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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by 
+Will Lillibridge
+
+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: A Breath of Prairie and other stories
+
+Author: Will Lillibridge
+
+Illustrator: J. N. Marchand
+
+Release Date: June 26, 2009 [EBook #29245]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREATH OF PRAIRIE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+
+
+By WILL LILLIBRIDGE
+
+ THE DOMINANT DOLLAR. Illustrated in color by Lester Ralph.
+ Crown 8vo . . . $1.50
+
+ BEN BLAIR, PLAINSMAN. Frontispiece in color by Maynard Dixon.
+ Seventieth thousand. Crown 8vo . . . $1.50
+
+ QUERCUS ALBA: The Veteran of the Ozarks.
+ With frontispiece. 16mo. Net . . . $.50
+
+A. C. MCCLURG & CO., Publishers
+
+CHICAGO
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him. [See
+"Journey's End."]]
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+BY WILL LILLIBRIDGE
+
+AUTHOR OF "BEN BLAIR," "THE DOMINANT DOLLAR," ETC.
+
+WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR
+
+BY J. N. MARCHAND
+
+CHICAGO
+
+A. C. McCLURG & CO.
+
+1911
+
+
+
+
+Copyright
+
+A. C. McCLURG & CO.
+
+1911
+
+Published April, 1911
+
+W. J. Hall Printing Company
+
+Chicago
+
+
+
+
+A TRIBUTE
+
+
+It is an accepted truth, I believe, that every novelist embodies in
+the personalities of his heroes some of his own traits of character.
+Those who were intimately acquainted with William Otis Lillibridge
+could not fail to recognize this in a marked degree. To a casual
+reader, the heroes of his five novels might perhaps suggest five
+totally different personalities, but one who knows them well will
+inevitably recognize beneath the various disguises the same dominant
+characteristics in them all. Whether it be Ben Blair the sturdy
+plainsman, Bob McLeod the cripple, Dr. Watson, Darley Roberts, or even
+How Landor the Indian, one finds the same foundation stones of
+character,--repression, virility, firmness of purpose, an abhorrence
+of artificiality or affectation,--love of Nature and of Nature's works
+rather than things man-made. And these were unquestionably the
+pronounced traits of Will Lillibridge's personality. Markedly
+reserved, silent, forceful, he was seldom found in the places where
+men congregate, but loved rather the company of books and of the great
+out-doors. Living practically his entire life on the prairies it is
+undoubtedly true that he was greatly influenced by his environment.
+And certain it is that he could never have so successfully painted the
+various phases of prairie-life without a sympathetic, personal
+knowledge.
+
+The story of his life is characteristically told in this brief
+autobiographical sketch, written at the request of an interested
+magazine.
+
+"I was born on a farm in Union County, Iowa, near the boundary of the
+then Dakota Territory. Like most boys bred and raised in an atmosphere
+of eighteen hours of work out of twenty-four, I matured early. At
+twelve I was a useful citizen, at fifteen I was to all practical
+purposes a man,--did a man's work whatever the need. In this capacity
+I was alternately farmer, rancher, cattleman. Something prompted me to
+explore a university and I went to Iowa, where for six years I
+vibrated between the collegiate, dental, and medical departments.
+After graduating from the dental in 1898 I drifted to Sioux Falls and
+began to practise my profession. As the years passed the roots sank
+deeper and I am still here.
+
+"Work? My writing is done entirely at night. The waiting-room,--the
+plum-tree,--requires vigorous shaking in the daytime. After dinner,--I
+have a den, telephone-proof, piano-proof, friend-proof. What
+transpires therein no one knows because no one has ever seen.
+
+"Recreation? I have a mania, by no means always gratified,--to be out
+of doors. Once each summer 'the Lady' and I go somewhere for a
+time,--and forget it absolutely. In this way we've been able to travel
+a bit. We,--again 'the Lady' and I,--steal an hour when we can, and
+drive a gasoline car, keeping within the speed laws when necessary.
+Once each Fall, when the first frost shrivels the corn-stalk and when,
+if you chance to be out of doors after dark you hear, away up
+overhead, invisible, the accelerating, throbbing, diminishing purr of
+wings that drives the sportsman mad,--the town knows me no more."
+
+Every novel may have a happy close, but a real life's story has but
+one inevitable ending,--Death.
+
+And to "the Lady" has been left the sorrowful task of writing "Finis"
+across the final page.
+
+January 29, 1909, he died at his home in Sioux Falls after a brief
+illness. But thirty-one years of age, he had won a place in literature
+so gratifying that one might well rest content with a recital of his
+accomplishments. But his youth suggests a tale that is only partly
+told and the conjecture naturally arises,--"What success might he not
+have won?" Five novels, "Ben Blair," "Where the Trail Divides," "The
+Dissolving Circle," "The Quest Eternal," and "The Dominant Dollar,"
+besides magazine articles, and a number of short stories (many of them
+appearing in this volume) were all written in the space of eight
+years' time, and, as he said, were entirely produced after nightfall.
+
+While interested naturally in the many phases of his life,--as a
+professional man, as an author, as the chief factor in the domestic
+drama,--yet most of all it pleases me to remember him as he appeared
+when under the spell of the prairies he loved so well. Tramping the
+fields in search of prairie-chicken or quail, a patient watcher in the
+rushes of a duck-pond, or merely lying flat on his back in the
+sunshine,--he was a being transformed. For he had in him much of the
+primitive man and his whole nature responded to the "call of the
+wild." But you who know his prairie-tales must have read between the
+lines,--for who, unless he loved the "honk" of the wild geese, could
+write, "to those who have heard it year by year it is the sweetest,
+most insistent of music. It is the spirit of the wild, of magnificent
+distances, of freedom impersonate"?
+
+To the late Mrs. Wilbur Teeters I am indebted for the following
+tribute, which appeared in the "Iowa Alumnus."
+
+"Dr. Lillibridge's field of romance was his own. Others have told of
+the Western mountains and pictured the great desert of the Southwest,
+but none has painted with so masterful a hand the great prairies of
+the Northwest, shown the lavish hand with which Nature pours out her
+gifts upon the pioneer, and again the calm cruelty with which she
+effaces him. In the midst of these scenes his actors played their
+parts and there he played his own part, clean in life and thought, a
+man to the last, slipping away upon the wings of the great storm which
+had just swept over his much-loved land, wrapped in the snowy mantle
+of his own prairies."
+
+                                              Edith Keller-Lillibridge
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+    I A BREATH OF PRAIRIE                                           13
+   II THE DOMINANT IMPULSE                                          61
+  III THE STUFF OF HEROES                                           87
+   IV ARCADIA IN AVERNUS                                           109
+      Chapter    I  Prelude
+      Chapter   II  The Leap
+      Chapter  III  The Wonder of Prairie
+      Chapter   IV  A Revelation
+      Chapter    V  The Dominance of the Evolved
+      Chapter   VI  By a Candle's Flame
+      Chapter  VII  The Price of the Leap
+    V JOURNEY'S END                                                239
+   VI A PRAIRIE IDYL                                               265
+  VII THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS                               279
+      Chapter    I  Sandford the Exemplary
+      Chapter   II  The Presage of the Wings
+      Chapter  III  The Other Man
+      Chapter   IV  Capitulation
+      Chapter    V  Anticipation
+      Chapter   VI  "Mark the Right, Sandford!"
+      Chapter  VII  The Bacon What Am!
+      Chapter VIII  Feathered Bullets
+      Chapter   IX  Oblivion
+      Chapter    X  Upon "Wiping the Eye"
+      Chapter   XI  The Cold Gray Dawn
+ VIII A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION                  309
+   IX THE CUP THAT O'ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE                          339
+    X UNJUDGED                                                     347
+   XI THE TOUCH HUMAN                                              367
+  XII A DARK HORSE                                                 373
+ XIII THE WORTH OF THE PRICE                                       393
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+ She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.              Frontispiece
+ They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and
+     forward like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like
+     escaping steam.                                                74
+ "You'll apologize."                                               190
+ The two men went East together.                                   326
+ He heard a voice ... and glanced back.                            388
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+
+I
+
+
+Dense darkness of early morning wrapped all things within and without
+a square, story-and-a-half prairie farm-house. Silence, all-pervading,
+dense as the darkness, its companion, needed but a human ear to become
+painfully noticeable.
+
+Up-stairs in the half-story attic was Life. From one corner of the
+room deep, regular breathing marked the unvarying time of healthy
+physical life asleep. Nearby a clock beat loud automatic time, with a
+brassy resonance--healthy mechanical life awake. Man and machine, side
+by side, punctuated the passage of time.
+
+Alone in the darkness the mechanical mind of the clock conceived a bit
+of fiendish pleasantry. With violent, shocking clamor, its deafening
+alarm suddenly shattered the stillness.
+
+The two victims of the outrage sat up in bed and blinked sleepily at
+the dark. The younger, in a voice of wrath, relieved his feelings with
+a vigorously expressed opinion of the applied uses of things in
+general, and of alarm-clocks and milk pans in particular. He thereupon
+yawned prodigiously, and promptly began snoring away again, as though
+nothing had interrupted.
+
+The other man made one final effort, and came down hard upon the
+middle of the floor. Rough it was, uncarpeted, cold with the damp
+chill of early morning. He groped for a match, and dressed rapidly in
+the dim light, his teeth chattering a diminishing accompaniment until
+the last piece was on.
+
+Deep, regular breathing still came from the bed. The man listened a
+moment, irresolutely; then with a smile on his face he drew a feather
+from a pillow, and, rolling back the bed-clothes, he applied the
+feather's tip to the sleeper's bare soles, where experience had
+demonstrated it to be the most effective. Dodging the ensuing kick,
+he remarked simply, "I'll leave the light, Jim. Better hurry--this is
+going to be a busy day."
+
+Outside, a reddish light in the sky marked east, but over all else
+there lay only starlight, as, lantern in hand, he swung down the
+frozen path. With the opening barn door there came a puff of warm
+animal breath. As the first rays of light entered, the stock stood up
+with many a sleepy groan, and bright eyes shining in the half-light
+swayed back and forth in the narrow stalls, while their owners waited
+patiently for the feed they knew was coming.
+
+Jim, still sleepy, appeared presently; together the two went through
+the routine of chores, as they had done hundreds of times before. They
+worked mechanically, being still stiff and sore from the previous
+day's work, but swiftly, in the way mechanical work is sometimes
+done.
+
+Side by side, with singing milk pails between their knees, Jim stopped
+long enough to ask, "Made up your mind yet what you'll do, Guy?"
+
+The older brother answered without a break in the swish of milk
+through foam:
+
+"No, I haven't, Jim. If it wasn't for you and father and mother and--"
+he diverted with a redoubled clatter of milk on tin.
+
+"Be honest, Guy," was the reproachful caution.
+
+"--and Faith," added the older brother simply.
+
+The reddish glow in the east had spread and lit up the earth; so they
+put out the lantern, and, bending under the weight of steaming milk
+pails, walked single file toward the house and breakfast. Far in the
+distance a thin jet of steam spreading broadly in the frosty air
+marked the location of a threshing crew. The whistle,--thin,
+brassy,--spoke the one word "Come!" over miles of level prairie, to
+the scattered neighbors.
+
+Four people, rough, homely, sat down to a breakfast of coarse, plain
+cookery, and talked of common, homely things.
+
+"I see you didn't get so much milk as usual this morning, Jim," said
+the mother.
+
+"No, the line-backed heifer kicked over a half-pailful."
+
+"Goin' to finish shuckin' that west field this week, Guy?" asked the
+father.
+
+"Yes. We'll cross over before night."
+
+Nothing more was said. They were all hungry, and in the following
+silence the jangle of iron on coarse queensware, and the aspiration of
+beverages steaming still though undergoing the cooling medium of
+saucers, filled in all lulls that might otherwise have seemed to
+require conversation.
+
+Not until the boys got up to go to work did the family bond draw tight
+enough to show. Then the mother, tenderly as a surgeon, dressed the
+chafed spots on her boys' hands, saying low in words that spoke
+volumes, "I'll be so glad when the corn's all husked"; and the father
+followed them out onto the little porch to add, "Better quit early
+so's to hear the speakin' to-night, Guy."
+
+"How are you feeling to-day, father?" asked the young man, in a tone
+he attempted to make honestly interested, but which an infinite
+number of repetitions had made almost automatic.
+
+The father hesitated, and a look of sadness crept over his weathered
+face.
+
+"No better, Guy." He laid his hand on the young man's shoulder,
+looking down into the frank blue eyes with a tenderness that made his
+rough features almost beautiful.
+
+"It all depends upon you now, Guy, my boy." Unconsciously his voice
+took on the incomparable pathos of age displaced. "I'm out of the
+race," he finished simply.
+
+The heavy, weather-painted lumber wagon turned at the farm-yard, and
+rumbled down a country road, bound hard as asphalt in the fall frosts.
+The air cut sharply at the ears of the man in the box, as he held the
+lines in either hand alternately, swinging its mate with vigor. The
+sun was just peeping from the broad lap of the prairie, casting the
+beauty of color and of sparkle over all things. Ahead of the wagon
+coveys of quail broke and ran swiftly in the track until tired, when,
+with a side movement the tall grass by the border absorbed them.
+Flocks of prairie-chickens, frightened by the clatter, sprang winging
+from the roadside, and together sailed away on spread wings. The man
+in the wagon looked about him and forgetting all else in the
+quick-flowing blood of morning, smiled gladly.
+
+He stopped at the edge of the field, tying the reins loosely and
+building up the sideboards, gradually shorter, each above the other,
+pyramid-like, until they reached higher than his own head as he stood
+in the wagon-box. Stiff from the jolting and inactivity of the drive,
+he jumped out upon the uneven surface of the corn-field.
+
+Slowly at first, as sore fingers rebelled against the roughness of
+husks, he began work, touching the frosty ears gingerly; then as
+he warmed to the task, stopping at nothing. The frost, dense,
+all-covering, shook from the stalks as he moved, coloring the rusty
+blue of his overalls white, and melting ice-cold, wet him through
+to the skin on arms and shoulders and knees. Swiftly, two motions to
+the ear, he kept up a tapping like the regular blows of a hammer, as
+the ears struck the sideboard. Fifteen taps to the minute, you would
+have counted; a goodly man's record.
+
+This morning, though, Landers' mind was not upon his work. The vague,
+uncertain restlessness that marked the birth of a desire for broader
+things than he had known heretofore, was taking form in his brain. He
+himself could not have told what he wanted, what he planned; he simply
+felt a distaste for the things of Now; an unrest that prevented his
+sitting quiet; that took him up very early at morning; that made him
+husk more bushels of corn, and toss more bundles of grain into the
+self-feed of a threshing machine than any other man he knew; that kept
+him awake thinking at night until the discordant snores of the family
+sent him to bed, with the covers over his ears in self-defence.
+
+A vague wonder that such thoughts were in his mind at all was upon
+him. He was the son of his parents; his life so far had been their
+life: why should he not be as content as they?
+
+He could not answer, yet the distaste grew. Irresistibly he had
+acquired a habit of seeing unpleasant things: the meanness and the
+smallness of his surroundings; the uncouth furnishings of his home;
+the lack of grace in his parents and acquaintances; the trifling
+incidents that required so many hours of discussion; and in all things
+the absence of that sense of humor and appreciation of the lighter
+side of life which, from reading, he had learned to recognize.
+
+Try as he might, he could not recollect even the faint flash of a poor
+pun coming originally from his parents. Was he to be as they? A
+feeling of intense repugnance swept over him at the thought--a
+repugnance unaccountable, and of which he felt much ashamed.
+
+Self-suspicion followed. Was it well for him to read the books and
+think the thoughts of the past year? He could not escape except by
+brutally tearing himself by the roots from his parents' lives. It was
+all so hopelessly selfish on his part!
+
+"True," answered the hot spirit of resentment, "but is it not right
+that you should think first of Self? Is not individual advancement the
+first law of Nature? If there is something better, why should you not
+secure it?"
+
+The innate spirit of independence, the intense passion of pride and
+equality inborn with the true country-bred, surged warmly through his
+body until he fairly tingled.
+
+Why should others have things, think thoughts, enjoy pleasures of
+which he was to remain in ignorance? The mood of rebellion was upon
+him and he swore he would be as they. Of the best the world contained,
+he, Guy Landers, would partake.
+
+With the decision came an exultant consciousness of the graceful play
+of his own muscles in rapid action. The self-confidence of the
+splendid animal was his. He would work and advance himself. The world
+must move, and he would help. He would do things, great things, of
+which he and the world would be proud.
+
+Unconsciously he worked faster and faster as thought travelled. The
+other wagons dropped behind, the tapping of corn ears on their
+sideboards making faint music in the clear air.
+
+The sun rose swiftly, warming and drying the earth. Instead of frost
+the dust of weathered husks fell thickly over him. Overflowing with
+life and physical power, he worked through the long rows to the end,
+then mounted the wagon and looked around. Silently he noted the gain
+over the other workers, and a smile lit up the sturdy lines of his
+face.
+
+Evening was approaching. The rough lumber wagon, heavily loaded from
+the afternoon's work, groaned loudly over the uneven ground. Instead
+of the east, the west was now red, glorious. High up in the sky,
+surrounding the glow, a part of it as well, narrow luminous sun-dogs
+presaged uncertain weather to follow.
+
+Guy Landers mounted the wagon wearily, and looked ahead. The end of
+the two loaded corn-rows which he was robbing was in sight, and he
+returned doggedly to his task. The ardor of the morning had succumbed
+to the steady grind of physical toil, and he worked with the impassive
+perseverance of a machine.
+
+Night and the stillness thereof settled fast. The world darkened so
+swiftly that the change could almost be distinguished. The rows ahead
+grew shadowy, and in their midst, by contrast, the corn-ears stood out
+white and distinct. The whole world seemed to draw more closely
+together. The low vibrant hum that marked the location of the distant
+threshing crew, sounded now almost as near as the voice of a friend. A
+flock of prairie-chickens flew low overhead, their flatly spread wings
+cutting the air with a sound like whips. They settled nearby, and out
+of the twilight came anon the confused murmur of their voices.
+
+Landers stopped the impatient horses at the end of the field, and
+shook level the irregular, golden heap in the wagon-box. Slowly he
+drew on coat and top-coat, and mounted the full load, sitting sideways
+with legs hanging over the bulging wagon-box. It was dark now, but he
+was not alone. Other wagons were groaning homeward as well. Suddenly,
+thin and brassy, out of the distance came the sound of a steam
+whistle; and when it was again silent the hum of the thresher had
+ceased. From a field by the roadside, a solitary prairie-rooster gave
+once, twice, its lone, restless call.
+
+The man stretched back full length on the corn bed and looked up where
+the stars sparkled clear and bright. It all appealed to him, and a
+moisture formed in his eyes. A new side to the problem of the morning
+came to him. These sounds--he realized now how he loved them. Verily
+they were a part of his life. Mid them he had been bred; of them as of
+food he had grown. That whistle, thin and unmusical; that elusive,
+indescribable call of prairie male; all these homely sounds that meant
+so much to him--could he leave them?
+
+The moisture in his eyes deepened and a tightness gripped his throat.
+Slowly two great tears fought their way down through the dust on his
+face, and dropped lingeringly, one after the other amid the
+corn-ears.
+
+
+II
+
+
+The little, low, weather-white school-house stood glaring solitarily
+in the bright starlight, from out its setting of brown, hard-trodden
+prairie. Within, the assembled farmers were packed tight and regular
+in the seats and aisles, like kernels on an ear of corn. In the front
+of the room a little space had been shelled bare for the speaker, and
+the displaced human kernels thereto incident were scattered crouching
+in the narrow hall and anteroom. From without, groups of men denied
+admittance, thrust hairy faces in at the open windows. A row of dusty,
+grease-covered lamps flanked by composition metal reflectors,
+concentrated light upon the shelled spot, leaving the remainder of the
+room in variant shadow. The low murmur of suppressed conversation,
+accompanied by the unconscious shuffling of restless feet, sounded
+through the place. Becoming constantly more noticeable, an unpleasant,
+penetrating odor, of the unclean human animal filled the room.
+
+Guy Landers sat on a crowded back seat, where, leaning one elbow on
+his knee, he shaded his eyes with his hand. On his right a big, sweaty
+farmer was smoking a stale pipe. The smell of the cheap, vile tobacco,
+bad as it was, became a welcome substitute for the odor of the man
+himself.
+
+At his left were two boys of his own age, splendid, both of them, with
+the overflowing vitality that makes all young animals splendid. They
+were talking--of women. They spoke low, watching sheepishly whether
+any one was listening, and snickering suppressedly together.
+
+The young man's head dropped in his hands. It all depressed him like a
+weight. From the depths of his soul he despised them for their
+vulgarity, and hated himself for so doing, for he was of their life
+and work akin. He shut his eyes, suffering blindly.
+
+Consciousness returned at the sound of a strangely soft voice, and he
+looked up a little bewildered. A swarm of night-bugs encircled each of
+the greasy lamps, blindly beating out their lives against the hot
+chimney; but save this and the soft voice there was no other sound.
+The man at the right held his pipe in his hand; to the left the boys
+had ceased whispering; one and all were listening to the speaker with
+the stolid, expressionless gaze of interested animals.
+
+Guy Landers could not have told why he had come that night. Perhaps it
+was in response to that gregarious instinct which prompts us all at
+times to mingle with a crowd; certainly he had not expected to be
+interested. Thus it was with almost a feeling of rebellious curiosity
+that he caught himself listening intently.
+
+The speech was political, the speaker a college man. What he said was
+immaterial--not a listener but had heard the same arguments a dozen
+times before; it was the man himself that held them.
+
+What the farmers in that dingy little room saw was a smooth-faced
+young man, with blue eyes set far apart and light hair that exposed
+the temples far back; they heard a soft voice which made them forget
+for a time that they were very tired--forget all else but that he was
+speaking.
+
+Landers saw further: not a single man, but a type; the concrete
+illustration of a vague ideal he had long known. He realized as
+the others did not, that the speaker was merely practising on
+them--training, as the man himself would have said. When Landers
+was critically conscious, he was not deceived; yet, with this
+knowledge, at times he forgot and moved along with the speaker,
+unconsciously.
+
+It was all deliriously intoxicating to the farmer--this first
+understanding glimpse of things he had before merely dreamed
+of--and he waited exultantly for those brief moments when he felt,
+sympathetically with the speaker, the keen joy of mastery in
+perfect art; that joy beside which no other of earth can compare, the
+compelling magnetism which carries another's mind irresistibly
+along with one's own.
+
+The speaker finished and sat down wearily, and almost simultaneously
+the hairy faces left the windows. The shuffling of feet and the murmur
+of rough voices once more sounded through the room; again the odor of
+vile tobacco filled the air. Several of the older men gathered around
+the speaker, in turn holding his hand in a relentless grip while they
+struggled bravely for words to express the broadest of compliments.
+Young boys stood wide-eyed under their fathers' arms and looked at the
+college man steadily, like young calves.
+
+The reaction was on the slender young speaker, and though the
+experience was new, he shook hands wearily. In spite of himself a
+shade of disgust crept into his face. He was not bidding for these
+farmers' votes, and the big sweaty men were foully odorous. He worked
+his way steadily out into the open air.
+
+Landers, in response to a motive he made no attempt to explain even to
+himself, walked over and touched the chairman on the shoulder.
+
+"'Evening, Ross," he greeted perfunctorily. "Pretty good talk, wasn't
+it?" Without waiting for a reply he went on, "Suppose you're not
+hankering for a drive back to town to-night? I'll see that"--a swift
+nod toward the departing group--"he gets back home, if you wish."
+
+Ross looked up in pleased surprise. He was tired and sleepy and only
+too glad to accept the suggestion.
+
+"Thank you, Guy," he answered gratefully. "I'll do as much for you
+some time."
+
+Landers waited silently until the last eulogist had lingeringly
+departed, leaving the bewildered speaker gazing about for the
+chairman.
+
+"I'm to take you to town," said Landers, simply, as he led the way
+toward his wagon. He then added, as an afterthought: "If you're tired
+and prefer, you may stay with me to-night."
+
+The collegian, looking up to decline, met the countryman's eye, and
+for the first time the two studied each other steadily.
+
+"I will stay with you, if you please," he said in sudden change of
+mind.
+
+They drove out, slowly, into the frosty night, the sound of the other
+wagons rattling over frozen roads coming pleasantly to their ears.
+Overhead countless stars lit up the earth and sky, almost as brightly
+as moonlight.
+
+"I suppose you are husking corn these days," initiated the collegian,
+perfunctorily.
+
+"Yes," was the short answer.
+
+They rode on again in silence, the other wagons rumbling slowly away
+into the distance until their sound came only as a low humming from
+the frozen earth.
+
+"Prices pretty good this season?" questioned the college man,
+tentatively.
+
+Landers flashed around on him almost fiercely.
+
+"In Heaven's name, man," he protested, "give me credit for a thought
+outside my work--" He paused, and his voice became natural: "--a
+thought such as other people have," he finished, sadly.
+
+The two men looked steadily at each other, a multitude of conflicting
+emotions on the face of the collegian. He could not have been more
+surprised had a clothing dummy raised its voice and spoken. Landers
+turned away and looked out over the frosty prairie.
+
+"I beg your pardon,"--wearily. "You're not to blame for thinking--as
+everybody else thinks." His companion started to interrupt but Landers
+raised his hand in silencing motion. "Let us be honest--with
+ourselves, at least," he anticipated.
+
+"I know we of the farm are dull, and crude, and vulgar, and our
+thoughts are of common things. You of the other world patronize us;
+you practise on us as you did to-night, thinking we do not know. But
+some of us do, and it hurts."
+
+The other man impulsively held out his hand; a swift apology came to
+his lips, but as he looked into the face before him, he felt it would
+be better left unsaid. Instead, he voiced the question that came
+uppermost to his mind.
+
+"Why don't you leave--this--and go to school?" he asked abruptly. "You
+have an equal chance with the rest. We're each what we make
+ourselves."
+
+Landers broke in on him quickly.
+
+"We all like to talk of equality, but in reality we know there is
+none. You say 'leave' without the slightest knowledge of what in my
+case it means." He gave the collegian a quick look.
+
+"I'm talking as though I'd known you all my life." A question was in
+his voice.
+
+"I'm listening," said the man, simply.
+
+"I'll tell you what it means, then. It means that I divorce myself
+from everything of Now; that I unlive my past life; that I leave my
+companionship with dumb things--horses and cattle and birds--and I
+love them, for they are natural. This seems childish to you; but live
+with them for years, more than with human beings, and you will
+understand.
+
+"More than all else it means that I must become as a stranger to my
+family; and they depend upon me. My friends of now would not be my
+friends when I returned; they would be as I am to you now--a thing to
+be patronized."
+
+He hesitated, and then went recklessly on:
+
+"I've told you so much, I may as well tell you everything. On the next
+farm to ours there's a little, brown-eyed girl--Faith's her
+name--and--and--" His new-found flow of words failed, and he ended in
+unconscious apostrophe:
+
+"To think of growing out of her life, and strange to my father and
+mother--it's all so selfish, so hideously selfish!"
+
+"I think I understand," said the soft voice at his side.
+
+They drove on without a word, the frost-bound road ringing under the
+horses' feet, the stars above smiling sympathetic indulgence at this
+last repetition of the old, old tale of man.
+
+The gentle voice of the collegian broke the silence.
+
+"You say it would be selfish to leave. Is it not right, though, and of
+necessity, that we think first of self?" He paused, then boldly
+sounded the keynote of the universe.
+
+"Is not selfishness the first law of nature?" he asked.
+
+Landers opened his lips to answer, but closed them without a word.
+
+
+III
+
+
+Brown, magnetic Fall, with her overflow of animal activity, shaded
+gradually into the white of lethic Winter; then in slow dissolution
+relinquished supremacy to the tans and mottled greens of Springtime.
+Unsatisfied as man, the mighty cycle of the seasons' evolution moved
+on until the ripe yellow of harvest and of corn-field wrote "Autumn"
+on the broad page of the prairies.
+
+Of an evening in early September, Guy Landers turned out from the
+uncut grass of the farm-yard into the yellow, beaten dust of the
+country road. He walked slowly, for it was his last night on the farm,
+and it would be long ere he passed that way again. This was the road
+that led to the district school-house, and with him every inch had
+been familiar from childhood. As a boy he had run barefoot in its
+yellow dust, and paddled joyously in the soft mud of its summer
+showers. The rows of tall cottonwoods that bordered it on either side
+he had helped plant, watching them grow year by year, as he himself
+had grown, until now the whispering of prairie night winds in their
+loosely hung leaves spoke a language as familiar as his native
+tongue.
+
+He walked down the road for a half-mile, and turned in between still
+other tall cottonwoods at another weather-stained, square farm-house,
+scarcely distinguishable from his own.
+
+"'Evening, Mr. Baker." He nodded to the round-shouldered man who sat
+smoking on the doorstep.
+
+The farmer moved to one side, making generous room beside him.
+
+"'Evening, Guy," he echoed. "Won't y' set down?"
+
+"Not to-night, Mr. Baker. I came over to see Faith." He hesitated,
+then added as an afterthought: "I go away to-morrow."
+
+The man on the steps smoked silently for a minute, the glow from the
+corn-cob bowl emphasizing the gathering twilight. Slowly he took the
+pipe from his mouth, and, standing up, seized the young man's hand in
+the grip of a vise.
+
+"I heerd y' were goin', Guy." He looked down through the steadiest of
+mild blue eyes. "Good-bye, my boy." An uncertain catch came into his
+voice, and he shook the hand harder than before. "We'll all miss ye."
+
+He dropped his arm, and sat down on the step, impassively resuming his
+pipe. Without raising his eyes, he nodded toward the back yard.
+
+"Faith's back there with her posies," he said.
+
+The young man hesitated, swallowing fiercely at the lump in his
+throat.
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Baker," he faltered at length.
+
+He walked slowly around the corner of the house, stopping a moment to
+pat the friendly collie that wagged his tail, welcomingly, in the
+path. A large mixed orchard-garden, surrounded by a row of sturdy soft
+maples, opened up before him; and, coming up its side path, with the
+most cautious of gingerly treads, was the big hired man, bearing a
+huge striped watermelon. He nodded in passing, and grinned with a
+meaning hospitality on the visitor.
+
+At one corner of the garden an oblong mound of earth, bordered with
+bright stones and river-clam shells, marked the "posy" bed. Within
+its boundaries a collection of overgrown house plants, belated pinks,
+and seeding sweet-peas, fought for life with the early fall frosts.
+Landers looked steadily down at the sorry little garden. Like
+everything else he had seen that night, it told its pathetic tale of
+things that had been but would be no more.
+
+As he looked, a multitude of homely blossoms that he had plucked in
+the past flowered anew in his memory. The mild faces of violets and
+pansies, the gaudy blotches of phlox, stood out like nature. He could
+almost smell the heavy odor of mignonette. A mist gathered over his
+eyes, and again, as at the good-bye of a moment ago, the lump rose
+chokingly in his throat.
+
+He turned away from the tiny, damaged bed to send a searching look
+around the garden.
+
+"Faith!" he called gently.
+
+"Faith!"--louder.
+
+A soft little sound caught his ear from the grass-plot at the border.
+He started swiftly toward it, but stopped half-way, for the sound was
+repeated, and this time came distinctly--a bitter, half-choked sob.
+With a motion of weariness and of pain the man passed his hand over
+his eyes, then walked on firmly, his footsteps muffled in the short
+grass.
+
+A dainty little figure in the plainest of calico, lay curled up on the
+sod beneath the big maple. Her face was buried in both arms; her whole
+body trembled, as she struggled hard against the great sobs.
+
+"Faith--" interrupted the man softly, "Faith--"
+
+The sobs became more violent.
+
+"Go away, Guy," pleaded a tearful, muffled voice between the breaks.
+"Please go away, please--"
+
+The man knelt swiftly down on the grass; irresistibly his arm spread
+over the dainty, trembling, little woman. Then as suddenly he drew
+back with a face white as moonlight, and a sound in his throat that
+was almost a groan.
+
+He knelt a moment so, then touched her shoulder gently--as he would
+have touched earth's most sacred thing.
+
+"Faith--" he repeated uncertainly.
+
+The girl buried her head more deeply.
+
+"I won't, I tell you," she cried chokingly, "I won't--" she could say
+no more. There were no words in her meagre vocabulary to voice her
+bitterness of heart.
+
+The man got to his feet almost roughly, face and hands set like a
+lock. He stood a second looking passionately down at her.
+
+"Good-bye, Faith," he said, and his trembling voice was the gentlest
+of caresses. He started swiftly away down the path.
+
+The girl listened a moment to the retreating steps, then raised a
+tear-stained face above her arms.
+
+"Guy!" she called chokingly, "Guy!"
+
+The man quickened his steps at the sound, but did not turn.
+
+The girl sprang to her feet.
+
+"Oh, Guy! Guy!" pleadingly, desperately. "Guy!"
+
+The man had reached the open. With a motion that was almost insane, he
+clapped his hands over his ears, and ran blindly down the dusty path
+until he was tired, then dropped hopelessly by the roadside.
+
+Overhead the big cottonwoods whispered softly in the starlight, and a
+solitary catbird sang its lonely night song.
+
+The man flung his arms around the big, friendly tree, and sobbed
+wildly--as the girl had sobbed.
+
+"Oh, Faith!" he groaned.
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A month had passed by, bringing to Guy Landers a new Heaven and a new
+earth. Already the prosy old university town had begun to assume an
+atmosphere of home. The well-clipped campus, with its huge oaks and
+its limestone walks, had taken on the familiar possessive plural "our
+campus," and the solitary red squirrel which sported fearlessly in its
+midst had likewise become "our squirrel." The imposing, dignified
+college buildings had ceased to elicit open-mouthed observance, and
+among the student-body surnames had yielded precedence to Christian
+names--oftener, though, to some outlandish sobriquet which satirized
+an idiosyncrasy of temperament or outward aspect.
+
+Meantime the farmer had learned many things. Prominent among these was
+a conception of the preponderant amount he had yet to learn. Another
+matter of illumination involved the relation of clothes to man. He had
+been reared in the delusion that the person who gave thought to that
+which he wore, must necessarily think of nothing else. Very confusing,
+therefore, was the experience of having representatives of this same
+class immeasurably outdistance him in the quiz room.
+
+Again, on the athletic field he saw men of much lighter weight excel
+him in a way that made his face burn with a redness not of physical
+exertion. It was a wholesome lesson that he was learning--that there
+are everywhere scores of others, equally or better fitted by Nature
+for the struggle of life than oneself, and who can only be surpassed
+by the indomitable application and determination that wins all
+things.
+
+Landers' nature though was that of the born combatant. The class that
+laughed openly at his first tremblingly bashful, and ludicrously inapt
+answer at quiz, was indelibly photographed upon his memory.
+
+"Before this session is complete--" he challenged softly to himself,
+and glared at those members nearest him in a way that made them
+suddenly forget the humor of the situation.
+
+But youth is ever tractable, and even this short time had accomplished
+much. Already the warm, contagious, college comradeship possessed him.
+Violent attacks of homesickness that made gray the brightest fall
+days, like the callous spots on his palms, were becoming more rare.
+The old existence was already a dream, as yet a little sad, but none
+the less a thing without a substance. The new life was a warm,
+magnetic reality; the future glowed bright with limitless promise.
+
+"The first day of the second month," remarked Landers, meeting a
+fellow-classman on the way to college hall one morning.
+
+"Yes, an auspicious time to quit--this," completed the student with a
+suggestive shuffle of his feet. "We've furnished our share of
+amusement."
+
+Landers looked up questioningly.
+
+"Is that from the class president?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," answered the other, "hadn't you heard? No more dancing, 'his
+nibs' says."
+
+They had reached the entrance to the big college building, and at that
+moment a great roar of voices sounded from out the second-floor
+windows. Simultaneously the two freshmen quickened their pace.
+
+"The fun's on," commented Landers' informant excitedly, as together
+they broke for the lecture-room, two stairs at the jump.
+
+The large department amphitheatre opened up like a fan--the handle in
+the centre of the building on the entrance floor, the spread edge,
+nearly a complete half-circle, marked by the boundary walls of the
+building, a full story higher. The intervening space, at an
+inclination of thirty odd degrees, was a field of seats, cut into
+three equal parts by two aisles that ran from the entrance,
+divergently upward. The small space at the entrance--popularly dubbed
+"the pit"--was professordom's own particular region. From this point,
+by an unwritten law, the classes ranged themselves according to the
+length of their university life; the seniors at the extreme apex of
+the angle, the other classes respectively above, leaving the freshmen
+far beyond in space.
+
+As guardians of the two narrow aisles, the seniors dealt lightly with
+juniors and "sophs," but demanded insatiable toll of every freshman
+before he was allowed to ascend.
+
+That a first-year man must dance was irrevocable. It had the authority
+of precedent in uncounted graduate classes. To be sure, it was neither
+required nor expected that all applicants be masters of the art; but,
+agitate his feet in some manner, every able-bodied male member must,
+or remain forever a freshman.
+
+When Landers and his companion arrived at the top of the stairs they
+found the hall packed close with fellow-classmates. The lower rows of
+seats were already filled with triumphant seniors, waiting for the
+throng that crowded pit and lobby to come within their reach. With
+regular tapping of feet and clapping of hands in unison, the class as
+one man beat the steady time of one who marches.
+
+"Dance, freshies!" they repeated monotonously. "Dance!"
+
+"Clear the pit for a rush," yelled the president of the besieging
+freshmen, elbowing his way back into the mass.
+
+A lull fell upon the room, as both sides gathered themselves
+together.
+
+"Now--all at once!" yelled the president, and pandemonium broke
+loose.
+
+"Rush 'em! Shove, behind there!" shrieked the struggling freshmen at
+the front.
+
+"Dance, freshies! Dance!" challenged the seniors, as they locked arms
+across the narrow aisle.
+
+"Hold 'em, fellows! Hold 'em!" encouraged the men of the upper seats,
+bracing themselves against the broad backs below.
+
+The classes met like water against a wall. To go up was impossible;
+advantage of gravity and of position was all with the seniors. For an
+instant, at the centre, there were frantic yelling and pulling of
+loose wearing apparel; then, packed like cotton in a bale, they could
+only scream for mercy.
+
+"Loosen up, back there! Back!" they panted, squirming impotently as
+they gasped for breath.
+
+Slowly the reaction came amid the triumphant, "Dance, freshies!" of
+the conquering hosts.
+
+The jam loosened; the seniors' opportunity came. Like a big machine,
+the occupants of the front row leaned forward, and seized upon a
+circle of unsuspecting, retreating freshmen, among the number the
+class president.
+
+"Pass 'em up! Pass 'em up!" insisted the men above, reaching out eager
+hands to aid; and with an irresistibility that seemed miraculous, the
+squirming, kicking, struggling freshmen found themselves rolling
+upward--head foremost, feet foremost, position unclassified--over the
+heads of the upper classmen; bumping against seats, and scattering the
+contents of their pockets loosely along the way.
+
+"Up with them," repeated the denizens of the front row as they reached
+forward for a fresh supply.
+
+But there was no more material available; the besieging party had
+retreated. On the top row the dishevelled president was confusedly
+pulling himself together, and grinning sheepishly. The rebellion was
+over.
+
+"Dance, freshies," resumed the seniors mockingly; and once more the
+regular tap of feet and clapping of hands beat slow march-time.
+
+One by one the freshmen came forward, and, shuffling a few steps to
+the encouraging "well done" of the seniors, mounted the steps between
+the rows of laughing upper classmen.
+
+It happened that Landers came last. He wore heavy shoes and walked
+with an undeniable clump.
+
+"He's Dutch, make him clog," called a man from an upper row.
+
+The class caught the cry. "Clog! Clog!" they commanded.
+
+A big fellow next the aisle made an addition. "Clog there, hayseed,"
+he grumbled.
+
+Landers stopped as though the words were a blow. That one word
+"hayseed" with all that it meant to him--to be thrown at him now,
+tauntingly, before the whole class! His face grew white beneath the
+remaining coat of tan, and he stepped up to the big senior with a
+swiftness of which no one would have suspected him capable.
+
+"Take that back!" he blazed into the man's face.
+
+The senior hesitated; the room grew breathlessly quiet.
+
+"Take it back, I say!"
+
+The big fellow tried to laugh, but his voice only grated.
+
+"Damned if I will--hayseed," he retorted with a meaning pause and
+accent.
+
+Before the words were out of his mouth Landers had the man by the
+collar, and they were fighting like cats.
+
+For a time things in that pit were very confused and very noisy. Both
+students were big and both were furiously angry. By rule they would
+have been very evenly matched, but in a rough-and-tumble scrimmage
+there was no comparison. The classes made silent and neutral
+spectators, as Landers swung the man around in the narrow pit like a
+whirlwind, and finally pushed him back into his seat.
+
+"Now will you take it back!" he roared breathlessly, vigorously
+shaking his victim.
+
+The hot lust of battle was upon the farmer, and he forgot that several
+hundred students were watching his every motion.
+
+"Take it back," he repeated, "or I'll--" and he lifted the man half
+out of the seat.
+
+The senior seized both arms of the chair, and looked up in a dazed
+sort of way.
+
+"I--" he began weakly.
+
+"Louder--" interrupted Landers.
+
+"I--beg your pardon," said the reluctant, trembling voice.
+
+That instant the amphitheatre went wild. "Bravo!" yelled a hundred
+voices over the clamor of cheering hands.
+
+"Three cheers for the freshman!" shrilled a voice over the tumult; and
+the "rah, rah, rah" that followed made the skylight rattle.
+
+Landers stepped back and looked up bewildered; then a realization of
+the thing came to him and his face burned as no sun could make it
+burn, and his knees grew weak. He gladly would have given all his
+present earthly belongings, and all in prospect for the immediate
+future for a kindly earth to open suddenly and swallow him.
+Perspiration stood out on his face as he went slowly up the stairs, at
+every step a row of friendly hands grasping him in congratulation.
+
+Slowly the room became quiet. The whole confusion had not taken up
+even the time of grace at the beginning of the hour; and a great burst
+of applause greeted the mild old dean as he came absently in, as was
+his wont, at the tap of the ten-minute bell. He looked up innocently
+at the unusual greeting, and the cheer was repeated with interest. As
+first in authority he was supposed to report all such inter-class
+offences; but in effect he invariably happened to be conveniently
+absent at such times--the times of the freshman rebellion. He began
+lecturing now without a word of comment, and on the instant the
+peaceful scratching of fountain pens on notebooks replaced the clamors
+of war.
+
+The lecture was about half over when there was a tap on the entrance
+door; and the white-haired dean, answering, stepped out into the hall.
+In a second he returned carrying a thin, yellow envelope.
+
+"A message for--," he studied the writing with near-sighted eyes,
+"--for Guy Landers," he announced slowly.
+
+The message went up the incline, hand over hand toward the top row,
+and the boy who waited felt the room growing gradually close and dark.
+To him a telegram could mean but one thing.
+
+The class sat watching silently until they saw him take the paper from
+his neighbor; then in kindness they turned away at the look on his
+face. In the pit below the mild old dean began talking absently.
+
+Landers tried to open the envelope, but his nervous hands rebelled. He
+laid the broad side firmly against his knee and tore open the end
+raggedly, drawing out the inclosed sheet with a trembling rustle that
+could be heard all over the room.
+
+The open page was before him; but the letters only danced before his
+eyes. He spread the paper as before, flat upon his knee, ere he could
+read.
+
+The one short line, the line of which every word was as he expected,
+stood clear before him. He felt now a vague sort of wonder that the
+brief, picked sentences should have affected him as they had. He had
+already known what they told for so long--ever since his name was
+spoken at the door--ages ago. He looked hesitatingly around the room.
+Several students were scrutinizing him curiously, as though expecting
+something. Oh, yes--that recalled him. He must go--home. He hated to
+interrupt the lecture, but he must. He got up unsteadily, and started
+down the stair, groping his way uncertainly, as a man walks in the
+dark.
+
+The kind old dean waited in silence until Landers had passed
+hesitatingly through the door; then followed him out into the hall. A
+moment, and he returned, standing abstractedly by the lecture table.
+He picked up his scattered notes absently, shaking the ends even with
+a painstaking hand; then as carefully scattered them as before. He
+looked up at the silent, waiting class, and those who were near saw
+the tears sparkling in the mild old eyes.
+
+"Landers' father is dead," came the simple, hushed announcement.
+
+
+V
+
+
+The bright afternoon sun of late October shone slantingly on the train
+of weathered wagons that stretched out like an uncoiling spring from
+the group collected in front of the little farm-house. From near and
+afar the neighbors had gathered; and now, falling slowly into line,
+they formed a chain a full quarter-mile in length.
+
+Guy Landers was glad that at last it was over and they were out in the
+sunshine once more. He turned into the carefully reserved place at the
+head of the procession with almost a sense of relief. He was tired,
+fiercely tired, of the well-meant but insistent pity which dogged him
+with a tenacity that drove him desperate. They would not even allow
+him to think.
+
+He rode alone on the front seat of the open wagon. Behind him, his
+mother and Jim sat stiffly, hand in hand. They gazed dully at the
+black thing ahead, and sobbed softly, now singly, now together.
+Both--himself as well--were dressed in complete black; old musty
+black, gotten out of the dark, hurriedly, and with the close smell of
+the closet still upon it. Even the horses conformed to the sober
+shade. They had been supplied by a neighbor on account of their
+sombre color.
+
+A heavy black tassel swung back and forth with the motion of the
+uneven road just ahead of the horses' heads, and Landers sat watching
+it idly. He even caught himself counting the vibrations, as though it
+were a pendulum, dividing the beats into minutes. Very slow time it
+was; but somehow it did not surprise him. It all conformed so
+perfectly with the brown, quiet prairie, and the sun shining, slanting
+and sleepy.
+
+The swinging tassel grew indistinct, and the _patter_, _patter_,
+_patter_ of the teams behind came as from a distance. He closed his
+eyes, and the events of the past two days drifted through his mind.
+Already they seemed indistinct, as a dream. He wondered dully that
+they could be true and yet seem so foreign to his life, now. He even
+began to doubt their verity, and opened his eyes slowly, half
+expecting to see the cool, green campus, and the big college
+buildings. The slanting sunlight met him full in the face, and the
+black pendant swung monotonously, from side to side, as before. He
+wearily closed his eyes again.
+
+Only two days since he had heard the taunting "Dance, freshy!" of the
+seniors, and felt the mighty rush of the freshman hosts; since the
+"rah, rah, rah, Landers!" had shook the old amphitheatre and the
+dozens of welcoming hands had greeted him; and then--the darkness--the
+hesitating leave-taking of the building, and the lingering walk across
+the deserted campus toward his room--the walk he knew so well he would
+take no more. A brief time of waiting--a blank--and then the bitter,
+thumping ride across two States toward his home, when he could only
+think, and think, and try to adjust himself--and fail; and at last the
+end. And again, at the little station, when he felt the touch of his
+mother's hand, and heard her choking "Guy, my boy--" that spoke so
+much of love and of trust; when he heard his own voice answering
+cheerily, with a firmness which surprised him even then, speaking that
+which all through the long ride he had known he must speak--but could
+not: "It's all right, mother; don't worry; I'll not leave you
+again!"--it all came back to him now, and he lived it over again and
+again.
+
+The big, black tassel danced tantalizingly in front of him. Yes, he
+had said that he would never leave again. He dully repeated the words
+now to himself: "never again." It was so fitting; quite in accordance
+with the rest of the black pageant. His dream of life, his new-felt
+ambitions--all were dead, dead, like his father before him, where the
+black plume nodded.
+
+They passed up through the little town and the shop-keepers came out
+to look. Some were in their shirt sleeves; the butcher had his white
+apron tucked up around his belt. They gathered together in twos and
+groups, nodding toward the procession, their lips moving as in
+pantomime. One man walked out to the crossing, counting aloud as the
+teams went by. "One, two, three, four, five, six--" he intoned. To him
+it was all a thing to amuse, like a circus parade,--interesting in
+proportion to its length.
+
+Landers looked almost curiously at the stolid shopmen. It required no
+flush of inspiration to tell him that but a few years of this life
+were necessary to make him as impassive as they. He who had sworn to
+make the world move would be contentedly sitting on an empty goods
+box, diligently numbering a passing procession!
+
+The biting humor of the thought appealed to him. He smiled grimly to
+himself.
+
+
+VI
+
+
+Once more on an early evening, a man turned out from a weather-stained
+prairie farm-house, through the frosted grass, arriving presently at
+the dusty public road. As before, he walked slowly along between the
+tall cottonwoods; but not, as on a memorable former occasion, because
+it would be for the last time. He was tired, tired with that absolute
+abandon of youth that sees no hope in the future, and has no
+philosophy to support it. Only thirty odd days since he went that way
+before! That many years would not add more to his life in the future.
+
+Unconsciously he searched along the way for the landmarks he had
+watched with so much interest the past summer. He found the nest
+where the quail had reared their brood, empty now, and covered thick
+with the scattered dust of passing teams. Forgetful that he was weary
+he climbed well up the bole of a shaggy old friend, to peep in at the
+opening of a deserted woodpecker's home. He came to the big tree at
+whose roots, on that other night he remembered so well, he had thrown
+himself hopelessly. With a stolid sort of curiosity he looked down at
+the spot. Yes, there was the place. A few fallen leaves were scattered
+upon the earth where his body had pressed tightly against the
+tree-trunk, and there were the hollows where his clenched hands had
+found hold. A dull rebellion crept over him as he looked. It had been
+needless to torture him so!
+
+He came in sight of the familiar little farm-house and turned in
+slowly at the break between the trees. It was growing dark now, but
+the odor of tobacco was on the air, and looking closely, he could
+catch the gleam from a glowing pipe-bowl in the doorway. He passed his
+hand across his brow, almost doubting--it was all so like--before--
+
+A light step came tapping quickly down the pathway toward him. "Guy!"
+a voice called softly. "Guy, is that you?"
+
+The voice was quite near him now, and he stopped short, a big maple
+above him.
+
+"Yes, Faith."
+
+She came up close, peering into the shadow.
+
+"Guy--" she repeated, "Guy, where are you?"
+
+He reached out and clasped her hand; then again, and took both hands.
+Her breath came quickly. Slowly his arm slipped about her waist, she
+struggling a little against her own will; then her head fell forward
+on his breast, and he could feel her whole body tremble.
+
+The man looked out through the rifts in the half-naked trees; into the
+sky, clear and sparkling beyond; on his face an expression of sadness,
+of joy, of abandon--all blended indescribably.
+
+Two soft arms crept gently about his neck, and a mass of fluffy hair
+caressed his face.
+
+"Oh! Guy! Guy!" sobbed the girl, "it's wicked, I know, but I'm so
+glad--so glad--"
+
+
+
+
+THE DOMINANT IMPULSE
+
+
+I
+
+
+Calmar Bye was a writer. That is to say, writing was his vocation and
+his recreation as well.
+
+As yet, unfortunately, he had been unable to find publishers; but for
+that deficiency no reasonable person could hold him responsible. He
+had tried them all--and repeatedly. A certain expressman now smiled
+when he saw the long, slim figure approaching with a package under his
+arm, which from frequent reappearances had become easily recognizable;
+but as a person becomes accustomed to a physical deformity, Calmar Bye
+had ceased to notice banter.
+
+Of but one thing in his life he was positively certain; and that was
+if Nature had fashioned him for any purpose in particular, it was to
+do the very thing he was doing now. The reason for this certainty was
+that he could do nothing else with even moderate satisfaction. He had
+tried, frequently, to break away, and had even succeeded for a month
+at a time in an endeavor to avoid writing a word; but inevitably there
+came a relapse and a more desperate debauch in literature. Try as he
+might he could not avoid the temptation. An incident, a trifle out of
+the ordinary in his commonplace life, a sudden thrill at the reading
+of another man's story, a night of insomnia, and resolution was in
+tatters, and shortly thereafter Calmar Bye's pencil would be coursing
+with redoubled vigor over a sheet of virgin paper.
+
+To be sure, Calmar did other things besides write. Being a normal man
+with a normal appetite, he could not successfully evade the demands of
+animal existence, and when his finances became unbearably low, he
+would proceed to their improvement by whatever means came first to
+hand. Book-keeping, clerical work, stenography--anything was grist for
+his mill at such times, and for a period he would work without rest.
+No better assistant could be found anywhere--until he had satisfied
+his few creditors and established a small surplus of his own. Then,
+presto, change!--and on the surface reappeared Bye, the long, slender,
+blue-eyed, dreaming, dawdling, irresponsible writer.
+
+Being what he was, the tenor of Calmar's life was markedly uneven. At
+times the lust to write, the spirit of inspiration, as he would have
+explained to himself in the privacy of his own study, would come upon
+him strong, and for hours or days life would be a joyous thing, his
+fellow-men dear brothers of a happy family, the obvious unhappiness
+and injustice about him not reality, but mere comedy being enacted for
+his particular delectation.
+
+Then at last, his work finished, would come inevitable reaction. The
+product of his hand and brain, completed, seemed inadequate and
+commonplace. He would smile grimly as with dogged persistence he
+started this latest child of his fancy out along the trail so thickly
+bestrewn with the skeletons of elder offspring. In measure, as
+badinage had previously passed him harmlessly by, it now cut deeply.
