his dinner at half-past four," Madame explained. "I don't +take mine till he's laid down and I've got him off to the concert. +There, he's coming now. Sometimes he comes home pretty nervous. If he's +nervous, don't you go and make a fuss, do you hear, child?" + +The door opened, and Musseer entered, wrapped in a huge frogged +overcoat. There was no doubt that he was nervous. He cast his hat upon +the floor, as if he were Jove dashing a thunderbolt. Fire flashed from +his eyes. He advanced upon his wife and thrust a newspaper in her +face--a little pinky sheet, a notorious blackmailing publication. + +"Zees," he cried, "is your work!" + +"What _is_ it now, Hipleet?" demanded Mme. Remy. + +"Vot it ees?" shrieked the tenor. "It ees ze history of how zey have +heest me at Nice! It ees all zair--how I have been heest--in zis sacre +sheet--in zis handkairchif of infamy! And it ees you zat have told it to +zat devil of a Rastignac--_traitresse!_" + +"Now, Hipleet," pleaded his wife, "if I can't learn enough French to +talk with you, how am I going to tell Rastignac about your being +hissed?" + +This reasoning silenced Mr. Remy for an instant--an instant only. + +"You _vood_ have done it!" he cried, sticking out his chin and thrusting +his face forward. + +"Well, I didn't," said Madame, "and nobody reads that thing, any way. +Now, don't mind it, and let me get your things off, or you'll be +catching cold." + +Mr. Remy yielded at last to the necessity of self-preservation, and +permitted his wife to remove his frogged overcoat, and to unwind him +from a system of silk wraps to which the Gordian knot was a slip-noose. +This done, he sat down before the dressing-case, and Mme. Remy, after +tying a bib around his neck, proceeded to dress his hair and put +brilliantine on his moustache. Her husband enlivened the operation by +reading from the pinky paper. + +"It ees not gen-air-al-lee known--zat zees dees-tin-guished tenor vos +heest on ze pob-lic staidj at Nice--in ze year--" + +Louise leaned against the wall, sick, faint and frightened, with a +strange sense of shame and degradation at her heart. At last the tenor's +eye fell on her. + +"Anozzair eediot?" he inquired. + +"She ain't very bright, Hipleet," replied his wife; "but I guess she'll +do. Louise, open the door--there's the caterer." + +Louise placed the dishes upon the table mechanically. The tenor sat +himself at the board, and tucked a napkin in his neck. + +"And how did the Benediction Song go this afternoon?" inquired his +wife. + +"Ze Benediction? Ah! One _encore_. One on-lee. Zese pigs of Ameericains. +I t'row my pairls biffo' swine. _Chops once more!_ You vant to mordair +me? Vat do zis mean, madame? You ar-r-re in lig wiz my enemies. All ze +vorlt is against ze ar-r-r-teest!" + +The storm that followed made the first seem a zephyr. The tenor +exhausted his execratory vocabulary in French and English. At last, by +way of a dramatic finale, he seized the plate of chops and flung it from +him. He aimed at the wall; but Frenchmen do not pitch well. With a ring +and a crash, plate and chops went through the broad window-pane. In the +moment of stricken speechlessness that followed, the sound of the final +smash came softly up from the sidewalk. + +"Ah-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ah!" + +The tenor rose to his feet with the howl of an anguished hyena. + +"Oh, good gracious!" cried his wife; "he's going to have one of his +creezes--his creezes de nare!" + +He did have a _crise de nerfs_. "Ten dollair!" he yelled, "for ten +dollair of glass!" He tore his pomaded hair; he tore off his bib and his +neck-tie, and for three minutes without cessation he shrieked wildly and +unintelligibly. It was possible to make out, however, that "arteest" and +"ten dollair" were the themes of the improvisation. Finally he sank +exhausted into the chair, and his white-faced wife rushed to his side. + +"Louise!" she cried, "get the foot-tub out of the closet while I spray +his throat, or he can't sing a note. Fill it up with warm water--102 +degrees--there's the thermometer--and bathe his feet." + +Trembling from head to foot, Louise obeyed her orders, and brought the +foot-tub, full of steaming water. Then she knelt down and began to serve +the maestro for the first time. She took off his shoes. Then she looked +at his socks. Could she do it? + +"Eediot!" gasped the sufferer, "make haste! I die!" + +"Hold your mouth open, dear," said Madame, "I haven't half sprayed you." + +"Ah! _you!_" cried the tenor. "Cat! Devil! It ees you zat have killed +me!" And moved by an access of blind rage, he extended his arm, and +thrust his wife violently from him. + +Louise rose to her feet, with a hard set, good old New England look on +her face. She lifted the tub of water to the level of her breast, and +then she inverted it on the tenor's head. For one instant she gazed at +the deluge, and at the bath-tub balanced on the maestro's skull like a +helmet several sizes too large--then she fled like the wind. + +Once in the servant's quarters, she snatched her hat and jacket. From +below came mad yells of rage. + +"I kill hare! give me my knife--give me my rivvolvare! Au secours! +Assassin!" + +Miss Slattery appeared in the doorway, still polishing her nails. + +"What have you done to His Tonsils?" she inquired. "He's pretty hot, +this trip." + +"How can I get away from here?" cried Louise. + +Miss Slattery pointed to a small door. Louise rushed down a long +stairway--another--and yet others--through a great room where there was +a smell of cooking and a noise of fires--past white-capped cooks and +scullions--through a long stone corridor, and out into the street. She +cried aloud as she saw Esther's face at the window of the coupe. + +She drove home--cured. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] From "Stories of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1890, 1896, by Alice L. +Bunner; published by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the +publishers. + + + + +H. C. BUNNER + + +Henry Cuyler Bunner was his full name, H. C. Bunner was the way he +always signed his writings, and "Bunner" was his name to his friends, +and even to his wife. He was born in Oswego, New York, August 3, 1855. +His parents soon moved to New York City, and Bunner was educated in the +public schools there. Then he became a clerk in a business house, but +this did not satisfy him, and he began to write for newspapers, finally +getting a position on the _Arcadian_, a short-lived journal. In 1877 the +publishers of _Puck_, a humorous weekly printed in the German language, +decided to issue an edition in English, and made Bunner assistant +editor. It was a happy choice. He soon became editor-in-chief, and under +his direction the paper became not only the best humorous journal of its +time, but a powerful influence in politics as well. Bunner wrote not +only editorials, humorous verse, short stories, and titles for pictures, +but often suggested the cartoons, which were an important feature of the +paper. + +Outside the office he was a delightful conversationalist. His friends +Brander Matthews, Lawrence Hutton and others speak of his ready wit, his +kindness of heart, and his wonderfully varied store of information. He +was a constant reader, and a good memory enabled him to retain what he +read. It is said that one could hardly name a poem that he had not read, +and it was odds but that he could quote its best lines. Next to reading, +his chief pleasure was in wandering about odd corners of the city, +especially the foreign quarters. He knew all the queer little +restaurants and queer little shops in these places. + +His first literary work of note was a volume of poems, happily entitled +_Airs from Arcady_. It contains verses both grave and gay: one of the +cleverest is called "Home, Sweet Home, with Variations." He writes the +poem first in the style of Swinburne, then of Bret Harte, then of Austin +Dobson, then of Oliver Goldsmith and finally of Walt Whitman. The book +also showed his skill in the use of French forms of verse, as in this +dainty triolet: + + + A PITCHER OF MIGNONETTE + + A pitcher of mignonette + In a tenement's highest casement: + Queer sort of flower-pot--yet + That pitcher of mignonette + Is a garden in heaven set, + To the little sick child in the basement-- + The pitcher of mignonette + In the tenement's highest casement. + + +The last poem in the book, called "To Her," was addressed to Miss Alice +Learned, whom he married soon after, and to whom, as "A. L. B." all his +later books were dedicated. Soon after his marriage he moved to Nutley, +New Jersey. Here he was not only the editor and man of letters but the +neighbor who could always be called on in time of need, and the citizen +who took an active part in the community life, helping to organize the +Village Improvement Society, one of the first of its kind. + +He followed up his first volume by two short novels, _The Midge_ and +_The Story of a New York House_. Then he undertook the writing of the +short story, his first book being _Zadoc Pine and other Stories_. The +title story of this book contains a very humorous and faithful +delineation of a New Englander who is transplanted to a New Jersey +suburb. Soon after writing this he began to read the short stories of +Guy de Maupassant. He admired them so much that he half translated, half +adapted a number of them, and published them under the title _Made in +France_. Then he tried writing stories of his own, in the manner of de +Maupassant, and produced in _Short Sixes_ a group of stories which are +models of concise narrative, crisply told, artistic in form, and often +with a touch of surprise at the end. Other volumes of short stories are +_More Short Sixes_, and _Love in Old Cloathes_. _Jersey Street and +Jersey Lane_ was a book which grew out of his Nutley life. He also wrote +a play, _The Tower of Babel_, which was produced by Marie Wainwright in +1883. He died at Nutley, May 11, 1896. He was one of the first American +authors to develop the short story as we know it to-day, and few of his +successors have surpassed him in the light, sure style and the firmness +of construction which are characteristic of his later work. + + + + +SOCIETY IN OUR TOWN + +_Life in a small town, which means any place of less than a hundred +thousand people, is more interesting than life in a big city. Both +places have their notables, but in the small town you know these people, +in the city you only read about them in the papers._ IN OUR TOWN _is a +series of portraits of the people of a typical small city of the Middle +West, seen through the keen eyes of a newspaper editor. This story tells +how the question of the social leadership of the town was finally +settled._ + + + + +THE PASSING OF PRISCILLA WINTHROP + +BY + +WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE + + +What a dreary waste life in our office must have been before Miss +Larrabee came to us to edit a society page for the paper! To be sure we +had known in a vague way that there were lines of social cleavage in the +town; that there were whist clubs, and dancing clubs and women's clubs, +and in a general way that the women who composed these clubs made up our +best society, and that those benighted souls beyond the pale of these +clubs were out of the caste. We knew that certain persons whose names +were always handed in on the lists of guests at parties were what we +called "howling swells," but it remained for Miss Larrabee to sort out +ten or a dozen of these "howling swells," who belonged to the strictest +social caste in town, and call them "howling dervishes." Incidentally it +may be said that both Miss Larrabee and her mother were dervishes, but +that did not prevent her from making sport of them. From Miss Larrabee +we learned that the high priestess of the howling dervishes of our +society was Mrs. Mortimer Conklin, known by the sisterhood of the mosque +as Priscilla Winthrop. We in our office had never heard her called by +that name, but Miss Larrabee explained, rather elaborately, that unless +one was permitted to speak of Mrs. Conklin thus, one was quite beyond +the hope of a social heaven. + +In the first place, Priscilla Winthrop was Mrs. Conklin's maiden name; +in the second place, it links her with the Colonial Puritan stock of +which she is so justly proud--being scornful of mere Daughters of the +Revolution--and finally, though Mrs. Conklin is a grandmother, her +maiden name seems to preserve the sweet, vague illusion of girlhood +which Mrs. Conklin always carries about her like the shadow of a dream. +And Miss Larrabee punctuated this with a wink which we took to be a +quotation mark, and she went on with her work. So we knew we had been +listening to the language used in the temple. + +Our town was organized fifty years ago by Abolitionists from New +England, and twenty years ago, when Alphabetical Morrison was getting +out one of the numerous boom editions of his real estate circular, he +printed an historical article therein in which he said that Priscilla +Winthrop was the first white child born on the town site. Her father was +territorial judge, afterward member of the State Senate, and after ten +years spent in mining in the far West, died in the seventies, the +richest man in the State. It was known that he left Priscilla, his only +child, half a million dollars in government bonds. + +She was the first girl in our town to go away to school. Naturally, she +went to Oberlin, famous in those days for admitting colored students. +But she finished her education at Vassar, and came back so much of a +young lady that the town could hardly contain her. She married Mortimer +Conklin, took him to the Centennial on a wedding trip, came home, +rebuilt her father's house, covering it with towers and minarets and +steeples, and scroll-saw fretwork, and christened it Winthrop Hall. She +erected a store building on Main Street, that Mortimer might have a +luxurious office on the second floor, and then settled down to the +serious business of life, which was building up a titled aristocracy in +a Kansas town. + +The Conklin children were never sent to the public schools, but had a +governess, yet Mortimer Conklin, who was always alert for the call, +could not understand why the people never summoned him to any office of +honor or trust. He kept his brass signboard polished, went to his office +punctually every morning at ten o'clock, and returned home to dinner at +five, and made clients wait ten minutes in the outer office before they +could see him--at least so both of them say, and there were no others in +all the years. He shaved every day, wore a frock-coat and a high hat to +church--where for ten years he was the only male member of the +Episcopalian flock--and Mrs. Conklin told the women that altogether he +was a credit to his sex and his family--a remark which has passed about +ribaldly in town for a dozen years, though Mortimer Conklin never knew +that he was the subject of a town joke. Once he rebuked a man in the +barber shop for speaking of feminine extravagance, and told the shop +that he did not stint his wife, that when she asked him for money he +always gave it to her without question, and that if she wanted a dress +he told her to buy it and send the bill to him. And we are such a polite +people that no one in the crowded shop laughed--until Mortimer Conklin +went out. + +Of course at the office we have known for twenty-five years what the men +thought of Mortimer, but not until Miss Larrabee joined the force did we +know that among the women Mrs. Conklin was considered an oracle. Miss +Larrabee said that her mother has a legend that when Priscilla Winthrop +brought home from Boston the first sealskin sacque ever worn in town she +gave a party for it, and it lay in its box on the big walnut bureau in +the spare room of the Conklin mansion in solemn state, while +seventy-five women salaamed to it. After that Priscilla Winthrop was the +town authority on sealskins. When any member of the town nobility had a +new sealskin, she took it humbly to Priscilla Winthrop to pass judgment +upon it. If Priscilla said it was London-dyed, its owner pranced away on +clouds of glory; but if she said it was American-dyed, its owner crawled +away in shame, and when one admired the disgraced garment, the martyred +owner smiled with resigned sweetness and said humbly: "Yes--but it's +only American-dyed, you know." + +No dervish ever questioned the curse of the priestess. The only time a +revolt was imminent was in the autumn of 1884 when the Conklins +returned from their season at Duxbury, Massachusetts, and Mrs. Conklin +took up the carpets in her house, heroically sold all of them at the +second-hand store, put in new waxed floors and spread down rugs. The +town uprose and hooted; the outcasts and barbarians in the Methodists +and Baptist Missionary Societies rocked the Conklin home with their +merriment, and ten dervishes with set faces bravely met the onslaughts +of the savages; but among themselves in hushed whispers, behind locked +doors, the faithful wondered if there was not a mistake some place. +However, when Priscilla Winthrop assured them that in all the best homes +in Boston rugs were replacing carpets, their souls were at peace. + +All this time we at the office knew nothing of what was going on. We +knew that the Conklins devoted considerable time to society; but +Alphabetical Morrison explained that by calling attention to the fact +that Mrs. Conklin had prematurely gray hair. He said a woman with +prematurely gray hair was as sure to be a social leader as a spotted +horse is to join a circus. But now we know that Colonel Morrison's view +was a superficial one, for he was probably deterred from going deeper +into the subject by his dislike for Mortimer Conklin, who invested a +quarter of a million dollars of the Winthrop fortune in the Wichita +boom, and lost it. Colonel Morrison naturally thought as long as Conklin +was going to lose that money he could have lost it just as well at home +in the "Queen City of the Prairies," giving the Colonel a chance to win. +And when Conklin, protecting his equities in Wichita, sent a hundred +thousand dollars of good money after the quarter million of bad money, +Colonel Morrison's grief could find no words; though he did find +language for his wrath. When the Conklins draped their Oriental rugs for +airing every Saturday over the veranda and portico railings of the house +front, Colonel Morrison accused the Conklins of hanging out their stamp +collection to let the neighbors see it. This was the only side of the +rug question we ever heard in our office until Miss Larrabee came; then +she told us that one of the first requirements of a howling dervish was +to be able to quote from Priscilla Winthrop's Rug book from memory. The +Rug book, the China book and the Old Furniture book were the three +sacred scrolls of the sect. + +All this was news to us. However, through Colonel Morrison, we had +received many years ago another sidelight on the social status of the +Conklins. It came out in this way: Time honored custom in our town +allows the children of a home where there is an outbreak of social +revelry, whether a church festival or a meeting of the Cold-Nosed Whist +Club, to line up with the neighbor children on the back stoop or in the +kitchen, like human vultures, waiting to lick the ice-cream freezer and +to devour the bits of cake and chicken salad that are left over. Colonel +Morrison told us that no child was ever known to adorn the back yard of +the Conklin home while a social cataclysm was going on, but that when +Mrs. Morrison entertained the Ladies' Literary League, children from the +holy Conklin family went home from his back porch with their faces +smeared with chicken croquettes and their hands sticky with jellycake. + +This story never gained general circulation in town, but even if it had +been known of all men it would not have shaken the faith of the +devotees. For they did not smile when Priscilla Winthrop began to refer +to old Frank Hagan, who came to milk the Conklin cow and curry the +Conklin horse, as "Francois, the man," or to call the girl who did the +cooking and general housework "Cosette, the maid," though every one of +the dozen other women in town whom "Cosette, the maid" had worked for +knew that her name was Fanny Ropes. And shortly after that the homes of +the rich and the great over on the hill above Main Street began to fill +with Lisettes and Nanons and Fanchons, and Mrs. Julia Neal Worthington +called her girl "Grisette," explaining that they had always had a +Grisette about the house since her mother first went to housekeeping in +Peoria, Illinois, and it sounded so natural to hear the name that they +always gave it to a new servant. This story came to the office through +the Young Prince, who chuckled over it during the whole hour he consumed +in writing Ezra Worthington's obituary. + +Miss Larrabee says that the death of Ezra Worthington marks such a +distinct epoch in the social life of the town that we must set down +here--even if the narrative of the Conklins halts for a moment--how the +Worthingtons rose and flourished. Julia Neal, the eldest daughter of +Thomas Neal--who lost the "O" before his name somewhere between the +docks of Dublin and the west bank of the Missouri River--was for ten +years principal of the ward school in that part of our town known as +"Arkansaw," where her term of service is still remembered as the "reign +of terror." It was said of her then that she could whip any man in the +ward--and would do it if he gave her a chance. The same manner which +made the neighbors complain that Julia Neal carried her head too high, +later in life, when she had money to back it, gave her what the women of +the State Federation called a "regal air." In her early thirties she +married Ezra Worthington, bachelor, twenty years her senior. Ezra +Worthington was at that time, had been for twenty years before, and +continued to be until his death, proprietor of the Worthington Poultry +and Produce Commission Company. He was owner of the stockyards, +president of the Worthington State Bank, vice-president, treasurer and +general manager of the Worthington Mercantile Company, and owner of five +brick buildings on Main Street. He bought one suit of clothes every five +years whether he needed it or not, never let go of a dollar unless the +Goddess of Liberty on it was black in the face, and died rated "at +$350,000" by all the commercial agencies in the country. And the first +thing Mrs. Worthington did after the funeral was to telephone to the +bank and ask them to send her a hundred dollars. + +The next important thing she did was to put a heavy, immovable granite +monument over the deceased so that he would not be restless, and then +she built what is known in our town as the Worthington Palace. It makes +the Markley mansion which cost $25,000 look like a barn. The +Worthingtons in the life-time of Ezra had ventured no further into the +social whirl of the town than to entertain the new Presbyterian preacher +at tea, and to lend their lawn to the King's Daughters for a social, +sending a bill in to the society for the eggs used in the coffee and the +gasoline used in heating it. + +To the howling dervishes who surrounded Priscilla Winthrop the +Worthingtons were as mere Christian dogs. It was not until three years +after Ezra Worthington's death that the glow of the rising Worthington +sun began to be seen in the Winthrop mosque. During those three years +Mrs. Worthington had bought and read four different sets of the best +hundred books, had consumed the Chautauque course, had prepared and +delivered for the Social Science Club, which she organized, five papers +ranging in subject from the home life of Rameses I., through a Survey of +the Forces Dominating Michael Angelo, to the Influence of Esoteric +Buddhism on Modern Political Tendencies. More than that, she had been +elected president of the City Federation clubs and being a delegate to +the National Federation from the State, was talked of for the State +Federation Presidency. When the State Federation met in our town, Mrs. +Worthington gave a reception for the delegates in the Worthington +Palace, a feature of which was a concert by a Kansas City organist on +the new pipe-organ which she had erected in the music-room of her house, +and despite the fact that the devotees of the Priscilla shrine said that +the crowd was distinctly mixed and not at all representative of our best +social grace and elegance, there is no question but that Mrs. +Worthington's reception made a strong impression upon the best local +society. The fact that, as Miss Larrabee said, "Priscilla Winthrop was +so nice about it," also may be regarded as ominous. But the women who +lent Mrs. Worthington the spoons and forks for the occasion were +delighted, and formed a phalanx about her, which made up in numbers what +it might have lacked in distinction. Yet while Mrs. Worthington was in +Europe the faithful routed the phalanx, and Mrs. Conklin returned from +her summer in Duxbury with half a carload of old furniture from Harrison +Sampson's shop and gave a talk to the priestesses of the inner temple on +"Heppelwhite in New England." + +Miss Larrabee reported the affair for our paper, giving the small list +of guests and the long line of refreshments--which included +alligator-pear salad, right out of the Smart Set Cook Book. Moreover, +when Jefferson appeared in Topeka that fall, Priscilla Winthrop, who had +met him through some of her Duxbury friends in Boston, invited him to +run down for a luncheon with her and the members of the royal family who +surrounded her. It was the proud boast of the defenders of the Winthrop +faith in town that week, that though twenty-four people sat down to the +table, not only did all the men wear frock coats--not only did Uncle +Charlie Haskins of String Town wear the old Winthrop butler's livery +without a wrinkle in it, and with only the faint odor of mothballs to +mingle with the perfume of the roses--but (and here the voices of the +followers of the prophet dropped in awe) not a single knife or fork or +spoon or napkin was borrowed! After that, when any of the sisterhood had +occasion to speak of the absent Mrs. Worthington, whose house was filled +with new mahogany and brass furniture, they referred to her as the +Duchess of Grand Rapids, which gave them much comfort. + +But joy is short-lived. When Mrs. Worthington came back from Europe and +opened her house to the City Federation, and gave a colored +lantern-slide lecture on "An evening with the Old Masters," serving +punch from her own cut-glass punch bowl instead of renting the +hand-painted crockery bowl of the queensware store, the old dull pain +came back into the hearts of the dwellers in the inner circle. Then just +in the nick of time Mrs. Conklin went to Kansas City and was operated +on for appendicitis. She came back pale and interesting, and gave her +club a paper called "Hospital Days," fragrant with iodoform and Henley's +poems. Miss Larrabee told us that it was almost as pleasant as an +operation on one's self to hear Mrs. Conklin tell about hers. And they +thought it was rather brutal--so Miss Larrabee afterward told us--when +Mrs. Worthington went to the hospital one month, and gave her famous +Delsarte lecture course the next month, and explained to the women that +if she wasn't as heavy as she used to be it was because she had had +everything cut out of her below the windpipe. It seemed to the temple +priestesses that, considering what a serious time poor dear Priscilla +Winthrop had gone through, Mrs. Worthington was making light of serious +things. + +There is no doubt that the formal rebellion of Mrs. Worthington, Duchess +of Grand Rapids, and known of the town's nobility as the Pretender, +began with the hospital contest. The Pretender planted her siege-guns +before the walls of the temple of the priestess, and prepared for +business. The first manoeuver made by the beleaguered one was to give a +luncheon in the mosque, at which, though it was midwinter, fresh +tomatoes and fresh strawberries were served, and a real authoress from +Boston talked upon John Fiske's philosophy and, in the presence of the +admiring guests, made a new kind of salad dressing for the fresh lettuce +and tomatoes. Thirty women who watched her forgot what John Fiske's +theory of the cosmos is, and thirty husbands who afterward ate that +salad dressing have learned to suffer and be strong. But that salad +dressing undermined the faith of thirty mere men--raw outlanders to be +sure--in the social omniscience of Priscilla Winthrop. Of course they +did not see it made; the spell of the enchantress was not over them; but +in their homes they maintained that if Priscilla Winthrop didn't know +any more about cosmic philosophy than to pay a woman forty dollars to +make a salad dressing like that--and the whole town knows that was the +price--the vaunted town of Duxbury, Massachusetts, with its old +furniture and new culture, which Priscilla spoke of in such repressed +ecstasy, is probably no better than Manitou, Colorado, where they get +their Indian goods from Buffalo, New York. + +Such is the perverse reasoning of man. And Mrs. Worthington, having +lived with considerable of a man for fifteen years, hearing echoes of +this sedition, attacked the fortification of the faithful on its weakest +side. She invited the thirty seditious husbands with their wives to a +beefsteak dinner, where she heaped their plates with planked sirloin, +garnished the sirloin with big, fat, fresh mushrooms, and topped off the +meal with a mince pie of her own concoction, which would make a man +leave home to follow it. She passed cigars at the table, and after the +guests went into the music-room ten old men with ten old fiddles +appeared and contested with old-fashioned tunes for a prize, after which +the company danced four quadrilles and a Virginia reel. The men threw +down their arms going home and went over in a body to the Pretender. But +in a social conflict men are mere non-combatants, and their surrender +did not seriously injure the cause that they deserted. + +The war went on without abatement. During the spring that followed the +winter of the beefsteak dinner many skirmishes, minor engagements, +ambushes and midnight raids occurred. But the contest was not decisive. +For purposes of military drill, the defenders of the Winthrop faith +formed themselves into a Whist Club. _The_ Whist Club they called it, +just as they spoke of Priscilla Winthrop's gowns as "the black and white +one," "the blue brocade," "the white china silk," as if no other black +and white or blue brocade or white china silk gowns had been created in +the world before and could not be made again by human hands. So, in the +language of the inner sanctuary, there was "The Whist Club," to the +exclusion of all other possible human Whist Clubs under the stars. When +summer came the Whist Club fled as birds to the mountains--save +Priscilla Winthrop, who went to Duxbury, and came home with a brass +warming-pan and a set of Royal Copenhagen china that were set up as holy +objects in the temple. + +But Mrs. Worthington went to the National Federation of Women's Clubs, +made the acquaintance of the women there who wore clothes from Paris, +began tracing her ancestry back to the Maryland Calverts--on her +mother's side of the house--brought home a membership in the Daughters +of the Revolution, the Colonial Dames and a society which referred to +Charles I. as "Charles Martyr," claimed a Stuart as the rightful king of +England, affecting to score the impudence of King Edward in sitting on +another's throne. More than this, Mrs. Worthington had secured the +promise of Mrs. Ellen Vail Montgomery, Vice-President of the National +Federation, to visit Cliff Crest, as Mrs. Worthington called the +Worthington mansion, and she turned up her nose at those who worshiped +under the towers, turrets and minarets of the Conklin mosque, and played +the hose of her ridicule on their outer wall that she might have it +spotless for a target when she got ready to raze it with her big gun. + +The week that Ellen Vail Montgomery came to town was a busy one for Miss +Larrabee. We turned over the whole fourth page of the paper to her for a +daily society page, and charged the Bee Hive and the White Front Dry +Goods store people double rates to put their special advertisements on +that page while the "National Vice," as the Young Prince called her, was +in town. For the "National Vice" brought the State President and two +State Vices down, also four District Presidents and six District Vices, +who, as Miss Larrabee said, were monsters "of so frightful mien, that to +be hated need but to be seen." The entire delegation of visiting +stateswomen--Vices and Virtues and Beatitudes as we called them--were +entertained by Mrs. Worthington at Cliff Crest, and there was so much +Federation politics going on in our town that the New York _Sun_ took +five hundred words about it by wire, and Colonel Alphabetical Morrison +said that with all those dressed-up women about he felt as though he was +living in a Sunday supplement. + +The third day of the ghost-dance at Cliff Crest was to be the day of the +big event--as the office parlance had it. The ceremonies began at +sunrise with a breakfast to which half a dozen of the captains and kings +of the besieging host of the Pretender were bidden. It seems to have +been a modest orgy, with nothing more astonishing than a new gold-band +china set to dishearten the enemy. By ten o'clock Priscilla Winthrop and +the Whist Club had recovered from that; but they had been asked to the +luncheon--the star feature of the week's round of gayety. It is just as +well to be frank, and say that they went with fear and trembling. Panic +and terror were in their ranks, for they knew a crisis was at hand. It +came when they were "ushered into the dining-hall," as our paper so +grandly put it, and saw in the great oak-beamed room a table laid on the +polished bare wood--a table laid for forty-eight guests, with a doily +for every plate, and every glass, and every salt-cellar, and--here the +mosque fell on the heads of the howling dervishes--forty-eight +soup-spoons, forty-eight silver-handled knives and forks; forty-eight +butter-spreaders, forty-eight spoons, forty-eight salad forks, +forty-eight ice-cream spoons, forty-eight coffee spoons. Little did it +avail the beleaguered party to peep slyly under the spoon-handles--the +word "Sterling" was there, and, more than that, a large, severely plain +"W" with a crest glared up at them from every piece of silver. The +service had not been rented. They knew their case was hopeless. And so +they ate in peace. + +When the meal was over it was Mrs. Ellen Vail Montgomery, in her +thousand-dollar gown, worshiped by the eyes of forty-eight women, who +put her arm about Priscilla Winthrop and led her into the conservatory, +where they had "a dear, sweet quarter of an hour," as Mrs. Montgomery +afterward told her hostess. In that dear, sweet quarter of an hour +Priscilla Winthrop Conklin unbuckled her social sword and handed it to +the conqueror, in that she agreed absolutely with Mrs. Montgomery that +Mrs. Worthington was "perfectly lovely," that she was "delighted to be +of any service" to Mrs. Worthington; that Mrs. Conklin "was sure no one +else in our town was so admirably qualified for National Vice" as Mrs. +Worthington, and that "it would be such a privilege" for Mrs. Conklin to +suggest Mrs. Worthington's name for the office. And then Mrs. +Montgomery, "National Vice" and former State Secretary for Vermont of +the Colonial Dames, kissed Priscilla Winthrop and they came forth +wet-eyed and radiant, holding each other's hands. When the company had +been hushed by the magic of a State Vice and two District Virtues, +Priscilla Winthrop rose and in the sweetest Kansas Bostonese told the +ladies that she thought this an eminently fitting place to let the +visiting ladies know how dearly our town esteems its most distinguished +townswoman, Mrs. Julia Neal Worthington, and that entirely without her +solicitation, indeed quite without her knowledge, the women of our +town--and she hoped of our beloved State--were ready now to announce +that they were unanimous in their wish that Mrs. Worthington should be +National Vice-President of the Federation of Women's Clubs, and that +she, the speaker, had entered the contest with her whole soul to bring +this end to pass. Then there was hand-clapping and handkerchief waving +and some tears, and a little good, honest Irish hugging, and in the +twilight two score of women filed down through the formal garden of +Cliff Crest and walked by twos and threes in to the town. + +There was the usual clatter of home-going wagons; lights winked out of +kitchen windows; the tinkle of distant cow-bells was in the air; on Main +Street the commerce of the town was gently ebbing, and man and nature +seemed utterly oblivious of the great event that had happened. The +course of human events was not changed; the great world rolled on, while +Priscilla Winthrop went home to a broken shrine to sit among the the +potsherds. + + + + +WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE + +(Written by Mr. White especially for this book.) + + +I was born in Emporia, Kansas, February 10, 1868, when Emporia was a +pioneer village a hundred miles from a railroad. My father came to +Emporia in 1859 and my mother in 1855. She was a pioneer school teacher +and he a pioneer doctor. She was pure bred Irish, and he of Yankee +lineage since 1639. When I was a year old, Emporia became too effete for +my parents, and they moved to El Dorado, Kansas. There I grew up. El +Dorado was a town of a dozen houses, located on the banks of the Walnut, +a sluggish, but a clear and beautiful prairie stream, rock bottom, and +spring fed. I grew up in El Dorado, a prairie village boy; went to the +large stone school house that "reared its awful form" on the hill above +the town before there were any two-story buildings in the place. + +In 1884, I was graduated from the town high school, and went to the +College of Emporia for a year; worked a year as a printer's devil; +learned something of the printer's trade; went to school for another +year, working in the afternoons and Saturdays at the printer's case; +became a reporter on the _Emporia News_; later went to the State +University for three years. After more or less studying and working on +the Lawrence papers, I went back to El Dorado as manager of the _El +Dorado Republican_ for State Senator T. B. Murdock. + +From the _El Dorado Republican_, I went to Kansas City to work for the +_Kansas City Journal_, and at 24 became an editorial writer on the +_Kansas City Star_. For three years I worked on the _Star_, during which +time I married Miss Sallie Lindsay, a Kansas City, Kansas, school +teacher. In 1895 I bought the _Emporia Gazette_ on credit, without a +cent in money, and chiefly with the audacity and impudence of youth. It +was then a little paper; I paid three thousand dollars for it, and I +have lived in Emporia ever since. + +In 1896, I published a book of short stories called _The Real Issue_; in +1899, another book of short stories called _The Court of Boyville_. In +1901, I published a third book of short stories called _Stratagems and +Spoils_; in 1906, _In Our Town_. In 1909, I published my first novel, _A +Certain Rich Man_. In 1910, I published a book of political essays +called _The Old Order Changeth_; in 1916, a volume of short stories +entitled _God's Puppets_. A volume half novel and half travel sketches +called _The Martial Adventures of Henry & Me_ filled the gap between my +two novels; and the second novel, _In the Heart of a Fool_ was published +in 1918. + +I am a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters; the Short +Ballot Association; the International Peace Society; National Civic +Federation; National Academy of Political Science; have honorary degrees +from the College of Emporia, Baker University, and Columbia University +of the City of New York; was regent of the Kansas State University from +1905 to 1913. Politically I am a Republican and was elected National +Republican Committeeman from Kansas in 1912, but resigned to be +Progressive National Committeeman from Kansas that year. I am now a +member of the Republican National Committee on Platforms and Policies +appointed by the National Chairman, Will S. Hays. I am a trustee of the +College of Emporia; a member of the Congregational Church, and of the +Elks Lodge, and of no other organization. + WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE. + + +To the above biography a few items about Mr. White's literary work may +be added. It was through an editorial that he first became famous. This +appeared in the _Emporia Gazette_ in 1896, with the title, "What's the +matter with Kansas?" It contained so much good sense, and was written +in such vigorous English that it was copied in newspapers all over the +country. Perhaps no other editorial ever brought such sudden recognition +to its author. In the same year he published his first book, _The Real +Issue_, a volume of short stories. Some of them pictured the life of a +small town, some centered about politics, and some were stories of small +boys. These three subjects were the themes of most of Mr. White's later +books. + +_Stratagems and Spoils_, a volume of short stories, dealt chiefly with +politics, as seen from the inside. _In Our Town_, from which "The +Passing of Priscilla Winthrop" is taken, belongs to the studies of +small-town life. His first novel, _A Certain Rich Man_, was published in +1909. Its theme is the development of an American multi-millionaire, +from his beginning as a small business man with a reputation for close +dealing, his success, his reaching out to greater schemes, growing more +and more unscrupulous in his methods, until at last he achieves the +great wealth he had sought, but in winning it he loses his soul. + +This book was written during a vacation in the Colorado mountains. His +family were established in a log cabin, and he set up a tent near by for +a workshop. This is his account of his method of writing: + + + My working day was supposed to begin at nine o'clock in the + morning, but the truth is I seldom reached the tent before ten. + Then it took me some time to get down to work. From then on until + late in the afternoon I would sit at my typewriter, chew my tongue, + and pound away. Each night I read to my wife what I had written + that day, and Mrs. White would criticise it. While my work was + redhot I couldn't get any perspective on it--each day's installment + seemed to me the finest literature I had ever read. She didn't + always agree with me. When she disapproved of anything I threw it + away--after a row--and re-wrote it. + + +In his next book, _The Old Order Changeth_, Mr. White turned aside from +fiction to write a series of papers dealing with various reform +movements in our national life. He shows how through these much has been +done to regain for the people the control of municipal and state +affairs. The material for this book was drawn largely from Mr. White's +participation in political affairs. + +In 1917 he was sent to France as an observer by the American Red Cross. +The lighter side of what he saw there was told in _The Martial +Adventures of Henry and Me_. His latest book is a long novel, _In the +Heart of a Fool_, another study of American life of to-day. + +All in all, he stands as one of the chief interpreters in fiction of the +spirit of the Middle West,--a section of our country which some +observers say is the most truly American part of America. + + + + +A PAIR OF LOVERS + +_The typical love story begins by telling us how two young people fall +in love, allows us to eavesdrop at a proposal, with soft moonlight +effects, and then requests our presence at a wedding. Or perhaps an +elopement precedes the wedding, which gives us an added thrill. The +scene may be laid anywhere, the period may be the present or any time +back to the Middle Ages, (apparently people did not fall in love at any +earlier periods), but the formula remains the same. O. Henry wrote a +love story that does not follow the formula. He called it "The Gift of +the Magi."_ + + + + +THE GIFT OF THE MAGI + +BY + +O. HENRY + + +One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it +was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the +grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned +with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. +Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the +next day would be Christmas. + +There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch +and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that +life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles +predominating. + +While the mistress of the house is gradually subsiding from the first +stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per +week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that +word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. + +In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, +and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. +Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James +Dillingham Young." + +The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of +prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the +income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as +though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and +unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and +reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. +James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all +very good. + +Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. +She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a +gray fence in a gray backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she +had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving +every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a +week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. +They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a +happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something +fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being +worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. + +There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have +seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, +by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, +obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, +had mastered the art. + +Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her +eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within +twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its +full length. + +Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which +they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been +his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the +Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have +let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her +Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all +his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his +watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from +envy. + +So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like +a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself +almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and +quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or +two splashed on the worn red carpet. + +On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of +skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered +out the door and down the stairs to the street. + +Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All +Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, +large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." + +"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. + +"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at +the looks of it." + +Down rippled the brown cascade. + +"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. + +"Give it to me quick," said Della. + +Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed +metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. + +She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. +There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all +of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain, simple and chaste in +design, properly proclaiming its value by substance and not by +meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even +worthy of The Watch. + +As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. +Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars +they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With +that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in +any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the +sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a +chain. + +When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence +and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went +to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is +always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. + +Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls +that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at +her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. + +"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second +look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what +could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?" + +At seven o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back +of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. + +Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on +the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she +heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight and she turned +white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers +about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: + +"Please God, make him think I am still pretty." + +The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and +very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened +with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. + +Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of +quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in +them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, +nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments +that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with +that peculiar expression on his face. + +Della wriggled off the table and went to him. + +"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut +off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without +giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I +just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' +Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful, +nice gift I've got for you." + +"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not +arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. + +"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, +anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" + +Jim looked about the room curiously. + +"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. + +"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and +gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. +Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden +serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I +put the chops on, Jim?" + +Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to awake. He enfolded his Della. +For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some +inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a +million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would +give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was +not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. + +Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. + +"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think +there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that +could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package +you may see why you had me going a while at first." + +White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an +ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to +hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of +all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. + +For there lay The combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had +worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise +shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful +vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had +simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of +possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have +adorned the coveted adornments were gone. + +But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up +with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" + +And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" + +Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him +eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with +reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. + +"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have +to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I +want to see how it looks on it." + +Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands +under the back of his head and smiled. + +"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a +while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get +the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." + +The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought +gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving +Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, +possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And +here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two +foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other +the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of +these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the +wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. +Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi. + + + + +O. HENRY + + +He came to New York in 1902 almost unknown. At his death eight years +later he was the best known writer of short stories in America. His life +was as full of ups and downs, and of strange turns of fortune, as one of +his own stories. William Sidney Porter, who always signed his stories as +O. Henry, was born in Greenboro, North Carolina, September 11, 1862. His +mother died when he was but three years old; and an aunt, Miss Evelina +Porter, cared for him and gave him nearly all his education. Books, too, +were his teachers. He says that between his thirteenth and nineteenth +years he did more reading than in all the years since. His favorite +books were _The Arabian Nights_, in Lane's translation, and Burton's +_Anatomy of Melancholy_, an old English book in which bits of science, +superstition and reflections upon life were strangely mingled. Other +books that he enjoyed were the works of Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, +Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas. He early showed ability as a +cartoonist, and was noted among his friends as a good story teller. +After school days he became a clerk in his uncle's drug store, and here +acquired that knowledge which he used to such good effect in stories +like "Makes the Whole World Kin" and "The Love Philtre of Ikey +Schoenstein." + +His health was not robust, and confinement in a drug store did not +improve it. A friend who was going to Texas invited him to go along, and +from 1882 to 1884 he lived on a ranch, acting as cowboy, and at odd +moments studying French, German and Spanish. Then he went to Austin, +where at various times he was clerk, editor, bookkeeper, draftsman, bank +teller, actor and cartoonist. In 1887 he married Miss Athol Roach. He +began contributing short stories and humorous sketches to newspapers, +and finally purchased a paper of his own, which he called _Rolling +Stones_, a humorous weekly. After a year the paper failed, and the +editor went to Houston to become a reporter on the _Daily Post_. A year +later, it was discovered that there were serious irregularities in the +bank in which he had worked in Austin. Several arrests were made, and O. +Henry was called to stand trial with others. He had not been guilty of +wrong doing, but the affairs of the bank had been so loosely managed +that he was afraid that he would be convicted, so he fled to Central +America. After a year there, he heard that his wife's health was +failing, and returned to Austin to give himself up. He was found guilty, +and sentenced to five years in the Ohio penitentiary. His wife died +before the trial. His time in prison was shortened by good behavior to a +little more than three years, ending in 1901. He wrote a number of +stories during this time, sending them to friends who in turn mailed +them to publishers. The editor of _Ainslie's Magazine_ had printed +several of them and in 1902 he wrote to O. Henry urging him to come to +New York, and offering him a hundred dollars apiece for a dozen stories. +He came, and from that time made New York his home, becoming very fond +of Little Old-Bagdad-on-the-Subway as he called it. + +He had found the work which he wished to do, and he turned out stories +very rapidly. These were first published in newspapers and magazines, +then collected in book form. The first of these volumes, _Cabbages and +Kings_, had Central America as its setting. He said that while there he +had knocked around chiefly with refugees and consuls. _The Four Million_ +was a group of stories of New York; it contained some of his best tales, +such as "The Gift of the Magi," and "An Unfinished Story." _The Trimmed +Lamp_ and _The Voice of the City_ also dealt with New York. _The Gentle +Grafter_ was a collection of stories about confidence men and "crooks." +The material for these narratives he had gathered from his companions in +his prison days. _Heart of the West_ reflects his days on a Texas +ranch. Other books, more or less miscellaneous in their locality, are +_Roads of Destiny_, _Options_, _Strictly Business_, _Whirligigs_; and +_Sixes and Sevens_. He died in New York, June 5, 1910. After his death a +volume containing some of his earliest work was published under the +title _Rolling Stones_. + +His choice of subjects is thus indicated in the preface to _The Four +Million_: + +"Not very long ago some one invented the assertion that there were only +'Four Hundred' people in New York who were really worth noticing. But a +wiser man has arisen--the census taker--and his larger estimate of human +interest has been preferred in marking out the field of these little +stories of the 'Four Million.'" + +It was the common man,--the clerk, the bartender, the policeman, the +waiter, the tramp, that O. Henry chose for his characters. He loved to +talk to chance acquaintances on park benches or in cheap lodging houses, +to see life from their point of view. His stories are often of the +picaresque type; a name given to a kind of story in which the hero is an +adventurer, sometimes a rogue. He sees the common humanity, and the +redeeming traits even in these. His plots usually have a turn of +surprise at the end; sometimes the very last sentence suddenly +illuminates the whole story. His style is quick, nervous, often slangy; +he is wonderfully dextrous in hitting just the right word or phrase. His +descriptions are notable for telling much in a few words. He has almost +established a definite type of short story writing, and in many of the +stories now written one may clearly see the influence of O. Henry. + + + + +IN POLITICS + +_Politics is democracy in action. If we believe in democracy, we must +recognize in politics the instrument, however imperfect, through which +democracy works. Brand Whitlock knew politics, first as a political +reporter, then as candidate for mayor in four campaigns, in each of +which he was successful. Under his administration the city of Toledo +became a better place to live in. In_ THE GOLD BRICK _he describes a +municipal campaign, as seen from the point of view of the newspaper +office._ + + + + +THE GOLD BRICK + +BY + +BRAND WHITLOCK + + +Ten thousand dollars a year! Neil Kittrell left the office of the +_Morning Telegraph_ in a daze. He was insensible of the raw February +air, heedless of sloppy pavements, the gray day had suddenly turned +gold. He could not realize it all at once; ten thousand a year--for him +and Edith! His heart swelled with love of Edith, she had sacrificed so +much to become the wife of a man who had tried to make an artist of +himself, and of whom fate, or economic determinism, or something, had +made a cartoonist. What a surprise for her! He must hurry home. + +In this swelling of his heart he felt a love not only of Edith but of +the whole world. The people he met seemed dear to him; he felt friendly +with every one, and beamed on perfect strangers with broad, cheerful +smiles. He stopped to buy some flowers for Edith--daffodils, or tulips, +which promised spring, and he took the daffodils, because the girl said: + +"I think yellow is such a spirituelle color, don't you?" and inclined +her head in a most artistic manner. + +But daffodils, after all, which would have been much the day before, +seemed insufficient in the light of new prosperity, and Kittrell bought +a large azalea, beautiful in its graceful spread of pink blooms. + +"Where shall I send it?" asked the girl, whose cheeks were as pink as +azaleas themselves. + +"I think I'll call a cab and take it to her myself," said Kittrell. + +And she sighed over the romance of this rich young gentleman and the +girl of the azalea, who, no doubt, was as beautiful as the young woman +who was playing _Lottie, the Poor Saleslady_ at the Lyceum that very +week. + +Kittrell and the azalea bowled along Claybourne Avenue; he leaned back +on the cushions, and adopted the expression of ennui appropriate to that +thoroughfare. Would Edith now prefer Claybourne Avenue? With ten +thousand a year they could, perhaps--and yet, at first it would be best +not to put on airs, but to go right on as they were, in the flat. Then +the thought came to him that now, as the cartoonist on the _Telegraph_, +his name would become as well known in Claybourne Avenue as it had been +in the homes of the poor and humble during his years on the _Post_. And +his thoughts flew to those homes where tired men at evening looked for +his cartoons and children laughed at his funny pictures. It gave him a +pang; he had felt a subtle bond between himself and all those thousands +who read the _Post_. It was hard to leave them. The _Post_ might be +yellow, but as the girl had said, yellow was a spiritual color, and the +_Post_ brought something into their lives--lives that were scorned by +the _Telegraph_ and by these people on the avenue. Could he make new +friends here where the cartoons he drew and the _Post_ that printed them +had been contemned, if not despised? His mind flew back to the dingy +office of the _Post_; to the boys there, the whole good-natured, +happy-go-lucky gang; and to Hardy--ah, Hardy!