+No one in the entire town thought him a more complete failure than he
+considered himself. Skies, from being sunny, grew suddenly sodden; not
+a tenement or alley but thrust obtrusively forward its tale of
+misery.
+
+"Think of me," he confided to his friend Bob Wilson one evening as
+during his transit through a particularly dismal slough of despond
+they in company were busily engaged in blazing the trail with empty
+bottles; "One such as I, a man of thirty and of good health, without a
+dollar or the prospect of a dollar, an income or the prospect of an
+income, a home or the prospect of a home, following a cold scent like
+the one I am now on!" He snapped his finger against the rim of his
+thin drinking glass until it rang merrily.
+
+"The idea, again, of a man such as I, untravelled, penniless,
+self-educated, thinking to compete with others who journey the world
+over to secure material, and who have spent a fortune in preparation
+for this particular work." He excitedly drained the contents of the
+glass.
+
+"It's preposterous, childlike!"--he brought the frail trifle down to the
+table with an emphasis which was all but its destruction--"imbecile!
+I tell you I'm going to quit.
+
+"Quit for good," he repeated at the expression on the other's face.
+
+Bob Wilson scrutinized his companion with a critical eye.
+
+"Waiter," he said, speaking over his shoulder, "waiter, kindly tax our
+credit further to the extent of a couple of Havanas."
+
+"Yes, sah," acknowledged the waiter.
+
+Silence fell; but Bob's observation of his friend continued.
+
+"So you are going to quit the fight?" he commented at last.
+
+"I am,"--decidedly.
+
+Wilson lit his cigar.
+
+"You have completed that latest--production on which you were engaged,
+I suppose?"
+
+The writer scratched a match.
+
+"This afternoon."
+
+"And sent it on?"
+
+A nod. "Yes, on to the furnace room."
+
+A smile which approached a grin formed over Bob's big face.
+
+"You have hope of its acceptance, I trust?"
+
+Calmar Bye blew a cloud of smoke far toward the ceiling, and the
+smile, a shade grim, was reflected.
+
+"More than hope," laconically. "I have certainty at last."
+
+Another pause followed and slowly the smile vanished from the faces of
+both.
+
+"Bob," and the long Calmar straightened in his chair, "I've been an
+ass. It's all apparent, too apparent, now. I've tried to compete with
+the entire world, and I'm too small. It's enough for me to work
+against local competition." He meditatively flicked the ash from his
+cigar with his little finger.
+
+"I realize that a lot of my friends--women friends particularly--will
+say they always knew I had no determination, wouldn't stay in the game
+until I won. They're all alike in this one particular, Bob; all
+sticklers for the big lower jaw.
+
+"But I don't care. I've been shooting into a covey of publishers for
+twelve years and never have touched a feather. Perseverance is a good
+quality, but there is such a thing as insanity." He stared
+unconsciously at the portieres of the booth.
+
+"Once and for all, I tell you I'm through," he repeated.
+
+"What are you going at?" queried Bob, sympathetically, a shade
+quizzically.
+
+The long Calmar reached into his pocket with deliberation.
+
+"Read that." He tossed a letter across the tiny table.
+
+Bob poised the epistle in his hand gingerly.
+
+"South Dakota," he commented, as he observed the postmark. "Humph, I
+can't make out the town."
+
+"It's not a town at all, only a postoffice. Immaterial anyway,"
+explained Calmar, irritably.
+
+The round-faced man unfolded the letter slowly and read aloud:--
+
+  "MY DEAR SIR:--
+
+  "Your request, coming from a stranger, is rather unusual; but if
+  you really mean business, I will say this: Provided you're
+  willing to take hold and stay right with me, I'll take you in
+  and at the end of a half-year pay $75.00 per month. You can then
+  put into the common fund whatever part of your savings you wish
+  and have a proportionate interest in the herd. Permit me to
+  observe, however, that you will find your surroundings somewhat
+  different from those amid which you are living at present, and I
+  should advise you to consider carefully before you make the
+  change.
+
+                                          "Very truly yours,
+                                               "E. J. DOUGLASS."
+
+Bob slowly folded the sheet, and tossed it back.
+
+"In what particular portion of that desert, if I may ask, does your
+new employer reside?" There was uncertainty in the speaker's voice,
+as of one who spoke of India or the islands of the Pacific.
+"Likewise--pardon my ignorance--is that herd he mentions--buffalo?"
+
+Calmar imperturbably returned the letter to his pocket.
+
+"I'm serious, Robert. Douglass is a cattle man west of the river."
+
+"The river!" apostrophized Bob. "The man juggles with mysteries. What
+river, pray?"
+
+"The Missouri, of course. Didn't you ever study geography?"
+
+"I beg your pardon," in humble apology. "Is that," vaguely, "what they
+call the Bad Lands?"
+
+Bye looked across at his friend, of a mind to be indignant; then his
+good-nature triumphed.
+
+"No, it's not so bad as that," with a feeble attempt at a pun. He
+paused to light a cigar, and absent-minded as usual, continued in
+digression.
+
+"I've dangled long enough, old man; too long. I'm going to do
+something now. I start to-morrow."
+
+Bob Wilson the skeptic, looked at his friend again critically.
+Resolutions of reconstruction he had heard before--and later watched
+their downfall; but this time somehow there was a new element
+introduced. Perhaps, after all--
+
+"Waiter," he called, "we'll trifle with another quart of extra-dry, if
+you please."
+
+"To your success," he added to his companion across the table, when
+the waiter had returned from his mission.
+
+
+II
+
+
+A year passed around, as years have a way of doing, and found
+Calmar Bye, the city man, metamorphosed indeed. Bronzed, bearded,
+corduroy-clothed, cigarette-smoking,--for cigars fifty miles from a
+railroad are a curiosity,--as the seasons are dissimilar, so was he
+unlike his former inconsequent self. In his every action now was a
+directness and a purpose of which he had not even a conception in
+his former existence.
+
+Very, very thin upon us all is the veneer of civilization; very, very
+swift is the reversion to the primitive when opportunity presents.
+Only twelve short months and this man, end product of civilization,
+doer of nothing practical, dreamer of dreams and recorder of fancies,
+had become a positive force, a contributor to the world's food supply,
+a producer of meat. What a satire, in a period of time of which the
+shifting seasons could be counted upon one hand, to have vibrated
+from manuscript to beef, and for the change to be seemingly
+unalterable!
+
+To be sure there had been a struggle; a period of travail while
+readjustment was being established; a desperate sense of homesickness
+at first view of the undulating, grass-covered, horizon-bounded
+prairies; an insatiable need of the shops, the theatres, the
+telephones, the _cafés_, the newspapers, all of which previously had
+constituted everything that made life worth living. But these emotions
+had passed away. What evolvement of civilization could equal the
+beauty of a dew-scented, sun-sparkling prairie morning, or the
+grandeur of a soundless, star-dotted prairie night, wherein the very
+limitlessness of things, their immensity, was a never ending source of
+wonder? Verily, all changes and conditions of life have their
+compensations.
+
+Calmar Bye, the one time listless, had learned many things in this
+unheard-of world.
+
+First of all, most insistent of all, he was impressed with the
+overwhelming predominance of the physical over the mental. Later, in
+practical knowledge, he grew inured to the "feel" of a native bucking
+broncho and the sound of mocking, human laughter after a stunning
+fall; in direct evolution, the method of throwing a steer and the odor
+of burnt hair and hide which followed the puff of smoke where the
+branding iron touched ceased to be cruel.
+
+Last of all, highest evolvement of all, came the absorption of
+revolver-lore under the instruction of experts who made but pastime of
+picking a jack-rabbit in its flight, or bringing a kite, soaring high
+in air, tumbling precipitate to earth. A wild life it was and a rough,
+but fascinating nevertheless in its demonstration of the overwhelming
+superiority of man, the animal, in nerve and endurance over every
+other live thing on earth.
+
+At the end of the year, with the hand of winter again pressed firmly
+upon the land, it seemed time could do no more; that the adaptation of
+the exotic to his new surroundings was complete. Already the past life
+seemed a thing interesting but aloof from reality, like the fantastic
+exploits of a hero of fiction, and the present, the insistently
+active, vital present, the sole consideration of importance.
+
+In the appreciation of the stoic indifference of the then West it was
+a slight incident which overthrew. One cowboy, "Slim" Rawley, had a
+particularly vicious broncho, which none but he had ever been able to
+control, and which in consequence, he prized as the apple of his eye.
+During his temporary absence from the ranch one day a _confrère_,
+"Stiff" Warwick, had, in a spirit of bravado, roped the "devil" and
+instituted a contest of wills. The pony was stubborn, the man
+likewise, and a battle royal followed. As a buzzard scents carrion,
+other cowboys anticipated sport, and a group soon gathered. Ere
+minutes had passed the blood of the belligerents was up, and they were
+battling as for life, with a dogged determination which would have
+lasted upon the part of either, the man or the beast, until death.
+Rough scenes and inhuman, Bye had witnessed until _blasé_; but nothing
+before like this. The man used quirt, rowel, and profanity like a
+fiend. The pony, panting, quivering, bucking, struggling, covered with
+foam and streaming with blood, shrilled with the impotent anger of a
+demon. Even the impassive cowboy spectators from chaffing lapsed into
+silence.
+
+Of a sudden, loping easily over the frost-bound prairie and following
+the winding trail of a cowpath, appeared the approaching figure of a
+horse and rider. It came on steadily, clear to the gathered group, and
+stopped. An instant and the newcomer understood the scene and a curse
+sprang to his lips. Another instant and his own mustang was spurred in
+close by the strugglers. His right hand raised in air and bearing a
+heavy quirt, descended; not upon the broncho, but far across the
+cursing, devilish face of the man, its rider. Then swift as thought
+and simultaneously as twin machines, the hands of the intruder and of
+the struggling "buster" went to their hips.
+
+The spectators held their breaths; not one stirred. Before them they
+saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and forward like pistons
+from companion cylinders, and they saw two puffs of smoke like
+escaping steam.
+
+Smoothly, as a scene in a rehearsed play, the reports mingled, the
+riders, scarcely ten feet apart, tottered in their saddles, and
+slowly, unconsciously resistant even in death, the two bodies slipped
+to earth.
+
+[Illustration: They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and
+forward like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like escaping steam.]
+
+But there the unison ended. The mustang which "Slim" Rawley rode stood
+still in its tracks; but before the spectators could rush in, the
+"devil" broncho, relieved of the hand upon the curb, sprang away, and
+with the "buster's" foot caught fast in the stirrup ran squealing,
+kicking, crazy mad out over the prairie, dragging by its side the limp
+figure of its unseated enemy.
+
+Calmar Bye watched the whole spectacle as in a dream. So swift had
+been the action, so fantastic the denouement, that he could not at
+first reconcile it all with reality. He went slowly over to the
+prostrate "Slim" Rawley, whom the others had laid out decently upon
+the ground, half expecting him to leap up and laugh in their faces;
+but the already stiffening figure with the fiendish scowl upon its
+face, was convincing.
+
+Besides,--gods, the indifference of these men to death! The party of
+onlookers were already separating--one division, mounted, starting in
+pursuit of the escaping broncho, along the narrow trail made by the
+dragged man; the others impassively reconnoitring for spades and
+shovels, were stolidly awaiting the breaking of the lock of
+frost-bound earth at the hands of a big, red-shirted cowboy with a
+pick!
+
+"Here, Bye," suggested one toiler, "you're an eddicated man; say a
+prayer er something, can't ye, before we plant old 'Slim.' He wa'nt
+sech a bad sort."
+
+The tenderfoot complied, and said something--he never knew just
+what--as the dry clods thumped dully upon the huddled figure in the
+old gunny sack. What he said must have been good, for those present
+resisted with difficulty a disposition to applaud.
+
+This labor complete, the cowboys scattered, miles apart, each to his
+division of the herd, which for better range had been distributed over
+a wide territory. Bye was in charge of the home bunch, and sat long
+after the others had left, upon the new-formed mound in the ranch
+dooryard.
+
+Far over the broad, rolling prairies, as yet bare and frost-bound, the
+sun shone brightly. A half-mile away he could see his own herd
+scattered and grazing. The stillness after the sudden excitement was
+almost unbelievable. Minutes passed by which dragged into an hour.
+Over the face of the sun a faint haze began to form and, unnoticeable
+to one not prairie-trained, the air took on a sympathetic feel, almost
+of dampness. A native would have sensed a warning; but Calmar Bye, one
+time writer, paid no heed. An instinct of his life, one he had thought
+suppressed, a necessity imperative as hunger, was gathering upon him
+strongly--the overwhelming instinct to portray the unusual.
+
+Under its guidance, as in a maze, he made his way into the rough,
+unplastered shanty. Automatically he found a pencil and collected some
+scraps of coarse wrapping paper. Already the opening words of the tale
+he had to tell were in his mind, and sitting down by the greasy
+pine-board table, he began to write.
+
+Hours passed. Over the sun the haze thickened. The whole sky grew
+sodden, the earth a corresponding grayish hue. Now and anon puffs of
+wind, like sudden breaths, stirred the dull air, and the short
+buffalo grass trembled in anticipation. The puffs increased until
+their direction became definite, and at last here and there big,
+irregular feathers of snow drifted languidly to earth.
+
+Within the shanty the man wrote unceasingly. Many fragments he covered
+and deposited, an irregular heap, at his right hand. At his left an
+adolescent mound of cigarette stumps grew steadily larger. A cloud of
+tobacco smoke over his head, driven here and there by vagrant currents
+of air, gathered denser and denser.
+
+As the light failed, the writer unconsciously moved the rough table
+nearer and nearer the window until, blocked, it could go no farther.
+To one less preoccupied the grating over the uneven floor would have
+been startling. Once just outside the door the waiting pony neighed
+warningly--and again. Upon the ledge beneath the window-pane a tiny
+mound of snowflakes began to take form; around the shanty the rising
+wind mourned dismally.
+
+The light failed by degrees, until the paper was scarcely visible,
+and, brought to consciousness, the man rose to light a lamp. One look
+about and he passed his hand over his forehead, absently. Striding to
+the door, he flung it wide open.
+
+"Hell!" he muttered in complex apostrophe.
+
+To put on hat and top-coat was the act of a moment. To release the
+tethered pony the work of another; then swift as a great brown shadow,
+out across the whitening prairie to the spot he remembered last to
+have seen the herd, the delinquent urged the willing broncho--only to
+find emptiness; not even the suggestion of a trail.
+
+Back and forth, through miles and miles of country, in semi-circles
+ever widening, through a storm ever increasing and with daylight
+steadily diminishing, Calmar Bye searched doggedly for the departed
+herd; searched until at last even he, ignorant of the supreme terrors
+of a South Dakota blizzard, dared not remain out longer.
+
+That he found his way back to the ranch yard was almost a miracle. As
+it was, groping at last in utter darkness, blinded by a sleet which
+cut like dull knives, and buffeted by a wind like a hurricane, more
+dead than alive he stumbled upon the home shanty and opening the door
+drew the weary broncho in after him. Man and beast were brothers on
+such a night.
+
+Of the hours which followed, of moaning wind and drifting sleet,
+nature kindly gave him oblivion. Dead tired, he slept. And morning,
+crisp, smiling, cloudless, was about him when he awoke.
+
+Rising, and scarcely stopping for a lunch, the man again sallied forth
+upon his search, wading through drifts blown almost firm enough to
+bear the pony's weight and alternate spots wind-swept bare as a floor;
+while all about, gorgeous as multiple rainbows, flashed mocking bright
+the shifting sparkle from innumerable frost crystals.
+
+All the morning he searched, farther and farther away, until the
+country grew rougher and he was full ten miles from home. At last,
+stopping upon a small hill to reconnoitre, the searcher heard far in
+the distance a sound he recognized and which sent his cheek pale--the
+faint dying wail of a wounded steer. It came from a deep draw between
+two low hills, one cut into a steep ravine by converged floods and
+hidden by the tall surrounding weeds. Bye knew the place well and the
+significance of the sound he heard. In a cattle country, after a
+sudden blizzard, it could have but one meaning, and that the terror of
+all time to animals wild or domestic--the end of a stampede.
+
+Only too soon thereafter the searcher found his herd. Upon the
+brow of a hill overlooking the ravine he stopped. Below him,
+bellowing, groaning, struggling, wounded, dying, and dead--a great
+mass of heavy bodies, mixed indiscriminately--bruised, broken,
+segmented, blood-covered, horrible, lay the observer's trust, the
+wealth of his employer, his own hope of regeneration, worse now than
+worthless carrion. And the cause of it all, the sole excuse for
+this delinquency, lay back there upon a greasy table in the
+shanty--a short scrawling tale scribbled upon a handful of scrap
+paper!
+
+
+III
+
+
+"Yes, I'm back, Bob."
+
+The tall, thin Calmar Bye leaned back in his chair and looked
+listlessly about the familiar _café_, without a suggestion of emotion.
+It seemed to him hardly credible that he had been away from it all for
+a year and more. Nothing was changed. Across the room the same mirrors
+repeated the reflections he had observed so many times before. Nearby
+were the same booths and from within them came the same laughter and
+chatter and suppressed song. Opposite the tiny table the same man with
+the broad, good-natured face was making critical, smiling observation,
+as of yore. As ever, the look recalled the visionary to the present.
+
+"Back for good, Bob," he repeated slowly.
+
+The speaker's attitude was far from being that of a conquering hero
+returned; the sympathies of the easy-going Robert, ever responsive,
+were roused.
+
+"What's the matter, old man?" he queried tentatively. "Weren't you a
+success as a broncho-buster?"
+
+"A success!" Calmar Bye stroked a long, thin face with a long, thin
+hand. "A success!" he repeated. "I couldn't have been a worse
+failure, Bob." He paused a moment, smoothing the table-cloth absently
+with his finger tips.
+
+"Success!" once more, bitterly. "I'm not even a mediocre at anything
+unless it is at what I'm doing now, dangling and helping spend the
+money some one else has worked all day to earn." He looked his
+astonished friend fair in the eyes.
+
+"You don't know what an idiot, a worse than idiot, I've made of
+myself," and he began the story of the past year.
+
+Monotonously, unemotionally he told the tale, omitting nothing, adding
+nothing; while about him the sounds of the restaurant, the tinkling of
+glassware, the ring of silver, the familiar muffled pop of extracted
+corks, played a soft accompaniment. Occasionally Bob would make a
+comment or ask explanation of something to him entirely new; but that
+was all until near the end,--where the delinquent herder, coming
+swiftly to the brow of the hill, looked down upon the scene in the
+ravine below. Then Bob, the care-free, the pleasure-seeking, raised a
+hand in swift protest.
+
+"Don't describe it, please, old man," he requested. "I'd rather not
+hear."
+
+The speaker's voice ceased; over his thin features fell the light of a
+queer little half-smile which, instead of declaring itself, only
+provoked Bob Wilson's curiosity. In the silence Bye, with a hand
+unaccustomed to the exercise, made the familiar gesture that brought
+one of the busy attendants to his side.
+
+"And the story you wrote--?" suggested Wilson while they waited.
+
+For answer Calmar Bye drew an envelope from his pocket and tossed it
+across the table to his friend. Wilson first noted that it bore the
+return address of one of the country's foremost magazines; he then
+unfolded the letter and read aloud:
+
+  "DEAR MR. BYE:--
+
+  "The receipt of your two stories, 'Storm and Stampede' and 'The
+  Lonely Grave,' has settled a troublesome question for us,
+  namely: What has become of Mr. Calmar Bye?
+
+  "No doubt you will recall that our criticisms of the material
+  which you have submitted from time to time in the past,
+  were directed chiefly against faults arising out of your
+  unfamiliarity with your subjects. The present manuscripts
+  bear the best testimony that you have been gathering your
+  material at first hand. We have the feeling, as we read, that
+  every sentence flows straight from the heart.
+
+  "Now we want just such vivid, gripping, red-blooded cross-sections
+  of life as these, your two latest accomplishments; in fact, we
+  can't get enough of them. Therefore, instead of making you a cash
+  offer for these two stories, we suggest that you first call at
+  our office at your earliest convenience. If agreeable, we should
+  like to arrange for a series of Western stories and articles, the
+  evolving of which should keep you engaged for some time to come.
+
+                                                     "Cordially,
+                                                        "------"
+
+The hands of the two friends clasped across the table. No word
+disturbed the silence until the forgotten waiter broke in impatiently:
+
+"Yo' o'der, sahs?"
+
+"Champagne"--this time it was Calmar Bye who gave it--"a quart. And
+be lively about it, too."
+
+"Well, well!" Bob Wilson's admiration burst forth. "It is worth a
+whole herd of steers."
+
+
+
+
+THE STUFF OF HEROES
+
+
+Springtime on the prairies of South Dakota. It is early morning,
+the sun is not yet up, but all is light and even and soft and
+all-surrounding, so that there are no shadows. In every direction
+the gently rolling country is dotted brown and white from the
+incomplete melting of winter's snows. In the low places tiny
+streams of snow-water, melted yesterday, sing low under the
+lattice-work blanket the frost has built in the night. Nearby and in
+the distance prairie-chickens are calling, lonely, uncertain. Wild
+ducks in confused masses, mere specks in the distance, follow low
+over the winding curves of the river. High overhead, flocks of geese
+in regular black wedges, and brant, are flying northward, and the
+breezy sound of flapping wings and of voices calling, mingle in the
+sweetest of all music to those who know the prairies--Nature's
+morning song of springtime.
+
+"What a country! Look there!" The big man in the front seat of the
+rough, low wagon pointed east where the sun rose slowly from the lap
+of the prairie. The other men cleared their throats as if to speak,
+but said nothing.
+
+"And I've lived sixty years without knowing," continued the first
+voice, musingly.
+
+"I've never been West before, either," admitted De Young, simply.
+
+They drove on, the trickling of snow-water sounding around the wagon
+wheels.
+
+The third man, Clark, pointed back in the direction they had come.
+
+"Did any one back there inquire what we were doing?" he asked.
+
+"A fellow 'lowed,' with a rising inflection, that we were hunting
+ducks," said De Young. "I temporized; made him forget that I hadn't
+answered. You know what will happen once the curiosity of the natives
+is aroused."
+
+"I wasn't approached," Morris joined in, without turning. The corners
+of the big man's mouth twitched, as the suggested picture formed
+swiftly in his mind.
+
+After a pause, De Young spoke again.
+
+"I gave the postmaster a specially good tip to see that we got our
+mail out promptly."
+
+"So did I," Clark admitted.
+
+The face of the serious man lighted; and, their eyes meeting, the
+three friends smiled all together.
+
+The sun rose higher, without a breath of wind from over the prairies,
+and one after another the men removed their top-coats. The horses'
+hoofs splashed at each step in slush and running water, sending drops
+against the dashboard with a sound like rain.
+
+The trail which they were following could now scarcely be seen, except
+at intervals on higher ground, where hoof-prints and the tracks of
+wheels were scored in the soft mud, and with each mile these marks
+grew deeper and broader as the partly frozen earth softened.
+
+The air of solemnity which had hung about the men for days, and which
+lifted from time to time only temporarily, now silenced them again.
+Indeed, had there been anybody present to observe, he doubtless would
+have been impressed most of all with the unwonted soberness of the
+wagon's occupants, a gravity strangely at variance with the rampant,
+fecund season.
+
+And the object of their journeying into this unknown world was in all
+truth a matter for silence rather than speech; its influence was
+toward deep and earnest meditation, to which the joyous, awakening
+world could do no more than chant in a minor key a melancholy
+accompaniment. Never did a soldier advancing upon a breach in the
+enemy's breastworks more certainly confront the grinning face of
+Death, than did this trio in their progress across the singing
+prairie; but where the plaudits of the world spelled glory for the
+one, the three in the wagon knew that for them Death meant oblivion,
+extinction, a blotting out that must needs be utter and inevitable.
+
+The thoughts of each dwelt upon some aspect of two scenes which had
+happened only a brief fortnight previously. There had been a notable
+convention of physicians in a city many miles to the east. One
+delegate, a man young, slender, firm of jaw, his face shining with
+zeal and the spirit which courts self-immolation, had addressed the
+body. His speech had made a profound impression--after its first
+effect of sensation had subsided--upon the hundreds gathered there,
+who hearkened amazedly; but of those hundreds only two had been moved
+to lay aside the tools of their calling and follow him.
+
+And whither was he leading them? Into the Outer Darkness, each firmly
+believed. For them the future was spelled _nihil_; for the world,
+salvation--perhaps.
+
+The inspired voice still rang in memory.
+
+"Gentlemen, I repeat, it is a challenge.... The flag of the enemy is
+hung up boldly, flauntingly, in every public place.... Are we to
+permit this? Are we to sit idle and acknowledge ourselves beaten in
+the great struggle against Death? No, no, no! The Nation--yea, the
+whole civilized world--shrinks and shudders in terror before the sound
+of one dread word--_tuberculosis_!
+
+"Our professional honor--our personal honor as well, gentlemen--is at
+stake. A solemn charge is laid upon us.... We must die if need be;
+but we must conquer this monstrous scourge, which is the single cause
+of more than one death in every ten."
+
+And then, the deep silence which had marked the closing words:
+
+"Gentlemen, I can cure consumption," came the simple declaration. "If
+there are those among you who value Science more than gain; who are
+willing to dare with me, willing to pay the extreme price, if
+necessary--if there are any such among you, and I believe there are,
+meet with me in my rooms this evening."
+
+To the eight who accepted that invitation, Dr. De Young disclosed the
+details of his Great Experiment. It included, among many other things
+which no one but a physician can appreciate, the lending of their
+bodies to the Experiment's exemplification. Of the eight, two had
+agreed to follow him to the end. Each of the three had placed his
+house in order, and here they were, nearing that end, whatever it was
+to be.
+
+An hour passed, and now ahead in the distance a rough shanty came into
+view. It was the only house in sight, and the three men knew it was
+to be theirs. In silence they drew up where the men were unpacking
+their goods.
+
+"Good morning for ducks--saw a big flock of mallards back here in a
+pond," observed the man who took their team.
+
+The three doctors alighted without answering, and watching them, the
+man stroked a stubby red whisker in meditation.
+
+"Lord, they're a frost!" he commented.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Night had come, and the stars shone early from a sky yet light and
+warm. In the low places the waters sang louder than before, with the
+increase of a day's thawing. Looking away, the white spots were
+smaller and the brown patches larger; otherwise, all was the same, the
+prairie of yesterday, of to-day, and to-morrow.
+
+Tired with a day of settling, the three men stood in the doorway and
+for the first time viewed the country at night. They were not talkers
+at best, and now the immensity of the broad prairies held them silent.
+The daily struggle of life, the activity and rivalry and ambition
+which before to-night had seemed so great to these city-bred men, here
+alone with Nature and Nature's God, where none other might see,
+assumed their true worth. The tangled web of life loosened and many
+foreign things caught and held therein, fell out. Man, introspecting,
+saw himself at his real worth, and was not proud.
+
+The absolute quiet, so unusual, made them wakeful, and though tired,
+they sat long in the doorway, smoking, thinking. Small talk seemed to
+them profanation, and of that which was uppermost in each man's mind,
+none cared first to speak. A subtle understanding, called telepathy,
+was making of their several minds a thing united.
+
+"No, not to-night, it's too beautiful," said De Young at length, and
+the protesting voice sounded to his own ears as that of a stranger.
+
+The men started at the sound, and the glowing tips of three cigars
+described partial arcs in the half light as they turned each to each.
+No one answered. They were face to face with fundamentals at last.
+
+Minutes, an hour, passed. The cigars burned out, and as the pleasant
+odor of tobacco died away, there came the chill night air of the
+prairie. The two older men rose stiffly, and with a low good-night,
+stumbled into the darkness of the shanty.
+
+De Young sat alone in the doorway. He realized that it was the supreme
+hour of his life. In his mind, memory of past and hope of future met
+on the battlefield of the present, and meeting, mingled in chaos.
+Thoughts came crowding upon each other thick--the thoughts which come
+to few more than once in life, to multitudes, never; the thoughts
+which writers in every language, during all time, have sought words to
+express, and in vain.
+
+Everywhere the snow-streams sang lower and lower. A fog, dense,
+penetrating, born of early morning, wrapped all things about, uniting
+and at the same time setting apart. Shivering, he shut the door on the
+night and the damp, and as by instinct crept into bed. Listening in
+the darkness, the sound of the sleepers soothed him. Happier thoughts
+came, thoughts which made his heart beat more swiftly and his eyes
+grow tender; for he was yet young, and love untold ever dwelleth near
+heaven. Thus he fell asleep with a smile.
+
+"Choose, please. We'll take our turns in the order of length," said De
+Young, holding up the ends of three paper strips. Each man drew, and
+in the silence that followed, without a word Morris turned away,
+preparing swiftly for the operation.
+
+"Give me chloroform," he said, stretching himself horizontally,--adding
+as the others bent over him, "Inoculate deep, please. Let's not
+waste time."
+
+Swiftly, with the precision of absolute knowledge, the two physicians
+did their work. A mist was over their eyes, so that all the room
+looked dim, as to old men; and hands which had not known a tremor for
+years, shook as they emptied the contents of the little syringe,
+teeming with tiny, unseen, living rods. Clark's forehead was damp with
+a perspiration that physical pain could not have brought, and on De
+Young's face, time marked those minutes as months.
+
+It was all done with the habit of years. The two doctors carefully
+sterilized their instruments and replaced them in cases, then,
+silently, drawn nearer together than ever before, the two friends
+watched the return of consciousness. And Morris awakening, things
+real and of dreamland still confused to his senses, heard the soft
+voice which a legion of patients had thus heard and blessed, saying
+cheerily, "Wake up! wake up, my friend!"
+
+Thus the day passed. In turn, the men, hours apart, with active
+brains, and eyes wide open, sent their challenges to Death--each man
+his own messenger.
+
+The months slipped by. Suns became torrid hot, and cooled until it
+seemed there was light but not heat on earth. Days grew longer, and in
+unison, earth waxed greener; then in descending scale, both together
+waned. Migratory wings fluttering at night, and passing voices calling
+in the darkness--most lonely sounds of earth--gave place to singers of
+the day. The robin, the meadow-lark, the ubiquitous catbird, all born
+of prairie and of summer, came and went. Blackbirds in countless
+flocks followed. Again the calling of prairie-chickens was heard at
+eve and morning, and anon frost glistened in the air.
+
+At last throughout the land no sound of animal voice was heard, for
+winter bound all things firm and white. Another cycle was complete;
+yet, almost ere the record could be made, there appeared, moving far
+in the distance, a black triangle. Passing swiftly, with the sound of
+wings and calling voices, there sprang anew in all things animate a
+mixed feeling of gladness and unrest, which was the spirit of returned
+spring.
+
+Thus twice the cycle of the seasons passed, and again the sun of early
+spring, shining bright, set the tiny snow-streams singing. It
+glistened over the prairie on snow-drift and frost; it lit up the few
+scattered shingled roofs of settlers newly come; and shone in at the
+open door of a rough cabin we know, touching without pity the faces of
+the two men who watched its rise. Shining low, even with the prairie,
+it touched in vivid contrast an oblong mound of fresh earth, heaped up
+target distance from the cabin door.
+
+The mound had not been there long; neither snow or rain had yet
+touched it; it was still strange to the men in the doorway, who saw it
+vividly now, at time of sunrise. Though thus early, each man sat idly
+smoking, an open book reversed on the knee.
+
+De Young first broke the silence.
+
+"We must do something, or else decide to do nothing about Clark's
+mail." He shifted in his seat, looking away from the open door.
+
+"I don't know--whether--it would be kinder to tell them or not."
+
+A coughing fit shook Morris, and answering, a twitch as of pain
+tightened the corners of his companion's eyes. Minutes passed, and
+Morris sat limply in his chair, before he answered,
+
+"I thought at first we'd better write; now it seems different. Let's
+wait until we go back."
+
+Neither of the men looked at the other. They seldom did now; it
+was useless pain. Filled with the incomparable optimism of the
+consumptive, neither man realized his own condition, but marked the
+days of his friend. Morris, unbelieving, spoke of his friend's
+return; yet, growing weaker each day himself, spoke in all hope and
+conviction of his future work, recording each day his mode of
+successful treatment, despite interruptions of coughing which left
+him breathless and trembling for minutes. De Young saw, and in
+pity marvelled; yet, seeing, and as a physician knowing, he not for a
+moment applied the gauge to himself.
+
+Nature, in sportive mood, commands the Angel of Death, who with
+matchless legerdemain, keeps the mirror of illusion, unsuspected,
+before the consumptive's eyes; and, seeing, in derision the satirist
+smiles.
+
+Unavoidably acting parts, the two friends found a barrier of
+artificiality separating them, making each happier when alone. Thus
+day after day, monotonous, unchanging, went by. Not another person
+entered their door. From the little town a man at periods brought
+provisions and their mail, but the house was acquiring an uncanny
+reputation. They were not understood, and such are ever foreign. With
+the passage of time and the coming of the mound in the dooryard, the
+feeling had developed into positive fear, and travellers avoided the
+place as though warned by a scarlet placard.
+
+Morris grew weaker daily. At last the disillusionment that precedes
+death came to him. The artificial slipped from both men and a
+nearness like that of brothers, joined them. They spoke not of the
+future but of the past. Years slipped aside and left them back in the
+midst of active, brain-satisfying practice. Over again they performed
+operations, where life and death were separated but by a hair's width.
+Again, with eyes that brightened and breath that came more quickly,
+they lived their successes, and hand in hand, as children in the dark,
+told of their failures, and the tale was long, for they were but men.
+
+The end came quietly. A hemorrhage, a big spot of blood on the cover,
+a firm hand pressure, and Morris's parting words,
+
+"Save my notes."
+
+That night De Young knew no sleep. "I must finish the work," he said,
+in lame excuse. Well he knew there could be no rest for him that
+night. He did his task thoroughly, making record of things that had
+passed, with the precision of a physician who knows a patient but as
+material.
+
+A tramp, who, unknowing, had taken shelter in an outbuilding, waking
+in the night, saw the light. Moved by curiosity, he crawled up softly
+in the darkness, and peeped in at the window. In the half light he saw
+on the bed a thin, white face motionless in the expression which even
+he knew was death; and at the table, writing rapidly with manuscript
+all about, a man whose eyes shone with the brilliancy of disease, and
+with a face as pale as the face on the pillow. In the blank,
+unreasoning terror of superstition, he fled until Nature rebelled and
+would carry him no farther. Next day to all he saw, he told the tale
+of supernatural things which lingers yet around a prairie ruin, in
+whose dooryard are mounds built of man.
+
+The mail carrier calling next day saw a man with spots of scarlet
+heightening the contrast of a face pale as death, digging in the
+dooryard. The man worked slowly, for he coughed often and must rest.
+In kindness the carrier offered help, but was refused with words that
+brought to the listener's eyes a moisture unknown since boyhood, and
+the thought of which in days that followed, kept him silent concerning
+what he had seen.
+
+Summer, with the breath of warm life and the odor of growing things;
+with days made dreamy and thoughtful by the purring of the soft wind
+and the droning of insects; and nights when all was good; with stars
+above and crickets singing below--summer had come and was passing.
+
+De Young could no longer deceive himself. The personal faith that had
+upheld him so long--when friends had failed--could fight the
+inevitable no longer. With eyes wide open, he saw at last clearly,
+and, seeing, realized the end. He cared not for death; he was too
+strong for that; but it must needs be that, now, with the shadow of
+defeat lying dark over the future, the problem of motive, the great
+"why," should come uppermost in his mind demanding an answer.
+
+Once before, at the time when other men read from their lives, he
+caught glimpses of something beyond. Now again the mood returned, and
+he knew why he was as he was; that with him love was, and had been,
+stronger than Science and all else beside. He knew that whatever he
+might have done, the entering into his life of The Woman, and the
+knowledge that followed her coming, had inspired the supreme motive
+that thenceforth drove him forward. With this realization came a new
+life, a happier and a sadder life, in which all things underwent
+readjustment.
+
+Regret came as sadness, regret that he had not told this woman
+all; that in his blind confidence he had not written, but had
+waited--waited for this. He would wait no longer. He would tell
+her now. A thousand new thoughts came to his mind; a thousand new
+feelings surged over him as a flood, and he poured them out on paper.
+The man himself, not the physician, was unfolded for the first time in
+his life, and the writing of that letter which told all, his life,
+his love, that ended with a good-bye which was forever, was the
+sweetest labor of his life. He sealed the letter and sat for hours
+looking at it, dreaming.
+
+It was summer and the nights were short, so that with the writing and
+the dreams, morning had come. He could scarce wait that day for the
+carrier; time to him had become suddenly a thing most precious; and
+when at last the man appeared. De Young twice exacted the promise
+that the letter should be mailed special delivery.
+
+The reaction was on and all the world was dark. Fool that he was, two
+years had passed since he had heard from her. She also was a
+consumptive; might not--?
+
+The very thought was torture; perspiration started at every pore, and
+with the little strength that was left he paced up and down the room
+like a caged animal. A fit of coughing, such as he had never known
+before, seized him, and he dropped full length upon the bed.
+
+The limit was reached; he slept.
+
+As he had worked one night before to forget, so he spent the following
+days. It was the end, and he knew it; but he no longer cared. His
+future was centred on one event--the coming of a letter. Beyond that
+all was shadow, and he cared not to explore. He worked all that Nature
+would allow, carrying to completion his observations, admitting his
+mistake with a candor which now caused no personal pain. He spent much
+time at his journal, writing needless things: his actions, his very
+thoughts,--things which could not have been wrung from him before;
+but he was lonely and desperate. He must not think--'t was madness. So
+he wrote and wrote and wrote.
+
+He watched for the carrier all the daylight hours. His mail was light,
+and the coming infrequent. There had been time for an answer, and the
+watcher could no longer compose himself to write. All day he sat in
+the doorway, looking across the two mounds, down the road whence the
+carrier would come.
+
+And at last he came. Far down the road toward town one morning a
+familiar moving figure grew distinct. De Young watched as though
+fascinated. He wanted to shout, to laugh, to cry. With an effort that
+sent his finger nails deep into his palms, he kept quiet, waiting.
+
+A letter was in the carrier's hand. Struck by the look on De Young's
+face, the postman did not turn, but stood near by watching. The exile,
+once the immovable, seized the missive feverishly, then paused to
+examine. It was a man's writing he held, and he winced as at a blow,
+but with a hand that was nerved too high to tremble, he tore open the
+envelope. He read the few words, and read again; then in a motion of
+weariness and hopelessness indescribable, hands and paper dropped.
+
+"My God! And she never knew," he whispered.
+
+When next the carrier came, he shaped the third mound.
+
+
+
+
+ARCADIA IN AVERNUS
+
+
+                  "_For they have sown the wind, and
+                   they shall reap the whirlwind._"
+
+
+CHAPTER I--PRELUDE
+
+
+Silence, the silence of double doors and of padded walls was upon the
+private room of the down-town office. Across the littered, ink-stained
+desk a man and a woman faced each other. Threads of gray lightened the
+hair of each. Faint lines, delicate as pencillings, marked the
+forehead of the woman and radiated from the angles of her eyes. A deep
+fissure unequally separated the brows of the man, and on his shaven
+face another furrow added firmness to the mouth. Their eyes met
+squarely, without a motion from faces imperturbable in middle age and
+knowledge of life.
+
+The man broke silence slowly.
+
+"You mean," he hesitated, "what that would seem to mean?"
+
+"Why not?" A shade of resentment was in the answering voice.
+
+"But you're a woman--"
+
+"Well--"
+
+"And married--"
+
+The note of resentment became positive. "What difference does that
+make?"
+
+"It ought to." The man spoke almost mechanically. "You took oath
+before man and higher than man--"
+
+The woman interrupted him shortly.
+
+"Another took oath with me and broke it." She leaned gracefully
+forward in the big chair until their eyes met. "I'm no longer bound."
+
+"But I--"
+
+"I love you!" she interjected.
+
+The man's eyebrows lifted.
+
+"Love?" he inflected.
+
+"Yes, love. What is love but good friendship--and sex?"
+
+The man was silent.
+
+A strong white hand slid under the woman's chin and her elbow met the
+desk.
+
+"I meant what you thought," she completed slowly.
+
+"But I cannot--"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It destroys all my ideas of things. Your promise to another--"
+
+"I say he's broken his promise to me."
+
+"But your being a woman--"
+
+"Why do you expect more of me because I'm a woman? Haven't I feelings,
+rights, as well as you who are a man?" She waited until he looked up.
+"I ask you again, won't you come?"
+
+The man arose and walked slowly back and forth across the narrow room.
+At length he stopped by her chair.
+
+"I cannot."
+
+In swift motion his companion stood up facing him.
+
+"Don't you wish to?" she challenged.
+
+The hand of the man dropped in outward motion of deprecation.
+
+"The question is useless. I'm human."
+
+"Why shouldn't we do what pleases us, then?" The voice was insistent.
+"What is life for if not for pleasure?"
+
+"Would it be pleasure, though? Wouldn't the future hold for us more
+of pain than of pleasure?"
+
+"No, never." The words came with a slowness that meant finality. "Why
+need to-morrow or a year from now be different from to-day unless we
+make it so?"
+
+"But it would change unconsciously. We'd think and hate ourselves."
+
+"For what reason? Isn't it Nature that attracts us to each other and
+can Nature be wrong?"
+
+"We can't always depend upon Nature," commented the man absently.
+
+"That's an artificial argument, and you know it." A reprimand was in
+her voice. "If you can't depend upon Nature to tell you what is right,
+what other authority can you consult?"
+
+"But Nature has been perverted," he evaded.
+
+"Isn't it possible your judgment instead is at fault?"
+
+"It can't be at fault, here." The voice was neutral as before.
+"Something tells us both it would be wrong--to do--as we want to
+do."
+
+Once more they sat down facing each other, the desk between them as at
+first.
+
+"Artificial convention, I tell you again." In motion graceful as
+nature the woman extended her hand, palm upward, on the polished desk
+top. "How could we be other than right? What do we mean by right,
+anyway? Is there any judge higher than our individual selves, and
+don't they tell us pleasure is the chief aim of life and as such must
+be right?"
+
+The muscles at the angle of the man's jaw tightened involuntarily.
+
+"But pleasure is not the chief end of life."
+
+"What is, then?"
+
+"Development--evolution."
+
+"Evolution to what?" she insisted.
+
+"That we cannot answer as yet. Future generations must and will give
+answer."
+
+"It's for this then that you deny yourself?" A shade almost of
+contempt was in the questioning voice.
+
+The taunt brought no change of expression to the man's face.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The woman walked over to a bookcase, and, drawing out a volume,
+turned the pages absently. Without reading a word, she came back and
+looked the man squarely in the face.
+
+"Will denying yourself help the world to evolve?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"How?"
+
+"My determination makes me a positive force. It is my Karma for good,
+that makes my child stronger to do things."
+
+"But you have no child,"--swiftly.
+
+Their eyes met again without faltering.
+
+"I shall have--sometime."
+
+Silence fell upon them.
+
+"Where were you a century ago?" digressed the woman.
+
+"I wasn't born."
+
+"Where will your child be a hundred years from now?"
+
+"Dead likewise, probably; but the force for good, the Karma of the
+life, will be passed on and remain in the world."
+
+Unconsciously they both rose to their feet.
+
+"Was man always on the earth?" she asked.
+
+The question was answered almost before spoken.
+
+"No."
+
+"Will he always be here?"
+
+"Science says 'no.'"
+
+The woman came a step forward until they almost touched.
+
+"What then becomes of your life of denial?" she challenged.
+
+"You make it hard for me," said the man, simply.
+
+"But am I not right?" She came toward him passionately. "I come near
+you, and you start." She laid her hand on his. "I touch you, and your
+eyes grow warm. Both our hearts beat more quickly. Look at the
+sunshine! It's brighter when we're so close together. What of life?
+It's soon gone--and then? What of convention that says 'no'? It's but
+a farce that gives the same thing we ask--at the price of a few words
+of mummery. Our strongest instincts of nature call for each other. Why
+shouldn't we obey them when we wish?" She hesitated, and her voice
+became tender. "We would be very happy together. Won't you come?"
+
+The man broke away almost roughly.
+
+"Don't you know," he demanded, "it's madness for us to be talking like
+this? We'll be taking it seriously, and then--"
+
+The woman made a swift gesture of protest.
+
+"Don't. Let's be honest--with each other, at least. I'm tired of
+pretending to be other than I am. Why did you say 'being true to my
+husband'? You know it's mockery. Is it being true to live with a man I
+hate because man's law demands it, rather than true to you whom
+Nature's law sanctions? Don't speak to me of society's right and
+wrong! I despise it. There is no other tribunal than Nature, and
+Nature says 'Come.'"
+
+The man sat down slowly and dropped his head wearily into his hands.
+
+"I say again, I cannot. I respect you too much. We're intoxicated now
+being together. In an hour, after we're separate--"
+
+She broke in on him passionately.
+
+"Do you think a woman says what I have said on the spur of the moment?
+Do you think I merely happened to see you to-day, merely happened to
+say what I've said? You know better. This has been coming for months.
+I fought it hard at first; with convention, with your idea of right
+and wrong. Now I laugh at them both. Life is life, and short, and
+beyond is darkness. Think what atoms we are; and we struggle so hard.
+Our life that seems to us so short--and so long! A thousand, perhaps
+ten thousand such, end to end, and we have the life of a world. And
+what is that? A cycle! A thing self-created, self-destructive: then of
+human life--nothingness. Oh, it's humorous! Our life, a ten thousandth
+part of that nothingness; and so full of tiny--great struggles and
+worries!" She was silent a moment, her throat trembling, a multitude
+of expressions shifting swiftly on her face.
+
+"Do you believe in God?" she questioned suddenly.
+
+"I hardly know. There must be--"
+
+"Don't you suppose, then, He's laughing at us now?" She hesitated
+again and then went on, almost unconsciously. "I had a dream a few
+nights ago." The voice was low and very soft. "It seemed I was alone
+in a desert place, and partial darkness was about me. I was conscious
+only of listening and wondering, for out of the shadow came sounds of
+human suffering. I waited with my heart beating strangely. Gradually
+the voices grew louder, until I caught the meaning of occasional words
+and distinctly saw coming toward me the figure of a man and a woman
+bearing a great burden, a load so great that both together bent
+beneath the weight and sweat stood thick upon their brows. The edges
+of the burden were very sharp so that the hands of the man and the
+woman bled from the wounds and their shoulders were torn grievously
+where the load had shifted: those of the woman more than the man, for
+she bore more of the weight. I marvelled at the sight.
+
+"Suddenly an intense brightness fell about me and I saw, near and
+afar, other figures each bearing similar burdens. The light passed
+away, and I drew near the man and questioned him.
+
+"'What rough load is that you carry?' I asked.
+
+"'The burden of conventionality,' answered the man, wearily and with a
+note of surprise in his voice.
+
+"'Why do you bear it needlessly?' I remonstrated.
+
+"'We dare not drop it,' said the woman, hopelessly, 'lest that light,
+which is the searchlight of public opinion, return, showing us
+different from the others.'
+
+"Even as she spoke the illumination again fell upon us, and by its
+brightness I saw a drop of blood gather slowly from the wounds on the
+woman's hand and fall into the dust at her feet."
+
+A silence fell upon the inmates of the tiny muffled office.
+
+"But the burden isn't useless," said the man, gently. "The condemnation
+of society is an hourly reality. From the patronage of others we live.
+The sun burns us, but we submit, for in return it gives life."
+
+The woman arose with an abrupt movement, and looked down at him
+coldly.
+
+"Are you a man, and use those arguments?" An expression akin to
+contempt formed about her mouth. "Are you afraid of a united voice the
+individuals of which you despise?"
+
+The first hint of restrained passion was in the answering voice.
+
+"You taunt me in safety, for you know I love you." He looked up at her
+unhesitatingly. "Man's law is artificial, that I know; but it's made
+for conditions which are artificial, and for such it's right. Were we
+as in the beginning, Nature's law, which beside the law of man is no
+law, would be right; but we're of the world as it is now. Things are
+as they are, and we must conform or pay the price." He hesitated. His
+face settled back into a mask. "And that price of non-conformity is
+too high," he completed steadily.
+
+The eyes of the woman blazed and her hands tightened convulsively.
+
+"Oh, you're frozen--fossilized, man! I called you man! You're not a
+man at all, but a nineteenth century machine! You're run like a motor,
+from a power house; by the force of conventional thought, over wires
+of red tape. Fie on you! I thought to meet a human being, not a
+lifeless thing." She looked at him steadily, her chin in the air, a
+world of scorn in her face. "Go on sweating beneath the useless load!
+Go on building your structure of artificiality that ends centuries
+from now in nothingness! Here's happiness to you in your empty life of
+self-effacement, with your machine prompted acts, years considered!"
+Without looking at him, one hand made scornful motion of dismissal.
+"Good-bye, ghost of man; I wash my hands of you."
+
+"Wait, Eleanor!" The man sprang to his feet, the mask lifting from his
+face, and there stood revealed a multitude of emotions, unseen of the
+world, that flashed from the depths of his brown eyes and quivered in
+the angles of his mouth. He came quickly over and took her hand
+between his own.
+
+"I'm proud of you,"--a world of tenderness was in his voice--"unspeakably
+proud--for I love you. I've done my best to keep us apart, yet all the
+time I believed with you. Nature is higher than man, and no power on
+earth can prove it otherwise." He looked into the softest of brown
+eyes, and his voice trembled. "Beside you the world is nothing. Its
+approval or its condemnation are things to be laughed at. With you I
+challenge conventionality--society--everything." He bent over her hand
+almost reverently and touched it softly with his lips.
+
+"Farewell--until I come," he said.
+
+
+CHAPTER II--THE LEAP
+
+
+A man and a woman emerged from the dilapidated day-car as it drew up
+before the tiny, sanded station which marked the terminus of the
+railway. The man was tall, clean-shaven, quick of step and of glance.
+The woman was likewise tall, well-gloved, and, strange phenomenon at a
+country station, carried no parcels.
+
+Though easily the centre of attention, the couple were far from being
+alone. On the contrary, the car and platform fairly swarmed with
+humanity. Men mostly composed the throng that alighted--big,
+weather-stained fellows in rough jeans and denims. In the background,
+as spectators moved or lounged a sprinkling of others: thinner,
+lighter, enveloped in felt, woollen and buckskin, a fringe of heavy
+hair peeping out at their backs beneath the broad hat-brims. A few
+women were intermingled. Coarsely gowned, sun-browned, they stood;
+themselves like suns, but each the centre of a system of bleach-haired
+minor satellites. It was into this heterogeneous mass that the tall
+man elbowed his way, a neat grip in either hand; the woman following
+closely in his wake, her skirts carefully lifted.
+
+Clear of the out-flowing stream the man put down the satchels, and
+looked over the heads of the motley crowd into the still more motley
+street beyond. Two short rows of one-story buildings, distinctive by
+the brightness of new lumber on their sheltered side, bordered a
+narrow street, half clogged by the teams of visiting farmers. Not the
+faintest clue to a hostelry was visible, and the eyes of the man
+wandered back, interrupting by the way another pair of eyes frankly
+inquisitive.
+
+The curious one was short; by comparison his face was still shorter,
+and round. From his chin a tiny tuft of whiskers protruded, like the
+handle of a gourd. Never was countenance more unmistakably labelled
+good-humored, Americanized German.
+
+The eyes of the tall man stopped.
+
+"Is there a hotel in this"--he groped for a classification--"this
+city?" he asked.
+
+A rattling sound, startlingly akin to the agitated contents of
+over-ripe vegetables, came from somewhere in the internal mechanism of
+the small man. Inferentially, the inquiry was amusing to the
+questioned, likewise the immediately surrounding listeners who became
+suddenly silent, gazing at the stranger with the wonder of young
+calves.
+
+At length the innate spirit of courtesy in the German triumphed over
+his amusement.
+
+"Hans Becher up by the postoffice takes folks in." The inward
+commotion showed indications of resumption. "I never heard, though,
+that he called his place a hotel!"
+
+"Thank you," and the circle of silence widened.
+
+The man and the woman walked up the street. Beneath their feet the
+cottonwood sidewalk, despite its newness, was warped in agony under
+sun and storm. Big puddles of water from a recent rain stood in the
+hollows of the roadway, side by side with tufts of native grasses
+fighting bravely for life against the intruder--Man. A fresh,
+indescribable odor was in their nostrils; an odor which puzzled them
+then, but which later they learned to recognize and never forgot--the
+pungent scent of buffalo grass. A stillness, deeper than of Sabbath,
+unbelievable to urban ears, wrapped all things, and united with an
+absence of broken sky line, to produce an all-pervading sense of
+loneliness.
+
+Hans Becher did not belie his name. He was very German. Likewise the
+little woman who courtesied at his side. Ditto the choice assortment
+of inquisitive tow-heads, who stared wide-eyed from various corners.
+He shook hands at the door with each of his guests,--which action also
+was unmistakably German.
+
+"You would in my house--put up, you call it?" he inquired in labored
+English, while the little woman polished two speckless chairs with her
+apron, and with instinctive photographic art placed them stiffly side
+by side for the visitors.
+
+"Yes, we'd like to stay with you for a time," corroborated the tall
+man.
+
+The little German ran his fingers uncertainly through his hair for a
+moment; then his round face beamed.
+
+"We should then become to each other known. Is it not so?" Without
+pausing for an answer, he put out a big hand to each in turn. "I am
+Hans Becher, and this"--with elaborate indications--"this my wife
+is--Minna."
+
+Minna courtesied dutifully, lower than before. The little Bechers were
+not classified, but their connection was apparent. They calmly sucked
+their thumbs.
+
+The lords of creation obviously held the rostrum. It was the tall man
+who responded.
+
+"My name is Maurice, Ichabod Maurice." He looked at the woman, his
+companion, from the corner of his eye. "Allow me, Camilla, to present
+Mr. Becher." Then turning to his hosts, "Camilla Maurice: Mr. and Mrs.
+Becher."
+
+The tall lady shook hands with each.
+
+"Pleased to meet you," she said, and smiled a moment into their eyes.
+Thus Camilla Maurice made friends.
+
+There were a few low-spoken words in German and Minna vanished.
+
+"She will dinner make ready," Hans explained.
+
+The visitors sat down in their chairs, with Hans opposite studying
+them narrowly; singly and together.
+
+"The town is very new," suggested Ichabod.
+
+"One year ago it was not." The German's short legs crossed each other
+nervously and their owner seized the opportunity to make further
+inspection. "It is very new," he repeated absently.
+
+Camilla Maurice stood up.
+
+"Might we wash, Mr. Becher?" she asked.
+
+The ultimate predicament was all at once staring the little man in the
+face.
+
+"To be sure.... I might have known.... You will a room--desire." ...
+He ran his fingers through his hair, and inspiration came. "Mr.
+Maurice," he motioned, "might I a moment with you--speak?"
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Becher."
+
+The German saw light, and fairly beamed as he sought the safe
+seclusion of the doorway.
+
+"She is your sister or cousin--_nein_?" he asked.
+
+There was the faintest suggestion of a smile in the corners of
+Ichabod's mouth.
+
+"No, she is neither my sister nor my cousin, Mr. Becher."
+
+Hans heaved a sigh of relief: it had been a close corner.
+
+"She is your wife. One must know," and he mopped his brow.
+
+"Certainly--one must know," very soberly.
+
+Alone together in the little unfinished room under the rafters, the
+woman sat down on the corner of the bed, physical discomfort forgotten
+in feminine curiosity.
+
+"Those names--where did you get them?" she queried.
+
+"They came to me--at the moment," smiled the man.
+
+"But the cold-blooded horror of them!... Ichabod!"
+
+"The glory has departed."
+
+His companion started, and the smile left the man's face.
+
+"And Camilla?"--slowly.
+
+"Attendant at a sacrifice."
+
+Of a sudden the room became very still.
+
+Ichabod, exploring, discovered a tiny wash basin and a bucket of
+water.
+
+"You wished to wash, Camilla?"
+
+The woman did not move.
+
+"They were very kind"--she looked through the window with the tiny
+panes: "have we any right to--lie to them?"
+
+"We have not lied."
+
+"Tacitly."
+
+"No. I'm Ichabod Maurice and you're Camilla Maurice. We have not
+lied."
+
+"But--"
+
+"The past is dead, dead!"
+
+The woman's face dropped into her hands. Woman ever weeps instinctively
+for the dead.
+
+"You are sorry that it is--so?" There was no bitterness in the man's
+voice, but he did not look at her, and Camilla misunderstood.
+
+"Sorry!" She came close, and a soft warm face pressed tightly against
+his face. "Sorry!" Her arms were around him. "Sorry!" again repeated.
+"No! No! No! No, without end! I'm not sorry. I'm Camilla Maurice, the
+happiest woman in the world!"
+
+Later they utilized the tin basin and the mirror with a crack across
+its centre. Dinner was waiting when they went below.
+
+To a casual observer, Hans had been very idle while they were gone. He
+sat absently on the doorstep, watching the grass that grew almost
+visibly in the warm spring sun. Occasionally he tapped his forehead
+with his finger tips. It helped him to think, and just now he sadly
+needed assistance.
+
+"Who were these people, anyway?" he wondered. Not farmers, certainly.
+Farmers did not have hands that dented when you pressed them, and
+farmers' wives did not lift their skirts daintily from behind. Hans
+had been very observant as his visitors came up the muddy street. No,
+that was not the way of farmers' wives: they took hold at the sides
+with both hands, and splashed right through on their heels.
+
+Hans pulled the yellow tuft on his chin. What could they be, then? Not
+summer boarders. It was only early spring; and, besides, although the
+little German was an optimist, even he could not imagine any one
+selecting a Dakota prairie for an outing. Yet ... No, they could not
+be summer boarders.
+
+But what then? In his intensity Hans actually forgot the grass and,
+unfailing producer of inspiration, ran his fingers frantically through
+his mane.
+
+"Ah--at last--of course!" The round face beamed and a hard hand smote
+a harder knee, joyously. That he had not remembered at once! It was
+the new banker, to be sure. He would tell Minna, quite as a matter of
+fact, for there could be no mistake. Hank Judge, the machine agent,
+and Eli Stevens, the proprietor of the corner store, had said only
+yesterday there was to be a bank. Looking up the street the little man
+spied a familiar figure, and sprang to his feet as though released by
+a spring, his hand already in the air. There was Hank Judge, now, and
+he didn't know--
+
+"Dinner, Hans," announced Minna at his elbow.
+
+Holding the child of his brain hard in both hands lest it should
+escape prematurely, the little German went inside to preside over a
+repast, the distinctively German incense of which ascended most
+appetizingly.
+
+Hans, junior, in a childish treble, spoke an honest little German
+blessing, beginning "_Mein Vater von Himmel_," and emphasized by the
+raps of Hans senior's knuckles on certain other small heads to keep
+their owners quiet.
+
+"Fresh lettuce and radishes!" commented Camilla, joyously.
+
+"Raised in our own garden _hinein_," bobbed Minna, in ecstasy.
+
+"And sauerkraut--" began Ichabod.
+
+"From cabbages so large," completed Hans, spreading his arms to
+designate an imaginary vegetable of heroic proportions.
+
+"They must have grown very fast to be so large in May," commented
+Camilla.
+
+Hans and Minna exchanged glances--pitying, superior glances--such as
+we give behind the backs of the infirm, or the very old; and the
+subject of vegetables dropped.
+
+"A great country for a bank, this," commented Mr. Becher, with
+infinite _finesse_ and between intermittent puffs at a hot potato.
+
+"Is that so?"
+
+Hans nodded violent confirmation, then words, English words, being
+valuable to him, he came quickly to the test.
+
+"You will build for the bank yourself, is it not so?"
+
+It was not the German and Minna who exchanged glances this time.
+
+"No, I shall not build for the bank myself, Mr. Becher."
+
+"You will rent, perhaps?" Hans's faith was beautiful.
+
+"No, I shall not rent."
+
+The German's face fell. To have wasted all that thought; for after all
+it was not the banker!
+
+Minna, senior, stared in surprise, and her attention being diverted,
+Minna the younger seized the opportunity to inundate herself with a
+cup of hot coffee.
+
+The spell was broken.
+
+"I'm going to take a homestead," explained Ichabod.
+
+Hans's fork paused in mid-air and his mouth forgot to close. At the
+point where the German struck, the earth was very hard.
+
+"So?" he interrogated, weakly.
+
+At this juncture the difference between the two Minnas, which had been
+transferred from the table to the kitchen, was resumed; and although
+Ichabod ate the remaining kraut to the last shred, and Camilla talked
+to Hans of the _Vaterland_ in his native German, each knew the
+occasion was a failure. An ideal had been raised, the ideal of a
+Napoleon of finance, a banker; and that ideal materializing, lo there
+stood forth a farmer! _Ach Gott von Himmel!_
+
+After dinner Hans stood in the doorway and pointed out the land-office.
+Ichabod thanked him, and under the impulse of habit felt in his
+pocket for a cigar. None was there, and all at once he remembered
+Ichabod Maurice did not smoke. Strange he should have such an
+abominable inclination to do so just then; but nevertheless the fact
+remained. Ichabod Maurice never had smoked.
+
+He started up the street.
+
+A small man, with very high boots and a very long moustache, sat
+tipped back in the sun in front of the land-office. He was telling a
+story; a good one, judging from the attention of the row of listeners.
+He grasped the chair tightly with his left hand while his right,
+holding a cob pipe, gesticulated actively. The story halted abruptly
+as Ichabod came up.
+
+"Howdy!" greeted the little man.
+
+Maurice nodded.
+
+"Don't let me interrupt you," he temporized.
+
+"Not at all," courtesied the teller of stories, as he led the way
+inside. "I've told that one until I'm tired of it, anyway." He tapped
+the ashes from his pipe-bowl, meditatively. "A fellow has to kill the
+time some way, though, you know."
+
+"Yes, I know," acquiesced Ichabod.
+
+The agent took a chair behind the battered pine desk, and pointed to
+another opposite.
+
+"Any way I can help you?" he suggested.
+
+"Yes," answered Maurice. "I'm thinking of taking a homestead."
+
+The agent looked his visitor up and down and back again; then, being
+native born, his surprise broke forth in idiom.
+
+"Well, I'm jiggered!" he avowed.
+
+It was Ichabod's turn to make observation.
+
+"I believe you; you look it," he corroborated at length.
+
+Again the little man stared; and in the silence following, a
+hungry-looking bird-dog thrust his thin muzzle in at the door, and
+sniffed.
+
+"Get out," shouted the owner at the intruder, adding in extenuation:
+"I'm busy." He certainly was "jiggered."
+
+Ichabod came to the rescue.
+
+"I called to learn how one goes at it to take a claim," he explained.
+"The _modus operandi_ isn't exactly clear in my mind."
+
+The agent braced up in his chair.
+
+"I suppose you'll say it's none of my business," he commented, "but as
+a speculation you'd do a lot better to buy up the claims of poor
+cusses who have to relinquish, than to settle yourself."
+
+"I'm not speculating. I expect to build a house, and live here."
+
+"As a friend, then, let me tell you you'll never stand it." A stubby
+thumb made motion up the narrow street. "You see this town. I won't
+say what it is--you realize for yourself; but bad as it is, it's
+advanced civilization alongside of the country. You'll have to go ten
+miles out to get any land that's not taken." He stopped and lit his
+pipe. "Do you know what it means to live alone ten miles out on the
+prairie?"
+
+"I've never lived in the country."
+
+"I'll tell you, then, what it means." He put down his pipe and looked
+out at the open door. His face changed; became softer, milder,
+younger. His voice, when he spoke, added to the impression of
+reminiscence, bearing an almost forgotten tone of years ago.
+
+"The prairie!" he apostrophized. "It means the loneliest place on
+God's earth. It means that living there, in life you bury yourself,
+your hopes, your ambitions. It means you work ever to forget the
+past--and fail. It means self, always; morning, noon, night; until the
+very solitude becomes an incubus. It means that in time you die, or,
+from being a man, become as the cattle." The speaker turned for the
+first time to the tall man before him, his big blue eyes wide open and
+round, his voice an entreaty.
+
+"Don't move into it, man. It's death and worse than death to such as
+you! You're too old to begin. One must be born to the life; must
+never have known another. Don't do it, I say."
+
+Ichabod Maurice, listening, read in that appeal, beneath the words,
+the wild, unsatisfied tale of a disappointed human life.
+
+"You are dissatisfied, lonesome--There was a time years ago
+perhaps--"
+
+"I don't know." The glow had passed and the face was old again, and
+heavy. "I remember nothing. I'm dead, dead." He drew a rough map from
+his pocket and spread it out before him.
+
+"If you'll move close, please, I'll show you the open lands."
+
+For an hour he explained homesteads, preemptions and tree claims, and
+the method of filing and proving up. At parting, Ichabod held out his
+hand.
+
+"I thank you for your advice," he said.
+
+The man behind the desk puffed stolidly.
+
+"But don't intend to follow it," he completed.
+
+Instinctively, metaphor sprang to the lips of Ichabod Maurice.
+
+"A small speck of circumstance, which is near, obliterates much that
+is in the distance." He turned toward the door. "I shall not be
+alone."
+
+The little agent smoked on in silence for some minutes, gazing
+motionless at the doorway through which Ichabod had passed out. Again
+the lean bird-dog thrust in an apologetic head, dutifully awaiting
+recognition. At length the man shook his pipe clean, and leaned back
+in soliloquy.
+
+"Man, woman, human nature; habit, solitude, the prairie." He spoke
+each word slowly, and with a shake of his head. "He's mad, mad; but I
+pity him"--a pause--"for I know."
+
+The dog whined an interruption from the doorway, and the man looked
+up.
+
+"Come in, boy," he said, in recognition.
+
+
+CHAPTER III--THE WONDER OF PRAIRIE
+
+
+Ichabod and Camilla selected their claim together. A fair day's drive
+it was from the little town; a half-mile from the nearest neighbor, a
+Norwegian, without two-score English words in his vocabulary. Level it
+was, as the surface of a lake or the plane of a railroad bed.
+
+Together, too, they chose the spot for their home. Camilla sobbed over
+the word; but she was soon dry-eyed and smiling again. Afterwards,
+side by side, they did much journeying to and from the nearest
+sawmill--each trip through a day and a night--thirty odd miles away.
+The mill was a small, primitive affair, almost lost in the straggling
+box-elders and soft maples that bordered the muddy Missouri,
+producing, amid noisy protestations, the most despisable of all lumber
+on the face of the globe--twisting, creeping, crawling cottonwood.
+
+Having the material on the spot, Ichabod built the house himself,
+after a plan never before seen of man; joint product of his and
+Camilla's brains. It took a month to complete; and in the meantime,
+each night they threw their tired bodies on the brown earth,
+indifferent to the thin canvas, which alone was spread between them
+and the stars.
+
+Too utterly weary for immediate sleep, they listened to the sounds of
+animal life--wholly unfamiliar to ears urban trained--as they stood
+out distinct by contrast with a silence otherwise absolute as the
+grave.
+
+... The sharp bark of the coyote, near or far away; soft as an echo,
+the gently cadenced tremolo of the prairie owl. To these, the mere
+opening numbers of the nightly concerts, the two exotics would listen
+wonderingly; then, of a sudden, typical, indescribable, lonely as
+death, there would boom the cry which, as often as it was repeated,
+recalled to Ichabod's mind the words of the little man in the
+land-office, "loneliest sound on earth"--the sound which, once heard,
+remains forever vivid--the night call of the prairie rooster. Even
+now, new and fascinating as it all was, at the last wailing cry the
+two occupants of the tent would reach out in the darkness until their
+hands met. Not till then would they sleep.
+
+In May, they finished and moved their few belongings into the odd
+little two-room house. True to instinct, Ichabod had built a
+fireplace, though looking in any direction until the earth met the
+sky, not a tree was visible; and Camilla had added a cozy reading
+corner, which soon developed into a sleeping corner,--out-of-door
+occupations in sun and wind being insurmountable obstacles to mental
+effort.
+
+But what matter! One straggling little folio, the local newspaper,
+made its way into the corner each week--and that was all. They had cut
+themselves off from the world, deliberately, irrevocably. It was but
+natural that they should sleep. All dead things sleep!
+
+Month after month slipped by, and the first ripple of local excitement
+and curiosity born of their advent subsided. Ichabod knew nothing of
+farming, but to learn was simple. It needed only that he watch what
+his neighbors were doing, and proceed to do likewise. He learned soon
+to hold a breaking-plough in the tough prairie sod, and to swear
+mightily when it balked at an unusually tough root. As well, he came
+to know the oily feel of flax as he scattered it by hand over the
+brown breaking. Later he learned the smell of buckwheat blossoms, and
+the delicate green coloring of sod corn, greener by contrast with its
+dark background.
+
+Nor was Camilla idle. The dresses she had brought with her, dainty
+creations of foreign make, soon gave way to domestic productions of
+gingham and print. In these, the long brown hands neatly gloved, she
+struggled with a tiny garden, becoming in ratio as passed the weeks,
+warmer, browner, and healthier.
+
+"Are you happy?" asked Ichabod, one day, observing her thus amid the
+fruits of her hands.
+
+Camilla hesitated. Catching her hand, Ichabod lifted her chin so that
+their eyes met.
+
+"Tell me, are you happy?" he repeated.
+
+Another pause, though her eyes did not falter.
+
+"Happier than I ever thought to be." She touched his sleeve tenderly.
+"But not completely so, for--" she was not looking at him now,--"for
+I love you, and--and--I'm a woman."
+
+They said no more; and though Ichabod went back to his team, it was
+not to work. For many minutes he stood motionless, a new problem of
+right and wrong throbbing in his brain.
+
+Fall came slowly, bringing the drowsy, hazy days of so-called Indian
+Summer. It was the season of threshing, and all day long to the drowse
+of the air was added, near and afar, all-pervading through the
+stillness, the sleepy hum of the separator. Typical voice of the
+prairie was that busy drone, penetrating to the ears as the ubiquitous
+odor of the buffalo grass to the nostril, again bearing resemblance in
+that, once heard, memory would reproduce the sound until recollection
+was no more.
+
+Winter followed, and they, who had thought the earth quiet before,
+found it still now indeed. Even the voice of the prairie-chicken was
+hushed; only the sharp knife-like cutting of spread wings told of a
+flock's passage at night. The level country, mottled white with
+occasional drifts, and brown from spots blown bare by the wind,
+stretched out seemingly interminable, until the line of earth and sky
+met.
+
+Idle perforce, the two exotics would stand for hours in the sunshine
+of their open doorway, shading their eyes from the glare and looking
+out, out into the distance that was as yet only a name--and that the
+borrowed name of an Indian tribe.
+
+"What a country!" Camilla would say, struck each time anew with a
+never-ending wonder.
+
+"Yes, what a country," Ichabod would echo, unconscious that he had
+repeated the same words in the same way a score of times before.
+
+In January, a blizzard settled upon them, and for two days and nights
+they took turns keeping the big kitchen stove red hot. The West knows
+no such storms, now. Man has not only changed the face of the earth,
+but, in so doing, has annihilated that terror of the past--the Dakota
+blizzard.
+
+In those days, though, it was very real, as Ichabod learned. He had
+prepared for winter, by hauling a huge pile of cordwood and stacking
+it, as a protection to windward, the full length of the little cabin,
+thinking the spot always accessible; but he had builded in ignorance.
+
+The snow first commenced falling in the afternoon. By the next morning
+the tiny house was buried to the window sashes. Looking out, there
+could be seen but an indistinct slanting white wall, scarcely ten feet
+away: a screen through which the sunlight filtered dimly, like the
+solemn haze of a church. The earth was not silent, now. The falling of
+the sleet and snow was as the striking of fine shot, and the sound of
+the wind a steady unceasing moan, resembling the sigh of a big dynamo
+at a distance.
+
+Slowly, inch by inch, during that day the snow crept up the window
+panes until, before the coming of darkness without, it fell within.
+Banked though they were on three sides, on the fourth side,
+unprotected, the cold penetrated bitterly,--a cold no living thing
+could withstand without shelter. Then it was that Ichabod and Camilla
+feared to sleep, and that the long vigil began.
+
+By the next morning there was no light from the windows. The snow had
+drifted level with the eaves. Ichabod stood in the narrow window
+frame, and, lowering the glass from the top, beat a hole upward with a
+pole to admit air. Through the tunnel thus formed there filtered the
+dull gray light of day: and at its end, obstructing, there stood
+revealed a slanting drab wall,--a condensed milky way.
+
+The storm was yet on, and he closed the window. To get outside for
+fuel that day was impossible, so with an axe Ichabod chopped a hole
+through the wall into the big pile, and on wood thus secured sawed
+steadily in the tiny kitchen, while the kerosene lamp at his side
+sputtered, and the fire crackled in a silence, like that surrounding a
+hunted animal in its den.
+
+Many usual events had occurred in the lives of the wandering Ichabod
+and Camilla, which had been forgotten; but the memory of that day, the
+overwhelming, incontestible knowledge of the impotency of wee,
+restless, inconsequent man, they were never to forget.
+
+"Tiny, tiny, mortal!" laughed the storm. "To think you would combat
+Nature, would defy her, the power of which I am but one of many, many
+manifestations!" And it laughed again. The two prisoners, listening,
+their ears to the tunnel, heard the sound, and felt to the full its
+biting mockery.
+
+Next day the siege was raised, and the sun smiled as only the sun can
+smile upon miles and miles of dazzling snow crystals. Ichabod climbed
+out--by way of the window route--and worked for hours with a shovel
+before he had a channel from the tiny, submerged shanty to the light
+of day beyond. Then together he and Camilla stood side by side in the
+doorway, as they had done so many times before, looking about them at
+the boundless prairie, drifted in waves of snow like the sea: the
+wonder of it all, ever new, creeping over them.
+
+"What a country!" voiced Camilla.
+
+"What a country, indeed," echoed Ichabod.
+
+"Lonely and mysterious as Death."
+
+"Yes, as Death or--Life."
+
+
+CHAPTER IV--A REVELATION
+
+
+Time, unchanging automaton, moved on until late spring. Paradox of
+nature, the warm brown tints of chilly days gave place under the heat
+of slanting suns to the cool green of summer. All at once, sudden as
+though autochthonal, there appeared meadow-larks and blackbirds: dead
+weeds or man-erected posts serving in lieu of trees as vantage points
+from which to sing. Ground squirrels whistled cheerily from newly
+broken fields and roadways. Coveys of quail, tame as barn-yard fowls,
+played about the beaten paths, and ran pattering in the dust ahead of
+each passing team. Again, from its winter's rest, lonely, uncertain as
+to distance, came the low, booming call of the prairie rooster. Nature
+had awakened, and the joy of that awakening was upon the land.
+
+Of a morning in May the faded, dust-covered day-coach drew in at the
+tiny prairie village. A little man alighted. He stood a moment on the
+platform, his hands deep in his pockets, a big black cigar between his
+teeth, and looked out over the town. The coloring of the short
+straggling street was more weather-stained than a year ago, yet still
+very new, and the newcomer smiled as he looked; a big broad smile that
+played about his lips, turning up the corners of his brown moustache,
+showing a flash of white teeth, and lighting a pair of big blue eyes
+which lay, like a woman's, beneath heavy lashes. In youth, that smile
+would have been a grin; but it was no grin now. The man was far from
+youth, and about the mouth and eyes were deep lines, which told of one
+who knew of the world.
+
+Slowly the smile disappeared, and as it faded the little man puffed
+harder at the cigar. Evidently something he particularly wished to
+explain would not become clear to his mind.
+
+"Of all places," he soliloquized, "to have chosen--this!"
+
+He started up the street, over the irregular warping sidewalk.
+
+"Hotel, sir-r?" The formula was American, the trilling r's distinctly
+German.
+
+The traveller turned at the sound, to make acquaintance with Hans
+Becher; for it was Hans Becher, very much metamorphosed from the
+retiring German of a year ago. He made the train regularly now.
+
+The small man nodded and held out his grip; together they walked up
+the street. In front of the hotel they stopped, and the stranger
+pulled out his watch.
+
+"Is there a livery here?" he asked.
+
+"Yes; at the street end--the side to the left hand."
+
+"Thanks. I'll be back with you this evening."
+
+Hans Becher stared, open-mouthed, as the man moved off.
+
+"You will not to dinner return?"
+
+The little man stopped, and smiled without apparent reason.
+
+"No. Keep the grip. I expect to lunch," again he smiled without
+provocation, "elsewhere. By the way," he added, as an afterthought,
+"can you tell me where Mr. Maurice--Ichabod Maurice--lives?"
+
+The German nodded violent confirmation of a direction indicated by his
+free hand.
+
+"Straight out, eight miles. Little house with _paint_"--strong
+emphasis on the last--"_white_ paint."
+
+"Thanks."
+
+Hans saw the escape of an opportunity.
+
+"They are friends of yours, perhaps?"--he grasped at it.
+
+The little man did not turn, but the smile that seemed almost a habit,
+sprang to his face.
+
+"Yes, they're--friends of mine," he corroborated.
+
+Hans, personification of knowledge, stood bobbing on the doorstep,
+until the trail of smoke vanished from sight, then brought the satchel
+inside and set it down hard.
+
+"Her brother has come," he announced to the wide-eyed Minna.
+
+"_Wessen Bruder?_" Minna was obviously excited, as attested by the
+lapse from English.
+
+"Are we not now Americans naturalized?" rebuked Hans, icily. Suddenly
+he thawed. "Whose brother! The brother of Camilla Maurice, to be
+sure."
+
+Minna scrutinized the bag, curiously.
+
+"Did he so--inform you?" she questioned unadvisedly.
+
+"It was not necessary. I have eyes."
+
+Offended masculine dignity clumped noisily toward the door;
+instinctive feminine diplomacy sprang to the rescue.
+
+"You are so wise, Hans!"
+
+And Peace, sweet Peace, returned to the household of Becher.
+
+Meanwhile the little man had secured a buggy, and was jogging out into
+the country. He drove very leisurely, looking about him curiously. Of
+a sudden he threw down his cigar, and sniffed at the air.
+
+"Buffalo grass, I'll wager! I've heard of it," and in the instinctive
+action of every newcomer he sniffed again.
+
+Camilla Maurice sat in front of her tiny house, the late morning sun
+warm about her; one hand supported a book, slanted carefully to avoid
+the light, the other held the crank of a barrel-churn. As she read,
+she turned steadily, the monotonous _chug!_ _chug!_ of the tumbling
+cream drowning all other sounds.
+
+Suddenly the shadow of a horse passed her and a rough livery buggy
+stopped at her side. She looked up. Instinctively her hand dropped the
+crank, and her face turned white; then equally involuntarily she
+returned to her work, and the _chug!_ _chug!_ continued.
+
+"Does Ichabod Maurice," drawling emphasis on the name, "live here?"
+asked a voice.
+
+"He does." Camilla's chin was trembling; her answer halted abruptly.
+
+The man looked down at her, genuine amusement depicted upon his face.
+
+"Won't you please stop your work for a moment, Camilla?"
+
+With the name, one hand made swift movement of deprecation. "Pardon if
+I mistake, but I take it you're Camilla Maurice?"
+
+"Yes, I'm Camilla Maurice."
+
+"Quite so! You see, Ichabod and I were old chums together in
+college--all that sort of thing; consequently I've always wanted to
+meet--"
+
+The woman stood up. Her face still was very white, but her chin did
+not tremble now.
+
+"Let's stop this farce," she insisted. "What is it you wish?"
+
+The man in the buggy again made a motion of deprecation.
+
+"I was just about to say, that happening to be in town, and
+incidentally hearing the name, I wondered if it were possible.... But,
+pardon, I haven't introduced myself. Allow me--" and he bowed
+elaborately. "Arnold, Asa Arnold.... You've heard Ichabod mention my
+name, perhaps?"
+
+The woman held up her hand.
+
+"Again I ask, what do you wish?"
+
+"Since you insist, first of all I'd like to speak a moment with
+Ichabod." His face changed suddenly. "For Heaven's sake, Eleanor, if
+he must alter his name, why did he choose such a barbaric substitute
+as Ichabod?"
+
+"Were he here"--evenly--"he'd doubtless explain that himself."
+
+"He's not here, then?" No banter in the voice now.
+
+"Never fear"--quickly--"he'll return."
+
+A moment they looked into each other's eyes; challengingly, as they
+had looked unnumbered times before.
+
+"As you suggest, Eleanor," said the man, slowly, "this farce has gone
+far enough. Where may I tie this horse? I wish to speak with you."
+
+Camilla pointed to a post, and silently went toward the house. Soon
+the man followed her, stopping a moment to take a final puff at his
+cigar before throwing it away.
+
+Within the tiny kitchen they sat opposite, a narrow band of warm
+spring sunshine creeping in at the open door separating them. The
+woman looked out over the broad prairie, her color a trifle higher
+than usual, the lids of her eyes a shade nearer together--that was
+all. The man crossed his legs and waited, looking so small that he
+seemed almost boyish. In the silence, the drone of feeding poultry
+came from the back-yard, and the sleepy breathing of the big collie on
+the steps sounded plainly through the room.
+
+A minute passed. Neither spoke. Then, with a shade of annoyance, the
+man shifted in his chair.
+
+"I thought, perhaps, you'd have something you wished to say. If not,
+however--" He paused meaningly.
+
+"You said a moment ago, you wished to speak to _me_."
+
+"As usual, you make everything as difficult as possible." The shade of
+annoyance became positive. "Such being the case, we may as well come
+to the point. How soon do you contemplate bringing this--this incident
+to a close?"
+
+"The answer to that question concerns me alone."
+
+An ordinary man would have laughed; but Asa Arnold was not an ordinary
+man--not at this time.
+
+"As your husband, I can't agree with you."
+
+Camilla Maurice took up his words, quickly.
+
+"You mistake. You're the husband of Eleanor Owen. I'm not she."
+
+The man went on calmly, as though there had been no interruption.
+
+"I don't want to be hard on you, Eleanor. I don't think I have been
+hard on you. A year has passed, and I've known you were here from the
+first day. But this sort of thing can't go on indefinitely; there's a
+limit, even to good nature. I ask you again, when are you coming
+back?"
+
+The woman looked at her companion, for the first time steadily. Even
+she, who knew him so well, felt a shade of wonder at the man who could
+adjust all the affairs of his life in the same voice with which he
+ordered his dinner. Before, she had always thought this attitude of
+his pure affectation. Now she knew better, knew it mirrored the man
+himself. He had done this thing. Knowing her whereabouts all the time,
+he had allotted her the past year, as an employer would grant a
+holiday to an assistant. Now he asked her to return to the old life,
+as calmly as one returns in the fall to the city home after an outing!
+Only one man in the world could have done that thing, and that man was
+before her--her husband by law--Asa Arnold!
+
+The wonder of it all crept into her voice.
+
+"I'm not coming back, can't you understand? I'm never coming back,"
+she repeated.
+
+The man arose and stood in the doorway.
+
+"Don't say that," he said very quietly. "Not yet. I won't begin, now,
+after all these years to make protestations of love. The thing called
+Love we've discussed too often already, and without result. Anyway,
+that's not the point. We never pretended to be lovers, even when we
+were married. We were simply useful, very useful to each other."
+
+Camilla started to interrupt him, but, preventing, he held up his
+hand.
+
+"We talked over a certain possibility--one now a reality--before we
+were married." He caught the look upon her face. "I don't say it was
+ideal. It simply _was_," he digressed slowly in answer, then hurried
+on: "That was only five years ago, Eleanor, and we were far from
+young." He looked at her, searchingly. "You've not forgotten the
+contract we drew up, that stood above the marriage obligation, above
+everything, supreme law for you and me?" Instinctively his hand went
+to an inner pocket, where the rustle of a paper answered his touch.
+"Remember; it's not a favor I ask of you, but the fulfilment of your
+own word. Think a moment before you say you'll never return."
+
+Camilla Maurice found an answer very difficult. Had he been angry, or
+abusive, it would have been easy; but as it was--
+
+"You overlook the fact of change. A lifetime isn't required for
+that."
+
+"I overlook nothing." The man went back to his chair. "You remember,
+as well as I, that we considered the problem of change--and laughed at
+it. I repeat, we're no longer in swaddling clothes."
+
+"Be that as it may, I tell you the whole world looks different to me
+now." The speaker struggled bravely, but the ghastliness of such a
+discussion wore on her nerves, and her face twitched. "No power on
+earth could make me keep that contract since I've changed."
+
+The suggestion of a smile played about the man's mouth.
+
+"You've succeeded, perhaps, in finding that for which we searched so
+long in vain, an æsthetic, non-corporeal love?"
+
+"I refuse to answer a question which was intended as an insult."
+
+The words out of her mouth, the woman regretted them.
+
+"Though quick yourself to take offence, you seem at no great pains to
+avoid giving affront to another." The man voiced the reprimand
+without the twitch of an eyelid, and finished with another question:
+"Have you any reason for doing as you've done, other than the one you
+gave?"
+
+"Reason! Reason!" Camilla Maurice stared again. "Isn't it reason
+enough that I love him, and don't love you? Isn't it sufficient reason
+to one who has lived until middle life in darkness that a ray of light
+is in sight? Of all people in the world, you're the one who should
+understand the reason best!"
+
+"Would any of those arguments be sufficient to break another
+contract?"
+
+"No, but one I didn't mention would. Even when I lived with you, I was
+of no more importance than a half-dozen other women."
+
+"You didn't protest at time of the agreement. You knew then my belief
+and," Arnold paused meaningly, "your own."
+
+A memory of the past came to the woman; the dark, lonely past, which,
+even yet, after so many years, came to her like a nightmare; the time
+when she was a stranger in a strange town, without joy of past or hope
+of future; most lonely being on God's earth, a woman with an
+ambition--and without friends.
+
+"I was mad--I see it now--lonely mad. I met you. Our work was alike,
+and we were very useful to each other." One white hand made motion of
+repugnance at the thought. "I was mad, I say."
+
+"Is that your excuse for ignoring a solemn obligation?" Arnold looked
+her through. "Is that your excuse for leaving me for another, without
+a word of explanation, or even the conventional form of a divorce?"
+
+"It was just that explanation--this--I wished to avoid. It's hard for
+us both, and useless."
+
+"Useless!" The man quickly picked up the word. "Useless! I don't like
+the suggestion of that word. It hints of death, and old age, and
+hateful things. It has no place with the living."
+
+He drew a paper from his pocket, slowly, and spread it on his knee.
+
+"Pardon me for again recalling past history, Eleanor; but to use
+a word that is dead!... You must have forgotten--" The writing,
+a dainty, feminine hand, was turned toward her, tauntingly,
+compellingly.
+
+The man waited for some response; but Camilla Maurice was silent. That
+bit of paper, the shadow of a seemingly impossible past, made her, for
+the time, question her identity, almost doubt it.
+
+Five years ago, almost to the day, high up in a city building, in a
+dainty little room, half office, half _atelier_, a man and a woman had
+copied an agreement, each for the other, and had sworn an oath ever to
+remain true to that solemn bond.... She had brought nothing to him,
+but herself; not even affection. He, on the other hand, had saved her
+from a life of drudgery by elevating her to a position where, free of
+the necessity of struggling for a bare existence, she might hope to
+consummate the fruition of at least a part of her dreams. On her
+part....
+
+"_Witnesseth: The said Eleanor Owen is at liberty to follow her own
+inclinations as she may see fit; she is to remain free of any and all
+responsibilities and restrictions such as customarily attach to the
+supervision of a household, excepting as she may elect to exercise her
+wifely prerogatives; being absolutely free to pursue whatsoever
+occupation or devices she may desire or choose, the same as if she
+were yet a spinster...._
+
+"_In Consideration of Which: The said Eleanor Owen agrees never so to
+comport herself that by word or conduct will she bring ridicule....
+dishonor upon the name...._"
+
+Recollection of it all came to her with a rush; but the words ran
+together and swam in a maddening blur--the roar from the street below,
+dull with distance; the hum of the big building, with its faint
+concussions of closing doors; the air from the open window, not like
+the sweet prairie air of to-day, but heavy, smoky, typical breath of
+the town, yet pregnant with the indescribable throb of spring,
+impossible to efface or to disguise! The compelling intimacy and
+irrevocability of that memory overwhelmed her, now; a dark, evil flood
+that blotted out the sunshine of the present.
+
+The paper rustled, as the man smoothed it flat with his hand.
+
+"Shall I read?" he asked.
+
+The woman's face stood clear--cruelly clear--in the sunlight; about
+her mouth and eyes there was an expression which, from repetition, we
+have learned to associate with the circle surrounding a new-made
+grave: an expression hopelessly desperate, desperately hopeless.
+
+Of a sudden her chin trembled and her face dropped into her hands.
+
+"Read, if you wish"; and the smooth brown head, with its thread of
+gray, trembled uncontrollably.
+
+"Eleanor!" with a sudden vibration of tenderness in his voice.
+"Eleanor," he repeated.
+
+But the woman made no response.
+
+The man had taken a step forward; now he sat down again, looking
+through the open doorway at the stretch of green prairie, with the
+road, a narrow ribbon of brown, dividing it fair in the middle. In the
+distance a farmer's wagon was rumbling toward town, a trail of fine
+dust, like smoke, suspended in the air behind. It rattled past, and
+the big collie on the step woke to give furious chase in its wake,
+then returned slowly, a little conscious under the stranger's eye, to
+sleep as before. Asa Arnold sat through it all, still as one
+devitalized; an expression on his face no man had ever seen before;
+one hopeless, lonely, akin to that of the woman.
+
+"Read, if you wish," repeated Camilla, bitterly.
+
+For a long minute her companion made no motion.
+
+"It's unnecessary," he intoned at last. "You know as well as I that
+neither of us will ever forget one word it contains." He hesitated and
+his voice grew gentle. "Eleanor, you know I didn't come here to
+insult you, or to hurt you needlessly;--but I'm human. You seem to
+forget this. You brand me less than a man, and then ask of me the
+unselfishness of a God!"
+
+Camilla's white face lifted from her hands.
+
+"I ask nothing except that you leave me alone."
+
+For the first time the little man showed his teeth.
+
+"At last you mention the point I came here to arrange. Were you
+alone, rest assured I shouldn't trouble you."
+
+"You mean--"
+
+"I mean just this. I wouldn't be human if I did what you ask--if I
+condoned what you've done and are still doing." He was fairly started
+now, and words came crowding each other; reproachful, tempestuous.
+
+"Didn't you ever stop to think of the past--think what you've done,
+Eleanor?" He paused without giving her an opportunity to answer. "Let
+me tell you, then. You've broken every manner of faith between man and
+woman. If you believe in God, you've broken faith with Him as well.
+Don't think for a moment I ever had respect for marriage as a divine
+institution, but I did have respect for you, and at your wish we
+conformed. You're my wife now, by your own choosing. Don't interrupt
+me, please. I repeat, God has no more to do with ceremonial marriage
+now than he had at the time of the Old Testament and polygamy. It's a
+man-made bond, but an obligation nevertheless, and as such, at the
+foundation of all good faith between man and woman. It's this good
+faith you've broken." A look of bitterness flashed over his face.
+
+"Still, I could excuse this and release you at the asking, remaining
+your friend, your best friend as before; but to be thrown aside
+without even a 'by your leave,' and that for another man--" He
+hesitated and finished slowly:
+
+"You know me well enough, Eleanor, to realize that I'm in earnest when
+I say that while I live the man has yet to be born who can take
+something of mine away from me."
+
+Camilla gestured passionately.
+
+"In other words: while growling hard at the dog who approached your
+bone, you have no hesitation in stealing from another!" The
+accumulated bitterness of years of repression spoke in the taunt.
+
+Across the little man's face there fell an impenetrable mask, like the
+armor which dropped about an ancient ship of war before the shock of
+battle.
+
+"I'm not on trial. I've not changed my name--" he nodded significantly
+toward the view beyond the open door,--"and sought seclusion."
+
+Again the bitterness of memory prompted Camilla to speak the harshest
+words of her life.
+
+"No, you hadn't the decency. It was more pleasure to thrust your shame
+daily in my face."
+
+Arnold's color paled above the dark beard line; but the woman took no
+heed.
+
+"Why did you wait a year," continued the bitter voice, "to end
+in--this? If it must have been--why not before?"
+
+"I repeat, I'm not on trial. If you've anything to say, I'll listen."
+
+Something new in the man's face caught Camilla's attention, softened
+the tone of her voice.
+
+"I've only this to say. You've asked for an explanation and a promise;
+but I can give you neither. If there ever comes a time when I feel
+they're due you, and I'm able to comply, I'll give them both gladly."
+The absent look of the past returned to her eyes. "Even if I wished, I
+couldn't give you an explanation now. I can't make myself understand
+the contradiction. Somehow, knowing you so long, your beliefs crept
+insistently into my loneliness. It seems hideous now, but I was honest
+then. I believed them, too. I don't blame you; I only pity you. You
+were the embodiment of protest against the established, of the
+non-responsibility of the individual, of skepticism in everything.
+Your eternal 'why' covered my horizon. Every familiar thing came to
+bear a question I couldn't answer. My whole life seemed one eternal
+doubt. One thing I'd never known, and I questioned it most of all; the
+one thing I know now to be the truth,--the greatest truth in the
+world." For an instant the present crowded the past from Camilla's
+mind, but only for an instant. "Whatever I was at the time, you'd made
+me--with your deathless 'why.' When I signed the obligation of that
+day, I believed it was of my own free will; but I know now it was you
+who wrote it for both of us--you, with your perpetual interrogation. I
+don't accuse you of doing this deliberately, maliciously. We were both
+deceived; but none the less the fact remains." A shadow, almost of
+horror, passed over her face.
+
+"Time passed, and though you didn't know, I was in Hell. Reason told
+me I was right. Instinct, something, called me a drag. I tried to
+compromise, and we were married. Then, for the first time, came
+realization. We were the best of friends,--but only friends."
+
+"You wonder how I knew. I didn't tell you then. I couldn't. I could
+only feel, and that not clearly. The shadow of your 'why' was still
+dark upon me. What I vaguely felt then, though, I know now; as I
+recognize light or cold or pain." Her voice assumed the tone of one
+who speaks of mysteries; slow, vibrant. "In every woman's mind the
+maternal instinct should be uppermost; before everything, before
+God,--unashamed, inevitable. It's unmistakably the distinction of a
+good woman from a bad. The choosing of the father of her child is a
+woman's unfailing test of love."
+
+The face of the man before her dropped into his hands, but she did not
+notice.
+
+"Gropingly I felt this, and the knowledge came almost as an
+inspiration. It gave a clue to--"
+
+"Stop!" The man's eyes blazed, as he leaped from his chair. "Stop!"
+
+He took a step forward, his hand before him, his face twitching
+uncontrollably. The collie on the step awoke, and seeing his mistress
+threatened, growled ominously.
+
+"Stop, I tell you!" Arnold choked for words. This the man of "why,"
+whom nothing before could shake!
+
+Camilla paled as her companion arose, and the dog, bristling, came
+inside the room.
+
+"Get out!" blazed the man, with a threatening step, and the collie
+fled.
+
+The interruption loosed words which came tumbling forth in a torrent,
+as Arnold returned to face her.
+
+"You think I'm human, and yet tell me that to my face?" His voice was
+terrible. "You women brand men cruel! No man on earth would speak as
+you have spoken to a woman he'd lived with for four years!" The
+sentences crowded over each other, like water over a fall--his eyes
+flashing like a spray.
+
+"I told you before, I'm not on trial; that it was not my place to
+defend. I don't do so now; but since you've spoken, I'll answer your
+question. You ask why I didn't come a year ago, hinting that I wanted
+to be more cruel. God! the blindness and injustice of you women!
+Because we men don't show--Bah!... I was paying my own price. We
+weren't living by the marriage vow; it was but a farce. Our own
+contract was the vital thing, and it had said--But I won't repeat.
+God, it was bitter! But I thought you'd come back. I loved you still."
+He paused for words, breathing hard.
+
+"You say, I'll never know what love is. Blind! I've always loved you
+until this moment, when you killed my love. You say I was untrue. It's
+false. I swear it before--you, as you were once,--when you were my
+god. Had you trusted me, as I trusted you, there'd have been no
+thought of unfaithfulness in your mind."
+
+The woman sank back in the chair, her face covered, her whole body
+trembling; but Asa Arnold went on like the storm.
+
+"Yes, I was ever true to you. From the first moment we met, and
+against my own beliefs. You didn't see. You expected me to protest it
+daily: to repeat the tale as a child repeats its lesson for a comfit.
+Blind, I say, blind! You'll charge that I never told you that I loved
+you. You wouldn't have believed me, even had I done so. Besides, I
+didn't realize that you doubted, until the time when you were
+learning--" he walked jerkily across the room and took up his
+hat,--"learning the thing you threw in my face." He started to leave,
+but stopped in the doorway, without looking back. "You tell me you've
+suffered. For the first time in my life I say to another human being:
+I hope so." He turned, unsteadily, down the steps.
+
+"Wait," pleaded the woman. "Wait!"
+
+The man did not stop, or turn.
+
+Camilla Maurice sank back in the chair, weak as one sick unto death,
+her mind a throbbing, whirling chaos,--as of a patient under an
+anæsthetic. Something she knew she ought to do, intended doing, and
+could not. She groped desperately, but overwhelming, insistent, there
+had developed in her a sudden, preventing tumult--in paradox, a
+confusion in rhythm--like the beating of a great hammer on an anvil,
+only incredibly more swift than blows from human hands. Over and over
+again she repeated to herself the one word: "wait," "wait," "wait,"
+but mechanically now, without thought as to the reason. Then, all at
+once, soft, all-enfolding, kindly Nature wrapped her in darkness.
+
+She awoke with the big collie licking her hand, and a numbness of
+cramped limbs that was positive pain. A long-necked pullet was
+standing in the doorway, with her mouth open; others stood wondering,
+beyond. The sun had moved until it no longer shone in at the tiny
+south windows, and the shadow of the house had begun to lengthen.
+
+Camilla stood up in the doorway; uncertain, dazed. A great lump was on
+her forehead, which she stroked absently, without surprise at its
+presence. She looked about the yard, and, her breath coming more
+quickly, at the prairie. A broad green plain, parted by the road
+squarely in the centre, smiled at her in the sunlight. That was all.
+She stepped outside and shaded her eyes with her hand. Not a wagon nor
+a human being was in sight.
+
+Again the weakness and the blackness came stealing over her; she sank
+down on the doorstep.
+
+"O God, what have I done!" she wailed.
+
+The hens returned to their search for bugs; but the big collie stayed
+by her side, whimpering and fondling her hand.
+
+
+CHAPTER V--THE DOMINANCE OF THE EVOLVED
+
+
+The keen joy of life was warmly flooding Ichabod Maurice this
+spring day. Not life for the sake of an ambition or a duty, but
+delight in the mere animal pleasure of existence. He had risen
+early, and, a neighbor with him, they had driven forth: stars all
+about, perpendicular, horizontal, save in the reddening east, upon
+their long day's drive to the sawmill. The two teams plodded along
+steadily, their footfall muffled in the soft prairie loam; the
+earth elsewhere soundless, with a silence which even yet was a
+marvel to the city man.
+
+The majesty of it held him silent until day dawned, and with the
+coming of the sun there woke in unison the chorus of joyous animal
+life. Then Ichabod, his long legs dangling over the dashboard, lifted
+up a voice untrained as the note of a loon, and sang lustily, until
+his companion on the wagon ahead,--boy-faced, man-bodied,--grinned
+perilously.
+
+The long-visaged man was near happiness that morning,--unbelievably
+near. By nature unsocial, by habit, city inbred, artificially
+taciturn, there came with the primitive happiness of the moment
+the concomitant primitive desire for companionship. He smiled
+self-tolerantly when, obeying an instinct, he wound the lines around
+the seat, and went ahead to the man, who grinned companionably as
+he made room beside him.
+
+"God's country, this." Ichabod's hand made an all-including gesture,
+as he seated himself comfortably, his hat low over his eyes.
+
+"Yes, sir," and the grin was repeated.
+
+The tall man reflected. Sunburned, roughly dressed, unshaven as he,
+Maurice, was, this boy-man never failed the word of respect. Ichabod
+examined him curiously out of his shaded lids. Big brown hands; body
+strong as a bull; powerful shoulders; neck turned like a model; a soft
+chin under a soft, light beard; gentle blue eyes--all in all, a face
+so open that its very legibility seemed a mark. It reddened now,
+under the scrutiny.
+
+"Pardon," said Ichabod. "I was thinking how happy you are."
+
+"Yes, sir." And the face reddened again.
+
+Ichabod smiled.
+
+"When is it to be, Ole?"
+
+The big body wriggled in blissful embarrassment.
+
+"As soon as the house is built,"--confusedly.
+
+"You're building very fast, eh?"
+
+The Swede grinned confirmation. Words were of value to Ole.
+
+"I see the question was superfluous," and Ichabod likewise smiled in
+genial comradery. A moment later, however, the smile vanished.
+
+"You're very content as it is, Ole," he digressed, equivocally;
+"but--supposing--Minna were already the wife of a friend?"
+
+The Swede stared in breathless astonishment.
+
+"She isn't, though" he gasped at length in startled protest.
+
+"But supposing--"
+
+"It would be so. I couldn't help it."
+
+"You'd do nothing?" rank anarchy in the suggestion.
+
+"What would there be to do?"
+
+Ichabod temporized.
+
+"Supposing again, she loved you, and didn't love her husband?" Ole
+scratched his head, seeing very devious passages beyond. "That would
+be different," and he crossed his legs.
+
+Ichabod smiled. The world over, human nature is fashioned from one
+mould.
+
+"Supposing, once more, it's a year from now,--five years from now.
+You've married Minna, but you're not happy. She's grown to hate
+you,--to love another man?"
+
+Ole's faith was beautiful.
+
+"It's not to be thought of. It's impossible!"
+
+"But supposing," urged Ichabod.
+
+The boy-man was silent for a very long minute; then his face darkened,
+and the soft jaw grew hard.
+
+"I don't know--" he said slowly,--"I don't know, but I think I kill
+that man."
+
+Ichabod did not smile this time.
+
+"We're all much alike, Ole. I think you would."
+
+They drove on; far past the town, now; the sun high in the sky; dew
+sparkling like prisms innumerable; the prairie colorings soft as a
+rug--its varied greens of groundwork blending with the narrow line of
+fresh breaking rolling at their feet.
+
+"You were born in this country?" asked Ichabod suddenly.
+
+"In Iowa. It's much like this--only rougher."
+
+"You'll live here, always?"
+
+The Swede shook his head and the boy's face grew older.
+
+"No; some day, we're going to the city--Minna and I. We've planned."
+
+Ichabod was thoughtful a minute.
+
+"I'm a friend of yours, Ole."
+
+"A very good friend," repeated the mystified Swede.
+
+"Then, listen, and don't forget." The voice was vibrant, low, but the
+boy heard it clearly above the noise of the wagon. "Don't do it, Ole;
+in God's name, don't do it! Stay here, you'll be happy." He looked the
+open-mouthed listener deep in the eyes. "If you ever say a prayer,
+let it be the old one, even though it be an insult to a just
+God:--'Lead us not into temptation.' Avoid, as you would avoid death,
+the love of money, the fever of unrest, the desire to become greater
+than your fellows, the thirst to know and to taste all things, which
+is the spirit of the city. Live close to Nature, where all is equal
+and all is good; where sleep comes in the time of sleep, and work when
+it is day. Do that labor which comes to you at the moment, leaving
+to-morrow to Nature." He crossed his long legs, and pressed his hat
+down over his eyes. "Accept life as Nature gives it, day by day. Don't
+question, and you'll find it good." He repeated himself slowly.
+"That's the secret. Don't doubt, or question anything."
+
+In the Swede's throat there was a rattling, which presaged speech, but
+it died away.
+
+"Do you love children, Ole?" asked Ichabod, suddenly.
+
+The boy face flushed. Ole was very young.
+
+"I--" he lagged.
+
+"Of course you do. Every living human being does. It's the one good
+instinct, which even the lust of gain doesn't down. It's the tie that
+binds,--the badge of brotherhood which makes the world one." He gently
+laid his hand on the broad shoulder beside him.
+
+"Don't be ashamed to say you love children, boy, though the rest of
+the world laugh,--for they're laughing at a lie. They'll tell you the
+parental instinct is dying out with the advance of civilization; that
+the time will come when man will educate himself to his own
+extinction. It's false, I tell you, absolutely false." Ichabod had
+forgotten himself, and he rushed on, far above the head of the gaping
+Swede.
+
+"There's one instinct in the world, the instinct of parenthood,
+which advances eternal, stronger, infinitely, as man's mind grows
+stronger. So unvarying the rule that it's almost an index of
+civilization itself, advancing from a crude instinct of the
+body-base and animal--until it reaches the realm of the mind: the
+highest, the holiest of man's desires: yet stronger immeasurably, as
+with the educated, things of the mind are stronger than things of
+the body. Those who deny this are fools, or imposters,--I know not
+which. To do so is to strike at the very foundation of human
+nature,--but impotently,--for in fundamentals, human nature is
+good." Unconsciously, a smile flashed over the long face.
+
+"Talk about depopulating the earth! All the wars of primitive man were
+inadequate. The vices of civilization have likewise failed. Even man's
+mightiest weapon, legislation, couldn't stay the tide for a moment, if
+it would. While man is man, and woman is woman, that long, above
+government, religion,--life and death itself,--will reign supreme the
+eternal instinct of parenthood."
+
+Ichabod caught himself in his own period and stopped, a little ashamed
+of his earnestness. He sat up in the seat preparatory to returning to
+his own wagon, then dropped his hand once more on the boy's shoulder.
+
+"I'm old enough to be your father, boy, and have done, in all things,
+the reverse of what I advised you. Therefore, I know I was wrong. We
+may sneer and speak of poetry when the words proceed from another, my
+boy; but, as inevitable as death, there comes to every man the
+knowledge that he stands accursed of Nature, who hasn't heard the
+voice of his own child call 'father!'"
+
+He clambered down, leaving the speechless Ole sprawling on the
+wagon-seat. Back in his own wagon, he smiled broadly to himself.
+
+"Strange, how easily the apple falls when it's ripe," he soliloquized.
+
+They drove on clear to the mill without another word; without even a
+grin from the broad-faced Ole, who sat in ponderous thought in the
+wagon ahead. To a nature such as his the infrequency of a new idea
+gives it the force of a cataclysm; during its presence, obliterating
+everything else.