--who had been so good to +him, and given him his big chance, had taken such pains and interest, +helping him with ideas and suggestions, criticism and sympathy. To tell +Hardy that he was going to leave him, here on the eve of the +campaign--and Clayton, the mayor, he would have to tell him, too--oh, +the devil! Why must he think of these things now? + +After all, when he had reached home, and had run up-stairs with the news +and the azalea, Edith did not seem delighted. + +"But, dearie, business is business," he urged, "and we need the money!" + +"Yes, I know; doubtless you're right. Only please don't say 'business +is business;' it isn't like you, and--" + +"But think what it will mean--ten thousand a year!" + +"Oh, Neil, I've lived on ten thousand a year before, and I never had +half the fun that I had when we were getting along on twelve hundred." + +"Yes, but then we were always dreaming of the day when I'd make a lot; +we lived on that hope, didn't we?" + +Edith laughed. "You used to say we lived on love." + +"You're not serious." He turned to gaze moodily out of the window. And +then she left the azalea, and perched on the flat arm of his chair. + +"Dearest," she said, "I am serious. I know all this means to you. We're +human, and we don't like to 'chip at crusts like Hindus,' even for the +sake of youth and art. I never had illusions about love in a cottage and +all that. Only, dear, I have been happy, so very happy, with you, +because--well, because I was living in an atmosphere of honest purpose, +honest ambition, and honest desire to do some good thing in the world. I +had never known such an atmosphere before. At home, you know, father and +Uncle James and the boys--well, it was all money, money, money with +them, and they couldn't understand why I--" + +"Could marry a poor newspaper artist? That's just the point." + +She put her hand to his lips. + +"Now, dear! If they couldn't understand, so much the worse for them. If +they thought it meant sacrifice to me, they were mistaken. I have been +happy in this little flat; only--" she leaned back and inclined her head +with her eyes asquint--"only the paper in this room is atrocious; it's a +typical landlord's selection--McGaw picked it out. You see what it means +to be merely rich." + +She was so pretty thus that he kissed her, and then she went on: + +"And so, dear, if I didn't seem to be as impressed and delighted as you +hoped to find me, it is because I was thinking of Mr. Hardy and the +poor, dear common little _Post_, and then--of Mr. Clayton. Did you think +of him?" + +"Yes." + +"You'll have to--to cartoon him?" + +"I suppose so." + +The fact he had not allowed himself to face was close to both of them, +and the subject was dropped until, just as he was going down-town--this +time to break the news to Hardy--he went into the room he sarcastically +said he might begin to call his studio, now that he was getting ten +thousand a year, to look for a sketch he had promised Nolan for the +sporting page. And there on his drawing-board was an unfinished cartoon, +a drawing of the strong face of John Clayton. He had begun it a few days +before to use on the occasion of Clayton's renomination. It had been a +labor of love, and Kittrell suddenly realized how good it was. He had +put into it all of his belief in Clayton, all of his devotion to the +cause for which Clayton toiled and sacrificed, and in the simple lines +he experienced the artist's ineffable felicity; he had shown how good, +how noble, how true a man Clayton was. All at once he realized the +sensation the cartoon would produce, how it would delight and hearten +Clayton's followers, how it would please Hardy, and how it would touch +Clayton. It would be a tribute to the man and the friendship, but now a +tribute broken, unfinished. Kittrell gazed a moment longer, and in that +moment Edith came. + +"The dear, beautiful soul!" she exclaimed softly. "Neil, it is +wonderful. It is not a cartoon; it is a portrait. It shows what you +might do with a brush." + +Kittrell could not speak, and he turned the drawing-board to the wall. + +When he had gone, Edith sat and thought--of Neil, of the new position, +of Clayton. He had loved Neil, and been so proud of his work; he had +shown a frank, naive pleasure in the cartoons Neil had made of him. That +last time he was there, thought Edith, he had said that without Neil the +"good old cause," as he called it, using Whitman's phrase, could never +have triumphed in that town. And now, would he come again? Would he ever +stand in that room and, with his big, hearty laugh, clasp an arm around +Neil's shoulder, or speak of her in his good friendly way as "the little +woman?" Would he come now, in the terrible days of the approaching +campaign, for rest and sympathy--come as he used to come in other +campaigns, worn and weary from all the brutal opposition, the +vilification and abuse and mud-slinging? She closed her eyes. She could +not think that far. + +Kittrell found the task of telling Hardy just as difficult as he +expected it to be, but by some mercy it did not last long. Explanation +had not been necessary; he had only to make the first hesitating +approaches, and Hardy understood. Hardy was, in a way, hurt; Kittrell +saw that, and rushed to his own defense: + +"I hate to go, old man. I don't like it a little bit--but, you know, +business is business, and we need the money." + +He even tried to laugh as he advanced this last conclusive reason, and +Hardy, for all he showed in voice or phrase, may have agreed with him. + +"It's all right, Kit," he said. "I'm sorry; I wish we could pay you +more, but--well, good luck." + +That was all. Kittrell gathered up the few articles he had at the +office, gave Nolan his sketch, bade the boys good-by--bade them good-by +as if he were going on a long journey, never to see them more--and then +he went. + +After he had made the break it did not seem so bad as he had +anticipated. At first things went on smoothly enough. The campaign had +not opened, and he was free to exercise his talents outside the +political field. He drew cartoons dealing with banal subjects, touching +with the gentle satire of his humorous pencil foibles which all the +world agreed about, and let vital questions alone. And he and Edith +enjoyed themselves: indulged oftener in things they loved; went more +frequently to the theater; appeared at recitals; dined now and then +downtown. They began to realize certain luxuries they had not known for +a long time--some he himself had never known, some that Edith had not +known since she left her father's home to become his bride. In more +subtle ways, too, Kittrell felt the change: there was a sense of larger +leisure; the future beamed with a broader and brighter light; he formed +plans, among which the old dream of going ere long to Paris for serious +study took its dignified place. And then there was the sensation his +change had created in the newspaper world; that the cartoons signed +"Kit," which formerly appeared in the _Post_, should now adorn the broad +page of the _Telegraph_ was a thing to talk about at the press club; the +fact of his large salary got abroad in that little world as well, and, +after the way of that world, managed to exaggerate itself, as most facts +did. He began to be sensible of attentions from men of prominence--small +things, mere nods in the street, perhaps, or smiles in the theater +foyer, but enough to show that they recognized him. What those children +of the people, those working-men and women who used to be his unknown +and admiring friends in the old days on the _Post_, thought of +him--whether they missed him, whether they deplored his change as an +apostasy or applauded it as a promotion--he did not know. He did not +like to think about it. + +But March came, and the politicians began to bluster like the season. +Late one afternoon he was on his way to the office with a cartoon, the +first in which he had seriously to attack Clayton. Benson, the managing +editor of the _Telegraph_, had conceived it, and Kittrell had worked on +it that day in sickness of heart. Every line of this new presentation of +Clayton had cut him like some biting acid; but he had worked on, trying +to reassure himself with the argument that he was a mere agent, devoid +of personal responsibility. But it had been hard, and when Edith, after +her custom, had asked to see it, he had said: + +"Oh, you don't want to see it; it's no good." + +"Is it of--him?" she had asked. + +And when he nodded she had gone away without another word. Now, as he +hurried through the crowded streets, he was conscious that it was no +good indeed; and he was divided between the artist's regret and the +friend's joy in the fact. But it made him tremble. Was his hand to +forget its cunning? And then, suddenly, he heard a familiar voice, and +there beside him, with his hand on his shoulder, stood the mayor. + +"Why, Neil, my boy, how are you?" he said, and he took Kittrell's hand +as warmly as ever. For a moment Kittrell was relieved, and then his +heart sank; for he had a quick realization that it was the coward within +him that felt the relief, and the man the sickness. If Clayton had +reproached him, or cut him, it would have made it easier; but Clayton +did none of these things, and Kittrell was irresistibly drawn to the +subject himself. + +"You heard of my--new job?" he asked. + +"Yes," said Clayton, "I heard." + +"Well--" Kittrell began. + +"I'm sorry," Clayton said. + +"So was I," Kittrell hastened to say. "But I felt it--well, a duty, some +way--to Edith. You know--we--need the money." And he gave the cynical +laugh that went with the argument. + +"What does _she_ think? Does she feel that way about it?" + +Kittrell laughed, not cynically now, but uneasily and with +embarrassment, for Clayton's blue eyes were on him, those eyes that +could look into men and understand them so. + +"Of course you know," Kittrell went on nervously, "there is nothing +personal in this. We newspaper fellows simply do what we are told; we +obey orders like soldiers, you know. With the policy of the paper we +have nothing to do. Just like Dick Jennings, who was a red-hot +free-trader and used to write free-trade editorials for the _Times_--he +went over to the _Telegraph_, you remember, and writes all those +protection arguments." + +The mayor did not seem to be interested in Dick Jennings, or in the +ethics of his profession. + +"Of course, you know I'm for you, Mr. Clayton, just exactly as I've +always been. I'm going to vote for you." + +This did not seem to interest the mayor, either. + +"And, maybe, you know--I thought, perhaps," he snatched at this bright +new idea that had come to him just in the nick of time; "that I might +help you by my cartoons in the _Telegraph_; that is, I might keep them +from being as bad as they might--" + +"But that wouldn't be dealing fairly with your new employers, Neil," the +mayor said. + +Kittrell was making more and more a mess of this whole miserable +business, and he was basely glad when they reached the corner. + +"Well, good-by, my boy," said the mayor, as they parted. "Remember me to +the little woman." + +Kittrell watched him as he went on down the avenue, swinging along in +his free way, the broad felt hat he wore riding above all the other hats +in the throng that filled the sidewalk; and Kittrell sighed in deep +depression. + +When he turned in his cartoon, Benson scanned it a moment, cocked his +head this side and that, puffed his briar pipe, and finally said: + +"I'm afraid this is hardly up to you. This figure of Clayton, here--it +hasn't got the stuff in it. You want to show him as he _is_. We want the +people to know what a four-flushing, hypocritical, demagogical +blatherskite he is--with all his rot about the people and their damned +rights!" + +Benson was all unconscious of the inconsistency of having concern for a +people he so despised, and Kittrell did not observe it, either. He was +on the point of defending Clayton, but he restrained himself and +listened to Benson's suggestions. He remained at the office for two +hours, trying to change the cartoon to Benson's satisfaction, with a +growing hatred of the work and a disgust with himself that now and then +almost drove him to mad destruction. He felt like splashing the piece +with India ink, or ripping it with his knife. But he worked on, and +submitted it again. He had failed, of course; failed to express in it +that hatred of a class which Benson unconsciously disguised as a hatred +of Clayton, a hatred which Kittrell could not express because he did not +feel it; and he failed because art deserts her devotees when they are +false to truth. + +"Well, it'll have to do," said Benson, as he looked it over; "but let's +have a little more to the next one. Damn it! I wish I could draw. I'd +cartoon the crook!" + +In default of which ability, Benson set himself to write one of those +savage editorials in which he poured out on Clayton that venom of which +he seemed to have such an inexhaustible supply. + +But on one point Benson was right: Kittrell was not up to himself. As +the campaign opened, as the city was swept with the excitement of it, +with meetings at noon-day and at night, office-seekers flying about in +automobiles, walls covered with pictures of candidates, hand-bills +scattered in the streets to swirl in the wild March winds, and men +quarreling over whether Clayton or Ellsworth should be mayor, Kittrell +had to draw a political cartoon each day; and as he struggled with his +work, less and less the old joy came to cheer and spur him on. To read +the ridicule, the abuse, which the _Telegraph_ heaped on Clayton, the +distortion of facts concerning his candidature, the unfair reports of +his meetings, sickened him, and more than all, he was filled with +disgust as he tried to match in caricature these libels of the man he so +loved and honored. It was bad enough to have to flatter Clayton's +opponent, to picture him as a noble, disinterested character, ready to +sacrifice himself for the public weal. Into his pictures of this man, +attired in the long black coat of conventional respectability, with the +smug face of pharisaism, he could get nothing but cant and hypocrisy; +but in his caricatures of Clayton there was that which pained him +worse--disloyalty, untruth, and now and then, to the discerning few who +knew the tragedy of Kittrell's soul, there was pity. And thus his work +declined in value; lacking all sincerity, all faith in itself or its +purpose, it became false, uncertain, full of jarring notes, and, in +short, never once rang true. As for Edith, she never discussed his work +now; she spoke of the campaign little, and yet he knew she was deeply +concerned, and she grew hot with resentment at the methods of the +_Telegraph_. Her only consolation was derived from the _Post_, which of +course, supported Clayton; and the final drop of bitterness in +Kittrell's cup came one evening when he realized that she was following +with sympathetic interest the cartoons in that paper. + +For the _Post_ had a new cartoonist, Banks, a boy whom Hardy had picked +up somewhere and was training to the work Kittrell had laid down. To +Kittrell there was a cruel fascination in the progress Banks was making; +he watched it with a critical, professional eye, at first with +amusement, then with surprise, and now at last, in the discovery of +Edith's interest, with a keen jealousy of which he was ashamed. The boy +was crude and untrained; his work was not to be compared with +Kittrell's, master of line that he was, but Kittrell saw that it had the +thing his work now lacked, the vital, primal thing--sincerity, belief, +love. The spark was there, and Kittrell knew how Hardy would nurse that +spark and fan it, and keep it alive and burning until it should +eventually blaze up in a fine white flame. And Kittrell realized, as the +days went by, that Banks' work was telling, and that his own was +failing. He had, from the first missed the atmosphere of the _Post_, +missed the _camaraderie_ of the congenial spirits there, animated by a +common purpose, inspired and led by Hardy, whom they all loved--loved as +he himself once loved him, loved as he loved him still--and dared not +look him in the face when they met! + +He found the atmosphere of the _Telegraph_ alien and distasteful. There +all was different; the men had little joy in their work, little interest +in it, save perhaps the newspaper man's inborn love of a good story or a +beat. They were all cynical, without loyalty or faith; they secretly +made fun of the _Telegraph_, of its editors and owners; they had no +belief in its cause; and its pretensions to respectability, its parade +of virtue, excited only their derision. And slowly it began to dawn on +Kittrell that the great moral law worked always and everywhere, even on +newspapers, and that there was reflected inevitably and logically in the +work of the men on that staff the hatred, the lack of principle, the +bigotry and intolerance of its proprietors; and this same lack of +principle tainted and made meretricious his own work, and enervated the +editorials so that the _Telegraph_, no matter how carefully edited or +how dignified in typographical appearance, was, nevertheless, without +real influence in the community. + +Meanwhile Clayton was gaining ground. It was less than two weeks before +election. The campaign waxed more and more bitter, and as the forces +opposed to him foresaw defeat, they became ugly in spirit, and +desperate. The _Telegraph_ took on a tone more menacing and brutal, and +Kittrell knew that the crisis had come. The might of the powers massed +against Clayton appalled Kittrell; they thundered at him through many +brazen mouths, but Clayton held on his high way unperturbed. He was +speaking by day and night to thousands. Such meetings he had never had +before. Kittrell had visions of him before those immense audiences in +halls, in tents, in the raw open air of that rude March weather, making +his appeals to the heart of the great mass. A fine, splendid, romantic +figure he was, striking to the imagination, this champion of the +people's cause, and Kittrell longed for the lost chance. Oh, for one day +on the _Post_ now! + +One morning at breakfast, as Edith read the _Telegraph_, Kittrell saw +the tears well slowly in her brown eyes. + +"Oh," she said, "it is shameful!" She clenched her little fists. "Oh, if +I were only a man I'd--" She could not in her impotent feminine rage say +what she would do; she could only grind her teeth. Kittrell bent his +head over his plate; his coffee choked him. + +"Dearest," she said presently, in another tone, "tell me, how is he? Do +you--ever see him? Will he win?" + +"No, I never see him. But he'll win; I wouldn't worry." + +"He used to come here," she went on, "to rest a moment, to escape from +all this hateful confusion and strife. He is killing himself! And they +aren't worth it--those ignorant people--they aren't worth such +sacrifices." + +He got up from the table and turned away, and then realizing quickly, +she flew to his side and put her arms about his neck and said: + +"Forgive me, dearest, I didn't mean--only--" + +"Oh, Edith," he said, "this is killing me. I feel like a dog." + +"Don't dear; he is big enough, and good enough; he will understand." + +"Yes; that only makes it harder, only makes it hurt the more." + +That afternoon, in the car, he heard no talk but of the election; and +down-town, in a cigar store where he stopped for cigarettes, he heard +some men talking mysteriously, in the hollow voice of rumor, of some +sensation, some scandal. It alarmed him, and as he went into the office +he met Manning, the _Telegraph_'s political man. + +"Tell me, Manning," Kittrell said, "how does it look?" + +"Damn bad for us." + +"For us?" + +"Well, for our mob of burglars and second story workers here--the gang +we represent." He took a cigarette from the box Kittrell was opening. + +"And will he win?" + +"Will he win?" said Manning, exhaling the words on the thin level stream +of smoke that came from his lungs. "Will he win? In a walk, I tell you. +He's got 'em beat to a standstill right now. That's the dope." + +"But what about this story of--" + +"Aw, that's all a pipe-dream of Burns'. I'm running it in the morning, +but it's nothing; it's a shine. They're big fools to print it at all. +But it's their last card; they're desperate. They won't stop at +anything, or at any crime, except those requiring courage. Burns is in +there with Benson now; so is Salton, and old man Glenn, and the rest of +the bunco family. They're framing it up. When I saw old Glenn go in, +with his white side-whiskers, I knew the widow and the orphan were in +danger again, and that he was going bravely to the front for 'em. Say, +that young Banks is comin', isn't he? That's a peach, that cartoon of +his to-night." + +Kittrell went on down the hall to the art-room to wait until Benson +should be free. But it was not long until he was sent for, and as he +entered the managing editor's room he was instantly sensible of the +somber atmosphere of a grave and solemn council of war. Benson +introduced him to Glenn, the banker, to Salton, the party boss, and to +Burns, the president of the street-car company; and as Kittrell sat down +he looked about him, and could scarcely repress a smile as he recalled +Manning's estimate of Glenn. The old man sat there, as solemn and +unctuous as ever he had in his pew at church. Benson, red of face, was +more plainly perturbed, but Salton was as reserved, as immobile, as +inscrutable as ever, his narrow, pointed face, with its vulpine +expression, being perhaps paler than usual. Benson had on his desk +before him the cartoon Kittrell had finished that day. + +"Mr. Kittrell," Benson began, "we've been talking over the political +situation, and I was showing these gentlemen this cartoon. It isn't, I +fear, in your best style; it lacks the force, the argument, we'd like +just at this time. That isn't the _Telegraph_ Clayton, Mr. Kittrell." He +pointed with the amber stem of his pipe. "Not at all. Clayton is a +strong, smart, unscrupulous, dangerous man! We've reached a crisis in +this campaign; if we can't turn things in the next three days, we're +lost, that's all; we might as well face it. To-morrow we make an +important revelation concerning the character of Clayton, and we want to +follow it up the morning after by a cartoon that will be a stunner, a +clencher. We have discussed it here among ourselves, and this is our +idea." + +Benson drew a crude, bald outline, indicating the cartoon they wished +Kittrell to draw. The idea was so coarse, so brutal, so revolting, that +Kittrell stood aghast, and, as he stood, he was aware of Salton's little +eyes fixed on him. Benson waited; they all waited. + +"Well," said Benson, "what do you think of it?" + +Kittrell paused an instant, and then said: + +"I won't draw it; that's what I think of it." + +Benson flushed angrily and looked up at him. + +"We are paying you a very large salary, Mr. Kittrell, and your work, if +you will pardon me, has not been up to what we were led to expect." + +"You are quite right, Mr. Benson, but I can't draw that cartoon." + +"Well, great God!" yelled Burns, "what have we got here--a gold brick?" +He rose with a vivid sneer on his red face, plunged his hands in his +pockets, and took two or three nervous strides across the room. Kittrell +looked at him, and slowly his eyes blazed out of a face that had gone +white on the instant. + +"What did you say, sir?" he demanded. + +Burns thrust his red face, with its prognathic jaw, menacingly toward +Kittrell. + +"I said that in you we'd got a gold brick." + +"You?" said Kittrell. "What have you to do with it? I don't work for +you." + +"You don't? Well, I guess it's us that puts up--" + +"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" said Glenn, waving a white, pacificatory hand. + +"Yes, let me deal with this, if you please," said Benson, looking hard +at Burns. The street-car man sneered again, then, in ostentatious +contempt, looked out the window. And in the stillness Benson continued: + +"Mr. Kittrell, think a minute. Is your decision final?" + +"It is final, Mr. Benson," said Kittrell. "And as for you, Burns," he +glared angrily at the man, "I wouldn't draw that cartoon for all the +dirty money that all the bribing street-car companies in the world could +put into Mr. Glenn's bank here. Good evening, gentlemen." + +It was not until he stood again in his own home that Kittrell felt the +physical effects which the spiritual squalor of such a scene was certain +to produce in a nature like his. + +"Neil! What is the matter?" Edith fluttered toward him in alarm. + +He sank into a chair, and for a moment he looked as if he would faint, +but he looked wanly up at her and said: + +"Nothing; I'm all right; just a little weak. I've gone through a +sickening, horrible scene--" + +"Dearest!" + +"And I'm off the _Telegraph_--and a man once more!" + +He bent over, with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and +when Edith put her calm, caressing hand on his brow, she found that it +was moist from nervousness. Presently he was able to tell her the whole +story. + +"It was, after all, Edith, a fitting conclusion to my experience on the +_Telegraph_. I suppose, though, that to people who are used to ten +thousand a year such scenes are nothing at all." She saw in this trace +of his old humor that he was himself again, and she hugged his head to +her bosom. + +"Oh, dearest," she said, "I'm proud of you--and happy again." + +They were, indeed, both happy, happier than they had been in weeks. + +The next morning after breakfast, she saw by his manner, by the +humorous, almost comical expression about his eyes, that he had an idea. +In this mood of satisfaction--this mood that comes too seldom in the +artist's life--she knew it was wise to let him alone. And he lighted his +pipe and went to work. She heard him now and then, singing or whistling +or humming; she scented his pipe, then cigarettes; then, at last, after +two hours, he called in a loud, triumphant tone: + +"Oh, Edith!" + +She was at the door in an instant, and, waving his hand grandly at his +drawing-board, he turned to her with that expression which connotes the +greatest joy gods or mortals can know--the joy of beholding one's own +work and finding it good. He had, as she saw, returned to the cartoon of +Clayton he had laid aside when the tempter came; and now it was +finished. Its simple lines revealed Clayton's character, as the +sufficient answer to all the charges the _Telegraph_ might make against +him. Edith leaned against the door and looked long and critically. + +"It was fine before," she said presently; "it's better now. Before it +was a portrait of the man; this shows his soul." + +"Well, it's how he looks to me," said Neil, "after a month in which to +appreciate him." + +"But what," she said, stooping and peering at the edge of the drawing, +where, despite much knife-scraping, vague figures appeared, "what's +that?" + +"Oh, I'm ashamed to tell you," he said. "I'll have to paste over that +before it's electrotyped. You see, I had a notion of putting in the +gang, and I drew four little figures--Benson, Burns, Salton and Glenn; +they were plotting--oh, it was foolish and unworthy. I decided I didn't +want anything of hatred in it--just as he wouldn't want anything of +hatred in it; so I rubbed them out." + +"Well, I'm glad. It is beautiful; it makes up for everything; it's an +appreciation--worthy of the man." + +When Kittrell entered the office of the _Post_, the boys greeted him +with delight, and his presence made a sensation, for there had been +rumors of the break which the absence of a "Kit" cartoon in the +_Telegraph_ that morning had confirmed. But, if Hardy was surprised, his +surprise was swallowed up in his joy, and Kittrell was grateful to him +for the delicacy with which he touched the subject that consumed the +newspaper and political world with curiosity. + +"I'm glad, Kit," was all that he said. "You know that." + +Then he forgot everything in the cartoon, and he showed his instant +recognition of its significance by snatching out his watch, pushing a +button, and saying to Garland, who came to the door in his shirtsleeves: + +"Tell Nic to hold the first edition for a five-column first-page +cartoon. And send this up right away." + +They had a last look at it before it went, and after gazing a moment in +silence Hardy said: + +"It's the greatest thing you ever did, Kit, and it comes at the +psychological moment. It'll elect him." + +"Oh, he was elected anyhow." + +Hardy shook his head, and in the movement Kittrell saw how the strain of +the campaign had told on him. "No, he wasn't; the way they've been +hammering him is something fierce; and the _Telegraph_--well, your +cartoons and all, you know." + +"But my cartoons in the _Telegraph_ were rotten. Any work that's not +sincere, not intellectually honest----" + +Hardy interrupted him: + +"Yes; but, Kit, you're so good that your rotten is better than 'most +anybody's best." He smiled, and Kittrell blushed and looked away. + +Hardy was right. The "Kit" cartoon, back in the _Post_, created its +sensation, and after it appeared the political reporters said it had +started a landslide to Clayton; that the betting was 4 to 1 and no +takers, and that it was all over but the shouting. + +That night, as they were at dinner, the telephone rang, and in a minute +Neil knew by Edith's excited and delighted reiteration of "yes," "yes," +who had called up. And he then heard her say: + +"Indeed I will; I'll come every night and sit in the front seat." + +When Kittrell displaced Edith at the telephone, he heard the voice of +John Clayton, lower in register and somewhat husky after four weeks' +speaking, but more musical than ever in Kittrell's ears when it said: + +"I just told the little woman, Neil, that I didn't know how to say it, +so I wanted her to thank you for me. It was beautiful in you, and I wish +I were worthy of it; it was simply your own good soul expressing +itself." + +And it was the last delight to Kittrell to hear that voice and to know +that all was well. + +But one question remained unsettled. Kittrell had been on the +_Telegraph_ a month, and his contract differed from that ordinarily made +by the members of a newspaper staff in that he was paid by the year, +though in monthly instalments. Kittrell knew that he had broken his +contract on grounds which the sordid law would not see or recognize and +the average court think absurd, and that the _Telegraph_ might legally +refuse to pay him at all. He hoped the _Telegraph_ would do this! But it +did not; on the contrary, he received the next day a check for his +month's work. He held it up for Edith's inspection. + +"Of course, I'll have to send it back," he said. + +"Certainly." + +"Do you think me quixotic?" + +"Well, we're poor enough as it is--let's have some luxuries; let's be +quixotic until after election, at least." + +"Sure," said Neil; "just what I was thinking. I'm going to do a cartoon +every day for the _Post_ until election day, and I'm not going to take a +cent. I don't want to crowd Banks out, you know, and I want to do my +part for Clayton and the cause, and do it, just once, for the pure love +of the thing." + +Those last days of the campaign were, indeed, luxuries to Kittrell and +to Edith, days of work and fun and excitement. All day Kittrell worked +on his cartoons, and in the evening they went to Clayton's meetings. The +experience was a revelation to them both--the crowds, the waiting for +the singing of the automobile's siren, the wild cheers that greeted +Clayton, and then his speech, his appeals to the best there was in men. +He had never made such speeches, and long afterward Edith could hear +those cheers and see the faces of those working-men aglow with the hope, +the passion, the fervent religion of democracy. And those days came to +their glad climax that night when they met at the office of the _Post_ +to receive the returns, in an atmosphere quivering with excitement, with +messenger boys and reporters coming and going, and in the street outside +an immense crowd, swaying and rocking between the walls on either side, +with screams and shouts and mad huzzas, and the wild blowing of +horns--all the hideous, happy noise an American election-night crowd can +make. + +Late in the evening Clayton had made his way, somehow unnoticed, through +the crowd, and entered the office. He was happy in the great triumph he +would not accept as personal, claiming it always for the cause; but as +he dropped into the chair Hardy pushed toward him, they all saw how +weary he was. + +Just at that moment the roar in the street below swelled to a mighty +crescendo, and Hardy cried: + +"Look!" + +They ran to the window. The boys up-stairs who were manipulating the +stereopticon, had thrown on the screen an enormous picture of Clayton, +the portrait Kittrell had drawn for his cartoon. + +"Will you say now there isn't the personal note in it?" Edith asked. + +Clayton glanced out the window, across the dark, surging street, at the +picture. + +"Oh, it's not me they're cheering for," he said; "it's for Kit, here." + +"Well, perhaps some of it's for him," Edith admitted loyally. + +They were silent, seized irresistibly by the emotion that mastered the +mighty crowd in the dark streets below. Edith was strangely moved. +Presently she could speak: + +"Is there anything sweeter in life than to know that you have done a +good thing--and done it well?" + +"Yes," said Clayton, "just one: to have a few friends who understand." + +"You are right," said Edith. "It is so with art, and it must be so with +life; it makes an art of life." + +It was dark enough there by the window for her to slip her hand into +that of Neil, who had been musing silently on the crowd. + +"I can never say again," she said softly, "that those people are not +worth sacrifice. They are worth all; they are everything; they are the +hope of the world; and their longings and their needs, and the +possibility of bringing them to pass, are all that give significance to +life." + +"That's what America is for," said Clayton, "and it's worth while to be +allowed to help even in a little way to make, as old Walt says, 'a +nation of friends, of equals.'" + + + + +BRAND WHITLOCK + + +Brand Whitlock, lawyer, politician, author and ambassador, was born in +Urbana, Ohio, March 4, 1869. His father, Rev. Elias D. Whitlock, was a +minister of power and a man of strong convictions. Brand was educated +partly in the public schools, partly by private teaching. He never went +to college, but this did not mean that his education stopped; he kept on +studying, and to such good purpose that in 1916 Brown University gave +him the degree of Doctor of Laws. Like many other writers, he received +his early training in newspaper work. At eighteen he became a reporter +on a Toledo paper, and three years later was reporter and political +correspondent for the Chicago _Herald_. While in Chicago he was a member +of the old Whitechapel Club, a group of newspaper men which included F. +P. Dunne, the creator of _Mr. Dooley_; Alfred Henry Lewis, author of +_Wolfville_; and George Ade, whose _Fables in Slang_ were widely popular +a few years ago. + +He was strongly drawn to the law, and in 1893 went to Springfield, +Illinois, and entered a law office as a student. He was admitted to the +bar, and shortly after went to Toledo, Ohio, to practice. In eight years +he had established himself as a successful lawyer, and something more. +He was recognized as a man of high executive ability, and as being +absolutely "square." Such men are none too common, and Toledo decided +that it needed him in the mayor's chair. Without a political machine, +without a platform, and without a party, he was elected mayor in 1905, +reelected in 1907, again in 1909, again in 1911--and could probably have +had the office for life if he had been willing to accept it. In the +meantime he had written several successful novels; he wanted more time +for writing, and when in 1913 he was offered the post of United States +Minister to Belgium, he accepted, thinking that he would find in this +position an opportunity to observe life from a new angle, and leisure +for literary work. In August 1914 he was on his vacation, and had begun +work on a new novel. In his own words: + + + I had the manuscript of my novel before me.... It was somehow just + beginning to take form, beginning to show some signs of life; at + times some characters in it gave evidence of being human and alive; + they were beginning to act now and then spontaneously, beginning to + say and to do things after the manner of human beings; the long + vista before me, the months of laborious drudging toil and pain, + the long agony of effort necessary to write any book, even a poor + one, was beginning to appear less weary, less futile; there was the + first faint glow of the joy of creative effort. + + +and then suddenly the telephone bell rang, and announced that the +Archduke of Austria had been assassinated at Sarajevo. + +The rest of the story belongs to history. How he went back to Brussels; +how when the city seemed doomed, and all the government officials left, +he stayed on; how when the city was preparing to resist by force, he +went to Burgomaster Max and convinced him that it was useless, and so +saved the city from the fate of Louvain; how he took charge of the +relief work, how the King of Belgium thanked him for his services to the +country; how the city of Brussels in gratitude gave him a picture by Van +Dyck, a priceless thing, which he accepted--not for himself but for his +home city of Toledo; how after the war, he went back, not as Minister +but as Ambassador,--all these are among the proud memories of America's +part in the World War. + +Brand Whitlock is so much more than an author that it is with an effort +that we turn to consider his literary work. His first book, _The +Thirteenth District_, published in 1902, was a novel of American +politics; it contains a capital description of a convention, and shows +the strategy of political leaders as seen by a keen observer. In _Her +Infinite Variety_ he dealt with the suffrage movement as it was in +1904, with determined women seeking the ballot, and equally determined +women working just as hard to keep it away from them. _The Happy +Average_ was a story of an every-day American couple: they were not +rich, nor famous, nor divorced,--yet the author thinks their story is +typical of most American lives. _The Turn of the Balance_ is a novel +that grew out of his legal experiences: it deals with the underworld of +crime, and often in a depressing way. It reflects the author's belief +that the present organization of society, and our methods of +administering justice, are the cause of much of the misery in the world. +Following these novels came two volumes of short stories, _The Gold +Brick_ and _The Fall Guy_: both deal with various aspects of American +life of to-day. In 1914 he published an autobiography under the title +_Forty Years of It_. This is interesting as a picture of political life +of the period in Ohio. His latest book, _Memories of Belgium under the +German Occupation_, tells the story of four eventful years. In all that +trying time, each night, no matter how weary he was, he forced himself +to set down the events of the day. From these records he wrote a book +that by virtue of its first-hand information and its literary art ranks +among the most important of the books called forth by the Great War. + + + + +THE TRAVELING SALESMAN + +_The traveling salesman is a characteristic American type. We laugh at +his stories, or we criticise him for his "nerve," but we do not always +make allowance for the fact that his life is not an easy one, and that +his occupation develops "nerve" just as an athlete's work develops +muscle. The best presentation of the traveling salesman in fiction is +found in the stories of Edna Ferber. And the fact that her "salesman" is +a woman only adds to the interest of the stories. When ex-President +Roosevelt read Miss Ferber's book, he wrote her an enthusiastic letter +telling her how much he admired Emma McChesney. We meet her in the first +words of this story_. + + + + +HIS MOTHER'S SON + +BY + +EDNA FERBER + + +"Full?" repeated Emma McChesney (and if it weren't for the compositor +there'd be an exclamation point after that question mark). + +"Sorry, Mrs. McChesney," said the clerk, and he actually looked it, "but +there's absolutely nothing stirring. We're full up. The Benevolent +Brotherhood of Bisons is holding its regular annual state convention +here. We're putting up cots in the hall." + +Emma McChesney's keen blue eyes glanced up from their inspection of the +little bunch of mail which had just been handed her. "Well, pick out a +hall with a southern exposure and set up a cot or so for me," she said, +agreeably, "because I've come to stay. After selling Featherloom +Petticoats on the road for ten years I don't see myself trailing up and +down this town looking for a place to lay my head. I've learned this one +large, immovable truth, and that is, that a hotel clerk is a hotel +clerk. It makes no difference whether he is stuck back of a marble +pillar and hidden by a gold vase full of thirty-six-inch American Beauty +roses at the Knickerbocker, or setting the late fall fashions for men in +Galesburg, Illinois." + +By one small degree was the perfect poise of the peerless personage +behind the register jarred. But by only one. He was a hotel night clerk. + +"It won't do you any good to get sore, Mrs. McChesney," he began, +suavely. "Now a man would----" + +"But I'm not a man," interrupted Emma McChesney. "I'm only doing a +man's work and earning a man's salary and demanding to be treated with +as much consideration as you'd show a man." + +The personage busied himself mightily with a pen, and a blotter, and +sundry papers, as is the manner of personages when annoyed. "I'd like to +accommodate you; I'd like to do it." + +"Cheer up," said Emma McChesney, "you're going to. I don't mind a little +discomfort. Though I want to mention in passing that if there are any +lady Bisons present you needn't bank on doubling me up with them. I've +had one experience of that kind. It was in Albia, Iowa. I'd sleep in the +kitchen range before I'd go through another." + +Up went the erstwhile falling poise. "You're badly mistaken, madam. I'm +a member of this order myself, and a finer lot of fellows it has never +been my pleasure to know." + +"Yes, I know," drawled Emma McChesney. "Do you know, the thing that gets +me is the inconsistency of it. Along come a lot of boobs who never use a +hotel the year around except to loaf in the lobby, and wear out the +leather chairs, and use up the matches and toothpicks and get the +baseball returns, and immediately you turn away a traveling man who uses +a three-dollar-a-day room, with a sample room downstairs for his stuff, +who tips every porter and bell-boy in the place, asks for no favors, and +who, if you give him a halfway decent cup of coffee for breakfast, will +fall in love with the place and boom it all over the country. Half of +your Benevolent Bisons are here on the European plan, with a view to +patronizing the free-lunch counters or being asked to take dinner at the +home of some local Bison whose wife has been cooking up on pies, and +chicken salad and veal roast for the last week." + +Emma McChesney leaned over the desk a little, and lowered her voice to +the tone of confidence. "Now, I'm not in the habit of making a nuisance +of myself like this. I don't get so chatty as a rule, and I know that I +could jump over to Monmouth and get first-class accommodations there. +But just this once I've a good reason for wanting to make you and myself +a little miserable. Y'see, my son is traveling with me this trip." + +"Son!" echoed the clerk, staring. + +"Thanks. That's what they all do. After a while I'll begin to believe +that there must be something hauntingly beautiful and girlish about me +or every one wouldn't petrify when I announce that I've a six-foot son +attached to my apron-strings. He looks twenty-one, but he's seventeen. +He thinks the world's rotten because he can't grow one of those fuzzy +little mustaches that the men are cultivating to match their hats. He's +down at the depot now, straightening out our baggage. Now I want to say +this before he gets here. He's been out with me just four days. Those +four days have been a revelation, an eye-opener, and a series of rude +jolts. He used to think that his mother's job consisted of traveling in +Pullmans, eating delicate viands turned out by the hotel chefs, and +strewing Featherloom Petticoats along the path. I gave him plenty of +money, and he got into the habit of looking lightly upon anything more +trifling than a five-dollar bill. He's changing his mind by great leaps. +I'm prepared to spend the night in the coal cellar if you'll just fix +him up--not too comfortably. It'll be a great lesson for him. There he +is now. Just coming in. Fuzzy coat and hat and English stick. Hist! As +they say on the stage." + +The boy crossed the crowded lobby. There was a little worried, annoyed +frown between his eyes. He laid a protecting hand on his mother's arm. +Emma McChesney was conscious of a little thrill of pride as she realized +that he did not have to look up to meet her gaze. + +"Look here, Mother, they tell me there's some sort of a convention here, +and the town's packed. That's what all those banners and things were +for. I hope they've got something decent for us here. I came up with a +man who said he didn't think there was a hole left to sleep in." + +"You don't say!" exclaimed Emma McChesney, and turned to the clerk. +"This is my son, Jock McChesney--Mr. Sims. Is this true?" + +"Glad to know you, sir," said Mr. Sims. "Why, yes, I'm afraid we are +pretty well filled up, but seeing it's you maybe we can do something for +you." + +He ruminated, tapping his teeth with a penholder, and eying the pair +before him with a maddening blankness of gaze. Finally: + +"I'll do my best, but you can't expect much. I guess I can squeeze +another cot into eight-seven for the young man. There's--let's see +now--who's in eighty-seven? Well, there's two Bisons in the double bed, +and one in the single, and Fat Ed Meyers in the cot and----" + +Emma McChesney stiffened into acute attention. "Meyers?" she +interrupted. "Do you mean Ed Meyers of the Strauss Sans-silk Skirt +Company?" + +"That's so. You two are in the same line, aren't you? He's a great +little piano player, Ed is. Ever hear him play?" + +"When did he get in?" + +"Oh, he just came in fifteen minutes ago on the Ashland division. He's +in at supper." + +"Oh," said Emma McChesney. The two letters breathed relief. + +But relief had no place in the voice, or on the countenance of Jock +McChesney. He bristled with belligerence. "This cattle-car style of +sleeping don't make a hit. I haven't had a decent night's rest for three +nights. I never could sleep on a sleeper. Can't you fix us up better +than that?" + +"Best I can do." + +"But where's mother going? I see you advertise 'three large and +commodious steam-heated sample rooms in connection.' I suppose mother's +due to sleep on one of the tables there." + +"Jock," Emma McChesney reproved him, "Mr. Sims is doing us a great +favor. There isn't another hotel in town that would----" + +"You're right, there isn't," agreed Mr. Sims. "I guess the young man is +new to this traveling game. As I said, I'd like to accommodate you, +but-- Let's see now. Tell you what I'll do. If I can get the housekeeper +to go over and sleep in the maids' quarters just for to-night, you can +use her room. There you are! Of course, it's over the kitchen, and there +may be some little noise early in the morning----" + +Emma McChesney raised a protesting hand. "Don't mention it. Just lead me +thither. I'm so tired I could sleep in an excursion special that was +switching at Pittsburgh. Jock, me child, we're in luck. That's twice in +the same place. The first time was when we were inspired to eat our +supper on the diner instead of waiting until we reached here to take the +leftovers from the Bisons' grazing. I hope that housekeeper hasn't a +picture of her departed husband dangling life-size on the wall at the +foot of the bed. But they always have. Good-night, son. Don't let the +Bisons bite you. I'll be up at seven." + +But it was just 6.30 A.M. when Emma McChesney turned the little bend in +the stairway that led to the office. The scrub-woman was still in +possession. The cigar-counter girl had not yet made her appearance. +There was about the place a general air of the night before. All but the +night clerk. He was as spruce and trim, and alert and smooth-shaven as +only a night clerk can be after a night's vigil. + +"'Morning!" Emma McChesney called to him. She wore blue serge, and a +smart fall hat. The late autumn morning was not crisper and sunnier than +she. + +"Good-morning, Mrs. McChesney," returned Mr. Sims, sonorously. "Have a +good night's sleep? I hope the kitchen noises didn't wake you." + +Emma McChesney paused with her hand on the door. "Kitchen? Oh, no. I +could sleep through a vaudeville china-juggling act. But--what an +extraordinarily unpleasant-looking man that housekeeper's husband must +have been." + +That November morning boasted all those qualities which November-morning +writers are so prone to bestow upon the month. But the words wine, and +sparkle, and sting, and glow, and snap do not seem to cover it. Emma +McChesney stood on the bottom step, looking up and down Main Street and +breathing in great draughts of that unadjectivable air. Her complexion +stood the test of the merciless, astringent morning and came up +triumphantly and healthily firm and pink and smooth. The town was still +asleep. She started to walk briskly down the bare and ugly Main Street +of the little town. In her big, generous heart, and her keen, alert +mind, there were many sensations and myriad thoughts, but varied and +diverse as they were they all led back to the boy up there in the +stuffy, over-crowded hotel room--the boy who was learning his lesson. + +Half an hour later she reentered the hotel, her cheeks glowing. Jock was +not yet down. So she ordered and ate her wise and cautious breakfast of +fruit and cereal and toast and coffee, skimming over her morning paper +as she ate. At 7:30 she was back in the lobby, newspaper in hand. The +Bisons were already astir. She seated herself in a deep chair in a quiet +corner, her eyes glancing up over the top of her paper toward the +stairway. At eight o'clock Jock McChesney came down. + +There was nothing of jauntiness about him. His eyelids were red. His +face had the doughy look of one whose sleep has been brief and feverish. +As he came toward his mother you noticed a stain on his coat, and a +sunburst of wrinkles across one leg of his modish brown trousers. + +"Good-morning, son!" said Emma McChesney. "Was it as bad as that?" + +Jock McChesney's long fingers curled into a fist. + +"Say," he began, his tone venomous, "do you know what +those--those--those----" + +"Say it!" commanded Emma McChesney. "I'm only your mother. If you keep +that in your system your breakfast will curdle in your stomach." + +Jock McChesney said it. I know no phrase better fitted to describe his +tone than that old favorite of the erotic novelists. It was vibrant with +passion. It breathed bitterness. It sizzled with savagery. It--Oh, +alliteration is useless. + +"Well," said Emma McChesney, encouragingly, "go on." + +"Well!" gulped Jock McChesney, and glared; "those two double-bedded, +bloomin', blasted Bisons came in at twelve, and the single one about +fifteen minutes later. They didn't surprise me. There was a herd of +about ninety-three of 'em in the hall, all saying good-night to each +other, and planning where they'd meet in the morning, and the time, and +place and probable weather conditions. For that matter, there were +droves of 'em pounding up and down the halls all night. I never saw such +restless cattle. If you'll tell me what makes more noise in the middle +of the night than the metal disk of a hotel key banging and clanging up +against a door, I'd like to know what it is. My three Bisons were all +dolled up with fool ribbons and badges and striped paper canes. When +they switched on the light I gave a crack imitation of a tired working +man trying to get a little sleep. I breathed regularly and heavily, with +an occasional moaning snore. But if those two hippopotamus Bisons had +been alone on their native plains they couldn't have cared less. They +bellowed, and pawed the earth, and threw their shoes around, and yawned, +and stretched and discussed their plans for the next day, and reviewed +all their doings of that day. Then one of them said something about +turning in, and I was so happy I forgot to snore. Just then another key +clanged at the door, in walked a fat man in a brown suit and a brown +derby, and stuff was off." + +"That," said Emma McChesney, "would be Ed Meyers, of the Strauss +Sans-silk Skirt Company." + +"None other than our