+
+It was nearly noon when they reached the narrow fringe of trees and
+underbrush--deciduous and wind-tortured all--which bordered the big,
+muddy, low-lying Missouri; and soon they could hear the throb of the
+engine at the mill, and the swish of the saw through the green lumber;
+a sound that heard near by, inevitably carries the suggestion of
+scalpel and living flesh. Nothing but green timber was sawed
+thereabout in those days. The country was settling rapidly, lumber
+was imperative, and available timber very, very limited.
+
+Returning, the heavy loads grumbled slowly along, so slowly that it
+was nearly evening, and their shadows preceded them by rods when they
+reached the little prairie town. They stopped to water their teams;
+and Ole, true to the instincts of his plebeian ancestry, went in
+search of a glass of beer. He returned, quickly, his face very red.
+
+"A fellow in there is talking about--about Mrs. Maurice," he blurted.
+
+"In the saloon, Ole?"
+
+The Swede repeated the story, watching the tall man from the corner of
+his eye.
+
+A man, very drunk, was standing by the bar, and telling how, in coming
+to town, he had seen a buggy drive away from the Maurice home very
+fast. He had thought it was the doctor's buggy and had stopped in to
+see if any one was sick.
+
+The fellow had grinned here and drank some more, before finishing the
+story; the surrounding audience winking at each other meanwhile, and
+drinking in company.
+
+Then he went on to tell how Camilla Maurice had sat just inside the
+doorway, her face in her hands, sobbing,--so hard she hadn't noticed
+him; and--and--it wasn't the doctor who had been there at all!
+
+Ichabod had been holding a pail of water so that a horse might drink.
+At the end he motioned Ole very quietly, to take his place.
+
+"Finish watering them, and--wait for me, please."
+
+It was far from what the Swede had expected; but he accepted the task,
+obediently.
+
+The only saloon of the town stood almost exactly opposite Hans
+Becher's place, flush with the street. A long, low building,
+communicating with the outer world by one door--sans glass--its single
+window in front and at the rear lit it but imperfectly at midday, and
+now at early evening made faces almost indistinguishable, and cast
+kindly shadow over the fly specks and smoke stains of a low roof. A
+narrow pine bar, redolent of tribute absorbed from innumerable passing
+"schooners," stretched the entire length of the room at one side; and
+back of it, in shirt sleeves and stained apron, presided the typical
+bar-keeper of the frontier. All this Ichabod saw as he stepped inside;
+then, himself in shadow, he studied the group before him.
+
+Railroad and cattle men, mostly, made up the gathering, with a scant
+sprinkling of farmers and others unclassified. A big, ill-dressed
+fellow was repeating the tale of scandal for the benefit of a
+newcomer; the narrative moving jerkily over hiccoughs, like hurdles.
+
+"--I drew up to th' house quick, an' went up th' path quiet
+like,"--he tapped thunderously on the bar with a heavy glass for
+silence--"quiet--sh-h--like; an' when I come t' th' door, ther' 't
+was open, an'--as I hope--hope t' die,... drink on me, b'ys, aller
+y'--set 'm up, Barney ol' b'y, m' treat,... hope t' die, ther' she
+sat, like this--" He looked around mistily for a chair, but none was
+convenient, and he slid flat to the floor in their midst, his face
+in his hands, blubbering dismally in imitation.... "Sat (hic) like
+this; rockin' an' moanin' n' callin' his name: Asa--Asa--Asa--(hic)
+Arnold--'shure 's I'm a sinner she--"
+
+He did not finish. Very suddenly the surrounding group had scattered,
+and he peered up through maudlin tears to learn the cause. One man
+alone stood above him. The room had grown still as a church.
+
+The drunken one blinked his watery eyes and showed his yellow teeth in
+a convivial grin.
+
+"G'd evnin', pard.... Serve th'--th' gem'n, Barney; m' treat." Again
+the teeth obtruded. "Was jes'--"
+
+"Get up!"
+
+He of the story winked harder than before.
+
+"Bless m'--" He paused for an expletive, hiccoughed, and forgetting
+what had caused the halt, stumbled on:--"Didn' rec'gniz' y'
+b'fore. Shake, ol' boy. S--sh-sorry for y'." Tears rose copiously.
+"Tough--when feller's wife--"
+
+Interrupting suddenly a muffled sound like the distant exhaust of a
+big engine--the meeting of a heavy boot with an obstacle on the floor.
+"Get up!"
+
+A very mountain of human brawn resolved itself upward; a hand on its
+hips; a curse on its lips.
+
+[Illustration: "You'll apologize."]
+
+"You damned lantern-faced--" No hiccough now, but a pause from pure
+physical impotence, pending a doubtful struggle against a half-dozen
+men.
+
+"Order, gentlemen!" demanded the bar-keeper, adding emphasis by
+hammering a heavy bottle on the bar.
+
+"Let him go," commanded Ichabod very quietly; but they all heard
+through the confusion. "Let him go."
+
+The country was by no means the wild West of the story-papers, but it
+was primitive, and no man thought, then, of preventing the obviously
+inevitable.
+
+Ichabod held up his hand, suggestively, imperatively, and the crowd
+fell back, silent,--leaving him facing the big man.
+
+"You'll apologize!" The thin jaw showed clear, through the shade of
+brown stubble on Ichabod's face.
+
+For answer, the big man leaning on the bar exhibited his discolored
+teeth and breathed hard.
+
+"How shall it be?" asked Ichabod.
+
+A grimy hand twitched toward a grimier hip.
+
+"You've seen the likes of this--"
+
+Ichabod turned toward the spectators.
+
+"Will any man lend me--"
+
+"Here--"
+
+"Here--"
+
+"And give us a little light."
+
+"Outside," suggested the saloon-keeper.
+
+"We're not advertising patent medicine," blazed Ichabod, and the lamps
+were lit immediately.
+
+Once more the long-visaged man appealed to the group lined up now
+against the bar.
+
+"Gentlemen--I never carried a revolver a half-hour in my life. Is it
+any more than fair that I name the details?"
+
+"Name 'm and be quick," acquiesced his big opponent before the others
+could speak.
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Duggin," with equal swiftness. "These, then, are the
+conditions." For three seconds, that seemed a minute, Ichabod looked
+steadily between his adversary's bushy eyebrows. "The conditions," he
+repeated, "are, that starting from opposite ends of the room, we don't
+fire until our toes touch in the middle line."
+
+"Good!" commended a voice; but it was not big Duggin who spoke.
+
+"I'll see that it's done, too,"--added a listening cattleman, grasping
+Ichabod by the hand.
+
+"And I."
+
+The building had been designed as a bowling-alley and was built the
+entire length of the lot. With an alacrity born of experience, the
+long space opposite the bar was cleared, and the belligerents
+stationed one at either end, their faces toward the wall. Midway
+between them a heavy line had been drawn with chalk, and beside it
+stood a half-dozen grim men, their hands resting suggestively on their
+hips. The room was again very quiet, and from out-of-doors penetrated
+the shrill sound of a schoolboy whistling "Annie Laurie" with original
+variations. So exotic seemed the entire scene in its prairie setting,
+that it might have been transferred bodily from the stage of a distant
+theatre and set down here,--by mistake.
+
+"Now," directed a voice. "You understand, men. You're to face and walk
+to the line. When your feet touch--fire; and," warningly--"remember,
+not before. Ready, gentlemen. Turn."
+
+Ichabod faced about, the cocked revolver in his hand, the name Asa
+Arnold singing in his ears. A terrible cold-white anger was in his
+heart against the man opposite, who had publicly caused the
+resurrection of this hated, buried thing. For a moment it blotted
+out all other sensations; then, rushing, crowding came other
+thoughts,--vision from boyhood down. In the space of seconds, faded
+scenes of the dead past took on sudden color and as suddenly
+vanished. Faces, he had forgotten for years, flashed instantaneously
+into view. Voices long hushed in oblivion, re-embodied, spoke in
+accents as familiar as his own. Inwardly he was seething with the
+myriad shifting pictures of a drowning man. Outwardly he walked
+those half-score steps to the line, unflinchingly; came to certain
+death,--and waited: personification of all that is cool and
+deliberate--of the sudden abundant nerve in emergencies which comes
+only to the highly evolved.
+
+Duggin, the big man, turned likewise at the word and came part way
+swiftly; then stopped, his face very pale. Another step he took, with
+another pause, and with great drops of perspiration gathering on his
+face, and on the backs of his hands. Yet another start, and he came
+very near; so near that he gazed into the blue of Ichabod's eyes. They
+seemed to him now devil's eyes, and he halted, looking at them,
+fingering the weapon in his hand, his courage oozing at every pore.
+
+Out of those eyes and that long, thin face stared death; not hot,
+sudden death, but nihility, cool, deliberate, that waited for one! The
+big beads on his forehead gathered in drops and ran down his cheeks.
+He tried to move on, but his legs only trembled beneath him. The
+hopeless, unreasoning terror of the frightened animal, the raw
+recruit, the superstitious negro, was upon him. The last fragment of
+self-respect, of bravado even, was in tatters. No object on earth, no
+fear of hereafter, could have made him face death in that way, with
+those eyes looking into his.
+
+The weapon shook from Duggin's hand to the floor,--with a sound like
+the first clatter of gravel on a coffin lid; and in abasement
+absolute he dropped his head; his hands nerveless, his jaw
+trembling.
+
+"I beg your pardon--and your wife's," he faltered.
+
+"It was all a lie? You were drunk?" Ichabod crossed the line, standing
+over him.
+
+A rustle and a great snort of contempt went around the room; but
+Duggin still felt those terrible eyes upon him.
+
+"I was very drunk. It was all a lie."
+
+Without another word Ichabod turned away, and almost immediately the
+other men followed, the door closing behind them. Only the bar-keeper
+stood impassive, watching.
+
+That instant the red heat of the liquor returned to the big man's
+brain and he picked up the revolver. Muttering, he staggered over to
+the bar.
+
+"D--n him--the hide-faced--" he cursed. "Gimme a drink, Barney.
+Whiskey, straight."
+
+"Not a drop."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Never another drop in my place so long as I live."
+
+"Barney, damn you!"
+
+"Get out! You coward!"
+
+"But, Barney--"
+
+"Not another word. Go."
+
+Again Duggin was sober as he stumbled out into the evening.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ichabod moved slowly up the street, months aged in those last few
+minutes. Reaction was inevitable, and with it the future instead of
+the present, stared him in the face. He had crowded the lie down the
+man's throat, but well he knew it had been useless. The story was
+true, and it would spread; no power of his could prevent. He could not
+deceive himself, even. That name! Again the white anger born of
+memory, flooded him. Curses on the name and on the man who had spoken
+it! Why must the fellow have turned coward at the last moment? Had
+they but touched feet over the line--
+
+Suddenly Ichabod stopped, his hands pressed to his head. Camilla,
+home--alone! And he had forgotten! He hurried back to the waiting
+Swede, an anathema that was not directed at another, hot on his
+lips.
+
+"All ready, Ole," he announced, clambering to the seat.
+
+The boy handed up the lines lingeringly.
+
+"Here, sir." Then uncontrollable, long-repressed curiosity broke the
+bounds of deference. "You--heard him, sir?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Ole edged toward his own wagon.
+
+"It wasn't so?"
+
+"Duggin swore it was a lie."
+
+"He--"
+
+"He swore it was false, I say."
+
+They drove out into the prairie and the night; the stars looking down,
+smiling, as in the morning which was so long ago, the man had
+smiled,--looking upward.
+
+"Tiny, tiny mortal," they twinkled, each to the other. "So small and
+hot, and rebellious. Tiny, tiny, mortal!"
+
+But the man covered his face with his hands, shutting them out.
+
+
+CHAPTER VI--BY A CANDLE'S FLAME
+
+
+Asa Arnold sat in the small upstairs room at the hotel of Hans Becher.
+It was the same room that Ichabod and Camilla had occupied when they
+first arrived; but he did not know that. Even had he known, however,
+it would have made slight difference; nothing could have kept them
+more constantly in his mind than they were at this time. He had not
+slept any the night before; a fact which would have spoken loudly to
+one who knew him well; and this morning he was very tired. He lounged
+low in the oak chair, his feet on the bed, the usual big cigar in his
+mouth.
+
+This morning, the perspective of the little man was anything but
+normal. Worse than that, he could not reduce it to the normal, try as
+he might.
+
+His meeting with Camilla yesterday had produced a deep and abiding
+shock; for either of them to have been so moved signified the
+stirring of dangerous forces. They--and especially himself--who had
+always accepted life, even crises, so calmly; who had heretofore
+laughed at all display of emotion--for them to have acted as they had,
+for them to have spoken to each other the things they had spoken, the
+things they could not forget, that he never could forgive--it was
+unbelievable! It upset all the established order of things!
+
+His anger of yesterday against Camilla had died out. She was not to
+blame; she was a woman, and women were all alike. He had thought
+differently before; that she was an exception; but now he knew better.
+One and all they were mere puppets of emotion, and fickle.
+
+In a measure, though, as he had excused Camilla he had incriminated
+Ichabod. Ichabod was the guilty one, and a man. Ichabod had filched
+from him his possession of most value; and without even the form of a
+by-your-leave. The incident of last evening at the saloon (for he had
+heard of it in the hour, as had every one in the little town) had but
+served to make more implacable his resentment. By the satire of
+circumstances it had come about that he again, Asa Arnold, had been
+the cause of another's defending the honor of his own wife,--for she
+was his wife as yet,--and that other, the defender, was Ichabod
+Maurice!
+
+The little man's face did not change at the thought. He only smoked
+harder, until the room was blue; but though he did not put the feeling
+in words even to himself, he knew in the depths of his own mind that
+the price of that last day was death. Whether it was his own death, or
+the death of Ichabod, he did not know; he did not care; but that one
+of them must die was inevitable. Horrible as was the thought, it had
+no terror for him, now. He wondered that it did not have; but, on the
+contrary, it seemed to him very ordinary, even logical--as one orders
+a dinner when he is hungry.
+
+He lit another cigar, calmly. It was this very imperturbability of the
+little man which made him terrible. Like a great movement of Nature,
+it was awful from its very resistlessness; its imperviability to
+appeal. Steadily, as he had lit the cigar, he smoked until the air
+became bluer than before. In a ghastly way, he was trying to decide
+whose death it should be,--as one decides a winter's flitting, whether
+to Florida or California; only now the question was: should it be
+suicide, or,--as in the saloon yesterday,--leave the decision to
+Chance? For the time the personal equation was eliminated; the man
+weighed the evidence as impartially as though he were deciding the
+fate of another.
+
+He sat long and very still; until even in the daylight the red
+cigar-end grew redder in the haze. Without being conscious of the
+fact, he was probably doing the most unselfish thinking of his life.
+What the result of that thought would have been no man will ever know,
+for of a sudden, interrupting, Hans Becher's round face appeared in
+the doorway.
+
+"Ichabod Maurice to see you," coughed the German, obscured in the
+cloud of smoke which passed out like steam through the opening.
+
+It cannot be said that Asa Arnold's face grew impassive; it was that
+already. Certain it was, though, that behind the mask there occurred,
+at that moment, a revolution. Born of it, the old mocking smile sprang
+to his lips.
+
+"The devil fights for his own," he soliloquized. "I really believe
+I,"--again the smile,--"I was about to make a sacrifice."
+
+"Sir?"
+
+"Thank you, Hans."
+
+The German's jaw dropped in inexpressible surprise.
+
+"Sir?" he repeated.
+
+"You made a decision for me, then. Thank you."
+
+"I do not you understand."
+
+"Tell Mr. Maurice I shall be pleased to see him."
+
+The round face disappeared from the door.
+
+"_Donnerwetter!_" commented the little landlord in the safe seclusion
+of the stairway. Later, in relating the incident to Minna, he tapped
+his forehead, suggestively.
+
+Ichabod climbed the stair alone. "To your old room," Hans had said;
+and Ichabod knew the place well. He knocked on the panel, a voice
+answered: "Come," and he opened the door. Arnold had thrown away his
+cigar and opened the window. The room was clearing rapidly.
+
+Ichabod stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind him. A
+few seconds he stood holding it, then swung it open quickly and
+glanced down the hallway. Answering, there was a sudden, scuttling
+sound, not unlike the escape of frightened rats, as Hans Becher
+precipitately disappeared. The tall man came back and for the second
+time slowly closed the door.
+
+Asa Arnold had neither moved nor spoken since that first word,--"come";
+and the self-invited visitor read the inaction correctly. No man, with
+the knowledge Ichabod possessed, could have misunderstood the challenge
+in that impassive face. No man, a year ago, would have accepted that
+challenge more quickly. Now--But God only knew whether or no he
+would forget,--now.
+
+For a minute, which to an onlooker would have seemed interminable, the
+two men faced each other. Up from the street came the ring of a heavy
+hammer on a sweet-voiced anvil, as Jim Donovan, the blacksmith,
+sharpened anew the breaking ploughs which were battling the prairie
+sod for bread. In the street below, a group of farmers were swapping
+yarns, an occasional chorus of guffaws interrupting to punctuate the
+narrative. The combatants heard it all, as one hears the drone of the
+cicada on a sleepy summer day; at the moment, as a mere colorless
+background which later, Time, the greater adjuster, utilizes to
+harmonize the whole memory.
+
+Ichabod had been standing; now he sat down upon the bed, his long legs
+stretched out before him.
+
+"It would be useless for us to temporize," he initiated. "I've
+intruded my presence in order to ask you a question." The long fingers
+locked slowly over his knees. "What is your object here?"
+
+The innate spirit of mockery sprang to the little man's face.
+
+"You're mistaken," he smiled; "so far mistaken, that instead of your
+visit being an intrusion, I expected you"--an amending memory came to
+him--"although I wasn't looking for you quite so soon, perhaps." He
+paused for an instant, and the smile left his lips.
+
+"As to the statement of object. I think"--slowly--"a disinterested
+observer would have put the question you ask into my mouth." He
+stared his tall visitor up and down critically, menacingly. Of a
+sudden, irresistibly, a very convulsion shot over his face. "God, man,
+you're brazen!" he commented cumulatively.
+
+Ichabod had gambled with this man in the past, and had seen him lose
+half he possessed without the twitch of an eyelid. A force which now
+could cause that sudden change of expression--no man on earth knew,
+better than Ichabod, its intensity. Perhaps a shade of the same
+feeling crept into his own answering voice.
+
+"We'll quarrel later, if you wish,"--swiftly. "Neither of us can
+afford to do so now. I ask you again, what are your intentions?"
+
+"And I repeat, the question is by right mine. It's not I who've
+changed my name and--and in other things emulated the hero of the
+yellow-back."
+
+Ichabod's face turned a shade paler, though his answer was calm.
+
+"We've known each other too well for either to attempt explanation or
+condemnation. You wish me to testify first." The long fingers
+unclasped from over his knee. "You know the story of the past year:
+it's the key to the future."
+
+A smile, sardonic, distinctive, lifted the tips of Arnold's big
+moustaches.
+
+"Your faith in your protecting gods is certainly beautiful."
+
+Ichabod nursed a callous spot on one palm.
+
+"I understand,"--very slowly. "At least, you'll answer my question
+now, perhaps," he suggested.
+
+"With pleasure. You intimate the future will be but a repetition of
+the past. It'll be my endeavor to give that statement the lie."
+
+"You insist on quarrelling?"
+
+"I insist on but one thing,"--swiftly. "That you never again come into
+my sight, or into the sight of my wife."
+
+One of Ichabod's long hands extended in gesture.
+
+"And I insist you shall never again use the name of Camilla Maurice as
+your wife."
+
+The old mocking smile sprang to Asa Arnold's face.
+
+"Unconsciously, you're amusing," he derided. "The old story of the
+mouse who forbids the cat.... You forget, man, she is my wife."
+
+Ichabod stood up, seemingly longer and gaunter than ever before.
+
+"Good God, Arnold," he flashed, "haven't you the faintest element of
+pride, or of consistency in your make-up? Is it necessary for a woman
+to tell you more than once that she hates you? By your own statement
+your marriage, even at first, was merely of convenience; but even if
+this weren't so, every principle of the belief you hold releases her.
+Before God, or man, you haven't the slightest claim, and you know
+it."
+
+"And you--"
+
+"I love her."
+
+Asa Arnold did not stir, but the pupils of his eyes grew wider, until
+the whole eye seemed black.
+
+"You fool!" he accented slowly. "You brazen egoist! Did it never occur
+to you that others than yourself could love?"
+
+Score for the little man. Ichabod had been pinked first.
+
+"You dare tell me to my face you loved her?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"You lie!" blazed Ichabod. "Every word and action of your life gives
+you the lie!"
+
+Not five minutes had passed since he came in and already he had
+forgotten!
+
+Asa Arnold likewise was upon his feet and they two faced each
+other,--a bed length between; in their minds the past and future a
+blank, the present with its primitive animal hate blazing in their
+eyes.
+
+"You know what it means to tell me that." Arnold's voice was a full
+note higher than usual. "You'll apologize?"
+
+"Never. It's true. You lied, and you know you lied."
+
+The surrounding world turned dark to the little man, and the dry-goods
+box with the tin dipper on its top, danced before his eyes. For the
+first time in his memory he felt himself losing self-control, and by
+main force of will he turned away to the window. For the instant all
+the savage of his nature was on the surface, and he could fairly feel
+his fingers gripping at the tall man's throat.
+
+A moment he stood in the narrow south window, full in the smiling
+irony of Nature's sunshine; but only a moment. Then the mocking smile
+that had become an instinctive part of his nature spread over his
+face.
+
+"I see but one way to settle this difficulty," he intimated.
+
+A taunt sprang to Ichabod's tongue, but was as quickly repressed.
+
+"There is but one, unless--" with meaning pause.
+
+"I repeat, there is but one."
+
+Ichabod's long face held like wood.
+
+"Consider yourself, then, the challenged party."
+
+They were both very calm, now; the immediate exciting cause in the
+mind of neither. It seemed as if they had been expecting this time for
+years, had been preparing for it.
+
+"Perhaps, as yesterday, in the saloon?" The points of the big
+moustaches twitched ironically. "I promise you there'll be no
+procrastination as--at certain cases recorded."
+
+The mockery, malice inspired, was cleverly turned, and Ichabod's big
+chin protruded ominously, as he came over and fairly towered above the
+small man.
+
+"Most assuredly it'll not be as yesterday. If we're going to reverse
+civilization, we may as well roll it away back. We'll settle it alone,
+and here."
+
+Asa Arnold smiled up into the blue eyes.
+
+"You'd prefer to make the adjustment with your hands, too, perhaps?
+There'd be less risk, considering--" He stopped at the look on the
+face above his. No man _vis-à-vis_ with Ichabod Maurice ever made
+accusation of cowardice. Instead, instinctive sarcasm leaped to his
+lips.
+
+"Not being of the West, I don't ordinarily carry an arsenal with me,
+in anticipation of such incidents as these. If you're prepared,
+however,--" and he paused again.
+
+Ichabod turned away; a terrible weariness and disgust of it all--of
+life, himself, the little man,--in his face. A tragedy would not be so
+bad, but this lingering comedy of death--One thing alone was in his
+mind: to have it over, and quickly.
+
+"I didn't expect--this, either. We'll find another way."
+
+He glanced about the room. A bed, the improvised commode, a chair, a
+small table with a book upon it, and a tallow candle--an idea came to
+him, and his search terminated.
+
+"I may--suggest--" he hesitated.
+
+"Go on."
+
+Ichabod took up the candle, and, with his pocket-knife, cut it down
+until it was a mere stub in the socket, then lit a match and held the
+flame to the wick, until the tallow sputtered into burning.
+
+"You can estimate when that light will go out?" he intimated
+impassively.
+
+Asa Arnold watched the tall man, steadily, as the latter returned the
+candle to the table and drew out his watch.
+
+"I think so," _sotto voce_.
+
+Ichabod returned to his seat on the bed.
+
+"You are not afraid, perhaps, to go into the dark alone?"
+
+"No."
+
+"By your own hand?"
+
+"No," again, very slowly. Arnold understood now.
+
+"You swear?" Ichabod flashed a glance with the question.
+
+"I swear."
+
+"And I."
+
+A moment they both studied the sputtering candle.
+
+"It'll be within fifteen minutes," randomed Ichabod.
+
+Arnold drew out his watch slowly.
+
+"It'll be longer."
+
+That was all. Each had made his choice; a trivial matter of one second
+in the candle's life would decide which of these two men would die by
+his own hand.
+
+For a minute there was no sound. They could not even hear their
+breathing. Then Arnold cleared his throat.
+
+"You didn't say when the loser must pay his debt," he suggested.
+
+Ichabod's voice in answer was a trifle husky.
+
+"It won't be necessary." A vision of the future flashed, sinister,
+inevitable. "The man who loses won't care to face the necessity
+long."
+
+Five minutes more passed. Down the street the blacksmith was hammering
+steadily. Beneath the window the group of farmers had separated; their
+departing footsteps tapping into distance and silence.
+
+Minna went to the street door, calling loudly for Hans, Jr., who had
+strayed,--and both men started at the sound. The quick catch of their
+breathing was now plainly audible.
+
+Arnold shifted in his chair.
+
+"You swear--" his voice rang unnaturally sharp, and he paused to
+moisten his throat,--"you swear before God you'll abide by this?"
+
+"I swear before God," repeated Ichabod slowly.
+
+A second, and the little man followed in echo.
+
+"And I--I swear, I, too, will abide."
+
+Neither man remembered that one of this twain, who gave oath before
+the Deity, was an agnostic, the other an atheist!
+
+A lonely south wind was rising, and above the tinkle of the
+blacksmith's hammer there sounded the tap of the light shade as
+it flapped in the wind against the window-pane. Low, drowsy,
+moaning,--typical breath of prairie,--it droned through the
+loosely built house, with sound louder, but not unlike the perpetual
+roar of a great sea-shell.
+
+Ten minutes passed, and the men sat very still. Both their faces were
+white, and in the angle of the jaw of each the muscles were locked
+hard. Ichabod was leaning near the candle. It sputtered and a tiny
+globule of hot tallow struck his face. He winced and wiped the drop
+off quickly. Observing, Arnold smiled and opened his lips as if to
+make comment; then closed them suddenly, and the smile passed.
+
+Two minutes more the watches ticked off; very, very slowly. Neither of
+the men had thought, beforehand, of this time of waiting. Big drops of
+sweat were forming on both their faces, and in the ears of each the
+blood sang madly. A haze, as from the dropping of a shade, seemed to
+have formed and hung over the room, and in unison sounds from without
+acquired a certain faintness, like that born of distance. Through it
+all the two men sat motionless, watching the candle and the time, as
+the fascinated bird watches its charmer; as the subject watches the
+hypnotist,--as if the passive exercise were the one imperative thing
+in the world.
+
+"Thirteen minutes."
+
+Unconsciously, Arnold was counting aloud. The flame was very low, now,
+and he started to move his chair closer, then sank back, a smile,
+almost ghastly, upon his lips. The blaze had reached the level of the
+socket, and was growing smaller and smaller. Two minutes yet to burn!
+He had lost.
+
+He tried to turn his eyes away, but they seemed fastened to the spot,
+and he powerless. It was as though death, from staring him in the
+face, had suddenly gripped him hard. The panorama of his past life
+flashed through his mind. The thoughts of the drowning man, of the
+miner who hears the rumble of crumbling earth, of the prisoner
+helpless and hopeless who feels the first touch of flame,--common
+thought of all these were his; and in a space of time which, though
+seeming to him endless, was in reality but seconds.
+
+Then came the duller reaction and the events of the last few minutes
+repeated themselves, impersonally, spectacularly,--as though they
+were the actions of another man; one for whom he felt very sorry. He
+even went into the future and saw this same man lying down with a tiny
+bottle in his hand, preparing for the sleep from which there would be
+no awakening,--the sleep which, in anticipation, seemed so pleasant.
+
+Concomitant with this thought the visionary shaded into the real, and
+there came the determination to act at once, this very afternoon, as
+soon as Ichabod had gone. He even felt a little relief at the
+decision. After all, it was so much simpler than if he had won, for
+then--then--He laughed gratingly at the thought. Cursed if he would
+have known what to have done, then!
+
+The sound roused him and he looked at his watch. A minute had passed,
+fourteen from the first and the flame still sputtered. Was it possible
+after all--after he had decided--that he was not to lose, that the
+decision was unnecessary? There was not in his mind the slightest
+feeling of personal elation at the prospect, but rather a sense of
+injury that such a scurvy trick should be foisted off upon him. It
+was like going to a funeral and being confronted, suddenly, with the
+grinning head of the supposed dead projecting through the coffin lid.
+It was unseemly!
+
+Only a minute more: a half now--yes, he would win. For the first time
+he felt that his forehead was wet, and he mopped his face with his
+handkerchief jerkily; then sank back in the chair, instinctively
+shooting forward his cuffs in motion habitual.
+
+"Fifteen seconds." There could be no question now of the result; and
+the outside world, banished for the once, returned. The blacksmith was
+hammering again, the strokes two seconds apart, and the fancy seized
+the little man to finish counting by the ring of the anvil.
+
+"Twelve, ten, eight," he counted slowly. "Six" was forming on the tip
+of the tongue when of a sudden the tiny flame veered far over toward
+the holder, sputtered and went out. For the first time in those
+interminable minutes, Arnold looked at his companion. Ichabod's face
+was within a foot of the table, and in line with the direction the
+flame had veered. Swift as thought the small man was on his feet,
+white anger in his face.
+
+"You blew that candle!" he challenged.
+
+Ichabod's head dropped into his hands. An awful horror of himself fell
+crushingly upon him; an abhorrence of the selfishness that could have
+forgotten--what he forgot; and for so long,--almost irrevocably long.
+Mingled with this feeling was a sudden thanksgiving for the boon of
+which he was unworthy; the memory at the eleventh hour, in time to do
+as he had done before his word was passed. Arnold strode across the
+room, his breath coming fast, his eyes flashing fire. He shook the
+tall man by the shoulder roughly.
+
+"You blew that flame, I say!"
+
+Ichabod looked up at the furious, dark face almost in surprise.
+
+"Yes, I blew it," he corroborated absently.
+
+"It would have burned longer."
+
+"Perhaps--I don't know."
+
+Arnold moved back a step and the old smile, mocking, maddening, spread
+over his face; tilting, perpendicular, the tips of the big
+moustaches.
+
+"After all--" very slowly--"after all, then, you're a coward."
+
+The tall man stood up; six-feet-two, long, bony, immovable: Ichabod
+himself again.
+
+"You know that's a lie."
+
+"You'll meet me again,--another way, then?"
+
+"No, never!"
+
+"I repeat, you're a cursed coward."
+
+"I'd be a coward if I did meet you," quickly.
+
+Something in Ichabod's voice caught the little man's ear and held him
+silent, as, for a long half-minute, the last time in their lives, the
+two men looked into each other's eyes.
+
+"You'll perhaps explain." Arnold's voice was cold as death. "You have
+a reason?"
+
+Ichabod walked slowly over to the window and leaned against the frame.
+Standing there, the spring sunshine fell full upon his face, drawing
+clear the furrows at the angles of his eyes and the gray threads of
+his hair. He paused a moment, looking out over the broad prairie
+shimmering indistinctly in the heat, and the calm of it all took hold
+of him, shone in his face.
+
+"I've a reason," very measuredly, "but it's not that I fear death, or
+you." He took up his hat and smoothed it absently. "In future I shall
+neither seek, nor avoid you. Do what you wish--and God judge us both."
+Without a glance at the other man, he turned toward the door.
+
+Arnold moved a step, as if to prevent him going.
+
+"I repeat, it's my right to know why you refuse." His feet shifted
+uneasily upon the floor. "Is it because of another--Eleanor?"
+
+Ichabod paused.
+
+"Yes," very slowly. "It's because of Eleanor--_and_ another."
+
+The tall man's hand was upon the knob, but this time there was no
+interruption. An instant he hesitated; then absently, slowly, the door
+opened and closed. A moment later indistinct, descending steps sounded
+on the stairway.
+
+Alone, Asa Arnold stood immovable, looking blindly at the closed door,
+listening until the tapping feet had passed into silence. Then, in a
+motion indescribable, of pain and of abandon, he sank back into the
+single chair.
+
+His dearest enemy would have pitied the little man at that moment!
+
+
+CHAPTER VII--THE PRICE OF THE LEAP
+
+
+In the chronology of the little town, day followed day, as monotonously
+as ticks the tall clock on the wall. Only in multiple they merged
+into the seasons which glided so smoothly, one into the other, that
+the change was unnoticed, until it had taken place.
+
+Thus three months passed by, and man's work for the year was nearly
+done. The face of the prairie had become one of many colors; eternal
+badge of civilization as opposed to Nature, who paints each season
+with its own hue. Beside the roadways great, rank sunflowers turned
+their glaring yellow faces to the light. In every direction stretched
+broad fields of flax; unequally ripening, their color scheme ranging
+from sky blue of blossoms to warm browns of maturity. Blotches of sod
+corn added here and there a dash of green to the picture. Surrounding
+all, a setting for all, the unbroken virgin prairie, mottled green and
+brown, stretched, smiling, harmonious, beneficent; a land of promise
+and of plenty for generations yet unborn.
+
+All through the long, hot summer Asa Arnold had stayed in town,
+smoking a big pipe in front of the hotel of Hans Becher. Indolent,
+abnormally indolent, a stranger seeing him thus would have commented;
+but, save Hans the confiding, none other of the many interested
+observers were deceived. No man merely indolent sleeps neither by
+night nor by day; and it seemed the little man never slept. No man
+merely indolent sits wide-eyed hour after hour, gazing blankly at the
+earth beneath his feet--and uttering never a word. Brooding, not
+dreaming, was Asa Arnold; brooding over the eternal problem of right
+and wrong. And, as passed the slow weeks, he moved back--back on the
+trail of civilization, back until Passion and not Reason was the god
+enthroned; back until one thought alone was with him morning, noon,
+and night,--and that thought preponderant, overmastering, deadly
+hate.
+
+Observant Curtis, the doctor, shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"The old, old trail," he satirized.
+
+It was to Bud Evans, the little agent, that he made the observation.
+
+"Which has no ending," completed the latter.
+
+The doctor shrugged afresh.
+
+"That has one inevitable termination," he refuted.
+
+"Which is--"
+
+"Madness--sheer madness."
+
+The agent was silent a moment.
+
+"And the end of that?" he suggested.
+
+Curtis pursed his lips.
+
+"Tragedy, or a strait-jacket. The former, in this instance."
+
+Evans was silent longer than before.
+
+"Do you really mean that?" he queried at last, significantly.
+
+"I've warned Maurice,"--sententiously. "I can do no more."
+
+"And he?" quickly.
+
+"Thanked me."
+
+"That was all?"
+
+"That was all."
+
+The two friends looked at each other, steadily; yet, though they said
+no more, each knew the thought of the other, each knew that in future
+no move of Asa Arnold's would pass unnoticed, unchallenged.
+
+Again, weeks, a month, passed without incident. It was well along in
+the fall and of an early evening that a vague rumor of the unusual
+passed swiftly, by word of mouth, throughout the tiny town. Only a
+rumor it was, but sufficient to set every man within hearing in
+motion.
+
+On this night Hans Becher had eaten his supper and returned to the
+hotel office, as was his wont, for an evening smoke, when, without
+apparent reason, Bud Evans and Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, came
+quietly in and sat down.
+
+"Evening," they nodded, and looked about them.
+
+A minute later Dr. Curtis and Hank Judge, the machine man, dropped
+unostentatiously into chairs. They likewise muttered "Evening," and
+made observation from under their hat-brims. Others followed rapidly,
+until the room was full and dark figures waited outside. At last
+Curtis spoke.
+
+"Your boarder, Asa Arnold, where is he, Hans?"
+
+The unsuspecting German blew a cloud of smoke.
+
+"He a while ago went out." Then, as an afterthought: "He will return
+soon."
+
+Silence once more for a time, and a steadily thickening haze of smoke
+in the room.
+
+"Did he have supper, Hans?" queried Bud Evans, impatiently.
+
+Again the German's face expressed surprise.
+
+"No, it is waiting for him. He went to shoot a rabbit he saw."
+
+The men were on their feet.
+
+"He took a gun, Hans?"
+
+"A rifle, to be sure." The mild brown eyes glanced up reproachfully.
+"A man does not go hunting without--... What is this!" he completed in
+consternation, as, finding himself suddenly alone, he hurried outside
+and stood confusedly scratching his bushy poll, in the block of light
+surrounding the open doorway.
+
+The yard was deserted. As one snuffs a candle, the men had vanished.
+Hans' pipe had gone out and he went inside for a match. Though the
+stars fell, the German must needs smoke. Only a minute he was gone,
+but during that time a group of horsemen had gathered in the street.
+Others were coming across lots, and still others were emerging from
+the darkness of alleys. Some were mounted; some led by the rein, wiry
+little bronchos. Watching, it almost seemed to the German that they
+sprang from the ground.
+
+"Are you all ready?" called a voice, Bud Evans' voice.
+
+"Here--"
+
+"Here--"
+
+"All ready?"
+
+"Yes--"
+
+"We're off, then."
+
+There was a sudden, confused trampling, as of cattle in stampede; a
+musical creaking of heavy saddles; a knife-like swish of many quirts
+through the air; a chorus of dull, chesty groans as the rowels of long
+spurs bit the flanks of the mustangs, and they were gone--down the
+narrow street, out upon the prairie, their hoof beats pattering
+_diminuendo_ into silence; a cloud of dust, grayish in the starlight,
+marking the way they had taken.
+
+Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, came running excitedly up from a side
+street. He stopped in front of the hotel, breathlessly. Holding his
+sides, he followed with his eyes the trail of dust leading out into
+the night.
+
+"Have they gone?" he panted. "I can't find another horse in town."
+
+"Where is it to?" sputtered the German.
+
+"Have they gone, I say?"
+
+Hans gasped.
+
+"Yes, to be sure."
+
+"They'll never make it." The blacksmith mopped his brow with
+conviction. "He has an hour's start."
+
+Hans grasped the big man by the coat.
+
+"Who is too late?" he emphasized. "Where are they going?"
+
+Jim Donovan turned about, great pity for such density in his eyes.
+
+"Is it possible you don't understand? It's to Ichabod Maurice's
+they're going, to tell him of Arnold." The speaker mopped his face
+anew. "It's useless though. They're too late," he completed.
+
+"But Arnold is not there," protested the German. "He went for a
+rabbit, out on the breaking. He so told me."
+
+"He lied to you. He's mad. I tell you they're too late," repeated the
+smith, obstinately.
+
+Hans clung tenaciously to the collar.
+
+"Some one knew and told them?" He pointed in the direction the dust
+indicated.
+
+"Yes, Bud Evans; but they wouldn't believe him at first,
+and"--bitterly--"and waited." Donovan shook himself free, and started
+down the walk. "I'm going to bed," he announced conclusively.
+
+Meanwhile the cloud of dust was moving out over the prairie like the
+wind. The pace was terrific, and the tough little ponies were soon
+puffing steadily. Small game, roused from its sleep by the roadside,
+sprang winging into the night. Once a coyote, surprised, ran a
+distance confusedly ahead in the roadway; then, an indistinct black
+ball, it vanished amongst the tall grass.
+
+Well out on the prairie, Bud Evans, the leader, raised in his stirrups
+and looked ahead. There was no light beyond where the little cottage
+should be. The rowels of his spur dug anew at the flank of his pony as
+he turned a voice like a fog-horn back over his shoulder.
+
+"The place is dark, boys," he called. "Hurry."
+
+Answering, a muttering sound, not unlike an approaching storm, passed
+along the line, and in accompaniment the quirts cut the air anew.
+
+Silent as the grave was the little farmstead when, forty odd minutes
+from the time of starting, they steamed up at the high fence bounding
+the yard. One of Ichabod's farm horses whinnied a lone greeting from
+the barn as they hastily dismounted and swarmed within the inclosure.
+
+"We're too late," prophesied a voice.
+
+"I'm glad my name's not Arnold, if we are," responded another,
+threateningly.
+
+Hurrying up the path in advance, the little land-agent stumbled over a
+soft, dark object, and a curse fell from his lips as he recognized the
+dead body of the big collie.
+
+"Yes, we're too late," he echoed.
+
+The door of the house swung ajar, creaking upon its hinges; and, as
+penetrates the advance wave of a flood, the men swarmed through the
+doorway inside, until the narrow room was blocked. Simultaneously,
+like torches, lighted matches appeared aloft in their hands, and the
+tiny whitewashed room flashed into light. As simultaneously there
+sprang from the mouth of each man an oath, and another, and another.
+Waiting outside, not a listener but knew the meaning of that sound;
+and big, hairy faces crowded tightly to the one small window.
+
+For a moment not a man in the line stirred. Death was to them no
+stranger; but death such as this--
+
+In more than one hand the match burned down until it left a mark like
+charcoal, and without calling attention. One and all they stood
+spellbound, their eyes on the floor, their lips unconsciously uttering
+the speech universal of anger and of horror, the instinctive language
+of anathema.
+
+On the floor, sprawling, as falls a lifeless body, lay the long
+Ichabod. On his forehead, almost geometrically near the centre, was a
+tiny, black spot, around it a lighter red blotch; his face otherwise
+very white; his hair, on the side toward which he leaned, a little
+matted; that was all.
+
+Prostrate across him, in an attitude of utter abandon, reposed the
+body of a woman, soft, graceful, motionless now as that of the man:
+the body of Camilla Maurice. One hand had held his head and was
+stained dark. On her lips was another stain, but lighter. The meaning
+of that last mark came as a flash to the spectators, and the room grew
+still as the figures on the floor.
+
+Suddenly in the silence the men caught their breath, with the quick
+guttural note that announces the unexpected. That there was no
+remaining life they had taken for granted--and Camilla's lips had
+moved! They stared as at sight of a ghost; all except Curtis, the
+physician.
+
+"A lamp, men," he demanded, pressing his ear to Camilla's chest.
+
+"Help me here, Evans," he continued without turning. "I think she's
+fainted is all," and together they carried their burden into the tiny
+sleeping-room, closing the door behind.
+
+That instant Ole, the Swede, thrust a curious head in at the outer
+doorway. He had noticed the light and the gathering, and came to
+ascertain their meaning. Wondering, his big eyes passed around
+the waiting group and from them to the floor. With that look
+self-consciousness left him; he crowded to the front, bending
+over the tall man and speaking his name.
+
+"Mr. Maurice," he called. "Mr. Maurice."
+
+He snatched off his own coat, rolling it under Ichabod's head, and
+with his handkerchief touched the dark spot on the forehead. It was
+clotted already and hardening, and realization came to the boy Swede.
+He stood up, facing the men, the big veins in his throat throbbing.
+
+"Who did this?" he thundered, crouching for a spring like a great dog.
+"Who did this, I say?"
+
+It was the call to action. In the sudden horror of the tragedy the big
+fellows had momentarily forgotten their own grim epilogue. Now, at the
+words, they turned toward the door. But the Swede was in advance,
+blocking the passage.
+
+"Tell me first who did this thing," he challenged, threateningly.
+
+A hand was laid gently upon his shoulder.
+
+"Asa Arnold, my boy," answered a quiet voice, which continued, in
+response to a sudden thought, "You live near here; have you seen him
+to-night?"
+
+The Swede dropped the bar.
+
+"The little man who stays with Hans Becher?"
+
+The questioner nodded.
+
+"Yes, a half-hour ago." The boy-man understood now. "He stopped at my
+house, and--"
+
+"Which direction did he go?"
+
+Ole stepped outside, his arm stretched over the prairie, white now in
+the moonlight.
+
+"That way," he indicated. "East."
+
+As there had been quiescence before, now there was action. No charge
+of cavalry was ever more swift than their sudden departure.
+
+"East, toward Schooner's ranch," was called and repeated as they made
+their way back to the road; and, following, the wiry little bronchos
+groaned in unison as the back cinch to each one of the heavy saddles,
+was, with one accord, drawn tight. Then, widening out upon the
+reflected whiteness of prairie, there spread a great black crescent. A
+moment later came silence, broken only by the quivering call of a lone
+coyote.
+
+Ole watched them out of sight, then turned back to the door; the mood
+of the heroic passed, once more the timid, retiring Swede. But now he
+was not alone. Bud Evans was quietly working over the body on the
+floor, laying it out decently as the quick ever lay out the dead.
+
+"Evans," called the doctor from the bedroom. As the agent responded,
+Ole heard the smothered cry of a woman in pain.
+
+The big boy hesitated, then sat down on the doorstep. There was
+nothing now for him to do, and suddenly he felt very tired. His head
+dropped listlessly into his hands; like a great dog, he waited,
+watching.
+
+Minutes passed. On the table the oil lamp sputtered and burned lower.
+Out in the stable the horse repeated its former challenging whinny.
+Once again through the partition the listener caught the choking wail
+of pain, and the muffled sound of the doctor's voice in answer.
+
+At last Bud Evans came to the door, his face very white. "Water," he
+requested, and Ole ran to the well and back. Then, impassive, he sat
+down again to wait.
+
+Time passed, so long a time it seemed to the watcher that the riders
+must soon be returning. Finally Evans emerged from the side room,
+walking absently, his face gray in the lamplight.
+
+The Swede stood up.
+
+"Camilla Maurice, is she hurt?" he asked.
+
+The little agent busied himself making a fire.
+
+"She's dead," he answered slowly.
+
+"Dead, you say?"
+
+"Yes, dead,"--very quietly.
+
+The fire blazed up and lit the room, shining unpityingly upon the face
+of the man on the floor.
+
+Evans noticed, and drawing off his own coat spread it over the face
+and hands, covering them from sight; then, uncertain, he returned and
+sat down, mechanically holding his palms to the blaze.
+
+A moment later Dr. Curtis appeared at the tiny bedroom entrance; and,
+emerging as the little man had done before him, he closed the door
+softly behind. In his arms he carried a blanket, carefully rolled.
+From the depths of its folds, as he slowly crossed the room toward the
+stove, there escaped a sudden cry, muffled, unmistakable.
+
+The doctor sank down wearily in a chair. Ole, the boy-faced, without a
+question brought in fresh wood, laying it down on the floor very, very
+softly.
+
+"Will he--live?" asked Bud Evans, suddenly, with an uncertain glance
+at the obscuring blanket; and hearing the query, the Swede paused in
+his work to listen.
+
+The big doctor hesitated, and cleared his throat.
+
+"I think so; though--God forgive me--I hope not." And he cleared his
+throat again.
+
+
+
+
+JOURNEY'S END
+
+
+I
+
+
+"Steve!" It was the girl who spoke, but the man did not seem to hear.
+He was staring through the window, unseeingly, into the heart of his
+bitter foe, Winter. He sat silent, helpless.
+
+"Steve!"
+
+At last he awoke.
+
+"Mollie!--girlie!"
+
+An hour had passed since he left the doctor's office to reel and
+stagger drunkenly through the slush and the sleet, and the icy blasts,
+which bit cruelly into his very vitals.
+
+Now he and Mollie were alone in the tiny library. Babcock had been
+warmed, washed, fed. Seemingly without volition on his part, he was
+before the hard-coal blaze, his feet on the fender, the light
+carefully shaded from his eyes. Once upon a time--
+
+But Steve Babcock, master mechanic, had not lost his nerve--once upon
+a time.
+
+"Steve"--the voice was as soft as the wide brown eyes, as the dainty
+oval chin--"Steve, tell me what it is."
+
+The man's hand, palm outward, dropped wearily, eloquently. That was
+all.
+
+"But tell me," the girl's chair came closer, so that she might have
+touched him, "you went to see the doctor?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And he--?"
+
+Again the silent, hopeless gesture, more fear-inspiring than words.
+
+"Don't keep me in suspense, please." A small hand was on the man's
+knee, now, frankly unashamed. "Tell me what he said."
+
+For an instant there was silence, then Babcock shrugged awkwardly, in
+an effort at nonchalance.
+
+"He said I was--was--" in spite of himself, the speaker paused to
+moisten his lips--"a dead man."
+
+"Steve!"
+
+Not a word this time; not even a shrug.
+
+"Steve, you--you're not--not joking with me?"
+
+Lower and lower, still in silence, dropped the man's chin.
+
+"Steve," in a steadier voice, "please answer me. You're not joking?"
+
+"Joking!" At last the query had pierced the fear-dulled brain.
+"Joking! God, no! It's real, real, deadly real, that's what ... Oh,
+Mollie--!" Instinctively, as a child, the man's head had gone to the
+girl's lap. Though never before had they spoken of love or of
+marriage, neither noted the incongruity now. "It's all over. We'll
+never be married, never again get out into the country together, never
+even see the green grass next Spring--at least I won't--never.... Oh,
+Mollie, Mollie!" The man's back rose and fell spasmodically. His voice
+broke. "Mollie, make me forget; I can't bear to think of it. Can't!
+Can't!"
+
+Not a muscle of the girl's body stirred; she made no sound. No one in
+advance would have believed it possible, but it was true. Five minutes
+passed. The man became quiet.
+
+"Steve," the voice was very even, "what else did the doctor say?"
+
+"Eh?" It was the doddering query of an old man.
+
+The girl repeated the question, slowly, with infinite patience, as
+though she were speaking to a child.
+
+"What else did the doctor say?"
+
+Her tranquillity in a measure calmed the man.
+
+"Oh, he said a lot of things; but that's all I remember--what I told
+you. It was the last thing, and he kind of tilted back in his chair.
+The spring needed oil; it fairly screamed. I can hear it now.
+
+"'Steve Babcock,' said he, 'you've got to go some place where it's
+drier, where the air's pure and clean and sweet the year round.
+Mexico's the spot for you, or somewhere in the Far West where you can
+spend all your time in the open--under the roof of Heaven.'
+
+"He leaned forward, and again that cursed spring interrupted.
+
+"'If you don't go, and go right away,' he said, 'as sure as I'm
+talking to you, you're a dead man.'"
+
+Babcock straightened, and, leaden-eyed, looked dully into the blaze.
+
+"Those," he whispered, "were his last words."
+
+"And if you do go?"--very quietly.
+
+"He said I had a chance--a fighting chance." Once more the hopeless,
+deprecatory gesture.
+
+"But what's the use? You know, as well as I, that I haven't a hundred
+dollars to my name. He might just as well have told me to go to the
+moon.
+
+"We poor folks are like rats in a trap when they turn the water
+on--helpless. We--"
+
+Babcock had wandered on, forgetting, for the moment, that it was his
+own case he was analyzing. Now of a sudden it recurred to him,
+cumulatively, crushingly and, as before, his head instinctively sought
+refuge.
+
+"We can't do anything but take our medicine, Mollie--just take our
+medicine."
+
+_Patter_, _patter_ sounded the sleet against the window-panes,
+mingling with the roar of the wind in the chimney, with the short,
+quick breaths of the man. In silence he reached out, took one of the
+girl's hands captive, and held it against his cheek.
+
+For a minute--five minutes--she did not stir, did not utter a sound;
+only the soft oval face tightened until its gentle outlines grew
+sharp, and the brown skin almost white.
+
+All at once her lips compressed; she had reached a decision.
+
+"Steve, sit up, please; I can talk to you better so." Pityingly,
+protectingly, she placed an arm around him and drew him close; not as
+man to maid, but--ah, the pity of it!--as a feeble child to its
+mother.
+
+"Listen to what I say. To-day is Thursday. Next Monday you are going
+West, as the doctor orders."
+
+"What--what did you say, Mollie?"
+
+"Next Monday you go West."
+
+"You mean, after all, I'm to have a chance? I'm not going to die
+like--like a rat?"
+
+For a moment, a swiftly passing moment, it was the old vital Steve who
+spoke; the Babcock of a year ago; then, in quick recession, the mood
+passed.
+
+"You don't know what you're talking about, girl. I can't go, I tell
+you. I haven't the money."
+
+"I'll see that you have the money, Steve."
+
+"You?"
+
+"I've been teaching for eight years, and living at home all the
+while."
+
+The man, surprised out of his self centredness, looked wonderingly,
+unbelievingly, at her.
+
+"You never told me, Mollie."
+
+"No, I never saw the need before."
+
+The man's look of wonder passed. Another--fearful, dependent, the look
+of a child in the dark--took its place.
+
+"But--alone, Mollie! A strange land, a strange people, a strange
+tongue! Oh, I hate myself, girl, hate myself! I've lost my nerve. I
+can't go alone. I can't."
+
+"You're not going alone, Steve." There was a triumphant note in her
+voice that thrilled the man through and through. She continued:
+
+"Only this morning--I don't know why I did it; it seems now like
+Providence pointing the way--I read in the paper about the rich farm
+lands in South Dakota that are open for settlement. I thought of you
+at the time, Steve; how such a life might restore your health; but it
+seemed so impossible, so impracticable, that I soon forgot about it.
+
+"But--Steve--we can each take up a quarter-section--three hundred and
+twenty acres, altogether. Think of it! We'll soon be rich. There you
+will have just the sort of outdoor life the doctor says you need."
+
+He looked at her, marvelling.
+
+"Mollie--you don't mean it--now, when I'm--this way!" He arose, his
+breath coming quick, a deep blot of red in the centre of each cheek.
+"It can't be true when--when you'd never let me say anything before."
+
+"Yes, Steve, it's true."
+
+She was so calm, so self-possessed and withal so determined, that the
+man was incredulous.
+
+"That you'll marry me? Say it, Mollie!"
+
+"Yes, I'll marry you."
+
+"Mollie!" He took a step forward, then of a sudden, abruptly halted.
+
+"But your parents," in swift trepidation. "Mollie, they--"
+
+"Don't let's speak of them,"--sharply. Then in quick contrition, her
+voice softened; once more it struck the maternal note.
+
+"Pardon me, I'm very tired. Come. We have a spare room; you mustn't go
+home to-night."
+
+The man stopped, coughed, advanced a step, then stopped again.
+
+"Mollie, I can't thank you; can't ever repay you--"
+
+"You mustn't talk of repaying me," she said shyly, her dark face
+coloring. It was the first time during the interview that she had
+shown a trace of embarrassment.
+
+"Come," she said, meeting his look again, her hand on the door; "it's
+getting late. You must not venture out."
+
+A moment longer the man hesitated, then obeyed. Not until he was
+very near, so near that he could touch her, did a vestige of his
+former manhood appear. He paused, and their eyes were locked in a
+soul-searching look. Then all at once his arm was round her waist, his
+face beside her face.
+
+"Mollie, girl, won't you--just once?"
+
+"No, no--not that! Don't ask it." Passionately the brown hands flew
+to the brown cheeks, covering them protectingly. But at once came
+thought, the spirit of sacrifice, and contrition for the involuntary
+repulse.
+
+"Forgive me, Steve; I'm unaccountable to-night." Her voice, her manner
+were constrained, subdued. She accepted his injured look without
+comment, without further defence. She saw the perplexed look on his
+thin face; then she reached forward--up--and her two soft hands
+brought his face down to the level of her own.
+
+Deliberately, voluntarily, she kissed him fair upon the lips.
+
+
+II
+
+
+The sun was just peering over the rim of the prairie, when Mrs. Warren
+turned in from the dusty road, picked her way among the browning weeds
+to the plain, unpainted, shanty-like structure which marked the
+presence of a homesteader. Except to the east, where stood the tents
+and shacks of the new railroad's construction gang, not another human
+habitation broke the dull, monotonous rolling sea of prairie.
+
+Mrs. Warren pounded vigorously upon the rough boards of the door.
+
+A full half-minute she waited; then she glared petulantly at the
+unresponsive barrier, and pounded upon it again.
+
+Ordinarily she would have waited patiently, for the multitude of
+duties of one day often found Mrs. Babcock still weary with the
+dawning of the next--especially since Steve had allied himself with
+Jack Warren's engineering corps.
+
+Funds had run low, and the two valetudinarians had reached the stage
+of desperation where they were driven to acknowledge failure, when
+Jack Warren happened along, in the van of the new railroad.
+
+The work of home-building, from the raw material, had been too much
+for Steve's enfeebled physique; so it happened that Mollie performed
+most of his share, as well as all of her own. Yet Steve toiled to the
+limit of his endurance, and each day, at sundown, flung himself upon
+his blanket, spread beneath the stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling
+with weariness. But he soon developed a prodigious appetite, and,
+after the first few weeks, slept each night like a dead man, until
+sunrise.
+
+This morning Annie Warren was too full of her errand to pause an
+instant. She stood a moment listening, one ear to the splintery,
+unfinished boards, then--
+
+"Mollie," she ventured, "are you awake?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Mollie"--more insistent, "wake up and let me in."
+
+Still no response.
+
+"Mollie," for the third time, "it is I, Annie; may I enter?"
+
+"Come." The voice was barely audible.
+
+Within the uncomfortably low, dim room the visitor impetuously crossed
+the earthen floor half-way to a rude bunk built against the wall, then
+paused, her round, childlike face soberly lengthening.
+
+"Mollie, you have been crying!" she charged, resentfully, as if the
+act constituted a personal offence. "You can't deceive me. The pillow
+is soaked, and your eyes are red." She came forward, impulsively, and
+threw herself on the bed, her arm about the other.
+
+"What is it? Tell me--your friend--Annie."
+
+Beneath the light coverlet, Mollie Babcock made a motion of
+deprecation, almost of repugnance.
+
+"It is nothing. Please don't pay any attention to me."
+
+"But it _is_ something. Am I not your friend?"
+
+For a moment neither spoke. Annie Warren all at once became conscious
+that the other woman was looking at her in a way she had never done
+before.
+
+"Assuredly you are my friend, Annie. But just the same, it's nothing."
+The look altered until it became a smile.
+
+"Tell me, instead, why you are here," Mollie went on. "It is not usual
+at this time of day."
+
+Annie Warren felt the rebuff, and she was hurt.
+
+"It is nothing." The visitor was on her feet, her voice again
+resentful; her chin was held high, while her long lashes drooped.
+"Pardon me for intruding, for--"
+
+"Annie!"
+
+No answer save the quiver of a sensitive red lip.
+
+"Annie, child, pardon me. I wouldn't for the world hurt you; but it is
+so hard, what you ask." Mollie Babcock rose, now, likewise. "However,
+if you wish--"
+
+"No, no!" The storm was clearing. "It was all my fault. I know you'd
+rather not." She had grasped Mollie's arms, and was forcing her
+backward, toward the bunk, gently, smilingly. "Be still. I've
+something to tell you. Are you quite ready to listen?"
+
+"Yes, I'm quite ready."
+
+"You haven't the slightest idea what it is? You couldn't even guess?"
+
+"No, I couldn't even guess."
+
+"I'll tell you, then." The plump Annie was bubbling like a child
+before a well-filled Christmas stocking. "It's Jack: he's coming this
+very day. A big, fierce Indian brought the letter this morning." She
+sat down tailor fashion on the end of the bunk. "He nearly ate up
+Susie--Jack christened her Susie because she's a Sioux--because she
+wouldn't let him put the letter right into my own hand. That's why
+I'm up so early."
+
+She looked slyly at the woman on the bed.
+
+"Who do you suppose is coming with him?" she asked.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know," in a tone of not caring, either.
+
+"Guess, Mollie!"
+
+"Steve?"
+
+"Of course--Steve. You knew all the time, only you wouldn't admit it.
+Oh, I'm so glad! I want to hug some one. Isn't it fine?"
+
+"Yes, fine indeed. But you don't mean that you want to hug Steve?"
+
+"No, goose. You know I meant Jack; but I--" She regarded her friend
+doubtfully. But Mollie Babcock was dressing rapidly, and her face was
+averted.
+
+"And Mollie, I didn't tell you all--almost the best. We're going home,
+Jack says; going right away; this very week, maybe."
+
+For a moment the dressing halted. "I am very glad--for you," said
+Mollie, in an even voice.
+
+"Glad, for me!" mimickingly, baitingly. "Mollie Babcock, if I didn't
+know you better, I'd say you were envious."
+
+Mollie said nothing.
+
+"Or weren't glad your husband is coming."
+
+Still no word.
+
+"Or--or--Mollie, what have I done?" Annie cried in dismay. "Don't cry
+so; I was only joking. Of course you know that I didn't mean that you
+envied our good luck, or that you wouldn't be crazy to see Steve."
+
+"But it's so. God help me, it's so!"
+
+"Mollie!" Mrs. Warren was aghast. "Forgive me! I'm ashamed of
+myself!"
+
+"There's nothing to forgive; it's so."
+
+"Please don't." The two were very close, very tense, but not touching.
+"Don't say any more. I didn't hear--"
+
+"You did hear. And you suspected, or you wouldn't have suggested!"
+
+"Mollie, I never dreamed. I--"
+
+Of a sudden the older woman faced about. Seizing the other by the
+shoulders, she held her prisoner. She fixed the frightened woman's
+eyes with a stern look.
+
+"Will you swear that you never knew--that it was mere chance--what you
+said?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You swear you didn't?"--the grip tightened--"you swear it?"
+
+"I swear--oh, you're hurting me!"
+
+Mollie Babcock let her hands drop.
+
+"I believe you"--wearily. "It seemed that everybody knew. God help
+me!" She sank to the bed, her face in her hands. "I believe I'm going
+mad!"
+
+"Mollie--Mollie Babcock! You mustn't talk so--you mustn't!" The
+seconds ticked away. Save for the quick catch of suppressed sobs, not
+a sound was heard in the mean, austere little room; not an echo
+penetrated from the outside world.
+
+Then suddenly the brown head lifted from the pillow, and Mollie faced
+almost fiercely about.
+
+"You think I am--am mad already." Then, feverishly: "Don't you?"
+
+Helpless at a crisis, Annie Warren could only stand silent, the pink,
+childish under-lip held tight between her teeth to prevent a quiver.
+Her fingers played nervously with the filmy lace shawl about her
+shoulders.
+
+Mollie advanced a step. "Don't you?"
+
+Annie found her voice.
+
+"No, no, no! Oh, Mollie, no, of course not! You--Mollie--" Instinct
+all at once came to her rescue. With a sudden movement she gathered
+the woman in her arms, her tender heart quivering in her voice and
+glistening in her eyes. "Mollie, I can't bear to have you so! I love
+you, Mollie. Tell me what it is--me--your friend, Annie."
+
+Mollie's lips worked without speech, and Annie became insistent.
+
+"Tell me, Mollie. Let me share the ache at your heart. I love you!"
+
+Here was the crushing straw to one very, very heartsick and very
+weary. For the first time in her solitary life, Mollie Babcock threw
+reticence to the winds, and admitted another human being into the
+secret places of her confidence.
+
+"If you don't think me already mad, you will before I'm through." Like
+a caged wild thing that can not be still, she was once more on her
+feet, vibrating back and forth like a shuttle. "I'm afraid of myself
+at times, afraid of the future. It's like the garret used to be after
+dark, when we were children: it holds only horrors.
+
+"Child, child!" She paused, her arms folded across her breast, her
+throat a-throb. "You can't understand--thank God, you never will
+understand--what the future holds for me. You are going back home;
+back to your own people, your own life. You've been here but a few
+months. To you it has been a lark, an outing, an experience. In a few
+short weeks it will be but a memory, stowed away in its own niche, the
+pleasant features alone remaining vivid.
+
+"Even, while here, you've never known the life itself. You've had
+Jack, the novelty of a strange environment, your anticipation of sure
+release. You are merely like a sightseer, locked for a minute in a
+prison-cell, for the sake of a new sensation.
+
+"You can't understand, I say. You are this, and I--I am the
+life-prisoner in the cell beyond, peering at you through the bars,
+viewing you and your mock imprisonment."
+
+Once more the speaker was in motion, to and fro, to and fro, in the
+shuttle-trail. "The chief difference is, that the life-prisoner has a
+hope of pardon; I have none--absolutely none."
+
+"Mollie"--pleadingly, "you mustn't. I'll ask Jack to give Steve a
+place at home, and you can go--"
+
+"Go!" The bitterness of her heart welled up and vibrated in the word.
+"Go! We can't go, now or ever. It's death to Steve if we leave. I've
+got to stay here, month after month, year after year, dragging my life
+out until I grow gray-haired--until I die!" She halted, her arms
+tensely folded, her breath coming quick. Only the intensity of her
+emotion saved the attitude from being histrionic. In a sudden
+outburst, she fiercely apostrophized:
+
+"Oh, Dakota! I hate you, I hate you! Because I am a woman, I hate you!
+Because I would live in a house, and not in this endless dreary waste
+of a dead world, I hate you! Because your very emptiness and solitude
+are worse than a prison, because the calls of the living things that
+creep and fly over your endless bosom are more mournful than death
+itself, I hate you! Because I would be free, because I respect sex,
+because of the disdain for womanhood that dwells in your crushing
+silence, I hate--oh, my God, how I hate you!" She threw her arms wide,
+in a frantic gesture of rebellion.
+
+"I want but this," she cried passionately: "to be free; free, as I was
+at home, in God's country. And I can never be so here--never, never,
+never! Oh, Annie, I'm homesick--desperately, miserably homesick! I
+wish to Heaven I were dead!"
+
+Annie Warren, child-woman that she was, was helpless, when face to
+face with the unusual. Her senses were numbed, paralyzed. One thought
+alone suggested itself.
+
+"But"--haltingly--"for Steve's sake--certainly, for him--"
+
+"Stop! As you love me, stop!" Again no suggestion of the histrionic in
+the passionate voice. "Don't say that now. I can't stand it. I--oh, I
+don't mean that! Forget that I said it. I'm not responsible this
+morning. Please leave me."
+
+She was prostrate on the bed at last, her whole body a-tremble.
+
+"But--Mollie--"
+
+"Go--go!" cried Mollie, wildly. "Please go!"
+
+Awed to silence, Annie Warren stared helplessly a moment, then
+gathered her shawl about her shoulders, and slipped silently away.
+
+
+III
+
+
+Mollie Babcock was listlessly going about some imperative domestic
+task, behind the mean structure which represented home for her, when
+Steve came upon her.
+
+She was not looking for him. He had been gone so long, out there
+somewhere, in that abomination of desolation, building a railroad,
+that the morbid fancy had come to dwell with her that the prairie had
+swallowed him, and that she would never see him more. So he came upon
+her unawares.
+
+The buffalo grass rustled with the passage of her skirts. His eyes
+lighted, the man seemed to grow in stature--six feet of sun-blessed,
+primitive health. Now was the time--
+
+"Mollie!"
+
+There was a sudden gasp from the woman. With a hand to her throat, she
+wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.
+
+"I'm back at last. Aren't you glad to see me?"
+
+She was as pallid as an Easter-lily; pallid, despite the fact that she
+had decided, and had nerved herself for his coming.
+
+Steve was puzzled. "Mollie, girl"--he did not advance, merely stood as
+he was--"aren't you glad to see me? Won't you--come?"
+
+There was a long space of silence; the woman did not stir. Then a
+strange, inarticulate cry was smothered in her throat. Swiftly, all
+but desperately, she stumbled blindly forward, although her eyes were
+shining with the enchantment of his presence; close to him she came,
+flung her arms around his broad chest, and strained him to her with
+the abandon of a wild creature.
+
+"Steve!" tensely, "how could you? Glad? You know I'm glad--oh, so
+glad! You startled me, that was all."
+
+"Mollie, girlie"--he lifted her at arms' length, joying in this
+testimony of his renewed strength and manhood--"I rode all last night
+to get here--to see you. Are you happy, girlie, happy?"
+
+"Yes, Steve"--her voice was chastened to a murmur--"I--I'm very
+happy."
+
+"That completes my happiness." Drawing her tenderly to him, he kissed
+her again and again--hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly, he fell
+to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that she was quick to interpret.
+
+"Isn't there something you've forgotten, Mollie?"
+
+"No, I've not forgotten, Steve." She drew the bearded face down to her
+own. Had Steve been observant he would have noticed that the lips so
+near his own were trembling; but he was not observant, this Steve
+Babcock. Once, twice and again she kissed him.
+
+"I think I'll never forget, Steve, man--never!" With one hand she
+indicated the prairie that billowed away to the skyline. "This is our
+home, and I love it because it is ours. I shall always have you--I
+know now, Steve. And I'm the happiest, most contented woman in all
+the wide world."
+
+She drew away with a sudden movement, her face aglow with love and
+happiness. She was pulling at his arm with all her might.
+
+"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.
+
+"Over to the camp--to Journey's End. I must tell Annie Warren just as
+soon as ever I can find her."
+
+
+
+
+A PRAIRIE IDYL
+
+
+A beautiful moonlight night early in September, the kind of night one
+remembers for years, when the air is not too cold to be pleasant, and
+yet has a suggestion of the frost that is to come. A kind of air that
+makes one think thoughts which cannot be put into words, that calls up
+sensations one cannot describe; an air which breeds restless energy;
+an air through which Mother Nature seems to speak, saying--"Hasten,
+children; life is short and you have much to do."
+
+It was nearing ten o'clock, and a full moon lit up the rolling prairie
+country of South Dakota for miles, when the first team of a little
+train of six moved slowly out of the dark shadow blots thrown by the
+trees at the edge of the Big Sioux, advancing along a dim trail
+towards the main road. From the first wagon sounded the suggestive
+rattle of tin cooking-utensils, and the clatter of covers on an old
+cook stove. Next behind was a load piled high with a compound heap of
+tents, tennis nets, old carpets, hammocks, and the manifold
+unclassified paraphernalia which twenty young people will collect for
+a three weeks' outing.
+
+These wagons told their own story. "Camp Eden," the fanciful name
+given to the quiet, shady spot where the low chain of hills met the
+river; the spot where the very waters seemed to lose themselves in
+their own cool depths, and depart sighing through the shallows
+beyond,--Camp Eden was deserted, and a score of very tired campers
+were reluctantly returning to home and work.
+
+Last in the line and steadily losing ground, came a single trap
+carrying two people. One of them, a young man with the face of a
+dreamer, was speaking. The spell of the night was upon him.
+
+"So this is the last of our good time--and now for work." He stopped
+the horse and stood up in the wagon. "Good-bye, little Camp Eden.
+Though I won't be here, yet whenever I see the moon a-shining so--and
+the air feeling frosty and warm and restless--and the corn stalks
+whitening, and the young prairie chickens calling--you'll come back to
+me, and I'll think of you--and of the Big Sioux--and of--" His eyes
+dropped to a smooth brown head, every coil of the walnut hair
+glistening.
+
+It made him think of the many boat rides they two had taken together
+in the past two weeks, when he had watched the moonlight shimmering on
+rippling, running water, and compared the play of light upon it and
+upon that same brown head--and had forgotten all else in the
+comparison. He forgot all else now. He sat down, and the horse
+started. The noisy wagons ahead had passed out of hearing. The pair
+were alone.
+
+He was silent a moment, looking sideways at the girl. The moonlight
+fell full upon her face, drawing clear the line of cheek and chin;
+bringing out the curve of the drooping mouth and the shadow from the
+long lashes. She seemed to the sensitive lad more than human. He had
+loved her for years, with the pure silent love known only to such a
+nature as his--and never had he loved her so wildly as now.
+
+He was the sport of a multitude of passions; love and ambition were
+the strongest, and they were fighting a death struggle with each
+other. How could he leave her for years--perhaps never see her
+again--and yet how could he ask her to be the wife of such as he was
+now--a mere laborer? And again, his college course, his cherished
+ambition for years--how could he give it up; and yet he felt--he knew
+she loved him, and trusted him.
+
+He had been looking squarely at her. She turned, and their eyes met.
+Each knew the thought of the other, and each turned away. He hesitated
+no longer; he would tell her all, and she should judge. His voice
+trembled a little as he said: "I want to tell you a story, and ask you
+a question--may I?"
+
+She looked at him quickly, then answered with a smile: "I'm always
+glad to hear stories--and at the worst one can always decline to
+answer questions."
+
+He looked out over the prairie, and saw the lights of the little
+town--her home--in the distance.
+
+"It isn't a short story, and I have only so long"--he pointed along
+the road ahead to the village beyond--"to tell it in." He settled
+back in the seat, and began speaking. His voice was low and soft, like
+the prairie night-wind.
+
+"Part of the story you know; part of it I think you have guessed; a
+little of it will be new. For the sake of that little, I will tell
+all."
+
+"Thirteen years ago, what is now a little prairie town--then a very
+little town indeed--gained a new citizen--a boy of nine. A party of
+farmers found him one day, sleeping in a pile of hay, in the market
+corner. He lay so they could see how his face was bruised--and how,
+though asleep, he tossed in pain. He awoke, and, getting up, walked
+with a limp. Where he came from no one knew, and he would not tell;
+but his appearance told its own story. He had run away from somewhere.
+What had happened they could easily imagine.
+
+"It was harvest-time and boys, even though minus a pedigree, were in
+demand; so he was promptly put on a farm. Though only a child, he had
+no one to care for him--and he was made to work ceaselessly.
+
+"Years passed and brought a marked change in the boy. How he lived was
+a marvel. It was a country of large families, and no one cared to
+adopt him. Summers, he would work for his board and clothes, and in
+winter, by the irony of Nature, for his board only; yet, perhaps
+because it was the warmest place he knew, he managed to attend
+district school.
+
+"When a lad of fifteen he began to receive wages--and life's horizon
+seemed to change. He dressed neatly, and in winter came to school in
+the little prairie town. He was put in the lower grades with boys of
+ten, and even here his blunders made him a laughing-stock; but not for
+long, for he worked--worked always--and next year was put in the high
+school.
+
+"There he established a precedent--doing four years' work in
+two--and graduated at eighteen. How he did it no one but he himself
+knew--studying Sundays, holidays, and evenings, when he was so tired
+that he had to walk the floor to keep awake--but he did it."
+
+The speaker stopped a moment to look at his companion. "Is this a
+bore? Somehow I can't help talking to-night."
+
+"No, please go on," said the girl quickly.
+
+"Well, the boy graduated--but not alone. For two years he had worked
+side by side with a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. From the time he
+had first seen her she was his ideal--his divinity. And she had never
+spoken with him five minutes in her life. After graduation, the girl
+went away to a big university. Her parents were wealthy, and her every
+wish was gratified."
+
+Again the speaker hesitated. When he went on his face was hard, his
+voice bitter.
+
+"And the boy--he was poor and he went back to the farm. He was the
+best hand in the country; for the work he received good wages. If he
+had worked hard before, he worked now like a demon. He thought of the
+girl away at college, and tried at first to crowd her from his
+memory--but in vain. Then he worked in self-defence--and to forget.
+
+"He saw years slipping by--and himself still a farmhand. The thought
+maddened him, because he knew he was worthy of something better.
+
+"Gradually, his whole life centred upon one object--to save money for
+college. Other boys called him close and cold; but he did not care. He
+seldom went anywhere, so intent was he upon his one object. On hot
+summer nights, tired and drowsy he would read until Nature rebelled,
+and he would fall asleep to dream of a girl--a girl with brown eyes
+that made one forget--everything. In winter, he had more time--and the
+little lamp in his room became a sort of landmark: it burned for hours
+after every other light in the valley had ceased shining.
+
+"Four years passed, and at last the boy had won. In a month he would
+pass from the prairie to university life. He had no home, few
+friends--who spoke; those who did not were safely packed at the bottom
+of his trunk. His going from the little town would excite no more
+comment than had his coming. He was all ready, and for the first time
+in his life set apart a month--the last--as a vacation. He felt
+positively gay. He had fought a hard fight--and had won. He saw the
+dawning of a great light--saw the future as a battle-ground where he
+would fight; not as he was then, but fully equipped for the
+struggle.... But no matter what air-castles he built; they were such
+as young men will build to the end of time."
+
+The speaker's voice lowered--stopped. He looked straight out over the
+prairie, his eyes glistening.
+
+"If so far the boy's life had been an inferno, he was to be repaid.
+The girl--she of the brown eyes--was home once more, and they met
+again as members of a camping party." He half-turned in his seat to
+look at her, but she sat with face averted, so quiet, so motionless,
+that he wondered if she heard.
+
+"Are you listening?" he asked.
+
+"Listening!" Her voice carried conviction, so the lad continued.
+
+"For a fortnight he lived a dream--and that dream was Paradise. He
+forgot the past, ignored the future, and lived solely for the
+moment--with the joy of Nature's own child. It was the pure love of
+the idealist and the dreamer--it was divine.
+
+"Then came the reaction. One day he awoke--saw things as they
+were--saw again the satire of Fate. At the very time he left for
+college, she returned--a graduate. She was young, beautiful,
+accomplished. He was a mere farmhand, without money or education,
+homeless, obscure. The thought was maddening, and one day he suddenly
+disappeared from camp. He didn't say good-bye to any one; he felt he
+had no apology that he could offer. But he had to go, for he felt the
+necessity for work, longed for it, as a drunkard longs for liquor."
+
+"Oh!" The exclamation came from the lips of the girl beside him.
+"I--we--all wondered why--."
+
+"Well, that was why.
+
+"He fell in with a threshing-crew, and asked to work for his board.
+They thought him queer, but accepted his offer. For two days he stayed
+with them, doing the work of two men. It seemed as if he couldn't do
+enough--he couldn't become tired. He wanted to think it all out, and
+he couldn't with the fever in his blood.
+
+"At night he couldn't sleep--Nature was pitiless. He would walk the
+road for miles until morning.
+
+"With the third day came relief. All at once he felt fearfully tired,
+and fell asleep where he stood. Several of the crew carried him to a
+darkened room, and there he slept as a dumb animal sleeps. When he
+awoke, he was himself again; his mind was clear and cool. He looked
+the future squarely in the face, now, and clearly, as if a finger
+pointed, he saw the path that was marked for him. He must go his
+way--and she must go hers. Perhaps, after four years or more--but the
+future was God's."
+
+The boy paused. The lights of the town were nearing, now; but he still
+looked out over the moon-kissed prairie.
+
+"The rest you know. The dreamer returned. The party scarcely knew him,
+for he seemed years older. There were but a few days more of camp
+life, and he spent most of the time with the girl. Like a malefactor
+out on bail, he was painting a picture for the future. He thought he
+had conquered himself--but he hadn't. It was the same old struggle.
+Was not love more than ambition or wealth? Had he not earned the
+right to speak? But something held him back. If justice to himself,
+was it justice to the girl? Conscience said 'No.' It was hard--no one
+knows how hard--but he said nothing."
+
+Once more he turned to his companion, in his voice the tenderness of a
+life-long passion.
+
+"This is the story: did the boy do right?" A life's work--greater than
+a life itself, hung on the answer to that question.
+
+The girl understood it all. She had always known that she liked him;
+but now--now--As he had told his story, she had felt, first, pity, and
+then something else; something incomparably sweeter; something that
+made her heart beat wildly, that seemed almost to choke her with its
+ecstasy.
+
+He loved her--had loved her all these years! He belonged to her--and
+his future lay in her hands.
+
+His future! The thought fell upon her new-found happiness with the
+suddenness of a blow. She could keep him, but had she the right to do
+so? She saw in him something that he did not suspect--and that
+something was genius. She knew he had the ability to make for himself
+a name that would stand among the great names of the earth.
+
+Then, did his life really belong to her? Did it not rather belong to
+himself and to the world?
+
+She experienced a struggle, fierce as he himself had fought. And the
+boy sat silent, tense, waiting for her answer.
+
+Yes, she must give him up; she would be brave. She started to speak,
+but the words would not come. Suddenly she buried her face in her
+hands, while the glistening brown head trembled with her sobs.
+
+It was the last drop to the cup overflowing. A second, and then, his
+arms were around her. The touch was electrifying--it was oblivion--it
+was heaven--it was--but only a young lover knows what.
+
+"You have answered," said the boy. "God forgive me--but I can't go
+away now."
+
+Thus Fate sported with two lives.
+
+
+
+
+THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS
+
+
+CHAPTER I--SANDFORD THE EXEMPLARY
+
+
+Ordinarily Sandford is sane--undeniably so. Barring the seventh, upon
+any other day of the week, fifty-one weeks in the year, from nine
+o'clock in the morning until six at night--omitting again a scant
+half-hour at noon for lunch--he may be found in his tight little box
+of an office on the fifth floor of the Exchange Building, at the
+corner of Main Avenue and Thirteenth Street, where the elevated makes
+its loop.
+
+No dog chained beside his kennel is more invariably present, no caged
+songster more incontestably anchored. If you need his services, you
+have but to seek his address between the hours mentioned. You may do
+so with the same assurance of finding him on duty that you would feel,
+if you left a jug of water out of doors over night in a blizzard,
+that the jug, as a jug, would be no longer of value in the morning. He
+was, and is, routine impersonate, exponent of sound business
+personified; a living sermon against sloth and improvidence, and easy
+derelictions of the flesh.
+
+That is to say, he is such fifty-one weeks out of the fifty-two. All
+through the frigid winter season, despite the lure of California
+limiteds or Havana liners, he holds hard in that den of his, with its
+floor and walls of sanitary tiling and its ceiling of white enamel,
+and hews--or grinds rather, for Sandford is a dental surgeon--close to
+the line.
+
+All through the heat of summer, doggedly superior to the call of
+Colorado or the Adirondacks or the Thousand Islands, he comes and
+departs by the tick of the clock. Base-ball fans find him adamant;
+turf devotees, marble; golf enthusiasts, cold as the tiles beneath his
+feet.
+
+Even in early June, when Dalton, whose suburban home is next door,
+returns, tanned and clear-eyed from a week-end at _the_ lake--there is
+but one lake to Dalton--and calls him mysteriously back to the rear
+of the house, where, with a flourish, the cover is removed from a box
+the expressman has just delivered, to disclose a shining five-pound
+bass reposing upon its bed of packed ice--even then, hands in pockets,
+Sandford merely surveys and expresses polite congratulation. Certainly
+it is a fine fish, a noble fish, even; but for the sake of one like
+it--or, yes, granted a dozen such--to leave the office, the
+sanitary-tiled office, deserted for four whole days (especially when
+Dr. Corliss on the floor below is watching like a hawk)--such a crazy
+proceeding is not to be thought of.
+
+Certainly he will not go along the next week end--or the next, either.
+The suggestion simply is unthinkable. Such digressions may be all
+right for the leisure class or for invalids; but for adults, live
+ones, strong and playing the game? A shrug and a tolerant smile end
+the discussion, as, hands still in his pockets, an after-dinner cigar
+firm between his teeth, Sandford saunters back across the dozen feet
+of sod separating his own domicile from that of his fallen and
+misguided neighbor.
+
+"Dalton's got the fever again, bad," he comments to the little woman
+upon his own domain, whom he calls "Polly," or "Mrs. Sandford," as
+occasion dictates. She has been watching the preceding incident with
+inscrutable eyes.
+
+"Yes?" Polly acknowledges, with the air of harkening to a familiar
+harangue while casting ahead, in anticipation of what was to come
+next.
+
+"Curious about Dalton; peculiar twist to his mental machinery
+somewhere." Sandford blows a cloud of smoke and eyes it meditatively.
+"Leaving business that way, chopping it all to pieces in fact; and
+just for a fish! Curious!"
+
+"Harry's got something back there that'll probably interest you," he
+calls out to me as I chug by in my last year's motor; "better stop and
+see."
+
+"Yes," I acknowledge simply; and though Polly's eyes and mine meet we
+never smile, or twitch an eyelid, or turn a hair; for Sandford is
+observing--and this is only June.
+
+So much for Dr. Jekyll Sandford, the Sandford of fifty-one weeks in
+the year.
+
+Then, as inevitably as time rolls by, comes that final week; period
+of mania, of abandon; and in the mere sorcerous passage of a pair
+of whirring wings, Dr. Jekyll, the exemplary, is no more. In his
+place, wearing his shoes, audaciously signing his name even to
+checks, is that other being, Hyde: one absolutely the reverse of
+the reputable Jekyll; repudiating with scorn that gentleman's
+engagements; with brazen effrontery denying him utterly, and all the
+sane conventionality for which the name has become a synonyme.
+
+Worst of all, rank blasphemy, he not only refuses to set foot in that
+modern sanitary office of enamel and tiling, at the corner of
+Thirteenth and Main, below which, by day and by night, the "L" trains
+go thundering, but deliberately holds it up to ridicule and derision
+and insult.
+
+
+CHAPTER II--THE PRESAGE OF THE WINGS
+
+
+And I, the observer--worse, the accessory--know, in advance, when the
+metamorphosis will transpire.
+
+When, on my desk-pad calendar the month recorded is October, and the
+day begins with a twenty, there comes the first premonition of winter;
+not the reality, but a premonition; when, at noon the sun is burning
+hot, and, in the morning, frost glistens on the pavements; when the
+leaves are falling steadily in the parks, and not a bird save the
+ubiquitous sparrow is seen, I begin to suspect.
+
+But when at last, of an afternoon, the wind switches with a great
+flurry from south to dead north, and on the flag-pole atop of the
+government building there goes up this signal: [Transcriber's Note:
+signal flag image here]; and when later, just before retiring, I
+surreptitiously slip out of doors, and, listening breathlessly, hear
+after a moment despite the clatter of the wind, high up in the
+darkness overhead that muffled _honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ of the
+Canada-goose winging on its southern journey in advance of the coming
+storm--then I _know_.
+
+So well do I know, that I do not retire--not just yet. Instead, on a
+pretext, any pretext, I knock out the ashes from my old pipe, fill it
+afresh, and wait. I wait patiently, because, inevitable as Fate,
+inevitable as that call from out the dark void of the sky, I know
+there will come a trill of the telephone on the desk at my elbow; my
+own Polly--whose name happens to be Mary--is watching as I take down
+the receiver to reply.
+
+
+CHAPTER III--THE OTHER MAN
+
+
+It is useless to dissimulate longer, then. I am discovered, and I know
+I am discovered. "Hello, Sandford," I greet without preface.
+
+"Sandford!" (I am repeating in whispers what he says for my Polly's
+benefit.) "Sandford! How the deuce did you know?"
+
+"Know?" With the Hyde-like change comes another, and I feel positively
+facetious. "Why I know your ring of course, the same as I know your
+handwriting on a telegram. What is it? I'm busy."
+
+"I'm busy, too. Don't swell up." (Imagine "swell up" from Sandford,
+the repressed and decorous!) "I just wanted to tell you that the
+honkers are coming."
+
+"No! You're imagining, or you dreamed it!... Anyway, what of it? I
+tell you I'm busy."
+
+"Cut it out!" I'm almost scared myself, the voice is positively
+ferocious. "I heard them not five minutes ago, and besides, the storm
+signal is up. I'm getting my traps together now. Our train goes at
+three-ten in the morning, you know."
+
+"Our-train-goes-at-three-ten--in-the-morning!"
+
+"I said so."
+
+"_Our_ train?"
+
+"Our train: the one which is to take us out to Rush Lake. Am I clear?
+I'll wire Johnson to meet us with the buckboard."
+
+"Clear, yes; but go in the morning--Why, man, you're crazy! I have
+engagements for all day to-morrow."
+
+"So have I."
+
+"And the next day."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the next."
+
+"A whole week with me. What of it?"
+
+"What of it! Why, business--"
+
+"Confound business! I tell you they're coming; I heard them. I haven't
+any more time to waste talking, either. I've got to get ready. Meet
+you at three-ten, remember."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Number, please," requests Central, wearily.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV--CAPITULATION
+
+
+Thus it comes to pass that I go; as I know from the first I shall go,
+and Sandford knows that I will go; and, most of all, as Mary knows
+that I will go.
+
+In fact, she is packing for me already; not saying a word, but simply
+packing; and I--I go out-doors again, sidling into a jog beside the
+bow-window, to diminish the din of the wind in my ears, listening
+open-mouthed until--
+
+Yes, there it sounds again; faint, but distinct; mellow, sonorous,
+vibrant. _Honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ and again _honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ It
+wafts downward from some place, up above where the stars should be and
+are not; up above the artificial illumination of the city; up where
+there are freedom, and space infinite, and abandon absolute.
+
+With an effort, I force myself back into the house. I take down and
+oil my old double-barrel, lovingly, and try the locks to see that all
+is in order. I lay out my wrinkled and battered duck suit handy for
+the morning, after carefully storing away in an inner pocket, where
+they will keep dry, the bundle of postcards Mary brings me--first
+exacting a promise to report on one each day, when I know I shall be
+five miles from the nearest postoffice, and that I shall bring them
+all back unused.
+
+And, last of all, I slip to bed, and to dreams of gigantic honkers
+serene in the blue above; of whirring, whistling wings that cut the
+air like myriad knife blades; until I wake up with a start at the
+rattle of the telephone beside my bed, and I know that, though dark as
+a pit of pitch, it is morning, and that Sandford is already astir.
+
+
+CHAPTER V--ANTICIPATION
+
+
+In the smoking-car forward I find Sandford. He is a most
+disreputable-looking specimen. Garbed in weather-stained corduroys,
+and dried-grass sweater, and great calfskin boots, he sprawls among
+gun-cases and shell-carriers--no sportsman will entrust these
+essentials to the questionable ministrations of a baggage-man--and the
+air about him is blue from the big cigar he is puffing so
+ecstatically. He nods and proffers me its mate.
+
+"Going to be a great day," he announces succinctly, and despite a
+rigorous censorship there is a suggestion of excitement in the voice.
+"The wind's dead north, and it's cloudy and damp. Rain, maybe, about
+daylight."
+
+"Yes." I am lighting up stolidly, although my nerves are atingle.
+
+"We're going to hit it right, just right. The flight's on. I heard
+them going over all night. The lake will be black with the big
+fellows, the Canada boys."
+
+"Yes," I repeat; then conscience gives a last dig. "I ought not to do
+it, though. I didn't have time to break a single engagement"--I'm a
+dental surgeon, too, by the way, with likewise an office of tile and
+enamel--"or explain at all. And the muss there'll be at the shop
+when--"
+
+"Forget it, you confounded old dollar-grubber!" A fresh torrent of
+smoke belches forth, so that I see Sandford's face but dimly through
+the haze. "If you mention teeth again, until we're back--merely
+mention them--I'll throttle you!"
+
+The train is in motion now, and the arc-lights at the corners,
+enshrouded each by a zone of mist, are flitting by.
+
+"Yes," he repeats, and again his voice has that minor strain of
+suppressed excitement, "we're hitting it just right. There'll be rain,
+or a flurry of snow, maybe, and the paddle feet will be down in the
+clouds."
+
+
+CHAPTER VI--"MARK THE RIGHT, SANDFORD!"
+
+
+And they are. Almost before we have stumbled off at the deserted
+station into the surrounding darkness, Johnson's familiar bass is
+heralding the fact.
+
+"Millions of 'em, boys," he assures us, "billions! Couldn't sleep last
+night for the racket they made on the lake. Never saw anything like it
+in the twenty years I've lived on the bank. You sure have struck it
+this time. Right this way," he is staggering under the load of our
+paraphernalia; "rig's all ready and Molly's got the kettle on at home,
+waiting breakfast for you.... Just as fat as you were last year, ain't
+ye?" a time-proven joke, for I weigh one hundred and eight pounds.
+"Try to pull you out, though; try to." And his great laugh drowns the
+roar of the retreating train.
+
+At another time, that five-mile drive in the denser darkness, just
+preceding dawn, would have been long perhaps, the springs of that
+antiquated buckboard inadequate, the chill of that damp October air
+piercing; but now--we notice nothing, feel nothing uncomfortable. My
+teeth chatter a bit now and then, when I am off guard, to be sure; but
+it is not from cold, and the vehicle might be a Pullman coach for
+aught I am conscious.
+
+For we have reached the border of the marsh, now, and are skirting its
+edge, and--Yes, those are ducks, really; that black mass, packed into
+the cove at the lee of those clustering rushes, protected from the
+wind, the whole just distinguishable from the lighter shadow of the
+water: ducks and brant; dots of white, like the first scattered
+snowflakes on a sooty city roof!
+
+"Mark the right, Sandford," I whisper in oblivion. "Mark the right!"
+
+And, breaking the spell, Johnson laughs.
+
+
+CHAPTER VII--THE BACON WHAT AM!
+
+
+When is bacon bacon, and eggs eggs? When is coffee coffee, and the
+despised pickerel, fresh from the cold water of the shaded lake, a
+glorious brown food, fit for the gods?
+
+Answer, while Molly (whose real name is Aunt Martha) serves them to
+us, forty-five minutes later.
+
+Oh, if we only had time to eat, as that breakfast deserves to be
+eaten! If we only had time!
+
+But we haven't; no; Sandford says so, in a voice that leaves no room
+for argument. The sky is beginning to redden in the east; the surface
+of the water reflects the glow, like a mirror; and, seen through the
+tiny-paned windows, black specks, singly and in groups, appear and
+disappear, in shifting patterns, against the lightening background.
+
+"No more now, Aunt Martha--no. Wait until noon; just wait--and _then_
+watch us! Ready, Ed?"
+
+"Waiting for you, Sam." It's been a year since I called him by his
+Christian name; but I never notice, nor does he. "All ready."
+
+"Better try the point this morning; don't you think, Johnson?"
+
+"Yes, if you've your eye with ye. Won't wait while y' sprinkle salt on
+their tails, them red-heads and canvas boys. No, sir-ree."
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII--FEATHERED BULLETS
+
+
+The breath of us is whistling through our nostrils, like the muffled
+exhaust of a gasoline engine, and our hearts are thumping two-steps on
+our ribs from the exertion, when we reach the end of the rock-bestrewn
+point which, like a long index finger, is thrust out into the bosom of
+the lake. The wind, still dead north, and laden with tiny drops of
+moisture, like spray from a giant atomizer, buffets us steadily; but
+thereof we are sublimely unconscious.
+
+For at last we are there, there; precisely where we were yesterday--no,
+a year ago--and the light is strong enough now, so that when our
+gun-barrels stand out against the sky, we can see the sights, and--
+
+Down! Down, behind the nearest stunted willow tree; behind
+anything--quick!--for they're coming: a great dim wedge, with the apex
+toward us, coming swiftly on wings that propel two miles to the
+minute, when backed by a wind that makes a mile in one.
+
+Coming--no; arrived. Fair overhead are the white of breasts, of plump
+bodies flashing through the mist, the swishing hiss of many wings
+cutting the air, the rhythmic _pat_, _pat_--"_Bang!_ _Bang!_"
+
+Was it Sandford's gun, or was it mine? Who knows? The reports were
+simultaneous.
+
+And then--_splash!_ and a second later,--_splash!_ as two dots leave
+the hurtling wedge and, with folded wings, pitch at an angle,
+following their own momentum, against the dull brown surface of the
+rippling water.
+
+Through the intervening branches and dead sunflower stalks, I look at
+Sandford--to find that Sandford is looking at me.
+
+"Good work, old man!" I say, and notice that my voice is a little
+higher than normal.
+
+"Good work, yourself,"--generously. "I missed clean, both barrels. Do
+better next time, though, perhaps.... _Down!_ Mark north! Take the
+leader, you."
+
+From out the mist, dead ahead, just skimming the surface of the water,
+and coming straight at us, like a mathematically arranged triangle of
+cannon balls, taking definite form and magnitude oh, so swiftly,
+unbelievably swift; coming--yes--directly overhead, as before, the
+pulsing, echoing din in our ears.
+
+"_Ready!_"
+
+Again the four reports that sounded as two; and they are past; no
+longer a regular formation, but scattered erratically by the alarm,
+individual vanishing and dissolving dots, speedily swallowed up by the
+gray of the mist.
+
+But this time there was no echoing splash, as a hurtling body struck
+the water, nor tense spoken word of congratulation following--nothing.
+For ten seconds, which is long under the circumstances, not a word is
+spoken; only the metallic click of opened locks, as they spring home,
+breaks the steady purr of the wind; then:
+
+"Safe from me when they come like that," admits Sandford, "unless I
+have a ten-foot pole, and they happen to run into it."
+
+"And from me," I echo.
+
+"Lord, how they come! They just simply materialize before your eyes,
+like an impression by flash-light; and then--vanish."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Seems as though they'd take fire, like meteorites, from the
+friction."
+
+"I'm looking for the smoke, myself--_Down!_ Mark your left!"
+
+_Pat!_ _pat!_ _pat!_ Swifter than spoken words, swift as the strokes
+of an electric fan, the wings beat the air. _Swish-h-h!_ long-drawn
+out, _crescendo_, yet _crescendo_ as, razor-keen, irresistible, those
+same invisible wings cut it through and through; while, answering the
+primitive challenge, responding to the stimulus of the game, the hot
+tingle of excitement speeds up and down our spines. Nearer, nearer,
+mounting, perpendicular--
+
+The third battalion of that seemingly inexhaustible army has come and
+gone; and, mechanically, we are thrusting fresh shells into the
+faintly smoking gun-barrels.
+
+"Got mine that time, both of them." No repression, nor polite
+self-abnegation from Sandford this time; just plain, frank exultation
+and pride of achievement. "Led 'em a yard--two, maybe; but I got 'em
+clean. Did you see?"
+
+"Yes, good work," I echo in the formula.
+
+"Canvas-backs, every one; nothing but canvas-backs." Again the old
+marvel, the old palliation that makes the seemingly unequal game fair.
+"But, Lord, how they do go; how anything alive can go so--and be
+stopped!"
+
+"Mark to windward! Straight ahead! _Down!_"
+
+
+CHAPTER IX--OBLIVION
+
+
+This, the morning. Then, almost before we mark the change, swift-passing
+time has moved on; the lowering mist has lifted; the occasional
+pattering rain-drops have ceased; the wind, in sympathy, is diminished.
+And of a sudden, arousing us to a consciousness of time and place, the
+sun peeps forth through a rift in the scattering clouds, and at a
+point a bit south of the zenith.
+
+"Noon!" comments Sandford, intensely surprised. Somehow, we are always
+astonished that noon should follow so swiftly upon sunrise. "Well, who
+would have thought it!"
+
+That instant I am conscious, for the first time, of a certain violent
+aching void making insistent demand.
+
+"I wouldn't have done so before, but now that you mention it, I do
+think it emphatically." This is a pitiful effort at a jest, but it
+passes unpunished. "There comes Johnson to bring in the birds."
+
+After dinner--and oh, what a dinner! for, having adequate time to do
+it justice, we drag it on and on, until even Aunt Martha is
+satisfied--we curl up in the sunshine, undimmed and gloriously warm;
+we light our briers, and, too lazily, nervelessly content to even
+talk, lay looking out over the blue water that melts and merges in the
+distance with the bluer sky above. After a bit, our pipes burn
+dead and our eyelids drop, and with a last memory of sunlight
+dancing on a myriad tiny wavelets, and a blessed peace and abandon
+soaking into our very souls we doze, then sleep, sleep as we never
+sleep in the city; as we had fancied a short day before never to
+sleep again; dreamlessly, childishly, as Mother Nature intended her
+children to sleep.
+
+Then, from without the pale of utter oblivion, a familiar voice breaks
+slowly upon our consciousness: the voice of Johnson, the vigilant.
+
+"Got your blind all built, boys, and the decoys is out--four dozen of
+them," he admonishes, sympathetically. "Days are getting short, now,
+so you'd better move lively, if you get your limit before dark."
+
+
+CHAPTER X--UPON "WIPING THE EYE"
+
+
+"To poets and epicures, perhaps, the lordly canvas-back--though brown
+from the oven, I challenge the supercilious _gourmet_ to distinguish
+between his favorite, and a fat American coot. But for me the
+loud-voiced mallard, with his bottle-green head and audaciously
+curling tail; for he will decoy."
+
+I am quoting Sandford. Be that as it may, we are there, amid
+frost-browned rushes that rustle softly in the wind: a patch of
+shallow open water, perhaps an acre in extent, to the leeward of us,
+where the decoys, heading all to windward, bob gently with the slight
+swell.
+
+"Now this is something like sport," adds my companion, settling back
+comfortably in the slough-grass blind, built high to the north to cut
+out the wind, and low to the south to let in the sun. "On the point,
+there, this morning you scored on me, I admit it; but this is where I
+shine: real shooting; one, or a pair at most, at a time; no
+scratches; no excuses. Lead on, MacDuff, and if you miss, all's fair
+to the second gun."
+
+"All right, Sam."
+
+"No small birds, either, understand: no teal, or widgeon, or
+shovellers. This is a mallard hole. Nothing but mallards goes."
+
+"All right, Sam."
+
+"Now is your chance, then.... _Now!_"
+
+He's right. Now is my chance, indeed.
+
+Over the sea of rushes, straight toward us, is coming a pair, a single
+pair; and, yes, they are unmistakably mallards. It is feeding time, or
+resting time, and they are flying lazily, long necks extended,
+searching here and there for the promised lands. Our guns indubitably
+cover it; and though I freeze still and motionless, my nerves stretch
+tight in anticipation, until they tingle all but painfully.
+
+On the great birds come; on and still on, until in another second--
+
+That instant they see the decoys, and, warned simultaneously by an
+ancestral suspicion, they swing outward in a great circle, without
+apparent effort on their part, to reconnoitre.
+
+Though I do not stir, I hear the _pat!_ _pat!_ of their wings, as they
+pass by at the side, just out of gunshot. Then, _pat!_ _pat!_ back of
+me, then, _pat!_ _pat!_ on the other side, until once again I see
+them, from the tail of my eye, merge into view ahead.
+
+All is well--very well--and, suspicions wholly allayed at last, they
+whirl for the second oncoming; just above the rushes, now; wings
+spread wide and motionless; sailing nearer, nearer--
+
+"_Now!_" whispers Sandford, "_now!_"
+
+Out of our nest suddenly peeps my gun barrel; and, simultaneously, the
+wings, a second before motionless, begin to beat the air in frantic
+retreat.
+
+But it is too late.
+
+_Bang!_ What! not a feather drops?... _Bang!_ Quack! Quack! _Bang!_
+_Bang!_... Splash!... Quack! Quack! Quack!
+
+That is the story--all except for Sandford's derisive laugh.
+
+"What'd I tell you?" he exults. "Wiped your eye for you that time,
+didn't I?"
+
+"How in the world I missed--" It is all that I can say. "They looked
+as big as--as suspended tubs."
+
+"Buck-fever," explains Sandford, laconically.
+
+"That's all right." I feel my fighting-blood rising, and I swear with
+a mighty wordless oath that I'll be avenged for that laugh. "The day
+is young yet. If, before night, I don't wipe both your eyes, and wipe
+them good--"
+
+"I know you will, old man." Sandford is smiling understandingly, and
+in a flash I return the smile with equal understanding. "And when you
+do, laugh at me, laugh long and loud."
+
+
+CHAPTER XI--THE COLD GRAY DAWN
+
+
+At a quarter of twelve o'clock a week later, I slip out of my office
+sheepishly, and, walking a half-block, take the elevator to the fifth
+floor of the Exchange Building, on the corner. The white enamel of
+Sandford's tiny box of an office glistens, as I enter the door, and
+the tiling looks fresh and clean, as though scrubbed an hour before.
+
+"Doctor's back in the laboratory," smiles the white-uniformed
+attendant, as she grasps my identity.
+
+On a tall stool, beside the laboratory lathe, sits Sandford, hard at
+work. He acknowledges my presence with a nod--and that is all.
+
+"Noon, Sandford," I announce.
+
+"Is it?" laconically.
+
+"Thought I'd drop over to the club for lunch, and a little smoke
+afterward. Want to go along?"
+
+"Can't." The whirr of the electric lathe never ceases. "Got to finish
+this bridge before one o'clock. Sorry, old man."
+
+"Harry just 'phoned and asked me to come and bring you." I throw the
+bait with studied nicety. "He's getting up a party to go out to
+Johnson's, and wants to talk things over a bit in advance."
+
+"Harry!" Irony fairly drips from the voice. "He's always going
+somewhere. Mustn't have much else to do. Anyway, can't possibly meet
+him this noon."
+
+"To-night, then." I suggest tentatively. "He can wait until then, I'm
+sure."
+
+"Got to work to-night, too. Things are all piled up on me." Sandford
+applies a fresh layer of pumice to the swiftly moving polishing wheel,
+with practised accuracy. "Tell Harry I'm sorry; but business is
+business, you know."
+
+"_Purr-r-r!_" drones on the lathe, "_purr-r-r!_" I hear it as I
+silently slip away.
+
+Yes, Sandford is sane; and will be for fifty-one weeks.
+
+
+
+
+A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION
+
+
+I
+
+
+A new settlement in a new country: no contemporary mind can conceive
+the possibilities of future greatness that lie in the fulfilment of
+its prophecy.
+
+A long, irregular quadrangle has been hewn from the woods bordering
+the north bank of the Ohio River. Scattered through the clearing are
+rude houses, built of the forest logs. Bounding the space upon three
+sides, and so close that its storm music sounds plain in every ear, is
+the forest itself. On the fourth side flows the wide river, covered
+now, firm and silent, with a thick ice blanket. Across the river on
+the Kentucky shore, softened by the blue haze of distance, another
+forest crowds down to the very water's edge.
+
+It is night, and of the cabins in the clearing each reflects, in one
+way or another, the character of its builder. Here a broad pencil of
+light writes "Careless!" on the black sheet of the forest; there a
+mere thread escaping tells of patient carpentry.
+
+At one end of the clearing, so near the forest that the top of a
+falling tree would have touched it, stood a cabin, individual in its
+complete darkness except for a dull ruddy glow at one end, where a
+window extended as high as the eaves. An open fire within gnawed at
+the half-green logs, sending smoke and steam up the cavernous chimney,
+and casting about the room an uncertain, fitful light--now bright,
+again shadowy.
+
+It was a bare room that the flickering firelight revealed, bare alike
+as to its furnishings and the freshness of its peeled logs, the spaces
+between which had been "chinked" with clay from the river-bank.
+Scarcely a thing built of man was in sight which had not been designed
+to kill; scarcely a product of Nature which had not been gathered at
+cost of animal life. Guns of English make, stretched horizontally
+along the walls upon pegs driven into the logs; in the end opposite
+the wide fireplace, home-made cooking utensils dangled from the end
+of a rough table, itself a product of the same factory. In front of
+the fire, just beyond the blaze and the coals and ashes, were heaped
+the pelts of various animals; black bear and cinnamon rested side by
+side with the rough, shaggy fur of the buffalo, brought by Indians
+from the far western land of the Dakotas.
+
+Upon the heap, dressed in the picturesque utility garb of buckskin,
+homespun, and "hickory" which stamped the pioneer of his day, a big
+man lay at full length: a large man even here, where the law of the
+fittest reigned supreme. A stubbly growth of beard covered his face,
+giving it the heavy expression common to those accustomed to silent
+places, and dim forest trails.