hero." Jock's tone had an added acidity. "It took +those four about two minutes to get acquainted. In three minutes they +had told their real names, and it turned out that Meyers belonged to an +organization that was a second cousin of the Bisons. In five minutes +they had got together a deck and a pile of chips and were shirt-sleeving +it around a game of pinochle. I would doze off to the slap of cards, and +the click of chips, and wake up when the bell-boy came in with another +round, which he did every six minutes. When I got up this morning I +found that Fat Ed Meyers had been sitting on the chair over which I +trustingly had draped my trousers. This sunburst of wrinkles is where he +mostly sat. This spot on my coat is where a Bison drank his beer." + +Emma McChesney folded her paper and rose, smiling. "It is sort of +trying, I suppose, if you're not used to it." + +"Used to it!" shouted the outraged Jock. "Used to it! Do you mean to +tell me there's nothing unusual about----" + +"Not a thing. Oh, of course you don't strike a bunch of Bisons every +day. But it happens a good many times. The world is full of Ancient +Orders and they're everlastingly getting together and drawing up +resolutions and electing officers. Don't you think you'd better go in to +breakfast before the Bisons begin to forage? I've had mine." + +The gloom which had overspread Jock McChesney's face lifted a little. +The hungry boy in him was uppermost. "That's so. I'm going to have some +wheat cakes, and steak, and eggs, and coffee, and fruit, and toast, and +rolls." + +"Why slight the fish?" inquired his mother. Then, as he turned toward +the dining-room, "I've two letters to get out. Then I'm going down the +street to see a customer. I'll be up at the Sulzberg-Stein department +store at nine sharp. There's no use trying to see old Sulzberg before +ten, but I'll be there, anyway, and so will Ed Meyers, or I'm no skirt +salesman. I want you to meet me there. It will do you good to watch how +the overripe orders just drop, ker-plunk, into my lap." + +Maybe you know Sulzberg & Stein's big store? No? That's because you've +always lived in the city. Old Sulzberg sends his buyers to the New York +market twice a year, and they need two floor managers on the main floor +now. The money those people spend for red and green decorations at +Christmas time, apple-blossoms and pink crepe paper shades in the +spring, must be something awful. Young Stein goes to Chicago to have his +clothes made, and old Sulzberg likes to keep the traveling men waiting +in the little ante-room outside his private office. + +Jock McChesney finished his huge breakfast, strolled over to Sulzberg & +Stein's, and inquired his way to the office only to find that his mother +was not yet there. There were three men in the little waiting-room. One +of them was Fat Ed Meyers. His huge bulk overflowed the spindle-legged +chair on which he sat. His brown derby was in his hands. His eyes were +on the closed door at the other side of the room. So were the eyes of +the other two travelers. Jock took a vacant seat next to Fat Ed Meyers +so that he might, in his mind's eye, pick out a particularly choice spot +upon which his hard young fist might land--if only he had the chance. +Breaking up a man's sleep like that, the great big overgrown mutt! + +"What's your line?" said Ed Meyers, suddenly turning toward Jock. + +Prompted by some imp--"Skirts," answered Jock. "Ladies' petticoats." +("As if men ever wore 'em!" he giggled inwardly.) + +Ed Meyers shifted around in his chair so that he might better stare at +this new foe in the field. His little red mouth was open ludicrously. + +"Who're you out for?" he demanded next. + +There was a look of Emma McChesney on Jock's face. "Why--er--the Union +Underskirt and Hosiery Company of Chicago. New concern." + +"Must be," ruminated Ed Meyers. "I never heard of 'em, and I know 'em +all. You're starting in young, ain't you, kid! Well, it'll never hurt +you. You'll learn something new every day. Now me, I----" + +In breezed Emma McChesney. Her quick glance rested immediately upon +Meyers and the boy. And in that moment some instinct prompted Jock +McChesney to shake his head, ever so slightly, and assume a blankness of +expression. And Emma McChesney, with that shrewdness which had made her +one of the best salesmen on the road, saw, and miraculously understood. + +"How do, Mrs. McChesney," grinned Fat Ed Meyers. "You see I beat you to +it." + +"So I see," smiled Emma, cheerfully. "I was delayed. Just sold a nice +little bill to Watkins down the street." She seated herself across the +way, and kept her eyes on that closed door. + +"Say, kid," Meyers began, in the husky whisper of the fat man, "I'm +going to put you wise to something, seeing you're new to this game. See +that lady over there?" He nodded discreetly in Emma McChesney's +direction. + +"Pretty, isn't she?" said Jock, appreciatively. + +"Know who she is?" + +"Well--I--she does look familiar, but----" + +"Oh, come now, quit your bluffing. If you'd ever met that dame you'd +remember it. Her name's McChesney--Emma McChesney, and she sells T. A. +Buck's Featherloom Petticoats. I'll give her her dues; she's the best +little salesman on the road. I'll bet that girl could sell a ruffled, +accordion-plaited underskirt to a fat woman who was trying to reduce. +She's got the darndest way with her. And at that she's straight, too." + +If Ed Meyers had not been gazing so intently into his hat, trying at +the same time to look cherubically benign he might have seen a quick and +painful scarlet sweep the face of the boy, coupled with a certain tense +look of the muscles around the jaw. + +"Well, now, look here," he went on, still in a whisper. "We're both +skirt men, you and me. Everything's fair in this game. Maybe you don't +know it, but when there's a bunch of the boys waiting around to see the +head of the store like this, and there happens to be a lady traveler in +the crowd, why, it's considered kind of a professional courtesy to let +the lady have the first look-in. See? It ain't so often that three +people in the same line get together like this. She knows it, and she's +sitting on the edge of her chair, waiting to bolt when that door opens, +even if she does act like she was hanging on the words of that lady +clerk there. The minute it does open a crack she'll jump up and give me +a fleeting, grateful smile, and sail in and cop a fat order away from +the old man and his skirt buyer. I'm wise. Say, he may be an oyster, but +he knows a pretty woman when he sees one. By the time she's through with +him he'll have enough petticoats on hand to last him from now until +Turkey goes suffrage. Get me?" + +"I get you," answered Jock. + +"I say, this is business, and good manners be hanged. When a woman +breaks into a man's game like this, let her take her chances like a man. +Ain't that straight?" + +"You've said something," agreed Jock. + +"Now, look here, kid. When that door opens I get up. See? And shoot +straight for the old man's office. See? Like a duck. See? Say, I may be +fat, kid, but I'm what they call light on my feet, and when I see an +order getting away from me I can be so fleet that I have Diana looking +like old Weston doing a stretch of muddy country road in a +coast-to-coast hike. See? Now you help me out on this and I'll see that +you don't suffer for it. I'll stick in a good word for you, believe me. +You take the word of an old stager like me and you won't go far--" + +The door opened. Simultaneously three figures sprang into action. Jock +had the seat nearest the door. With marvelous clumsiness he managed to +place himself in Ed Meyers' path, then reddened, began an apology, +stepped on both of Ed's feet, jabbed his elbow into his stomach, and +dropped his hat. A second later the door of old Sulzberg's private +office closed upon Emma McChesney's smart, erect, confident figure. + +Now, Ed Meyers' hands were peculiar hands for a fat man. They were +tapering, slender, delicate, blue-veined, temperamental hands. At this +moment, despite his purpling face, and his staring eyes, they were the +most noticeable thing about him. His fingers clawed the empty air, +quivering, vibrant, as though poised to clutch at Jock's throat. + +Then words came. They spluttered from his lips. They popped like corn +kernels in the heat of his wrath; they tripped over each other; they +exploded. + +"You darned kid, you!" he began, with fascinating fluency. "You +thousand-legged, double-jointed, ox-footed truck horse! Come on out of +here and I'll lick the shine off your shoes, you blue-eyed babe, you! +What did you get up for, huh? What did you think this was going to be--a +flag drill?" + +With a whoop of pure joy Jock McChesney turned and fled. + +They dined together at one o'clock, Emma McChesney and her son Jock. +Suddenly Jock stopped eating. His eyes were on the door. "There's that +fathead now," he said, excitedly. "The nerve of him! He's coming over +here." + +Ed Meyers was waddling toward them with the quick light step of the fat +man. His pink, full-jowled face was glowing. His eyes were bright as a +boy's. He stopped at their table and paused for one dramatic moment. + +"So, me beauty, you two were in cahoots, huh? That's the second low-down +deal you've handed me. I haven't forgotten that trick you turned with +Nussbaum at DeKalb. Never mind, little girl. I'll get back at you yet." + +He nodded a contemptuous head in Jock's direction. "Carrying a packer?" + +Emma McChesney wiped her fingers daintily on her napkin, crushed it on +the table, and leaned back in her chair. "Men," she observed, +wonderingly, "are the cussedest creatures. This chap occupied the same +room with you last night and you don't even know his name. Funny! If two +strange women had found themselves occupying the same room for a night +they wouldn't have got to the kimono and back hair stage before they +would not only have known each other's names, but they'd have tried on +each other's hats, swapped corset cover patterns, found mutual friends +living in Dayton, Ohio, taught each other a new Irish crochet stitch, +showed their family photographs, told how their married sister's little +girl nearly died with swollen glands, and divided off the mirror into +two sections to paste their newly-washed handkerchiefs on. Don't tell +_me_ men have a genius for friendship." + +"Well, who is he?" insisted Ed Meyers. "He told me everything but his +name this morning. I wish I had throttled him with a bunch of Bisons' +badges last night." + +"His name," smiled Emma McChesney, "is Jock McChesney. He's my one and +only son, and he's put through his first little business deal this +morning just to show his mother that he can be a help to his folks if he +wants to. Now, Ed Meyers, if you're going to have apoplexy, don't you go +and have it around this table. My boy is only on his second piece of +pie, and I won't have his appetite spoiled." + + + + +EDNA FERBER + + +A professor of literature once began a lecture on Lowell by saying: "It +makes a great deal of difference to an author whether he is born in +Cambridge or Kalamazoo." Miss Ferber was born in Kalamazoo, but it +hasn't made much difference to her. The date was August 15, 1887. She +attended high school at Appleton, Wisconsin, and at seventeen secured a +position as reporter on the Appleton _Daily Crescent_. That she was +successful in newspaper work is shown by the fact that she soon had a +similar position on the _Milwaukee Journal_, and went from there to the +staff of the _Chicago Tribune_, one of the leading newspapers in the +United States. + +But journalism, engrossing as it is, did not take all of her time. She +began a novel, working on it in spare moments, but when it was finished +she was so dissatisfied with it that she threw the manuscript into the +waste basket. Here her mother found it, and sent it to a publisher, who +accepted it at once. The book was _Dawn O'Hara_. It was dedicated "To my +dear mother who frequently interrupts, and to my sister Fannie who says +Sh-sh-sh outside my door." With this book Miss Ferber, at twenty-four, +found herself the author of one of the successful novels of the year. + +Her next work was in the field of the short story, and here too she +quickly gained recognition. The field that she has made particularly her +own is the delineation of the American business woman, a type familiar +in our daily life, but never adequately presented in fiction until Emma +McChesney appeared. The fidelity with which these stories describe the +life of a traveling salesman show that Miss Ferber knew her subject +through and through before she began to write. Her knowledge of other +things is shown in an amusing letter which she wrote to the editor of +the _Bookman_ in 1912. He had criticized her for writing a story about +baseball, saying that no woman really knew baseball. This was her reply, +in part: + + + You, buried up there in your office, or your apartment, with your + books, books, books, and your pipe, and your everlasting + manuscripts, and makers of manuscripts, don't you know that your + woman secretary knows more about baseball than you do? Don't you + know that every American girl knows baseball, and that most of us + read the sporting page, not as a pose, but because we're interested + in things that happen on the field, and track, and links, and + gridiron? Bless your heart, that baseball story was the worst story + in the book, but it was written after a solid summer of watching + our bush league team play ball in the little Wisconsin town that I + used to call home. + + Humanity? Which of us really knows it? But take a fairly + intelligent girl of seventeen, put her on a country daily + newspaper, and then keep her on one paper or another, country and + city, for six years, and--well, she just naturally can't help + learning some things about some folks, now can she?... + + You say that two or three more such books may entitle me to serious + consideration. If I can get the editors to take more stories, why I + suppose there'll be more books. But please don't perform any more + serious consideration stuff over 'em. Because me'n Georgie Cohan, + we jest aims to amuse. + + +Her first book of short stories was called _Buttered Side Down_ (her +titles are always unusual). This was followed by _Roast Beef, Medium_, +in which Mrs. McChesney appears as the successful distributor of +Featherloom skirts. _Personality Plus_ tells of the adventures of her +son Jock as an advertising man. _Cheerful--by Request_ introduces Mrs. +McChesney and some other people. By this time her favorite character had +become so well known that the stage called for her, so Miss Ferber +collaborated with George V. Hobart in a play called _Our Mrs. +McChesney_, which was produced with Ethel Barrymore in the title role. +Her latest book, _Fanny Herself_, is a novel, and in its pages Mrs. +McChesney appears again. + +Her stories show the effect of her newspaper training. The style is +crisp; the descriptions show close observation. Humor lights up every +page, and underlying all her stories is a belief in people, a faith that +life is worth while, a courage in the face of obstacles, that we like to +think is characteristically American. In the structure and the style of +her stories, Miss Ferber shows the influence of O. Henry, or as a +newspaper wit put it, + + + O. Henry's fame, unless mistaken I'm + Goes ednaferberating down through time. + + + + +AFTER THE BIG STORE CLOSES + +_We all go to the Big Store to buy its bargains, and sometimes we +wonder idly what the clerks are like when they are not behind the +counter. This story deals with the lives of two people who punched the +time-clock. When the store closes, it is like the striking of the clock +in the fairy tales: the clerks are transformed into human beings, and +become so much like ourselves that it is hard to tell the difference._ + + + + +BITTER-SWEET + +BY + +FANNIE HURST + + +Much of the tragical lore of the infant mortality, the malnutrition, and +the five-in-a-room morality of the city's poor is written in statistics, +and the statistical path to the heart is more figurative than literal. + +It is difficult to write stylistically a per-annum report of 1,327 +curvatures of the spine, whereas the poor specific little vertebra of +Mamie O'Grady, daughter to Lou, your laundress, whose alcoholic husband +once invaded your very own basement and attempted to strangle her in the +coal-bin, can instantly create an apron bazaar in the church +vestry-rooms. + +That is why it is possible to drink your morning coffee without nausea +for it, over the head-lines of forty thousand casualties at Ypres, but +to push back abruptly at a three-line notice of little Tony's, your +corner bootblack's, fatal dive before a street-car. + +Gertie Slayback was statistically down as a woman wage-earner; a typhoid +case among the thousands of the Borough of Manhattan for 1901; and her +twice-a-day share in the Subway fares collected in the present year of +our Lord. + +She was a very atomic one of the city's four millions. But after all, +what are the kings and peasants, poets and draymen, but great, greater, +or greatest, less, lesser, or least atoms of us? If not of the least, +Gertie Slayback was of the very lesser. When she unlocked the front door +to her rooming-house of evenings, there was no one to expect her, except +on Tuesdays, which evening it so happened her week was up. And when she +left of mornings with her breakfast crumblessly cleared up and the box +of biscuit and condensed-milk can tucked unsuspectedly behind her +camisole in the top drawer there was no one to regret her. + +There are some of us who call this freedom. Again there are those for +whom one spark of home fire burning would light the world. + +Gertie Slayback was one of these. Half a life-time of opening her door +upon this or that desert-aisle of hall bedroom had not taught her heart +how not to sink or the feel of daily rising in one such room to seem +less like a damp bathing-suit, donned at dawn. + +The only picture--or call it atavism if you will--which adorned Miss +Slayback's dun-colored walls was a passe-partout snowscape, night +closing in, and pink cottage windows peering out from under eaves. She +could visualize that interior as if she had only to turn the frame for +the smell of wood fire and the snap of pine logs and for the scene of +two high-back chairs and the wooden crib between. + +What a fragile, gracile thing is the mind that can leap thus from nine +bargain basement hours of hairpins and darning-balls to the downy +business of lining a crib in Never-Never Land and warming No Man's +slippers before the fire of imagination. + +There was that picture so acidly etched into Miss Slayback's brain that +she had only to close her eyes in the slit-like sanctity of her room and +in the brief moment of courting sleep feel the pink penumbra of her +vision begin to glow. + +Of late years, or, more specifically, for two years and eight months, +another picture had invaded, even superseded the old. A stamp-photograph +likeness of Mr. James P. Batch in the corner of Miss Slayback's mirror, +and thereafter No Man's slippers became number eight-and-a-half C, and +the hearth a gilded radiator in a dining-living-room somewhere between +the Fourteenth Street Subway and the land of the Bronx. + +How Miss Slayback, by habit not gregarious, met Mr. Batch is of no +consequence, except to those snug ones of us to whom an introduction is +the only means to such an end. + +At a six o'clock that invaded even Union Square with heliotrope dusk, +Mr. James Batch mistook, who shall say otherwise, Miss Gertie Slayback, +as she stepped down into the wintry shade of a Subway kiosk, for Miss +Whodoesitmatter. At seven o'clock, over a dish of lamb stew _a la_ White +Kitchen, he confessed, and if Miss Slayback affected too great surprise +and too little indignation, try to conceive six nine-hour week-in-and +week-out days of hairpins and darning-balls, and then, at a heliotrope +dusk, James P. Batch, in invitational mood, stepping in between it and +the papered walls of a dun-colored evening. To further enlist your +tolerance, Gertie Slayback's eyes were as blue as the noon of June, and +James P. Batch, in a belted-in coat and five kid finger-points +protruding ever so slightly and rightly from a breast pocket, was hewn +and honed in the image of youth. His the smile of one for whom life's +cup holds a heady wine, a wrinkle or two at the eye only serving to +enhance that smile; a one-inch feather stuck upright in his derby +hatband. + +It was a forelock once stamped a Corsican with the look of emperor. It +was this hat feather, a cock's feather at that and worn without sense of +humor, to which Miss Slayback was fond of attributing the consequences +of that heliotrope dusk. + +"It was the feather in your cap did it, Jimmie. I can see you yet, +stepping up with that innocent grin of yours. You think I didn't know +you were flirting? Cousin from Long Island City! 'Say,' I says to +myself, I says, 'I look as much like his cousin from Long Island City, +if he's got one, as my cousin from Hoboken (and I haven't got any) would +look like my sister if I had one.' It was that sassy little feather in +your hat!" + +They would laugh over this ever-green reminiscence on Sunday park +benches and at intermission at moving pictures when they remained +through it to see the show twice. Be the landlady's front parlor ever so +permanently rented out, the motion-picture theater has brought to +thousands of young city starvelings, if not the quietude of the home, +then at least the warmth and a juxtaposition and a deep darkness that +can lave the sub-basement throb of temples and is filled with music with +a hum in it. + +For two years and eight months of Saturday nights, each one of them a +semaphore dropping out across the gray road of the week, Gertie Slayback +and Jimmie Batch dined for one hour and sixty cents at the White +Kitchen. Then arm and arm up the million-candle-power flare of Broadway, +content, these two who had never seen a lake reflect a moon, or a slim +fir pointing to a star, that life could be so manifold. And always, too, +on Saturday, the tenth from the last row of the De Luxe Cinematograph, +Broadway's Best, Orchestra Chairs, fifty cents; Last Ten Rows, +thirty-five. The give of velvet-upholstered chairs, perfumed darkness, +and any old love story moving across it to the ecstatic ache of Gertie +Slayback's high young heart. + +On a Saturday evening that was already pointed with stars at the +six-o'clock closing of Hoffheimer's Fourteenth Street Emporium, Miss +Slayback, whose blondness under fatigue could become ashy, emerged from +the Bargain Basement almost the first of its frantic exodus, taking the +place of her weekly appointment in the entrance of the Popular Drug +Store adjoining, her gaze, something even frantic in it, sifting the +passing crowd. + +At six o'clock Fourteenth Street pours up from its basements, down from +its lofts, and out from its five-and-ten-cent stores, shows, and +arcades, in a great homeward torrent--a sweeping torrent that flows full +flush to the Subway, the Elevated, and the surface car, and then spreads +thinly into the least pretentious of the city's homes--the five flights +up, the two rooms rear, and the third floor back. + +Standing there, this eager tide of the Fourteenth Street Emporium, thus +released by the six-o'clock flood-gates, flowed past Miss Slayback. +White-nosed, low-chested girls in short-vamp shoes and no-carat gold +vanity-cases. Older men resigned that ambition could be flayed by a +yard-stick; young men still impatient of their clerkship. + +It was into the trickle of these last that Miss Slayback bored her +glance, the darting, eager glance of hot eyeballs and inner trembling. +She was not so pathetically young as she was pathetically blond, a +treacherous, ready-to-fade kind of blondness that one day, now that she +had found that very morning her first gray hair, would leave her ashy. + +Suddenly, with a small catch of breath that was audible in her throat, +Miss Slayback stepped out of that doorway, squirming her way across the +tight congestion of the sidewalk to its curb, then in and out, brushing +this elbow and that shoulder, worming her way in an absolutely supreme +anxiety to keep in view a brown derby hat bobbing right briskly along +with the crowd, a greenish-black bit of feather upright in its band. + +At Broadway, Fourteenth Street cuts quite a caper, deploying out into +Union Square, an island of park, beginning to be succulent at the first +false feint of spring, rising as it were from a sea of asphalt. Across +this park Miss Slayback worked her rather frenzied way, breaking into a +run when the derby threatened to sink into the confusion of a hundred +others, and finally learning to keep its course by the faint but +distinguishing fact of a slight dent in the crown. At Broadway, some +blocks before that highway bursts into its famous flare, Mr. Batch, than +whom it was no other, turned off suddenly at right angles down into a +dim pocket of side-street and into the illuminated entrance of Ceiner's +Cafe Hungarian. Meals at all hours. Lunch, thirty cents. Dinner, fifty +cents. Our Goulash is Famous. + +New York, which expresses itself in more languages to the square block +than any other area in the world, Babylon included, loves thus to dine +linguistically, so to speak. To the Crescent Turkish Restaurant for its +Business Men's Lunch comes Fourth Avenue, whose antique-shop patois +reads across the page from right to left. Sight-seeing automobiles on +mission and commission bent allow Altoona, Iowa City, and Quincy, +Illinois, fifteen minutes' stop-in at Ching Ling-Foo's Chinatown +Delmonico's. Spaghetti and red wine have set New York racing to reserve +its table d'hotes. All except the Latin race. + +Jimmie Batch, who had first seen light, and that gaslight, in a block in +lower Manhattan which has since been given over to a milk-station for a +highly congested district, had the palate, if not the purse, of the +cosmopolite. His digestive range included _borsch_ and _chow main_; +_risotta_ and "ham and." + +To-night, as he turned into Cafe Hungarian, Miss Slayback slowed and +drew back into the overshadowing protection of an adjoining +office-building. She was breathing hard, and her little face, somehow +smaller from chill, was nevertheless a high pink at the cheek-bones. + +The wind swept around the corner, jerking her hat, and her hand flew up +to it. There was a fair stream of passers-by even here, and occasionally +one turned for a backward glance at her standing there so frankly +indeterminate. + +Suddenly Miss Slayback adjusted her tam-o'-shanter to its flop over her +right ear, and, drawing off a pair of dark-blue silk gloves from over +immaculately new white ones, entered Ceiner's Cafe Hungarian. In its +light she was not so obviously blonder than young, the pink spots in her +cheeks had a deepening value to the blue of her eyes, and a black velvet +tam-o'-shanter revealing just the right fringe of yellow curls is no +mean aid. + +First of all, Ceiner's is an eating-place. There is no music except at +five cents in the slot, and its tables for four are perpetually set each +with a dish of sliced radishes, a bouquet of celery, and a mound of +bread, half the stack rye. Its menus are well thumbed and badly +mimeographed. Who enters Ceiner's is prepared to dine from barley soup +to apple strudel. At something after six begins the rising sound of +cutlery, and already the new-comer fears to find no table. + +Off at the side, Mr. Jimmie Batch had already disposed of his hat and +gray overcoat, and tilting the chair opposite him to indicate its +reservation, shook open his evening paper, the waiter withholding the +menu at this sign of rendezvous. + +Straight toward that table Miss Slayback worked quick, swift way, +through this and that aisle, jerking back and seating herself on the +chair opposite almost before Mr. Batch could raise his eyes from off the +sporting page. + +There was an instant of silence between them--the kind of silence that +can shape itself into a commentary upon the inefficacy of mere speech--a +widening silence which, as they sat there facing, deepened until, when +she finally spoke, it was as if her words were pebbles dropping down +into a well. + +"Don't look so surprised, Jimmie," she said, propping her face calmly, +even boldly, into the white-kid palms. "You might fall off the Christmas +tree." + +Above the snug, four-inch collar and bow tie Mr. Batch's face was taking +on a dull ox-blood tinge that spread back, even reddening his ears. Mr. +Batch had the frontal bone of a clerk, the horn-rimmed glasses of the +literarily astigmatic, and the sartorial perfection that only the rich +can afford not to attain. + +He was staring now quite frankly, and his mouth had fallen open. "Gert!" +he said. + +"Yes," said Miss Slayback, her insouciance gaining with his +discomposure, her eyes widening and then a dolly kind of glassiness +seeming to set in. "You wasn't expecting me, Jimmie?" + +He jerked up his hand, not meeting her glance. "What's the idea of the +comedy?" + +"You don't look glad to see me, Jimmie." + +"If you--think you're funny." + +She was working out of and then back into the freshly white gloves in a +betraying kind of nervousness that belied the toss of her voice. "Well, +of all things! Mad-cat! Mad, just because you didn't seem to be +expecting me." + +"I--There's some things that are just the limit, that's what they are. +Some things that are just the limit, that no fellow would stand from any +girl, and this--this is one of them." + +Her lips were trembling now. "You--you bet your life there's some things +that are just the limit." + +He slid out his watch, pushing back. "Well, I guess this place is too +small for a fellow and a girl that can follow him around the town like +a--like----" + +She sat forward, grasping the table-sides, her chair tilting with her. +"Don't you dare to get up and leave me sitting here! Jimmie Batch, don't +you dare!" + +The waiter intervened, card extended. + +"We--we're waiting for another party," said Miss Slayback, her hands +still rigidly over the table-sides and her glance like a steady drill +into Mr. Batch's own. + +There was a second of this silence while the waiter withdrew, and then +Mr. Batch whipped out his watch again, a gun-metal one with an open +face. + +"Now look here. I got a date here in ten minutes, and one or the other +of us has got to clear. You--you're one too many, if you got to know +it." + +"Oh, I do know it, Jimmie! I been one too many for the last four +Saturday nights. I been one too many ever since May Scully came into +five hundred dollars' inheritance and quit the Ladies' Neckwear. I been +one too many ever since May Scully became a lady." + +"If I was a girl and didn't have more shame!" + +"Shame! Now you're shouting, Jimmie Batch. I haven't got shame, and I +don't care who knows it. A girl don't stop to have shame when she's +fighting for her rights." + +He was leaning on his elbow, profile to her. "That movie talk can't +scare me. You can't tell me what to do and what not to do. I've given +you a square deal all right. There's not a word ever passed between us +that ties me to your apron-strings. I don't say I'm not without my +obligations to you, but that's not one of them. No, siree--no +apron-strings." + +"I know it isn't, Jimmie. You're the kind of a fellow wouldn't even talk +to himself for fear of committing himself." + +"I got a date here now any minute, Gert, and the sooner you----" + +"You're the guy who passed up the Sixty-first for the Safety First +regiment." + +"I'll show you my regiment some day." + +"I--I know you're not tied to my apron-strings, Jimmie. I--I wouldn't +have you there for anything. Don't you think I know you too well for +that? That's just it. Nobody on God's earth knows you the way I do. I +know you better than you know yourself." + +"You better beat it, Gertie. I tell you I'm getting sore." + +Her face flashed from him to the door and back again, her anxiety almost +edged with hysteria. "Come on, Jimmie--out the side entrance before she +gets here. May Scully ain't the company for you. You think if she was, +honey, I'd--I'd see myself come butting in between you this way, +like--like a--common girl? She's not the girl to keep you straight. +Honest to God she's not, honey." + +"My business is my business, let me tell you that." + +"She's speedy, Jimmie. She was the speediest girl on the main floor, and +now that she's come into those five hundred, instead of planting it for +a rainy day, she's quit work and gone plumb crazy with it." + +"When I want advice about my friends I ask for it." + +"It's not the good name that worries me, Jimmie, because she ain't got +any. It's you. She's got you crazy with that five hundred, too--that's +what's got me scared." + +"Gee! you ought to let the Salvation Army tie a bonnet under your +chin." + +"She's always had her eyes on you, Jimmie. Ain't you men got no sense +for seein' things? Since the day they moved the Gents' Furnishings +across from the Ladies' Neckwear she's had you spotted. Her goings-on +used to leak down to the basement, alrighty. She's not a good girl, May +ain't, Jimmie. She ain't, and you know it. Is she? Is she?" + +"Aw!" said Jimmie Batch. + +"You see! See! Ain't got the nerve to answer, have you?" + +"Aw--maybe I know, too that she's not the kind of a girl that would turn +up where she's not----" + +"If you wasn't a classy-looking kind of boy, Jimmie, that a fly girl +like May likes to be seen out with, she couldn't find you with +magnifying glasses, not if you was born with the golden rule in your +mouth and had swallowed it. She's not the kind of girl, Jimmie, a fellow +like you needs behind him. If--if you was ever to marry her and get your +hands on them five hundred dollars----" + +"It would be my business." + +"It'll be your ruination. You're not strong enough to stand up under +nothing like that. With a few hundred unearned dollars in your pocket +you--you'd go up in spontaneous combustion, you would." + +"It would be my own spontaneous combustion." + +"You got to be drove, Jimmie, like a kid. With them few dollars you +wouldn't start up a little cigar-store like you think you would. You and +her would blow yourselves to the dogs in two months. Cigar-stores ain't +the place for you, Jimmie. You seen how only clerking in them was nearly +your ruination--the little gambling-room-in-the-back kind that you pick +out. They ain't cigar-stores; they're only false faces for gambling." + +"You know it all, don't you?" + +"Oh, I'm dealing it to you straight! There's too many sporty crowds +loafing around those joints for a fellow like you to stand up under. I +found you in one, and as yellow-fingered and as loafing as they come, a +new job a week, a----" + +"Yeh, and there was some pep to variety, too." + +"Don't throw over, Jimmie, what my getting you out of it to a decent job +in a department store has begun to do for you. And you're making good, +too. Higgins teld me to-day, if you don't let your head swell, there +won't be a fellow in the department can stack up his sales-book any +higher." + +"Aw!" + +"Don't throw it all over, Jimmie--and me--for a crop of dyed red hair +and a few dollars to ruin yourself with." + +He shot her a look of constantly growing nervousness, his mouth pulled +to an oblique, his glance constantly toward the door. + +"Don't keep no date with her to-night, Jimmie. You haven't got the +constitution to stand her pace. It's telling on you. Look at those +fingers yellowing again--looka----" + +"They're my fingers, ain't they?" + +"You see, Jimmie, I--I'm the only person in the world that likes you +just for what--you ain't--and hasn't got any pipe dreams about you. +That's what counts, Jimmie, the folks that like you in spite, and not +because of." + +"We will now sing psalm number two hundred and twenty-three." + +"I know there's not a better fellow in the world if he's kept nailed to +the right job, and I know, too, there's not another fellow can go to the +dogs any easier." + +"To hear you talk, you'd think I was about six." + +"I'm the only girl that'll ever be willing to make a whip out of herself +that'll keep you going and won't sting, honey. I know you're soft and +lazy and selfish and----" + +"Don't forget any." + +"And I know you're my good-looking good-for-nothing, and I know, too, +that you--you don't care as much--as much for me from head to toe as I +do for your little finger. But I--like you just the same, Jimmie. +That--that's what I mean about having no shame. I--do like you so--so +terribly, Jimmie." + +"Aw now--Gert!" + +"I know it, Jimmie--that I ought to be ashamed. Don't think I haven't +cried myself to sleep with it whole nights in succession." + +"Aw now--Gert!" + +"Don't think I don't know it, that I'm laying myself before you pretty +common. I know it's common for a girl to--to come to a fellow like this, +but--but I haven't got any shame about it--I haven't got anything, +Jimmie, except fight for--for what's eating me. And the way things are +between us now is eating me." + +"I---- Why, I got a mighty high regard for you, Gert." + +"There's a time in a girl's life, Jimmie, when she's been starved like I +have for something of her own all her days; there's times, no matter how +she's held in, that all of a sudden comes a minute when she busts out." + +"I understand, Gert, but----" + +"For two years and eight months, Jimmie, life has got to be worth while +living to me because I could see the day, even if we--you--never talked +about it, when you would be made over from a flip kid to--to the kind of +a fellow would want to settle down to making a little two-by-four home +for us. A little two-by-four all our own, with you steady on the job and +advanced maybe to forty or fifty a week and----" + +"For God's sake, Gertie, this ain't the time or the place to----" + +"Oh yes, it is! It's got to be, because it's the first time in four +weeks that you didn't see me coming first." + +"But not now, Gert. I----" + +"I'm not ashamed to tell you, Jimmie Batch, that I've been the making +of you since that night you threw the wink at me. And--and it hurts, +this does. God! how it hurts!" + +He was pleating the table-cloth, swallowing as if his throat had +constricted, and still rearing his head this way and that in the tight +collar. + +"I--never claimed not to be a bad egg. This ain't the time and the place +for rehashing, that's all. Sure you been a friend to me. I don't say you +haven't. Only I can't be bossed by a girl like you. I don't say May +Scully's any better than she ought to be. Only that's my business. You +hear? my business. I got to have life and see a darn sight more future +for myself than selling shirts in a Fourteenth Street department store." + +"May Scully can't give it to you--her and her fast crowd." + +"Maybe she can and maybe she can't." + +"Them few dollars won't make you; they'll break you." + +"That's for her to decide, not you." + +"I'll tell her myself. I'll face her right here and----" + +"Now, look here, if you think I'm going to be let in for a holy show +between you two girls, you got another think coming. One of us has got +to clear out of here, and quick, too. You been talking about the side +door; there it is. In five minutes I got a date in this place that I +thought I could keep like any law-abiding citizen. One of us has got to +clear, and quick, too. Gad! you wimmin make me sick, the whole lot of +you!" + +"If anything makes you sick, I know what it is. It's dodging me to fly +around all hours of the night with May Scully, the girl who put the tang +in tango. It's eating around in swell sixty-cent restaurants like this +and----" + +"Gad! your middle name ought to be Nagalene." + +"Aw, now, Jimmie, maybe it does sound like nagging, but it ain't, honey. +It--it's only my--my fear that I'm losing you, and--and my hate for the +every-day grind of things, and----" + +"I can't help that, can I?" + +"Why, there--there's nothing on God's earth I hate, Jimmie, like I hate +that Bargain-Basement. When I think it's down there in that manhole I've +spent the best years of my life, I--I wanna die. The day I get out of +it, the day I don't have to punch that old time-clock down there next to +the Complaints and Adjustment Desk, I--I'll never put my foot below +sidewalk level again to the hour I die. Not even if it was to take a +walk in my own gold-mine." + +"It ain't exactly a garden of roses down there." + +"Why, I hate it so terrible, Jimmie, that sometimes I wake up nights +gritting my teeth with the smell of steam-pipes and the tramp of feet on +the glass sidewalk up over me. Oh, God! you dunno--you dunno!" + +"When it comes to that, the main floor ain't exactly a maiden's dream, +or a fellow's, for that matter." + +"With a man it's different. It's his job in life, earning, and--and the +woman making the two ends of it meet. That's why, Jimmie, these last two +years and eight months, if not for what I was hoping for us, +why--why--I--why, on your twenty a week, Jimmie, there's nobody could +run a flat like I could. Why, the days wouldn't be long enough to putter +in. I--Don't throw away what I been building up for us, Jimmie, step by +step! Don't, Jimmie!' + +"Good Lord, girl! You deserve better'n me." + +"I know I got a big job, Jimmie, but I want to make a man out of you, +temper, laziness, gambling, and all. You got it in you to be something +more than a tango lizard or a cigar-store bum, honey. It's only you +ain't got the stuff in you to stand up under a five-hundred-dollar +windfall and--a--and a sporty girl. If--if two glasses of beer make you +as silly as they do, Jimmie, why, five hundred dollars would land you +under the table for life." + +"Aw--there you go again!" + +"I can't help it, Jimmie. It's because I never knew a fellow had what's +he's cut out for written all over him so. You're a born clerk, Jimmie." + +"Sure, I'm a slick clerk, but----" + +"You're born to be a clerk, a good clerk, even a two-hundred-a-month +clerk, the way you can win the trade, but never your own boss. I know +what I'm talking about. I know your measure better than any human on +earth can ever know your measure. I know things about you that you don't +even know yourself." + +"I never set myself up to nobody for anything I wasn't." + +"Maybe not, Jimmie, but I know about you and--and that Central Street +gang that time, and----" + +"You!" + +"Yes, honey, and there's not another human living but me knows how +little it was your fault. Just bad company, that was all. That's how +much I--I love you, Jimmie, enough to understand that. Why, if I thought +May Scully and a set-up in business was the thing for you, Jimmie, I'd +say to her, I'd say, if it was like taking my own heart out in my hand +and squashing it, I'd say to her, I'd say, 'Take him, May.' That's how +I--I love you, Jimmie. Oh, ain't it nothing, honey, a girl can come here +and lay herself this low to you----" + +"Well, haven't I just said you--you deserve better." + +"I don't want better, Jimmie. I want you. I want to take hold of your +life and finish the job of making it the kind we can both be proud of. +Us two, Jimmie, in--in our own decent two-by-four. Shopping on Saturday +nights. Frying in our own frying-pan in our own kitchen. Listening to +our own phonograph in our own parlor. Geraniums and--and kids--and--and +things. Gas-logs. Stationary washtubs. Jimmie! Jimmie!" + +Mr. James P. Batch reached up for his hat and overcoat, cramming the +newspaper into a rear pocket. + +"Come on," he said, stalking toward the side door and not waiting to see +her to her feet. + +Outside, a banner of stars was over the narrow street. For a chain of +five blocks he walked, with a silence and speed that Miss Slayback could +only match with a running quickstep. But she was not out of breath. Her +head was up, and her hand where it hooked into Mr. Batch's elbow, was in +a vise that tightened with each block. + + +You who will mete out no other approval than that vouched for by the +stamp of time and whose contempt for the contemporary is from behind the +easy refuge of the classics, suffer you the shuddering analogy that +between Aspasia who inspired Pericles, Theodora who suggested the +Justinian code, and Gertie Slayback who commandeered Jimmie Batch, is a +sistership which rounds them, like a lasso thrown back into time, into +one and the same petticoat dynasty behind the throne. + +True, Gertie Slayback's _mise en scene_ was a two-room kitchenette +apartment situated in the Bronx at a surveyor's farthest point between +two Subway stations, and her present state one of frequent red-faced +forays down into a packing-case. But there was that in her eyes which +witchingly bespoke the conquered, but not the conqueror. Hers was +actually the titillating wonder of a bird which, captured, closes its +wings, that surrender can be so sweet. + +Once she sat on the edge of the packing-case, dallying with a hammer, +then laid it aside suddenly, to cross the littered room and place the +side of her head to the immaculate waistcoat of Mr. Jimmie Batch, +red-faced, too, over wrenching up with hatchet-edge a barrel-top. + +"Jimmie darling, I--I just never will get over your finding this place +for us." + +Mr. Batch wiped his forearm across his brow, his voice jerking between +the squeak of nails extracted from wood. + +"It was you, honey. You give me the to let ad. and I came to look, +that's all." + +"Just the samey, it was my boy found it. If you hadn't come to look we +might have been forced into taking that old dark coop over on Simpson +Street." + +"What's all this junk in this barrel?" + +"Them's kitchen utensils, honey." + +"Kitchen what?" + +"Kitchen things that you don't know nothing about except to eat good +things out of." + +"What's this?" + +"Don't bend it! That's a celery-brush. Ain't it cute?" + +"A celery-brush! Why didn't you get it a comb, too?" + +"Ah, now, honey-bee, don't go trying to be funny and picking through +these things you don't know nothing about! They're just cute things I'm +going to cook something grand suppers in, for my something awful bad +boy." + +He leaned down to kiss her at that. "Gee!" + +She was standing, her shoulder to him and head thrown back against his +chest. She looked up to stroke his cheek, her face foreshortened. + +"I'm all black and blue pinching myself, Jimmie." + +"Me too." + +"Every night when I get home from working here in the flat I say to +myself in the looking-glass, I say, 'Gertie Slayback, what if you're +only dreamin'?'" + +"Me too." + +"I say to myself, 'Are you sure that darling flat up there, with the new +pink-and-white wall-paper and the furniture arriving every day, is going +to be yours in a few days when you're Mrs. Jimmie Batch?'" + +"Mrs. Jimmie Batch--say, that's immense." + +"I keep saying it to myself every night, 'One day less.' Last night it +was two days. To-night it'll be--one day, Jimmie, till I'm--her." + +She closed her eyes and let her hand linger up to his cheek, head still +back against him, so that, inclining his head, he could rest his lips in +the ash-blond fluff of her hair. + +"Talk about can't wait! If to-morrow was any farther off they'd have to +sweep out a padded cell for me." + +She turned to rumple the smooth light thatch of his hair. "Bad boy! +Can't wait! And here we are getting married all of a sudden, just like +that. Up to the time of this draft business, Jimmie Batch, 'pretty soon' +was the only date I could ever get out of you, and now here you are +crying over one day's wait. Bad honey boy!" + +He reached back for the pink newspaper so habitually protruding from his +hip-pocket. "You ought to see the way they're neck-breaking for the +marriage-license bureaus since the draft. First thing we know the whole +shebang of the boys will be claiming exemption of sole support of wife." + +"It's a good thing we made up our minds quick, Jimmie. They'll be +getting wise. If too many get exemption from the army by marrying right +away, it'll be a give-away." + +"I'd like to know who can lay his hands on the exemption of a little +wife to support." + +"Oh, Jimmie, it--it sounds so funny. Being supported! Me that always did +the supporting, not only to me, but to my mother and great-grandmother +up to the day they died." + +"I'm the greatest little supporter you ever seen." + +"Me getting up mornings to stay at home in my own darling little flat, +and no basement or time-clock. Nothing but a busy little hubby to eat +him nice, smelly, bacon breakfast and grab him nice morning newspaper, +kiss him wifie, and run downtown to support her. Jimmie, every morning +for your breakfast I'm going to fry----" + +"You bet your life he's going to support her, and he's going to pay back +that forty dollars of his girl's that went into his wedding duds, that +hundred and ninety of his girl's savings that went into furniture----" + +"We got to meet our instalments every month first, Jimmie. That's what +we want--no debts and every little darling piece of furniture paid up." + +"We--I'm going to pay it, too." + +"And my Jimmie is going to work to get himself promoted and quit being a +sorehead at his steady hours and all." + +"I know more about selling, honey, than the whole bunch of dubs in that +store put together if they'd give me a chance to prove it." + +She laid her palm to his lips. + +"Shh-h-h! You don't nothing of the kind. It's not conceit, it's work is +going to get my boy his raise." + +"If they'd listen to me, that department would----" + +"Sh-h-h! J. G. Hoffheimer don't have to get pointers from Jimmie Batch +how to run his department store." + +"There you go again. What's J. G. Hoffheimer got that I ain't? Luck and +a few dollars in his pocket that, if I had in mine, would----" + +"It was his own grit put those dollars there, Jimmie. Just put it out of +your head that it's luck makes a self-made man." + +"Self-made! You mean things just broke right for him. That's two-thirds +of this self-made business." + +"You mean he buckled right down to brass tacks, and that's what my boy +is going to do." + +"The trouble with this world is it takes money to make money. Get your +first few dollars, I always say, no matter how, and then when you're on +your feet scratch your conscience if it itches. That's why I said in the +beginning, if we had took that hundred and ninety furniture money and +staked it on----" + +"Jimmie, please--please! You wouldn't want to take a girl's savings of +years and years to gamble on a sporty cigar proposition with a card-room +in the rear. You wouldn't, Jimmie. You ain't that kind of fellow. Tell +me you wouldn't, Jimmie." + +He turned away to dive into the barrel. "Naw," he said. "I wouldn't." + +The sun had receded, leaving a sudden sullen gray; the little square +room, littered with an upheaval of excelsior, sheet-shrouded furniture, +and the paper-hanger's paraphernalia and inimitable smells, darkening +and seeming to chill. + +"We got to quit now, Jimmie. It's getting dark and the gas ain't turned +on in the meter yet." + +He rose up out of the barrel, holding out at arm's-length what might +have been a tinsmith's version of a porcupine. + +"What in-- What's this thing that scratched me?" + +She danced to take it. "It's a grater, a darling grater for horseradish +and nutmeg and cocoanut. I'm going to fix you a cocoanut cake for our +honeymoon supper to-morrow night, honey-bee. Essie Wohlgemuth over in +the cake-demonstrating department is going to bring me the recipe. +Cocoanut cake! And I'm going to fry us a little steak in this darling +little skillet. Ain't it the cutest!" + +"Cute she calls a tin skillet." + +"Look what's pasted on it. 'Little Housewife's Skillet. The Kitchen +Fairy.' That's what I'm going to be, Jimmie, the kitchen fairy. Give me +that. It's a rolling-pin. All my life I've wanted a rolling-pin. Look +honey, a little string to hang it up by. I'm going to hang everything up +in rows. It's going to look like Tiffany's kitchen, all shiny. Give me, +honey; that's an egg-beater. Look at it whiz. And this--this is a pan +for war bread. I'm going to make us war bread to help the soldiers." + +"You're a little soldier yourself," he said. + +"That's what I would be if I was a man, a soldier all in brass buttons." + +"There's a bunch of the fellows going," said Mr. Batch, standing at the +window, looking out over roofs, dilly-dallying up and down on his heels +and breaking into a low, contemplative whistle. + +She was at his shoulder, peering over it. "You wouldn't be afraid, would +you, Jimmie?" + +"You bet your life I wouldn't." + +She was tiptoes now, her arms creeping up to him. "Only my boy's got a +wife--a brand-new wifie to support, ain't he?" + +"That's what he has," said Mr. Batch, stroking her forearm, but still +gazing through and beyond whatever roofs he was seeing. + +"Jimmie!" + +"Huh?" + +"Look! We got a view of the Hudson River from our flat, just like we +lived on Riverside Drive." + +"All the Hudson River I can see is fifteen smokestacks and somebody's +wash-line out." + +"It ain't so. We got a grand view. Look! Stand on tiptoe, Jimmie, like +me. There, between that water-tank on that black roof over there and +them two chimneys. See? Watch my finger. A little stream of something +over there that moves." + +"No, I don't see." + +"Look, honey-bee, close! See that little streak?" + +"All right, then, if you see it I see it." + +"To think we got a river view from our flat! It's like living in the +country. I'll peek out at it all day long. God! honey, I just never will +be over the happiness of being done with basements." + +"It was swell of old Higgins to give us this half-Saturday. It shows +where you stood with the management, Gert--this and a five-dollar gold +piece. Lord knows they wouldn't pony up that way if it was me getting +married by myself." + +"It's because my boy ain't shown them down there yet the best that's in +him. You just watch his little safety-first wife see to it that from now +on he keeps up her record of never in seven years pushing the time-clock +even one minute late, and that he keeps his stock shelves O. K. and +shows his department he's a comer-on." + +"With that bunch of boobs a fellow's got a swell chance to get +anywheres." + +"It's getting late, Jimmie. It don't look nice for us to stay here so +late alone, not till--to-morrow. Ruby and Essie and Charley are going to +meet us in the minister's back parlor at ten sharp in the morning. We +can be back here by noon and get the place cleared up enough to give 'em +a little lunch, just a fun lunch without fixings." + +"I hope the old guy don't waste no time splicing us. It's one of the +things a fellow likes to have over with." + +"Jimmie! Why, it's the most beautiful thing in the world, like a garden +of lilies or--or something, a marriage ceremony is! You got the ring +safe, honey-bee, and the license?" + +"Pinned in my pocket where you put 'em, Flirty Gertie." + +"Flirty Gertie! Now you'll begin teasing me with that all our life--the +way I didn't slap your face that night when I should have. I just +couldn't have, honey. Goes to show we were just cut and dried for each +other, don't it? Me, a girl that never in her life let a fellow even bat +his eyes at her without an introduction. But that night when you winked, +honey--something inside of me just winked back." + +"My girl!" + +"You mean it, boy? You ain't sorry about nothing, Jimmie?" + +"Sorry? Well, I guess not!" + +"You seen the way--she--May--you seen for yourself what she was, when we +seen her walking, that next night after Ceiner's, nearly staggering, up +Sixth Avenue with Budge Evans." + +"I never took no stock in her, honey. I was just letting her like me." + +She sat back on the box edge, regarding him, her face so soft and wont +to smile that she could not keep its composure. + +"Get me my hat and coat, honey. We'll walk down. Got the key?" + +They skirmished in the gloom, moving through slit-like aisles of +furniture and packing-box. + +"Ouch!" + +"Oh, the running water is hot, Jimmie, just like the ad. said! We got +red-hot running water in our flat. Close the front windows, honey. We +don't want it to rain in on our new green sofa. Not till it's paid for, +anyways." + +"Hurry." + +"I'm ready." + +They met at the door, kissing on the inside and the outside of it; at +the head of the fourth and the third and the second balustrade down. + +"We'll always make 'em little love landings, Jimmie, so we can't ever +get tired climbing them." + +"Yep." + +Outside there was still a pink glow in a clean sky. The first flush of +spring in the air had died, leaving chill. They walked briskly, arm in +arm, down the asphalt incline of sidewalk leading from their +apartment-house, a new street of canned homes built on a hillside--the +sepulchral abode of the city's trapped whose only escape is down the +fire-escape, and then only when the alternative is death. At the base of +the hill there flows, in constant hubbub, a great up-and-down artery of +street, repeating itself, mile after mile, in terms of the butcher, the +baker, and the every-other-corner drug-store of a million dollar +corporation. Housewives with perambulators and oilcloth shopping bags. +Children on roller-skates. The din of small tradesmen and the humdrum of +every city block where the homes remain unboarded all summer, and every +wife is on haggling terms with the purveyor of her evening roundsteak +and mess of rutabaga. + +Then there is the soap-box provender, too, sure of a crowd, offering +creed, propaganda, patent medicine, and politics. It is the pulpit of +the reformer and the housetop of the fanatic, this soap-box. From it the +voice to the city is often a pious one, an impious one, and almost +always a raucous one. Luther and Sophocles and even a Citizen of +Nazareth made of the four winds of the street corner the walls of a +temple of wisdom. What more fitting acropolis for freedom of speech +than the great out-of-doors! + +Turning from the incline of cross-street into this petty Bagdad of the +petty wise, the voice of the street corner lifted itself above the +inarticulate din of the thoroughfare. A youth, thewed like an ox, +surmounted on a stack of three self-provided canned-goods boxes, his +in-at-the-waist silhouette thrown out against a sky that was almost +ready to break out in stars; a crowd tightening about him. + +"It's a soldier-boy talkin', Gert." + +"If it ain't!" They tiptoed at the fringe of the circle, heads back. + +"Look, Gert, he's a lieutenant; he's got a shoulder-bar. And those four +down there holding the flag are just privates. You can always tell a +lieutenant by the bar." + +"Uh-huh." + +"Say, them boys do stack up some for Uncle Sam." + +"'Shh-h-h, Jimmie!" + +"I'm here to tell you that them boys stack up some." + +A banner stiffened out in the breeze, Mr. Batch reading: "Enlist before +you are drafted. Last chance to beat the draft. Prove your patriotism. +Enlist now! Your country calls!" + +"Come on," said Mr. Batch. + +"Wait. I want to hear what he's saying." + +" ... there's not a man here before me can afford to shirk his duty to +his country. The slacker can't get along without his country, but his +country can very easily get along without him." + +Cheers. + +"The poor exemption boobs are already running for doctors' certificates +and marriage licenses, but even if they get by with it--and it is +ninety-nine to one they won't--they can't run away from their own +degradation and shame." + +"Come on, Jimmie." + +"Wait." + +"Men of America, for every one of you who tries to dodge his duty to +his country there is a yellow streak somewhere underneath the hide of +you. Women of America, every one of you that helps to foster the spirit +of cowardice in your particular man or men is helping to make a coward. +It's the cowards and the quitters and the slackers and dodgers that need +this war more than the patriotic ones who are willing to buckle on and +go! + +"Don't be a buttonhole patriot! A government that is good enough to live +under is good enough to fight under!" + +Cheers. + +"If there is any reason on earth that has manifested itself for this +devastating and terrible war it is that it has been a maker of men. + +"Ladies and gentlemen, I am back from four months in the trenches with +the French army, and I've come home, now that my own country is at war, +to give her every ounce of energy I've got to offer. As soon as a hole +in my side is healed up I'm going back to those trenches, and I want to +say to you that them four months of mine face to face with life and with +death have done more for me than all my twenty-four civilian years put +together." + +Cheers. + +"I'll be a different man, if I live to come back home after this war and +take up my work again as a draftsman. Why, I've seen weaklings and +self-confessed failures and even ninnies go into them trenches and come +out--oh yes, plenty of them do come out--men. Men that have got close +enough down to the facts of things to feel new realizations of what life +means come over them. Men that have gotten back their pep, their +ambitions, their unselfishness. That's what war can do for your men, you +women who are helping them to foster the spirit of holding back, of +cheating their government. That's what war can do for your men. Make of +them the kind of men who some day can face their children without +having to hang their heads. Men who can answer for their part in making +the world a safe place for democracy." + +An hour they stood there, the air quieting but chilling, and lavishly +sown stars cropping out. Street lights had come out, too, throwing up in +ever darker relief the figure above the heads of the crowd. His voice +had coarsened and taken on a raw edge, but every gesture was flung from +the socket, and from where they had forced themselves into the tight +circle Gertie Slayback, her mouth fallen open and her head still back, +could see the sinews of him ripple under khaki and the diaphragm lift +for voice. + +There was a shift of speakers then, this time a private, still too +rangy, but his looseness of frame seeming already to conform to the +exigency of uniform. + +"Come on, Jimmie. I--I'm cold." + +They worked out into the freedom of the sidewalk, and for ten minutes, +down blocks of petty shops already lighted, walked in a silence that +grew apace. + +He was suddenly conscious that she was crying, quietly, her handkerchief +wadded against her mouth. He strode on with a scowl and his head bent. + +"Let's sit down in this little park, Jimmie. I'm tired." + +They rested on a bench on one of those small triangles of +breathing-space which the city ekes out now and then; mill ends of land +parcels. + +He took immediately to roving the toe of his shoe in and out among the +gravel. She stole out her hand to his arm. + +"Well, Jimmie?" Her voice was in the gauze of a whisper that hardly left +her throat. + +"Well, what?" he said, still toeing. + +"There--there's a lot of things we never thought about, Jimmie." + +"Aw!" + +"Eh, Jimmie?" + +"You mean _you_ never thought about." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I know what I mean alrighty." + +"I--I was the one that suggested it, Jimmie, but--but you fell in. I--I +just couldn't bear to think of it, Jimmie--your going and all. I +suggested it, but--you fell in." + +"Say, when a fellow's shoved he falls. I never gave a thought to +sneaking an exemption until it was put in my head. I'd smash the fellow +in the face that calls me coward, I will." + +"You could have knocked me down with a feather, Jimmie, looking at it +his way, all of a sudden." + +"You couldn't me. Don't think I was ever strong for the whole business. +I mean the exemption part. I wasn't going to say nothing. What's the +use, seeing the way you had your heart set on--on things? But the whole +business, if you want to know it, went against my grain. I'll smash the +fellow in the face that calls me a coward." + +"I know, Jimmie; you--you're right. It was me suggested hurrying things +like this. Sneakin'! Oh, God! ain't I the messer-up!" + +"Lay easy, girl. I'm going to see it through. I guess there's been +fellows before me and will be after me who have done worse. I'm going to +see it through. All I got to say is I'll smash up the fellow calls me +coward. Come on, forget it. Let's go." + +She was close to him, her cheek crinkled against his with the frank kind +of social unconsciousness the park bench seems to engender. + +"Come on, Gert. I got a hunger on." + +"'Shh-h-h, Jimmie! Let me think. I'm thinking." + +"Too much thinking killed a cat. Come on." + +"Jimmie!" + +"Huh?" + +"Jimmie--would you--had you ever thought about being a soldier?" + +"Sure. I came in an ace of going into the army that time after--after +that little Central Street trouble of mine. I've got a book in my trunk +this minute on military tactics. Wouldn't surprise me a bit to see me +land in the army some day." + +"It's a fine thing, Jimmie, for a fellow--the army." + +"Yeh, good for what ails him." + +She drew him back, pulling at his shoulder so that finally he faced her. +"Jimmie!" + +"Huh?" + +"I got an idea." + +"Shoot." + +"You remember once, honey-bee, how I put it to you that night at +Ceiner's how, if it was for your good, no sacrifice was too much to +make." + +"Forget it." + +"You didn't believe it." + +"Aw, say now, what's the use digging up ancient history?" + +"You'd be right, Jimmie, not to believe it. I haven't lived up to what I +said." + +"Oh Lord, honey! What's eating you now? Come to the point." + +She would not meet his eyes, turning her head from him to hide lips that +would quiver. "Honey, it--it ain't coming off--that's all. Not +now--anyways." + +"What ain't?" + +"Us." + +"Who?" + +"You know what I mean, Jimmie. It's like everything the soldier boy on +the corner just said. I--I saw you getting red clear behind your ears +over it. I--I was, too, Jimmie. It's like that soldier boy was put there +on that corner just to show me, before it was too late, how wrong I been +in every one of my ways. Us women who are helping to foster slackers. +That's what we're making of them--slackers for life. And here I been +thinking it was your good I had in mind, when all along it's been mine. +That's what it's been, mine!" + +"Aw, now, Gert----" + +"You got to go, Jimmie. You got to go, because you want to go +and--because I want you to go." + +"Where?" + +"To war." + +He took hold of her two arms because they were trembling. "Aw, now, +Gert, I didn't say anything complaining. I----" + +"You did, Jimmie, you did, and--and I never was so glad over you that +you did complain. I just never was so glad. I want you to go, Jimmie. I +want you to go and get a man made out of you. They'll make a better job +out of you than ever I can. I want you to get the yellow streak washed +out. I want you to get to be all the things he said you would. For every +line he was talking up there, I could see my boy coming home to me some +day better than anything I could make out of him, babying him the way I +can't help doing. I could see you, honey-bee, coming back to me with the +kind of lift to your head a fellow has when he's been fighting to make +the world a safe place for dem--for whatever it was he said. I want you +to go, Jimmie. I want you to beat the draft, too. Nothing on earth can +make me not want you to go." + +"Why, Gert--you're kiddin'!" + +"Honey, you want to go, don't you? You want to square up those shoulders +and put on khaki, don't you? Tell me you want to go!" + +"Why--why, yes, Gert, if----" + +"Oh, you're going, Jimmie! You're going!" + +"Why, girl--you're crazy! Our flat! Our furniture--our----" + +"What's a flat? What's furniture? What's anything? There's not a firm in +business wouldn't take back a boy's furniture--a boy's +everything--that's going out to fight for--for dem-o-cracy! What's a +flat? What's anything?" + +He let drop his head to hide his eyes. + + +Do you know it is said that on the Desert of Sahara, the slope of +Sorrento, and the marble of Fifth Avenue the sun can shine whitest? +There is an iridescence to its glittering on bleached sand, blue bay, +and Carrara facade that is sheer light distilled to its utmost. + +On one such day when, standing on the high slope of Fifth Avenue where +it rises toward the Park, and looking down on it, surging to and fro, it +was as if, so manifest the brilliancy, every head wore a tin helmet, +parrying sunlight at a thousand angles of refraction. + +Parade-day, all this glittering midstream is swept to the clean sheen of +a strip of moire, this splendid desolation blocked on each side by +crowds half the density of the sidewalk. + +On one of these sun-drenched Saturdays dedicated by a growing tradition +to this or that national expression, the Ninety-ninth Regiment, to a +flare of music that made the heart leap out against its walls, turned +into a scene thus swept clean for it, a wave of olive drab, impeccable +row after impeccable row of scissors-like legs advancing. Recruits, raw +if you will, but already caparisoned, sniffing and scenting, as it were, +for the great primordial mire of war. + +There is no state of being so finely sensitized as national +consciousness. A gauntlet down, and it surges up. One ripple of a flag +defended can goose-flesh a nation. How bitter and how sweet it is to +give a soldier! + +To the seething kinetic chemistry of such mingling emotions there were +women who stood in the frontal crowds of the sidewalks stifling +hysteria, or ran after in terror at sight of one so personally hers, +receding in that great impersonal wave of olive drab. + +And yet the air was martial with banner and with shout. And the ecstasy +of such moments is like a dam against reality, pressing it back. It is +in the pompless watches of the night or of too long days that such dams +break, excoriating. + +For the thirty blocks of its course Gertie Slayback followed that wave +of men, half run and half walk. Down from the curb, and at the beck and +call of this or that policeman up again, only to find opportunity for +still another dive out from the invisible roping off of the sidewalk +crowds. + +From the middle of his line, she could see, sometimes, the tail of +Jimmie Batch's glance roving for her, but to all purports his eye was +solely for his own replica in front of him, and at such times, when he +marched, his back had a little additional straightness that was almost +swayback. + +Nor was Gertie Slayback crying. On the contrary, she was inclined to +laughter. A little too inclined to a high and brittle sort of dissonance +over which she seemed to have no control. + +"'By, Jimmie. So long! Jimmie! You-hoo!" + +Tramp. Tramp. Tramp-tramp-tramp. + +"You-hoo! Jimmie! So long, Jimmie!" + +At Fourteenth Street, and to the solemn stroke of one from a tower, she +broke off suddenly without even a second look back, dodging under the +very arms of the crowd as she ran out from it. + +She was one and three-quarter minutes late when she punched the +time-clock beside the Complaints and Adjustment Desk in the +Bargain-Basement. + + + + +FANNIE HURST + + +"I find myself at twenty-nine exactly where at fourteen I had planned I +would be." So Miss Hurst, in a sketch written for the _American +Magazine_ (March, 1919), sums up the story of a remarkable literary +career. + +Fannie Hurst was born in St. Louis, October 19, 1889. She attended the +public schools, and began to write--with the firm intention of becoming +an author--before she was out of grammar school. "At fourteen," she +tells us in the article just referred to, "the one pigeon-hole of my +little girl's desk was already stuffed with packets of rejected verse +which had been furtively written, furtively mailed, and still more +furtively received back again by heading off the postman a block before +he reached our door." To this dream of authorship--the secret of which +was carefully guarded from her family--she sacrificed her play and even +her study hours. The first shock to her family came on St. Valentine's +Day. There was to be a party that night, her first real party. A new +dress was ready for the occasion, and a boy escort was to call for her +in a cab. It happened that Valentine's day fell on Saturday, and +Saturday was her time for writing. That day she turned from poetry to +fiction, and was just in the middle of her first story when it came time +to get ready for the party. She did not get ready. The escort arrived, +cab and all; the family protested, but all to no purpose. She finished +the story, mailed it, three weeks later received it back, and began her +second story. All through her high school days she mailed a manuscript +every Saturday, and they always came back. + +After high school she entered Washington University, St. Louis, +graduating in 1909. And still she kept writing. To one journal alone +she sent during those four years, thirty-four short stories. And they +all came back--all but one. Just before graduation she sold her first +article, a little sketch first written as a daily theme, which was +published in a local weekly, and brought her three dollars. This was the +total result of eight years' literary effort. So quite naturally she +determined to go on. + +She announced to her family that she was going to New York City to +become a writer. There was a stormy discussion in the Hurst family, but +it ended in her going away, with a bundle of manuscripts in her trunk, +to brave the big city alone. She found a tiny furnished room and set +forth to besiege the editors' offices. One evening she returned, to find +the house being raided, a patrol wagon at the curb, and the lodgers +being hustled into it. She crossed the street and walked on, and never +saw her bag or baggage again. By the help of the Young Women's Christian +Association she found another room, in different surroundings, and set +out again to make the round of the editorial offices. + +Then followed months and months of "writing, rewriting, rejections, and +re-rejections." From home came letters now beseeching, now commanding +her to return, and at length cutting off her allowance. So she returned +her rented typewriter and applied at a theatrical agency. She secured a +small part in a Broadway company, and then came her first acceptance of +a story, with an actual check for thirty dollars. She left the stage and +rented another typewriter,--but it was six months before she sold +another story. + +In all this time she dipped deeply into the great stream of the city's +life. To quote her own account: + + + For a month I lived with an Armenian family on West Broadway, in a + room over a tobacconist's shop. I apprenticed myself as a + sales-girl in New York's most gigantic department store. Four and + one-quarter yards of ribbon at seven and a half cents a yard proved + my Waterloo, and my resignation at the end of one week was not + entirely voluntary. I served as waitress in one of New York's most + gigantic chain of white-tiled lunch rooms. I stitched boys' pants + in a Polish sweatshop, and lived for two days in New York's most + rococo hotel. I took a graduate course in Anglo Saxon at Columbia + University, and one in lamp-shade making at Wanamaker's: wormed + into a Broadway musical show as wardrobe girl, and went out on a + self-appointed newspaper assignment to interview the mother of the + richest baby in the world. + + +All these experiences yielded rich material for stories, but no one +would print them. Her money was gone; so was a diamond ring that had +been a Commencement present; it seemed as if there was nothing left but +to give up the struggle and go back home. Then, just as she had struck +bottom, an editor actually told her she could write, and followed up his +remark by buying three stories. Since that time she has never had a +story rejected, and her checks have gone up from two figures into four. +And so, at the end of a long fight, as she says, "I find myself at +twenty-nine exactly where at fourteen I had planned I would be. And best +of all, what popular success I am enjoying has come not from pandering +to popular demand or editorial policy, but from pandering to my own +inner convictions, which are like little soul-tapers, lighting the way." + +All her work has been in the form of the short story. Her first book, +_Just Around the Corner_, published in 1914, is a collection of stories +dealing with the life of working girls in a city. _Every Soul Hath Its +Song_ is a similar collection; the title suggests the author's outlook +upon life. Some one has said that in looking at a puddle of water, you +may see either the mud at the bottom or the sky reflected on its +surface. Miss Hurst sees the reflection of the sky. The _Boston +Transcript_ said of this book: "Here at last is a story writer who is +bent on listening to the voices of America and interpreting them." +_Gaslight Sonatas_, from which "Bitter-Sweet" is taken, showed an +advance over her earlier work. Two of the stories from this volume were +selected by Mr. O'Brien for his volume, _Best Short Stories_, for 1916 +and 1917. _Humoresque_, her latest work, continues her studies of city +types, drawn from New York and St. Louis. The stories show her insight +into character and her graphic descriptive power. Miss Hurst is also the +author of two plays, _The Land of the Free_ and _The Good Provider_. + + + + +IN THE LUMBER COUNTRY + +_The men of the woods are not as the men of the cities. The great open +spaces where men battle with the primeval forest set their mark upon +their inhabitants, not only in physique but in character. The +lumberman,--rough, frank, independent, humorous, equally ready for a +fight or a frolic, has been portrayed at full length by Stewart Edward +White in_ THE BLAZED TRAIL _and_ THE RIVERMAN. _In the following sketch, +taken from his_ BLAZED TRAIL STORIES, _he shows the lumberman at work +and at play._ + + + + +THE RIVERMAN + +BY + +STEWART EDWARD WHITE + + +I first met him one Fourth of July afternoon in the middle eighties. The +sawdust streets and high board sidewalks of the lumber town were filled +to the brim with people. The permanent population, dressed in the +stiffness of its Sunday best, escorted gingham wives or sweethearts; a +dozen outsiders like myself tried not to be too conspicuous in a city +smartness; but the great multitude was composed of the men of the woods. +I sat, chair-tilted by the hotel, watching them pass. Their heavy +woollen shirts crossed by the broad suspenders, the red of their sashes +or leather shine of their belts, their short kersey trousers "stagged" +off to leave a gap between the knee and the heavily spiked "cork +boots"--all these were distinctive enough of their class, but most +interesting to me were the eyes that peered from beneath their little +round hats tilted rakishly askew. They were all subtly alike, those +eyes. Some were black, some were brown, or gray, or blue, but all were +steady and unabashed, all looked straight at you with a strange humorous +blending of aggression and respect for your own business, and all +without exception wrinkled at the corners with a suggestion of dry +humor. In my half-conscious scrutiny I probably stared harder than I +knew, for all at once a laughing pair of blue eyes suddenly met mine +full, and an ironical voice drawled, + +"Say, bub, you look as interested as a man killing snakes. Am I your +long-lost friend?" + +The tone of the voice matched accurately the attitude of the man, and +that was quite non-committal. He stood cheerfully ready to meet the +emergency. If I sought trouble, it was here to my hand; or if I needed +help he was willing to offer it. + +"I guess you are," I replied, "if you can tell me what all this outfit's +headed for." + +He thrust back his hat and ran his hand through a mop of closely cropped +light curls. + +"Birling match," he explained briefly. "Come on." + +I joined him, and together we followed the crowd to the river, where we +roosted like cormorants on adjacent piles overlooking a patch of clear +water among filled booms. + +"Drive just over," my new friend informed me. "Rear come down last +night. Fourther July celebration. This little town will scratch fer th' +tall timber along about midnight when the boys goes in to take her +apart." + +A half-dozen men with peavies rolled a white-pine log of about a foot +and a half in diameter into the clear water, where it lay rocking back +and forth, three or four feet from the boom piles. Suddenly a man ran +the length of the boom, leaped easily into the air, and landed with both +feet square on one end of the floating log. That end disappeared in an +ankle-deep swirl of white foam, the other rose suddenly, the whole +timber, projected forward by the shock, drove headlong to the middle of +the little pond. And the man, his arms folded, his knees just bent in +the graceful nervous attitude of the circus-rider, stood upright like a +statue of bronze. + +A roar approved this feat. + +"That's Dickey Darrell," said my informant, "Roaring Dick. He's hell +_and_ repeat. Watch him." + +The man on the log was small, with clean beautiful haunches and +shoulders, but with hanging baboon arms. Perhaps his most striking +feature was a mop of reddish-brown hair that overshadowed a little +triangular white face accented by two reddish-brown quadrilaterals that +served as eyebrows and a pair of inscrutable chipmunk eyes. + +For a moment he poised erect in the great calm of the public performer. +Then slowly he began to revolve the log under his feet. The lofty gaze, +the folded arms, the straight supple waist budged not by a hair's +breadth; only the feet stepped forward, at first deliberately, then +faster and faster, until the rolling log threw a blue spray a foot into +the air. Then suddenly _slap! slap!_ the heavy caulks stamped a +reversal. The log came instantaneously to rest, quivering exactly like +some animal that had been spurred through its paces. + +"Magnificent!" I cried. + +"Hell, that's nothing!" my companion repressed me, "anybody can birl a +log. Watch this." + +Roaring Dick for the first time unfolded his arms. With some appearance +of caution he balanced his unstable footing into absolute immobility. +Then he turned a somersault. + +This was the real thing. My friend uttered a wild yell of applause which +was lost in a general roar. + +A long pike-pole shot out, bit the end of the timber, and towed it to +the boom pile. Another man stepped on the log with Darrell. They stood +facing each other, bent-kneed, alert. Suddenly with one accord they +commenced to birl the log from left to right. The pace grew hot. Like +squirrels treading a cage their feet twinkled. Then it became apparent +that Darrell's opponent was gradually being forced from the top of the +log. He could not keep up. Little by little, still moving desperately, +he dropped back to the slant, then at last to the edge, and so off into +the river with a mighty splash. + +"Clean birled!" commented my friend. + +One after another a half-dozen rivermen tackled the imperturbable Dick, +but none of them possessed the agility to stay on top in the pace he set +them. One boy of eighteen seemed for a moment to hold his own, and +managed at least to keep out of the water even when Darrell had +apparently reached his maximum speed. But that expert merely threw his +entire weight into two reversing stamps of his feet, and the young +fellow dove forward as abruptly as though he had been shied over a +horse's head. + +The crowd was by now getting uproarious and impatient of volunteer +effort to humble Darrell's challenge. It wanted the best, and at once. +It began, with increasing insistence, to shout a name. + +"Jimmy Powers!" it vociferated, "Jimmy Powers!" + +And then by shamefaced bashfulness, by profane protest, by muttered and +comprehensive curses I knew that my companion on the other pile was +indicated. + +A dozen men near at hand began to shout. "Here he is!" they cried. "Come +on, Jimmy." "Don't be a high banker." "Hang his hide on the fence." + +Jimmy, still red and swearing, suffered himself to be pulled from his +elevation and disappeared in the throng. A moment later I caught his +head and shoulders pushing toward the boom piles, and so in a moment he +stepped warily aboard to face his antagonist. + +This was evidently no question to be determined by the simplicity of +force or the simplicity of a child's trick. The two men stood +half-crouched, face to face, watching each other narrowly, but making no +move. To me they seemed like two wrestlers sparring for an opening. +Slowly the log revolved one way; then slowly the other. It was a mere +courtesy of salute. All at once Dick birled three rapid strokes from +left to right as though about to roll the log, leaped into the air and +landed square with both feet on the other slant of the timber. Jimmy +Powers felt the jar, and acknowledged it by a spasmodic jerk with which +he counterbalanced Darrell's weight. But he was not thrown. + +As though this daring and hazardous manoeuvre had opened the combat, +both men sprang to life. Sometimes the log rolled one way, sometimes the +other, sometimes it jerked from side to side like a crazy thing, but +always with the rapidity of light, always in a smother of spray and +foam. The decided _spat, spat, spat_ of the reversing blows from the +caulked boots sounded like picket firing. I could not make out the +different leads, feints, parries, and counters of this strange method of +boxing, nor could I distinguish to whose initiative the various +evolutions of that log could be ascribed. But I retain still a vivid +mental picture of two men nearly motionless above the waist, nearly +vibrant below it, dominating the insane gyrations of a stick of pine. + +The crowd was appreciative and partisan--for Jimmy Powers. It howled +wildly, and rose thereby to even higher excitement. Then it forgot its +manners utterly and groaned when it made out that a sudden splash +represented its favorite, while the indomitable Darrell still trod the +quarter-deck as champion birler for the year. + +I must confess I was as sorry as anybody. I climbed down from my +cormorant roost, and picked my way between the alleys of aromatic piled +lumber in order to avoid the press, and cursed the little gods heartily +for undue partiality in the wrong direction. In this manner I happened +on Jimmy Powers himself seated dripping on a board and examining his +bare foot. + +"I'm sorry," said I behind him. "How did he do it?" + +He whirled, and I could see that his laughing boyish face had become +suddenly grim and stern, and that his eyes were shot with blood. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" he growled disparagingly. "Well, that's how he +did it." + +He held out his foot. Across the instep and at the base of the toes ran +two rows of tiny round punctures from which the blood was oozing. I +looked very inquiring. + +"He corked me!" Jimmy Powers explained. "Jammed his spikes into me! +Stepped on my foot and tripped me, the----" Jimmy Powers certainly could +swear. + +"Why didn't you make a kick?" I cried. + +"That ain't how I do it," he muttered, pulling on his heavy woollen +sock. + +"But no," I insisted, my indignation mounting. "It's an outrage! That +crowd was with you. All you had to do was to _say_ something----" + +He cut me short. "And give myself away as a damn fool--sure Mike. I +ought to know Dickey Darrell by this time, and I ought to be big enough +to take care of myself." He stamped his foot into his driver's shoe and +took me by the arm, his good humor apparently restored. "No, don't lose +any hair, bub; I'll get even with Roaring Dick." + +That night, having by the advice of the proprietor moved my bureau and +trunk against the bedroom door, I lay wide awake listening to the taking +of the town apart. At each especially vicious crash I wondered if that +might be Jimmy Powers getting even with Roaring Dick. + +The following year, but earlier in the season, I again visited my little +lumber town. In striking contrast to the life of that other midsummer +day were the deserted streets. The landlord knew me, and after I had +washed and eaten approached me with a suggestion. + +"You got all day in front of you," said he; "why don't you take a horse +and buggy and make a visit to the big jam? Everybody's up there more or +less." + +In response to my inquiry, he replied: + +"They've jammed at the upper bend, jammed bad. The crew's been picking +at her for near a week now, and last night Darrell was down to see about +some more dynamite. It's worth seein'. The breast of her is near thirty +feet high, and lots of water in the river." + +"Darrell?" said I, catching at the name. + +"Yes. He's rear boss this year. Do you think you'd like to take a look +at her?" + +"I think I should," I assented. + +The horse and I jogged slowly along a deep sand road, through wastes of +pine stumps and belts of hardwood beautiful with the early spring, until +finally we arrived at a clearing in which stood two huge tents, a +mammoth kettle slung over a fire of logs, and drying racks about the +timbers of another fire. A fat cook in the inevitable battered derby +hat, two bare-armed cookees, and a chore "boy" of seventy-odd summers +were the only human beings in sight. One of the cookees agreed to keep +an eye on my horse. I picked my way down a well-worn trail toward the +regular _clank, clank, click_ of the peavies. + +I emerged finally to a plateau elevated some fifty or sixty feet above +the river. A half-dozen spectators were already gathered. Among them I +could not but notice a tall, spare, broad-shouldered young fellow +dressed in a quiet business suit, somewhat wrinkled, whose square, +strong, clean-cut face and muscular hands were tanned by the weather to +a dark umber-brown. In another moment I looked down on the jam. + +The breast, as my landlord had told me, rose sheer from the water to the +height of at least twenty-five feet, bristling and formidable. Back of +it pressed the volume of logs packed closely in an apparently +inextricable tangle as far as the eye could reach. A man near informed +me that the tail was a good three miles up stream. From beneath this +wonderful _chevaux de frise_ foamed the current of the river, +irresistible to any force less mighty than the statics of such a mass. + +A crew of forty or fifty men were at work. They clamped their peavies to +the reluctant timbers, heaved, pushed, slid, and rolled them one by one +into the current, where they were caught and borne away. They had been +doing this for a week. As yet their efforts had made but slight +impression on the bulk of the jam, but some time, with patience, they +would reach the key-logs. Then the tangle would melt like sugar in the +freshet, and these imperturbable workers would have to escape suddenly +over the plunging logs to shore. + +My eye ranged over the men, and finally rested on Dickey Darrell. He +was standing on the slanting end of an upheaved log dominating the +scene. His little triangular face with the accents of the quadrilateral +eyebrows was pale with the blaze of his energy, and his chipmunk eyes +seemed to flame with a dynamic vehemence that caused those on whom they +fell to jump as though they had been touched with a hot poker. I had +heard more of Dickey Darrell since my last visit, and was glad of the +chance to observe Morrison & Daly's best "driver" at work. + +The jam seemed on the very edge of breaking. After half an hour's +strained expectation it seemed still on the very edge of breaking. So I +sat down on a stump. Then for the first time I noticed another +acquaintance, handling his peavie near the very person of the rear boss. + +"Hullo," said I to myself, "that's funny. I wonder if Jimmy Powers got +even; and if so, why he is working so amicably and so near Roaring +Dick." + +At noon the men came ashore for dinner. I paid a quarter into the cook's +private exchequer and so was fed. After the meal I approached my +acquaintance of the year before. + +"Hello, Powers," I greeted him, "I suppose you don't remember me?" + +"Sure," he responded heartily. "Ain't you a little early this year?" + +"No," I disclaimed, "this is a better sight than a birling match." + +I offered him a cigar, which he immediately substituted for his corn-cob +pipe. We sat at the root of a tree. + +"It'll be a great sight when that jam pulls," said I. + +"You bet," he replied, "but she's a teaser. Even old Tim Shearer would +have a picnic to make out just where the key-logs are. We've started her +three times, but she's plugged tight every trip. Likely to pull almost +any time." + +We discussed various topics. Finally I ventured: + +"I see your old friend Darrell is rear boss." + +"Yes," said Jimmy Powers, dryly. + +"By the way, did you fellows ever square up on that birling match?" + +"No," said Jimmy Powers; then after an instant, "Not yet." + +I glanced at him to recognize the square set to the jaw that had +impressed me so formidably the year before. And again his face relaxed +almost quizzically as he caught sight of mine. + +"Bub," said he, getting to his feet, "those little marks are on my foot +yet. And just you tie into one idea: Dickey Darrel's got it coming." His +face darkened with a swift anger. "God damn his soul!" he said, +deliberately. It was no mere profanity. It was an imprecation, and in +its very deliberation I glimpsed the flare of an undying hate. + +About three o'clock that afternoon Jimmy's prediction was fulfilled. +Without the slightest warning the jam "pulled." Usually certain +premonitory _cracks_, certain sinkings down, groanings forward, +grumblings, shruggings, and sullen, reluctant shiftings of the logs give +opportunity for the men to assure their safety. This jam, after +inexplicably hanging fire for a week, as inexplicably started like a +sprinter almost into its full gait. The first few tiers toppled smash +into the current, raising a waterspout like that made by a dynamite +explosion; the mass behind plunged forward blindly, rising and falling +as the integral logs were up-ended, turned over, thrust one side, or +forced bodily into the air by the mighty power playing jack-straws with +them. + +The rivermen, though caught unaware, reached either bank. They held +their peavies across their bodies as balancing-poles, and zig-zagged +ashore with a calmness and lack of haste that were in reality only an +indication of the keenness with which they fore-estimated each chance. +Long experience with the ways of saw-logs brought them out. They knew +the correlation of these many forces just as the expert billiard-player +knows instinctively the various angles of incident and reflection +between his cue-ball and its mark. Consequently they avoided the centers +of eruption, paused on the spots steadied for the moment, dodged moving +logs, trod those not yet under way, and so arrived on solid ground. The +jam itself started with every indication of meaning business, gained +momentum for a hundred feet, and then plugged to a standstill. The +"break" was abortive. + +Now we all had leisure to notice two things. First, the movement had not +been of the whole jam, as we had at first supposed, but only of a block +or section of it twenty rods or so in extent. Thus between the part that +had moved and the greater bulk that had not stirred lay a hundred feet +of open water in which floated a number of loose logs. The second fact +was, that Dickey Darrell had fallen into that open stretch of water and +was in the act of swimming toward one of the floating logs. That much we +were given time to appreciate thoroughly. Then the other section of the +jam rumbled and began to break. Roaring Dick was caught between two +gigantic millstones moving to crush him out of sight. + +An active figure darted down the tail of the first section, out over the +floating logs, seized Darrell by the coat-collar, and so burdened began +desperately to scale the very face of the breaking jam. + +Never was a more magnificent rescue. The logs were rolling, falling, +diving against the laden man. He climbed as over a treadmill, a +treadmill whose speed was constantly increasing. And when he finally +gained the top, it was as the gap closed splintering beneath him and the +man he had saved. + +It is not in the woodsman to be demonstrative at any time, but here was +work demanding attention. Without a pause for breath or congratulation +they turned to the necessity of the moment. The jam, the whole jam, was +moving at last. Jimmy Powers ran ashore for his peavie. Roaring Dick, +like a demon incarnate, threw himself into the work. Forty men attacked +the jam in a dozen places, encouraging the movement, twisting aside the +timbers that threatened to lock anew, directing pigmy-like the titanic +forces into the channel of their efficiency. Roaring like wild cattle +the logs swept by, at first slowly, then with the railroad rush of the +curbed freshet. Men were everywhere, taking chances, like cowboys before +the stampeded herd. And so, out of sight around the lower bend swept the +front of the jam in a swirl of glory, the rivermen riding the great boom +back of the creature they subdued, until at last, with the slackening +current, the logs floated by free, cannoning with hollow sound one +against the other. A half-dozen watchers, leaning statuesquely on the +shafts of their peavies, watched the ordered ranks pass by. + +One by one the spectators departed. At last only myself and the +brown-faced young man remained. He sat on a stump, staring with +sightless eyes into vacancy. I did not disturb his thoughts. + +The sun dipped. A cool breeze of evening sucked up the river. Over near +the cook-camp a big fire commenced to crackle by the drying frames. At +dusk the rivermen straggled in from the down-river trail. + +The brown-faced young man arose and went to meet them. I saw him return +in close conversation with Jimmy Powers. Before they reached us he had +turned away with a gesture of farewell. + +Jimmy Powers stood looking after him long after his form had +disappeared, and indeed even after the sound of his wheels had died +toward town. As I approached, the riverman turned to me a face from +which the reckless, contained self-reliance of the woods-worker had +faded. It was wide-eyed with an almost awe-stricken wonder and +adoration. + +"Do you know who that is?" he asked me in a hushed voice. "That's +Thorpe, Harry Thorpe. And do you know what he said to me just now, _me_? +He told me he wanted me to work in Camp One next winter, Thorpe's One. +And he told me I was the first man he ever hired straight into One." + +His breath caught with something like a sob. + +I had heard of the man and of his methods. I knew he had made it a +practice of recruiting for his prize camp only from the employees of his +other camps, that, as Jimmy said, he never "hired straight into One." I +had heard, too, of his reputation among his own and other woodsmen. But +this was the first time I had ever come into personal contact with his +influence. It impressed me the more in that I had come to know Jimmy +Powers and his kind. + +"You deserve it, every bit," said I. "I'm not going to call you a hero, +because that would make you tired. What you did this afternoon showed +nerve. It was a brave act. But it was a better act because your rescued +your enemy, because you forgot everything but your common humanity when +danger----" + +I broke off. Jimmy was again looking at me with his ironically quizzical +grin. + +"Bub," said he, "if you're going to hang any stars of Bethlehem on my +Christmas tree, just call a halt right here. I didn't rescue that +scalawag because I had any Christian sentiments, nary bit. I was just +naturally savin' him for the birling match next Fourther July." + + + + +STEWART EDWARD WHITE + + +There are some authors whom we think of as bookmen; there are others +whom we think of as men first, and as writers secondarily. Lowell, for +example was a bookman; Roosevelt was a man of action who wrote books. +Stewart Edward White, far more of a literary artist than Roosevelt, +gives like him the impression of a man who has done things, of one who +lives a full life, and produces books as a sort of by-product: very +valuable, but not the chief end of existence. + +Mr. White was born in a small town near Grand Rapids, Michigan, March +12, 1873. His parents had their own ideas about bringing up children. +Instead of sending him to school they sent for a teacher to instruct +him, they encouraged him to read, they took him traveling, not only to +cities but to the silent places, the great forests, and to the lumber +camps. He spent four years in California, and became a good horseman, +making many trips in the saddle to the picturesque old ranches. When +finally, he entered high school, at sixteen, he went in with boys of his +own age, and graduated at eighteen, president of his class. And what he +was most proud of was that he won and still holds, the five-mile running +record of his school. He was intensely interested in birds at this time, +and spent all his spare hours in the woods, studying bird-life. The +result was a series of articles on birds, published in various +scientific journals,--papers whose columns are not usually open to high +school contributors. + +Then came a college course at the University of Michigan, with vacations +spent in cruising about the Great Lakes in a twenty-eight-foot cutter +sloop. After graduation he worked for a time in a packing house, then +hearing of the discovery of gold in the Black Hills, he set off with +the other gold-diggers. He did not find a mine, but the experience gave +him a background for two later novels, _The Claim Jumpers_, and _The +Westerners_. + +He went east for a year of graduate study at Columbia University. Like +many other students, he found a friend in Professor Brander Matthews, +who encouraged him to write of some of his western experiences. He sold +a few short stories to magazines, and his first novel, _The Claim +Jumpers_ was accepted by Appleton's. _The Westerners_, his next book, +brought him $500 for the serial rights, and with its publication he +definitely determined upon making authorship his calling. But it was not +authorship in a study. _The Blazed Trail_ was written in a lumber camp +in midwinter. He got up at four o'clock, wrote until eight, then put on +his snowshoes and went out for a day's work. When the story was finished +he gave it to the foreman of the camp to read. The man began it after +supper, and when White got up next morning at four, he found him still +reading, so he felt that the book would succeed. + +Another year he made a trip to the Hudson Bay country, and on his return +wrote _Conjurer's House_. This was dramatized by George Broadhurst, and +was very successful on the stage. With Thomas Fogarty, the artist, he +made a long canoe trip, and the resulting book, _The Forest_, was +illustrated by Mr. Fogarty. A camping trip in the Sierra Mountains of +California was followed by the writing of _The Mountains_. His next +book, _The Mystery_, was written jointly by Mr. White and Samuel Hopkins +Adams. When it was finished they not only divided the proceeds but +divided the characters for future stories, White taking Handy Solomon, +whom he used again in _Arizona Nights_, and Darrow, who appeared in _The +Sign at Six_. + +Then without warning, Mr. White went to Africa. His explanation was +simple: + + + I went because I wanted to. About once in so often the wheels get + rusty and I have to get up and do something real or else blow up. + Africa seemed to me a pretty real thing. Let me add that I did not + go for material. I never go anywhere for material; if I did I + should not get it. That attitude of mine would give me merely + externals, which are not worth writing about. I go places merely + because for one reason or another they attract me. Then if it + happens that I get close enough to the life, I may later find that + I have something to write about. A man rarely writes anything + convincing unless he has lived the life; not with his critical + faculty alert, but whole-heartedly and because, for the time being, + it is his life. + + +Naturally he found that he had something to write about on his return. +_The Land of Footprints_, _African Camp Fires_, _Simba_, and _The +Leopard Woman_ were books that grew out of his African trip. Mr. White +next planned to write a series of three novels dealing with the romantic +history of the state of California. The first of these books, _Gold_, +describes the mad rush of the Forty-Niners on the first discovery of +gold in California. _The Gray Dawn_, the second of the series, tells of +the days of the Vigilantes, when the wild life of the mining camps +slowly settled down to law and order. The coming of the World War was a +fresh challenge to his adventurous spirit, and he saw service in France +as a major in the U. S. Field Artillery. + +From this sketch it is apparent that Mr. White's books have all grown +out of his experience, in the sense that the background is one that he +has known. This explains the strong feeling of reality that we +experience as we read his stories. + + + + +NEW ENGLAND GRANITE + +_From the day the Pilgrims landed on a rockbound coast, the name New +Englander has suggested certain traits of character. It connotes a +restraint of feeling which more impulsive persons may mistake for +absence of feeling; a reserve carried almost to the point of coldness; a +quiet dignity which to a breezy Westerner seems like "stand-offishness." +But those who come to know New England people well, find that beneath +the flint is fire. Dorothy Canfield suggests the theme of her story in +the title--"Flint and Fire."_ + + + + +FLINT AND FIRE + +BY + +DOROTHY CANFIELD + + +My husband's cousin had come up from the city, slightly more fagged and +sardonic than usual, and as he stretched himself out in the big +porch-chair he was even more caustic than was his wont about the +bareness and emotional sterility of the lives of our country people. + +"Perhaps they had, a couple of centuries ago, when the Puritan +hallucination was still strong, a certain fierce savor of religious +intolerance; but now that that has died out, and no material prosperity +has come to let them share in the larger life of their century, there is +a flatness, a mean absence of warmth or color, a deadness to all +emotions but the pettiest sorts----" + +I pushed the pitcher nearer him, clinking the ice invitingly, and +directed his attention to our iris-bed as a more cheerful object of +contemplation than the degeneracy of the inhabitants of Vermont. The +flowers burned on their tall stalks like yellow tongues of flame. The +strong, sword-like green leaves thrust themselves boldly up into the +spring air like a challenge. The plants vibrated with vigorous life. + +In the field beyond them, as vigorous as they, strode Adoniram Purdon +behind his team, the reins tied together behind his muscular neck, his +hands grasping the plow with the masterful sureness of the successful +practitioner of an art. The hot, sweet spring sunshine shone down on +'Niram's head with its thick crest of brown hair, the ineffable odor of +newly turned earth steamed up about him like incense, the mountain +stream beyond him leaped and shouted. His powerful body answered every +call made on it with the precision of a splendid machine. But there was +no elation in the grimly set face as 'Niram wrenched the plow around a +big stone, or as, in a more favorable furrow, the gleaming share sped +steadily along before the plowman, turning over a long, unbroken brown +ribbon of earth. + +My cousin-in-law waved a nervous hand toward the sternly silent figure +as it stepped doggedly behind the straining team, the head bent forward, +the eyes fixed on the horses' heels. + +"There!" he said. "There is an example of what I mean. Is there another +race on earth which could produce a man in such a situation who would +not on such a day sing, or whistle, or at least hold up his head and +look at all the earthly glories about him?" + +I was silent, but not for lack of material for speech. 'Niram's reasons +for austere self-control were not such as I cared to discuss with a man +of my cousin's mental attitude. As we sat looking at him the noon +whistle from the village blew and the wise old horses stopped in the +middle of a furrow. 'Niram unharnessed them, led them to the shade of a +tree, and put on their nose-bags. Then he turned and came toward the +house. + +"Don't I seem to remember," murmured my cousin under his breath, "that, +even though he is a New-Englander, he has been known to make up errands +to your kitchen to see your pretty Ev'leen Ann?" + +I looked at him hard; but he was only gazing down, rather cross-eyed, on +his grizzled mustache, with an obvious petulant interest in the increase +of white hairs in it. Evidently his had been but a chance shot. 'Niram +stepped up on the grass at the edge of the porch. He was so tall that he +overtopped the railing easily, and, reaching a long arm over to where I +sat, he handed me a small package done up in yellowish tissue-paper. +Without hat-raisings, or good-mornings or any other of the greetings +usual in a more effusive civilization, he explained briefly: + +"My stepmother wanted I should give you this. She said to thank you for +the grape-juice." As he spoke he looked at me gravely out of deep-set +blue eyes, and when he had delivered his message he held his peace. + +I expressed myself with the babbling volubility of one whose manners +have been corrupted by occasional sojourns in the city. "Oh, 'Niram!" I +cried protestingly, as I opened the package and took out an exquisitely +wrought old-fashioned collar. "Oh, 'Niram! How _could_ your stepmother +give such a thing away? Why, it must be one of her precious old relics. +I don't _want_ her to give me something every time I do some little +thing for her. Can't a neighbor send her in a few bottles of grape-juice +without her thinking she must pay it back somehow? It's not kind of her. +She has never yet let me do the least thing for her without repaying me +with something that is worth ever so much more than my trifling +services." + +When I had finished my prattling, 'Niram repeated, with an accent of +finality, "She wanted I should give it to you." + +The older man stirred in his chair. Without looking at him I knew that +his gaze on the young rustic was quizzical and that he was recording on +the tablets of his merciless memory the ungraceful abruptness of the +other's action and manner. + +"How is your stepmother feeling to-day, 'Niram?" I asked. + +"Worse." + +'Niram came to a full stop with the word. My cousin covered his +satirical mouth with his hand. + +"Can't the doctor do anything to relieve her?" I asked. + +'Niram moved at last from his Indian-like immobility. He looked up under +the brim of his felt hat at the sky-line of the mountain, shimmering +iridescent above us. "He says maybe 'lectricity would help her some. I'm +goin' to git her the batteries and things soon's I git the rubber +bandages paid for." + +There was a long silence. My cousin stood up, yawning, and sauntered +away toward the door. "Shall I send Ev'leen Ann out to get the pitcher +and glasses?" he asked in an accent which he evidently thought very +humorously significant. + +The strong face under the felt hat turned white, the jaw muscles set +hard, but for all this show of strength there was an instant when the +man's eyes looked out with the sick, helpless revelation of pain they +might have had when 'Niram was a little boy of ten, a third of his +present age, and less than half his present stature. Occasionally it is +horrifying to see how a chance shot rings the bell. + +"No, no! Never mind!" I said hastily. "I'll take the tray in when I go." + +Without salutation or farewell 'Niram Purdon turned and went back to his +work. + +The porch was an enchanted place, walled around with starlit darkness, +visited by wisps of breezes shaking down from their wings the breath of +lilac and syringa, flowering wild grapes, and plowed fields. Down at the +foot of our sloping lawn the little river, still swollen by the melted +snow from the mountains, plunged between its stony banks and shouted its +brave song to the stars. + +We three middle-aged people--Paul, his cousin, and I--had disposed our +uncomely, useful, middle-aged bodies in the big wicker chairs and left +them there while our young souls wandered abroad in the sweet, dark +glory of the night. At least Paul and I were doing this, as we sat, hand +in hand, thinking of a May night twenty years before. One never knows +what Horace is thinking of, but apparently he was not in his usual +captious vein, for after a long pause he remarked, "It is a night almost +indecorously inviting to the making of love." + +My answer seemed grotesquely out of key with this, but its sequence was +clear in my mind. I got up, saying: "Oh, that reminds me--I must go and +see Ev'leen Ann. I'd forgotten to plan to-morrow's dinner." + +"Oh, everlastingly Ev'leen Ann!" mocked Horace from his corner. "Can't +you think of anything but Ev'leen Ann and her affairs?" + +I felt my way through the darkness of the house, toward the kitchen, +both doors of which were tightly closed. When I stepped into the hot, +close room, smelling of food and fire, I saw Ev'leen Ann sitting on the +straight kitchen chair, the yellow light of the bracket-lamp bearing +down on her heavy braids and bringing out the exquisitely subtle +modeling of her smooth young face. Her hands were folded in her lap. She +was staring at the blank wall, and the expression of her eyes so +startled and shocked me that I stopped short and would have retreated if +it had not been too late. She had seen me, roused herself, and said +quietly, as though continuing a conversation interrupted the moment +before: + +"I had been thinking that there was enough left of the roast to make +hash-balls for dinner"--"hash-balls" is Ev'leen Ann's decent Anglo-Saxon +name for croquettes--"and maybe you'd like a rhubarb pie." + +I knew well enough she had been thinking of no such thing, but I could +as easily have slapped a reigning sovereign on the back as broken in on +the regal reserve of Ev'leen Ann in her clean gingham. + +"Well, yes, Ev'leen Ann," I answered in her own tone of reasonable +consideration of the matter; "that would be nice, and your pie-crust is +so flaky that even Mr. Horace will have to be pleased." + +"Mr. Horace" is our title for the sardonic cousin whose carping ways are +half a joke, and half a menace in our family. + +Ev'leen Ann could not manage the smile which should have greeted this +sally. She looked down soberly at the white-pine top of the kitchen +table and said, "I guess there is enough sparrow-grass up in the garden +for a mess, too, if you'd like that." + +"That would taste very good," I agreed, my heart aching for her. + +"And creamed potatoes," she finished bravely, thrusting my unspoken +pity from her. + +"You know I like creamed potatoes better than any other kind," I +concurred. + +There was a silence. It seemed inhuman to go and leave the stricken +young thing to fight her trouble alone in the ugly prison, her +work-place, though I thought I could guess why Ev'leen Ann had shut the +doors so tightly. I hung near her, searching my head for something to +say, but she helped me by no casual remark. 