+
+Aside from his size, there was nothing striking or handsome about this
+backwoods giant, neither of face nor of form; yet, sleeping or waking,
+working or at leisure, he would be noticed--and remembered. In his
+every feature, every action, was the absolute unconsciousness of self,
+which cannot be mistaken; whether active or passive, there was about
+him an insinuation of reserve force, subtly felt, of a strong,
+determined character, impossible to sway or bend. He lay, now,
+motionless, staring with wide-open eyes into the fire and breathing
+slowly, deeply, like one in sleep.
+
+There was a hammering upon the door; another, louder; then a rattling
+that made the walls vibrate.
+
+"Come!" called the man, rousing and rolling away from the fire.
+
+A heavy shoulder struck the door hard, and the screaming wooden hinges
+covered the sound of the entering footfall.
+
+He who came was also of the type: homespun and buckskin, hair long and
+face unshaven. He straightened from a passage which was not low, then
+turning pushed the unwieldy door shut. It closed reluctantly, with a
+loud shrilling of its frost-bound hinges and frame. In a moment he
+dropped his hands and impatiently kicked the stubborn offender home,
+the suction drawing a puff of smoke from the fireplace into the room,
+and sending the ashes spinning in miniature whirlwinds upon the
+hearth.
+
+The man on the floor contemplated the entry with indifference; but a
+new light entered his eyes as he recognized his visitor, though his
+face held like wood.
+
+"Evenin', Clayton," he greeted, nodding toward a stool by the hearth.
+"Come over 'n sit down to the entertainment." A whimsical smile
+struggled through the heavy whiskers. "I've been seeing all sorts of
+things in there"--a thoughtful nod toward the fire. "Guess, though, a
+fellow generally does see what he's looking for in this world."
+
+"See here, Bud," the visitor bluntly broke in, coming into the light
+and slurring a dialect of no nationality pure, "y' can't stop me
+thataway. There ain't no use talkin' about the weather, neither." A
+motion of impatience; then swifter, with a shade of menace:
+
+"You know what I came over fer. It's actin' the fool, I know, we few
+families out here weeks away from ev'rybody, but this clearin' can't
+hold us both."
+
+The menace suddenly left the voice, unconsciously giving place to a
+note of tenderness and of vague self-fear.
+
+"I love that girl better 'n you er life er anything else, Bud; I tell
+ye this square to yer face. I can't stand it. I followed ye last night
+clean home from the party--an' I had a knife. I jest couldn't help it.
+Every time I know nex' time it'll happen. I don't ask ye to give her
+up, Bud, but to settle it with me now, fair an' open, 'fore I do
+something I can't help."
+
+He strode swiftly to and fro across the room as he spoke, his
+skin-shod feet tapping muffled upon the bare floor, like the pads of
+an animal. The fur of his leggings, rubbing together as he walked,
+generated static sparks which snapped audibly. He halted presently by
+the fireplace, and looked down at the man lying there.
+
+"It's 'tween us, Bud," he said, passion quivering in his voice.
+
+Minutes passed before Bud Ellis spoke, then he shifted his head,
+quickly, and for the first time squarely met Clayton's eyes.
+
+"You say it's between you and me," he initiated slowly: "how do you
+propose to settle it?"
+
+The other man hesitated, then his face grew red.
+
+"Ye make it hard for me, Bud, 's though I was a boy talkin' to ye big
+here; but it's true, as I told ye: I ain't myself when I see ye
+settin' close to 'Liz'beth, er dancin' with your arm touchin' hern. I
+ain't no coward, Bud; an' I can't give her up--to you ner nobody
+else.
+
+"I hate it. We've always been like brothers afore, an' it 'pears
+kinder dreamy 'n foolish 'n unnatural us settin' here talkin' 'bout
+it; but there ain't no other way I can see. I give ye yer choice, Bud:
+I'll fight ye fair any way y' want."
+
+Ellis's attitude remained unchanged: one big hand supported his chin
+while he gazed silently into the fire. Clayton stood contemplating him
+a moment, then sat down.
+
+By and by Ellis's head moved a little, a very little, and their eyes
+again met. A minute passed, and in those seconds the civilization of
+each man moved back generations.
+
+The strain was beyond Clayton; he bounded to his feet with a motion
+that sent the stool spinning.
+
+"God A'mighty! Are y' wood er are y' a coward? Y' seem to think I'm
+practisin' speech-makin'. D'ye know what it means fer me to come up
+here like this to you?" He waited, but there was no response.
+
+"I tell ye fer the last time, I love that girl, an' if it warn't fer
+you--fer you, Bud Ellis--she'd marry me. Can ye understand that? Now
+will ye fight?--or won't ye?"
+
+A movement, swift and easy, like a released spring, the unconscious
+trick of a born athlete, and Ellis was upon his feet. Involuntarily,
+Clayton squared himself, as if an attack were imminent.
+
+"No, I won't fight you," said the big man, slowly. Without the least
+hesitation, he advanced and laid a hand upon the other man's shoulder,
+facing him at arm's length and speaking deliberately.
+
+"It isn't that I'm afraid of you, either, Bert Clayton; you know
+it. You say you love her; I believe you. I love her, too. And
+Elizabeth--you have tried, and I have tried--and she told us both
+the same.
+
+"God, man! I know how you feel. I've expected something like this a
+long time." He drew his hand across his eyes, and turned away. "I've
+had murder in my heart when I saw you, and hated myself. It's only in
+such places as this, where nothing happens to divert one's mind, that
+people get like you and me, Bert. We brood and brood, and it's love
+and insanity and a good deal of the animal mixed. Yes, you're right.
+It's between you and me, Bert,--but not to fight. One of us has got to
+leave--"
+
+"It won't be me," Clayton quickly broke in. "I tell ye, I'd rather
+die, than leave."
+
+For a full minute Ellis steadily returned the other man's fiery look,
+then went on as though there had been no interruption:
+
+"--and the sooner we go the better. How do you want to settle
+it--shall we draw straws?"
+
+"No, we'll not draw straws. Go ef you're afraid; but I won't stir a
+step. I came to warn ye, or to fight ye if y' wanted. Seein' y'
+won't--good-night."
+
+Ellis stepped quickly in front of the door, and with the motion
+Clayton's hand went to his knife.
+
+"Sit down, man," demanded Ellis, sternly. "We're not savages. Let's
+settle this matter in civilized fashion."
+
+They confronted each other for a moment, the muscles of Clayton's face
+twitching an accompaniment to the nervous fingering of the buckhorn
+hilt; then he stepped up until they could have touched.
+
+"What d' y' mean anyway?" he blazed. "Get out o' my road."
+
+Ellis leaned against the door-bar without a word. The fire had burned
+down, and in the shadow his face had again the same expression of
+heaviness. The breathing of Clayton, swift and short, like one who
+struggles physically, painfully intensified the silence of that dimly
+lighted, log-bound room.
+
+With his right hand Clayton drew his knife; he laid his left on the
+broad half-circle of wood that answered as a door handle.
+
+"Open that door," he demanded huskily, "or by God, I'll stab ye!"
+
+In the half-light the men faced each other, so near their breaths
+mingled. Twice Clayton tried to strike. The eyes of the other man held
+him powerless, and to save his life--even to satisfy a new, fierce
+hate--he could not stir. He stood a moment thus, then an animal-like
+frenzy, irresistible but impotent, seized him. He darted his head
+forward and spat in the heavy face so close to his own.
+
+The unspeakable contempt of the insult shattered Bud Ellis's
+self-control. Prompted by blind fury, the great fist of the man shot
+out, hammer-like, and Clayton crumpled at his feet. It was a blow that
+would have felled the proverbial ox; it was the counterpart of many
+other blows, plus berserker rage, that had split pine boards for sheer
+joy in the ability to do so. These thoughts came sluggishly to the
+inflamed brain, and Ellis all at once dropped to his knees beside the
+limp, prostrate figure.
+
+He bent over Clayton, he who had once been his friend. He was scarcely
+apprehensive at first, and he called his name brusquely; then, as grim
+conviction grew, his appeals became frantic.
+
+At last Ellis shrank away from the Thing upon the floor. He stared
+until his eyeballs burnt like fire. It would never, while time lasted,
+move again.
+
+Horror unutterable fell upon him.
+
+
+II
+
+
+In the year 1807 there were confined in a common Western jail, amid a
+swarm of wretches of every degree of baseness, two men as unlike as
+storm and sunshine. One was charged with treason, the other with
+murder; conviction, in either case, meant death.
+
+One was a man of middle age, an aristocrat born; a college graduate
+and a son of a college graduate; a man handsome of appearance,
+passionate and ambitious, who knew men's natures as he knew their
+names. He had fought bravely for his country, and his counsels had
+helped mould the foundations of the new republic. Honored by his
+fellow-men, he had served brilliantly in such exalted positions as
+that of United States Senator, and Attorney General for the State of
+New York. On one occasion, only a single vote stood between him and
+the presidency.
+
+His name was Aaron Burr.
+
+The other was a big backwoodsman of twenty, whose life had been as
+obscure as that of a domestic animal. He was rough of manner and slow
+of speech, and just now, owing to a combination of physical
+confinement and mental torture altogether unlovely in disposition.
+
+This man was Bud Ellis.
+
+The other prisoners--a motley lot of frontier reprobates--ate
+together, slept together, and quarrelled together. Looking constantly
+for trouble, and thrown into actual contact with an object as
+convenient as Aaron Burr, it was inevitable that he should be made the
+butt of their coarse gibes and foul witticisms; and when these could
+not penetrate his calm, superior self-possession, it was just as
+inevitable that taunts should extend even to worse indignities.
+
+Burr was not the man to be stirred against his calm judgment; but one
+day his passionate nature broke loose, and he and the offender came to
+blows.
+
+There were a dozen prisoners in the single ill-lighted, log-bound
+room, and almost to a man they attacked him. The fight would not have
+lasted long had not the inequality appealed to Ellis on the second.
+
+Moreover, with him, the incident was to the moment opportune. If ever
+a man was in the mood for war, it was the big, square-jawed pioneer.
+He was reckless and desperate for the first time in his life, and he
+joined with Burr against the room, with the abandon of a madman.
+
+For minutes they fought. Elbows and knees, fists and feet, teeth and
+tough-skulled heads; every hard spot and every sharp angle bored and
+jabbed at the crushing mass which swiftly closed them in. They
+struggled like cats against numbers, and held the wall until the sound
+of battle brought the negligent guard running, and the muzzle of a
+carbine peeped through the grating. Burr and Ellis came out with
+scarce a rag and with many bruises, but with the new-born lust of
+battle hot within them. Ellis glowered at the enemy, and having of the
+two the more breath, fired the parting shot.
+
+"How I'd like to take you fellows out, one at a time," he said.
+
+From that day the two men were kept apart from the others, and the
+friendship grew. When Burr chose, neither man nor woman could resist
+him. He chose now and Ellis, by habit and by nature silent, told of
+his life and of his thoughts. It was a new tale to Burr, these dream
+products of a strong man, and of solitude; and so, listening, he
+forgot his own trouble. The hard look that had formed over his face in
+the three years past vanished, leaving him again the natural,
+fascinating man who had first taken the drawing-room of the rare old
+Jumel mansion by storm. It was genuine, this tale that Ellis told; it
+was strong, with the savor of Mother Nature and of wild things, and
+fascinating with the beauty of unconscious telling.
+
+"And the girl?" asked Burr after Ellis finished a passionate account
+of the last year. Unintentionally, he touched flame to tinder.
+
+"Don't ask me about her. I'm not fit. She was coming to see me, but I
+wouldn't let her. She's good and innocent; she never imagined we were
+not as strong as she, and it's killing her. There's no question what
+will happen to me; everything is against me, and I'll be convicted.
+
+"No one understands--she can't herself; but she feels responsible for
+one of us, already, and will feel the same for me when it's over.
+Anyway, I'd never see her again. I feel different toward her now, and
+always would. I'd never live over again days like I have in the past
+year: days I hated a friend I'd known all my life--because we both
+loved the same woman. If the Almighty sent love of woman into the
+world to be bought at the price I paid, it's wrong, and He's made a
+mistake. It's contrary to Nature, because Nature is kind.
+
+"Last summer I'd sit out of doors at night and watch the stars come
+out thick, like old friends, till I'd catch the mood and be content.
+The wind would blow up from the south, softly, like some one fanning
+me, and the frogs and crickets would sing even and sleepy, and I'd
+think of her and be as nearly happy as it was possible for me to be.
+
+"Then, somehow, he'd drift into the picture, and it grated. I'd wonder
+why this love of woman, which ought to make one feel the best of
+everything there is in life; which ought to make one kinder and
+tenderer to every one, should make me hate him, my best friend. The
+night would be spoiled, and from then on the crickets would sing out
+of tune. I'd go to bed, where, instead of sleeping, I would try to
+find out, and couldn't.
+
+"And at last, that night--and the end! Oh, it's horrible, horrible! I
+wish to God they'd try me quick, and end it. It makes me hate that
+girl to think she's the cause. And that makes me hate myself, for I
+know she's innocent. Oh, it's tangled--tangled--"
+
+Of the trial which followed, the world knows. How Burr pleaded his own
+case, and of the brilliancy of the pleading, history makes record at
+length. 'T was said long before, when the name of Burr was proud on
+the Nation's tongue--years before that fatal morning on Weekawken
+Heights--that no judge could decide against him. Though reviled by
+half the nation, it would seem it were yet true.
+
+Another trial followed; but of this history is silent, though Aaron
+Burr pleaded this case as well. It was a trial for manslaughter, and
+every circumstance, even the prisoner's word, declared guilt. To show
+that a person may be guilty in act, and at the same time, in reality,
+innocent, calls for a master mind--the mind of a Burr. To tell of
+passion, one must have felt passion, and of such Burr had known his
+full share. No lawyer for the defence was ever better prepared than
+Burr, and he did his best. In court he told the jury a tale of motive,
+of circumstance, and of primitive love, such as had never been heard
+in that county before; such that the twelve men, without leaving their
+seats, brought a verdict of "Not guilty."
+
+"I can't thank you right," said the big man, with a catch in his
+voice, wringing Burr's hand.
+
+"Don't try," interrupted Burr, quickly. "You did as much for me." And
+even Burr did not attempt to say any more just then.
+
+
+III
+
+
+The two men went East together, travelling days where now hours would
+suffice. Why Burr took the countryman home with him, knowing, as he
+did, the incongruity of such a step, he himself could not have told.
+It puzzled Ellis still more. He had intended going far away to some
+indefinite place; but this opportunity of being virtually thrust into
+the position where he most wished to be, was unusual; it was a
+reversal of all precedent; and so why demur?
+
+[Illustration: The two men went East together.]
+
+On the way, Burr told much of his life--probably more than he had told
+before in years. He knew that the sympathy of Ellis was sincere, and a
+disinterested motive was with him a new thing, a key to confidence.
+
+A woman was at this time, and had been for years, foremost in Burr's
+mind. He was going to see her now; beyond that his plans were dim.
+During a career of politics, there had crept into the man's life much
+that was hard and worldly; but this attachment was from ambition far
+apart--his most sacred thing.
+
+She was a brilliant woman, this friend of Burr's; one whom many
+sought; but it was not this which influenced him. She had been his
+best friend, and had taken him into her own home during the darkest
+hour of his life, when condemnation was everywhere. Gossip had
+fluttered, but to no avail. Burr never forgot a friend, and in this
+case it was more than friendship: it was a genuine love that lasted;
+for years later, in his old age and hers as well, old Jumel mansion
+made gay at their wedding.
+
+"What do you expect to do?" asked Burr of Ellis.
+
+"Anything just now that will make me forget," answered the countryman,
+quickly. "So there's enough of it is all that I ask. I'm going to get
+a little more education first. Sometime I'll study law--that is, if
+I'm here 'sometime.' I've got to be where there's life and action.
+I'll never end by being common." He paused a moment, and on his face
+there formed the peculiar heavy look that had confronted Clayton; a
+mask that hid a determination, which nothing of earth could shake. He
+finished slowly: "I'll either be something, or nothing."
+
+Biographers leave the impression that at this time Burr was devoid of
+prestige on earth. Politically, this is true; but respecting his
+standing with the legal fraternity, it is wholly false. He had
+influence, and he used it, securing the stranger a place in a New York
+office, where his risk depended only upon himself. More than this, he
+gave Ellis money.
+
+"You can pay me any interest you wish," said he when the latter
+protested.
+
+Ellis had been settled a week. One evening he sat in the back room of
+the city office, fighting the demon of homesickness with work, and the
+light of an open fire. It was late, and he had studied till Nature
+rebelled; now he sat in his own peculiar position, gazing into the
+glow, motionless and wide-eyed.
+
+He started at a tap on the door, and the past came back in a rush.
+
+"Come in," he called.
+
+Burr entered, and closed the door carefully behind him. Ellis motioned
+to a chair.
+
+"No, I won't sit down," said Burr. "I'm only going to stay a moment."
+
+He came over to the blaze, looking down on the other man's head.
+Finally he laid a hand on Ellis's shoulder.
+
+"Lonesome, eh?" he inquired.
+
+The student nodded silent assent.
+
+"So am I," said Burr, beginning to pace up and down the narrow room.
+"Do you know," he burst out at last, "this town is like hell to me.
+Every hand is against me. There's not one man here, beside you, whom
+I can trust. I can't stand it. I'm going to leave the country. Some
+day I'll come back; but now it's too much." There was the accumulated
+bitterness of months in his voice. "My God!" he interjected, "you'd
+think these people never did anything wrong in their lives." He
+stopped and laid his hand again on the other man's shoulder.
+
+"But enough of this--I didn't come to make you more lonesome. I want
+you to meet my friends before I go. You'll go out with me to-morrow
+afternoon?"
+
+There was silence for a moment.
+
+"If you wish. You know what I am," said Ellis.
+
+Burr's hand rested a moment longer.
+
+"Good-night," he said simply.
+
+Some eight or ten miles north of the beach, on the island of
+Manhattan, stood Jumel home; a fine, white house, surrounded by a
+splendid lawn and gardens. A generation had already passed since its
+erection, and the city was slowly creeping near. It was a stately
+specimen of Colonial domestic architecture, built on simple, restful
+lines, and distinguished by the noble columns of its Grecian front.
+Destined to be diminished, the grounds had already begun to shrink;
+but from its commanding position it had a view that was magnificent,
+overlooking as it did, the Hudson, the Harlem, the East River, the
+Sound, and upon every side, miles upon miles of undulating land.
+
+On the way, and again upon the grounds, Burr related the history of
+the old landmark, telling much with the fascination of personal
+knowledge. The tale of the Morrises, of Washington and of Mary
+Philipse was yet upon his tongue, as he led Ellis through the broad
+pillared entrance, into the great hall.
+
+Things moved swiftly, very swiftly and very dreamily, to the
+countryman in the next few hours. Nothing but the lack of ability
+prevented his vanishing at the sound of approaching skirts; nothing
+but physical timidity prevented his answering the greeting of the
+hostess; nothing but conscious awkwardness prompted the crude bow that
+answered the courtesy of the girl with the small hands, and the dark
+eyes who accompanied her--the first courtesy from powdered maid of
+fashion that he had ever known. Her name, Mary Philipse, coming so
+soon after Burr's story, staggered him, and, open-mouthed, he stood
+looking at her. Remembrance came to Burr simultaneously, and he
+touched Ellis on the arm.
+
+"Don't worry, my friend," he laughed; "she's not the one."
+
+Ellis grew red to the ears.
+
+"We'll leave you to Mary," said Burr retreating with a smile; "she'll
+tell you the rest--from where I left off."
+
+The girl with the big brown eyes was still smiling in an amused sort
+of way, but Ellis showed no resentment. He knew that to her he was a
+strange animal--very new and very peculiar. He did not do as a lesser
+man would have done, pretend knowledge of things unknown, but looked
+the girl frankly in the eyes.
+
+"Pardon me, but it was all rather sudden," he explained. The red had
+left his face now. "I've only known a few women--and they were not--of
+your class. This is Mr. Burr's joke, not mine."
+
+The smile faded from the girl's face. She met him on his own ground,
+and they were friends.
+
+"Don't take it that way," she protested, quickly. "I see, he's been
+telling you of Washington's Mary Philipse. It merely happens that my
+name is the same. I'm simply a friend visiting here. Can't I show you
+the house? It's rather interesting."
+
+If Ellis was a novelty to the woman, she was equally so to him.
+Unconventionality reigned in that house, and they were together an
+hour. Never before in his life had Ellis learned so much, nor caught
+so many glimpses of things beyond, in an equal length of time. His
+idea of woman had been trite, a little vague. He had no ideal; he had
+simply accepted, without question, the one specimen he had known
+well.
+
+In an uncertain sort of way he had thought of the sex as being
+invariably creatures of unquestioned virtue, but of mind somewhat
+defective; who were to be respected and protected, loved perhaps with
+the love animals know; but of such an one as this he had no
+conception.
+
+Here was a woman, younger than he, whose unconscious familiarity with
+things, which to him lay hidden in the dark land of ignorance,
+affected him like a stimulant. A woman who had read and travelled and
+thought and felt; whose mind met him even in the unhesitating
+confidence of knowledge--it is no wonder that he was in a dream. It
+turned his little world upside down: so brief a time had elapsed since
+he had cursed woman for bringing crime into his life, in the
+narrowness of his ignorance thinking them all alike. He was in the
+presence of a superior, and his own smallness came over him like a
+flood.
+
+He mentally swore, then and there, with a tightening of his jaw that
+meant finality, that he would raise himself to her plane. The girl saw
+the look, and wondered at it.
+
+That night, at parting, the eyes of the two met. A moment passed--and
+another, and neither spoke a word. Then a smile broke over the face of
+Mary Philipse, and it was answered on the face of the man. Equals had
+met equals. At last the girl held out her hand.
+
+"Call again, please," she requested. "Good-night."
+
+Years passed. Burr had gone and returned again, and Jumel mansion had
+waxed festive to honor his home-coming. Then he opened an office in
+the city, and drab-colored routine fell upon him--to remain.
+
+Meanwhile Time had done much for Ellis--rather, it had allowed him to
+do much for himself. He had passed through all the stages of
+transition--confusion, homesickness, despondency; but incentive to do
+was ever with him.
+
+At first he had worked to forget, and, in self-defence; but Nature had
+been kind, and with years memory touched him softly, as though it were
+the past of another.
+
+Then a new incentive came to him: an incentive more potent than the
+former, and which grew so slowly he did not recognize it, until he met
+it unmistakably face to face. Again into his life and against his will
+had crept a woman, and this woman's name was Mary Philipse. He met her
+now on her own ground, but still, as of old, with honors even. She had
+changed little since he first saw her. As often as he called, he met
+the same frank smile, and the brown eyes still regarded him with the
+same old candid, unreserved interest.
+
+Ellis was, as the town would have said, successful. He had risen from
+a man-of-all-work to the State bar, and an office of his own. He had
+passed the decisive line and his rise was simply a question of time.
+He was in a position where he could do as he chose. He appreciated
+that Mary Philipse was the incentive that had put him where he was.
+She appealed to the best there was in his nature. She caused him to do
+better work, to think better thoughts. He unselfishly wished her the
+best there was of life. Just how much more he felt he did not know--at
+least this was sufficient.
+
+He would ask her to marry him. It was not the mad, dazzling passion of
+which poets sing; but he was wiser than of yore. Of Mary he was
+uncertain. That he was not the only man who went often to old Jumel
+mansion he was well aware, and with the determination to learn
+certainties, there came a tenderer regard than he had yet known.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jumel was gay that night. There would be few more such scenes, for the
+owner was no longer young; but of this the throng in brocade and
+broadcloth and powder, who filled the spacious mansion, were
+thoughtless. Everywhere was an atmosphere of welcome; from the steady
+light of lanterns festooned on facade and lawn, to the sparkle of
+countless candles within.
+
+It was that night that Ellis drew Mary Philipse aside and told her the
+tale that grew passionate in the telling. Fortune was kind, for he
+told it to the soft accompaniment of wine glasses ringing, and the
+slow music of the stately minuet.
+
+Mary Philipse heard him through without a word, an expression on her
+face he had never seen before. Then their eyes met in the same frank
+way they had hundreds of times before, and she gave him her answer.
+
+"I've expected this, and I've tried to be ready; but I'm not. I can't
+say no, and I can't say yes. I wouldn't try to explain to any one
+else, but I think you'll understand. Forgive me if I analyze you a
+little, and don't interrupt, please."
+
+She passed her hand over her face slowly, a shade wearily.
+
+"There are times when I come near loving you: for what you are, not
+for what you are to me. You are natural, you're strong; but you lack
+something I feel to be necessary to make life completely happy--the
+ability to forget all and enjoy the moment. I have watched you for
+years. It has been so in the past, and will be so in the future. Other
+men who see me, men born to the plane, have the quality--call it
+butterfly if you will--to enjoy the 'now.' It appeals to me--I am of
+their manner born." Their eyes met and she finished slowly, "It's
+injustice to you, I know; but I can't answer--now."
+
+They sat a moment side by side in silence. The dancers were moving
+more swiftly to the sound of the Virginia reel.
+
+Ellis reached over and took her hand, then bent and touched it softly
+with his lips.
+
+"I will wait--and abide," he said.
+
+
+
+
+THE CUP THAT O'ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE
+
+
+I
+
+
+In a room, half-lighted by the red rays of a harvest moon, a woman lay
+in the shadow; face downward, on the bed. It was not the figure of
+youth: the full lines of waist and hip spoke maturity. She was sobbing
+aloud and bitterly, so that her whole body trembled.
+
+The clock struck the hour, the half, again the hour; and yet she lay
+there, but quiet, with face turned toward the window and the big, red
+harvest moon. It was not a handsome face; besides, now it was
+tear-stained and hard with the reflection of a bitter battle fought.
+
+A light foot tapped down the hallway and stopped in front of the door.
+There was gentle accompaniment on the panel to the query, "Are you
+asleep?"
+
+The woman on the bed opened her eyes wider, without a word.
+
+The step in the hall tapped away into silence. The firm, round arm in
+its black elbow-sleeve setting, white, beautiful, made a motion of
+impatience and of weariness; then slowly, so slowly that one could
+scarce mark its coming, the blank stupor that comes as Nature's
+panacea to those whom she has tortured to the limit, crept over the
+woman, and the big brown eyes closed. The moon passed over and the
+night-wind, murmuring lower and lower, became still. In the darkness
+and silence the woman sobbed as she slept.
+
+In the lonely, uncertain time between night and morning she awoke; her
+face and the pillow were damp with the tears of sleep. She was numb
+from the drawing of tight clothing, and with a great mental pain and a
+confused sense of sadness, that weighed on her like a tangible thing.
+Her mind groped uncertainly for a moment; then, with a great rush, the
+past night and the things before it returned to her.
+
+"Oh, God, Thy injustice to us women!" she moaned.
+
+The words roused her; and, craving companionship, she rose and lit the
+gas.
+
+Back and forth she crossed the room, avoiding the furniture as by
+instinct--one moment smiling, bitter; the next with face moving,
+uncontrollable, and eyes damp: all the moods, the passions of a
+woman's soul showing here where none other might see. Tired out, at
+last, she stopped and disrobed, swiftly, without a glance at her own
+reflection, and returned to bed.
+
+Nature will not be forced. Sleep will not come again. She can only
+think, and thoughts are madness. She gets up and moves to her desk.
+Aimlessly at first, as a respite, she begins to write. Her thoughts
+take words as she writes, and a great determination, an impulse of the
+moment, comes to her. She takes up fresh paper and writes sheet after
+sheet, swiftly. Passion sways the hand that writes, and shines warmly
+from the big, brown eyes. The first light of morning stains the east
+as she collects the scattered sheets, and writes a name on the
+envelope, a name which brings a tenderness to her eyes. Stealthily she
+tiptoes down the stairs and places the letter where the servant will
+see, and mail it in the early morning. A glad light, the light of
+relief, is in her face as she steals back slowly and creeps into bed.
+
+"If it is wrong I couldn't help it," she whispers low. She turns her
+face to the pillow and covers it with a soft, white arm. One ear alone
+shows, a rosy spot against the white.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Nine o'clock at a down-town medical office. A man who walks rapidly,
+but quietly, enters and takes up the morning mail. A number of
+business letters he finds and a dainty envelope, with writing which he
+knows at sight. He steps to the light and looks at the postmark.
+
+"Good-morning," says his partner, entering.
+
+The man nods absently, and, tearing open the envelope, takes out this
+letter:
+
+  "MY FRIEND:--
+
+  "I don't know what you will think of me after this; anyway, I
+  cannot help telling you what to-night lies heavy on my heart and
+  mind. I've tried to keep still; God knows I've tried, and so
+  hard; but Nature is Nature, and I am a woman. Oh, if you men
+  only knew what that means, you'd forgive us much, and pity! You
+  have so much in life and we so little, and you torture us so
+  with that little, which to us is so great, our all; leading us
+  on against our will, against our better judgment, until we love
+  you, not realizing at first the madness of unrequited love. Oh,
+  the cruelty of it, and but for a pastime.
+
+  "But I do not mean to charge you. You are not as other men; you
+  are not wrong. Besides, why should I not say it? I love you.
+  Yes, you; a man who knows not the meaning of the word; who meant
+  to be but a friend, my best friend. Oh, you have been blind,
+  blind all the years since first I knew you; since first you
+  began telling me of yourself and of your hopes. You did not know
+  what it meant to such as I to live in the ambition of another,
+  to hope through another's hope, to exult in another's success. I
+  am confessing, for the first time--and the last time. Know, man,
+  all the time I loved you. Forgive me that I tell you. I cannot
+  help it. I am a woman, and love in a woman's life is stronger
+  than will, stronger than all else together.
+
+  "I ask nothing. I expect nothing. I could not keep quiet longer.
+  It was killing me, and you never saw. I did not mean to tell you
+  anything, till this moment--least of all, in this way. But it is
+  done, and I'm glad--yes, happier than I have been for weeks. It
+  is our woman's nature; a nature we do not ourselves understand.
+
+  "My friend, I cannot see you again. Things cannot go on as they
+  were. It was torture--you know not what torture--and life is
+  short. If you would be kind, avoid me. The town is wide, and we
+  have each our work. Time will pass. Remember, you have done
+  nothing wrong. If there be one at fault it is Nature, for only
+  half doing her work. You are good and noble. Good-bye. I trust
+  you, for, God bless you, I love you."
+
+The letter dropped, and the man stood looking out with unseeing eyes,
+on the shifting street.
+
+A patient came in and sat down, waiting.
+
+He had read as in a dream. Now with a rush came thought,--the past,
+the present, mingled; and as by a great light he saw clearly the years
+of comradery, thoughtless on his part, filled as his life had been
+with work and with thought of the future. It all came home to him now,
+and the coming was of brightness. The coldness melted from his face;
+the very squareness of the jaw seemed softer; the knowledge that is
+joy and that comes but once in a lifetime, swept over him, warm, and
+his heart beat swift. All things seemed beautiful.
+
+Without a word he took up his hat, and walked rapidly toward the
+elevator. A smile was in the frank blue eyes, and to all whom he met,
+whether stranger or friend, he gave greeting.
+
+The patient, waiting for his return, grew tired and left, and leaving,
+slammed the office door behind him.
+
+
+
+
+UNJUDGED
+
+
+The source of this manuscript lies in tragedy. My possession of it is
+purely adventitious. That I have had it long you may know, for it came
+to me at an inland prairie town, far removed from water or mountain,
+while for ten years or more my name, above the big-lettered dentist
+sign, has stood here on my office window in this city by the lake. I
+have waited, hoping some one would come as claimant; but my hair is
+turning white and I can wait no longer. As now I write of the past,
+the time of the manuscript's coming stands clear amid a host of hazy,
+half-forgotten things.
+
+It was after regular hours, of the day I write, that a man came
+hurriedly into my office, complaining of a fiercely aching tooth.
+Against my advice he insisted on an immediate extraction, and the use
+of an anæsthetic. I telephoned for a physician, and while awaiting his
+coming my patient placed in my keeping an expansible leather-covered
+book of a large pocket size.
+
+"Should anything go wrong," he said, "there are instructions inside."
+
+The request is common from those unused to an operation, and I
+accepted without other comment than to assure him he need fear no
+danger.
+
+Upon arriving, the physician made the customary examination and
+proceeded to administer chloroform. The patient was visibly excited,
+but neither of us attached any importance to that under the
+circumstances. Almost before the effect of the anæsthetic was
+noticeable, however, there began a series of violent muscular spasms
+and contractions. The inhaler was removed and all restoratives known
+to the profession used, but without avail. He died in a few moments,
+and without regaining consciousness. The symptoms were suspicious,
+entirely foreign to any caused by the anæsthetic, and at the inquest
+the cause came to light. In the man's stomach was a large quantity of
+strychnine. That he knew something of medicine is certain, for the
+action of the alkaloid varies little, and he had the timing to a
+nicety.
+
+The man was, I should judge, thirty years of age, smooth of face and
+slightly built. Nerve was in every line of face and body. He was
+faultlessly dressed and perfectly groomed. He wore no jewelry, not
+even a watch; but within the pocket of his vest was found a small
+jewel-case containing two beautiful white diamonds, each of more than
+a carat weight. One was unset, the other mounted in a lady's ring.
+There was money in plenty upon his person, but not an article that
+would give the slightest clue to his identity.
+
+One peculiar thing about him I noticed, and could not account for:
+upon the palm of each hand was a row of irregular abrasions, but
+slightly healed, and which looked as though made by some dull
+instrument.
+
+The book with which he entrusted me had begun as a journal, but with
+the passage of events it had outgrown its original plan. Being
+expansible, fresh sheets had been added as it grew, and at the back of
+the book, on one of these blanks, had been hastily scratched, in
+pencil, the message of which he spoke:
+
+"You will find sufficient money in my pockets to cover all expenses.
+Do not take my trinkets, please! Associations make them dear to me.
+Any attempt to discover my friends will be useless."
+
+Notwithstanding the last sentence the body was embalmed and the death
+advertised; but no response came, and after three days the body and
+the tokens he loved were quietly buried here in the city.
+
+Meantime I had read the book, beginning from a sense of duty that grew
+into a passing interest, and ended by making me unaware of both time
+and place. I give you the journal as it stands, word for word and date
+for date. Would that I could show you the handwriting in the original
+as well. No printed page can tell the story of mood as can the lines
+of this journal. There were moments of passion when words slurred and
+overtook each other, as thought moved more rapidly than the characters
+which recorded; and again, periods of uncertainty when the hand
+tarried and busied itself with forming meaningless figures, while the
+conscious mind roamed far away.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+_March 17._ Why do I begin a journal now, a thing I have never done
+before? Had another asked the question, I could have turned it off
+with a laugh, but with myself it will not do. I must answer it, and
+honestly. Know then, my ego who catechises, I have things to tell,
+feelings to describe that are new to me and which I cannot tell to
+another. The excuse sounds childish; but listen: I speak it softly: I
+love, and he who loves is ever as a child. I smile at myself for
+making the admission. I, a man whose hair is thinning and silvering,
+who has written of love all his life, and laughed at it. Oh, it's
+humorous, deliciously humorous. To think that I have become, in
+reality, the fool I pictured others in fancy!
+
+_April 2._ Gods, she was beautiful to-night!--the way she came to meet
+me: the long skirt that hung so gracefully, and that fluffy, white,
+sleeveless thing that fitted her so perfectly and showed her white
+arms and the curves of her throat. I forgot to rise, and I fear I
+stared at her. I can yet see the smile that crept through the long
+lashes as she looked at me, and as I stumbled an apology she was
+smiling all the time. How I came away I swear I don't know. Instinct,
+I suppose; for now at last I have an incentive. I must work mightily,
+and earn a name--for her.
+
+_April 4._ He says it is a strong plot and that he will help me. That
+means the book will succeed. I wonder how a man feels who can do
+things, not merely dream them. I expected he would laugh when I told
+him the plot, especially when I told whom the woman was; but he didn't
+say a word. He thinks, as I do, that it would be better to leave the
+story's connection with her a surprise until the book is published. He
+is coming up here to work to-morrow. "Keep a plot warm," he says:
+"especially one with a love in it." He looked at me out of the corner
+of his eye as he spoke, so peculiarly I hardly knew whether he was
+laughing at me or not. I suppose, just now, my state of mind is rather
+obvious and amusing.
+
+_May 3._ As I expected, the reaction is on. What a price we have to
+pay for our happy moments in this world! I'm tired to-night and a
+little discouraged, for I worked hard all day, and did not accomplish
+much. "Lack of inspiration," he said. "The heroine is becoming a
+trifle dim. Hadn't you better go and enthuse a little to-night?"
+
+I was not in a mood to be chaffed; I told him shortly: "No, you had
+better go yourself."
+
+He smiled and thanked me. "With your permission," he said, "I will."
+
+Nature certainly has been kind to him, for he is handsome and
+fascinating beyond any man I ever knew. I wanted to use him in the
+story, but he positively refused. He said that I would do better. So
+we finally compromised on a combination. "The man" has his hair and my
+eyes, his nose and my mouth. Over the chin we each smiled a little
+grimly, for it is stubborn--square, and fits us both. After all, it is
+not a bad _ensemble_. The character has his weak points, but, all in
+all, he is not bad to look upon.
+
+_June 10._ We went driving this evening, she and I, far out into the
+country, going and coming slowly. The night was perfect, with a full
+moon and a soft south wind. Nature's music makers were all busy. On
+the high places, the crickets sang loudly their lonesome song to the
+night, while from the distant river and lowlands there came the
+uncertain minor of countless frogs in chorus.
+
+For two hours I tasted happiness, divine happiness, happiness so
+complete that I forgot time.
+
+I have known many beautiful women, women splendid as animals are
+splendid, but never before one whose intense womanliness made me
+forget that she was beautiful. I can't explain; it is too subtle and
+holy a thing. I sat by her side, so near that we touched, and
+worshipped as I never worshipped at church. If but for this night
+alone, my life is worth the living.
+
+_June 12._ It seems peculiar that he should be working with me at this
+story; strange that he should care to know me at all. Perhaps I stand
+a little in awe of the successful man; I think we all do. At least, he
+is the example _par excellence_. I have seen him go into a room filled
+with total strangers, and though he never spoke a word, have heard the
+question all about,--"Who is he?" Years ago, when he as well as I was
+an unknown writer, we each submitted a story to the same editor, by
+the same mail. Both were returned. I can still see the expression on
+his face as he opened his envelope, and thrust the manuscript into his
+pocket. He did not say a word, but his manner of donning his top-coat
+and hat, and the crash of the front door behind him betrayed his
+disappointment. His work was afterwards published at his own risk. The
+ink on my story is fading, but I have it still.
+
+_July 2._ She is going to the coast for the season, and I called
+to-night to say _au revoir_. I could see her only a few minutes as her
+carriage was already waiting; something, I believe, in honor of her
+last night in town. She was in evening dress, and beautiful--I cannot
+describe. Think of the most beautiful woman you have ever known, and
+then--but it is useless, for you have not known her.
+
+I was intoxicated; happy as a boy; happy as a god. I filled the few
+moments I had, full to overflowing. I told her what every man tells
+some woman some time in his life. For once I felt the power of a
+master, and I spoke well.
+
+She did not answer; I asked her not to. I could not tell her all, and
+I would have no reply before. Her face was turned from me as I spoke,
+but her ears turned pink and her breath came quickly. I looked at her
+and the magnitude of my presumption held me dumb; yet a warm happy
+glow was upon me, and the tapping of feet on the pavement below
+sounded as sweetest music.
+
+As I watched her she turned, her eyes glistening and her throat all
+a-tremble. She held out her hand to say good-bye. I took it in mine;
+and at the touch my resolution and all other things of earth were
+forgotten, and I did that which I had come hoping to do. Gently, I
+slipped a ring with a single setting over her finger, then bending
+low, I touched the hand with my lips--whitest, softest, dearest hand
+in God's world. Then I heard her breath break in a sob, and felt upon
+my hair the falling of a tear.
+
+_August 5._ I am homesick to-night and tired. It is ten-thirty, and, I
+have just gotten dinner. I forgot all about it before. The story is
+moving swiftly. It is nearly finished now, moreover it is good; I
+know it. I sent a big roll of manuscript to him to-day. He is at the
+coast, and polishes the rough draft as fast as I send it in. He
+tells me he has secured a publisher, and that the book will be out
+in a few months. I can hardly wait to finish, for then I, too, can
+leave town. I will not go before; I have work to do, and can do it
+better here. He tells me he has seen her several times. God! a man
+who writes novels and can mention her incidentally, as though
+speaking of a dinner-party!
+
+_August 30._ I finished to-day and expressed him the last scrap of
+copy. I wanted to sing, I was so happy. Then I bethought me, it is her
+birthday. I went down town and picked out a stone that pleased me.
+Their messenger will deliver it, and she can choose her own setting.
+How I'd like to carry it myself, but I have a little more work to do
+before I go. Only two more days, and then--
+
+I have been counting the time since she left: almost two months; it
+seems incredible when I think of it.
+
+How I have worked! Next time I write, my journal confessor, I will
+have something to tell: I will have seen her--she who wears my
+ring.... Ah! here comes my man for orders. A few of my bachelor
+friends help me celebrate here to-night. I have not told them it is
+the last time.
+
+_September 5._ Let me think; I am confused. This hotel is vile,
+abominable, but there is no other. That cursed odor of stale tobacco,
+and of cookery!
+
+The landlord says they were here yesterday and went West. It's easy to
+trace them--everybody notices. A tall man, dark, with a firm jaw; the
+most beautiful woman they have ever seen--they all say the same. My
+God! and I'm hung up here, inactive a whole day! But I'll find them,
+they can't escape; and then they'll laugh at me, probably.
+
+What can I do? I don't know. I can't think. I must find them first ...
+that cursed odor again!
+
+Oh, what a child, a worse than fool I have been! To sit there in town
+pouring the best work of my life into his hands! I must have that
+book, I will have it. To think how I trusted her--waited until my hair
+began to turn--for this!
+
+But I must stop. This is useless, it's madness.
+
+_September 9._ It is a beautiful night. I have just come in from a
+long walk, how long I don't know. I went to the suburbs and through
+the parks, watching the young people sitting, two and two, in the
+shadow. I smiled at the sight, for in fancy I could hear what they
+were saying. Then I wandered over to the lakefront and stood a long
+time, with the waves lapping musically against the rocks below, and
+the moonlight glistening on a million reflectors. The great stretch of
+water in front, and the great city behind me sang low in concord,
+while the stars looked down smiling at the refrain. "Be calm, little
+mortal, be calm," they said; "calm, tiny mortal, calm," repeated
+endlessly, until the mood took hold of me, and in sympathy I smiled in
+return.
+
+Was it yesterday? It seems a month since I found them. Was it I who
+was so hot and angry? I hold up my hand; it is as steady as my
+mother's when, years ago, as a boy, she laid it on my forehead with
+her good-night. The murmur of this big hotel speaks soothingly, like
+the voice of an old friend. The purr of the elevator is a voice I
+know. It all seems incredible. To-day is so commonplace and real, and
+yesterday so remote and fantastic.
+
+He was lounging in the lobby, a hand in either pocket, when I touched
+him on the shoulder. He turned, but neither hands nor face failed him
+by a motion.
+
+"I presume you would prefer to talk in private?" I said, "Will you
+come to my room?"
+
+A smile formed slowly over his lips.
+
+"I don't wish to deprive my--" He paused, and his eyes met mine,"--my
+wife of a pleasant chat with an old friend. I would suggest that you
+come with us to our suite."
+
+I nodded. In silence we went up the elevator; in equal silence, he
+leading, we passed along the corridor over carpets that gave out no
+telltale sound.
+
+She was standing by the window when we entered. Her profile stood out
+clear in the shaded room, and in spite of myself a great heart-throb
+passed over me. She did not move at first, but at last turning she saw
+him and me. Then I could see her tremble; she started quickly to
+leave, but he barred the way. The smile was still upon his face.
+
+"Pardon me, my dear," he protested, "but certainly you recognize an
+old friend."
+
+She grew white to the lips, and her eyes blazed. Her hands pressed
+together so tightly that the fingers became blue at the nails. She
+looked at him; such scorn I had never seen before. Before it, the
+smile slowly left his face.
+
+"Were you the fraction of a man," she voiced slowly, icily, "you would
+have stopped short of--this."
+
+She made a motion of her hand, so slight one could scarce see it,
+and without a word he stepped aside. She turned toward me and,
+instinctively, I bent in courtesy, my eyes on the floor and a great
+tumult in my heart. She hesitated at passing me; without looking
+up I knew it; then, slowly, moved away down the corridor.
+
+I advanced inside, closing the door behind me and snapping the lock.
+Neither of us said a word; no word was needed. The fighting-blood of
+each was up, and on each the square jaw that marked us both was set
+hard. I stepped up within a yard of him and looked him square in the
+eye. I pray God I may never be so angry again.
+
+"What explanation have you to offer?" I asked.
+
+His eye never wavered, though the blood left his face and lip; even
+then I admired his nerve. When he spoke his voice was even and
+natural.
+
+"Nothing," he sneered. "You have lost; that's all."
+
+Quick as thought, I threw back the taunt.
+
+"Lost the woman, yes, thank God; the book, never. I came for that, not
+for her. I demand that you turn over the copy."
+
+Again the cool smile and the steady voice.
+
+"You're a trifle late. I haven't a sheet; it is all gone."
+
+"You lie!" I flung the hot words fair in his teeth.
+
+A smile, mocking, maddening, formed upon his face.
+
+"I told you before you had lost. The book is copyrighted"--a pause,
+while the smile broadened--"copyrighted in my name, and sold."
+
+The instinct of battle, primitive, uncontrollable, came over me and
+the room turned dark. I fought it, until my hands grew greasy from the
+wounds where the nails bit my palms, then I lost control; of what
+follows all is confused.
+
+I dimly see myself leaping at him like a wild animal; I feel the
+tightening of the big neck muscles as my fingers closed on his throat;
+I feel a soft breath of night air as we neared the open window; then
+in my hands a sudden lightness, and in my ears a cry of terror.
+
+I awoke at a pounding on the door. It seemed hours later, though it
+must have been but seconds. I arose--and was alone. The window was
+wide open; in the street below, a crowd was gathering on the run,
+while a policeman's shrill whistle rang out on the night. A hundred
+faces were turned toward me as I looked down and I dimly wondered
+thereat.
+
+The knocking on the door became more insistent. I turned the lock,
+slowly, and a woman rushed into the room. Something about her seemed
+familiar to me. I passed my hand over my forehead--but it was useless.
+I bowed low and started to walk out, but she seized me by the arm,
+calling my name, pleadingly. Her soft brown hair was all loose and
+hanging, and her big eyes swimming; her whole body trembled so that
+she could scarcely speak.
+
+The grip of the white hand on my arm tightened.
+
+"Oh! You must not go," she cried; "you cannot."
+
+I tried gently to shake her off, but she clung more closely than
+before.
+
+"You must let me explain," she wailed. "I call God to witness, I was
+not to blame." She drew a case from the bosom of her dress.
+
+"Here are those stones; I never wore them. I wanted to, God knows, but
+I couldn't. Take them, I beg of you." She thrust the case into my
+pocket. "He made me take them, you understand; made me do everything
+from the first. I loved him once, long ago, and since then I couldn't
+get away. I can't explain." She was pleading as I never heard woman
+plead before. "Forgive me--tell me you forgive me--speak to me." The
+grip on my arm loosened and her voice dropped.
+
+"Oh! God, to have brought this on you when I loved you!"
+
+The words sounded in my ears, but made no impression. It all seemed
+very, very strange. Why should she say such things to me? She must be
+mistaken--must take me for another.
+
+I broke away from her grasp, and groped staggeringly toward the door.
+A weariness intense was upon me and I wanted to be home alone. As I
+moved away, I heard behind me a swift step as though she would follow,
+and my name called softly, then another movement, away.
+
+Mechanically I turned at the sound, and saw her profile standing clear
+in the open window-frame. Realization came to me with a mighty rush,
+and with a cry that was a great sob I sprang toward her.
+
+Suddenly the window became clear again, and through the blackness that
+formed about me I dimly heard a great wail of horror arise from the
+street below.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was no other entry save the hasty scrawl in pencil.
+
+
+
+
+THE TOUCH HUMAN
+
+
+"Good-night." A lingering of finger tips that touched, as by accident;
+a bared head; the regular tap of shoes on cement, as a man walked down
+the path.
+
+"Good-night--and God bless thee," he repeated softly, tenderly, under
+his breath, that none but he might hear: words of faith spoken
+reverently, and by one who believes not in the God known of the herd.
+
+"Good-night--and God bless thee," whispered the woman slowly; and the
+south wind, murmuring northward, took the words and carried them
+gently away as sacred things.
+
+The woman stood thinking, dreaming, her color mounting, her eyes
+dimming, as she read deep the mystery of her own heart.
+
+They had sat side by side the entire evening, and had talked of life
+and of its hidden things; or else had remained silent in the unspoken
+converse that is even sweeter to those who understand each other.
+
+She had said of a mutual friend: "He is a man I admire; he has an
+ideal."
+
+"A thing but few of earth possess."
+
+"No; I think you are wrong. I believe all people have ideals. They
+must; life would not be life without."
+
+"You mean object rather than ideal. Does not an ideal mean something
+beautiful--something beyond--something we'd give our all for? Not our
+working hours alone, but our hours of pleasure and our times of
+thought. An ideal is an intangible thing--having much of the
+supernatural in its make-up; 'tis a fetish for which we'd sacrifice
+life--or the strongest passion of life,--love."
+
+"Is this an ideal, though? Could anything be beautiful to us after
+we'd sacrificed much of life, and all of love in its attainment? Is
+not everything that is opposed to love also opposed to the ideal? Is
+not an ideal, when all is told, nothing but a great love--the great
+personal love of each individual?"
+
+He turned to the woman, and there was that in his face which caused
+her eyes to drop, and her breath to come more quickly.
+
+"I don't know. I'm miserable, and lonely, and tired. I've thought I
+had an ideal, and I followed it, working for it faithfully and for it
+alone. I've shown it to myself, glowing, splendid, when I became weary
+and ready to yield. I've sacrificed, in attempting its attainment,
+youth and pleasure--self, continually. Still, I'm afar off--and still
+the light beckons me on. I work day after day, and night after night,
+as ever; but the faith within me is growing weaker. Might not the
+ideal I worshipped after all be an earth-born thing, an ambition whose
+brightness is not of pure gold, but of tinsel? That which I have
+sought, speaks always to me so loudly that there may be no mistake in
+hearing.
+
+"'I am thy god,' it says; 'worship me--and me alone.
+Sacrifice--sacrifice--sacrifice--thyself--thy love. Thus shalt thou
+attain me.'
+
+"One day I stopped my work to think; hid myself solitary that I might
+question. 'What shall I have when I attain thee?' I asked.
+
+"'Fame--fame--the plaudits of the people--a pedestal apart.'
+
+"'Yes,' whispered my soul to me, 'and a great envy always surrounding;
+a great fight always to hold thy small pedestal secure.'
+
+"Of such as this are ideals made? No. 'Twas a mistake. I have sought
+not an ideal, but an ambition--a worthless thing. An ideal is
+something beautiful--a great love. 'Tis not yet too late to correct my
+fault; to seek this ideal--this beautiful thing--this love."
+
+He reached over to the woman and their fingers, as by chance,
+touching, lingered together. His eyes shone, and when he spoke his
+voice trembled.
+
+"_You_ know the ideal--the beautiful thing--the love I seek."
+
+Side by side they sat, each bosom throbbing; not with the wild passion
+of youth, but with the deeper, more spiritual love of middle-life.
+Overhead, the night wind murmured; all about, the crickets sang.
+
+Turning, she met him face to face, frankly, earnestly.
+
+"Let us think."
+
+She rose, in her eyes the look men worship and, worshipping, find
+oblivion.
+
+A moment they stood together.
+
+"Good-night," she whispered.
+
+"Good-night," his lips silently answered, pressing upon hers.
+
+
+
+
+A DARK HORSE
+
+
+Iowa City is not large, nor are the prospects for metropolitan
+greatness at all flattering. Even her most zealous citizen, the
+ancient of the market corner, admits that "there ain't been much
+stirrin' for quite a spell back," and among the broad fraternity of
+commercial travellers, the town is a standing joke. Yet, throughout
+the entire State, no community of equal size is so well known. It is
+the home of the State University.
+
+In the year '90-something-or-other, there was enrolled in the junior
+class of the university, one Walter R. Chester, but it is doubtful
+whether five other students in the same classic seat of learning could
+have told you his given name. Away back in his freshman year he had
+been dubbed "Lord" Chester. And as "Lord" Chester alone is his name
+still preserved, and revered in university annals.
+
+The reasons lying back of this exaltation to the peerage were not very
+complex, but quite as adequate as those usually inspiring college
+nicknames. He was known to be country-bred, and the average freshwater
+school defines the "country" as a region of dense mental darkness,
+commencing where the campus ends and extending thence in every
+direction, throughout the unchartered realms of space.
+
+Each Friday afternoon, "Lord" Chester would carefully lock his room
+and disappear upon a bicycle; this much was plainly visible to
+everybody. On Monday he would reappear. The hiatus afforded a peg from
+which much unprofitable speculation was suspended. The argument most
+plausible was that he went home, while one romantic youth suggested a
+girl. The accusation was never repeated. What? The "Lord" a ladies'
+man? Tut! One would as soon expect a statue to drill a minstrel show.
+
+Thus Chester's personal affairs remained a mystery. He never talked
+reflexively--rare attribute in a college man--and, moreover, curiosity
+never throve well in his presence. It utterly failed to bear fruit.
+
+Another peculiarity distinguished him from all the rest of the
+student body: he roomed by himself. Although invariably courteous and
+polite to visitors, he was never known to extend an invitation for a
+second visit. He quite obviously wanted to be left alone, and the
+"fellows" met him more than half-way.
+
+But what, more than anything else, probably helped to designate him
+"Lord," was the scrupulous way in which he dressed. There was no hint
+of the pastoral in his sartorial accomplishments, and it was his one
+extravagance. Though from the country and therefore presumably poor,
+no swell son of the Western _haute monde_ made an equally smart
+appearance.
+
+We have been viewing the youth from the standpoint of his fellow-students.
+As a matter of fact, they never saw the real man, the man behind the
+closed door, at all. He was a terrific worker. When he decided to do a
+thing, he did it. Night was as day at such times, and meals were unthought
+of. He literally plunged out of sight into his work, and as yet he had
+never failed.
+
+One reason for this uniform success lay in the fact that he was able
+to define his limitations, and never attempted the impossible. He
+was, indeed, poor; that is, relatively so. His earliest recollections
+were associated with corn rows and grilling suns; which accounted for
+the present cheerfulness with which he tackled any task, and for his
+appetite for hard work. When tired, he would think of the weight of a
+hoe in a boy's hand at six o'clock in the afternoon, and proceed with
+renewed vigor.
+
+Such was "Lord" Chester: product of work and solitude; a man who knew
+more about the ideal than the real; a man who would never forget a
+friend nor forgive an injury; who would fight to the bitter end and
+die game--hero of "_the_" Marathon, whose exciting history is
+impossible to avoid in Iowa City.
+
+By nature, Chester was an athlete, and by way of exercise he was
+accustomed to indulge in a few turns daily upon the cinder path. One
+evening in early spring he was jogging along at a steady brisk pace,
+when two men in training-suits caught up with him. They were puffing
+when they fell in beside him. Presently they dropped behind, and one,
+a tall important youth, of the name of Richards, called out:
+
+"I say, me lud, aren't you going to clear the trail?"
+
+Quick as a shot Chester halted and faced around.
+
+"What's that?" he asked quietly.
+
+The other two nearly bumped into him, but managed to come to a
+standstill, before precipitating that catastrophe. They lurched back
+upon their heels, nearly toppling backwards, too surprised for the
+moment to speak. Chester did not stir.
+
+"Jiminy crickets!" Richards' companion exclaimed in a moment. "You're
+deuced sudden, Chester, I must say."
+
+And Richards' manner promptly grew conciliatory.
+
+"Old man," he said, smiling, "you really ought to train. You've got
+form--by George, you have! Besides, you wouldn't have any opposition
+to speak of, you know."
+
+Richards was still smiling; but a smile, however warmly encouraged
+from within, is apt to take cold in a frost. The casual glance with
+which Chester took in the young man, from his light sprinting-pumps to
+his eyes, may be accurately described as frigid. Not until he had held
+the other's embarrassed look for an appreciable pause did he deign to
+speak.
+
+"There really ought to be," he said without emotion, "at least one man
+in the field. I think I shall train."
+
+Thus it came about that "Lord" Chester decided to enter athletics.
+Five minutes previously even the thought had not occurred to him; but
+he wasn't the man to quail before a bluff.
+
+The track management of this particular university was an oligarchy;
+was governed by a few absolute individuals. Perhaps such a condition
+is not as rare as might be supposed. However that may be, it was here
+a case of being either "in" or "out." Chester was unpopular, and from
+the first had been out.
+
+There were only four entries for the running events, the same names
+appearing in all; so he could not be kept from the field. But he well
+knew that various ways existed by which favoritism could be shown, and
+that these preferences, too trifling in themselves to warrant
+complaint, might prove a serious handicap in a close contest. He knew
+that, however honors might lie among the other entries, they would
+hesitate at nothing to prevent him from taking a place. In fact,
+Richards openly boasted that he would pocket "'is ludship" at the
+finish.
+
+So Chester shaped his plans accordingly. He had never aimed at the
+impossible, nor did he now. He withdrew from all short-distance runs
+and yard dashes, and concentrated his mind upon the Marathon--thus
+dignified, although the faculty would permit nothing more arduous than
+two miles.
+
+In saying trained, everything is meant that the word can be made to
+imply: the sort of hour in, hour out, to-the-limit-of-endurance
+training which either makes or kills. A fortnight before Field Day
+Chester was in perfect condition, and had his capabilities gauged to a
+nicety. He was now entered only in the Marathon; they virtually had
+forced him from the half-mile, and they should be made to pay the
+penalty.
+
+One day before the race Chester went to the bank and inquired the
+amount of his balance. It was shown him: one hundred and six dollars
+and some odd cents. He drew a cheque for the amount, and thrust the
+bills into his pocket. From the bank he walked straight up Main Street
+for three blocks, then turned in at a well-kept brick house.
+
+"Mr. Richards in?" he asked of the servant-girl.
+
+"Yes, sir. Right upstairs--second door to the left. He's got company
+now."
+
+The junior nevertheless resolutely mounted the stairs and knocked upon
+the door. The noise inside resembled a pocket-edition of the Chicago
+Board of Trade, so Chester hammered again, louder.
+
+"Come!" some one yelled, and the noise subsided.
+
+He opened the door and stepped inside. A half-dozen young fellows were
+scattered about, but as he knew none of them, except by name, he
+ignored their presence and walked directly up to Richards.
+
+"I've come on business," he said; "can I speak with you a moment?"
+
+"Sure!" Richards removed his feet from a chair, kicking it at the
+same time toward his visitor. "These fellows know more about my
+business now than I do myself, so get it off of your chest, Chester."
+
+The company laughed, but Chester remained wholly unmoved.
+
+"All right," said he, calmly. "You're in the Marathon: want to risk
+anything on it?"
+
+Up went Richards' feet once more, this time to a table. He winked
+broadly at his friends, and replied with an air of vast carelessness,
+
+"Why--yes; I don't mind. Guess I can cover you."
+
+"How much?" demanded Chester. "Odds even, mind."
+
+"I said I'd cover you, didn't I?" with some warmth. Richards fumbled
+in his trousers pockets, extracting therefrom a handful of loose
+change.
+
+Chester advanced to the table. At sight of his roll of bills a sudden
+silence fell. All eyes were glued upon them while he counted.
+
+"Five--ten--fifteen"--and so on, up to one hundred. He stowed the
+remaining five back in his pocket, pushed the pile into the middle of
+the table and looked coolly down at his host. Said he,
+
+"One hundred, even, that I win the Marathon. Cover, or show these
+fellows the sort of piker you are."
+
+And Richards came very near to showing them. His face was a study. He
+hadn't ten dollars to his name; he was painfully aware of the fact,
+and here were these six boys who would know it too in about two
+seconds. He was rattled, and sat looking at the pile of bills as
+though charmed. He racked his brain for some way out of the
+predicament, but the only thing he could think of was to wonder
+whether the portrait on the top note was that of Hendricks or Rufus
+Choate. "It can't be Choate," suddenly occurred to him. "But then
+it--"
+
+There was a laugh in the back of the room. Richards stood up. A dozen
+fire alarms would not have recalled him so quickly. Whatever else
+might be said of the man he was game, and now his gameness showed.
+
+"Give me an hour; I'll meet you then in front of the postoffice."
+While speaking he had gotten into his coat; now he walked toward the
+door. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone, fellows," he said, and
+disappeared down the stairway.
+
+Chester replaced the notes in his pocket, nodded gravely to the
+company and followed.
+
+Not a boy spoke, but all sat staring blankly at the doorway.
+
+An hour later, both Richards and Chester appeared at the postoffice.
+The former, by dint of much persistent circulation among his fellow
+athletes, had found enough of them who were willing to pool their
+funds in order to secure the necessary amount. The two young men had
+witnesses, the wager was properly closed and the money deposited.
+Neither spoke an unnecessary word during the meeting, but when Chester
+started to leave, Richards turned facetiously to his friends.
+
+"'Is bloomin' ludship will start training Friday; bet he has his wheel
+in soak."
+
+To which remark Chester paid not the slightest attention.
+
+Whatever may be said to the contrary, six boys can no more retain a
+secret than can six girls, and inside of an hour the story of the big
+bet had spread over the town. In due course it penetrated to the city:
+one day a reporter appeared and interviewed the principals, and on the
+following Sunday their photographs adorned the pink section of a great
+daily. This was nuts for the university--but it is getting ahead of
+our own story somewhat.
+
+Chester, naturally, was the centre of curiosity. He had not pawned his
+"bike," as was demonstrated when Friday rolled around; but had it been
+known that the last cent he owned in the world had been staked upon
+the issue, no doubt the interest would have been greater.
+
+Field Day opened bright and clear, and early in the afternoon Athletic
+Park began to fill. A rumor had gone abroad that the two principal
+competitors had actually come to blows, and that each had sworn to die
+rather than lose the race. Long before the opening event the inclosure
+was crowded with spectators, all eagerly discussing the Marathon, to
+the exclusion of every other contest. The opinion was freely expressed
+that Richards would "put a crimp in that chesty Chester," and that he
+would "win in a walk." They made no bones about playing favorites.
+
+It was a still, hot day, and if there is any advantage in atmospheric
+conditions each contestant should have been inspired with that
+absolute confidence of winning, without which the fastest race is but
+a tame affair. At two o'clock the band commenced playing. The judges
+tried to follow the programme, but the cries of "Marathon! Marathon!"
+grew so insistent and clamorous that they finally yielded, and the
+event was called.
+
+Richards responded first. He was popular, and the grandstand gave him
+an ovation as he took his position under the wire. It seemed as though
+the handkerchief of every girl present was in the air. The two
+figureheads, friends of Richards, came next, and last of all Chester.
+
+A feeble attempt at applause marked his passage in front of the
+grandstand; but he never looked up, and for any indication he gave to
+the contrary, he might have been the only person on the grounds. His
+track suit was hidden by a long black door curtain, in lieu of a
+bath-robe, and a pretty girl on the front row remarked audibly, "He's
+all ready for the funeral."
+
+"Sure thing," answered her companion. "He knows his obsequies are
+about to take place."
+
+"Peels well," a man by the rail critically commented.
+"But--rats!--Richards has pocketed this event ever since he's been
+here; you can't make the pace for him with anything slower than an
+auto."
+
+The runners were in line at last, crouching low, tense, finger-tips
+upon the ground, the starting-pistol above their heads.
+
+"Starters ready?" floated in a sing-song voice from the judges' stand.
+"Timers r-r-read-y-y?" A sharp crack from the pistol, and they were
+off.
+
+Then a queer thing happened. Instead of dawdling along behind, as
+every one expected, Chester, without an instant's hesitation, pushed
+to the front and set the pace.
+
+And what a pace! It was literally a race from the word go. Chester
+took the inside and faced the music, Richards and the others close in
+behind. Sympathy in the grandstand was beginning to turn; everybody
+appreciates pluck. The spectators, however, knew him to be a novice,
+and many supposed that he had lost his head; so when he passed the
+grandstand on the first lap, any amount of contradictory advice was
+shouted noisily.
+
+"Let them set the pace!" "You're killing yourself!" "Oh, you bally
+Lord!--go it, kid!" "Don't let 'em nose you out, Chester, old scout!"
+"Save your air, old top, you'll need it!" and much more of a like kind
+was hurled at him, which reached his ears through the veil of singing
+wind, like the roar of distant breakers upon the seashore.
+
+He kept his own counsel. He had followed that pace every day during
+the last two weeks of his training, and he knew precisely what he
+could do. Besides the air was quiet, and the disadvantage of being
+pace-maker was not so great as people thought.
+
+In this formation they came round the half-mile oval the second time,
+each man working with the nice regularity of well-oiled machinery. Not
+a sound now from the grandstand; only the soft _pat_ of the runners'
+feet could be heard. The crowd had caught Chester's idea: but could
+he hold out?
+
+They had passed the three-quarter pole on the third lap when a yell
+went up, and everybody rose excitedly to their feet. Space was growing
+rapidly between the leaders and those behind; it was now resolved to a
+duel between the principals.
+
+As they dashed past, the crowd examined them closely, scores of
+field-glasses being trained upon them like so many guns.
+
+Chester was still erect, his head well back, chest forward, arms
+working piston-like, close down at his sides, while his long, regular
+tread was as light and springy as an Indian's. His jaw was set grimly,
+but it was manifest that he was still breathing deep and regularly
+through his nostrils.
+
+It was equally manifest that his opponent was in distress. The last of
+his strength and determination was dying away in a desperate effort to
+keep his pace; his face was colorless, eyes staring, his step
+irregular. Worst of all, his mouth was open, and his chest could be
+seen to vibrate as he panted.
+
+[Illustration: He heard a voice ... and glanced back.]
+
+"By Jove!" muttered the man at the rail, as amazed as though the blue
+canopy of heaven had suddenly fallen, "Chester'll take it, I do
+believe!" And the crowd was beginning to believe the same.
+
+The rivals maintained their relative positions until, on the last lap,
+the three-quarter pole was once more reached. The two figureheads had
+dropped out and mounted a fence where they would not be too far away
+from the finish.
+
+Every eye was trained upon the racers, the excitement was tense.
+Chester was pounding grimly away; sweat was pouring down his face
+until it glistened in the sun; his legs ached as though in a boot of
+torture. But he had no thought of allowing Richards to close the gap
+between them by an inch. He was counting the _pat-pat-pat!_ of his
+feet upon the track. "Seventy-three more, and it's won, old boy," he
+muttered. He could hear Richards' every breath. "One, two, three,--"
+he counted.
+
+He heard a voice, so broken that the words could hardly be distinguished,
+and he glanced back.
+
+"For God's--sake, Chester--hold--up!" gasped Richards. "I--can't
+lose--this race--now."
+
+He was a pitiable figure, his white face drawn in lines of pain, his
+body swaying uncertainly, as he pressed despairingly on.
+
+For one moment Chester's heart felt a throb of pity. Then he thought
+of his work in sun and rain; of Richards' contempt in the past; of the
+cheers for his rival and the open ridicule of his own pretensions; and
+last of all, but far from being the least consideration, the two
+hundred dollars absolutely necessary to carry him through his final
+year to graduation.
+
+Ah, nobody knew about that two hundred dollars, save himself and one
+little girl, who had driven into town early in the afternoon, and who
+had slipped timidly into as good a seat as she could find in the
+stand. She showed one dot of pink among hundreds of fluffy white
+gowns; Chester was ignorant of her presence, but as he sped round and
+round the track, her eyes never once left him, nor did she cease
+praying silently that he might win!
+
+Only for an instant did he hesitate; then his face settled into an
+expression not pleasant to look upon. He forgot that he was tired,
+that a grandstand full of howling maniacs was ahead of him. He thought
+only of the girl in pink--and made his spurt.
+
+Richards tried to follow, but a haze was forming over his eyes. His
+heart was pounding until he believed that he must suffocate. Then he
+reeled suddenly, lost his balance and fell into darkness.
+
+"So this is victory!" murmured Chester to himself a moment later, as
+he swayed unsteadily upon the shoulders of a howling mob. He was
+thinking of poor Richards lying back there upon the track. But just
+then he espied the transfigured face of the girl in pink.
+
+"It is! It is!" he shouted joyfully.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORTH OF THE PRICE
+
+
+Nobody in a normal humor would dispute the fact that Clementine Willis
+was a strikingly handsome girl. One might even be moved, by a burst of
+enthusiasm, to declare her beautiful. There was about her that subtle,
+elusive charm of perfection in minute detail, possible only to the
+wealthy who can discriminate between art and that which is artificial,
+and who can take advantage of all of art's magic resources, without
+imparting the slightest suggestion of artificiality.
+
+Her hair and eyes were dark--very dark; her skin bore the matchless,
+transparent tint of ivory; every line of her high-bred face, and of
+her hands and her slender, arched feet, bespoke the ultimate degree of
+refinement.
+
+She was the sort of girl, in short, that a full-blooded man must needs
+stare at, perhaps furtively, but with no thought of boldness. Stupid,
+indeed, must be he who would attempt anything even remotely
+approaching familiarity with Miss Willis.
+
+Her smart brougham waits in front of a new and resplendent down-town
+office building on a certain afternoon, while Miss Willis ascends
+in one of the elevators to the tenth floor. She proceeds with
+assurance, but leisurely--mayhap she is a trifle bored--to a door
+which somehow manages to convey an impression of prosperity beyond.
+It bears upon its frosted glass the name of Dr. Leonard, a renowned
+specialist in diseases of the throat, besides the names of a
+half-dozen assistants--in much smaller lettering--who, doubtless,
+are in the ferment of struggling for positions of equal renown.
+
+The door opening discloses a neat, uniformed maid and a large and
+richly furnished reception-room. Five ladies, of various ages and all
+handsomely gowned, are seated here and there, manifestly forcing
+patience to relieve the _ennui_ which would have been tolerated with
+no other detail of the day's routine.
+
+This cursory survey is sufficient, it is hoped, to demonstrate that
+Dr. Leonard's practice is confined among a class of which most other
+practitioners might be pardonably envious.
+
+The white-aproned, white-capped maid smiled a polite recognition of
+the newest arrival. A bit flustered by the calmly impersonal scrutiny
+with which her greeting was received, she addressed Miss Willis in a
+subdued voice.
+
+"I was to tell you, Miss Willis, that there is no occasion for Dr.
+Leonard to see you himself to-day. If you please, Dr. Carter will fill
+your engagement."
+
+Miss Willis did not please. It was quite clear that she regarded this
+arrangement with considerable disfavor.
+
+"You may inform Dr. Leonard that I shall not wait," she said coldly.
+"If I am so far improved that I do not require his personal attention,
+I shall not come again."
+
+With that, she turned decisively to leave. The maid followed her,
+hesitantly, to the door, and Miss Willis could not repress a smile at
+the girl's consternation. The situation had ended in an altogether
+unexpected manner. And then, in the next instant, it became manifest
+that, however absolute Dr. Leonard might be, it was not a part of the
+maid's duties to discourage those who would seek his services. She was
+emboldened to protest.
+
+"Just try him, please, Miss Willis," in a nervous murmur;
+"he--truly--he's--"
+
+The assurance was left unfinished; but the speaker's flurry revealed
+her predicament, and Miss Willis smiled encouragement.
+
+"Very well," she returned graciously.
+
+The maid gave her a grateful look and conducted her though several
+rooms, all in accord with the sumptuous reception-room, to a tiny
+private office, where she opened the door and stood respectfully on
+one side.
+
+The visitor's submissive mood all at once vanished. She stared
+resentfully at the cramped quarters, and entered reluctantly, as if
+with a feeling of being thrust willy-nilly into a labelled pill-box. A
+man was writing at a desk in a corner, and he continued writing.
+
+"Take a chair, please," he said crisply, without looking up. And this
+was the only sign to indicate that he was aware that his privacy had
+been invaded.
+
+Miss Willis's dark eyes flashed. She seemed about to make an indignant
+rejoinder, but thought better of it. She ignored the invitation to sit
+down, however, and by and by the circumstance caught the writer's
+attention; he bent a quick, surprised look round at her--then
+proceeded with his writing. He did not repeat the request.
+
+He presently finished his task, noted the time, and made an entry upon
+a tabulated sheet beside him; he then filed the memorandum upon a
+hook, and swung round in his chair, facing the intruder--for such the
+girl felt herself to be.
+
+Fortunately Miss Willis was not without a sense of humor, and she was
+able to perceive an amusing quality in her reception to-day. Such
+supreme indifference to her very existence was so wholly foreign to
+anything in her past experience, that she was acutely sensible of its
+freshness and novelty.
+
+But now the man became all at once impressed with the circumstance
+that she was still standing, and he bounded guiltily to his feet.
+
+"Pardon me!" he exclaimed in confusion. "I was--was very busy when you
+came in. Won't you please have this chair?" He awkwardly shoved one
+forward.
+
+The man was young; Miss Willis was unable to determine whether he was
+good-looking, or ugly; whether he was the right sort, or impossible;
+so she accepted the proffered chair.
+
+He resumed his own seat, and leaned one arm wearily upon the desk.
+Already he had forgotten his momentary embarrassment, and he was now
+regarding the girl simply as a patient.
+
+"Dr. Leonard has given me the history of your case," he informed her
+in a matter of fact way. "He requests that I continue with it--unless,
+of course, you prefer that he treat you himself." He got up as he
+spoke, and Miss Willis decided that he was good-looking and young, and
+that he was tall and of a figure to appeal to the feminine eye.
+
+Then she was guilty of a most reprehensible act of slyness. She turned
+full upon him the batteries of her lustrous dark eyes, and smiled
+dazzlingly, bewitchingly.
+
+"I came to see Dr. Leonard," she said in a tone that made one think
+of dripping honey. "And I object to being turned over to an
+assistant--at least before consulting me."
+
+Utterly at variance with all precedent, the bewitching look produced
+no effect whatever. The man bowed gravely, pressed a bell-button, and
+then went over to where Miss Willis was sitting. Before he could
+speak--if he had any such intention--a girl in starched cap and apron
+appeared in answer to his ring.
+
+"Miss Willis has concluded not to remain," he informed the maid. "Show
+Number Twenty-seven into Room Four. Inform her that I will see her in
+two minutes." Producing his watch, he deliberately marked the time.
+
+He turned to Miss Willis in a moment, with an air which said as
+plainly as words could have said it: "It's a terrible waste of
+precious time, but if necessary I'll sacrifice the two minutes to
+humoring any further caprices you may develop."
+
+This was too much for the young lady's tranquillity: she laughed, and
+laughed frankly.
+
+"Pray tell me," she managed to say, "what _my_ number is."
+
+Without the slightest alteration in his serious mien, he consulted a
+list hanging beside his desk.
+
+"Seven," he announced at length.
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Why?" quickly. "Has there been some mistake?"
+
+"No--oh, no"; Miss Willis was now perfectly composed. "I had a
+feeling, though, that it must have been nearer seven thousand."
+
+"It would be impossible, you know," the man patiently explained, "to
+see that many patients in a day."
+
+"Indeed? How interesting!" Her irony was unnoticed, and once more she
+laughed. To tell the truth, if anybody could associate such a
+frivolity with Miss Willis's dignity, she giggled.
+
+She contemplated the man with undisguised curiosity. Naturally enough
+she had met more men than she could even remember, but never one
+anything like this particular specimen. To add to her quickened
+interest, he was not only positively good-looking, but every line of
+his face, the poise of his well-proportioned, upstanding figure, the
+tilt of his head and the squareness of his chin, all spoke of
+strength; of elemental strength, and of a purposeful, resolute
+character. And, too, she told herself that he had nice eyes. The nice
+eyes never wavered in their respectful regard of her.
+
+He spoke again:
+
+"I can assure you that Dr. Leonard meant no discourtesy. The new
+arrangement means nothing further than that your trouble is more
+distinctively within my province. It is his custom, once he has
+thoroughly diagnosed a case, to assign it to the one of his assistants
+best qualified to treat it. Dr. Leonard is a very busy man; he can't
+be expected to do more than supervise his aides."
+
+And now he was actually rebuking her!
+
+He bowed once more, and moved toward the door. His hand was upon the
+knob, when an imperious command brought him to a standstill.
+
+"Wait," said Miss Willis. "Dr. Carter, if I remain here--"
+
+He coolly interrupted. "Pardon me, Miss Willis, but my patient is
+waiting. I shall be at liberty in ten minutes, then I shall return."
+
+This time he was gone.
+
+Number Four must have been an adjoining room, for the next instant
+she could hear Dr. Carter's voice through the thin board partition.
+His speech was as unemotional and businesslike as when addressing her.
+She could not make up her mind whether to go or wait, and so sat
+pondering and presently forgot to go.
+
+Here was a man such as she had never dreamed of as existing; one
+absolutely disinterested, who treated people--even people like
+Clementine Willis--as abstractly as a master mechanic goes about
+repairing a worn-out engine. Perhaps it was a characteristically
+feminine decision at which she presently arrived, but anyway she made
+up her mind, then and there, to know more of this man.
+
+After a while Miss Willis fell to surveying the room; with an
+undefined hope, perhaps, that it would throw some further light upon
+the young doctor's character. It was essentially the home of a busy
+man. Every article had a use and a definite one. The spirit of the
+place was contagious, and presently she began to have a feeling that
+she was the one useless thing there.
+
+In one corner of the room was the desk where he had been writing,
+upon which was a pile of loose manuscript. Reference books were
+scattered all about, some with improvised bookmarks, but mostly face
+downward, just as they had been left. The environment was that of one
+who seeks to overtake and outstrip Time, rather than to forget him.
+
+Dr. Carter returned at last, entering quickly but quietly.
+
+"Pardon my leaving you so abruptly," he apologized, the impersonal
+note again in his voice, and an inquiry as well. He seemed surprised
+that she had not departed.
+
+The girl was manifestly at a loss for words; this was such an
+extraordinary predicament for her to find herself in that she
+determined to say something at any cost.
+
+"Dr. Carter," she faltered, "I--have changed my mind; I--I--wish you
+to continue my treatment--if you will." It was not at all what she had
+intended saying, and she was chagrined to feel her cheeks grow
+suddenly hot; she knew that they must be rosy.
+
+It was likely that young Dr. Carter was unused to smiling; but
+suddenly his eyes were alight. He spoke, and the dry, impersonal note
+was gone.
+
+"I'm glad," he said. "We hard-working doctors can stand almost
+anything--without caring a snap of our fingers, too--but when it comes
+to doubting or questioning--not _our_ methods, but those that have
+been tried and proven, and of which we merely avail ourselves,--why,
+we can't be expected to waste much sympathy on the scoffers."
+
+He rang the inevitable bell, and gave word to the maid: "Tell Dr.
+Leonard that Miss Willis has decided to continue her treatment with
+me."
+
+Now, in the light of the foregoing experience, it was strange that
+during the next week Miss Willis's throat should require considerably
+more attention than it ever had under the celebrated specialist's
+personal ministrations. She made five visits to Dr. Carter, but it
+could not be said that he had advanced an inch toward the opening she
+had made. His voice and manner were a bit more sympathetic--and that
+was all.
+
+Miss Willis seemed to find a keen delight in the fact that her
+identity, for the time being, was erased by a number; during each
+visit she made it a point to learn what this number was, treating the
+matter in a sportive spirit, unbending her wit to ridicule a practice
+which failed to discriminate among the host of patients who came to
+see Dr. Leonard.
+
+"For our purposes," Dr. Carter tolerantly explained, "a number more
+conveniently identifies our patients; their differences are only
+pathological. A name is easily forgotten, Miss Willis, unless there is
+some unusual circumstance associated with it, to impress it upon the
+mind."
+
+She was curious to learn what unusual circumstance had caused him to
+retain her name, but lacked the temerity to ask. She would have been
+amazed, unbelieving, had he told her that it was her beauty; that he
+was clinging rather desperately to the unlovely number, which had no
+individuality and whose features were altogether neutral and
+negative.
+
+The change in his manner, when it came, almost took away her breath.
+It was on the occasion of her last visit. After the familiar
+preliminary examination, instead of proceeding at once with the
+treatment, as had been his invariable custom, Dr. Carter walked over
+to his desk and sat down. For a space he soberly regarded her.
+
+"Miss Willis," said he, presently, "there is nothing whatever the
+matter with your throat."
+
+She gasped. This calm statement brought confusingly to her mind the
+circumstance that she had forgotten her throat and its ailment, when,
+of all considerations, the afflicted member should have been uppermost
+in her mind. Dr. Carter had not, however, and he must be wondering why
+she continued to come after the occasion to do so no longer existed.
+He at once relieved her embarrassment, though.
+
+"I suppose," he said, and she felt a thrill at the note of regret in
+his voice, "that you will be glad to escape from this hive?"
+
+"No, I shan't," she said, with unnecessary warmth. This involuntary
+denial surprised even herself, and she blushed.
+
+The smile left Dr. Carter's lips, but he said nothing--merely sat
+looking at her in his grave way.
+
+Here was to be another period, which Miss Willis could look back upon
+as one of temporary inability to find words. She started to leave,
+furious with herself for her inaptness, and instead of going she
+paused and turned back.
+
+Dr. Carter had risen; he was standing as she had left him. She drew a
+card from her cardcase.
+
+"You may think what you please of me, Dr. Carter," she said with
+sudden impulse, extending the card and meeting his look steadily, "but
+I would be glad if you were to call."
+
+It seemed to take him a long time to read the address. All at once his
+hands were trembling, and when he looked up the expression in the gray
+eyes brought a swift tide of color to the girl's face, where it
+deepened, and deepened, until she tingled from head to foot, and a
+mist obscured her vision.
+
+"Nothing in all this world would give me more pleasure," said the
+man.
+
+The girl turned and fled.
+
+That very evening Dr. Carter availed himself of the invitation.
+Singularly enough, since she had been hoping all the afternoon that he
+would come, Clementine Willis was frightened when his name was
+announced. Her hand was shaking when he took it in his; but there was
+not a trace of expression on his face.
+
+Miss Willis realized, for the first time, that she had been horribly
+brazen--or, at least, she told herself that she had been--and as a
+consequence, she was wretchedly ill at ease. Her distress was in
+marked contrast with the man's self-possession, which amounted almost
+to indifference. There was no spark visible of the fire which had
+flashed earlier in the day. It was as though he had steeled himself to
+remain invulnerable throughout the call.
+
+And the usually composed girl prattled aimlessly, voicing platitudes,
+conventionalities, banalities, inanities--anything to gain time and to
+cover her embarrassment: to all of which the man listened in sober
+silence, watching her steadily.
+
+Abruptly, Miss Willis grew angry with herself, and stopped. When angry
+she was collected.
+
+Dr. Carter's face lit up humorously.
+
+"You have no idea," he said, "how you have relieved my mind."
+
+The girl looked a question.
+
+"I supposed I was the embarrassed individual," he laughed.
+
+"If you had only given me a hint," suggested the girl, reproachfully.
+She was now amazed that she had ever lost her grip upon herself, and
+wondered why she had.
+
+"A hint!" he exclaimed. "I was dumb; I thought you'd see."
+
+The tension was off, and they laughed together. From then on, both
+remained natural. In the midst of a lull, Dr. Carter suddenly said:
+
+"You'll think me a barbarian, Miss Willis, but I have a request to
+make. I am in the mood to-night to be unconventional"--the corners of
+his serious mouth lifted humorously--"to be what I really am," he
+illuminated, "and to meet you in the same spirit." He paused with a
+little shrug. "It is a disappointing reversion to the primitive, I
+must admit." He glanced up whimsically. "May I ask you a question--any
+question?"
+
+"Do you think it possible," the girl evaded, "for a modern woman to
+meet you--the way you say--naturally?"
+
+He seemed to question her seriousness.
+
+"I have seen little of women for a number of years," he returned, "but
+I'd hate to think it impossible."
+
+"Little of women!" was the surprised comment.
+
+"You misunderstand," he quickly corrected. "I go out so seldom that
+the woman I see is not the real woman at all; not the woman of
+home." His hand made a little motion of forbearance. "In his
+consultation-room the patients of a physician are--sexless."
+
+"I think that a woman--that I--can still be natural, Dr. Carter," said
+Miss Willis, slowly, her eyes downcast. "What did you wish to ask?"
+
+It was his turn to hesitate.
+
+"I hardly know how to put it, now that I have permission," he
+apologized, with a deprecatory little laugh.
+
+"We seldom do things in this world," he went on at once, "unless we
+want to, or unless the alternative of not doing them is more
+unpleasant." He merged generalities into a more specific assertion.
+"There was no alternative in your requesting me to call. Candidly, why
+do I interest you?"
+
+His voice was alive, and the woman, now thoroughly mistress of
+herself, gazed into the frankest of frank gray eyes.
+
+"I scarcely know," she said, weighing her answer. "Perhaps it was the
+novel experience of being considered--sexless; of being classified by
+a number, like a beetle in a case. Let me answer with another
+question: Why did I interest you sufficiently to come?"
+
+He sat in the big chair with his chin in his hand, looking now
+steadily past and beyond her, one foot restlessly tapping the rug.
+
+"I can't answer without it seeming so hopelessly egotistical." The
+half-whimsical, half-serious smile returned to his eyes. "Don't let me
+impose upon your leniency, please; I may wish to make a request
+sometime again."
+
+"I will accept the responsibility," she insisted.
+
+"On your head, then, the consequences." He spoke lightly, but with a
+note of restlessness and rebellion.
+
+"To me you are attractive, Miss Willis, because you are everything
+that I am not. With you there is no necessity higher than the present;
+no responsibility beyond the chance thought of the moment. You choose
+your surroundings, your thoughts. Your life is what you make it: it is
+life."
+
+"You certainly would not charge me with being more independent than
+you?" protested the girl.
+
+"Independent!" he flashed upon her, and she knew she had stirred
+something lying close to his soul. His voice grew soft, and he repeated
+the word, musingly, more to himself than to her: "Independent!"
+
+"Yes," with abrupt feeling, "with the sort of independence that
+chooses its own manner of absolute dependence; with the independence
+that gives you only so much of my time, so that the remainder may go
+to another; with the independence of imperative impartiality; the sort
+of independence that is never through working and planning for
+others--that's the independence I know."
+
+"But there are breathing-spells," interrupted Miss Willis, smilingly.
+"To-night, for example, you are not working for somebody else."
+
+"You compel me to incriminate myself," he rejoined, the whimsical,
+half-serious smile again lighting his gray eyes. "I should be working
+now, and I will have to make up the lost time when I go home." He
+bowed gallantly. "The pleasure is double with me, you observe; I do
+not think twice about paying a double price for it."
+
+He spoke lightly, almost mockingly; but beneath the surface there was
+even the bitter ring of revolt, and constantly before the girl were
+the little gestures, intense, impatient, that conveyed a meaning he
+did not voice. She could feel in it all the insistent atmosphere of
+the town, where time is counted by seconds. She wondered that he felt
+as he did, ignorant that the disquiet had come into his life only
+during the past week. To her, the glimpse of activity was fascinating
+simply because it was in sharp contrast with her life of comparative,
+dull emptiness.
+
+He caught the wistful look on her face.
+
+"You wonder that I rebel," he said, with an odd little throaty laugh.
+"I couldn't well appear any more unsophisticated: I might as well tell
+you. It's not the work itself, but the lack of anything else but work
+that makes the lives of such as I so bare. We are constantly holding a
+stop-watch on time itself, fearful of losing a second; the scratch of
+a pen sealing the life of a Nation, commuting a death-sentence,
+defining the difference between a man's success and ruin can all be
+accomplished in a second. If we let that second get away from us, we
+have been deaf to Opportunity's knock. We stop at times to think; and
+then the object for which we give our all appears so petty and
+inadequate, and what we are losing, so great. We laugh at our work at
+such times, and for the moment hate it." But he laughed lightly, and
+finished with a deprecating little minor.
+
+"You see, I'm relaxing to-night--and thinking."
+
+"But," Miss Willis protested, "I don't see why you should have only
+the one thing in your life. It is certainly unnecessary, unless you
+choose."
+
+He smiled indulgently.
+
+"You have no conception of what it means to shape your life to your
+income. I am poor, and I know. Years ago I had to choose between
+mediocrity and"--he looked at her peculiarly--"and love, or
+advancement alone. I had to choose, and fixing my choice upon the
+higher aim, I had to put everything else out of my life. The thought
+is intolerable that my name should always be under another's upon some
+office-door. You know what I chose: you know nothing of the constant
+struggle which alone keeps me, mind, soul, and body, centred upon my
+ideal, nor how readily I respond to a temptation to turn aside.
+
+"This," he completed listlessly, "is one of the nights when the price
+seems too large; in spite of me, regret will creep in."
+
+"But," persisted the girl, "when you succeed--it will not be--too
+late?" There was a plaintive inquiry in the words; the tragedy of the
+man's life had awakened pity.
+
+He spoke with a sudden passion that startled her.
+
+"It is too late already; my work has refashioned my life. I am
+desperately restless except when doing something that counts;
+something visible; and doing it intensely. I'll never"--his voice was
+bitter with regret--"never conform--now."
+
+The girl answered, almost unconsciously.
+
+"I think you can," she hesitated, "and will."
+
+For a long, long moment they searched each other's eyes.
+
+"And this price you are paying," said the girl at last, "is it worth
+it?"
+
+The man drew a long breath.
+
+"Ah, I wonder! To-night doubt has undermined my resolution."
+
+"If you question yourself so seriously," she said very softly, "then
+surely you can find but one answer."
+
+"Again I wonder. I have wondered and--and hoped--God help me!--since
+the moment I looked into your eyes."
+
+Suddenly he was out of his chair and coming toward her. Her heart
+leaped, her eyes shone; she extended her hands in welcome.
+
+"Then you will come again," she whispered, as they drew together.
+
+"If you will let me. I couldn't stay away now."
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by 
+Will Lillibridge
+
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+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Breath of Prairie and Other Stories, by Will Lillibridge.</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+    @media screen     {
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+      .pagenum        {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;}
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+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by 
+Will Lillibridge
+
+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: A Breath of Prairie and other stories
+
+Author: Will Lillibridge
+
+Illustrator: J. N. Marchand
+
+Release Date: June 26, 2009 [EBook #29245]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREATH OF PRAIRIE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<hr class='pb' />
+<h1>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE</h1>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;'>AND OTHER STORIES</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<table summary='booklist' style='width:27em; border:1px solid black; padding:20px; font-size:smaller;'>
+
+<tr><td align='center'>
+<p style='font-size:larger; text-align:center;'>By WILL LILLIBRIDGE</p>
+</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><hr class='minor' /></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align='left'>
+<p style='margin-left:1em; text-indent: -1em'>THE DOMINANT DOLLAR. Illustrated in color by Lester Ralph. Crown 8vo&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;$1.50</p>
+
+<p style='margin-left:1em; text-indent: -1em'>BEN BLAIR, PLAINSMAN. Frontispiece in color by Maynard Dixon. <i>Seventieth thousand.</i> Crown 8vo&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;$1.50</p></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><hr class='minor' /></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+<p style='margin-left:1em; text-indent: -1em'>QUERCUS ALBA: The Veteran of the Ozarks. With frontispiece. 16mo. Net&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;$.50</p>
+</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><hr class='minor' /></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td align='center'>
+A. C. MCCLURG &amp; CO., Publishers<br />CHICAGO
+</td></tr>
+</table>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='425' height='609' /><br />
+<p class='caption'>
+She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him. [See &#8220;Journey&#8217;s End.&#8221;]<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.0em;margin-top:40px;'>A</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.0em;'>BREATH <i>of</i> PRAIRIE</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:40px;'>AND OTHER STORIES</p>
+
+<p class='tp' >BY</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>WILL LILLIBRIDGE</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:40px;'>AUTHOR OF &#8220;BEN BLAIR,&#8221; &#8220;THE DOMINANT DOLLAR,&#8221; ETC.</p>
+
+<p class='tp' >WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR<br />
+BY J. N. MARCHAND</p>
+
+<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'>
+<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-tpg.png' />
+</div>
+
+<p class='tp' >CHICAGO</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>A. C. McCLURG &amp; CO.</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;'>1911</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-top:20px;'>Copyright<br />
+A. C. McCLURG &amp; CO.<br />
+1911</p>
+
+<hr class='p10' />
+
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>Published April, 1911</p>
+
+<hr class='p10' />
+
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:20px;margin-top:60px;'>W. J. Hall Printing Company<br />
+Chicago</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_v' name='page_v'></a>v</span></div>
+<h3>A TRIBUTE</h3>
+<p>It is an accepted truth, I believe, that every novelist
+embodies in the personalities of his heroes some of
+his own traits of character. Those who were intimately
+acquainted with William Otis Lillibridge could not fail to
+recognize this in a marked degree. To a casual reader,
+the heroes of his five novels might perhaps suggest five
+totally different personalities, but one who knows them
+well will inevitably recognize beneath the various disguises
+the same dominant characteristics in them all.
+Whether it be Ben Blair the sturdy plainsman, Bob McLeod
+the cripple, Dr. Watson, Darley Roberts, or even
+How Landor the Indian, one finds the same foundation
+stones of character,&ndash;&ndash;repression, virility, firmness of purpose,
+an abhorrence of artificiality or affectation,&ndash;&ndash;love
+of Nature and of Nature&#8217;s works rather than things man-made.
+And these were unquestionably the pronounced
+traits of Will Lillibridge&#8217;s personality. Markedly reserved,
+silent, forceful, he was seldom found in the places
+where men congregate, but loved rather the company of
+books and of the great out-doors. Living practically his
+entire life on the prairies it is undoubtedly true that he
+was greatly influenced by his environment. And certain
+it is that he could never have so successfully painted the
+various phases of prairie-life without a sympathetic, personal
+knowledge.</p>
+<p>The story of his life is characteristically told in this
+brief autobiographical sketch, written at the request of an
+interested magazine.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_vi' name='page_vi'></a>vi</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I was born on a farm in Union County, Iowa, near
+the boundary of the then Dakota Territory. Like most
+boys bred and raised in an atmosphere of eighteen hours
+of work out of twenty-four, I matured early. At twelve
+I was a useful citizen, at fifteen I was to all practical
+purposes a man,&ndash;&ndash;did a man&#8217;s work whatever the need.
+In this capacity I was alternately farmer, rancher, cattleman.
+Something prompted me to explore a university
+and I went to Iowa, where for six years I vibrated between
+the collegiate, dental, and medical departments. After
+graduating from the dental in 1898 I drifted to Sioux
+Falls and began to practise my profession. As the years
+passed the roots sank deeper and I am still here.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Work? My writing is done entirely at night. The
+waiting-room,&ndash;&ndash;the plum-tree,&ndash;&ndash;requires vigorous shaking
+in the daytime. After dinner,&ndash;&ndash;I have a den, telephone-proof,
+piano-proof, friend-proof. What transpires
+therein no one knows because no one has ever seen.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Recreation? I have a mania, by no means always
+gratified,&ndash;&ndash;to be out of doors. Once each summer &#8216;the
+Lady&#8217; and I go somewhere for a time,&ndash;&ndash;and forget it
+absolutely. In this way we&#8217;ve been able to travel a bit.
+We,&ndash;&ndash;again &#8216;the Lady&#8217; and I,&ndash;&ndash;steal an hour when
+we can, and drive a gasoline car, keeping within the speed
+laws when necessary. Once each Fall, when the first
+frost shrivels the corn-stalk and when, if you chance to be
+out of doors after dark you hear, away up overhead, invisible,
+the accelerating, throbbing, diminishing purr of
+wings that drives the sportsman mad,&ndash;&ndash;the town knows
+me no more.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Every novel may have a happy close, but a real life&#8217;s
+story has but one inevitable ending,&ndash;&ndash;Death.</p>
+<p>And to &#8220;the Lady&#8221; has been left the sorrowful task
+of writing &#8220;Finis&#8221; across the final page.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_vii' name='page_vii'></a>vii</span></p>
+<p>January 29, 1909, he died at his home in Sioux Falls
+after a brief illness. But thirty-one years of age, he had
+won a place in literature so gratifying that one might
+well rest content with a recital of his accomplishments.
+But his youth suggests a tale that is only partly told and
+the conjecture naturally arises,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;What success might
+he not have won?&#8221; Five novels, &#8220;Ben Blair,&#8221; &#8220;Where
+the Trail Divides,&#8221; &#8220;The Dissolving Circle,&#8221; &#8220;The
+Quest Eternal,&#8221; and &#8220;The Dominant Dollar,&#8221; besides
+magazine articles, and a number of short stories
+(many of them appearing in this volume) were all written
+in the space of eight years&#8217; time, and, as he said, were
+entirely produced after nightfall.</p>
+<p>While interested naturally in the many phases of his
+life,&ndash;&ndash;as a professional man, as an author, as the chief
+factor in the domestic drama,&ndash;&ndash;yet most of all it pleases
+me to remember him as he appeared when under the spell
+of the prairies he loved so well. Tramping the fields in
+search of prairie-chicken or quail, a patient watcher in the
+rushes of a duck-pond, or merely lying flat on his back in
+the sunshine,&ndash;&ndash;he was a being transformed. For he
+had in him much of the primitive man and his whole
+nature responded to the &#8220;call of the wild.&#8221; But you
+who know his prairie-tales must have read between the
+lines,&ndash;&ndash;for who, unless he loved the &#8220;honk&#8221; of the
+wild geese, could write, &#8220;to those who have heard it year
+by year it is the sweetest, most insistent of music. It is
+the spirit of the wild, of magnificent distances, of freedom
+impersonate&#8221;?</p>
+<p>To the late Mrs. Wilbur Teeters I am indebted for the
+following tribute, which appeared in the &#8220;Iowa Alumnus.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dr. Lillibridge&#8217;s field of romance was his own.
+Others have told of the Western mountains and pictured
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_viii' name='page_viii'></a>viii</span>
+the great desert of the Southwest, but none has painted
+with so masterful a hand the great prairies of the Northwest,
+shown the lavish hand with which Nature pours
+out her gifts upon the pioneer, and again the calm cruelty
+with which she effaces him. In the midst of these scenes
+his actors played their parts and there he played his own
+part, clean in life and thought, a man to the last, slipping
+away upon the wings of the great storm which had just
+swept over his much-loved land, wrapped in the snowy
+mantle of his own prairies.&#8221;</p>
+<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span class='smcap'>Edith Keller-Lillibridge</span><br /></p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_ix' name='page_ix'></a>ix</span></div>
+<p class='tp' style='font-weight:bold;'>CONTENTS</p>
+<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_BREATH_OF_PRAIRIE'>13</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE DOMINANT IMPULSE</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_DOMINANT_IMPULSE'>61</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE STUFF OF HEROES</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_STUFF_OF_HEROES'>87</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>ARCADIA IN AVERNUS</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#ARCADIA_IN_AVERNUS'>109</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>I</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Prelude</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>II</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Leap</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>III</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Wonder of Prairie</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>IV</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>A Revelation</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>V</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Dominance of the Evolved</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VI</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>By a Candle&#8217;s Flame</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VII</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Price of the Leap</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>JOURNEY&#8217;S END</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#JOURNEYS_END'>239</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A PRAIRIE IDYL</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_PRAIRIE_IDYL'>265</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_MADNESS_OF_WHISTLING_WINGS'>279</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>I</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Sandford the Exemplary</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>II</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Presage of the Wings</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>III</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Other Man</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>IV</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Capitulation</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>V</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Anticipation</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VI</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>&#8220;Mark the Right, Sandford!&#8221;</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VII</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Bacon What Am!</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VIII</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Feathered Bullets</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>IX</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Oblivion</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>X</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Upon &#8220;Wiping the Eye&#8221;</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td />
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>XI</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Cold Gray Dawn</span></td></tr></table></td>
+  <td />
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_FRONTIER_ROMANCE_A_TALE_OF_JUMEL_MANSION'>309</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE CUP THAT O&#8217;ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_CUP_THAT_OERFLOWED_AN_OUTLINE'>339</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>UNJUDGED</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#UNJUDGED'>347</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE TOUCH HUMAN</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_TOUCH_HUMAN'>367</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A DARK HORSE</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_DARK_HORSE'>373</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE WORTH OF THE PRICE</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_WORTH_OF_THE_PRICE'>393</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xi' name='page_xi'></a>xi</span></div>
+<p class='tp' style='font-weight:bold;'>ILLUSTRATIONS</p>
+<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'>
+<col style='width:75%;' />
+<col style='width:25%;' />
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and forward like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like escaping steam.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>74</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>&#8220;You&#8217;ll apologize.&#8221;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>190</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>The two men went East together.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>326</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>He heard a voice ... and glanced back.</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>388</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div>
+<h2>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE<br />
+<span style='font-size:smaller;'>AND OTHER STORIES</span></h2>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<a name='A_BREATH_OF_PRAIRIE' id='A_BREATH_OF_PRAIRIE'></a>
+<h2>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE</h2>
+</div>
+<h3>I</h3>
+<p>Dense darkness of early morning
+wrapped all things within and without
+a square, story-and-a-half prairie farm-house.
+Silence, all-pervading, dense as the darkness,
+its companion, needed but a human ear to become
+painfully noticeable.</p>
+<p>Up-stairs in the half-story attic was Life.
+From one corner of the room deep, regular
+breathing marked the unvarying time of healthy
+physical life asleep. Nearby a clock beat loud
+automatic time, with a brassy resonance&ndash;&ndash;healthy
+mechanical life awake. Man and machine,
+side by side, punctuated the passage of
+time.</p>
+<p>Alone in the darkness the mechanical mind
+of the clock conceived a bit of fiendish pleasantry.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span>
+With violent, shocking clamor, its
+deafening alarm suddenly shattered the stillness.</p>
+<p>The two victims of the outrage sat up in bed
+and blinked sleepily at the dark. The younger,
+in a voice of wrath, relieved his feelings with
+a vigorously expressed opinion of the applied
+uses of things in general, and of alarm-clocks
+and milk pans in particular. He thereupon
+yawned prodigiously, and promptly began
+snoring away again, as though nothing had
+interrupted.</p>
+<p>The other man made one final effort, and
+came down hard upon the middle of the floor.
+Rough it was, uncarpeted, cold with the damp
+chill of early morning. He groped for a match,
+and dressed rapidly in the dim light, his teeth
+chattering a diminishing accompaniment until
+the last piece was on.</p>
+<p>Deep, regular breathing still came from the
+bed. The man listened a moment, irresolutely;
+then with a smile on his face he drew a feather
+from a pillow, and, rolling back the bed-clothes,
+he applied the feather&#8217;s tip to the sleeper&#8217;s bare
+soles, where experience had demonstrated it to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
+be the most effective. Dodging the ensuing
+kick, he remarked simply, &#8220;I&#8217;ll leave the light,
+Jim. Better hurry&ndash;&ndash;this is going to be a
+busy day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Outside, a reddish light in the sky marked
+east, but over all else there lay only starlight,
+as, lantern in hand, he swung down the frozen
+path. With the opening barn door there came
+a puff of warm animal breath. As the first
+rays of light entered, the stock stood up with
+many a sleepy groan, and bright eyes shining
+in the half-light swayed back and forth in the
+narrow stalls, while their owners waited patiently
+for the feed they knew was coming.</p>
+<p>Jim, still sleepy, appeared presently; together
+the two went through the routine of
+chores, as they had done hundreds of times
+before. They worked mechanically, being still
+stiff and sore from the previous day&#8217;s work, but
+swiftly, in the way mechanical work is sometimes
+done.</p>
+<p>Side by side, with singing milk pails between
+their knees, Jim stopped long enough to ask,
+&#8220;Made up your mind yet what you&#8217;ll do,
+Guy?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p>
+<p>The older brother answered without a break
+in the swish of milk through foam:</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I haven&#8217;t, Jim. If it wasn&#8217;t for you
+and father and mother and&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he diverted with
+a redoubled clatter of milk on tin.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Be honest, Guy,&#8221; was the reproachful
+caution.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&ndash;&ndash;and Faith,&#8221; added the older brother
+simply.</p>
+<p>The reddish glow in the east had spread and
+lit up the earth; so they put out the lantern,
+and, bending under the weight of steaming milk
+pails, walked single file toward the house and
+breakfast. Far in the distance a thin jet of
+steam spreading broadly in the frosty air
+marked the location of a threshing crew. The
+whistle,&ndash;&ndash;thin, brassy,&ndash;&ndash;spoke the one word
+&#8220;Come!&#8221; over miles of level prairie, to the
+scattered neighbors.</p>
+<p>Four people, rough, homely, sat down to a
+breakfast of coarse, plain cookery, and talked
+of common, homely things.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see you didn&#8217;t get so much milk as usual
+this morning, Jim,&#8221; said the mother.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;No, the line-backed heifer kicked over a
+half-pailful.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Goin&#8217; to finish shuckin&#8217; that west field this
+week, Guy?&#8221; asked the father.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. We&#8217;ll cross over before night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nothing more was said. They were all
+hungry, and in the following silence the jangle
+of iron on coarse queensware, and the aspiration
+of beverages steaming still though undergoing
+the cooling medium of saucers, filled in
+all lulls that might otherwise have seemed to
+require conversation.</p>
+<p>Not until the boys got up to go to work did
+the family bond draw tight enough to show.
+Then the mother, tenderly as a surgeon, dressed
+the chafed spots on her boys&#8217; hands, saying low
+in words that spoke volumes, &#8220;I&#8217;ll be so glad
+when the corn&#8217;s all husked&#8221;; and the father
+followed them out onto the little porch to add,
+&#8220;Better quit early so&#8217;s to hear the speakin&#8217; to-night,
+Guy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How are you feeling to-day, father?&#8221;
+asked the young man, in a tone he attempted
+to make honestly interested, but which an infinite
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span>
+number of repetitions had made almost
+automatic.</p>
+<p>The father hesitated, and a look of sadness
+crept over his weathered face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No better, Guy.&#8221; He laid his hand on the
+young man&#8217;s shoulder, looking down into the
+frank blue eyes with a tenderness that made his
+rough features almost beautiful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It all depends upon you now, Guy, my
+boy.&#8221; Unconsciously his voice took on the incomparable
+pathos of age displaced. &#8220;I&#8217;m out
+of the race,&#8221; he finished simply.</p>
+<p>The heavy, weather-painted lumber wagon
+turned at the farm-yard, and rumbled down a
+country road, bound hard as asphalt in the fall
+frosts. The air cut sharply at the ears of the
+man in the box, as he held the lines in either
+hand alternately, swinging its mate with vigor.