'Niram is not the only one +of our people who possesses to the full the supreme gift of silence. +Finally I mentioned the report of a case of measles in the village, and +Ev'leen Ann responded in kind with the news that her Aunt Emma had +bought a potato-planter. Ev'leen Ann is an orphan, brought up by a +well-to-do spinster aunt, who is strong-minded and runs her own farm. +After a time we glided by way of similar transitions to the mention of +his name. + +"'Niram Purdon tells me his stepmother is no better," I said. "Isn't it +too bad?" I thought it well for Ev'leen Ann to be dragged out of her +black cave of silence once in a while, even if it could be done only by +force. As she made no answer, I went on. "Everybody who knows 'Niram +thinks it splendid of him to do so much for his stepmother." + +Ev'leen Ann responded with a detached air, as though speaking of a +matter in China: "Well, it ain't any more than what he should. She was +awful good to him when he was little and his father got so sick. I guess +'Niram wouldn't ha' had much to eat if she hadn't ha' gone out sewing to +earn it for him and Mr. Purdon." She added firmly, after a moment's +pause, "No, ma'am, I don't guess it's any more than what 'Niram had +ought to do." + +"But it's very hard on a young man to feel that he's not able to marry," +I continued. Once in a great while we came so near the matter as this. +Ev'leen Ann made no answer. Her face took on a pinched look of +sickness. She set her lips as though she would never speak again. But I +knew that a criticism of 'Niram would always rouse her, and said: "And +really, I think 'Niram makes a great mistake to act as he does. A wife +would be a help to him. She could take care of Mrs. Purdon and keep the +house." + +Ev'leen Ann rose to the bait, speaking quickly with some heat: "I guess +'Niram knows what's right for him to do! He can't afford to marry when +he can't even keep up with the doctor's bills and all. He keeps the +house himself, nights and mornings, and Mrs. Purdon is awful handy about +taking care of herself, for all she's bedridden. That's her way, you +know. She can't bear to have folks do for her. She'd die before she'd +let anybody do anything for her that she could anyways do for herself!" + +I sighed acquiescingly. Mrs. Purdon's fierce independence was a rock on +which every attempt at sympathy or help shattered itself to atoms. There +seemed to be no other emotion left in her poor old work-worn shell of a +body. As I looked at Ev'leen Ann it seemed rather a hateful +characteristic, and I remarked, "It seems to me it's asking a good deal +of 'Niram to spoil his life in order that his stepmother can go on +pretending she's independent." + +Ev'leen Ann explained hastily: "Oh, 'Niram doesn't tell her anything +about--She doesn't know he would like to--he don't want she should be +worried--and, anyhow, as 'tis, he can't earn enough to keep ahead of all +the doctors cost." + +"But the right kind of a wife--a good, competent girl--could help out by +earning something, too." + +Ev'leen Ann looked at me forlornly, with no surprise. The idea was +evidently not new to her. "Yes, ma'am, she could. But 'Niram says he +ain't the kind of man to let his wife go out working." Even while she +dropped under the killing verdict of his pride she was loyal to his +standards and uttered no complaint. She went on, "'Niram wants Aunt +Em'line to have things the way she wants 'em, as near as he can give +'em to her--and it's right she should." + +"Aunt Emeline?" I repeated, surprised at her absence of mind. "You mean +Mrs. Purdon, don't you?" + +Ev'leen Ann looked vexed at her slip, but she scorned to attempt any +concealment. She explained dryly, with the shy, stiff embarrassment our +country people have in speaking of private affairs: "Well, she _is_ my +Aunt Em'line, Mrs. Purdon is, though I don't hardly ever call her that. +You see, Aunt Emma brought me up, and she and Aunt Em'line don't have +anything to do with each other. They were twins, and when they were +girls they got edgeways over 'Niram's father, when 'Niram was a baby and +his father was a young widower and come courting. Then Aunt Em'line +married him, and Aunt Emma never spoke to her afterward." + +Occasionally, in walking unsuspectingly along one of our leafy lanes, +some such fiery geyser of ancient heat uprears itself in a boiling +column. I never get used to it, and started back now. + +"Why, I never heard of that before, and I've known your Aunt Emma and +Mrs. Purdon for years!" + +"Well, they're pretty old now," said Ev'leen Ann listlessly, with the +natural indifference of self-centered youth to the bygone tragedies of +the preceding generation. "It happened quite some time ago. And both of +them were so touchy, if anybody seemed to speak about it, that folks got +in the way of letting it alone. First Aunt Emma wouldn't speak to her +sister because she'd married the man she'd wanted, and then when Aunt +Emma made out so well farmin' and got so well off, why, then Mrs. Purdon +wouldn't try to make up because she was so poor. That was after Mr. +Purdon had had his stroke of paralysis and they'd lost their farm and +she'd taken to goin' out sewin'--not but what she was always perfectly +satisfied with her bargain. She always acted as though she'd rather have +her husband's old shirt stuffed with straw than any other man's whole +body. He was a real nice man, I guess, Mr. Purdon was." + +There I had it--the curt, unexpanded chronicle of two passionate lives. +And there I had also the key to Mrs. Purdon's fury of independence. It +was the only way in which she could defend her husband against the +charge, so damning to her world, of not having provided for his wife. It +was the only monument she could rear to her husband's memory. And her +husband had been all there was in life for her! + +I stood looking at her young kinswoman's face, noting the granite under +the velvet softness of its youth, and divining the flame underlying the +granite. I longed to break through her wall and to put my arms about +her, and on the impulse of the moment I cast aside the pretense of +casualness in our talk. + +"Oh, my dear!" I said. "Are you and 'Niram always to go on like this? +Can't anybody help you?" + +Ev'leen Ann looked at me, her face suddenly old and gray. "No, ma'am; we +ain't going to go on this way. We've decided, 'Niram and I have, that it +ain't no use. We've decided that we'd better not go places together any +more or see each other. It's too--If 'Niram thinks we can't"--she flamed +so that I knew she was burning from head to foot--"it's better for us +not----" She ended in a muffled voice, hiding her face in the crook of +her arm. + +Ah, yes; now I knew why Ev'leen Ann had shut out the passionate breath +of the spring night! + +I stood near her, a lump in my throat, but I divined the anguish of her +shame at her involuntary self-revelation, and respected it. I dared do +no more than to touch her shoulder gently. + +The door behind us rattled. Ev'leen Ann sprang up and turned her face +toward the wall. Paul's cousin came in, shuffling a little, blinking his +eyes in the light of the unshaded lamp, and looking very cross and +tired. He glanced at us without comment as he went over to the sink. +"Nobody offered me anything good to drink," he complained, "so I came in +to get some water from the faucet for my nightcap." + +When he had drunk with ostentation from the tin dipper he went to the +outside door and flung it open. "Don't you people know how hot and +smelly it is in here?" he said, with his usual unceremonious abruptness. + +The night wind burst in, eddying, and puffed out the lamp with a breath. +In an instant the room was filled with coolness and perfumes and the +rushing sound of the river. Out of the darkness came Ev'leen Ann's young +voice. "It seems to me," she said, as though speaking to herself, "that +I never heard the Mill Brook sound so loud as it has this spring." + + +I woke up that night with the start one has at a sudden call. But there +had been no call. A profound silence spread itself through the sleeping +house. Outdoors the wind had died down. Only the loud brawl of the river +broke the stillness under the stars. But all through this silence and +this vibrant song there rang a soundless menace which brought me out of +bed and to my feet before I was awake. I heard Paul say, "What's the +matter?" in a sleepy voice, and "Nothing," I answered, reaching for my +dressing gown and slippers. I listened for a moment, my head ringing +with all the frightened tales of the morbid vein of violence which runs +through the character of our reticent people. There was still no sound. +I went along the hall and up the stairs to Ev'leen Ann's room, and I +opened the door without knocking. The room was empty. + +Then how I ran! Calling loudly for Paul to join me, I ran down the two +flights of stairs, out of the open door, and along the hedged path which +leads down to the little river. The starlight was clear. I could see +everything as plainly as though in early dawn. I saw the river, and I +saw--Ev'leen Ann. + +There was a dreadful moment of horror, which I shall never remember +very clearly, and then Ev'leen Ann and I--both very wet--stood on the +bank, shuddering in each other's arms. + +Into our hysteria there dropped, like a pungent caustic, the arid voice +of Horace, remarking, "Well, are you two people crazy, or are you +walking in your sleep?" + +I could feel Ev'leen Ann stiffen in my arms, and I fairly stepped back +from her in astonished admiration as I heard her snatch at the straw +thus offered, and still shuddering horribly from head to foot, force +herself to say quite connectedly: "Why--yes--of course--I've always +heard about my grandfather Parkman's walking in his sleep. Folks _said_ +'twould come out in the family some time." + +Paul was close behind Horace--I wondered a little at his not being +first--and with many astonished and inane ejaculations, such as people +always make on startling occasions, we made our way back into the house +to hot blankets and toddies. But I slept no more that night. + +Some time after dawn, however, I did fall into a troubled +unconsciousness full of bad dreams, and only woke when the sun was quite +high. I opened my eyes to see Ev'leen Ann about to close the door. + +"Oh, did I wake you up?" she said. "I didn't mean to. That little Harris +boy is here with a letter for you." + +She spoke with a slightly defiant tone of self-possession. I tried to +play up to her interpretation of her role. + +"The little Harris boy?" I said, sitting up in bed. "What in the world +is he bringing me a letter for?" + +Ev'leen Ann, with her usual clear perception of the superfluous in +conversation, vouchsafed no opinion on a matter where she had no +information, but went downstairs and brought back the note. It was of +four lines, and--surprisingly enough--from old Mrs. Purdon, who asked me +abruptly if I would have my husband take me to see her. She specified, +and underlined the specification, that I was to come "right off, and in +the automobile." Wondering extremely at this mysterious bidding, I +sought out Paul, who obediently cranked up our small car and carried me +off. There was no sign of Horace about the house, but some distance on +the other side of the village we saw his tall, stooping figure swinging +along the road. He carried a cane and was characteristically occupied in +violently switching off the heads from the wayside weeds as he walked. +He refused our offer to take him in, alleging that he was out for +exercise and to reduce his flesh--an ancient jibe at his bony frame +which made him for an instant show a leathery smile. + +There was, of course, no one at Mrs. Purdon's to let us into the tiny, +three-roomed house, since the bedridden invalid spent her days there +alone while 'Niram worked his team on other people's fields. Not knowing +what we might find, Paul stayed outside in the car, while I stepped +inside in answer to Mrs. Purdon's "Come _in_, why don't you!" which +sounded quite as dry as usual. But when I saw her I knew that things +were not as usual. + +She lay flat on her back, the little emaciated wisp of humanity, hardly +raising the piecework quilt enough to make the bed seem occupied, and to +account for the thin, worn old face on the pillow. But as I entered the +room her eyes seized on mine, and I was aware of nothing but them and +some fury of determination behind them. With a fierce heat of impatience +at my first natural but quickly repressed exclamation of surprise she +explained briefly that she wanted Paul to lift her into the automobile +and take her into the next township to the Hulett farm. "I'm so shrunk +away to nuthin', I know I can lay on the back seat if I crook myself +up," she said, with a cool accent but a rather shaky voice. Seeming to +realize that even her intense desire to strike the matter-of-fact note +could not take the place of any and all explanation of her extraordinary +request, she added, holding my eyes steady with her own: "Emma Hulett's +my twin sister. I guess it ain't so queer, my wanting to see her." + +I thought, of course, we were to be used as the medium for some +strange, sudden family reconciliation, and went out to ask Paul if he +thought he could carry the old invalid to the car. He replied that, so +far as that went, he could carry so thin an old body ten times around +the town, but that he refused absolutely to take such a risk without +authorization from her doctor. I remembered the burning eyes of +resolution I had left inside, and sent him to present his objections to +Mrs. Purdon herself. + +In a few moments I saw him emerge from the house with the old woman in +his arms. He had evidently taken her up just as she lay. The piecework +quilt hung down in long folds, flashing its brilliant reds and greens in +the sunshine, which shone so strangely upon the pallid old countenance, +facing the open sky for the first time in years. + +We drove in silence through the green and gold lyric of the spring day, +an elderly company sadly out of key with the triumphant note of eternal +youth which rang through all the visible world. Mrs. Purdon looked at +nothing, said nothing, seemed to be aware of nothing but the purpose in +her heart, whatever that might be. Paul and I, taking a leaf from our +neighbors' book, held, with a courage like theirs, to their excellent +habit of saying nothing when there is nothing to say. We arrived at the +fine old Hulett place without the exchange of a single word. + +"Now carry me in," said Mrs. Purdon briefly, evidently hoarding her +strength. + +"Wouldn't I better go and see if Miss Hulett is at home?" I asked. + +Mrs. Purdon shook her head impatiently and turned her compelling eyes on +my husband. I went up the path before them to knock at the door, +wondering what the people in the house would possibly be thinking of us. +There was no answer to my knock. "Open the door and go in," commanded +Mrs. Purdon from out her quilt. + +There was no one in the spacious, white-paneled hall, and no sound in +all the big, many-roomed house. + +"Emma's out feeding the hens," conjectured Mrs. Purdon, not, I fancied, +without a faint hint of relief in her voice. "Now carry me up-stairs to +the first room on the right." + +Half hidden by his burden, Paul rolled wildly inquiring eyes at me; but +he obediently staggered up the broad old staircase, and waiting till I +had opened the first door to the right, stepped into the big bedroom. + +"Put me down on the bed, and open them shutters," Mrs. Purdon commanded. + +She still marshaled her forces with no lack of decision, but with a +fainting voice which made me run over to her quickly as Paul laid her +down on the four-poster. Her eyes were still indomitable, but her mouth +hung open slackly and her color was startling. "Oh, Paul, quick! quick! +Haven't you your flask with you?" + +Mrs. Purdon informed me in a barely audible whisper, "In the corner +cupboard at the head of the stairs," and I flew down the hallway. I +returned with a bottle, evidently of great age. There was only a little +brandy in the bottom, but it whipped up a faint color into the sick +woman's lips. + +As I was bending over her and Paul was thrusting open the shutters, +letting in a flood of sunshine and flecky leaf-shadows, a firm, rapid +step came down the hall, and a vigorous woman, with a tanned face and a +clean, faded gingham dress, stopped short in the doorway with an +expression of stupefaction. + +Mrs. Purdon put me on one side, and although she was physically +incapable of moving her body by a hair's breadth, she gave the effect of +having risen to meet the newcomer. "Well, Emma, here I am," she said in +a queer voice, with involuntary quavers in it. As she went on she had it +more under control, although in the course of her extraordinarily +succinct speech it broke and failed her occasionally. When it did, she +drew in her breath with an audible, painful effort, struggling forward +steadily in what she had to say. "You see, Emma, it's this way: My +'Niram and your Ev'leen Ann have been keeping company--ever since they +went to school together--you know that 's well as I do, for all we let +on we didn't, only I didn't know till just now how hard they took it. +They can't get married because 'Niram can't keep even, let alone get +ahead any, because I cost so much bein' sick, and the doctor says I may +live for years this way, same's Aunt Hettie did. An' 'Niram is +thirty-one, an' Ev'leen Ann is twenty-eight, an' they've had 'bout's +much waitin' as is good for folks that set such store by each other. +I've thought of every way out of it--and there ain't any. The Lord knows +I don't enjoy livin' any, not so's to notice the enjoyment, and I'd +thought of cutting my throat like Uncle Lish, but that'd make 'Niram and +Ev'leen Ann feel so--to think why I'd done it; they'd never take the +comfort they'd ought in bein' married; so that won't do. There's only +one thing to do. I guess you'll have to take care of me till the Lord +calls me. Maybe I won't last so long as the doctor thinks." + +When she finished, I felt my ears ringing in the silence. She had walked +to the sacrificial altar with so steady a step, and laid upon it her +precious all with so gallant a front of quiet resolution, that for an +instant I failed to take in the sublimity of her self-immolation. Mrs. +Purdon asking for charity! And asking the one woman who had most reason +to refuse it to her. + +Paul looked at me miserably, the craven desire to escape a scene written +all over him. "Wouldn't we better be going, Mrs. Purdon?" I said +uneasily. I had not ventured to look at the woman in the doorway. + +Mrs. Purdon motioned me to remain, with an imperious gesture whose +fierceness showed the tumult underlying her brave front. "No; I want you +should stay. I want you should hear what I say, so's you can tell folks, +if you have to. Now, look here, Emma," she went on to the other, still +obstinately silent; "you must look at it the way 'tis. We're neither of +us any good to anybody, the way we are--and I'm dreadfully in the way +of the only two folks we care a pin about--either of us. You've got +plenty to do with, and nothing to spend it on. I can't get myself out of +their way by dying without going against what's Scripture and proper, +but----" Her steely calm broke. She burst out in a screaming, hysterical +voice: "You've just _got_ to, Emma Hulett! You've just _got_ to! If you +don't I won't never go back to 'Niram's house! I'll lie in the ditch by +the roadside till the poor-master comes to get me--and I'll tell +everybody that it's because my own twin sister, with a house and a farm +and money in the bank, turned me out to starve--" A fearful spasm cut +her short. She lay twisted and limp, the whites of her eyes showing +between the lids. + +"Good God, she's gone!" cried Paul, running to the bed. + +I was aware that the woman in the doorway had relaxed her frozen +immobility and was between Paul and me as we rubbed the thin, icy hands +and forced brandy between the placid lips. We all three thought her dead +or dying, and labored over her with the frightened thankfulness for one +another's living presence which always marks that dreadful moment. But +even as we fanned and rubbed, and cried out to one another to open the +windows and to bring water, the blue lips moved to a ghostly whisper: +"Em, listen----" The old woman went back to the nickname of their common +youth. "Em--your Ev'leen Ann--tried to drown herself--in the Mill Brook +last night.... That's what decided me--to----" And then we were plunged +into another desperate struggle with Death for the possession of the +battered old habitation of the dauntless soul before us. + +"Isn't there any hot water in the house?" cried Paul, and "Yes, yes; a +tea-kettle on the stove!" answered the woman who labored with us. Paul, +divining that she meant the kitchen, fled down-stairs. I stole a look at +Emma Hulett's face as she bent over the sister she had not seen in +thirty years, and I knew that Mrs. Purdon's battle was won. It even +seemed that she had won another skirmish in her never-ending war with +death, for a little warmth began to come back into her hands. + +When Paul returned with the tea-kettle, and a hot-water bottle had been +filled, the owner of the house straightened herself, assumed her +rightful position as mistress of the situation, and began to issue +commands. "You git right in the automobile, and go git the doctor," she +told Paul. "That'll be the quickest. She's better now, and your wife and +I can keep her goin' till the doctor gits here." + +As Paul left the room she snatched something white from a bureau-drawer, +stripped the worn, patched old cotton nightgown from the skeleton-like +body, and, handling the invalid with a strong, sure touch, slipped on a +soft, woolly outing-flannel wrapper with a curious trimming of zigzag +braid down the front. Mrs. Purdon opened her eyes very slightly, but +shut them again at her sister's quick command, "You lay still, Em'line, +and drink some of this brandy." She obeyed without comment, but after a +pause she opened her eyes again and looked down at the new garment which +clad her. She had that moment turned back from the door of death, but +her first breath was used to set the scene for a return to a decent +decorum. + +"You're still a great hand for rick-rack work, Em, I see," she murmured +in a faint whisper. "Do you remember how surprised Aunt Su was when you +made up a pattern?" + +"Well, I hadn't thought of it for quite some time," returned Miss +Hulett, in exactly the same tone of everyday remark. As she spoke she +slipped her arm under the other's head and poked the pillow to a more +comfortable shape. "Now you lay perfectly still," she commanded in the +hectoring tone of the born nurse; "I'm goin' to run down and make you up +a good hot cup of sassafras tea." + +I followed her down into the kitchen and was met by the same refusal to +be melodramatic which I had encountered in Ev'leen Ann. I was most +anxious to know what version of my extraordinary morning I was to give +out to the world, but hung silent, positively abashed by the cool +casualness of the other woman as she mixed her brew. Finally, "Shall I +tell 'Niram--What shall I say to Ev'leen Ann? If anybody asks me----" I +brought out with clumsy hesitation. + +At the realization that her reserve and family pride were wholly at the +mercy of any report I might choose to give, even my iron hostess +faltered. She stopped short in the middle of the floor, looked at me +silently, piteously, and found no word. + +I hastened to assure her that I would attempt no hateful picturesqueness +of narration. "Suppose I just say that you were rather lonely here, now +that Ev'leen Ann has left you, and that you thought it would be nice to +have your sister come to stay with you, so that 'Niram and Ev'leen Ann +can be married?" + +Emma Hulett breathed again. She walked toward the stairs with the +steaming cup in her hand. Over her shoulder she remarked, "Well, yes, +ma'am; that would be as good a way to put it as any, I guess." + + +'Niram and Ev'leen Ann were standing up to be married. They looked very +stiff and self-conscious, and Ev'leen Ann was very pale. 'Niram's big +hands, bent in the crook of a man who handles tools, hung down by his +new black trousers. Ev'leen Ann's strong fingers stood out stiffly from +one another. They looked hard at the minister and repeated after him in +low and meaningless tones the solemn and touching words of the marriage +service. Back of them stood the wedding company, in freshly washed and +ironed white dresses, new straw hats, and black suits smelling of +camphor. In the background among the other elders, stood Paul and Horace +and I--my husband and I hand in hand; Horace twiddling the black ribbon +which holds his watch, and looking bored. Through the open windows into +the stuffiness of the best room came an echo of the deep organ note of +midsummer. + +"Whom God hath joined together----" said the minister, and the epitome +of humanity which filled the room held its breath--the old with a wonder +upon their life-scarred faces, the young half frightened to feel the +stir of the great wings soaring so near them. + +Then it was all over. 'Niram and Ev'leen Ann were married, and the rest +of us were bustling about to serve the hot biscuit and coffee and +chicken salad, and to dish up the ice-cream. Afterward there were no +citified refinements of cramming rice down the necks of the departing +pair or tying placards to the carriage in which they went away. Some of +the men went out to the barn and hitched up for 'Niram, and we all went +down to the gate to see them drive off. They might have been going for +one of their Sunday afternoon "buggy-rides" except for the wet eyes of +the foolish women and girls who stood waving their hands in answer to +the flutter of Ev'leen Ann's handkerchief as the carriage went down the +hill. + +We had nothing to say to one another after they left, and began soberly +to disperse to our respective vehicles. But as I was getting into our +car a new thought suddenly struck me. + +"Why," I cried, "I never thought of it before! However in the world did +old Mrs. Purdon know about Ev'leen Ann--that night?" + +Horace was pulling at the door, which was badly adjusted and shut hard. +He closed it with a vicious slam "_I_ told her," he said crossly. + + + + +HOW "FLINT AND FIRE" STARTED AND GREW + +BY + +DOROTHY CANFIELD + + +I feel very dubious about the wisdom or usefulness of publishing the +following statement of how one of my stories came into existence. This +is not on account of the obvious danger of seeming to have illusions +about the value of my work, as though I imagined one of my stories was +inherently worth in itself a careful public analysis of its growth; the +chance, remote as it might be, of usefulness to students, would outweigh +this personal consideration. What is more important is the danger that +some student may take the explanation as a recipe or rule for the +construction of other stories, and I totally disbelieve in such rules or +recipes. + +As a rule, when a story is finished, and certainly always by the time it +is published, I have no recollection of the various phases of its +development. In the case of "Flint and Fire", an old friend chanced to +ask me, shortly after the tale was completed, to write out for his +English classes, the stages of the construction of a short story. I set +them down, hastily, formlessly, but just as they happened, and this +gives me a record which I could not reproduce for any other story I ever +wrote. These notes are here published on the chance that such a truthful +record of the growth of one short story, may have some general +suggestiveness for students. + +No two of my stories are ever constructed in the same way, but broadly +viewed they all have exactly the same genesis, and I confess I cannot +conceive of any creative fiction written from any other beginning ... +that of a generally intensified emotional sensibility, such as every +human being experiences with more or less frequency. Everybody knows +such occasional hours or days of freshened emotional responses when +events that usually pass almost unnoticed, suddenly move you deeply, +when a sunset lifts you to exaltation, when a squeaking door throws you +into a fit of exasperation, when a clear look of trust in a child's eyes +moves you to tears, or an injustice reported in the newspapers to +flaming indignation, a good action to a sunny warm love of human nature, +a discovered meanness in yourself or another, to despair. + +I have no idea whence this tide comes, or where it goes, but when it +begins to rise in my heart, I know that a story is hovering in the +offing. It does not always come safely to port. The daily routine of +ordinary life kills off many a vagrant emotion. Or if daily humdrum +occupation does not stifle it, perhaps this saturated solution of +feeling does not happen to crystallize about any concrete fact, episode, +word or phrase. In my own case, it is far more likely to seize on some +slight trifle, the shade of expression on somebody's face, or the tone +of somebody's voice, than to accept a more complete, ready-made episode. +Especially this emotion refuses to crystallize about, or to have +anything to do with those narrations of our actual life, offered by +friends who are sure that such-and-such a happening is so strange or +interesting that "it ought to go in a story." + +The beginning of a story is then for me in more than usual sensitiveness +to emotion. If this encounters the right focus (and heaven only knows +why it is the "right" one) I get simultaneously a strong thrill of +intense feeling, and an intense desire to pass it on to other people. +This emotion may be any one of the infinitely varied ones which life +affords, laughter, sorrow, indignation, gayety, admiration, scorn, +pleasure. I recognize it for the "right" one when it brings with it an +irresistible impulse to try to make other people feel it. And I know +that when it comes, the story is begun. At this point, the story begins +to be more or less under my conscious control, and it is here that the +work of construction begins. + +"Flint and Fire" thus hovered vaguely in a shimmer of general emotional +tensity, and thus abruptly crystallized itself about a chance phrase and +the cadence of the voice which pronounced it. For several days I had +been almost painfully alive to the beauty of an especially lovely +spring, always so lovely after the long winter in the mountains. One +evening, going on a very prosaic errand to a farm-house of our region, I +walked along a narrow path through dark pines, beside a brook swollen +with melting snow, and found the old man I came to see, sitting silent +and alone before his blackened small old house. I did my errand, and +then not to offend against our country standards of sociability, sat for +half an hour beside him. + +The old man had been for some years desperately unhappy about a tragic +and permanent element in his life. I had known this, every one knew it. +But that evening, played upon as I had been by the stars, the darkness +of the pines and the shouting voice of the brook, I suddenly stopped +merely knowing it, and felt it. It seemed to me that his misery emanated +from him like a soundless wail of anguish. We talked very little, odds +and ends of neighborhood gossip, until the old man, shifting his +position, drew a long breath and said, "Seems to me I never heard the +brook sound so loud as it has this spring." There came instantly to my +mind the recollection that his grandfather had drowned himself in that +brook, and I sat silent, shaken by that thought and by the sound of his +voice. I have no words to attempt to reproduce his voice, or to try to +make you feel as I did, hot and cold with the awe of that glimpse into a +naked human heart. I felt my own heart contract dreadfully with helpless +sympathy ... and, I hope this is not as ugly as it sounds, I knew at the +same instant that I would try to get that pang of emotion into a story +and make other people feel it. + +That is all. That particular phase of the construction of the story +came and went between two heart-beats. + +I came home by the same path through the same pines along the same +brook, sinfully blind and deaf to the beauty that had so moved me an +hour ago. I was too busy now to notice anything outside the rapid +activity going on inside my head. My mind was working with a swiftness +and a coolness which I am somewhat ashamed to mention, and my emotions +were calmed, relaxed, let down from the tension of the last few days and +the last few moments. They had found their way out to an attempt at +self-expression and were at rest. I realize that this is not at all +estimable. The old man was just as unhappy as he had been when I had +felt my heart breaking with sympathy for him, but now he seemed very far +away. + +I was snatching up one possibility after another, considering it for a +moment, casting it away and pouncing on another. First of all, the story +must be made as remote as possible from resembling the old man or his +trouble, lest he or any one in the world might think he was intended, +and be wounded. + +What is the opposite pole from an old man's tragedy? A lover's tragedy, +of course. Yes, it must be separated lovers, young and passionate and +beautiful, because they would fit in with the back-ground of spring, and +swollen shouting starlit brooks, and the yearly resurrection which was +so closely connected with that ache of emotion that they were a part of +it. + +Should the separation come from the weakness or faithlessness of one of +the lovers? No, ah no, I wanted it without ugliness, pure beautiful +sorrow, to fit that dark shadow of the pines ... the lovers must be +separated by outside forces. + +What outside forces? Lack of money? Family opposition? Both, perhaps. I +knew plenty of cases of both in the life of our valley. + +By this time I had come again to our own house and was swallowed in the +usual thousand home-activities. But underneath all that, quite steadily +my mind continued to work on the story as a wasp in a barn keeps on +silently plastering up the cells of his nest in the midst of the noisy +activities of farm-life. I said to one of the children, "Yes, dear, +wasn't it fun!" and to myself, "To be typical of our tradition-ridden +valley-people, the opposition ought to come from the dead hand of the +past." I asked a caller, "One lump or two?" and thought as I poured the +tea, "And if the character of that opposition could be made to indicate +a fierce capacity for passionate feeling in the older generation, that +would make it doubly useful in the story, not only as part of the +machinery of the plot, but as indicating an inheritance of passionate +feeling in the younger generation, with whom the story is concerned." I +dozed off at night, and woke to find myself saying, "It could come from +the jealousy of two sisters, now old women." + +But that meant that under ordinary circumstances the lovers would have +been first cousins, and this might cause a subconscious wavering of +attention on the part of some readers ... just as well to get that stone +out of the path! I darned a sock and thought out the relationship in the +story, and was rewarded with a revelation of the character of the sick +old woman, 'Niram's step-mother. + +Upon this, came one of those veering lists of the ballast aboard which +are so disconcerting to the author. The story got out of hand. The old +woman silent, indomitable, fed and deeply satisfied for all of her hard +and grinding life by her love for the husband whom she had taken from +her sister, she stepped to the front of my stage, and from that moment +on, dominated the action. I did not expect this, nor desire it, and I +was very much afraid that the result would be a perilously divided +interest which would spoil the unity of impression of the story. It now +occurs to me that this unexpected shifting of values may have been the +emergence of the element of tragic old age which had been the start of +the story and which I had conscientiously tried to smother out of sight. +At any rate, there she was, more touching, pathetic, striking, to my +eyes with her life-time proof of the reality of her passion, than my +untried young lovers who up to that time had seemed to me, in the full +fatuous flush of invention as I was, as ill-starred, innocent and +touching lovers as anybody had ever seen. + +Alarmed about this double interest I went on with the weaving back and +forth of the elements of the plot which now involved the attempt to +arouse in the reader's heart as in mine a sympathy for the bed-ridden +old Mrs. Purdon and a comprehension of her sacrifice. + +My daily routine continued as usual, gardening, telling stories, music, +sewing, dusting, motoring, callers ... one of them, a self-consciously +sophisticated Europeanized American, not having of course any idea of +what was filling my inner life, rubbed me frightfully the wrong way by +making a slighting condescending allusion to what he called the mean, +emotional poverty of our inarticulate mountain people. I flew into a +silent rage at him, though scorning to discuss with him a matter I felt +him incapable of understanding, and the character of Cousin Horace went +into the story. He was for the first day or two, a very poor cheap +element, quite unreal, unrealized, a mere man of straw to be knocked +over by the personages of the tale. Then I took myself to task, told +myself that I was spoiling a story merely to revenge myself on a man I +cared nothing about, and that I must either take Cousin Horace out or +make him human. One day, working in the garden, I laughed out suddenly, +delighted with the whimsical idea of making him, almost in spite of +himself, the _deus ex machina_ of my little drama, quite soft and +sympathetic under his shell of would-be worldly disillusion, as +occasionally happens to elderly bachelors. + +At this point the character of 'Niram's long-dead father came to life +and tried to push his way into the story, a delightful, gentle, upright +man, with charm and a sense of humor, such as none of the rest of my +stark characters possessed. I felt that he was necessary to explain the +fierceness of the sisters' rivalry for him. I planned one or two ways to +get him in, in retrospect--and liked one of the scenes better than +anything that finally was left in the story. Finally, very +heavy-hearted, I put him out of the story, for the merely material +reason that there was no room for him. As usual with my story-making, +this plot was sprouting out in a dozen places, expanding, opening up, +till I perceived that I had enough material for a novel. For a day or so +I hung undecided. Would it perhaps be better to make it a novel and +really tell about those characters all I knew and guessed? But again a +consideration that has nothing to do with artistic form, settled the +matter. I saw no earthly possibility of getting time enough to write a +novel. So I left Mr. Purdon out, and began to think of ways to compress +my material, to make one detail do double work so that space might be +saved. + +One detail of the mechanism remained to be arranged, and this ended by +deciding the whole form of the story, and the first-person character of +the recital. This was the question of just how it would have been +materially possible for the bed-ridden old woman to break down the +life-long barrier between her and her sister, and how she could have +reached her effectively and forced her hand. I could see no way to +manage this except by somehow transporting her bodily to the sister's +house, so that she could not be put out on the road without public +scandal. This transportation must be managed by some character not in +the main action, as none of the persons involved would have been willing +to help her to this. It looked like putting in another character, just +for that purpose, and of course he could not be put in without taking +the time to make him plausible, human, understandable ... and I had just +left out that charming widower for sheer lack of space. Well, why not +make it a first person story, and have the narrator be the one who takes +Mrs. Purdon to her sister's? The narrator of the story never needs to be +explained, always seems sufficiently living and real by virtue of the +supremely human act of so often saying "I". + +Now the materials were ready, the characters fully alive in my mind and +entirely visualized, even to the smoothly braided hair of Ev'leen Ann, +the patch-work quilt of the old woman out-of-doors, and the rustic +wedding at the end, all details which had recently chanced to draw my +attention; I heard everything through the song of the swollen brook, one +of the main characters in the story, (although by this time in actual +fact, June and lower water had come and the brook slid quiet and +gleaming, between placid green banks) and I often found myself smiling +foolishly in pleasure over the buggy going down the hill, freighted so +richly with hearty human joy. + +The story was now ready to write. + +I drew a long breath of mingled anticipation and apprehension, somewhat +as you do when you stand, breathing quickly, balanced on your skis, at +the top of a long white slope you are not sure you are clever enough to +manage. Sitting down at my desk one morning, I "pushed off" and with a +tingle of not altogether pleasurable excitement and alarm, felt myself +"going." I "went" almost as precipitately as skis go down a long white +slope, scribbling as rapidly as my pencil could go, indicating whole +words with a dash and a jiggle, filling page after page with scrawls ... +it seemed to me that I had been at work perhaps half an hour, when +someone was calling me impatiently to lunch. I had been writing four +hours without stopping. My cheeks were flaming, my feet were cold, my +lips parched. It was high time someone called me to lunch. + +The next morning, back at the desk, I looked over what I had written, +conquered the usual sick qualms of discouragement at finding it so +infinitely flat and insipid compared to what I had wished to make it, +and with a very clear idea of what remained to be done, plodded ahead +doggedly, and finished the first draught before noon. It was almost +twice too long. + +After this came a period of steady desk work, every morning, of +re-writing, compression, more compression, and the more or less +mechanical work of technical revision, what a member of my family calls +"cutting out the 'whiches'". The first thing to do each morning was to +read a part of it over aloud, sentence by sentence, to try to catch +clumsy, ungraceful phrases, overweights at one end or the other, +"ringing" them as you ring a dubious coin, clipping off too-trailing +relative clauses, "listening" hard. This work depends on what is known +in music as "ear", and in my case it cannot be kept up long at a time, +because I find my attention flagging. When I begin to suspect that my +ear is dulling, I turn to other varieties of revision, of which there +are plenty to keep anybody busy; for instance revision to explain facts; +in this category is the sentence just after the narrator suspects +Ev'leen Ann has gone down to the brook, "my ears ringing with all the +frightening tales of the morbid vein of violence which runs through the +characters of our reticent people." It seemed too on re-reading the +story for the tenth or eleventh time, that for readers who do not know +our valley people, the girl's attempt at suicide might seem improbable. +Some reference ought to be brought in, giving the facts that their +sorrow and despair is terrible in proportion to the nervous strain of +their tradition of repression, and that suicide is by no means unknown. +I tried bringing that fact in, as part of the conversation with Cousin +Horace, but it never fused with the rest there, "stayed on top of the +page" as bad sentences will do, never sank in, and always made the +disagreeable impression on me that a false intonation in an actor's +voice does. So it came out from there. I tried putting it in Ev'leen +Ann's mouth, in a carefully arranged form, but it was so shockingly out +of character there, that it was snatched out at once. There I hung over +the manuscript with that necessary fact in my hand and no place to lay +it down. Finally I perceived a possible opening for it, where it now is +in the story, and squeezing it in there discontentedly left it, for I +still think it only inoffensively and not well placed. + +Then there is the traditional, obvious revision for suggestiveness, such +as the recurrent mention of the mountain brook at the beginning of each +of the first scenes; revision for ordinary sense, in the first draught I +had honeysuckle among the scents on the darkened porch, whereas +honeysuckle does not bloom in Vermont till late June; revision for +movement to get the narrator rapidly from her bed to the brook; for +sound, sense proportion, even grammar ... and always interwoven with +these mechanical revisions recurrent intense visualizations of the +scenes. This is the mental trick which can be learned, I think, by +practice and effort. Personally, although I never used as material any +events in my own intimate life, I can write nothing if I cannot achieve +these very definite, very complete visualizations of the scenes; which +means that I can write nothing at all about places, people or phases of +life which I do not intimately know, down to the last detail. If my life +depended on it, it does not seem to me I could possibly write a story +about Siberian hunters or East-side factory hands without having lived +long among them. Now the story was what one calls "finished," and I made +a clear copy, picking my way with difficulty among the alterations, the +scratched-out passages, and the cued-in paragraphs, the inserted pages, +the re-arranged phrases. As I typed, the interest and pleasure in the +story lasted just through that process. It still seemed pretty good to +me, the wedding still touched me, the whimsical ending still amused me. + +But on taking up the legible typed copy and beginning to glance rapidly +over it, I felt fall over me the black shadow of that intolerable +reaction which is enough to make any author abjure his calling for ever. +By the time I had reached the end, the full misery was there, the +heart-sick, helpless consciousness of failure. What! I had had the +presumption to try to translate into words, and make others feel a +thrill of sacred living human feeling, that should not be touched save +by worthy hands. And what had I produced? A trivial, paltry, complicated +tale, with certain cheaply ingenious devices in it. I heard again the +incommunicable note of profound emotion in the old man's voice, suffered +again with his sufferings; and those little black marks on white paper +lay dead, dead in my hands. What horrible people second-rate authors +were! They ought to be prohibited by law from sending out their +caricatures of life. I would never write again. All that effort, enough +to have achieved a master-piece it seemed at the time ... and this, +_this_, for result! + +From the subconscious depths of long experience came up the cynical, +slightly contemptuous consolation, "You know this never lasts. You +always throw this same fit, and get over it." + +So, suffering from really acute humiliation and unhappiness, I went out +hastily to weed a flower-bed. + +And sure enough, the next morning, after a long night's sleep, I felt +quite rested, calm, and blessedly matter-of-fact. "Flint and Fire" +seemed already very far away and vague, and the question of whether it +was good or bad, not very important or interesting, like the chart of +your temperature in a fever now gone by. + + + + +DOROTHY CANFIELD + + +Dorothy Canfield grew up in an atmosphere of books and learning. Her +father, James H. Canfield, was president of Kansas University, at +Lawrence, and there Dorothy was born, Feb. 17, 1879. She attended the +high school at Lawrence, and became friends with a young army officer +who was teaching at the near-by Army post, and who taught her to ride +horseback. In 1917 when the first American troops entered Paris, Dorothy +Canfield, who had gone to Paris to help in war work, again met this army +officer, General John J. Pershing. + +But this is getting ahead of the story. Dr. Canfield was called from +Kansas to become president of Ohio State University, and later to be +librarian at Columbia University, and so it happened that Dorothy took +her college course at Ohio State and her graduate work at Columbia. She +specialized in Romance languages, and took her degree as Doctor of +Philosophy in 1904. In connection with Professor Carpenter of Columbia +she wrote a text book on rhetoric. But books did not absorb quite all of +her time, for the next item in her biography is her marriage to John R. +Fisher, who had been the captain of the Columbia football team. They +made their home at Arlington, Vermont, with frequent visits to Europe. +In 1911-1912 they spent the winter in Rome. Here they came to know +Madame Montessori, famous for developing a new system of training +children. Dorothy Canfield spent many days at the "House of Childhood," +studying the methods of this gifted teacher. The result of this was a +book, _A Montessori Mother_, in which the system was adapted to the +needs of American children. + +_The Squirrel Cage_, published in 1912, was a study of an unhappy +marriage. The book was favorably received by the critics, but found only +a moderately wide public. A second novel, _The Bent Twig_, had college +life as its setting; the chief character was the daughter of a professor +in a Middle Western university. Meantime she had been publishing in +magazines a number of short stories dealing with various types of New +England country people, and in 1916 these were gathered into a volume +with the title _Hillsboro People_. This book met with a wide acceptance, +not only in this country but in France, where, like her other books, it +was quickly translated and published. "Flint and Fire" is taken from +this book. _The Real Motive_, another book of short stories, and +_Understood Betsy_, a book for younger readers, were her next +publications. + +Meantime the Great War had come, and its summons was heard in their +quiet mountain home. Mr. Fisher went to France with the Ambulance Corps; +his wife as a war-relief worker. A letter from a friend thus described +her work: + + + She has gone on doing a prodigious amount of work. First running, + almost entirely alone, the work for soldiers blinded in battle, + editing a magazine for them, running the presses, often with her + own hands, getting books written for them; all the time looking out + for refugees and personal cases that came under her attention: + caring for children from the evacuated portions of France, + organizing work for them, and establishing a Red Cross hospital for + them. + + +Out of the fullness of these experiences she wrote her next book, _Home +Fires in France_, which at once took rank as one of the most notable +pieces of literature inspired by the war. It is in the form of short +stories, but only the form is fiction: it is a perfectly truthful +portrayal of the French women and of some Americans who, far back of the +trenches, kept up the life of a nation when all its people were gone. It +reveals the soul of the French people. _The Day of Glory_, her latest +book, is a series of further impressions of the war in France. + +It is not often that an author takes us into his workshop and lets us +see just how his stories are written. The preceding account of Dorothy +Canfield's literary methods was written especially for this book. + + + + +DUSKY AMERICANS + +_Most stories of Negro life fall into one of two groups. There is the +story of the Civil War period, which pictures the "darky" on the old +plantation, devoted to "young Massa" or "old Miss,"--the Negro of +slavery. Then there are stories of recent times in which the Negro is +used purely for comic effect, a sort of minstrel-show character. Neither +of these is the Negro of to-day. A truer picture is found in the stories +of Paul Laurence Dunbar. The following story is from his FOLKS FROM +DIXIE._ + + + + +THE ORDEAL AT MT. HOPE + +BY + +PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR + + +"And this is Mt. Hope," said the Rev. Howard Dokesbury to himself as he +descended, bag in hand, from the smoky, dingy coach, or part of a coach, +which was assigned to his people, and stepped upon the rotten planks of +the station platform. The car he had just left was not a palace, nor had +his reception by his fellow-passengers or his intercourse with them been +of such cordial nature as to endear them to him. But he watched the +choky little engine with its three black cars wind out of sight with a +look as regretful as if he were witnessing the departure of his dearest +friend. Then he turned his attention again to his surroundings, and a +sigh welled up from his heart. "And this is Mt. Hope," he repeated. A +note in his voice indicated that he fully appreciated the spirit of keen +irony in which the place had been named. + +The color scheme of the picture that met his eyes was in dingy blacks +and grays. The building that held the ticket, telegraph, and train +despatchers' offices was a miserably old ramshackle affair, standing +well in the foreground of this scene of gloom and desolation. Its +windows were so coated with smoke and grime that they seemed to have +been painted over in order to secure secrecy within. Here and there a +lazy cur lay drowsily snapping at the flies, and at the end of the +station, perched on boxes or leaning against the wall, making a living +picture of equal laziness, stood a group of idle Negroes exchanging rude +badinage with their white counterparts across the street. + +After a while this bantering interchange would grow more keen and +personal, a free-for-all friendly fight would follow, and the newspaper +correspondent in that section would write it up as a "race war." But +this had not happened yet that day. + +"This is Mt. Hope," repeated the new-comer; "this is the field of my +labors." + +Rev. Howard Dokesbury, as may already have been inferred, was a +Negro,--there could be no mistake about that. The deep dark brown of his +skin, the rich over-fullness of his lips, and the close curl of his +short black hair were evidences that admitted of no argument. He was a +finely proportioned, stalwart-looking man, with a general air of +self-possession and self-sufficiency in his manner. There was firmness +in the set of his lips. A reader of character would have said of him, +"Here is a man of solid judgement, careful in deliberation, prompt in +execution, and decisive." + +It was the perception in him of these very qualities which had prompted +the authorities of the little college where he had taken his degree and +received his theological training, to urge him to go among his people at +the South, and there to exert his powers for good where the field was +broad and the laborers few. + +Born of Southern parents from whom he had learned many of the +superstitions and traditions of the South, Howard Dokesbury himself had +never before been below Mason and Dixon's line. But with a confidence +born of youth and a consciousness of personal power, he had started +South with the idea that he knew the people with whom he had to deal, +and was equipped with the proper weapons to cope with their +shortcomings. + +But as he looked around upon the scene which now met his eye, a doubt +arose in his mind. He picked up his bag with a sigh, and approached a +man who had been standing apart from the rest of the loungers and +regarding him with indolent intentness. + +"Could you direct me to the house of Stephen Gray?" asked the minister. + +The interrogated took time to change his position from left foot to +right and shift his quid, before he drawled forth, "I reckon you's de +new Mefdis preachah, huh?" + +"Yes," replied Howard, in the most conciliatory tone he could command, +"and I hope I find in you one of my flock." + +"No, suh, I's a Babtist myse'f. I wa'n't raised up no place erroun' Mt. +Hope; I'm nachelly f'om way up in Adams County. Dey jes' sont me down +hyeah to fin' you an' tek you up to Steve's. Steve, he's workin' to-day +an' couldn't come down." + +He laid particular stress upon the "to-day," as if Steve's spell of +activity were not an every-day occurrence. + +"Is it far from here?" asked Dokesbury. + +"'T ain't mo' 'n a mile an' a ha'f by de shawt cut." + +"Well, then, let's take the short cut, by all means," said the preacher. + +They trudged along for a while in silence, and then the young man asked, +"What do you men about here do mostly for a living?" + +"Oh, well, we does odd jobs, we saws an' splits wood an' totes bundles, +an' some of 'em raises gyahden, but mos' of us, we fishes. De fish bites +an' we ketches 'em. Sometimes we eats 'em an' sometimes we sells 'em; a +string o' fish'll bring a peck o' co'n any time." + +"And is that all you do?" + +"'Bout." + +"Why, I don't see how you live that way." + +"Oh, we lives all right," answered the man; "we has plenty to eat an' +drink, an' clothes to wear, an' some place to stay. I reckon folks ain't +got much use fu' nuffin' mo'." + +Dokesbury sighed. Here indeed was virgin soil for his ministerial +labors. His spirits were not materially raised when, some time later, he +came in sight of the house which was to be his abode. To be sure, it was +better than most of the houses which he had seen in the Negro part of +Mt. Hope; but even at that it was far from being good or +comfortable-looking. It was small and mean in appearance. The weather +boarding was broken, and in some places entirely fallen away, showing +the great unhewn logs beneath; while off the boards that remained the +whitewash had peeled in scrofulous spots. + +The minister's guide went up to the closed door, and rapped loudly with +a heavy stick. + +"G' 'way f'om dah, an' quit you' foolin'," came in a large voice from +within. + +The guide grinned, and rapped again. There was a sound of shuffling feet +and the pushing back of a chair, and then the same voice asking: "I bet +I'll mek you git away f'om dat do'." + +"Dat's A'nt Ca'line," the guide said, and laughed. + +The door was flung back as quickly as its worn hinges and sagging bottom +would allow, and a large body surmounted by a face like a big round full +moon presented itself in the opening. A broomstick showed itself +aggressively in one fat shiny hand. + +"It's you, Tom Scott, is it--you trif'nin'----" and then, catching sight +of the stranger, her whole manner changed, and she dropped the +broomstick with an embarrassed "'Scuse me, suh." + +Tom chuckled all over as he said, "A'nt Ca'line, dis is yo' new +preachah." + +The big black face lighted up with a broad smile as the old woman +extended her hand and enveloped that of the young minister's. + +"Come in," she said. "I's mighty glad to see you--that no-'count Tom +come put' nigh mekin' me 'spose myse'f." Then turning to Tom, she +exclaimed with good-natured severity, "An' you go 'long, you scoun'll +you!" + +The preacher entered the cabin--it was hardly more--and seated himself +in the rush-bottomed chair which "A'nt Ca'line" had been industriously +polishing with her apron. + +"An' now, Brothah----" + +"Dokesbury," supplemented the young man. + +"Brothah Dokesbury, I jes' want you to mek yo'se'f at home right erway. +I know you ain't use to ouah ways down hyeah; but you jes' got to set in +an' git ust to 'em. You mus'n' feel bad ef things don't go yo' way f'om +de ve'y fust. Have you got a mammy?" + +The question was very abrupt, and a lump suddenly jumped up in +Dokesbury's throat and pushed the water into his eyes. He did have a +mother away back there at home. She was all alone, and he was her heart +and the hope of her life. + +"Yes," he said, "I've got a little mother up there in Ohio." + +"Well, I's gwine to be yo' mothah down hyeah; dat is, ef I ain't too +rough an' common fu' you." + +"Hush!" exclaimed the preacher, and he got up and took the old lady's +hand in both of his own. "You shall be my mother down here; you shall +help me, as you have done to-day. I feel better already." + +"I knowed you would," and the old face beamed on the young one. "An' now +jes' go out de do' dah an' wash yo' face. Dey's a pan an' soap an' watah +right dah, an' hyeah's a towel; den you kin go right into yo' room, fu' +I knows you want to be erlone fu' a while. I'll fix yo' suppah while you +rests." + +He did as he was bidden. On a rough bench outside the door, he found a +basin and a bucket of water with a tin dipper in it. To one side, in a +broken saucer, lay a piece of coarse soap. The facilities for copious +ablutions were not abundant, but one thing the minister noted with +pleasure: the towel, which was rough and hurt his skin, was, +nevertheless, scrupulously clean. He went to his room feeling fresher +and better, and although he found the place little and dark and warm, it +too was clean, and a sense of its homeness began to take possession of +him. + +The room was off the main living-room into which he had been first +ushered. It had one small window that opened out on a fairly neat yard. +A table with a chair before it stood beside the window, and across the +room--if the three feet of space which intervened could be called +"across"--stood the little bed with its dark calico quilt and white +pillows. There was no carpet on the floor, and the absence of a +washstand indicated very plainly that the occupant was expected to wash +outside. The young minister knelt for a few minutes beside the bed, and +then rising cast himself into the chair to rest. + +It was possibly half an hour later when his partial nap was broken in +upon by the sound of a gruff voice from without saying, "He's hyeah, is +he--oomph! Well, what's he ac' lak? Want us to git down on ouah knees +an' crawl to him? If he do, I reckon he'll fin' dat Mt. Hope ain't de +place fo' him." + +The minister did not hear the answer, which was in a low voice and came, +he conjectured, from Aunt "Ca'line"; but the gruff voice subsided, and +there was the sound of footsteps going out of the room. A tap came on +the preacher's door, and he opened it to the old woman. She smiled +reassuringly. + +"Dat' uz my ol' man," she said. "I sont him out to git some wood, so's +I'd have time to post you. Don't you mind him; he's lots mo' ba'k dan +bite. He's one o' dese little yaller men, an' you know dey kin be +powahful contra'y when dey sets dey hai'd to it. But jes' you treat him +nice an' don't let on, an' I'll be boun' you'll bring him erroun' in +little er no time." + +The Rev. Mr. Dokesbury received this advice with some misgiving. Albeit +he had assumed his pleasantest manner when, after his return to the +living-room, the little "yaller" man came through the door with his +bundle of wood. + +He responded cordially to Aunt Caroline's, "Dis is my husband, Brothah +Dokesbury," and heartily shook his host's reluctant hand. + +"I hope I find you well, Brother Gray," he said. + +"Moder't, jes' moder't," was the answer. + +"Come to suppah now, bofe o' you," said the old lady, and they all sat +down to the evening meal of crisp bacon, well-fried potatoes, egg-pone, +and coffee. + +The young man did his best to be agreeable, but it was rather +discouraging to receive only gruff monosyllabic rejoinders to his most +interesting observations. But the cheery old wife came bravely to the +rescue, and the minister was continually floated into safety on the flow +of her conversation. Now and then, as he talked, he could catch a +stealthy upflashing of Stephen Gray's eye, as suddenly lowered again, +that told him that the old man was listening. But as an indication that +they would get on together, the supper, taken as a whole, was not a +success. The evening that followed proved hardly more fortunate. About +the only remarks that could be elicited from the "little yaller man" +were a reluctant "oomph" or "oomph-uh." + +It was just before going to bed that, after a period of reflection, Aunt +Caroline began slowly: "We got a son"--her husband immediately bristled +up and his eyes flashed, but the old woman went on; "he named 'Lias, an' +we thinks a heap o' 'Lias, we does; but--" the old man had subsided, but +he bristled up again at the word--"he ain't jes' whut we want him to +be." Her husband opened his mouth as if to speak in defense of his son, +but was silent in satisfaction at his wife's explanation: "'Lias ain't +bad; he jes' ca'less. Sometimes he stays at home, but right sma't o' de +time he stays down at"--she looked at her husband and hesitated--"at de +colo'ed s'loon. We don't lak dat. It ain't no fitten place fu' him. But +'Lias ain't bad, he jes' ca'less, an' me an' de ol' man we 'membahs him +in ouah pra'ahs, an' I jes' t'ought I'd ax you to 'membah him too, +Brothah Dokesbury." + +The minister felt the old woman's pleading look and the husband's +intense gaze upon his face, and suddenly there came to him an intimate +sympathy in their trouble and with it an unexpected strength. + +"There is no better time than now," he said, "to take his case to the +Almighty Power; let us pray." + +Perhaps it was the same prayer he had prayed many times before; perhaps +the words of supplication and the plea for light and guidance were the +same; but somehow to the young man kneeling there amid those humble +surroundings, with the sorrow of these poor ignorant people weighing +upon his heart, it seemed very different. It came more fervently from +his lips, and the words had a deeper meaning. When he arose, there was a +warmth at his heart just the like of which he had never before +experienced. + +Aunt Caroline blundered up from her knees, saying, as she wiped her +eyes, "Blessed is dey dat mou'n, fu' dey shall be comfo'ted." The old +man, as he turned to go to bed, shook the young man's hand warmly and in +silence; but there was a moisture in the old eyes that told the minister +that his plummet of prayer had sounded the depths. + +Alone in his own room Howard Dokesbury sat down to study the situation +in which he had been placed. Had his thorough college training +anticipated specifically any such circumstance as this? After all, did +he know his own people? Was it possible that they could be so different +from what he had seen and known? He had always been such a loyal Negro, +so proud of his honest brown; but had he been mistaken? Was he, after +all, different from the majority of the people with whom he was supposed +to have all thoughts, feelings, and emotions in common? + +These and other questions he asked himself without being able to arrive +at any satisfactory conclusion. He did not go to sleep soon after +retiring, and the night brought many thoughts. The next day would be +Saturday. The ordeal had already begun,--now there were twenty-four +hours between him and the supreme trial. What would be its outcome? +There were moments when he felt, as every man, howsoever brave, must +feel at times, that he would like to shift all his responsibilities and +go away from the place that seemed destined to tax his powers beyond +their capability of endurance. What could he do for the inhabitants of +Mt. Hope? What was required of him to do? Ever through his mind ran that +world-old question: "Am I my brother's keeper?" He had never asked, "Are +these people my brothers?" + +He was up early the next morning, and as soon as breakfast was done, he +sat down to add a few touches to the sermon he had prepared as his +introduction. It was not the first time that he had retouched it and +polished it up here and there. Indeed, he had taken some pride in it. +But as he read it over that day, it did not sound to him as it had +sounded before. It appeared flat and without substance. After a while he +laid it aside, telling himself that he was nervous and it was on this +account that he could not see matters as he did in his calmer moments. +He told himself, too, that he must not again take up the offending +discourse until time to use it, lest the discovery of more imaginary +flaws should so weaken his confidence that he would not be able to +deliver it with effect. + +In order better to keep his resolve, he put on his hat and went out for +a walk through the streets of Mt. Hope. He did not find an encouraging +prospect as he went along. The Negroes whom he met viewed him with +ill-favor, and the whites who passed looked on him with unconcealed +distrust and contempt. He began to feel lost, alone, and helpless. The +squalor and shiftlessness which were plainly in evidence about the +houses which he saw filled him with disgust and a dreary hopelessness. + +He passed vacant lots which lay open and inviting children to healthful +play; but instead of marbles or leap-frog or ball, he found little boys +in ragged knickerbockers huddled together on the ground, "shooting +craps" with precocious avidity and quarreling over the pennies that made +the pitiful wagers. He heard glib profanity rolling from the lips of +children who should have been stumbling through baby catechisms; and +his heart ached for them. + +He would have turned and gone back to his room, but the sound of shouts, +laughter, and the tum-tum of a musical instrument drew him on down the +street. At the turn of a corner, the place from which the noise emanated +met his eyes. It was a rude frame building, low and unpainted. The panes +in its windows whose places had not been supplied by sheets of tin were +daubed a dingy red. Numerous kegs and bottles on the outside attested +the nature of the place. The front door was open, but the interior was +concealed by a gaudy curtain stretched across the entrance within. Over +the door was the inscription, in straggling characters, "Sander's +Place;" and when he saw half-a-dozen Negroes enter, the minister knew +instantly that he now beheld the colored saloon which was the +frequenting-place of his hostess's son 'Lias; and he wondered, if, as +the mother said, her boy was not bad, how anything good could be +preserved in such a place of evil. + +The cries of boisterous laughter mingled with the strumming of the banjo +and the shuffling of feet told him that they were engaged in one of +their rude hoe-down dances. He had not passed a dozen paces beyond the +door when the music was suddenly stopped, the sound of a quick blow +followed, then ensued a scuffle, and a young fellow half ran, half fell +through the open door. He was closely followed by a heavily built +ruffian who was striking him as he ran. The young fellow was very much +the weaker and slighter of the two, and was suffering great punishment. +In an instant all the preacher's sense of justice was stung into sudden +life. Just as the brute was about to give his victim a blow that would +have sent him into the gutter, he felt his arm grasped in a detaining +hold and heard a commanding voice,--"Stop!" + +He turned with increased fury upon this meddler, but his other wrist was +caught and held in a vise-like grip. For a moment the two men looked +into each other's eyes. Hot words rose to the young man's lips, but he +choked them back. Until this moment he had deplored the possession of a +spirit so easily fired that it had been a test of his manhood to keep +from "slugging" on the football field; now he was glad of it. He did not +attempt to strike the man, but stood holding his arms and meeting the +brute glare with manly flashing eyes. Either the natural cowardice of +the bully or something in his new opponent's face had quelled the big +fellow's spirit, and he said doggedly, "Lemme go. I wasn't a-go'n to +kill him no-how, but ef I ketch him dancin' with my gal any mo', I----" +He cast a glance full of malice at his victim, who stood on the pavement +a few feet away, as much amazed as the dumfounded crowd which thronged +the door of "Sander's Place." Loosing his hold, the preacher turned, +and, putting his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, led him away. + +For a time they walked on in silence. Dokesbury had to calm the tempest +in his breast before he could trust his voice. After a while he said: +"That fellow was making it pretty hot for you, my young friend. What had +you done to him?" + +"Nothin'," replied the other. "I was jes' dancin' 'long an' not thinkin' +'bout him, when all of a sudden he hollered dat I had his gal an' +commenced hittin' me." + +"He's a bully and a coward, or he would not have made use of his +superior strength in that way. What's your name, friend?" + +"'Lias Gray," was the answer, which startled the minister into +exclaiming,-- + +"What! are you Aunt Caroline's son?" + +"Yes, suh, I sho is; does you know my mothah?" + +"Why, I'm stopping with her, and we were talking about you last night. +My name is Dokesbury, and I am to take charge of the church here." + +"I thought mebbe you was a preachah, but I couldn't scarcely believe it +after I seen de way you held Sam an' looked at him." + +Dokesbury laughed, and his merriment seemed to make his companion feel +better, for the sullen, abashed look left his face, and he laughed a +little himself as he said: "I wasn't a-pesterin' Sam, but I tell you he +pestered me mighty." + +Dokesbury looked into the boy's face,--he was hardly more than a +boy,--lit up as it was by a smile, and concluded that Aunt Caroline was +right. 'Lias might be "ca'less," but he wasn't a bad boy. The face was +too open and the eyes too honest for that. 'Lias wasn't bad; but +environment does so much, and he would be if something were not done for +him. Here, then, was work for a pastor's hands. + +"You'll walk on home with me, 'Lias, won't you?" + +"I reckon I mout ez well," replied the boy. "I don't stay erroun' home +ez much ez I oughter." + +"You'll be around more, of course, now that I am there. It will be so +much less lonesome for two young people than for one. Then, you can be a +great help to me, too." + +The preacher did not look down to see how wide his listener's eyes grew +as he answered: "Oh, I ain't fittin' to be no he'p to you, suh. Fust +thing, I ain't nevah got religion, an' then I ain't well larned enough." + +"Oh, there are a thousand other ways in which you can help, and I feel +sure that you will." + +"Of co'se, I'll do de ve'y bes' I kin." + +"There is one thing I want you to do soon, as a favor to me." + +"I can't go to de mou'nah's bench," cried the boy, in consternation. + +"And I don't want you to," was the calm reply. + +Another look of wide-eyed astonishment took in the preacher's face. +These were strange words from one of his guild. But without noticing the +surprise he had created, Dokesbury went on: "What I want is that you +will take me fishing as soon as you can. I never get tired of fishing +and I am anxious to go here. Tom Scott says you fish a great deal about +here." + +"Why, we kin go dis ve'y afternoon," exclaimed 'Lias, in relief and +delight; "I's mighty fond o' fishin', myse'f." + +"All right; I'm in your hands from now on." + +'Lias drew his shoulders up, with an unconscious motion. The preacher +saw it, and mentally rejoiced. He felt that the first thing the boy +beside him needed was a consciousness of responsibility, and the lifted +shoulders meant progress in that direction, a sort of physical +straightening up to correspond with the moral one. + +On seeing her son walk in with the minister, Aunt "Ca'line's" delight +was boundless. "La! Brothah Dokesbury," she exclaimed, "wha'd you fin' +dat scamp?" + +"Oh, down the street here," the young man replied lightly. "I got hold +of his name and made myself acquainted, so he came home to go fishing +with me." + +"'Lias is pow'ful fon' o' fishin', hisse'f. I 'low he kin show you some +mighty good places. Cain't you, 'Lias?" + +"I reckon." + +'Lias was thinking. He was distinctly grateful that the circumstances of +his meeting with the minister had been so deftly passed over. But with a +half idea of the superior moral responsibility under which a man in +Dokesbury's position labored, he wondered vaguely--to put it in his own +thought-words--"ef de preachah hadn't put' nigh lied." However, he was +willing to forgive this little lapse of veracity, if such it was, out of +consideration for the anxiety it spared his mother. + +When Stephen Gray came in to dinner, he was no less pleased than his +wife to note the terms of friendship on which the minister received his +son. On his face was the first smile that Dokesbury had seen there, and +he awakened from his taciturnity and proffered much information as to +the fishing-places thereabout. The young minister accounted this a +distinct gain. Anything more than a frowning silence from the "little +yaller man" was gain. + +The fishing that afternoon was particularly good. Catfish, chubs, and +suckers were landed in numbers sufficient to please the heart of any +amateur angler. + +'Lias was happy, and the minister was in the best of spirits, for his +charge seemed promising. He looked on at the boy's jovial face, and +laughed within himself; for, mused he, "it is so much harder for the +devil to get into a cheerful heart than into a sullen, gloomy one." By +the time they were ready to go home Harold Dokesbury had received a +promise from 'Lias to attend service the next morning and hear the +sermon. + +There was a great jollification over the fish supper that night, and +'Lias and the minister were the heroes of the occasion. The old man +again broke his silence, and recounted, with infinite dryness, ancient +tales of his prowess with rod and line; while Aunt "Ca'line" told of +famous fish suppers that in the bygone days she had cooked for "de white +folks." In the midst of it all, however, 'Lias disappeared. No one had +noticed when he slipped out, but all seemed to become conscious of his +absence about the same time. The talk shifted, and finally simmered into +silence. + +When the Rev. Mr. Dokesbury went to bed that night, his charge had not +yet returned. + +The young minister woke early on the Sabbath morning, and he may be +forgiven that the prospect of the ordeal through which he had to pass +drove his care for 'Lias out of mind for the first few hours. But as he +walked to church, flanked on one side by Aunt Caroline in the stiffest +of ginghams and on the other by her husband stately in the magnificence +of an antiquated "Jim-swinger," his mind went back to the boy with +sorrow. Where was he? What was he doing? Had the fear of a dull church +service frightened him back to his old habits and haunts? There was a +new sadness at the preacher's heart as he threaded his way down the +crowded church and ascended the rude pulpit. + +The church was stiflingly hot, and the morning sun still beat +relentlessly in through the plain windows. The seats were rude wooden +benches, in some instances without backs. To the right, filling the +inner corner, sat the pillars of the church, stern, grim, and critical. +Opposite them, and, like them, in seats at right angles to the main +body, sat the older sisters, some of them dressed with good +old-fashioned simplicity, while others yielding to newer tendencies were +gotten up in gaudy attempts at finery. In the rear seats a dozen or so +much beribboned mulatto girls tittered and giggled, and cast bold +glances at the minister. + +The young man sighed as he placed the manuscript of his sermon between +the leaves of the tattered Bible. "And this is Mt. Hope," he was again +saying to himself. + +It was after the prayer and in the midst of the second hymn that a more +pronounced titter from the back seats drew his attention. He raised his +head to cast a reproving glance at the irreverent, but the sight that +met his eyes turned that look into one of horror. 'Lias had just entered +the church, and with every mark of beastly intoxication was staggering +up the aisle to a seat, into which he tumbled in a drunken heap. The +preacher's soul turned sick within him, and his eyes sought the face of +the mother and father. The old woman was wiping her eyes, and the old +man sat with his gaze bent upon the floor, lines of sorrow drawn about +his wrinkled mouth. + +All of a sudden a great revulsion of feeling came over Dokesbury. +Trembling he rose and opened the Bible. There lay his sermon, polished +and perfected. The opening lines seemed to him like glints from a bright +cold crystal. What had he to say to these people, when the full +realization of human sorrow and care and of human degradation had just +come to him? What had they to do with firstlies and secondlies, with +premises and conclusions? What they wanted was a strong hand to help +them over the hard places of life and a loud voice to cheer them through +the dark. He closed the book again upon his precious sermon. A something +new had been born in his heart. He let his glance rest for another +instant on the mother's pained face and the father's bowed form, and +then turning to the congregation began, "Come unto me, all ye that labor +and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, +and learn of me: for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find +rest unto your souls." Out of the fullness of his heart he spoke unto +them. Their great need informed his utterance. He forgot his carefully +turned sentences and perfectly rounded periods. He forgot all save that +here was the well-being of a community put into his hands whose real +condition he had not even suspected until now. The situation wrought him +up. His words went forth like winged fire, and the emotional people were +moved beyond control. They shouted, and clapped their hands, and praised +the Lord loudly. + +When the service was over, there was much gathering about the young +preacher, and handshaking. Through all 'Lias had slept. His mother +started toward him; but the minister managed to whisper to her, "Leave +him to me." When the congregation had passed out, Dokesbury shook 'Lias. +The boy woke, partially sobered, and his face fell before the preacher's +eyes. + +"Come, my boy, let's go home." Arm in arm they went out into the street, +where a number of scoffers had gathered to have a laugh at the abashed +boy; but Harold Dokesbury's strong arm steadied his steps, and something +in his face checked the crowd's hilarity. Silently they cleared the way, +and the two passed among them and went home. + +The minister saw clearly the things which he had to combat in his +community, and through this one victim he determined to fight the +general evil. The people with whom he had to deal were children who must +be led by the hand. The boy lying in drunken sleep upon his bed was no +worse than the rest of them. He was an epitome of the evil, as his +parents were of the sorrows, of the place. + +He could not talk to Elias. He could not lecture him. He would only be +dashing his words against the accumulated evil of years of bondage as +the ripples of a summer sea beat against a stone wall. It was not the +wickedness of this boy he was fighting or even the wrong-doing of Mt. +Hope. It was the aggregation of the evils of the fathers, the +grandfathers, the masters and mistresses of these people. Against this +what could talk avail? + +The boy slept on, and the afternoon passed heavily away. Aunt Caroline +was finding solace in her pipe, and Stephen Gray sulked in moody silence +beside the hearth. Neither of them joined their guest at evening +service. + +He went, however. It was hard to face those people again after the +events of the morning. He could feel them covertly nudging each other +and grinning as he went up to the pulpit. He chided himself for the +momentary annoyance it caused him. Were they not like so many naughty, +irresponsible children? + +The service passed without unpleasantness, save that he went home with +an annoyingly vivid impression of a yellow girl with red ribbons on her +hat, who pretended to be impressed by his sermon and made eyes at him +from behind her handkerchief. + +On the way to his room that night, as he passed Stephen Gray, the old +man whispered huskily, "It's de fus' time 'Lias evah done dat." + +It was the only word he had spoken since morning. + +A sound sleep refreshed Dokesbury, and restored the tone to his +overtaxed nerves. When he came out in the morning, Elias was already in +the kitchen. He too had slept off his indisposition, but it had been +succeeded by a painful embarrassment that proved an effectual barrier to +all intercourse with him. The minister talked lightly and amusingly, but +the boy never raised his eyes from his plate, and only spoke when he was +compelled to answer some direct questions. + +Harold Dokesbury knew that unless he could overcome this reserve, his +power over the youth was gone. He bent every effort to do it. + +"What do you say to a turn down the street with me?" he asked as he +rose from breakfast. + +'Lias shook his head. + +"What! You haven't deserted me already?" + +The older people had gone out, but young Gray looked furtively about +before he replied: "You know I ain't fittin' to go out with +you--aftah--aftah--yestiddy." + +A dozen appropriate texts rose in the preacher's mind, but he knew that +it was not a preaching time, so he contented himself with saying,-- + +"Oh, get out! Come along!" + +"No, I cain't. I cain't. I wisht I could! You needn't think I's ashamed, +'cause I ain't. Plenty of 'em git drunk, an' I don't keer nothin' 'bout +dat"--this in a defiant tone. + +"Well, why not come along then?" + +"I tell you I cain't. Don't ax me no mo'. It ain't on my account I won't +go. It's you." + +"Me! Why, I want you to go." + +"I know you does, but I mustn't. Cain't you see that dey'd be glad to +say dat--dat you was in cahoots wif me an' you tuk yo' dram on de sly?" + +"I don't care what they say so long as it isn't true. Are you coming?" + +"No, I ain't." + +He was perfectly determined, and Dokesbury saw that there was no use +arguing with him. So with a resigned "All right!" he strode out the gate +and up the street, thinking of the problem he had to solve. + +There was good in Elias Gray, he knew. It was a shame that it should be +lost. It would be lost unless he were drawn strongly away from the paths +he was treading. But how could it be done? Was there no point in his +mind that could be reached by what was other than evil? That was the +thing to be found out. Then he paused to ask himself if, after all, he +were not trying to do too much,--trying, in fact, to play Providence to +Elias. He found himself involuntarily wanting to shift the +responsibility of planning for the youth. He wished that something +entirely independent of his intentions would happen. + +Just then something did happen. A piece of soft mud hurled from some +unknown source caught the minister square in the chest, and spattered +over his clothes. He raised his eyes and glanced about quickly, but no +one was in sight. Whoever the foe was, he was securely ambushed. + +"Thrown by the hand of a man," mused Dokesbury, "prompted by the malice +of a child." + +He went on his way, finished his business, and returned to the house. + +"La, Brothah Dokesbury!" exclaimed Aunt Caroline, "what's de mattah 'f +you' shu't bosom?" + +"Oh, that's where one of our good citizens left his card." + +"You don' mean to say none o' dem low-life scoun'els----" + +"I don't know who did it. He took particular pains to keep out of +sight." + +"'Lias!" the old woman cried, turning on her son, "wha' 'd you let +Brothah Dokesbury go off by hisse'f fu? Why n't you go 'long an' tek +keer o' him?" + +The old lady stopped even in the midst of her tirade, as her eyes took +in the expression on her son's face. + +"I'll kill some o' dem damn----" + +"'Lias!" + +"'Scuse me, Mistah Dokesbury, but I feel lak I'll bus' ef I don't +'spress myse'f. It makes me so mad. Don't you go out o' hyeah no mo' +'dout me. I'll go 'long an' I'll brek somebody's haid wif a stone." + +"'Lias! how you talkin' fo' de ministah?" + +"Well, dat's whut I'll do, 'cause I kin outth'ow any of 'em an' I know +dey hidin'-places." + +"I'll be glad to accept your protection," said Dokesbury. + +He saw his advantage, and was thankful for the mud,--the one thing that +without an effort restored the easy relations between himself and his +protege. + +Ostensibly these relations were reversed, and Elias went out with the +preacher as a guardian and protector. But the minister was laying his +nets. It was on one of these rambles that he broached to 'Lias a subject +which he had been considering for some time. + +"Look here, 'Lias," he said, "what are you going to do with that big +back yard of yours?" + +"Oh, nothin'. 'Tain't no 'count to raise nothin' in." + +"It may not be fit for vegetables, but it will raise something." + +"What?" + +"Chickens. That's what." + +Elias laughed sympathetically. + +"I'd lak to eat de chickens I raise. I wouldn't want to be feedin' de +neighborhood." + +"Plenty of boards, slats, wire, and a good lock and key would fix that +all right." + +"Yes, but whah 'm I gwine to git all dem things?" + +"Why, I'll go in with you and furnish the money, and help you build the +coops. Then you can sell chickens and eggs, and we'll go halves on the +profits." + +"Hush man!" cried 'Lias, in delight. + +So the matter was settled, and, as Aunt Caroline expressed it, "Fu' a +week er sich a mattah, you nevah did see sich ta'in' down an' buildin' +up in all yo' bo'n days." + +'Lias went at the work with zest and Dokesbury noticed his skill with +tools. He let fall the remark: "Say, 'Lias, there's a school near here +where they teach carpentry; why don't you go and learn?" + +"What I gwine to do with bein' a cyahpenter?" + +"Repair some of these houses around Mt. Hope, if nothing more," +Dokesbury responded, laughing; and there the matter rested. + +The work prospered, and as the weeks went on, 'Lias's enterprise became +the town's talk. One of Aunt Caroline's patrons who had come with some +orders about work regarded the changed condition of affairs, and said, +"Why, Aunt Caroline, this doesn't look like the same place. I'll have to +buy some eggs from you; you keep your yard and hen-house so nice, it's +an advertisement for the eggs." + +"Don't talk to me nothin' 'bout dat ya'd, Miss Lucy," Aunt Caroline had +retorted. "Dat 'long to 'Lias an' de preachah. Hit dey doin's. Dey done +mos' nigh drove me out wif dey cleanness. I ain't nevah seed no sich +ca'in' on in my life befo'. Why, my 'Lias done got right brigity an' +talk about bein' somep'n." + +Dokesbury had retired from his partnership with the boy save in so far +as he acted as a general supervisor. His share had been sold to a friend +of 'Lias, Jim Hughes. The two seemed to have no other thought save of +raising, tending, and selling chickens. + +Mt. Hope looked on and ceased to scoff. Money is a great dignifier, and +Jim and 'Lias were making money. There had been some sniffs when the +latter had hinged the front gate and whitewashed his mother's cabin, but +even that had been accepted now as a matter of course. + +Dokesbury had done his work. He, too, looked on, and in some +satisfaction. + +"Let the leaven work," he said, "and all Mt. Hope must rise." + + +It was one day, nearly a year later, that "old lady Hughes" dropped in +on Aunt Caroline for a chat. + +"Well, I do say, Sis' Ca'line, dem two boys o' ourn done sot dis town on +fiah." + +"What now, Sis' Lizy?" + +"Why, evah sence 'Lias tuk it into his haid to be a cyahpenter an' Jim +'cided to go 'long an' lu'n to be a blacksmiff, some o' dese hyeah +othah young people's been trying to do somep'n'." + +"All dey wanted was a staht." + +"Well, now will you b'lieve me, dat no-'count Tom Johnson done opened a +fish sto', an' he has de boys an' men bring him dey fish all de time. He +gives 'em a little somep'n fu' dey ketch, den he go sell 'em to de white +folks." + +"Lawd, how long!" + +"An' what you think he say?" + +"I do' know, sis'." + +"He say ez soon 'z he git money enough, he gwine to dat school whah +'Lias and Jim gone an' lu'n to fahm scientific." + +"Bless de Lawd! Well, 'um, I don' put nothin' pas' de young folks now." + +Mt. Hope had at last awakened. Something had come to her to which she +might aspire,--something that she could understand and reach. She was +not soaring, but she was rising above the degradation in which Harold +Dokesbury had found her. And for her and him the ordeal had passed. + + + + +PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR + + +The Negro race in America has produced musicians, composers and +painters, but it was left for Paul Laurence Dunbar to give it fame in +literature. He was of pure African stock; his father and mother were +born in slavery, and neither had any schooling, although the father had +taught himself to read. Paul was born in Dayton, Ohio, June 27, 1872. He +was christened Paul, because his father said that he was to be a great +man. He was a diligent pupil at school, and began to make verses when he +was still a child. His ability was recognized by his class mates; he was +made editor of the high school paper, and wrote the class song for his +commencement. + +The death of his father made it necessary for him to support his mother. +He sought for some employment where his education might be put to some +use, but finding such places closed to him, he became an elevator boy. +He continued to write, however, and in 1892 his first volume was +published, a book of poems called _Oak and Ivy_. The publishers were so +doubtful of its success that they would not bring it out until a friend +advanced the cost of publication. Paul now sold books to the passengers +in his elevator, and realized enough to repay his friend. He was +occasionally asked to give readings from his poetry. Gifted as he was +with a deep, melodious voice, and a fine power of mimicry, he was very +successful. In 1893 he was sought out by a man who was organizing a +concert company and who engaged Paul to go along as reader. Full of +enthusiasm, he set to work committing his poems to memory, and writing +new ones. Ten days before the company was to start, word came that it +had been disbanded. Paul found himself at the approach of winter without +money and without work, and with his mother in real need. In his +discouragement he even thought of suicide, but by the help of a friend +he found work, and with it courage. In a letter written about this time +he tells of his ambitions: "I did once want to be a lawyer, but that +ambition has long since died out before the all-absorbing desire to be a +worthy singer of the songs of God and nature. To be able to interpret my +own people through song and story, and to prove to the many that we are +more human than African." + +A second volume of poems, _Majors and Minors_, appeared in 1895. Like +his first book it was printed by a local publisher, and had but a small +sale. The actor James A. Herne happened to be playing _Shore Acres_ in +Toledo; Paul saw him, admired his acting, and timidly presented him with +a copy of his book. Mr. Herne read it with great pleasure, and sent it +on to his friend William Dean Howells, who was then editor of _Harper's +Weekly_. In June, 1896, there appeared in that journal a full-page +review of the work of Paul Laurence Dunbar, quoting freely from his +poems, and praising them highly. This recognition by America's greatest +critic was the beginning of Paul's national reputation. Orders came for +his books from all over the country; a manager engaged him for a series +of readings from his poems, and a New York firm, Dodd Mead & Co., +arranged to bring out his next book, _Lyrics of Lowly Life_. + +In 1897 he went to England to give a series of readings. Here he was a +guest at the Savage Club, one of the best-known clubs of London. His +readings were very successful, but a dishonest manager cheated him out +of the proceeds, and he was obliged to cable to his friends for money to +come home. + +Through the efforts of Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, the young poet obtained +a position in the Congressional Library at Washington. It was thought +that this would give him just the opportunity he needed for study, but +the work proved too confining for his health. The year 1898 was marked +by two events: the publication of his first book of short stories, +_Folks From Dixie_, and his marriage to Miss Alice R. Moore. In 1899 at +the request of Booker T. Washington he went to Tuskeegee and gave +several readings and lectures before the students, also writing a school +song for them. He made a tour through the South, giving readings with +much success, but the strain of public appearances was beginning to tell +upon his health. He continued to write, and in 1899 published _Lyrics of +the Hearthside_, dedicated to his wife. He was invited to go to Albany +to read before a distinguished audience, where Theodore Roosevelt, then +governor, was to introduce him. He started, but was unable to get +farther than New York. Here he lay sick for weeks, and when he grew +stronger, the doctors said that his lungs were affected and he must have +a change of climate. He went to Colorado in the fall of 1899, and wrote +back to a friend: "Well, it is something to sit under the shadow of the +Rocky Mountains, even if one only goes there to die." From this time on +his life was one long fight for health, and usually a losing battle, but +he faced it as courageously as Robert Louis Stevenson had done. In +Colorado he wrote a novel, The _Love of Landry_, whose scene was laid in +his new surroundings. He returned to Washington in 1900, and gave +occasional readings, but it was evident that his strength was failing. +He published two more volumes, _The Strength of Gideon_, a book of short +stories, and _Poems of Cabin and Field_, which showed that his genius +had lost none of its power. His last years were spent in Dayton, his old +home, with his mother. He died February 10, 1906. + +One of the finest tributes to him was paid by his friend Brand Whitlock, +then Mayor of Toledo, who has since become famous as United States +Minister to Belgium during the Great War. This is from a letter written +when he heard that the young poet was dead: + + + Paul was a poet: and I find that when I have said that I have said + the greatest and most splendid thing that can be said about a + man.... Nature, who knows so much better than man about everything, + cares nothing at all for the little distinctions, and when she + elects one of her children for her most important work, bestows on + him the rich gift of poesy, and assigns him a post in the greatest + of the arts, she invariably seizes the opportunity to show her + contempt of rank and title and race and land and creed. She took + Burns from a plough and Paul from an elevator, and Paul has done + for his own people what Burns did for the peasants of Scotland--he + has expressed them in their own way and in their own words. + + + + +WITH THE POLICE + +_Not all Americans are good Americans. For the lawbreakers, American +born or otherwise, we need men to enforce the law. Of these guardians of +public safety, one body, the Pennsylvania State Police, has become +famous for its achievements. Katherine Mayo studied their work at first +hand, met the men of the force, visited the scenes of their activity, +and in_ THE STANDARD BEARERS, _tells of their daring exploits. This +story is taken from that book_. + + + + +ISRAEL DRAKE + +BY + +KATHERINE MAYO + + +Israel Drake was a bandit for simple love of the thing. To hunt for +another reason would be a waste of time. The blood in his veins was pure +English, unmixed since long ago. His environment was that of his +neighbors. His habitat was the noble hills. But Israel Drake was a +bandit, just as his neighbors were farmers--just as a hawk is a hawk +while its neighbors are barnyard fowls. + +Israel Drake was swarthy-visaged, high of cheek bone, with large, dark, +deep-set eyes, and a thin-lipped mouth covered by a long and drooping +black mustache. Barefooted, he stood six feet two inches tall. Lean as a +panther, and as supple, he could clear a five-foot rail fence without +the aid of his hand. He ran like a deer. As a woodsman the very deer +could have taught him little. With rifle and revolver he was an expert +shot, and the weapons he used were the truest and best. + +All the hill-people of Cumberland County dreaded him. All the scattered +valley-folk spoke softly at his name. And the jest and joy of Israel's +care-free life was to make them skip and shiver and dance to the tune of +their trepidations. + +As a matter of fact, he was leader of a gang, outlaws every one. But his +own strong aura eclipsed the rest, and he glared alone, in the thought +of his world, endued with terrors of diverse origin. + +His genius kept him fully aware of the value of this preeminence, and it +lay in his wisdom and pleasure to fan the flame of his own repute. In +this it amused him to seek the picturesque--the unexpected. With an +imagination fed by primeval humor and checked by no outward +circumstances of law, he achieved a ready facility. Once, for example, +while trundling through his town of Shippensburg on the rear platform of +a freight train, he chanced to spy a Borough Constable crossing a bridge +near the track. + +"Happy thought! Let's touch the good soul up. He's getting stodgy." + +Israel drew a revolver and fired, neatly nicking the Constable's hat. +Then with a mountaineer's hoot, he gayly proclaimed his identity. + +Again, and many times, he would send into this or that town or +settlement a message addressed to the Constable or Chief of Police:-- + +"I am coming down this afternoon. Get away out of town. Don't let me +find you there." + +Obediently they went away. And Israel, strolling the streets that +afternoon just as he had promised to do, would enter shop after shop, +look over the stock at his leisure, and, with perfect good-humor, pick +out whatever pleased him, regardless of cost. + +"I think I'll take this here article," he would say to the trembling +store-keeper, affably pocketing his choice. + +"Help yourself, Mr. Drake! Help yourself, sir! Glad we are able to +please you to-day." + +Which was indeed the truth. And many of them there were who would have +hastened to curry favor with their persecutor by whispering in his ear a +word of warning had they known of any impending attempt against him by +the agents of peace. + +Such was their estimate of the relative strength of Israel Drake and of +the law forces of the Sovereign State of Pennsylvania. + +In the earlier times they had tried to arrest him. Once the attempt +succeeded and Israel went to the Penitentiary for a term. But he emerged +a better and wilier bandit than before, to embark upon a career that +made his former life seem tame. Sheriffs and constables now proved +powerless against him, whatever they essayed. + +Then came a grand, determined effort when the Sheriff, supported by +fifteen deputies, all heavily armed, actually surrounded Drake's house. +But the master-outlaw, alone and at ease at an upper window, his +Winchester repeating-rifle in his hand and a smile of still content on +his face, coolly stood the whole army off until, weary of empty danger, +it gave up the siege and went home. + +This disastrous expedition ended the attempts of the local authorities +to capture Israel Drake. Thenceforth he pursued his natural course +without pretense of let or hindrance. At the time when this story +begins, no fewer than fourteen warrants were out for his apprehension, +issued on charges ranging from burglary and highway robbery through a +long list of felonies. But the warrants, slowly accumulating, lay in the +bottom of official drawers, apprehending nothing but dust. No one +undertook to serve them. Life was too sweet--too short. + +Then came a turn of fate. Israel chanced to bethink himself of a certain +aged farmer living with his old wife near a spot called Lee's +Cross-Road. The two dwelt by themselves, without companions on their +farm, and without neighbors. And they were reputed to have money. + +The money might not be much--might be exceedingly little. But, even so, +Israel could use it, and in any event there would be the fun of the +trick. So Israel summoned one Carey Morrison, a gifted mate and +subordinate, with whom he proceeded to act. + +At dead of night the two broke into the farmhouse--crept into the +chamber of the old pair--crept softly, softly, lest the farmer might +keep a shotgun by his side. Sneaking to the foot of the bed, Israel +suddenly flashed his lantern full upon the pillows--upon the two pale, +deep-seamed faces crowned with silver hair. + +The woman sat up with a piercing scream. The farmer clutched at his +gun. But Israel, bringing the glinting barrel of his revolver into the +lantern's shaft of light, ordered both to lie down. Carey, slouching at +hand, awaited orders. + +"Where is your money?" demanded Israel, indicating the farmer by the +point of his gun. + +"I have no money, you coward!" + +"It's no use your lying to me. _Where's the money?_" + +"I have no money, I tell you." + +"Carey," observed Israel, "hunt a candle." + +While Carey looked for the candle, Israel surveyed his victims with a +cheerful, anticipatory grin. + +The candle came; was lighted. + +"Carey," Israel spoke again, "you pin the old woman down. Pull the quilt +off. Clamp her feet together. So!" + +Then he thrust the candle-flame against the soles of those gnarled old +feet--thrust it close, while the flame bent upward, and the melting +tallow poured upon the bed. + +The woman screamed again, this time in pain. The farmer half rose, with +a quivering cry of rage, but Israel's gun stared him between the eyes. +The woman screamed without interval. There was a smell of burning flesh. + +"Now we'll change about," remarked Israel, beaming. "I'll hold the old +feller. You take the candle, Carey. You don't reely need your gun--now, +do ye, boy?" + +And so they began afresh. + +It was not a game to last long. Before dawn the two were back in their +own place, bearing the little all of value that the rifled house had +contained. + +When the news of the matter spread abroad, it seemed, somehow, just a +straw too much. The District Attorney of the County of Cumberland blazed +into white heat. But he was powerless, he found. Not an officer within +his entire jurisdiction expressed any willingness even to attempt an +arrest. + +"Then we shall see," said District Attorney Rhey, "what the State will +do for us, since we cannot help ourselves!" And he rushed off a +telegram, confirmed by post, to the Superintendent of the Department of +State Police. + +The Superintendent of the Department of State Police promptly referred +the matter to the Captain of "C" Troop, with orders to act. For +Cumberland County, being within the southeastern quarter of the +Commonwealth, lies under "C" Troop's special care. + +It was Adams, in those days, who held that command--Lynn G. Adams, now +Captain of "A" Troop, although for the duration of the war serving in +the regular army, even as his fathers before him have served in our +every war, including that which put the country on the map. Truer +soldier, finer officer, braver or straighter or surer dealer with men +and things need not be sought. His victories leave no needless scar +behind, and his command would die by inches rather than fail him +anywhere. + +The Captain of "C" Troop, then, choosing with judgment, picked his +man--picked Trooper Edward Hallisey, a Boston Irishman, square of jaw, +shrewd of eye, quick of wit, strong of wind and limb. And he ordered +Private Hallisey to proceed at once to Carlisle, county seat of +Cumberland, and report to the District Attorney for service toward +effecting the apprehension of Israel Drake. + +Three days later--it was the 28th of September, to be exact--Private +Edward Hallisey sent in his report to his Troop Commander. He had made +all necessary observations, he said, and was ready to arrest the +criminal. In this he would like to have the assistance of two Troopers, +who should join him at Carlisle. + +The report came in the morning mail. First Sergeant Price detailed two +men from the Barracks reserve. They were Privates H. K. Merryfield and +Harvey J. Smith. Their orders were simply to proceed at once, in +civilian clothes, to Carlisle, where they would meet Private Hallisey +and assist him in effecting the arrest of Israel Drake. + +Privates Merryfield and Smith, carrying in addition to their service +revolvers the 44-caliber Springfield carbine which is the Force's heavy +weapon, left by the next train. + +On the Carlisle station platform, as the two Troopers debarked, some +hundred persons were gathered in pursuance of various and centrifugal +designs. But one impulse they appeared unanimously to share--the impulse +to give as wide a berth as possible to a peculiarly horrible tramp. + +Why should a being like that intrude himself upon a passenger platform +in a respectable country town? Not to board a coach, surely, for such as +he pay no fares. To spy out the land? To steal luggage? Or simply to +make himself hateful to decent folk? + +He carried his head with a hangdog lurch--his heavy jaw was rough with +stubble beard. His coat and trousers fluttered rags and his toes stuck +out of his boots. Women snatched back their skirts as he slouched near, +and men muttered and scowled at him for a contaminating beast. + +Merryfield and Smith, drifting near this scum of the earth, caught the +words "Four-thirty train" and the name of a station. + +"Right," murmured Merryfield. + +Then he went and bought tickets. + +In the shelter of an ancient, grimy day-coach, the scum muttered again, +as Smith brushed past him in the aisle. + +"Charlie Stover's farm," said he. + +"M'm," said Smith. + +At a scrap of a station, in the foothills of ascending heights the tramp +and the Troopers separately detrained. In the early evening all three +strayed together once more in the shadow of the lilacs by Charlie +Stover's gate. + +Over the supper-table Hallisey gave the news. "Drake is somewhere on the +mountain to-night," said he. "His cabin is way up high, on a ridge +called Huckleberry Patch. He is practically sure to go home in the +course of the evening. Then is our chance. First, of course, you fellows +will change your clothes. I've got some old things ready for you." + +Farmer Stover, like every other denizen of the rural county, had lived +for years in terror and hatred of Israel Drake. Willingly he had aided +Hallisey to the full extent of his power. He had told all that he knew +of the bandit's habits and mates. He had indicated the mountain trails +and he had given the Trooper such little shelter and food as the latter +had stopped to take during his rapid work of investigation. But now he +was asked to perform a service that he would gladly have refused; he was +asked to hitch up a horse and wagon and to drive the three Troopers to +the very vicinity of Israel Drake's house. + +"Oh, come on, Mr. Stover," they urged. "You're a public-spirited man, as +you've shown. Do it for your neighbors' sake if not for your own. You +want the county rid of this pest." + +Very reluctantly the farmer began the trip. With every turn of the +ever-mounting forest road his reluctance grew. Grisly memories, grisly +pictures, flooded his mind. It was night, and the trees in the darkness +whispered like evil men. The bushes huddled like crouching figures. And +what was it, moving stealthily over there, that crackled twigs? At last +he could bear it no more. + +"Here's where _I_ turn 'round," he muttered hoarsely. "If you fellers +are going farther you'll go alone. I got a use for _my_ life!" + +"All right, then," said Hallisey. "You've done well by us already. +Good-night." + +It was a fine moonlight night and Hallisey now knew those woods as well +as did his late host. He led his two comrades up another stiff mile of +steady climbing. Then he struck off, by an almost invisible trail, into +the dense timber. Silently the three men moved, threading the fragrant, +silver-flecked blackness with practised woodsmen's skill. At last their +file-leader stopped and beckoned his mates. + +Over his shoulder the two studied the scene before them: A clearing +chopped out of the dense tall timber. In the midst of the clearing a log +cabin, a story and a half high. On two sides of the cabin a straggling +orchard of peach and apple trees. In the cabin window a dim light. + +It was then about eleven o'clock. The three Troopers, effacing +themselves in the shadows, laid final plans. + +The cabin had two rooms on the top floor and one below, said Hallisey, +beneath his breath. The first-floor room had a door and two windows on +the north, and the same on the south, just opposite. Under the west end +was a cellar, with an outside door. Before the main door to the north +was a little porch. This, by day, commanded the sweep of the +mountain-side; and here, when Drake was "hiding out" in some neighboring +eyrie, expecting pursuit, his wife was wont to signal him concerning the +movements of intruders. + +Her code was written in dish-water. A panful thrown to the east meant +danger in the west, and _vice versa_; this Hallisey himself had seen and +now recalled in case of need. + +Up to the present moment each officer had carried his carbine, taken +apart and wrapped in a bundle, to avoid the remark of chance observers +by the way. Now each put his weapon together, ready for use. They +compared their watches, setting them to the second. They discarded their +coats and hats. + +The moon was flooding the clearing with high, pale light, adding greatly +to the difficulty of their task. Accordingly, they plotted carefully. +Each Trooper took a door--Hallisey that to the north, Merryfield that to +the south, Smith that of the cellar. It was agreed that each should +creep to a point opposite the door on which he was to advance, ten +minutes being allowed for all to reach their initial positions; that at +exactly five minutes to midnight the advance should be started, slowly, +through the tall grass of the clearing toward the cabin; that in case of +any unusual noise or alarm, each man should lie low exactly five minutes +before resuming this advance; and that from a point fifty yards from the +cabin a rush should be made upon the doors. + +According to the request of the District Attorney, Drake was to be taken +"dead or alive," but according to an adamantine principle of the Force, +he must be taken not only alive, but unscathed if that were humanly +possible. This meant that he must not be given an opportunity to run and +so render shooting necessary. If, however, he should break away, his +chance of escape would be small, as each Trooper was a dead shot with +the weapons he was carrying. + +The scheme concerted, the three officers separated, heading apart to +their several starting-points. At five minutes before midnight, to the +tick of their synchronized watches, each began to glide through the tall +grass. But it was late September. The grass was dry. Old briar-veins +dragged at brittle stalks. Shimmering whispers of withered leaves echoed +to the smallest touch; and when the men were still some two hundred +yards from the cabin the sharp ears of a dog caught the rumor of all +these tiny sounds,--and the dog barked. + +Every man stopped short--moved not a finger again till five minutes had +passed. Then once more each began to creep--reached the fifty-yard +point--stood up, with a long breath, and dashed for his door. + +At one and the same moment, practically, the three stood in the cabin, +viewing a scene of domestic peace. A short, square, swarthy woman, black +of eye, high of cheek bone, stood by a stove calmly stirring a pot. On +the table besides her, on the floor around her, clustered many jars of +peaches--jars freshly filled, steaming hot, awaiting their tops. In a +corner three little children, huddled together on a low bench, stared at +the strangers with sleepy eyes. Three chairs; a cupboard with dishes; +bunches of corn hanging from the rafters by their husks; festoons of +onions; tassels of dried herbs--all this made visible by the dull light +of a small kerosene lamp whose dirty chimney was streaked with smoke. +All this and nothing more. + +Two of the men, jumping for the stairs, searched the upper half-story +thoroughly, but without profit. + +"Mrs. Drake," said Hallisey, as they returned, "we are officers of the +State Police, come to arrest your husband. Where is he?" + +In silence, in utter calm the woman still stirred her pot, not missing +the rhythm of a stroke. + +"The dog warned them. He's just got away," said each officer to himself. +"She's _too_ calm." + +She scooped up a spoonful of the fruit, peered at it critically, +splashed it back into the bubbling pot. From her manner it appeared the +most natural thing in the world to be canning peaches at midnight on the +top of South Mountain in the presence of officers of the State Police. + +"My husband's gone to Baltimore," she vouchsafed at her easy leisure. + +"Let's have a look in the cellar," said Merryfield, and dropped down the +cellar stairs with Hallisey at his heels. Together they ransacked the +little cave to a conclusion. During the process, Merryfield conceived an +idea. + +"Hallisey," he murmured, "what would you think of my staying down here, +while you and Smith go off talking as though we were all together? She +might say something to the children, when she believes we're gone, and I +could hear every word through that thin floor." + +"We'll do it!" Hallisey answered, beneath his voice. Then, shouting:-- + +"Come on, Smith! Let's get away from this; no use wasting time here!" + +And in another moment Smith and Hallisey were crashing up the +mountain-side, calling out: "Hi, there! Merryfield--Oh! Merryfield, +wait for us!"--as if their comrade had outstripped them on the trail. + +Merryfield had made use of the noise of their departure to establish +himself in a tenable position under the widest crack in the floor. Now +he held himself motionless, subduing even his breath. + +One--two--three minutes of dead silence. Then came the timorous +half-whisper of a frightened child: + +"Will them men kill father if they find him?" + +"S-sh!" + +"Mother!" faintly ventured another little voice, "will them men kill +father if they find him?" + +"S-sh! S-sh! I tell ye!" + +"Ma-ma! Will they kill my father?" This was the wail, insistent, +uncontrolled, of the smallest child of all. + +The crackling tramp of the officers, mounting the trail, had wholly died +away. The woman evidently believed all immediate danger past. + +"No!" she exclaimed vehemently, "they ain't goin' to lay eyes on yo' +father, hair nor hide of him. Quit yer frettin'!" + +In a moment she spoke again: "You keep still, now, like good children, +while I go out and empty these peach-stones. I'll be back in a minute. +See you keep still just where you are!" + +Stealing noiselessly to the cellar door as the woman left the house, +Merryfield saw her making for the woods, a basket on her arm. He watched +her till the shadows engulfed her. Then he drew back to his own place +and resumed his silent vigil. + +Moments passed, without a sound from the room above. Then came soft +little thuds on the floor, a whimper or two, small sighs, and a slither +of bare legs on bare boards. + +"Poor little kiddies!" thought Merryfield, "they're coiling down to +sleep!" + +Back in the days when the Force was started, the Major had said to each +recruit of them all:-- + +"I expect you to treat women and children at all times with every +consideration." + +From that hour forth the principle has been grafted into the lives of +the men. It is instinct now--self-acting, deep, and unconscious. No +tried Trooper deliberately remembers it. It is an integral part of him, +like the drawing of his breath. + +"I wish I could manage to spare those babies and their mother in what's +to come!" Merryfield pondered as he lurked in the mould-scented dark. + +A quarter of an hour went by. Five minutes more. Footsteps nearing the +cabin from the direction of the woods. Low voices--very low. +Indistinguishable words. Then the back door opened. Two persons entered, +and all that they now uttered was clear. + +"It was them that the dog heard," said a man's voice. "Get me my rifle +and all my ammunition. I'll go to Maryland. I'll get a job on that stone +quarry near Westminster. I'll send some money as soon as I'm paid." + +"But you won't start _to-night_!" exclaimed the wife. + +"Yes, to-night--this minute. Quick! I wouldn't budge an inch for the +County folks. But with the State Troopers after me, that's another +thing. If I stay around here now they'll get me dead sure--and send me +up too. My gun, I say!" + +"Oh, daddy, daddy, don't go away!" "_Don't_ go away off and leave me, +daddy!" "_Don't go, don't go!_" came the children's plaintive wails, +hoarse with fatigue and fright. + +Merryfield stealthily crept from the cellar's outside door, hugging the +wall of the cabin, moving toward the rear. As he reached the corner, and +was about to make the turn toward the back, he drew his six-shooter and +laid his carbine down in the grass. For the next step, he knew, would +bring him into plain sight. If Drake offered any resistance, the +ensuing action would be at short range or hand to hand. + +He rounded the corner. Drake was standing just outside the door, a rifle +in his left hand, his right hand hidden in the pocket of his overcoat. +In the doorway stood the wife, with the three little children crowding +before her. It was the last moment. They were saying good-bye. + +Merryfield covered the bandit with his revolver. + +"Put up your hands! You are under arrest," he commanded. + +"Who the hell are you!" Drake flung back. As he spoke he thrust his +rifle into the grasp of the woman and snatched his right hand from its +concealment. In its grip glistened the barrel of a nickel-plated +revolver. + +Merryfield could have easily shot him then and there--would have been +amply warranted in doing so. But he had heard the children's voices. Now +he saw their innocent, terrified eyes. + +"Poor--little--kiddies!" he thought again. + +Drake stood six feet two inches high, and weighed some two hundred +pounds, all brawn. Furthermore, he was desperate. Merryfield is merely +of medium build. + +"Nevertheless, I'll take a chance," he said to himself, returning his +six-shooter to its holster. And just as the outlaw threw up his own +weapon to fire, the Trooper, in a running jump, plunged into him with +all fours, exactly as, when a boy, he had plunged off a springboard into +the old mill-dam of a hot July afternoon. + +Too amazed even to pull his trigger, Drake gave backward a step into the +doorway. Merryfield's clutch toward his right hand missed the gun, +fastening instead on the sleeve of his heavy coat. Swearing wildly while +the woman and children screamed behind him, the bandit struggled to +break the Trooper's hold--tore and pulled until the sleeve, where +Merryfield held it, worked down over the gun in his own grip. So +Merryfield, twisting the sleeve, caught a lock-hold on hand and gun +together. + +Drake, standing on the doorsill, had now some eight inches advantage of +height. The door opened inward, from right to left. With a tremendous +effort Drake forced his assailant to his knees, stepped back into the +room, seized the door with his left hand and with the whole weight on +his shoulder slammed it to, on the Trooper's wrist. + +The pain was excruciating--but it did not break that lock-hold on the +outlaw's hand and gun. Shooting from his knees like a projectile, +Merryfield flung his whole weight at the door. Big as Drake was, he +could not hold it. It gave, and once more the two men hung at grips, +this time within the room. + +Drake's one purpose was to turn the muzzle of his imprisoned revolver +upon Merryfield. Merryfield, with his left still clinching that deadly +hand caught in its sleeve, now grabbed the revolver in his own right +hand, with a twist dragged it free, and flung it out of the door. + +But, as he dropped his right defense, taking both hands to the gun, the +outlaw's powerful left grip closed on Merryfield's throat with a +strangle-hold. + +With that great thumb closing his windpipe, with the world turning red +and black, "Guess I can't put it over, after all!" the Trooper said to +himself. + +Reaching for his own revolver, he shoved the muzzle against the bandit's +breast. + +"Damn you, _shoot_!" cried the other, believing his end was come. + +But in that same instant Merryfield once more caught a glimpse of the +fear-stricken faces of the babies, huddled together beyond. + +"Hallisey and Smith must be here soon," he thought. "I won't shoot yet." + +Again he dropped his revolver back into the holster, seizing the wrist +of the outlaw to release that terrible clamp on his throat. As he did +so, Drake with a lightning twist, reached around to the Trooper's belt +and possessed himself of the gun. As he fired Merryfield had barely time +and space to throw back his head. The flash blinded him--scorched his +face hairless. The bullet grooved his body under the upflung arm still +wrenching at the clutch that was shutting off his breath. + +Perhaps, with the shot, the outlaw insensibly somewhat relaxed that +choking arm. Merryfield tore loose. Half-blinded and gasping though he +was, he flung himself again at his adversary and landed a blow in his +face. Drake, giving backward, kicked over a row of peach jars, slipped +on the slimy stream that poured over the bare floor, and dropped the +gun. + +Pursuing his advantage, Merryfield delivered blow after blow on the +outlaw's face and body, backing him around the room, while both men +slipped and slid, fell and recovered, on the jam-coated floor. The table +crashed over, carrying with it the solitary lamp, whose flame died +harmlessly, smothered in tepid mush. Now only the moonlight illuminated +the scene. + +Drake was manoeuvring always to recover the gun. His hand touched the +back of a chair. He picked the chair up, swung it high, and was about to +smash it down on his adversary's head when Merryfield seized it in the +air. + +At this moment the woman, who had been crouching against the wall +nursing the rifle that her husband had put into her charge, rushed +forward clutching the barrel of the gun, swung it at full arm's length +as she would have swung an axe, and brought the stock down on the +Trooper's right hand. + +That vital hand dropped--fractured, done. But in the same second Drake +gave a shriek of pain as a shot rang out and his own right arm fell +powerless. + +In the door stood Hallisey, smoking revolver in hand, smiling grimly in +the moonlight at the neatness of his own aim. What is the use of killing +a man, when you can wing him as trigly as that? + +Private Smith, who had entered by the other door, was taking the rifle +out of the woman's grasp--partly because she had prodded him viciously +with the muzzle. He examined the chambers. + +"Do you know this thing is loaded?" he asked her in a mild, detached +voice. + +She returned his gaze with frank despair in her black eyes. + +"Drake, do you surrender?" asked Hallisey. + +"Oh, I'll give up. You've got me!" groaned the outlaw. Then he turned on +his wife with bitter anger. "Didn't I tell ye?" he snarled. "Didn't I +tell ye they'd get me if you kept me hangin' around here? These ain't no +damn deputies. _These is the State Police!_" + +"An' yet, if I'd known that gun was loaded," said she, "there'd been +some less of 'em to-night!" + +They dressed Israel's arm in first-aid fashion. Then they started with +their prisoner down the mountain-trail, at last resuming connection with +their farmer friend. Not without misgivings, the latter consented to +hitch up his "double team" and hurry the party to the nearest town where +a doctor could be found. + +As the doctor dressed the bandit's arm, Private Merryfield, whose broken +right hand yet awaited care, observed to the groaning patient:-- + +"Do you know, you can be thankful to your little children that you have +your life left." + +"To hell with you and the children and my life. I'd a hundred times +rather you'd killed me than take what's comin' now." + +Then the three Troopers philosophically hunted up a night restaurant and +gave their captive a bite of lunch. + +"Now," said Hallisey, as he paid the score, "where's the lock-up?" + +The three officers, with Drake in tow, proceeded silently through the +sleeping streets. Not a ripple did their passing occasion. Not even a +dog aroused to take note of them. + +Duly they stood at the door of the custodian of the lock-up, ringing the +bell--again and again ringing it. Eventually some one upstairs raised a +window, looked out for an appreciable moment, quickly lowered the window +and locked it. Nothing further occurred. Waiting for a reasonable +interval the officers rang once more. No answer. Silence complete. + +Then they pounded on the door till the entire block heard. + +Here, there, up street and down, bedroom windows gently opened, then +closed with finality more gentle yet. Silence. Not a voice. Not a foot +on a stair. + +The officers looked at each other perplexed. Then, by chance, they +looked at Drake. Drake, so lately black with suicidal gloom, was +grinning! Grinning as a man does when the citadel of his heart is +comforted. + +"You don't understand, do ye!" chuckled he. "Well, I'll tell ye: What do +them folks see when they open their windows and look down here in the +road? They see three hard-lookin' fellers with guns in their hands, here +in this bright moonlight. And they see somethin' scarier to them than a +hundred strangers with guns--they see _ME_! There ain't a mother's son +of 'em that'll budge downstairs while I'm here, not if you pound on +their doors till the cows come home." And he slapped his knee with his +good hand and laughed in pure ecstasy--a laugh that caught all the +little group and rocked it as with one mind. + +"We don't begrudge you that, do we boys?" Hallisey conceded. "Smith, +you're as respectable-looking as any of us. Hunt around and see if you +can find a Constable that isn't onto this thing. We'll wait here for +you." + +Moving out of the zone of the late demonstration, Private Smith learned +the whereabouts of the home of a Constable. + +"What's wanted?" asked the Constable, responding like a normal burgher +to Smith's knock at his door. + +"Officer of State Police," answered Smith. "I have a man under arrest +and want to put him in the lock-up. Will you get me the keys?" + +"Sure. I'll come right down and go along with you myself. Just give me a +jiffy to get on my trousers and boots," cried the Constable, clearly +glad of a share in the adventure. + +In a moment the borough official was at the Trooper's side, talking +eagerly as they moved toward the place where the party waited. + +"So, he's a highwayman, is he? Good! and a burglar, too, and a +cattle-thief! Good work! And you've got him right up the street, ready +to jail! Well, I'll be switched. Now, what might his name be? Israel +Drake? _Not Israel Drake!_ Oh, my God!" + +The Constable had stopped in his tracks like a man struck paralytic. + +"No, stranger," he quavered. "I reckon I--I--I won't go no further with +you just now. Here, I'll give you the keys. You can use 'em yourself: +These here's for the doors. This bunch is for the cells. _Good_-night to +you. I'll be getting back home!" + +By the first train next morning the Troopers, conveying their prisoner, +left the village for the County Town. As they deposited Drake in the +safe-keeping of the County Jail and were about to depart, he seemed +burdened with an impulse to speak, yet said nothing. Then, as the three +officers were leaving the room, he leaned over and touched Merryfield on +the shoulder. + +"Shake!" he growled, offering his unwounded hand. + +Merryfield "shook" cheerfully, with his own remaining sound member. + +"I'm plumb sorry to see ye go, and that's a fact," growled the outlaw. +"Because--well, because you're the only _man_ that ever tried to arrest +me." + + + + +KATHERINE MAYO + + +Miss Katherine Mayo comes of Mayflower stock, but her birthplace was +Ridgway, Pennsylvania. She was educated in private schools at Boston and +Cambridge, Mass. Her earliest literary work to appear in print was a +series of articles describing travels in Norway, followed by another +series on Colonial American topics, written for the New York _Evening +Post_. Later, during a residence in Dutch Guiana, South America, she +wrote for the _Atlantic Monthly_ some interesting sketches of the +natives of Surinam. After this came three years wholly devoted to +historic research. The work, however, that first attracted wide +attention was a history of the Pennsylvania State Police, published in +1917, under the title of _Justice To All_. + +This history gives the complete story of the famous Mounted Police of +Pennsylvania, illustrated with a mass of accurate narrative and +re-enforced with statistics. The occasion of its writing was a personal +experience--the cold-blooded murder of Sam Howell, a fine young American +workingman, a carpenter by trade, near Miss Mayo's country home in New +York. The circumstances of this murder could not have been more +skilfully arranged had they been specially designed to illustrate the +weakness and folly of the ancient, out-grown engine to which most states +in the Union, even yet, look for the enforcement of their laws in rural +parts. Sam Howell, carrying the pay roll on pay-day morning, gave his +life for his honor as gallantly as any soldier in any war. He was shot +down, at arm's length range, by four highway men, to whom, though +himself unarmed, he would not surrender his trust. Sheriff, deputy +sheriffs, constables, and some seventy-five fellow laborers available as +sheriff's posse spent hours within a few hundred feet of the little +wood in which the four murderers were known to be hiding, but no arrest +was made and the murderers are to-day still at large. + +"You will have forgotten all this in a month's time," said Howell's +fellow-workmen an hour after the tragedy, to Miss Mayo and her friend +Miss Newell, owner of the estate, on the scene. "Sam was only a laboring +man, like ourselves. We, none of us, have any protection when we work in +country parts." + +The remark sounded bitter indeed. But investigation proved it, in +principle, only too true. Sam Howell had not been the first, by many +hundreds, to give his life because the State had no real means to make +her law revered. And punishment for such crimes had been rare. Sam +Howell, however, was not to be forgotten, neither was his sacrifice to +be vain. From his blood, shed unseen, in the obscurity of a quiet +country lane, was to spring a great movement, taking effect first in the +state in which he died, and spreading through the Union. + +At that time Pennsylvania was the only state of all the forty-seven that +had met its just obligations to protect all its people under its laws. +Pennsylvania's State Police had been for ten years a body of defenders +of justice, "without fear and without reproach". The honest people of +the State had recorded its deeds in a long memory of noble service. But, +never stooping to advertise itself, never hesitating to incur the enmity +of evildoers, it had had many traducers and no historian. There was +nothing in print to which the people of other states might turn for +knowledge of the accomplishment of the sister commonwealth. + +So, in order that the facts might be conveniently available for every +American citizen to study from "A" to "Z" and thus to decide +intelligently for himself where he wanted his own state to stand, in the +matter of fair and full protection to all people, Miss Mayo went to +Pennsylvania and embarked on an exhaustive analysis of the workings of +the Pennsylvania State Police Force, viewed from the standpoint of all +parts of the community. Ex-President Roosevelt wrote the preface for +_Justice To All_, the book in which the fruits of this study were +finally embodied, and, in the meantime, Miss Newell devoted all her +energies to the development of an active and aggressive state-wide +movement for a State Police. _Justice To All_, in this campaign was +widely used as a source of authority on which to base the arguments for +the case. And in 1917 came Sam Howell's triumph, the passage of the Act +creating the Department of New York State Police, now popularly called +"the State Troopers". + +In the course of collecting the material for this book, Miss Mayo +gathered a mass of facts much greater than one volume could properly +contain. From this she later took fifteen adventurous stories of actual +service in the Pennsylvania Force, of which some, including "Israel +Drake" appeared in the _Saturday Evening Post_, while others came out +simultaneously in the _Atlantic Monthly_ and in the _Outlook_. All were +later collected in a volume called _The Standard Bearers_, which met +with a very cordial reception by readers and critics. + +During the latter part of the World War, Miss Mayo was in France +investigating the war-work of the Y. M. C. A. Her experiences there +furnished material for a book from which advance pages appeared in the +_Outlook_ in the form of separate stories, "Billy's Hut," "The Colonel's +Lady" and others. The purpose of this book was to determine, as closely +as possible, the real values, whatever those might be, of the work +actually accomplished by the Overseas Y, and to lay the plain truth +without bias or color, before the American people. + + + + +IN THE PHILIPPINES + +_When the Philippine Islands passed from the possession of Spain to +that of the United States, there was a change in more than the flag. +Spain had sent soldiers and tax-gatherers to the islands; Uncle Sam sent +road-builders and school teachers. One of these school teachers was also +a newspaper man; and in a book called_ CAYBIGAN _he gave a series of +vivid pictures of how the coming generation of Filipinos are taking the +first step towards Americanization._ + + + + +THE STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPH OF ISIDRO DE LOS MAESTROS + +BY + +JAMES HOPPER + + +_I--Face to Face with the Foe_ + +Returning to his own town after a morning spent in "working up" the +attendance of one of his far and recalcitrant barrio-schools, the +Maestro of Balangilang was swaying with relaxed muscle and half-closed +eyes to the allegretto trot of his little native pony, when he pulled up +with a start, wide awake and all his senses on the alert. Through his +somnolence, at first in a low hum, but fast rising in a fiendish +crescendo, there had come a buzzing sound, much like that of one of the +saw-mills of his California forests, and now, as he sat in the saddle, +erect and tense, the thing ripped the air in ragged tear, shrieked +vibrating into his ear, and finished its course along his spine in +delicious irritation. + +"Oh, where am I?" murmured the Maestro, blinking; but between blinks he +caught the flashing green of the palay fields and knew that he was far +from the saw-mills of the Golden State. So he raised his nose to heaven +and there, afloat above him in the serene blue, was the explanation. It +was a kite, a great locust-shaped kite, darting and swooping in the hot +monsoon, and from it, dropping plumb, came the abominable clamor. + +"Aha!" exclaimed the Maestro, pointing accusingly at the thin line +vaguely visible against the sky-line in a diagonal running from the kite +above him ahead to a point in the road. "Aha! there's something at the +end of that; there's Attendance at the end of that!" + +With which significant remark he leaned forward in the saddle, bringing +his switch down with a whizz behind him. The pony gave three rabbit +leaps and then settled down to his drumming little trot. As they +advanced the line overhead dropped gradually. Finally the Maestro had to +swerve the horse aside to save his helmet. He pulled up to a walk, and a +few yards further came to the spot where string met earth in the +expected Attendance. + +The Attendance was sitting on the ground, his legs spread before him in +an angle of forty-five degrees, each foot arched in a secure grip of a +bunch of cogon grass. These legs were bare as far up as they went, and, +in fact, no trace of clothing was reached until the eye met the lower +fringe of an indescribable undershirt modestly veiling the upper half of +a rotund little paunch; an indescribable undershirt, truly, for +observation could not reach the thing itself, but only the dirt +incrusting it so that it hung together, rigid as a knight's iron +corslet, in spite of monstrous tears and rents. Between the teeth of the +Attendance was a long, thick cheroot, wound about with hemp fiber, at +which he pulled with rounded mouth. Hitched around his right wrist was +the kite string, and between his legs a stick spindled with an extra +hundred yards. At intervals he hauled hand-over-hand upon the taut line, +and then the landscape vibrated to the buzz-saw song which had so +compellingly recalled the Maestro to his eternal pursuit. + +As the shadow of the horse fell upon him, the Attendance brought his +eyes down from their heavenly contemplation, and fixed them upon the +rider. A tremor of dismay, mastered as soon as born, flitted over him; +then, silently, with careful suppression of all signs of haste, he +reached for a big stone with his little yellow paw, then for a stick +lying farther off. Using the stone as a hammer, he drove the stick into +the ground with deliberate stroke, wound the string around it with +tender solicitude, and then, everything being secure, just as the +Maestro was beginning his usual embarrassing question: + +"Why are you not at school, eh?" + +He drew up his feet beneath him, straightened up like a jack-in-a-box, +took a hop-skip-jump, and with a flourish of golden heels, flopped +head-first into the roadside ditch's rank luxuriance. + +"The little devil!" exclaimed the disconcerted Maestro. He dismounted +and, leading his horse, walked up to the side of the ditch. It was full +of the water of the last baguio. From the edge of the cane-field on the +other side there cascaded down the bank a mad vegetation; it carpeted +the sides, arched itself above in a vault, and inside this recess the +water was rotting, green-scummed; and a powerful fermentation filled the +nostrils with hot fever-smells. In the center of the ditch the broad, +flat head of a caribao emerged slightly above the water; the floating +lilies made an incongruous wreath about the great horns and the +beatifically-shut eyes, and the thick, humid nose exhaled ecstasy in +shuddering ripplets over the calm surface. + +Filled with a vague sense of the ridiculous, the Maestro peered into the +darkness. "The little devil!" he murmured. "He's somewhere in here; but +how am I to get him, I'd like to know. Do you see him, eh, Mathusalem?" +he asked of the stolid beast soaking there in bliss. + +Whether in answer to this challenge or to some other irritant, the +animal slowly opened one eye and ponderously let it fall shut again in +what, to the heated imagination of the Maestro, seemed a patronizing +wink. Its head slid quietly along the water; puffs of ooze rose from +below and spread on the surface. Then, in the silence there rose a +significant sound--a soft, repeated snapping of the tongue: + +"Cluck, cluck." + +"Aha!" shouted the Maestro triumphantly to his invisible audience. "I +know where you are, you scamp; right behind the caribao; come out of +there, _pronto, dale-dale_!" + +But his enthusiasm was of short duration. To the commanding +tongue-click the caribao had stopped dead-still, and a silence heavy +with defiance met the too-soon exultant cries. An insect in the foliage +began a creaking call, and then all the creatures of humidity hidden +there among this fermenting vegetation joined in mocking chorus. + +The Maestro felt a vague blush welling up from the innermost recesses of +his being. + +"I'm going to get that kid," he muttered darkly, "if I have to wait +till--the coming of Common Sense to the Manila office! By gum, he's the +Struggle for Attendance personified!" + +He sat down on the bank and waited. This did not prove interesting. The +animals of the ditch creaked on; the caribao bubbled up the water with +his deep content; above, the abandoned kite went through strange +acrobatics and wailed as if in pain. The Maestro dipped his hand into +the water; it was lukewarm. "No hope of a freeze-out," he murmured +pensively. + +Behind, the pony began to pull at the reins. + +"Yes, little horse, I'm tired, too. Well," he said apologetically, "I +hate to get energetic, but there are circumstances which----" + +The end of his sentence was lost, for he had whisked out the big Colt's +dissuader of ladrones, that hung on his belt, and was firing. The six +shots went off like a bunch of fire-crackers, but far from at random, +for a regular circle boiled up around the dozing caribao. The disturbed +animal snorted, and again a discreet "cluck-cluck" rose in the sudden, +astounded silence. + +"This," said the Maestro, as he calmly introduced fresh cartridges into +the chambers of his smoking weapon, "is what might be called an +application of western solutions to eastern difficulties." + +Again he brought his revolver down, but he raised it without shooting +and replaced it in its holster. From beneath the caribao's rotund belly, +below the surface, an indistinct form shot out; cleaving the water like +a polliwog it glided for the bank, and then a black, round head emerged +at the feet of the Maestro. + +"All right, bub; we'll go to school now," said the latter, nodding to +the dripping figure as it rose before him. + +He lifted the sullen brownie and straddled him forward of the saddle, +then proceeded to mount himself, when the Capture began to display +marked agitation. He squirmed and twisted, turned his head back and up, +and finally a grunt escaped him. + +"El volador." + +"The kite, to be sure; we mustn't forget the kite," acquiesced the +Maestro graciously. He pulled up the anchoring stick and laboriously, +beneath the hostilely critical eye of the Capture, he hauled in the line +till the screeching, resisting flying-machine was brought to earth. Then +he vaulted into the saddle. + +The double weight was a little too much for the pony; so it was at a +dignified walk that the Maestro, his naked, dripping, muddy and still +defiant prisoner a-straddle in front of him, the captured kite passed +over his left arm like a knightly shield, made his triumphant entry into +the pueblo. + + +_II--Heroism and Reverses_ + +When Maestro Pablo rode down Rizal-y-Washington Street to the +schoolhouse with his oozing, dripping prize between his arms, the kite, +like a knightly escutcheon against his left side, he found that in spite +of his efforts at preserving a modest, self-deprecatory bearing, his +spine would stiffen and his nose point upward in the unconscious +manifestations of an internal feeling that there was in his attitude +something picturesquely heroic. Not since walking down the California +campus one morning after the big game won three minutes before blowing +of the final whistle, by his fifty-yard run-in of a punt, had he been +in that posture--at once pleasant and difficult--in which one's vital +concern is to wear an humility sufficiently convincing to obtain from +friends forgiveness for the crime of being great. + +A series of incidents immediately following, however, made the thing +quite easy. + +Upon bringing the new recruit into the schoolhouse, to the perfidiously +expressed delight of the already incorporated, the Maestro called his +native assistant to obtain the information necessary to a full +matriculation. At the first question the inquisition came to a +dead-lock. The boy did not know his name. + +"In Spanish times," the Assistant suggested modestly, "we called them +"de los Reyes" when the father was of the army, and "de la Cruz" when +the father was of the church; but now, we can never know _what_ it is." + +The Maestro dashed to a solution. "All right," he said cheerily. "I +caught him; guess I can give him a name. Call him--Isidro de los +Maestros." + +And thus it was that the urchin went down on the school records, and on +the records of life afterward. + +Now, well pleased with himself, the Maestro, as is the wont of men in +such state, sought for further enjoyment. + +"Ask him," he said teasingly, pointing with his chin at the +newly-baptized but still unregenerate little savage, "why he came out of +the ditch." + +"He says he was afraid that you would steal the kite," answered the +Assistant, after some linguistic sparring. + +"Eh?" ejaculated the surprised Maestro. + +And in his mind there framed a picture of himself riding along the road +with a string between his fingers; and, following in the upper layers of +air, a buzzing kite; and, down in the dust of the highway, an urchin +trudging wistfully after the kite, drawn on irresistibly, in spite of +his better judgment, on and on, horrified but fascinated, up to the +yawning school-door. + +It would have been the better way. "I ought to go and soak my head," +murmured the Maestro pensively. + +This was check number one, but others came in quick succession. + +For the morning after this incident the Maestro did not find Isidro +among the weird, wild crowd gathered into the annex (a transformed sugar +storehouse) by the last raid of the Municipal Police. + +Neither was Isidro there the next day, nor the next. And it was not till +a week had passed that the Maestro discovered, with an inward blush of +shame, that his much-longed-for pupil was living in the little hut +behind his own house. There would have been nothing shameful in the +overlooking--there were seventeen other persons sharing the same +abode--were it not that the nipa front of this human hive had been blown +away by the last baguio, leaving an unobstructed view of the interior, +if it might be called such. As it was, the Municipal Police was +mobilized at the urgent behest of the Maestro. Its "cabo," flanked by +two privates armed with old German needle-guns, besieged the home, and +after an interesting game of hide-and-go-seek, Isidro was finally caught +by one arm and one ear, and ceremoniously marched to school. And there +the Maestro asked him why he had not been attending. + +"No hay pantalones"--there are no pants--Isidro answered, dropping his +eyes modestly to the ground. + +This was check number two, and unmistakably so, for was it not a fact +that a civil commission, overzealous in its civilizing ardor, had passed +a law commanding that every one should wear, when in public, "at least +one garment, preferably trousers?" + +Following this, and an unsuccessful plea upon the town tailor who was on +a three weeks' vacation on account of the death of a fourth cousin, the +Maestro shut himself up a whole day with Isidro in his little nipa +house; and behind the closely-shut shutters engaged in some mysterious +toil. When they emerged again the next morning, Isidro wended his way to +the school at the end of the Maestro's arm, trousered! + +The trousers, it must be said, had a certain cachet of distinction. They +were made of calico-print, with a design of little black skulls +sprinkled over a yellow background. Some parts hung flat and limp as if +upon a scarecrow; others pulsed, like a fire-hose in action, with the +pressure of flesh compressed beneath, while at other points they bulged +pneumatically in little foot-balls. The right leg dropped to the ankle; +the left stopped discouraged, a few inches below the knee. The seams +looked like the putty mountain chains of the geography class. As the +Maestro strode along he threw rapid glances at his handiwork, and it was +plain that the emotions that moved him were somewhat mixed in character. +His face showed traces of a puzzled diffidence, as that of a man who has +come in sack-coat to a full-dress function; but after all it was +satisfaction that predominated, for after this heroic effort he had +decided that Victory had at last perched upon his banners. + +And it really looked so for a time. Isidro stayed at school at least +during that first day of his trousered life. For when the Maestro, later +in the forenoon paid a visit to the annex, he found the Assistant in +charge standing disconcerted before the urchin who, with eyes indignant +and hair perpendicular upon the top of his head, was evidently holding +to his side of the argument with his customary energy. + +Isidro was trouserless. Sitting rigid upon his bench, holding on with +both hands as if in fear of being removed, he dangled naked legs to the +sight of who might look. + +"Que barbaridad!" murmured the Assistant in limp dejection. + +But Isidro threw at him a look of black hatred. This became a tense, +silent plea for justice as it moved up for a moment to the Maestro's +face, and then it settled back upon its first object in frigid +accusation. + +"Where are your trousers, Isidro?" asked the Maestro. + +Isidro relaxed his convulsive grasp of the bench with one hand, canted +himself slightly to one side just long enough to give an instantaneous +view of the trousers, neatly folded and spread between what he was +sitting with and what he was sitting on, then swung back with the +suddenness of a kodak-shutter, seized his seat with new determination, +and looked eloquent justification at the Maestro. + +"Why will you not wear them?" asked the latter. + +"He says he will not get them dirty," said the Assistant, interpreting +the answer. + +"Tell him when they are dirty he can go down to the river and wash +them," said the Maestro. + +Isidro pondered over the suggestion for two silent minutes. The prospect +of a day spent splashing in the lukewarm waters of the Ilog he finally +put down as not at all detestable, and getting up to his feet: + +"I will put them on," he said gravely. + +Which he did on the moment, with an absence of hesitation as to which +was front and which was back, very flattering to the Maestro. + +That Isidro persevered during the next week, the Maestro also came to +know. For now regularly every evening as he smoked and lounged upon his +long, cane chair, trying to persuade his tired body against all laws of +physics to give up a little of its heat to a circumambient atmosphere of +temperature equally enthusiastic; as he watched among the rafters of the +roof the snakes swallowing the rats, the rats devouring the lizards, the +lizards snapping up the spiders, the spiders snaring the flies in +eloquent representation of the life struggle, his studied passiveness +would be broken by strange sounds from the dilapidated hut at the back +of his house. A voice, imitative of that of the Third Assistant who +taught the annex, hurled forth questions, which were immediately +answered by another voice, curiously like that of Isidro. + +Fiercely: "Du yu ssee dde hhett?" + +Breathlessly: "Yiss I ssee dde hhett." + +Ferociously: "Show me dde hhett." + +Eagerly: "Here are dde hhett." + +Thunderously: "Gif me dde hhett." + +Exultantly: "I gif yu dde hhett." + +Then the Maestro would step to the window and look into the hut from +which came this Socratic dialogue. And on this wall-less platform which +looked much like a primitive stage, a singular action was unrolling +itself in the smoky glimmer of a two-cent lamp. The Third Assistant was +not there at all; but Isidro was the Third Assistant. And the pupil was +not Isidro, but the witless old man who was one of the many sharers of +the abode. In the voice of the Third Assistant, Isidro was hurling out +the tremendous questions; and, as the old gentleman, who represented +Isidro, opened his mouth only to drule betel-juice, it was Isidro who, +in Isidro's voice, answered the questions. In his role as Third +Assistant he stood with legs akimbo before the pupil, a bamboo twig in +his hand; as Isidro the pupil, he plumped down quickly upon the bench +before responding. The sole function of the senile old man seemed that +of representing the pupil while the question was being asked, and +receiving, in that capacity, a sharp cut across the nose from +Isidro-the-Third-Assistant's switch, at which he chuckled to himself in +silent glee and druled ad libitum. + +For several nights this performance went on with gradual increase of +vocabulary in teacher and pupil. But when it had reached the "Do you see +the apple-tree?" stage, it ceased to advance, marked time for a while, +and then slowly but steadily began sliding back into primitive +beginnings. This engendered in the Maestro a suspicion which became +certainty when Isidro entered the schoolhouse one morning just before +recess, between two policemen at port arms. A rapid scrutiny of the +roll-book showed that he had been absent a whole week. + +"I was at the river cleaning my trousers," answered Isidro when put face +to face with this curious fact. + +The Maestro suggested that the precious pantaloons which, by the way, +had been mysteriously embellished by a red stripe down the right leg and +a green stripe down the left leg, could be cleaned in less than a week, +and that Saturday and Sunday were days specially set aside in the +Catechismo of the Americanos for such little family duties. + +Isidro understood, and the nightly rehearsals soon reached the stage of: + +"How menny hhetts hev yu?" + +"I hev _ten_ hhetts." + +Then came another arrest of development and another decline, at the end +of which Isidro again making his appearance flanked by two German +needle-guns, caused a blush of remorse to suffuse the Maestro by +explaining with frigid gravity that his mother had given birth to a +little pickaninny-brother and that, of course, he had had to help. + +But significant events in the family did not stop there. After birth, +death stepped in for its due. Isidro's relatives began to drop off in +rapid sequence--each demise demanding three days of meditation in +retirement--till at last the Maestro, who had had the excellent idea of +keeping upon paper a record of these unfortunate occurrences, was +looking with stupor upon a list showing that Isidro had lost, within +three weeks, two aunts, three grandfathers, and five +grandmothers--which, considering that an actual count proved the house +of bereavement still able to boast of seventeen occupants, was plainly +an exaggeration. + +Following a long sermon from the Maestro in which he sought to explain +to Isidro that he must always tell the truth for sundry philosophical +reasons--a statement which the First Assistant tactfully smoothed to +something within range of credulity by translating it that one must not +lie to _Americanos_, because _Americanos_ do not like it--there came a +period of serenity. + + +_III--The Triumph_ + +There came to the Maestro days of peace and joy. Isidro was coming to +school; Isidro was learning English. Isidro was steady, Isidro was +docile, Isidro was positively so angelic that there was something +uncanny about the situation. And with Isidro, other little savages were +being pruned into the school-going stage of civilization. Helped by the +police, they were pouring in from barrio and hacienda; the attendance +was going up by leaps and bounds, till at last a circulative report +showed that Balangilang had passed the odious Cabancalan with its less +strenuous school-man, and left it in the ruck by a full hundred. The +Maestro was triumphant; his chest had gained two inches in expansion. +When he met Isidro at recess, playing cibay, he murmured softly: "You +little devil; you were Attendance personified, and I've got you now." At +which Isidro, pausing in the act of throwing a shell with the top of his +head at another shell on the ground, looked up beneath long lashes in a +smile absolutely seraphic. + +In the evening, the Maestro, his heart sweet with content, stood at the +window. These were moonlight nights; in the grassy lanes the young girls +played graceful Spanish games, winding like garlands to a gentle song; +from the shadows of the huts came the tinkle-tinkle of serenading +guitars and yearning notes of violins wailing despairing love. And +Isidro, seated on the bamboo ladder of his house, went through an +independent performance. He sang "Good-night, Ladies," the last song +given to the school, sang it in soft falsetto, with languorous drawls, +and never-ending organ points, over and over again, till it changed +character gradually, dropping into a wailing minor, an endless croon +full of obscure melancholy of a race that dies. + +"Goo-oo-oo nigh-igh-igh loidies-ies-ies; goo-oo-oo nigh-igh-igh +loidies-ies-ies; goo-oo-oo-oo nigh-igh-igh loidies-ies-ies-ies," he +repeated and repeated, over and over again, till the Maestro's soul +tumbled down and down abysses of maudlin tenderness, and Isidro's chin +fell upon his chest in a last drawling, sleepy note. At which he shook +himself together and began the next exercise, a recitation, all of one +piece from first to last syllable, in one high, monotonous note, like a +mechanical doll saying "papa-mama." + +"Oh-look-et-de-moon-she-ees-shinin-up-theyre-oh-mudder-she +look-like-a-lom-in-de-ayre-lost-night-she-was-smalleyre-on-joos +like-a-bow-boot-now-she-ees-biggerr-on-rrraon-like-an-O." + +Then a big gulp of air and again: + +"Oh-look-et-de-moon-she-ees-shinin-up-theyre,----" etc. + +An hour of this, and he skipped from the lyric to the patriotic, and +then it was: + + + "I-loof-dde-name-off-Wash-ing-ton, + I-loof-my-coontrrree-tow, + I-loof-dde-fleg-dde-dear-owl-fleg, + Off-rridd-on-whit-on-bloo-oo-oo!" + + +By this time the Maestro was ready to go to bed, and long in the torpor +of the tropic night there came to him, above the hum of the mosquitoes +fighting at the net, the soft, wailing croon of Isidro, back at his +"Goo-oo-oo nigh-igh-igh loidies-ies-ies." + +These were days of ease and beauty to the Maestro, and he enjoyed them +the more when a new problem came to give action to his resourceful +brain. + +The thing was this: For three days there had not been one funeral in +Balangilang. + +In other climes, in other towns, this might have been a source of +congratulation, perhaps, but not in Balangilang. There were rumors of +cholera in the towns to the north, and the Maestro, as president of the +Board of Health, was on the watch for it. Five deaths a day, experience +had taught him, was the healthy average for the town; and this sudden +cessation of public burials--he could not believe that dying had +stopped--was something to make him suspicious. + +It was over this puzzling situation that he was pondering at the morning +recess, when his attention was taken from it by a singular scene. + +The "batas" of the school were flocking and pushing and jolting at the +door of the basement which served as stable for the municipal caribao. +Elbowing his way to the spot, the Maestro found Isidro at the entrance, +gravely taking up an admission of five shells from those who would +enter. Business seemed to be brisk; Isidro had already a big bandana +handkerchief bulging with the receipts which were now overflowing into a +great tao hat, obligingly loaned him by one of his admirers, as one by +one, those lucky enough to have the price filed in, feverish curiosity +upon their faces. + +The Maestro thought that it might be well to go in also, which he did +without paying admission. The disappointed gate-keeper followed him. The +Maestro found himself before a little pink-and-blue tissue-paper box, +frilled with paper rosettes. + +"What have you in there?" asked the Maestro. + +"My brother," answered Isidro sweetly. + +He cast his eyes to the ground and watched his big toe drawing vague +figures in the earth, then appealing to the First Assistant who was +present by this time, he added in the tone of virtue which _will_ be +modest: + +"Maestro Pablo does not like it when I do not come to school on account +of a funeral, so I brought him (pointing to the little box) with me." + +"Well, I'll be----" was the only comment the Maestro found adequate at +the moment. + +"It is my little pickaninny-brother," went on Isidro, becoming alive to +the fact that he was a center of interest, "and he died last night of +the great sickness." + +"The great what?" ejaculated the Maestro who had caught a few words. + +"The great sickness," explained the Assistant. "That is the name by +which these ignorant people call the cholera." + + +For the next two hours the Maestro was very busy. + +Firstly he gathered the "batas" who had been rich enough to attend +Isidro's little show and locked them up--with the impresario himself--in +the little town-jail close by. Then, after a vivid exhortation upon the +beauties of boiling water and reporting disease, he dismissed the school +for an indefinite period. After which, impressing the two town +prisoners, now temporarily out of home, he shouldered Isidro's pretty +box, tramped to the cemetery and directed the digging of a grave six +feet deep. When the earth had been scraped back upon the lonely little +object, he returned to town and transferred the awe-stricken playgoers +to his own house, where a strenuous performance took place. + +Tolio, his boy, built a most tremendous fire outside and set upon it all +the pots and pans and caldrons and cans of his kitchen arsenal, filled +with water. When these began to gurgle and steam, the Maestro set +himself to stripping the horrified bunch in his room; one by one he +threw the garments out of the window to Tolio who, catching them, +stuffed them into the receptacles, poking down their bulging protest +with a big stick. Then the Maestro mixed an awful brew in an old +oil-can, and taking the brush which was commonly used to sleek up his +little pony, he dipped it generously into the pungent stuff and began an +energetic scrubbing of his now absolutely panic-stricken wards. When he +had done this to his satisfaction and thoroughly to their discontent, he +let them put on their still steaming garments and they slid out of the +house, aseptic as hospitals. + +Isidro he kept longer. He lingered over him with loving and strenuous +care, and after he had him externally clean, proceeded to dose him +internally from a little red bottle. Isidro took everything--the +terrific scrubbing, the exaggerated dosing, the ruinous treatment of his +pantaloons--with wonder-eyed serenity. + +When all this was finished the Maestro took the urchin into the +dining-room and, seating him on his best bamboo chair, he courteously +offered him a fine, dark perfecto. + +The next instant he was suffused with the light of a new revelation. +For, stretching out his hard little claw to receive the gift, the little +man had shot at him a glance so mild, so wistful, so brown-eyed, filled +with such mixed admiration, trust, and appeal, that a queer softness had +risen in the Maestro from somewhere down in the regions of his heel, up +and up, quietly, like the mercury in the thermometer, till it had flowed +through his whole body and stood still, its high-water mark a little +lump in his throat. + +"Why, Lord bless us-ones, Isidro," said the Maestro quietly. "We're only +a child after all; mere baby, my man. And don't we like to go to +school?" + +"Senor Pablo," asked the boy, looking up softly into the Maestro's still +perspiring visage, "Senor Pablo, is it true that there will be no school +because of the great sickness?" + +"Yes, it is true," answered the Maestro. "No school for a long, long +time." + +Then Isidro's mouth began to twitch queerly, and suddenly throwing +himself full-length upon the floor, he hurled out from somewhere within +him a long, tremulous wail. + + + + +JAMES MERLE HOPPER + + +James Merle Hopper was born in Paris, France. His father was American, +his mother French; their son James was born July 23, 1876. In 1887 his +parents came to America, and settled in California. James Hopper +attended the University of California, graduating in 1898. He is still +remembered there as one of the grittiest football players who ever +played on the 'Varsity team. Then came a course in the law school of +that university, and admission to the California bar in 1900. All this +reads like the biography of a lawyer: so did the early life of James +Russell Lowell, and of Oliver Wendell Holmes: they were all admitted to +the bar, but they did not become lawyers. James Hopper had done some +newspaper work for San Francisco papers while he was in law school, and +the love of writing had taken hold of him. In the meantime he had +married Miss Mattie E. Leonard, and as literature did not yet provide a +means of support, he became an instructor in French at the University of +California. + +With the close of the Spanish-American War came the call for thousands +of Americans to go to the Philippines as schoolmasters. This appealed to +him, and he spent the years 1902-03 in the work that Kipling thus +describes in "The White Man's Burden": + + + To wait in heavy harness + On fluttered folk and wild-- + Your new-caught sullen peoples, + Half devil and half child. + + +His experiences here furnished the material for a group of short stories +dealing picturesquely with the Filipinos in their first contact with +American civilization. These were published in _McClure's_, and +afterwards collected in book form under the title _Caybigan_. + +In 1903 James Hopper returned to the United States, and for a time was +on the editorial staff of _McClure's_. Later in collaboration with Fred +R. Bechdolt he wrote a remarkable book, entitled "_9009_". This is the +number of a convict in an American prison, and the book exposes the +system of spying, of treachery, of betrayal, that a convict must +identify himself with in order to become a "trusty." His next book was a +college story, _The Freshman_. This was followed by a volume of short +stories, _What Happened in the Night_. These are stories of child life, +but intended for older readers; they are very successful in reproducing +the imaginative world in which children live. In 1915 and 1916 he acted +as a war correspondent for _Collier's_, first with the American troops +in Mexico in pursuit of Villa, and later in France. His home is at +Carmel, California. + + + + +THEY WHO BRING DREAMS TO AMERICA + +_"No wonder this America of ours is big. We draw the brave ones from +the old lands, the brave ones whose dreams are like the guiding sign +that was given to the Israelites of old--a pillar of cloud by day, a +pillar of fire by night." "The Citizen" is a story of a brave man who +followed his dream over land and sea, until it brought him to America, a +fortunate event for him and for us._ + + + + +THE CITIZEN + +BY + +JAMES FRANCIS DWYER + + +The President of the United States was speaking. His audience comprised +two thousand foreign-born men who had just been admitted to citizenship. +They listened intently, their faces, aglow with the light of a new-born +patriotism, upturned to the calm, intellectual face of the first citizen +of the country they now claimed as their own. + +Here and there among the newly-made citizens were wives and children. +The women were proud of their men. They looked at them from time to +time, their faces showing pride and awe. + +One little woman, sitting immediately in front of the President, held +the hand of a big, muscular man and stroked it softly. The big man was +looking at the speaker with great blue eyes that were the eyes of a +dreamer. + +The President's words came clear and distinct: + +_You were drawn across the ocean by some beckoning finger of hope, by +some belief, by some vision of a new kind of justice, by some +expectation of a better kind of life. You dreamed dreams of this +country, and I hope you brought the dreams with you. A man enriches the +country to which he brings dreams, and you who have brought them have +enriched America._ + +The big man made a curious choking noise and his wife breathed a soft +"Hush!" The giant was strangely affected. + +The President continued: + +_No doubt you have been disappointed in some of us, but remember this, +if we have grown at all poor in the ideal, you brought some of it with +you. A man does not go out to seek the thing that is not in him. A man +does not hope for the thing that he does not believe in, and if some of +us have forgotten what America believed in, you at any rate imported in +your own hearts a renewal of the belief. Each of you, I am sure, brought +a dream, a glorious, shining dream, a dream worth more than gold or +silver, and that is the reason that I, for one, make you welcome._ + +The big man's eyes were fixed. His wife shook him gently, but he did not +heed her. He was looking through the presidential rostrum, through the +big buildings behind it, looking out over leagues of space to a +snow-swept village that huddled on an island in the Beresina, the +swift-flowing tributary of the mighty Dnieper, an island that looked +like a black bone stuck tight in the maw of the stream. + +It was in the little village on the Beresina that the Dream came to Ivan +Berloff, Big Ivan of the Bridge. + +The Dream came in the spring. All great dreams come in the spring, and +the Spring Maiden who brought Big Ivan's Dream was more than ordinarily +beautiful. She swept up the Beresina, trailing wondrous draperies of +vivid green. Her feet touched the snow-hardened ground, and armies of +little white and blue flowers sprang up in her footsteps. Soft breezes +escorted her, velvety breezes that carried the aromas of the far-off +places from which they came, places far to the southward, and more +distant towns beyond the Black Sea whose people were not under the sway +of the Great Czar. + +The father of Big Ivan, who had fought under Prince Menshikov at Alma +fifty-five years before, hobbled out to see the sunbeams eat up the snow +hummocks that hid in the shady places, and he told his son it was the +most wonderful spring he had ever seen. + +"The little breezes are hot and sweet," he said, sniffing hungrily with +his face turned toward the south. "I know them, Ivan! I know them! They +have the spice odor that I sniffed on the winds that came to us when we +lay in the trenches at Balaklava. Praise God for the warmth!" + +And that day the Dream came to Big Ivan as he plowed. It was a wonder +dream. It sprang into his brain as he walked behind the plow, and for a +few minutes he quivered as the big bridge quivers when the Beresina +sends her ice squadrons to hammer the arches. It made his heart pound +mightily, and his lips and throat became very dry. + +Big Ivan stopped at the end of the furrow and tried to discover what had +brought the Dream. Where had it come from? Why had it clutched him so +suddenly? Was he the only man in the village to whom it had come? + +Like his father, he sniffed the sweet-smelling breezes. He thrust his +great hands into the sunbeams. He reached down and plucked one of a +bunch of white flowers that had sprung up overnight. The Dream was born +of the breezes and the sunshine and the spring flowers. It came from +them and it had sprung into his mind because he was young and strong. He +knew! It couldn't come to his father or Donkov, the tailor, or Poborino, +the smith. They were old and weak, and Ivan's dream was one that called +for youth and strength. + +"Ay, for youth and strength," he muttered as he gripped the plow. "And I +have it!" + +That evening Big Ivan of the Bridge spoke to his wife, Anna, a little +woman, who had a sweet face and a wealth of fair hair. + +"Wife, we are going away from here," he said. + +"Where are we going, Ivan?" she asked. + +"Where do you think, Anna?" he said, looking down at her as she stood by +his side. + +"To Bobruisk," she murmured. + +"No." + +"Farther?" + +"Ay, a long way farther." + +Fear sprang into her soft eyes. Bobruisk was eighty-nine versts away, +yet Ivan said they were going farther. + +"We--we are not going to Minsk?" she cried. + +"Aye, and beyond Minsk!" + +"Ivan, tell me!" she gasped. "Tell me where we are going!" + +"We are going to America." + +"_To America?_" + +"Yes, to America!" + +Big Ivan of the Bridge lifted up his voice when he cried out the words +"To America," and then a sudden fear sprang upon him as those words +dashed through the little window out into the darkness of the village +street. Was he mad? America was 8,000 versts away! It was far across the +ocean, a place that was only a name to him, a place where he knew no +one. He wondered in the strange little silence that followed his words +if the crippled son of Poborino, the smith, had heard him. The cripple +would jeer at him if the night wind had carried the words to his ear. + +Anna remained staring at her big husband for a few minutes, then she sat +down quietly at his side. There was a strange look in his big blue eyes, +the look of a man to whom has come a vision, the look which came into +the eyes of those shepherds of Judea long, long ago. + +"What is it, Ivan?" she murmured softly, patting his big hand. "Tell +me." + +And Big Ivan of the Bridge, slow of tongue, told of the Dream. To no one +else would he have told it. Anna understood. She had a way of patting +his hands and saying soft things when his tongue could not find words to +express his thoughts. + +Ivan told how the Dream had come to him as he plowed. He told her how it +had sprung upon him, a wonderful dream born of the soft breezes, of the +sunshine, of the sweet smell of the upturned sod and of his own +strength. "It wouldn't come to weak men," he said, baring an arm that +showed great snaky muscles rippling beneath the clear skin. "It is a +dream that comes only to those who are strong and those who want--who +want something that they haven't got." Then in a lower voice he said: +"What is it that we want, Anna?" + +The little wife looked out into the darkness with fear-filled eyes. +There were spies even there in that little village on the Beresina, and +it was dangerous to say words that might be construed into a reflection +on the Government. But she answered Ivan. She stooped and whispered one +word into his ear, and he slapped his thigh with his big hand. + +"Ay," he cried. "That is what we want! You and I and millions like us +want it, and over there, Anna, over there we will get it. It is the +country where a muzhik is as good as a prince of the blood!" + +Anna stood up, took a small earthenware jar from a side shelf, dusted it +carefully and placed it upon the mantel. From a knotted cloth about her +neck she took a ruble and dropped the coin into the jar. Big Ivan looked +at her curiously. + +"It is to make legs for your Dream," she explained. "It is many versts +to America, and one rides on rubles." + +"You are a good wife," he said. "I was afraid that you might laugh at +me." + +"It is a great dream," she murmured. "Come, we will go to sleep." + +The Dream maddened Ivan during the days that followed. It pounded within +his brain as he followed the plow. It bred a discontent that made him +hate the little village, the swift-flowing Beresina and the gray +stretches that ran toward Mogilev. He wanted to be moving, but Anna had +said that one rode on rubles, and rubles were hard to find. + +And in some mysterious way the village became aware of the secret. +Donkov, the tailor, discovered it. Donkov lived in one-half of the +cottage occupied by Ivan and Anna, and Donkov had long ears. The tailor +spread the news, and Poborino, the smith, and Yanansk, the baker, would +jeer at Ivan as he passed. + +"When are you going to America?" they would ask. + +"Soon," Ivan would answer. + +"Take us with you!" they would cry in chorus. + +"It is no place for cowards," Ivan would answer. "It is a long way, and +only brave men can make the journey." + +"Are you brave?" the baker screamed one day as he went by. + +"I am brave enough to want liberty!" cried Ivan angrily. "I am brave +enough to want----" + +"Be careful! Be careful!" interrupted the smith. "A long tongue has +given many a man a train journey that he never expected." + +That night Ivan and Anna counted the rubles in the earthenware pot. The +giant looked down at his wife with a gloomy face, but she smiled and +patted his hand. + +"It is slow work," he said. + +"We must be patient," she answered. "You have the Dream." + +"Ay," he said. "I have the Dream." + +Through the hot, languorous summertime the Dream grew within the brain +of Big Ivan. He saw visions in the smoky haze that hung above the +Beresina. At times he would stand, hoe in hand, and look toward the +west, the wonderful west into which the sun slipped down each evening +like a coin dropped from the fingers of the dying day. + +Autumn came, and the fretful whining winds that came down from the north +chilled the Dream. The winds whispered of the coming of the Snow King, +and the river grumbled as it listened. Big Ivan kept out of the way of +Poborino, the smith, and Yanansk, the baker. The Dream was still with +him, but autumn is a bad time for dreams. + +Winter came, and the Dream weakened. It was only the earthenware pot +that kept it alive, the pot into which the industrious Anna put every +coin that could be spared. Often Big Ivan would stare at the pot as he +sat beside the stove. The pot was the cord which kept the Dream alive. + +"You are a good woman, Anna," Ivan would say again and again. "It was +you who thought of saving the rubles." + +"But it was you who dreamed," she would answer. "Wait for the spring, +husband mine. Wait." + +It was strange how the spring came to the Beresina that year. It sprang +upon the flanks of winter before the Ice King had given the order to +retreat into the fastnesses of the north. It swept up the river escorted +by a million little breezes, and housewives opened their windows and +peered out with surprise upon their faces. A wonderful guest had come to +them and found them unprepared. + +Big Ivan of the Bridge was fixing a fence in the meadow on the morning +the Spring Maiden reached the village. For a little while he was not +aware of her arrival. His mind was upon his work, but suddenly he +discovered that he was hot, and he took off his overcoat. He turned to +hang the coat upon a bush, then he sniffed the air, and a puzzled look +came upon his face. He sniffed again, hurriedly, hungrily. He drew in +great breaths of it, and his eyes shone with a strange light. It was +wonderful air. It brought life to the Dream. It rose up within him, ten +times more lusty than on the day it was born, and his limbs trembled as +he drew in the hot, scented breezes that breed the _Wanderlust_ and +shorten the long trails of the world. + +Big Ivan clutched his coat and ran to the little cottage. He burst +through the door, startling Anna, who was busy with her housework. + +"The Spring!" he cried. "_The Spring!_" + +He took her arm and dragged her to the door. Standing together they +sniffed the sweet breezes. In silence they listened to the song of the +river. The Beresina had changed from a whining, fretful tune into a +lilting, sweet song that would set the legs of lovers dancing. Anna +pointed to a green bud on a bush beside the door. + +"It came this minute," she murmured. + +"Yes," said Ivan. "The little fairies brought it there to show us that +spring has come to stay." + +Together they turned and walked to the mantel. Big Ivan took up the +earthenware pot, carried it to the table, and spilled its contents upon +the well-scrubbed boards. He counted while Anna stood beside him, her +fingers clutching his coarse blouse. It was a slow business, because +Ivan's big blunt fingers were not used to such work, but it was over at +last. He stacked the coins into neat piles, then he straightened himself +and turned to the woman at his side. + +"It is enough," he said quietly. "We will go at once. If it was not +enough, we would have to go because the Dream is upon me and I hate this +place." + +"As you say," murmured Anna. "The wife of Littin, the butcher, will buy +our chairs and our bed. I spoke to her yesterday." + +Poborino, the smith; his crippled son; Yanansk, the baker; Dankov, the +tailor, and a score of others were out upon the village street on the +morning that Big Ivan and Anna set out. They were inclined to jeer at +Ivan, but something upon the face of the giant made them afraid. Hand in +hand the big man and his wife walked down the street, their faces turned +toward Bobruisk, Ivan balancing upon his head a heavy trunk that no +other man in the village could have lifted. + +At the end of the street a stripling with bright eyes and yellow curls +clutched the hand of Ivan and looked into his face. + +"I know what is sending you," he cried. + +"Ay, _you_ know," said Ivan, looking into the eyes of the other. + +"It came to me yesterday," murmured the stripling. "I got it from the +breezes. They are free, so are the birds and the little clouds and the +river. I wish I could go." + +"Keep your dream," said Ivan softly. "Nurse it, for it is the dream of a +man." + +Anna, who was crying softly, touched the blouse of the boy. "At the back +of our cottage, near the bush that bears the red berries, a pot is +buried," she said. "Dig it up and take it home with you and when you +have a kopeck drop it in. It is a good pot." + +The stripling understood. He stooped and kissed the hand of Anna, and +Big Ivan patted him upon the back. They were brother dreamers and they +understood each other. + +Boris Lugan has sung the song of the versts that eat up one's courage as +well as the leather of one's shoes. + + + "Versts! Versts! Scores and scores of them! + Versts! Versts! A million or more of them! + Dust! Dust! And the devils who play in it, + Blinding us fools who forever must stay in it." + + +Big Ivan and Anna faced the long versts to Bobruisk, but they were not +afraid of the dust devils. They had the Dream. It made their hearts +light and took the weary feeling from their feet. They were on their +way. America was a long, long journey, but they had started, and every +verst they covered lessened the number that lay between them and the +Promised Land. + +"I am glad the boy spoke to us," said Anna. + +"And I am glad," said Ivan. "Some day he will come and eat with us in +America." + +They came to Bobruisk. Holding hands, they walked into it late one +afternoon. They were eighty-nine versts from the little village on the +Beresina, but they were not afraid. The Dream spoke to Ivan, and his big +hand held the hand of Anna. The railway ran through Bobruisk, and that +evening they stood and looked at the shining rails that went out in the +moonlight like silver tongs reaching out for a low-hanging star. + +And they came face to face with the Terror that evening, the Terror that +had helped the spring breezes and the sunshine to plant the Dream in the +brain of Big Ivan. + +They were walking down a dark side street when they saw a score of men +and women creep from the door of a squat, unpainted building. The little +group remained on the sidewalk for a minute as if uncertain about the +way they should go, then from the corner of the street came a cry of +"Police!" and the twenty pedestrians ran in different directions. + +It was no false alarm. Mounted police charged down the dark thoroughfare +swinging their swords as they rode at the scurrying men and women who +raced for shelter. Big Ivan dragged Anna into a doorway, and toward +their hiding place ran a young boy who, like themselves, had no +connection with the group and who merely desired to get out of harm's +way till the storm was over. + +The boy was not quick enough to escape the charge. A trooper pursued +him, overtook him before he reached the sidewalk, and knocked him down +with a quick stroke given with the flat of his blade. His horse struck +the boy with one of his hoofs as the lad stumbled on his face. + +Big Ivan growled like an angry bear, and sprang from his hiding place. +The trooper's horse had carried him on to the sidewalk, and Ivan seized +the bridle and flung the animal on its haunches. The policeman leaned +forward to strike at the giant, but Ivan of the Bridge gripped the left +leg of the horseman and tore him from the saddle. + +The horse galloped off, leaving its rider lying beside the moaning boy +who was unlucky enough to be in a street where a score of students were +holding a meeting. + +Anna dragged Ivan back into the passageway. More police were charging +down the street, and their position was a dangerous one. + +"Ivan!" she cried, "Ivan! Remember the Dream! America, Ivan! _America!_ +Come this way! Quick!" + +With strong hands she dragged him down the passage. It opened into a +narrow lane, and, holding each other's hands, they hurried toward the +place where they had taken lodgings. From far off came screams and +hoarse orders, curses and the sound of galloping hoofs. The Terror was +abroad. + +Big Ivan spoke softly as they entered the little room they had taken. +"He had a face like the boy to whom you gave the lucky pot," he said. +"Did you notice it in the moonlight when the trooper struck him down?" + +"Yes," she answered. "I saw." + +They left Bobruisk next morning. They rode away on a great, puffing, +snorting train that terrified Anna. The engineer turned a stopcock as +they were passing the engine, and Anna screamed while Ivan nearly +dropped the big trunk. The engineer grinned, but the giant looked up at +him and the grin faded. Ivan of the Bridge was startled by the rush of +hot steam, but he was afraid of no man. + +The train went roaring by little villages and great pasture stretches. +The real journey had begun. They began to love the powerful engine. It +was eating up the versts at a tremendous rate. They looked at each other +from time to time and smiled like two children. + +They came to Minsk, the biggest town they had ever seen. They looked out +from the car windows at the miles of wooden buildings, at the big church +of St. Catharine, and the woolen mills. Minsk would have frightened them +if they hadn't had the Dream. The farther they went from the little +village on the Beresina the more courage the Dream gave to them. + +On and on went the train, the wheels singing the song of the road. +Fellow travelers asked them where they were going. "To America," Ivan +would answer. + +"To America?" they would cry. "May the little saints guide you. It is a +long way, and you will be lonely." + +"No, we shall not be lonely," Ivan would say. + +"Ha! you are going with friends?" + +"No, we have no friends, but we have something that keeps us from being +lonely." And when Ivan would make that reply Anna would pat his hand and +the questioner would wonder if it was a charm or a holy relic that the +bright-eyed couple possessed. + +They ran through Vilna, on through flat stretches of Courland to Libau, +where they saw the sea. They sat and stared at it for a whole day, +talking little but watching it with wide, wondering eyes. And they +stared at the great ships that came rocking in from distant ports, their +sides gray with the salt from the big combers which they had battled +with. + +No wonder this America of ours is big. We draw the brave ones from the +old lands, the brave ones whose dreams are like the guiding sign that +was given to the Israelites of old--a pillar of cloud by day, a pillar +of fire by night. + +The harbormaster spoke to Ivan and Anna as they watched the restless +waters. + +"Where are you going, children?" + +"To America," answered Ivan. + +"A long way. Three ships bound for America went down last month." + +"Our ship will not sink," said Ivan. + +"Why?" + +"Because I know it will not." + +The harbor master looked at the strange blue eyes of the giant, and +spoke softly. "You have the eyes of a man who sees things," he said. +"There was a Norwegian sailor in the _White Queen_, who had eyes like +yours, and he could see death." + +"I see life!" said Ivan boldly. "A free life----" + +"Hush!" said the harbor master. "Do not speak so loud." He walked +swiftly away, but he dropped a ruble into Anna's hand as he passed her +by. "For luck," he murmured. "May the little saints look after you on +the big waters." + +They boarded the ship, and the Dream gave them a courage that surprised +them. There were others going aboard, and Ivan and Anna felt that those +others were also persons who possessed dreams. She saw the dreams in +their eyes. There were Slavs, Poles, Letts, Jews, and Livonians, all +bound for the land where dreams come true. They were a little +afraid--not two per cent of them had ever seen a ship before--yet their +dreams gave them courage. + +The emigrant ship was dragged from her pier by a grunting tug and went +floundering down the Baltic Sea. Night came down, and the devils who, +according to the Esthonian fishermen, live in the bottom of the Baltic, +got their shoulders under the stern of the ship and tried to stand her +on her head. They whipped up white combers that sprang on her flanks and +tried to crush her, and the wind played a devil's lament in her rigging. +Anna lay sick in the stuffy women's quarters, and Ivan could not get +near her. But he sent her messages. He told her not to mind the sea +devils, to think of the Dream, the Great Dream that would become real in +the land to which they were bound. Ivan of the Bridge grew to full +stature on that first night out from Libau. The battered old craft that +carried him slouched before the waves that swept over her decks, but he +was not afraid. Down among the million and one smells of the steerage he +induced a thin-faced Livonian to play upon a mouth organ, and Big Ivan +sang Paleer's "Song of Freedom" in a voice that drowned the creaking of +the old vessel's timbers, and made the seasick ones forget their +sickness. They sat up in their berths and joined in the chorus, their +eyes shining brightly in the half gloom: + + + "Freedom for serf and for slave, + Freedom for all men who crave + Their right to be free + And who hate to bend knee + But to Him who this right to them gave." + + +It was well that these emigrants had dreams. They wanted them. The sea +devils chased the lumbering steamer. They hung to her bows and pulled +her for'ard deck under emerald-green rollers. They clung to her stern +and hoisted her nose till Big Ivan thought that he could touch the door +of heaven by standing on her blunt snout. Miserable, cold, ill, and +sleepless, the emigrants crouched in their quarters, and to them Ivan +and the thin-faced Livonian sang the "Song of Freedom." + +The emigrant ship pounded through the Cattegat, swung southward through +the Skagerrack and the bleak North Sea. But the storm pursued her. The +big waves snarled and bit at her, and the captain and the chief officer +consulted with each other. They decided to run into the Thames, and the +harried steamer nosed her way in and anchored off Gravesend. + +An examination was made, and the agents decided to transship the +emigrants. They were taken to London and thence by train to Liverpool, +and Ivan and Anna sat again side by side, holding hands and smiling at +each other as the third-class emigrant train from Euston raced down +through the green Midland counties to grimy Liverpool. + +"You are not afraid?" Ivan would say to her each time she looked at him. + +"It is a long way, but the Dream has given me much courage," she said. + +"To-day I spoke to a Lett whose brother works in New York City," said +the giant. "Do you know how much money he earns each day?" + +"How much?" she questioned. + +"Three rubles, and he calls the policemen by their first names." + +"You will earn five rubles, my Ivan," she murmured. "There is no one as +strong as you." + +Once again they were herded into the bowels of a big ship that steamed +away through the fog banks of the Mersey out into the Irish Sea. There +were more dreamers now, nine hundred of them, and Anna and Ivan were +more comfortable. And these new emigrants, English, Irish, Scotch, +French, and German, knew much concerning America. Ivan was certain that +he would earn at least three rubles a day. He was very strong. + +On the deck he defeated all comers in a tug of war, and the captain of +the ship came up to him and felt his muscles. + +"The country that lets men like you get away from it is run badly," he +said. "Why did you leave it?" + +The interpreter translated what the captain said, and through the +interpreter Ivan answered. + +"I had a Dream," he said, "a Dream of freedom." + +"Good," cried the captain. "Why should a man with muscles like yours +have his face ground into the dust?" + +The soul of Big Ivan grew during those days. He felt himself a man, a +man who was born upright to speak his thoughts without fear. + +The ship rolled into Queenstown one bright morning, and Ivan and his +nine hundred steerage companions crowded the for'ard deck. A boy in a +rowboat threw a line to the deck, and after it had been fastened to a +stanchion he came up hand over hand. The emigrants watched him +curiously. An old woman sitting in the boat pulled off her shoes, sat in +a loop of the rope, and lifted her hand as a signal to her son on deck. + +"Hey, fellers," said the boy, "help me pull me muvver up. She wants to +sell a few dozen apples, an' they won't let her up the gangway!" + +Big Ivan didn't understand the words, but he guessed what the boy +wanted. He made one of a half dozen who gripped the rope and started to +pull the ancient apple woman to the deck. + +They had her halfway up the side when an undersized third officer +discovered what they were doing. He called to a steward, and the steward +sprang to obey. + +"Turn a hose on her!" cried the officer. "Turn a hose on the old woman!" + +The steward rushed for the hose. He ran with it to the side of the ship +with the intention of squirting on the old woman, who was swinging in +midair and exhorting the six men who were dragging her to the deck. + +"Pull!" she cried. "Sure, I'll give every one of ye a rosy red apple an' +me blessing with it." + +The steward aimed the muzzle of the hose, and Big Ivan of the Bridge let +go of the rope and sprang at him. The fist of the great Russian went out +like a battering ram; it struck the steward between the eyes, and he +dropped upon the deck. He lay like one dead, the muzzle of the hose +wriggling from his limp hands. + +The third officer and the interpreter rushed at Big Ivan, who stood +erect, his hands clenched. + +"Ask the big swine why he did it," roared the officer. + +"Because he is a coward!" cried Ivan. "They wouldn't do that in +America!" + +"What does the big brute know about America?" cried the officer. + +"Tell him I have dreamed of it," shouted Ivan. "Tell him it is in my +Dream. Tell him I will kill him if he turns the water on this old +woman." + +The apple seller was on deck then, and with the wisdom of the Celt she +understood. She put her lean hand upon the great head of the Russian and +blessed him in Gaelic. Ivan bowed before her, then as she offered him a +rosy apple he led her toward Anna, a great Viking leading a withered old +woman who walked with the grace of a duchess. + +"Please don't touch him," she cried, turning to the officer. "We have +been waiting for your ship for six hours, and we have only five dozen +apples to sell. It's a great man he is. Sure he's as big as Finn +MacCool." + +Some one pulled the steward behind a ventilator and revived him by +squirting him with water from the hose which he had tried to turn upon +the old woman. The third officer slipped quietly away. + +The Atlantic was kind to the ship that carried Ivan and Anna. Through +sunny days they sat up on deck and watched the horizon. They wanted to +be among those who would get the first glimpse of the wonderland. + +They saw it on a morning with sunshine and soft wind. Standing together +in the bow, they looked at the smear upon the horizon, and their eyes +filled with tears. They forgot the long road to Bobruisk, the rocking +journey to Libau, the mad buckjumping boat in whose timbers the sea +devils of the Baltic had bored holes. Everything unpleasant was +forgotten, because the Dream filled them with a great happiness. + +The inspectors at Ellis Island were interested in Ivan. They walked +around him and prodded his muscles, and he smiled down upon them +good-naturedly. + +"A fine animal," said one. "Gee, he's a new white hope! Ask him can he +fight?" + +An interpreter put the question, and Ivan nodded. "I have fought," he +said. + +"Gee!" cried the inspector. "Ask him was it for purses or what?" + +"For freedom," answered Ivan. "For freedom to stretch my legs and +straighten my neck!" + +Ivan and Anna left the Government ferryboat at the Battery. They started +to walk uptown, making for the East Side, Ivan carrying the big trunk +that no other man could lift. + +It was a wonderful morning. The city was bathed in warm sunshine, and +the well-dressed men and women who crowded the sidewalks made the two +immigrants think that it was a festival day. Ivan and Anna stared at +each other in amazement. They had never seen such dresses as those worn +by the smiling women who passed them by; they had never seen such +well-groomed men. + +"It is a feast day for certain," said Anna. + +"They are dressed like princes and princesses," murmured Ivan. "There +are no poor here, Anna. None." + +Like two simple children, they walked along the streets of the City of +Wonder. What a contrast it was to the gray, stupid towns where the +Terror waited to spring upon the cowed people. In Bobruisk, Minsk, +Vilna, and Libau the people were sullen and afraid. They walked in +dread, but in the City of Wonder beside the glorious Hudson every person +seemed happy and contented. + +They lost their way, but they walked on, looking at the wonderful shop +windows, the roaring elevated trains, and the huge skyscrapers. Hours +afterward they found themselves in Fifth Avenue near Thirty-third +Street, and there the miracle happened to the two Russian immigrants. It +was a big miracle inasmuch as it proved the Dream a truth, a great +truth. + +Ivan and Anna attempted to cross the avenue, but they became confused in +the snarl of traffic. They dodged backward and forward as the stream of +automobiles swept by them. Anna screamed, and, in response to her +scream, a traffic policeman, resplendent in a new uniform, rushed to her +side. He took the arm of Anna and flung up a commanding hand. The +charging autos halted. For five blocks north and south they jammed on +the brakes when the unexpected interruption occurred, and Big Ivan +gasped. + +"Don't be flurried, little woman," said the cop. "Sure I can tame 'em by +liftin' me hand." + +Anna didn't understand what he said, but she knew it was something nice +by the manner in which his Irish eyes smiled down upon her. And in front +of the waiting automobiles he led her with the same care that he would +give to a duchess, while Ivan, carrying the big trunk, followed them, +wondering much. Ivan's mind went back to Bobruisk on the night the +Terror was abroad. + +The policeman led Anna to the sidewalk, patted Ivan good-naturedly upon +the shoulder, and then with a sharp whistle unloosed the waiting stream +of cars that had been held up so that two Russian immigrants could cross +the avenue. + +Big Ivan of the Bridge took the trunk from his head and put it on the +ground. He reached out his arms and folded Anna in a great embrace. His +eyes were wet. + +"The Dream is true!" he cried. "Did you see, Anna? We are as good as +they! This is the land where a muzhik is as good as a prince of the +blood!" + + +The President was nearing the close of his address. Anna shook Ivan, and +Ivan came out of the trance which the President's words had brought upon +him. He sat up and listened intently: + +_We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in +the soft haze of a spring day or in the red fire of a long winter's +evening. Some of us let those great dreams die, but others nourish and +protect them, nurse them through bad days till they bring them to the +sunshine and light which come always to those who sincerely hope that +their dreams will come true._ + +The President finished. For a moment he stood looking down at the faces +turned up to him, and Big Ivan of the Bridge thought that the President +smiled at him. Ivan seized Anna's hand and held it tight. + +"He knew of my Dream!" he cried. "He knew of it. Did you hear what he +said about the dreams of a spring day?" + +"Of course he knew," said Anna. "He is the wisest man in America, where +there are many wise men. Ivan, you are a citizen now." + +"And you are a citizen, Anna." + +The band started to play "My Country, 'tis of Thee," and Ivan and Anna +got to their feet. Standing side by side, holding hands, they joined in +with the others who had found after long days of journeying the blessed +land where dreams come true. + + + + +JAMES FRANCIS DWYER + + +Mr. Dwyer is an American by adoption, an Australian by birth. He was +born in Camden, New South Wales, April 22, 1874; and received his +education in the public schools there. He entered newspaper work, and in +the capacity of a correspondent for Australian papers traveled +extensively in Australia and in the South Seas, from 1898 to 1906. In +1906 he made a tour through South Africa, and at the conclusion of this +went to England. He came to America in 1907, and since that time has +made his home in New York City. He has been a frequent contributor to +_Collier's_, _Harper's Weekly_, _The American Magazine_, _The Ladies' +Home Journal_, and other periodicals. He has published five books, +nearly all dealing with the strange life of the far East. His first +book, _The White Waterfall_, published in 1912, has its scene in the +South Sea Islands. A California scientist, interested in ancient +Polynesian skulls, goes to the South Seas to investigate his favorite +subject, accompanied by his two daughters. The amazing adventures they +meet there make a very interesting story. _The Spotted Panther_ is a +story of adventure in Borneo. Three white men go there in search of a +wonderful sword of great antiquity which is in the possession of a tribe +of Dyaks, the head-hunters of Borneo. There are some vivid descriptions +in the story and plenty of thrills. _The Breath of the Jungle_ is a +collection of short stories, the scenes laid in the Malay Peninsula and +nearby islands. They describe the strange life of these regions, and +show how it reacts in various ways upon white men who live there. _The +Green Half Moon_ is a story of mystery and diplomatic intrigue, the +scene partly in the Orient, partly in London. + +In his later work Mr. Dwyer has taken up American themes. _The Bust of +Lincoln_, really a short story, deals with a young man whose proudest +possession is a bust of Lincoln that had belonged to his grandfather; +the story shows how it influences his life. The story _The Citizen_ had +an interesting origin. On May 10, 1915, just after the sinking of the +_Lusitania_, President Wilson went to Philadelphia to address a meeting +of an unusual kind. Four thousand foreign-born men, who had just become +naturalized citizens of our country, were to be welcomed to citizenship +by the Mayor of the city, a member of the Cabinet, and the President of +the United States. The meeting was held in Convention Hall; more than +fifteen thousand people were present, and the event, occurring as it did +at a time when every one realized that the loyalty of our people was +likely to be soon put to the test, was one of historic importance. Moved +by the significance of this event, Mr. Dwyer translated it into +literature. His story, "The Citizen," was published in _Collier's_ in +November, 1915. + + + + +LIST OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES CLASSIFIED BY LOCALITY + + +I. THE EAST + + +NEW ENGLAND + +_A New England Nun_; _A Humble Romance_, Mary Wilkins-Freeman. +_Meadow-Grass_; _The Country Road_, Alice Brown. +_A White Heron_; _The Queen's Twin_, Sarah Orne Jewett. +_Pratt Portraits_; _Later Pratt Portraits_, Anna Fuller. +_The Village Watch Tower_, Kate Douglas Wiggin. +_The Old Home House_, Joseph C. Lincoln. +_Hillsboro People_, Dorothy Canfield. +_Out of Gloucester_; _The Crested Seas_, James B. Connolly. +_Under the Crust_, Thomas Nelson Page. +_Dumb Foxglove_, Annie T. Slosson. +_Huckleberries Gathered From New England Hills_, Rose Terry Cooke. + + +NEW YORK CITY + +_The Four Million_; _The Voice of the City_; _The Trimmed Lamp_, + O. Henry. +_Van Bibber and Others_, Richard Harding Davis. +_Doctor Rast_, James Oppenheim. +_Toomey and Others_, Robert Shackleton. +_Vignettes of Manhattan_, Brander Matthews. +_The Imported Bridegroom_, Abraham Cahan. +_Little Citizens_; _Little Aliens_, Myra Kelly. +_The Soul of the Street_, Norman Duncan. +_Wall Street Stories_, Edwin Le Fevre. +_The Optimist_, Susan Faber. +_Every Soul Hath Its Song_, Fannie Hurst. + + +NEW JERSEY + +_Hulgate of Mogador_, Sewell Ford. +_Edgewater People_, Mary Wilkins-Freeman. + + +PENNSYLVANIA + +_Old Chester Tales_; _Doctor Lavender's People_, Margaret Deland. +_Betrothal of Elypholate_, Helen R. Martin. +_The Passing of Thomas_, Thomas A. Janvier. +_The Standard Bearers_, Katherine Mayo. +_Six Stars_, Nelson Lloyd. + + +II. THE SOUTH + + +ALABAMA + +_Alabama Sketches_, Samuel Minturn Peck. +_Polished Ebony_, Octavius R. Cohen. + + +ARKANSAS + +_Otto the Knight_; _Knitters in the Sun_, Octave Thanet. + + +FLORIDA + +_Rodman the Keeper_, Constance F. Woolson. + + +GEORGIA + +_Georgia Scenes_, A. B. Longstreet. +_Free Joe_; _Tales of the Home-Folks_, Joel Chandler Harris. +_Stories of the Cherokee Hills_, Maurice Thompson. +_Northern Georgia Sketches_, Will N. Harben. +_His Defence_, Harry Stilwell Edwards. +_Mr. Absalom Billingslea_; _Mr. Billy Downes_, Richard Malcolm Johnston. + + +KENTUCKY + +_Flute and Violin_; _A Kentucky Cardinal_, James Lane Allen. +_In Happy Valley_, John Fox, Jr. +_Back Home_; _Judge Priest and his People_, Irvin S. Cobb. +_Land of Long Ago_; _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_, Eliza Calvert Hall. + + +LOUISIANA + +_Holly and Pizen_; _Aunt Amity's Silver Wedding_, Ruth McEnery Stuart. +_Balcony Stories_; _Tales of Time and Place_, Grace King. +_Old Creole Days_; _Strange True Stories of Louisiana_, George W. Cable. +_Bayou Folks_, Kate Chopin. + + +TENNESSEE + +_In the Tennessee Mountains_; _Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains_, + Charles Egbert Craddock. (Mary N. Murfree.) + + +VIRGINIA + +_In Ole Virginia_, Thomas Nelson Page. +_Virginia of Virginia_, Amelie Rives. +_Colonel Carter of Cartersville_, F. Hopkinson Smith. + + +NORTH CAROLINA + +_North Carolina Sketches_, Mary N. Carter. + + +III. THE MIDDLE WEST + + +INDIANA + +_Dialect Sketches_, James Whitcomb Riley. + + +ILLINOIS + +_The Home Builders_, K. E. Harriman. + + +IOWA + +_Stories of a Western Town_; _The Missionary Sheriff_, Octave Thanet. +_In a Little Town_, Rupert Hughes. + + +KANSAS + +_In Our Town_; _Stratagems and Spoils_, William Allen White. + + +MISSOURI + +_The Man at the Wheel_, John Hanton Carter. +_Stories of a Country Doctor_, Willis King. + + +MICHIGAN + +_Blazed Trail Stories_, Stewart Edward White. +_Mackinac and Lake Stories_, Mary Hartwell Catherwood. + + +OHIO + +_Folks Back Home_, Eugene Wood. + + +WISCONSIN + +_Main-Travelled Roads_, Hamlin Garland. +_Friendship Village_; _Friendship Village Love Stories_, Zona Gale. + + + +IV. THE FAR WEST + + +ARIZONA + +_Lost Borders_, Mary Austin. +_Arizona Nights_, Stewart Edward White. + + +ALASKA + +_Love of Life_; _Son of the Wolf_, Jack London. + + +CALIFORNIA + +_The Cat and the Cherub_, Chester B. Fernald. +_The Luck of Roaring Camp_; _Tales of the Argonauts_, Bret Harte. +_The Splendid Idle Forties_, Gertrude Atherton. + + +NEW MEXICO + +_The King of the Broncos_, Charles F. Lummis. +_Santa Fe's Partner_, Thomas A. Janvier. + + +WYOMING + +_Red Men and White_; _The Virginian_; _Members of the Family_, + Owen Wister. +_Teepee Tales_, Grace Coolidge. + + +PHILIPPINE ISLANDS + +_Caybigan_, James N. Hopper. + + + + +NOTES AND QUESTIONS FOR STUDY + + +THE RIGHT PROMETHEAN FIRE + +In Greek mythology, the work of creating living things was entrusted to +two of the gods, Epimetheus and Prometheus. Epimetheus gave to the +different animals various powers, to the lion strength, to the bird +swiftness, to the fox sagacity, and so on until all the good gifts had +been bestowed, and there was nothing left for man. Then Prometheus +ascended to heaven and brought down fire, as his gift to man. With this, +man could protect himself, could forge iron to make weapons, and so in +time develop the arts of civilization. In this story the "Promethean +Fire" of love is the means of giving little Emmy Lou her first lesson in +reading. + + 1. A test that may be applied to any story is, Does it read as if + it were true? Would the persons in the story do the things they are + represented as doing? Test the acts of Billy Traver in this way, + and see if they are probable. + + 2. In writing stories about children, a writer must have the power + to present life as a child sees it. Point out places in this story + where school life is described as it appears to a new pupil. + + 3. One thing we ought to gain from our reading is a larger + vocabulary. In this story there are a number of words worth adding + to our stock. Define these exactly: inquisitorial; lachrymose; + laconic; surreptitious; contumely. + + Get the habit of looking up new words and writing down their + meanings. + + 4. Can you write a story about a school experience? + + 5. Other books containing stories of school life are: + + _Little Aliens_, Myra Kelly; _May Iverson Tackles Life_, Elizabeth + Jordan; _Ten to Seventeen_, Josephine Daskam Bacon; _Closed Doors_, + Margaret P. Montague. Read a story from one of these books, and + compare it with this story. + + +THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE + +Central Park, New York, covers an era of more than eight hundred acres, +with a zoo and several small lakes. On one of the lakes there are large +boats with a huge wooden swan on each side. Richard Harding Davis +located one of his stories here: See "Van Bibber and the Swan Boats," +in the volume called _Van Bibber and Others_. + + 1. How is this story like the preceding one? What difference in the + characters? What difference in their homes? + + 2. How does Myra Kelly make you feel sympathy for the little folks? + In what ways have their lives been less fortunate than the lives of + children in your town? + + 3. What is peculiar about the talk of these children? Do they all + speak the same dialect? Many of the children of the East Side never + hear English spoken at home. + + 4. What touches of humor are there in this story? + + 5. What new words do you find? Define garrulous, pedagogically, + cicerone. + + 6. Where did Miss Kelly get her materials for this story? See the + life on page 37. + + 7. What other stories by this author have you read? This is from + _Little Citizens_; other books telling about the same characters + are _Little Aliens_, and _Wards of Liberty_. + + 8. Other books of short stories dealing with children are: + _Whilomville Stories_, by Stephen Crane; _The Golden Age_, by + Kenneth Grahame; _The Madness of Philip_, by Josephine Daskam + Bacon; _The King of Boyville_, by William Allen White; _New + Chronicles of Rebecca_, by Kate Douglas Wiggin. Read one of these, + and compare it with Myra Kelly's story. + + +THE TENOR + + 1. Point out the humorous touches in this story. + + 2. Is the story probable? To answer this, consider two points: + would Louise have undertaken such a thing as answering the + advertisement? and would she have had the spirit to act as she did + at the close? Note the touches of description and characterization + of Louise, and show how they prepare for the events that follow. + + 3. One of the most effective devices in art is the use of contrast; + that is, bringing together two things or persons or ideas that are + very different, perhaps the exact opposite of each other. Show that + the main effect of this story depends on the use of contrast. + + 4. Read the paragraph on page 43 beginning, "It happened to be a + French tenor." Give in your own words the thought of this + paragraph. Is it true? Can you give examples of it? + + 5. Compare the length of this story with that of others in the + book. Which authors get their effects in a small compass? Could any + parts of this story be omitted? + + 6. Other stories by H. C. Bunner that you will enjoy are "The Love + Letters of Smith" and "A Sisterly Scheme" in _Short Sixes_. + + +THE PASSING OF PRISCILLA WINTHROP + + 1. Does the title fit the story well? Why? + + 2. Notice the familiar, almost conversational style. Is it suited + to the story? Why? + + 3. Show how the opening paragraph introduces the main idea of the + story. + + 4. To make a story there must be a conflict of some sort. What is + the conflict here? + + 5. How does the account of Julia Neal's career as a teacher (page + 64) prepare for the ending of the story? + + 6. Do you have a clear picture in your mind of Mrs. Winthrop? Of + Mrs. Worthington? Why did not the author tell about their personal + appearance? + + 7. Point out humorous touches in the next to the last paragraph. + + 8. Is this story true to life? Who is the Priscilla Winthrop of + your town? + + 9. What impression do you get of the man behind this story? Do you + think he knew the people of his town well? Did he like them even + while he laughed at them? What else can you say about him? + + 10. Other books of short stories dealing with life in a small town + are: _Pratt Portraits_, by Anna Fuller; _Old Chester Tales_, by + Margaret Deland; _Stories of a Western Town_, by Octave Thanet; _In + a Little Town_, by Rupert Hughes; _Folks Back Home_, by Eugene + Wood; _Friendship Village_, by Zona Gale; _Bodbank_, by Richard W. + Child. Read one of these books, or a story from one, and compare it + with this story. + + 11. In what ways does life in a small town differ from life in a + large city? + + +THE GIFT OF THE MAGI + +This story, taken from the volume called _The Four Million_, is a good +example of O. Henry's method as a short-story writer. It is notable for +its brevity. The average length of the modern short story is about five +thousand words; O. Henry uses a little over one thousand words. This +conciseness is gained in several ways. In his descriptions, he has the +art of selecting significant detail. When Della looks out of the window, +instead of describing fully the view that met her eyes, he says: "She +looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard." +A paragraph could do no more. Again, the beginning of the story is +quick, abrupt. There is no introduction. The style is often elliptical; +in the first paragraph half the sentences are not sentences at all. But +the main reason for the shortness of the story lies in the fact that the +author has included only such incidents and details as are necessary to +the unfolding of the plot. There is no superfluous matter. + +Another characteristic of O. Henry is found in the unexpected turns of +his plots. There is almost always a surprise in his stories, usually at +the end. And yet this has been so artfully prepared for that we accept +it as probable. Our pleasure in reading his stories is further +heightened by the constant flashes of humor that light up his pages. And +beyond this, he has the power to touch deeper emotions. When Della heard +Jim's step on the stairs, "she turned white just for a moment. She had a +habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest things, and now +she whispered, 'Please God, make him think I am still pretty.'" One +reads that with a little catch in the throat. + +In his plots, O. Henry is romantic; in his settings he is a realist. +Della and Jim are romantic lovers, they are not prudent nor calculating, +but act upon impulse. In his descriptions, however, he is a realist. The +eight-dollar-a-week flat, the frying pan on the back of the stove, the +description of Della "flopping down on the couch for a cry," and +afterwards "attending to her cheeks with the powder-rag,"--all these are +in the manner of realism. + +And finally, the tone of his stories is brave and cheerful. He finds the +world a most interesting place, and its people, even its commonplace +people, its rogues, its adventurers, are drawn with a broad sympathy +that makes us more tolerant of the people we meet outside the books. + + 1. Compare the beginning of this story with the beginning of + "Bitter-Sweet." What difference do you note? + + 2. Select a description of a person that shows the author's power + of concise portraiture. + + 3. What is the turn of surprise in this story? What other stories + in this book have a similar twist at the end? + + 4. What is the central thought of this story? + + 5. Other stories of O. Henry's that ought not to be missed are "An + Unfinished Story" and "The Furnished Room" in _The Four Million_; + "A Blackjack Bargainer" in _Whirligigs_; "Best Seller" and "The + Rose of Dixie" in _Options_; "A Municipal Report" in _Strictly + Business_; "A Retrieved Reformation" in _Roads of Destiny_; and + "Hearts and Crosses" in _Hearts of the West_. + + +THE GOLD BRICK + +This story, first published in the _American Magazine_, was reprinted in +a volume called _The Gold Brick_, published in 1910. The quotation "chip +at crusts like Hindus" is from Robert Browning's poem "Youth and Art." +The reference to "Old Walt" at the end of the story is to Walt Whitman, +one of the great poets of democracy. + + 1. To make a story interesting, there must be a conflict. In this + the conflict is double: the outer conflict, between the two + political factions, and the inner conflict, in the soul of the + artist. Note how skilfully this inner struggle is introduced: at + the moment when Kittrell is first rejoicing over his new position, + he feels a pang at leaving the _Post_, and what it stood for. This + feeling is deepened by his wife's tacit disapproval; it grows + stronger as the campaign progresses, until the climax is reached in + the scene where he resigns his position. + + 2. If you knew nothing about the author, what could you infer from + this story about his political ideals? Did he believe in democracy? + Did he have faith in the good sense of the common people? Did he + think it was worth while to make sacrifices for them? What is your + evidence for this? + + 3. How far is this story true to life, as you know it? Do any + newspapers in your city correspond to the _Post_? To the + _Telegraph_? Can you recall a campaign in which the contest was + between two such groups as are described here? + + 4. Does Whitlock have the art of making his characters real? Is + this true of the minor characters? The girl in the flower shop, for + instance, who appears but for a moment,--is she individualized? + How? + + 5. Is there a lesson in this story? State it in your own words. + + 6. What experiences in Whitlock's life gave him the background for + this story? + + 7. What new words did you gain from this? Define meritricious; + prognathic; banal; vulpine; camaraderie; vilification; ennui; + quixotic; naive; pharisaism. What can you say of Whitlock's + vocabulary? + + 8. Other good stories dealing with politics are found in + _Stratagems and Spoils_, by William Allen White. + + +HIS MOTHER'S SON + + 1. Note the quick beginning of the story; no introduction, action + from the start. Why is this suitable to this story? + + 2. Why is slang used so frequently? + + 3. Point out examples of humor in the story. + + 4. In your writing, do you ever have trouble in finding just the + right word? Note on page 123 how Edna Ferber tries one expression + after another, and how on page 122 she finally coins a + word--"unadjectivable." What does the word mean? + + 5. Do you have a clear picture of Emma McChesney? Of Ed Meyers? + Note that the description of Meyers in the office is not given all + at once, but a touch here and then. Point out all these bits of + description of this person, and note how complete the portrait is. + + 6. What have you learned in this story about the life of a + traveling salesman? + + 7. What qualities must a good salesman possess? + + 8. Was Emma McChesney a lady? Was Ed Meyers a gentleman? Why do you + think so? + + 9. This story is taken from the book called _Roast Beef, Medium_. + Other good books of short stories by this author are _Personality + Plus_, and _Cheerful--by Request_. + + +BITTER-SWEET + + 1. Note the introduction, a characteristic of all of Fannie Hurst's + stories. What purpose does it serve here? What trait of Gertie's is + brought out? Is this important to the story? + + 2. From the paragraph on page 139 beginning "It was into the + trickle of the last----" select examples that show the author's + skill in the use of words. What other instances of this do you note + in the story? + + 3. Read the sketch of the author. What episode in her life gave her + material for parts of this story? + + 4. Notice how skillfully the conversation is handled. The opening + situation developes itself entirely through dialogue, yet in a + perfectly natural way. It is almost like a play rather than a + story. If it were dramatized, how many scenes would it make? + + 5. What does the title mean? Does the author give us the key to its + meaning? + + 6. What do you think of Gertie as you read the first part of the + conversation in the restaurant? Does your opinion of her change at + the end of the story? Has her character changed? + + 7. Is the ending of the story artistic? Why mention the time-clock? + What had Gertie said about it? + + 8. State in three or four words the central idea of the story. Is + it true to life? + + 9. What is the meaning of these words: atavism; penumbra; + semaphore; astigmatic; insouciance; mise-en-scene; kinetic? + + 10. Other books of stories dealing with life in New York City are + _The Four Million_, and _The Voice of the City_, by O. Henry; _Van + Bibber and Others_, by Richard Harding Davis; _Every Soul Hath Its + Song_, by Fannie Hurst; _Doctor Rast_, by James Oppenheim. + + +THE RIVERMAN + + 1. In how many scenes is this story told? What is the connection + between them? + + 2. Is there anything in the first description of Dicky Darrell that + gives you a slight prejudice against him? + + 3. Why was the sympathy of the crowd with Jimmy Powers in the + birling match? + + 4. Comment on Jimmy's remark at the end of the story. Did he mean + it, or is he just trying to turn away the praise? + + 5. What are the characteristics of a lumberman, as seen in Jimmy + Powers? + + 6. Read the sketch of Stewart Edward White, and decide which one of + his books you would like to read. + + +FLINT AND FIRE + + 1. What does the title mean? + + 2. How does the author strike the keynote of the story in the + opening paragraph? + + 3. Where is the first hint of the real theme of the story? + + 4. Point out some of the dialect expressions. Why is dialect used? + + 5. What turn of surprise comes at the end of the story? Is it + probable? + + 6. What characteristics of New England country people are brought + out in this story? How does the author contrast them with "city + people"? + + 7. Does this story read as if the author knew the scenes she + describes? Read the description of Niram plowing (page 191), and + point out touches in it that could not have been written by one who + had always lived in the city. + + 8. Read the account of how this story was written, (page 210). What + first suggested the idea? What work remained after the story was + first written? How did the author feel while writing it? Compare + what William Allen White says about his work, (page 75). + + 9. Other stories of New England life that you will enjoy reading + are found in the following books: _New England Nun_, Mary E. + Wilkins; _Cape Cod Folks_, S. P. McLean Greene; _Pratt Portraits_, + Anna Fuller; _The Country Road_, Alice Brown; _Tales of New + England_, Sarah Orne Jewett. + + +THE ORDEAL AT MT. HOPE + + 1. This story contains three characters who are typical of many + colored people, and as such are worth study. Howard Dokesbury is + the educated colored man of the North. What are the chief traits of + this character? + + 2. Aunt Caroline is the old-fashioned darky who suggests slavery + days. What are her chief characteristics? + + 3. 'Lias is the new generation of the Southern negro of the towns. + What are his characteristics? + + 4. Is the colored American given the same rights as others? Read + carefully the opening paragraph of the story. + + 5. What were the weaknesses of the colored people of Mt. Hope? How + far are they true of the race? How were they overcome in this case? + + 6. There are two theories about the proper solution of what is + called "The Negro Problem." One is, that the hope of the race lies + in industrial training; the other theory, that they should have + higher intellectual training, so as to develope great leaders. + Which theory do you think Dunbar held? Why do you think so? + + 7. Other stories dealing with the life of the colored people are: + _Free Joe_, and _Tales of the Home Folks_, by Joel Chandler Harris; + _Polished Ebony_, by Octavius R. Cohen; _Aunt Amity's Silver + Wedding_, by Ruth McEnery Stuart; _In Ole Virginia_, by Thomas + Nelson Page. + + +ISRAEL DRAKE + +The Pennsylvania State Police have made a wonderful record for +maintaining law and order in the rural sections of the state. The +history of this organization was told by Katherine Mayo in a book called +_Justice to All_. In a later book, _The Standard Bearers_, she tells +various incidents which show how these men do their work. The book is +not fiction--the story here told happened just as it is set down, even +the names of the troopers are their real names. + + 1. Do you get a clear picture of Drake from the description? Why + are several pages given to telling his past career? + + 2. Where does the real story begin? + + 3. Who was the tramp at the Carlisle Station? When did you guess + it? + + 4. What are the principles of the State Police, as you see them in + this story? + + 5. Why was such an organization necessary? Is there one in your + state? + + 6. What new words did you find in this story? Define aura, + primeval, grisly. + + +THE STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPH OF ISIDRO + +In this story the author introduces a number of unfamiliar words, +chiefly of Spanish origin, which are current in the Philippines. The +meanings are given below. + + _baguio_, hurricane. + _barrio_, ward; district. + _carabao_, a kind of buffalo, used as a work animal. + _cabo_, head officer. + _cibay_, a boys' game. + _daledale_, hurry up! + _de los Reyes_, of the King. + _de la Cruz_, of the cross. + _hacienda_, a large plantation. + _ladrones_, robbers. + _maestro_, teacher. + _nipa_, a palm tree or the thatch made from it. + _palay_, rice. + _pronto_, quickly. + _pueblo_, town. + _que barbaridad!_--what an atrocious thing! + _volador_, kite. + + 1. Why does the story end with Isidro's crying? What did this + signify? What is the relation of this to the beginning of the + story? + + 2. Has this story a central idea? What is it? + + 3. This might be called a story of local color, in that it gives in + some detail the atmosphere of an unfamiliar locality. What are the + best descriptive passages in the story? + + 4. Judging from this story, what are some of the difficulties a + school teacher meets with in the Philippines? What must he be + besides a teacher? + + 5. What other school stories are there in this book? The pupils in + Emmy Lou's school, (in Louisville, Ky.) are those with several + generations of American ancestry behind them; in Myra Kelly's + story, they are the children of foreign parents; in this story they + are still in a foreign land--that is, a land where they are not + surrounded by American influences. The public school is the one + experience that is common to them all, and therefore the greatest + single force in bringing them all to share in a common ideal, to + reverence the great men of our country's history, and to comprehend + the meaning of democracy. How does it do these things? + + +THE CITIZEN + + 1. During the war, President Wilson delivered an address at + Philadelphia to an audience of men who had just been made citizens. + The quoted passages in this story are taken from this speech. Read + these passages, and select the one which probably gave the author + the idea for this story. + + 2. Starting with the idea, that he would write a story about + someone who followed a dream to America, why should the author + choose Russia as the country of departure? + + 3. Having chosen Russia, why does he make Ivan a resident of a + village far in the interior? Why not at Libau? + + 4. Two incidents are told as occurring on the journey: the charge + of the police at Bobrinsk, and the coming on board of the apple + woman at Queenstown. Why was each of these introduced? What is the + purpose of telling the incident on Fifth Avenue? + + 5. What have you learned about the manner in which this story was + written? Compare it with the account given by Dorothy Canfield as + to how she wrote her story. + + 6. What is the main idea in this story? Why do you think it was + written? Edward Everett Hale wrote a story called "A Man without a + Country." Suggest another title for "The Citizen." + + 7. Has this story in any way changed your opinion of immigrants? Is + Big Ivan likely to meet any treatment in America that will change + his opinion of the country? + + 8. The part of this story that deals with Russia affords a good + example of the use of local color. This is given partly through the + descriptions, partly through the names of the villagers--Poborino, + Yanansk, Dankov; partly through the Russian words, such as verst + (about three quarters of a mile), ruble (a coin worth fifty cents), + kopeck (a half cent), muzhik (a peasant). How is local color given + in the conversations? + + 9. For a treatment of the theme of this story in poetry, read "Scum + o' the Earth," by Robert Haven Schauffler, in Rittenhouse's _Little + Book of Modern Verse_. This is the closing stanza: + + + "Newcomers all from the eastern seas, + Help us incarnate dreams like these. + Forget, and forgive, that we did you wrong. + Help us to father a nation, strong + In the comradeship of an equal birth, + In the wealth of the richest bloods of earth." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Americans All, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICANS ALL *** + +***** This file should be named 23207.txt or 23207.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/2/0/23207/ + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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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