+The sun was just peeping from the broad lap
+of the prairie, casting the beauty of color and
+of sparkle over all things. Ahead of the wagon
+coveys of quail broke and ran swiftly in the
+track until tired, when, with a side movement
+the tall grass by the border absorbed them.
+Flocks of prairie-chickens, frightened by the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
+clatter, sprang winging from the roadside, and
+together sailed away on spread wings. The
+man in the wagon looked about him and forgetting
+all else in the quick-flowing blood of
+morning, smiled gladly.</p>
+<p>He stopped at the edge of the field, tying
+the reins loosely and building up the sideboards,
+gradually shorter, each above the other,
+pyramid-like, until they reached higher than
+his own head as he stood in the wagon-box.
+Stiff from the jolting and inactivity of the
+drive, he jumped out upon the uneven surface
+of the corn-field.</p>
+<p>Slowly at first, as sore fingers rebelled against
+the roughness of husks, he began work, touching
+the frosty ears gingerly; then as he warmed
+to the task, stopping at nothing. The frost,
+dense, all-covering, shook from the stalks as
+he moved, coloring the rusty blue of his
+overalls white, and melting ice-cold, wet him
+through to the skin on arms and shoulders and
+knees. Swiftly, two motions to the ear, he kept
+up a tapping like the regular blows of a hammer,
+as the ears struck the sideboard. Fifteen
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span>
+taps to the minute, you would have counted; a
+goodly man&#8217;s record.</p>
+<p>This morning, though, Landers&#8217; mind was
+not upon his work. The vague, uncertain restlessness
+that marked the birth of a desire for
+broader things than he had known heretofore,
+was taking form in his brain. He himself could
+not have told what he wanted, what he planned;
+he simply felt a distaste for the things of Now;
+an unrest that prevented his sitting quiet; that
+took him up very early at morning; that made
+him husk more bushels of corn, and toss more
+bundles of grain into the self-feed of a threshing
+machine than any other man he knew; that
+kept him awake thinking at night until the discordant
+snores of the family sent him to bed,
+with the covers over his ears in self-defence.</p>
+<p>A vague wonder that such thoughts were in
+his mind at all was upon him. He was the son
+of his parents; his life so far had been their
+life: why should he not be as content as they?</p>
+<p>He could not answer, yet the distaste grew.
+Irresistibly he had acquired a habit of seeing
+unpleasant things: the meanness and the smallness
+of his surroundings; the uncouth furnishings
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span>
+of his home; the lack of grace in his parents
+and acquaintances; the trifling incidents that
+required so many hours of discussion; and in all
+things the absence of that sense of humor and
+appreciation of the lighter side of life which,
+from reading, he had learned to recognize.</p>
+<p>Try as he might, he could not recollect even
+the faint flash of a poor pun coming originally
+from his parents. Was he to be as they? A
+feeling of intense repugnance swept over him
+at the thought&ndash;&ndash;a repugnance unaccountable,
+and of which he felt much ashamed.</p>
+<p>Self-suspicion followed. Was it well for
+him to read the books and think the thoughts of
+the past year? He could not escape except by
+brutally tearing himself by the roots from his
+parents&#8217; lives. It was all so hopelessly selfish
+on his part!</p>
+<p>&#8220;True,&#8221; answered the hot spirit of resentment,
+&#8220;but is it not right that you should think
+first of Self? Is not individual advancement
+the first law of Nature? If there is something
+better, why should you not secure it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The innate spirit of independence, the intense
+passion of pride and equality inborn with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
+the true country-bred, surged warmly through
+his body until he fairly tingled.</p>
+<p>Why should others have things, think
+thoughts, enjoy pleasures of which he was to
+remain in ignorance? The mood of rebellion
+was upon him and he swore he would be as
+they. Of the best the world contained, he,
+Guy Landers, would partake.</p>
+<p>With the decision came an exultant consciousness
+of the graceful play of his own
+muscles in rapid action. The self-confidence
+of the splendid animal was his. He would
+work and advance himself. The world must
+move, and he would help. He would do things,
+great things, of which he and the world would
+be proud.</p>
+<p>Unconsciously he worked faster and faster
+as thought travelled. The other wagons
+dropped behind, the tapping of corn ears on
+their sideboards making faint music in the
+clear air.</p>
+<p>The sun rose swiftly, warming and drying
+the earth. Instead of frost the dust of weathered
+husks fell thickly over him. Overflowing
+with life and physical power, he worked through
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span>
+the long rows to the end, then mounted the
+wagon and looked around. Silently he noted
+the gain over the other workers, and a smile lit
+up the sturdy lines of his face.</p>
+<p>Evening was approaching. The rough lumber
+wagon, heavily loaded from the afternoon&#8217;s
+work, groaned loudly over the uneven ground.
+Instead of the east, the west was now red,
+glorious. High up in the sky, surrounding the
+glow, a part of it as well, narrow luminous
+sun-dogs presaged uncertain weather to follow.</p>
+<p>Guy Landers mounted the wagon wearily,
+and looked ahead. The end of the two loaded
+corn-rows which he was robbing was in sight,
+and he returned doggedly to his task. The
+ardor of the morning had succumbed to the
+steady grind of physical toil, and he worked
+with the impassive perseverance of a machine.</p>
+<p>Night and the stillness thereof settled fast.
+The world darkened so swiftly that the change
+could almost be distinguished. The rows ahead
+grew shadowy, and in their midst, by contrast,
+the corn-ears stood out white and distinct. The
+whole world seemed to draw more closely together.
+The low vibrant hum that marked the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
+location of the distant threshing crew, sounded
+now almost as near as the voice of a friend. A
+flock of prairie-chickens flew low overhead,
+their flatly spread wings cutting the air with
+a sound like whips. They settled nearby, and
+out of the twilight came anon the confused
+murmur of their voices.</p>
+<p>Landers stopped the impatient horses at the
+end of the field, and shook level the irregular,
+golden heap in the wagon-box. Slowly he
+drew on coat and top-coat, and mounted the
+full load, sitting sideways with legs hanging
+over the bulging wagon-box. It was dark now,
+but he was not alone. Other wagons were
+groaning homeward as well. Suddenly, thin
+and brassy, out of the distance came the sound
+of a steam whistle; and when it was again silent
+the hum of the thresher had ceased. From a
+field by the roadside, a solitary prairie-rooster
+gave once, twice, its lone, restless call.</p>
+<p>The man stretched back full length on the
+corn bed and looked up where the stars sparkled
+clear and bright. It all appealed to him, and a
+moisture formed in his eyes. A new side to the
+problem of the morning came to him. These
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span>
+sounds&ndash;&ndash;he realized now how he loved them.
+Verily they were a part of his life. Mid them
+he had been bred; of them as of food he had
+grown. That whistle, thin and unmusical; that
+elusive, indescribable call of prairie male; all
+these homely sounds that meant so much to him&ndash;&ndash;could
+he leave them?</p>
+<p>The moisture in his eyes deepened and a
+tightness gripped his throat. Slowly two great
+tears fought their way down through the dust
+on his face, and dropped lingeringly, one after
+the other amid the corn-ears.</p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+<p>The little, low, weather-white school-house
+stood glaring solitarily in the bright starlight,
+from out its setting of brown, hard-trodden
+prairie. Within, the assembled farmers were
+packed tight and regular in the seats and aisles,
+like kernels on an ear of corn. In the front
+of the room a little space had been shelled bare
+for the speaker, and the displaced human kernels
+thereto incident were scattered crouching
+in the narrow hall and anteroom. From without,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span>
+groups of men denied admittance, thrust
+hairy faces in at the open windows. A row of
+dusty, grease-covered lamps flanked by composition
+metal reflectors, concentrated light
+upon the shelled spot, leaving the remainder
+of the room in variant shadow. The low murmur
+of suppressed conversation, accompanied
+by the unconscious shuffling of restless feet,
+sounded through the place. Becoming constantly
+more noticeable, an unpleasant, penetrating
+odor, of the unclean human animal
+filled the room.</p>
+<p>Guy Landers sat on a crowded back seat,
+where, leaning one elbow on his knee, he shaded
+his eyes with his hand. On his right a big,
+sweaty farmer was smoking a stale pipe. The
+smell of the cheap, vile tobacco, bad as it was,
+became a welcome substitute for the odor of
+the man himself.</p>
+<p>At his left were two boys of his own age,
+splendid, both of them, with the overflowing
+vitality that makes all young animals splendid.
+They were talking&ndash;&ndash;of women. They spoke
+low, watching sheepishly whether any one was
+listening, and snickering suppressedly together.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p>
+<p>The young man&#8217;s head dropped in his hands.
+It all depressed him like a weight. From the
+depths of his soul he despised them for their
+vulgarity, and hated himself for so doing, for
+he was of their life and work akin. He shut
+his eyes, suffering blindly.</p>
+<p>Consciousness returned at the sound of a
+strangely soft voice, and he looked up a little
+bewildered. A swarm of night-bugs encircled
+each of the greasy lamps, blindly beating out
+their lives against the hot chimney; but save
+this and the soft voice there was no other sound.
+The man at the right held his pipe in his hand;
+to the left the boys had ceased whispering; one
+and all were listening to the speaker with the
+stolid, expressionless gaze of interested animals.</p>
+<p>Guy Landers could not have told why he
+had come that night. Perhaps it was in response
+to that gregarious instinct which prompts us all
+at times to mingle with a crowd; certainly he
+had not expected to be interested. Thus it was
+with almost a feeling of rebellious curiosity that
+he caught himself listening intently.</p>
+<p>The speech was political, the speaker a
+college man. What he said was immaterial&ndash;&ndash;not
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span>
+a listener but had heard the same arguments
+a dozen times before; it was the man
+himself that held them.</p>
+<p>What the farmers in that dingy little room
+saw was a smooth-faced young man, with blue
+eyes set far apart and light hair that exposed
+the temples far back; they heard a soft voice
+which made them forget for a time that they
+were very tired&ndash;&ndash;forget all else but that he
+was speaking.</p>
+<p>Landers saw further: not a single man, but
+a type; the concrete illustration of a vague
+ideal he had long known. He realized as the
+others did not, that the speaker was merely
+practising on them&ndash;&ndash;training, as the man himself
+would have said. When Landers was
+critically conscious, he was not deceived; yet,
+with this knowledge, at times he forgot and
+moved along with the speaker, unconsciously.</p>
+<p>It was all deliriously intoxicating to the
+farmer&ndash;&ndash;this first understanding glimpse of
+things he had before merely dreamed of&ndash;&ndash;and
+he waited exultantly for those brief moments
+when he felt, sympathetically with the speaker,
+the keen joy of mastery in perfect art; that joy
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span>
+beside which no other of earth can compare,
+the compelling magnetism which carries another&#8217;s
+mind irresistibly along with one&#8217;s own.</p>
+<p>The speaker finished and sat down wearily,
+and almost simultaneously the hairy faces left
+the windows. The shuffling of feet and the
+murmur of rough voices once more sounded
+through the room; again the odor of vile
+tobacco filled the air. Several of the older men
+gathered around the speaker, in turn holding
+his hand in a relentless grip while they struggled
+bravely for words to express the broadest
+of compliments. Young boys stood wide-eyed
+under their fathers&#8217; arms and looked at the
+college man steadily, like young calves.</p>
+<p>The reaction was on the slender young
+speaker, and though the experience was new,
+he shook hands wearily. In spite of himself a
+shade of disgust crept into his face. He was
+not bidding for these farmers&#8217; votes, and the
+big sweaty men were foully odorous. He
+worked his way steadily out into the open air.</p>
+<p>Landers, in response to a motive he made no
+attempt to explain even to himself, walked over
+and touched the chairman on the shoulder.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Evening, Ross,&#8221; he greeted perfunctorily.
+&#8220;Pretty good talk, wasn&#8217;t it?&#8221; Without waiting
+for a reply he went on, &#8220;Suppose you&#8217;re
+not hankering for a drive back to town to-night?
+I&#8217;ll see that&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;a swift nod toward
+the departing group&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;he gets back home, if
+you wish.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ross looked up in pleased surprise. He
+was tired and sleepy and only too glad to accept
+the suggestion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you, Guy,&#8221; he answered gratefully.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll do as much for you some time.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Landers waited silently until the last eulogist
+had lingeringly departed, leaving the bewildered
+speaker gazing about for the chairman.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m to take you to town,&#8221; said Landers,
+simply, as he led the way toward his wagon.
+He then added, as an afterthought: &#8220;If
+you&#8217;re tired and prefer, you may stay with
+me to-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The collegian, looking up to decline, met the
+countryman&#8217;s eye, and for the first time the two
+studied each other steadily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will stay with you, if you please,&#8221; he said
+in sudden change of mind.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p>
+<p>They drove out, slowly, into the frosty night,
+the sound of the other wagons rattling over
+frozen roads coming pleasantly to their ears.
+Overhead countless stars lit up the earth and
+sky, almost as brightly as moonlight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you are husking corn these days,&#8221;
+initiated the collegian, perfunctorily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; was the short answer.</p>
+<p>They rode on again in silence, the other
+wagons rumbling slowly away into the distance
+until their sound came only as a low
+humming from the frozen earth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Prices pretty good this season?&#8221; questioned
+the college man, tentatively.</p>
+<p>Landers flashed around on him almost
+fiercely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In Heaven&#8217;s name, man,&#8221; he protested,
+&#8220;give me credit for a thought outside my
+work&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He paused, and his voice became
+natural: &#8220;&ndash;&ndash;a thought such as other people
+have,&#8221; he finished, sadly.</p>
+<p>The two men looked steadily at each other,
+a multitude of conflicting emotions on the face
+of the collegian. He could not have been more
+surprised had a clothing dummy raised its
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span>
+voice and spoken. Landers turned away and
+looked out over the frosty prairie.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;wearily. &#8220;You&#8217;re
+not to blame for thinking&ndash;&ndash;as everybody else
+thinks.&#8221; His companion started to interrupt
+but Landers raised his hand in silencing motion.
+&#8220;Let us be honest&ndash;&ndash;with ourselves, at least,&#8221;
+he anticipated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know we of the farm are dull, and crude,
+and vulgar, and our thoughts are of common
+things. You of the other world patronize us;
+you practise on us as you did to-night, thinking
+we do not know. But some of us do, and it
+hurts.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The other man impulsively held out his hand;
+a swift apology came to his lips, but as he looked
+into the face before him, he felt it would be
+better left unsaid. Instead, he voiced the question
+that came uppermost to his mind.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you leave&ndash;&ndash;this&ndash;&ndash;and go to
+school?&#8221; he asked abruptly. &#8220;You have an
+equal chance with the rest. We&#8217;re each what
+we make ourselves.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Landers broke in on him quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We all like to talk of equality, but in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span>
+reality we know there is none. You say &#8216;leave&#8217;
+without the slightest knowledge of what in my
+case it means.&#8221; He gave the collegian a quick
+look.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m talking as though I&#8217;d known you all
+my life.&#8221; A question was in his voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m listening,&#8221; said the man, simply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you what it means, then. It means
+that I divorce myself from everything of
+Now; that I unlive my past life; that I
+leave my companionship with dumb things&ndash;&ndash;horses
+and cattle and birds&ndash;&ndash;and I love them,
+for they are natural. This seems childish to
+you; but live with them for years, more than
+with human beings, and you will understand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;More than all else it means that I must
+become as a stranger to my family; and they
+depend upon me. My friends of now would
+not be my friends when I returned; they
+would be as I am to you now&ndash;&ndash;a thing to be
+patronized.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He hesitated, and then went recklessly on:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve told you so much, I may as well tell
+you everything. On the next farm to ours
+there&#8217;s a little, brown-eyed girl&ndash;&ndash;Faith&#8217;s her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span>
+name&ndash;&ndash;and&ndash;&ndash;and&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; His new-found flow
+of words failed, and he ended in unconscious
+apostrophe:</p>
+<p>&#8220;To think of growing out of her life, and
+strange to my father and mother&ndash;&ndash;it&#8217;s all so
+selfish, so hideously selfish!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think I understand,&#8221; said the soft voice
+at his side.</p>
+<p>They drove on without a word, the frost-bound
+road ringing under the horses&#8217; feet, the
+stars above smiling sympathetic indulgence at
+this last repetition of the old, old tale of man.</p>
+<p>The gentle voice of the collegian broke the
+silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You say it would be selfish to leave. Is it
+not right, though, and of necessity, that we
+think first of self?&#8221; He paused, then boldly
+sounded the keynote of the universe.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is not selfishness the first law of nature?&#8221;
+he asked.</p>
+<p>Landers opened his lips to answer, but closed
+them without a word.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></p>
+<h3>III</h3>
+<p>Brown, magnetic Fall, with her overflow of
+animal activity, shaded gradually into the white
+of lethic Winter; then in slow dissolution relinquished
+supremacy to the tans and mottled
+greens of Springtime. Unsatisfied as man, the
+mighty cycle of the seasons&#8217; evolution moved on
+until the ripe yellow of harvest and of corn-field
+wrote &#8220;Autumn&#8221; on the broad page of
+the prairies.</p>
+<p>Of an evening in early September, Guy Landers
+turned out from the uncut grass of the
+farm-yard into the yellow, beaten dust of the
+country road. He walked slowly, for it was
+his last night on the farm, and it would be long
+ere he passed that way again. This was the
+road that led to the district school-house, and
+with him every inch had been familiar from
+childhood. As a boy he had run barefoot in its
+yellow dust, and paddled joyously in the soft
+mud of its summer showers. The rows of tall
+cottonwoods that bordered it on either side he
+had helped plant, watching them grow year by
+year, as he himself had grown, until now the
+whispering of prairie night winds in their
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span>
+loosely hung leaves spoke a language as
+familiar as his native tongue.</p>
+<p>He walked down the road for a half-mile,
+and turned in between still other tall cottonwoods
+at another weather-stained, square farm-house,
+scarcely distinguishable from his own.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Evening, Mr. Baker.&#8221; He nodded to the
+round-shouldered man who sat smoking on the
+doorstep.</p>
+<p>The farmer moved to one side, making generous
+room beside him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Evening, Guy,&#8221; he echoed. &#8220;Won&#8217;t y&#8217;
+set down?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not to-night, Mr. Baker. I came over to
+see Faith.&#8221; He hesitated, then added as an
+afterthought: &#8220;I go away to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man on the steps smoked silently for a
+minute, the glow from the corn-cob bowl emphasizing
+the gathering twilight. Slowly he
+took the pipe from his mouth, and, standing
+up, seized the young man&#8217;s hand in the grip of
+a vise.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I heerd y&#8217; were goin&#8217;, Guy.&#8221; He looked
+down through the steadiest of mild blue eyes.
+&#8220;Good-bye, my boy.&#8221; An uncertain catch
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span>
+came into his voice, and he shook the hand
+harder than before. &#8220;We&#8217;ll all miss ye.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He dropped his arm, and sat down on the
+step, impassively resuming his pipe. Without
+raising his eyes, he nodded toward the back
+yard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Faith&#8217;s back there with her posies,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>The young man hesitated, swallowing fiercely
+at the lump in his throat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-bye, Mr. Baker,&#8221; he faltered at
+length.</p>
+<p>He walked slowly around the corner of the
+house, stopping a moment to pat the friendly
+collie that wagged his tail, welcomingly, in the
+path. A large mixed orchard-garden, surrounded
+by a row of sturdy soft maples,
+opened up before him; and, coming up its
+side path, with the most cautious of gingerly
+treads, was the big hired man, bearing a huge
+striped watermelon. He nodded in passing,
+and grinned with a meaning hospitality on the
+visitor.</p>
+<p>At one corner of the garden an oblong mound
+of earth, bordered with bright stones and river-clam
+shells, marked the &#8220;posy&#8221; bed. Within
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span>
+its boundaries a collection of overgrown house
+plants, belated pinks, and seeding sweet-peas,
+fought for life with the early fall frosts.
+Landers looked steadily down at the sorry
+little garden. Like everything else he had seen
+that night, it told its pathetic tale of things that
+had been but would be no more.</p>
+<p>As he looked, a multitude of homely blossoms
+that he had plucked in the past flowered
+anew in his memory. The mild faces of violets
+and pansies, the gaudy blotches of phlox, stood
+out like nature. He could almost smell the
+heavy odor of mignonette. A mist gathered
+over his eyes, and again, as at the good-bye of
+a moment ago, the lump rose chokingly in his
+throat.</p>
+<p>He turned away from the tiny, damaged bed
+to send a searching look around the garden.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Faith!&#8221; he called gently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Faith!&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;louder.</p>
+<p>A soft little sound caught his ear from the
+grass-plot at the border. He started swiftly
+toward it, but stopped half-way, for the sound
+was repeated, and this time came distinctly&ndash;&ndash;a
+bitter, half-choked sob. With a motion of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span>
+weariness and of pain the man passed his hand
+over his eyes, then walked on firmly, his footsteps
+muffled in the short grass.</p>
+<p>A dainty little figure in the plainest of calico,
+lay curled up on the sod beneath the big maple.
+Her face was buried in both arms; her whole
+body trembled, as she struggled hard against
+the great sobs.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Faith&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; interrupted the man softly,
+&#8220;Faith&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The sobs became more violent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go away, Guy,&#8221; pleaded a tearful, muffled
+voice between the breaks. &#8220;Please go
+away, please&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man knelt swiftly down on the grass;
+irresistibly his arm spread over the dainty,
+trembling, little woman. Then as suddenly he
+drew back with a face white as moonlight, and
+a sound in his throat that was almost a groan.</p>
+<p>He knelt a moment so, then touched her
+shoulder gently&ndash;&ndash;as he would have touched
+earth&#8217;s most sacred thing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Faith&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he repeated uncertainly.</p>
+<p>The girl buried her head more deeply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t, I tell you,&#8221; she cried chokingly,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span>
+&#8220;I won&#8217;t&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; she could say no more. There
+were no words in her meagre vocabulary to
+voice her bitterness of heart.</p>
+<p>The man got to his feet almost roughly, face
+and hands set like a lock. He stood a second
+looking passionately down at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-bye, Faith,&#8221; he said, and his trembling
+voice was the gentlest of caresses. He
+started swiftly away down the path.</p>
+<p>The girl listened a moment to the retreating
+steps, then raised a tear-stained face above her
+arms.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Guy!&#8221; she called chokingly, &#8220;Guy!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man quickened his steps at the sound,
+but did not turn.</p>
+<p>The girl sprang to her feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Guy! Guy!&#8221; pleadingly, desperately.
+&#8220;Guy!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man had reached the open. With a
+motion that was almost insane, he clapped his
+hands over his ears, and ran blindly down the
+dusty path until he was tired, then dropped
+hopelessly by the roadside.</p>
+<p>Overhead the big cottonwoods whispered
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span>
+softly in the starlight, and a solitary catbird
+sang its lonely night song.</p>
+<p>The man flung his arms around the big,
+friendly tree, and sobbed wildly&ndash;&ndash;as the girl
+had sobbed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Faith!&#8221; he groaned.</p>
+<h3>IV</h3>
+<p>A month had passed by, bringing to Guy
+Landers a new Heaven and a new earth. Already
+the prosy old university town had begun
+to assume an atmosphere of home. The well-clipped
+campus, with its huge oaks and its
+limestone walks, had taken on the familiar
+possessive plural &#8220;our campus,&#8221; and the solitary
+red squirrel which sported fearlessly in its
+midst had likewise become &#8220;our squirrel.&#8221; The
+imposing, dignified college buildings had
+ceased to elicit open-mouthed observance, and
+among the student-body surnames had yielded
+precedence to Christian names&ndash;&ndash;oftener,
+though, to some outlandish sobriquet which
+satirized an idiosyncrasy of temperament or outward
+aspect.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p>
+<p>Meantime the farmer had learned many
+things. Prominent among these was a conception
+of the preponderant amount he had yet
+to learn. Another matter of illumination involved
+the relation of clothes to man. He had
+been reared in the delusion that the person who
+gave thought to that which he wore, must necessarily
+think of nothing else. Very confusing,
+therefore, was the experience of having representatives
+of this same class immeasurably outdistance
+him in the quiz room.</p>
+<p>Again, on the athletic field he saw men of
+much lighter weight excel him in a way that
+made his face burn with a redness not of physical
+exertion. It was a wholesome lesson that he
+was learning&ndash;&ndash;that there are everywhere scores
+of others, equally or better fitted by Nature for
+the struggle of life than oneself, and who can
+only be surpassed by the indomitable application
+and determination that wins all things.</p>
+<p>Landers&#8217; nature though was that of the born
+combatant. The class that laughed openly at
+his first tremblingly bashful, and ludicrously
+inapt answer at quiz, was indelibly photographed
+upon his memory.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Before this session is complete&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he challenged
+softly to himself, and glared at those
+members nearest him in a way that made them
+suddenly forget the humor of the situation.</p>
+<p>But youth is ever tractable, and even this
+short time had accomplished much. Already
+the warm, contagious, college comradeship possessed
+him. Violent attacks of homesickness
+that made gray the brightest fall days, like
+the callous spots on his palms, were becoming
+more rare. The old existence was already a
+dream, as yet a little sad, but none the less a
+thing without a substance. The new life was
+a warm, magnetic reality; the future glowed
+bright with limitless promise.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The first day of the second month,&#8221; remarked
+Landers, meeting a fellow-classman
+on the way to college hall one morning.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, an auspicious time to quit&ndash;&ndash;this,&#8221;
+completed the student with a suggestive shuffle
+of his feet. &#8220;We&#8217;ve furnished our share of
+amusement.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Landers looked up questioningly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that from the class president?&#8221; he asked.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered the other, &#8220;hadn&#8217;t you
+heard? No more dancing, &#8216;his nibs&#8217; says.&#8221;</p>
+<p>They had reached the entrance to the big
+college building, and at that moment a great
+roar of voices sounded from out the second-floor
+windows. Simultaneously the two freshmen
+quickened their pace.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The fun&#8217;s on,&#8221; commented Landers&#8217; informant
+excitedly, as together they broke for
+the lecture-room, two stairs at the jump.</p>
+<p>The large department amphitheatre opened
+up like a fan&ndash;&ndash;the handle in the centre of the
+building on the entrance floor, the spread edge,
+nearly a complete half-circle, marked by the
+boundary walls of the building, a full story
+higher. The intervening space, at an inclination
+of thirty odd degrees, was a field of
+seats, cut into three equal parts by two aisles
+that ran from the entrance, divergently upward.
+The small space at the entrance&ndash;&ndash;popularly
+dubbed &#8220;the pit&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;was professordom&#8217;s
+own particular region. From this point, by an
+unwritten law, the classes ranged themselves
+according to the length of their university life;
+the seniors at the extreme apex of the angle, the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
+other classes respectively above, leaving the
+freshmen far beyond in space.</p>
+<p>As guardians of the two narrow aisles, the
+seniors dealt lightly with juniors and &#8220;sophs,&#8221;
+but demanded insatiable toll of every freshman
+before he was allowed to ascend.</p>
+<p>That a first-year man must dance was irrevocable.
+It had the authority of precedent in
+uncounted graduate classes. To be sure, it was
+neither required nor expected that all applicants
+be masters of the art; but, agitate his feet in
+some manner, every able-bodied male member
+must, or remain forever a freshman.</p>
+<p>When Landers and his companion arrived at
+the top of the stairs they found the hall packed
+close with fellow-classmates. The lower rows
+of seats were already filled with triumphant
+seniors, waiting for the throng that crowded
+pit and lobby to come within their reach. With
+regular tapping of feet and clapping of hands
+in unison, the class as one man beat the steady
+time of one who marches.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dance, freshies!&#8221; they repeated monotonously.
+&#8220;Dance!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Clear the pit for a rush,&#8221; yelled the president
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span>
+of the besieging freshmen, elbowing his
+way back into the mass.</p>
+<p>A lull fell upon the room, as both sides gathered
+themselves together.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now&ndash;&ndash;all at once!&#8221; yelled the president,
+and pandemonium broke loose.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Rush &#8217;em! Shove, behind there!&#8221; shrieked
+the struggling freshmen at the front.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dance, freshies! Dance!&#8221; challenged the
+seniors, as they locked arms across the narrow
+aisle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hold &#8217;em, fellows! Hold &#8217;em!&#8221; encouraged
+the men of the upper seats, bracing
+themselves against the broad backs below.</p>
+<p>The classes met like water against a wall. To
+go up was impossible; advantage of gravity and
+of position was all with the seniors. For an
+instant, at the centre, there were frantic yelling
+and pulling of loose wearing apparel; then,
+packed like cotton in a bale, they could only
+scream for mercy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Loosen up, back there! Back!&#8221; they
+panted, squirming impotently as they gasped
+for breath.</p>
+<p>Slowly the reaction came amid the triumphant,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span>
+&#8220;Dance, freshies!&#8221; of the conquering
+hosts.</p>
+<p>The jam loosened; the seniors&#8217; opportunity
+came. Like a big machine, the occupants of
+the front row leaned forward, and seized upon
+a circle of unsuspecting, retreating freshmen,
+among the number the class president.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pass &#8217;em up! Pass &#8217;em up!&#8221; insisted the
+men above, reaching out eager hands to aid;
+and with an irresistibility that seemed miraculous,
+the squirming, kicking, struggling freshmen
+found themselves rolling upward&ndash;&ndash;head
+foremost, feet foremost, position unclassified&ndash;&ndash;over
+the heads of the upper classmen; bumping
+against seats, and scattering the contents of
+their pockets loosely along the way.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Up with them,&#8221; repeated the denizens of
+the front row as they reached forward for a
+fresh supply.</p>
+<p>But there was no more material available; the
+besieging party had retreated. On the top row
+the dishevelled president was confusedly pulling
+himself together, and grinning sheepishly.
+The rebellion was over.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dance, freshies,&#8221; resumed the seniors mockingly;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span>
+and once more the regular tap of feet and
+clapping of hands beat slow march-time.</p>
+<p>One by one the freshmen came forward, and,
+shuffling a few steps to the encouraging &#8220;well
+done&#8221; of the seniors, mounted the steps between
+the rows of laughing upper classmen.</p>
+<p>It happened that Landers came last. He
+wore heavy shoes and walked with an undeniable
+clump.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s Dutch, make him clog,&#8221; called a man
+from an upper row.</p>
+<p>The class caught the cry. &#8220;Clog! Clog!&#8221;
+they commanded.</p>
+<p>A big fellow next the aisle made an addition.
+&#8220;Clog there, hayseed,&#8221; he grumbled.</p>
+<p>Landers stopped as though the words were
+a blow. That one word &#8220;hayseed&#8221; with all that
+it meant to him&ndash;&ndash;to be thrown at him now,
+tauntingly, before the whole class! His face
+grew white beneath the remaining coat of tan,
+and he stepped up to the big senior with a
+swiftness of which no one would have suspected
+him capable.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Take that back!&#8221; he blazed into the man&#8217;s
+face.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p>
+<p>The senior hesitated; the room grew breathlessly
+quiet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Take it back, I say!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The big fellow tried to laugh, but his voice
+only grated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Damned if I will&ndash;&ndash;hayseed,&#8221; he retorted
+with a meaning pause and accent.</p>
+<p>Before the words were out of his mouth
+Landers had the man by the collar, and they
+were fighting like cats.</p>
+<p>For a time things in that pit were very confused
+and very noisy. Both students were big
+and both were furiously angry. By rule they
+would have been very evenly matched, but in a
+rough-and-tumble scrimmage there was no comparison.
+The classes made silent and neutral
+spectators, as Landers swung the man around
+in the narrow pit like a whirlwind, and finally
+pushed him back into his seat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now will you take it back!&#8221; he roared
+breathlessly, vigorously shaking his victim.</p>
+<p>The hot lust of battle was upon the farmer,
+and he forgot that several hundred students
+were watching his every motion.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Take it back,&#8221; he repeated, &#8220;or I&#8217;ll&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;
+and he lifted the man half out of the seat.</p>
+<p>The senior seized both arms of the chair, and
+looked up in a dazed sort of way.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he began weakly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Louder&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; interrupted Landers.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;beg your pardon,&#8221; said the reluctant,
+trembling voice.</p>
+<p>That instant the amphitheatre went wild.
+&#8220;Bravo!&#8221; yelled a hundred voices over the
+clamor of cheering hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Three cheers for the freshman!&#8221; shrilled a
+voice over the tumult; and the &#8220;rah, rah, rah&#8221;
+that followed made the skylight rattle.</p>
+<p>Landers stepped back and looked up bewildered;
+then a realization of the thing came to
+him and his face burned as no sun could make
+it burn, and his knees grew weak. He gladly
+would have given all his present earthly belongings,
+and all in prospect for the immediate
+future for a kindly earth to open suddenly and
+swallow him. Perspiration stood out on his
+face as he went slowly up the stairs, at every
+step a row of friendly hands grasping him in
+congratulation.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p>
+<p>Slowly the room became quiet. The whole
+confusion had not taken up even the time of
+grace at the beginning of the hour; and a great
+burst of applause greeted the mild old dean as
+he came absently in, as was his wont, at the tap
+of the ten-minute bell. He looked up innocently
+at the unusual greeting, and the cheer
+was repeated with interest. As first in authority
+he was supposed to report all such inter-class
+offences; but in effect he invariably happened
+to be conveniently absent at such times&ndash;&ndash;the
+times of the freshman rebellion. He began
+lecturing now without a word of comment, and
+on the instant the peaceful scratching of fountain
+pens on notebooks replaced the clamors
+of war.</p>
+<p>The lecture was about half over when there
+was a tap on the entrance door; and the white-haired
+dean, answering, stepped out into the
+hall. In a second he returned carrying a thin,
+yellow envelope.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A message for&ndash;&ndash;,&#8221; he studied the writing
+with near-sighted eyes, &#8220;&ndash;&ndash;for Guy Landers,&#8221;
+he announced slowly.</p>
+<p>The message went up the incline, hand over
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
+hand toward the top row, and the boy who
+waited felt the room growing gradually close
+and dark. To him a telegram could mean but
+one thing.</p>
+<p>The class sat watching silently until they
+saw him take the paper from his neighbor; then
+in kindness they turned away at the look on
+his face. In the pit below the mild old dean
+began talking absently.</p>
+<p>Landers tried to open the envelope, but his
+nervous hands rebelled. He laid the broad
+side firmly against his knee and tore open the
+end raggedly, drawing out the inclosed sheet
+with a trembling rustle that could be heard all
+over the room.</p>
+<p>The open page was before him; but the
+letters only danced before his eyes. He spread
+the paper as before, flat upon his knee, ere he
+could read.</p>
+<p>The one short line, the line of which every
+word was as he expected, stood clear before
+him. He felt now a vague sort of wonder that
+the brief, picked sentences should have affected
+him as they had. He had already known what
+they told for so long&ndash;&ndash;ever since his name was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
+spoken at the door&ndash;&ndash;ages ago. He looked
+hesitatingly around the room. Several students
+were scrutinizing him curiously, as though expecting
+something. Oh, yes&ndash;&ndash;that recalled
+him. He must go&ndash;&ndash;home. He hated to interrupt
+the lecture, but he must. He got up
+unsteadily, and started down the stair, groping
+his way uncertainly, as a man walks in the
+dark.</p>
+<p>The kind old dean waited in silence until
+Landers had passed hesitatingly through the
+door; then followed him out into the hall. A
+moment, and he returned, standing abstractedly
+by the lecture table. He picked up his
+scattered notes absently, shaking the ends even
+with a painstaking hand; then as carefully
+scattered them as before. He looked up at the
+silent, waiting class, and those who were near
+saw the tears sparkling in the mild old eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Landers&#8217; father is dead,&#8221; came the simple,
+hushed announcement.</p>
+<h3>V</h3>
+<p>The bright afternoon sun of late October
+shone slantingly on the train of weathered
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
+wagons that stretched out like an uncoiling
+spring from the group collected in front of
+the little farm-house. From near and afar the
+neighbors had gathered; and now, falling
+slowly into line, they formed a chain a full
+quarter-mile in length.</p>
+<p>Guy Landers was glad that at last it was
+over and they were out in the sunshine once
+more. He turned into the carefully reserved
+place at the head of the procession with almost
+a sense of relief. He was tired, fiercely tired,
+of the well-meant but insistent pity which
+dogged him with a tenacity that drove him
+desperate. They would not even allow him to
+think.</p>
+<p>He rode alone on the front seat of the open
+wagon. Behind him, his mother and Jim sat
+stiffly, hand in hand. They gazed dully at the
+black thing ahead, and sobbed softly, now
+singly, now together. Both&ndash;&ndash;himself as well&ndash;&ndash;were
+dressed in complete black; old musty
+black, gotten out of the dark, hurriedly, and
+with the close smell of the closet still upon it.
+Even the horses conformed to the sober shade.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span>
+They had been supplied by a neighbor on
+account of their sombre color.</p>
+<p>A heavy black tassel swung back and forth
+with the motion of the uneven road just ahead
+of the horses&#8217; heads, and Landers sat watching
+it idly. He even caught himself counting the
+vibrations, as though it were a pendulum, dividing
+the beats into minutes. Very slow time
+it was; but somehow it did not surprise him.
+It all conformed so perfectly with the brown,
+quiet prairie, and the sun shining, slanting and
+sleepy.</p>
+<p>The swinging tassel grew indistinct, and the
+<i>patter</i>, <i>patter</i>, <i>patter</i> of the teams behind came
+as from a distance. He closed his eyes, and the
+events of the past two days drifted through
+his mind. Already they seemed indistinct, as
+a dream. He wondered dully that they could
+be true and yet seem so foreign to his life, now.
+He even began to doubt their verity, and opened
+his eyes slowly, half expecting to see the cool,
+green campus, and the big college buildings.
+The slanting sunlight met him full in the face,
+and the black pendant swung monotonously,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span>
+from side to side, as before. He wearily closed
+his eyes again.</p>
+<p>Only two days since he had heard the taunting
+&#8220;Dance, freshy!&#8221; of the seniors, and felt
+the mighty rush of the freshman hosts; since
+the &#8220;rah, rah, rah, Landers!&#8221; had shook the
+old amphitheatre and the dozens of welcoming
+hands had greeted him; and then&ndash;&ndash;the darkness&ndash;&ndash;the
+hesitating leave-taking of the building,
+and the lingering walk across the deserted
+campus toward his room&ndash;&ndash;the walk he knew so
+well he would take no more. A brief time of
+waiting&ndash;&ndash;a blank&ndash;&ndash;and then the bitter, thumping
+ride across two States toward his home,
+when he could only think, and think, and try
+to adjust himself&ndash;&ndash;and fail; and at last the
+end. And again, at the little station, when he
+felt the touch of his mother&#8217;s hand, and heard
+her choking &#8220;Guy, my boy&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; that spoke so
+much of love and of trust; when he heard his
+own voice answering cheerily, with a firmness
+which surprised him even then, speaking that
+which all through the long ride he had known
+he must speak&ndash;&ndash;but could not: &#8220;It&#8217;s all right,
+mother; don&#8217;t worry; I&#8217;ll not leave you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
+again!&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;it all came back to him now, and
+he lived it over again and again.</p>
+<p>The big, black tassel danced tantalizingly
+in front of him. Yes, he had said that he would
+never leave again. He dully repeated the words
+now to himself: &#8220;never again.&#8221; It was so fitting;
+quite in accordance with the rest of the
+black pageant. His dream of life, his new-felt
+ambitions&ndash;&ndash;all were dead, dead, like his father
+before him, where the black plume nodded.</p>
+<p>They passed up through the little town and
+the shop-keepers came out to look. Some were
+in their shirt sleeves; the butcher had his white
+apron tucked up around his belt. They gathered
+together in twos and groups, nodding toward
+the procession, their lips moving as in pantomime.
+One man walked out to the crossing,
+counting aloud as the teams went by. &#8220;One,
+two, three, four, five, six&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he intoned. To
+him it was all a thing to amuse, like a circus
+parade,&ndash;&ndash;interesting in proportion to its
+length.</p>
+<p>Landers looked almost curiously at the stolid
+shopmen. It required no flush of inspiration
+to tell him that but a few years of this life were
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span>
+necessary to make him as impassive as they.
+He who had sworn to make the world move
+would be contentedly sitting on an empty goods
+box, diligently numbering a passing procession!</p>
+<p>The biting humor of the thought appealed
+to him. He smiled grimly to himself.</p>
+<h3>VI</h3>
+<p>Once more on an early evening, a man turned
+out from a weather-stained prairie farm-house,
+through the frosted grass, arriving presently
+at the dusty public road. As before, he walked
+slowly along between the tall cottonwoods; but
+not, as on a memorable former occasion, because
+it would be for the last time. He was
+tired, tired with that absolute abandon of youth
+that sees no hope in the future, and has no
+philosophy to support it. Only thirty odd days
+since he went that way before! That many
+years would not add more to his life in the
+future.</p>
+<p>Unconsciously he searched along the way for
+the landmarks he had watched with so much
+interest the past summer. He found the nest
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
+where the quail had reared their brood, empty
+now, and covered thick with the scattered dust
+of passing teams. Forgetful that he was weary
+he climbed well up the bole of a shaggy old
+friend, to peep in at the opening of a deserted
+woodpecker&#8217;s home. He came to the big tree
+at whose roots, on that other night he remembered
+so well, he had thrown himself hopelessly.
+With a stolid sort of curiosity he looked
+down at the spot. Yes, there was the place. A
+few fallen leaves were scattered upon the earth
+where his body had pressed tightly against the
+tree-trunk, and there were the hollows where
+his clenched hands had found hold. A dull
+rebellion crept over him as he looked. It had
+been needless to torture him so!</p>
+<p>He came in sight of the familiar little farm-house
+and turned in slowly at the break between
+the trees. It was growing dark now, but the
+odor of tobacco was on the air, and looking
+closely, he could catch the gleam from a glowing
+pipe-bowl in the doorway. He passed his
+hand across his brow, almost doubting&ndash;&ndash;it was
+all so like&ndash;&ndash;before&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>A light step came tapping quickly down the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
+pathway toward him. &#8220;Guy!&#8221; a voice called
+softly. &#8220;Guy, is that you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The voice was quite near him now, and he
+stopped short, a big maple above him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Faith.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She came up close, peering into the shadow.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Guy&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; she repeated, &#8220;Guy, where are
+you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He reached out and clasped her hand; then
+again, and took both hands. Her breath came
+quickly. Slowly his arm slipped about her
+waist, she struggling a little against her own
+will; then her head fell forward on his breast,
+and he could feel her whole body tremble.</p>
+<p>The man looked out through the rifts in the
+half-naked trees; into the sky, clear and sparkling
+beyond; on his face an expression of
+sadness, of joy, of abandon&ndash;&ndash;all blended indescribably.</p>
+<p>Two soft arms crept gently about his neck,
+and a mass of fluffy hair caressed his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh! Guy! Guy!&#8221; sobbed the girl, &#8220;it&#8217;s
+wicked, I know, but I&#8217;m so glad&ndash;&ndash;so glad&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span>
+<a name='THE_DOMINANT_IMPULSE' id='THE_DOMINANT_IMPULSE'></a>
+<h2>THE DOMINANT IMPULSE</h2>
+</div>
+<h3>I</h3>
+<p>Calmar Bye was a writer. That is
+to say, writing was his vocation and his
+recreation as well.</p>
+<p>As yet, unfortunately, he had been unable
+to find publishers; but for that deficiency no
+reasonable person could hold him responsible.
+He had tried them all&ndash;&ndash;and repeatedly. A
+certain expressman now smiled when he saw
+the long, slim figure approaching with a package
+under his arm, which from frequent reappearances
+had become easily recognizable; but
+as a person becomes accustomed to a physical
+deformity, Calmar Bye had ceased to notice
+banter.</p>
+<p>Of but one thing in his life he was positively
+certain; and that was if Nature had fashioned
+him for any purpose in particular, it was to do
+the very thing he was doing now. The reason for
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span>
+this certainty was that he could do nothing else
+with even moderate satisfaction. He had tried,
+frequently, to break away, and had even succeeded
+for a month at a time in an endeavor
+to avoid writing a word; but inevitably there
+came a relapse and a more desperate debauch
+in literature. Try as he might he could not
+avoid the temptation. An incident, a trifle out
+of the ordinary in his commonplace life, a
+sudden thrill at the reading of another man&#8217;s
+story, a night of insomnia, and resolution was
+in tatters, and shortly thereafter Calmar Bye&#8217;s
+pencil would be coursing with redoubled vigor
+over a sheet of virgin paper.</p>
+<p>To be sure, Calmar did other things besides
+write. Being a normal man with a normal appetite,
+he could not successfully evade the
+demands of animal existence, and when his
+finances became unbearably low, he would proceed
+to their improvement by whatever means
+came first to hand. Book-keeping, clerical
+work, stenography&ndash;&ndash;anything was grist for his
+mill at such times, and for a period he would
+work without rest. No better assistant could
+be found anywhere&ndash;&ndash;until he had satisfied his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span>
+few creditors and established a small surplus
+of his own. Then, presto, change!&ndash;&ndash;and on the
+surface reappeared Bye, the long, slender,
+blue-eyed, dreaming, dawdling, irresponsible
+writer.</p>
+<p>Being what he was, the tenor of Calmar&#8217;s
+life was markedly uneven. At times the lust
+to write, the spirit of inspiration, as he would
+have explained to himself in the privacy of his
+own study, would come upon him strong, and
+for hours or days life would be a joyous thing,
+his fellow-men dear brothers of a happy family,
+the obvious unhappiness and injustice about
+him not reality, but mere comedy being enacted
+for his particular delectation.</p>
+<p>Then at last, his work finished, would
+come inevitable reaction. The product of his
+hand and brain, completed, seemed inadequate
+and commonplace. He would smile grimly as
+with dogged persistence he started this latest
+child of his fancy out along the trail so thickly
+bestrewn with the skeletons of elder offspring.
+In measure, as badinage had previously passed
+him harmlessly by, it now cut deeply. No one
+in the entire town thought him a more complete
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span>
+failure than he considered himself. Skies, from
+being sunny, grew suddenly sodden; not a tenement
+or alley but thrust obtrusively forward
+its tale of misery.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Think of me,&#8221; he confided to his friend
+Bob Wilson one evening as during his transit
+through a particularly dismal slough of despond
+they in company were busily engaged in blazing
+the trail with empty bottles; &#8220;One such as I,
+a man of thirty and of good health, without a
+dollar or the prospect of a dollar, an income or
+the prospect of an income, a home or the prospect
+of a home, following a cold scent like the
+one I am now on!&#8221; He snapped his finger
+against the rim of his thin drinking glass until
+it rang merrily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The idea, again, of a man such as I, untravelled,
+penniless, self-educated, thinking to
+compete with others who journey the world
+over to secure material, and who have spent a
+fortune in preparation for this particular
+work.&#8221; He excitedly drained the contents of
+the glass.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s preposterous, childlike!&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he brought
+the frail trifle down to the table with an emphasis
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
+which was all but its destruction&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;imbecile!
+I tell you I&#8217;m going to quit.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Quit for good,&#8221; he repeated at the expression
+on the other&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>Bob Wilson scrutinized his companion with
+a critical eye.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Waiter,&#8221; he said, speaking over his shoulder,
+&#8220;waiter, kindly tax our credit further to
+the extent of a couple of Havanas.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sah,&#8221; acknowledged the waiter.</p>
+<p>Silence fell; but Bob&#8217;s observation of his
+friend continued.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So you are going to quit the fight?&#8221; he
+commented at last.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;decidedly.</p>
+<p>Wilson lit his cigar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have completed that latest&ndash;&ndash;production
+on which you were engaged, I suppose?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The writer scratched a match.</p>
+<p>&#8220;This afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And sent it on?&#8221;</p>
+<p>A nod. &#8220;Yes, on to the furnace room.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A smile which approached a grin formed
+over Bob&#8217;s big face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have hope of its acceptance, I trust?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p>
+<p>Calmar Bye blew a cloud of smoke far
+toward the ceiling, and the smile, a shade grim,
+was reflected.</p>
+<p>&#8220;More than hope,&#8221; laconically. &#8220;I have
+certainty at last.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Another pause followed and slowly the smile
+vanished from the faces of both.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bob,&#8221; and the long Calmar straightened
+in his chair, &#8220;I&#8217;ve been an ass. It&#8217;s all apparent,
+too apparent, now. I&#8217;ve tried to compete
+with the entire world, and I&#8217;m too small.
+It&#8217;s enough for me to work against local competition.&#8221;
+He meditatively flicked the ash
+from his cigar with his little finger.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I realize that a lot of my friends&ndash;&ndash;women
+friends particularly&ndash;&ndash;will say they always
+knew I had no determination, wouldn&#8217;t stay
+in the game until I won. They&#8217;re all alike in
+this one particular, Bob; all sticklers for the
+big lower jaw.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I don&#8217;t care. I&#8217;ve been shooting into
+a covey of publishers for twelve years and never
+have touched a feather. Perseverance is a good
+quality, but there is such a thing as insanity.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span>
+He stared unconsciously at the portieres of the
+booth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Once and for all, I tell you I&#8217;m through,&#8221;
+he repeated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What are you going at?&#8221; queried Bob,
+sympathetically, a shade quizzically.</p>
+<p>The long Calmar reached into his pocket with
+deliberation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Read that.&#8221; He tossed a letter across the
+tiny table.</p>
+<p>Bob poised the epistle in his hand gingerly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;South Dakota,&#8221; he commented, as he observed
+the postmark. &#8220;Humph, I can&#8217;t make
+out the town.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not a town at all, only a postoffice.
+Immaterial anyway,&#8221; explained Calmar, irritably.</p>
+<p>The round-faced man unfolded the letter
+slowly and read aloud:&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;<span class='smcap'>My Dear Sir</span>:&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;Your request, coming from a stranger, is
+rather unusual; but if you really mean business,
+I will say this: Provided you&#8217;re willing
+to take hold and stay right with me, I&#8217;ll take
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span>
+you in and at the end of a half-year pay $75.00
+per month. You can then put into the common
+fund whatever part of your savings you wish
+and have a proportionate interest in the herd.
+Permit me to observe, however, that you will
+find your surroundings somewhat different
+from those amid which you are living at present,
+and I should advise you to consider carefully
+before you make the change.</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 2.34375em;'>&#8220;Very truly yours,</span><br />
+<span style='margin-right: 1.0em;'>&#8220;<span class='smcap'>E. J. Douglass.</span>&#8221;</span><br /></p>
+<p>Bob slowly folded the sheet, and tossed it
+back.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In what particular portion of that desert,
+if I may ask, does your new employer reside?&#8221;
+There was uncertainty in the speaker&#8217;s voice,
+as of one who spoke of India or the islands of
+the Pacific. &#8220;Likewise&ndash;&ndash;pardon my ignorance&ndash;&ndash;is
+that herd he mentions&ndash;&ndash;buffalo?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Calmar imperturbably returned the letter to
+his pocket.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m serious, Robert. Douglass is a cattle
+man west of the river.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The river!&#8221; apostrophized Bob. &#8220;The
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span>
+man juggles with mysteries. What river,
+pray?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Missouri, of course. Didn&#8217;t you ever
+study geography?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; in humble apology.
+&#8220;Is that,&#8221; vaguely, &#8220;what they call the Bad
+Lands?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Bye looked across at his friend, of a mind to
+be indignant; then his good-nature triumphed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, it&#8217;s not so bad as that,&#8221; with a feeble
+attempt at a pun. He paused to light a cigar,
+and absent-minded as usual, continued in digression.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve dangled long enough, old man; too
+long. I&#8217;m going to do something now. I start
+to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Bob Wilson the skeptic, looked at his friend
+again critically. Resolutions of reconstruction
+he had heard before&ndash;&ndash;and later watched
+their downfall; but this time somehow there
+was a new element introduced. Perhaps, after
+all&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Waiter,&#8221; he called, &#8220;we&#8217;ll trifle with another
+quart of extra-dry, if you please.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To your success,&#8221; he added to his companion
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span>
+across the table, when the waiter had
+returned from his mission.</p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+<p>A year passed around, as years have a
+way of doing, and found Calmar Bye, the
+city man, metamorphosed indeed. Bronzed,
+bearded, corduroy-clothed, cigarette-smoking,&ndash;&ndash;for
+cigars fifty miles from a railroad are a
+curiosity,&ndash;&ndash;as the seasons are dissimilar, so
+was he unlike his former inconsequent self.
+In his every action now was a directness
+and a purpose of which he had not even a
+conception in his former existence.</p>
+<p>Very, very thin upon us all is the veneer of
+civilization; very, very swift is the reversion
+to the primitive when opportunity presents.
+Only twelve short months and this man, end
+product of civilization, doer of nothing practical,
+dreamer of dreams and recorder of fancies,
+had become a positive force, a contributor
+to the world&#8217;s food supply, a producer of meat.
+What a satire, in a period of time of which
+the shifting seasons could be counted upon one
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
+hand, to have vibrated from manuscript to beef,
+and for the change to be seemingly unalterable!</p>
+<p>To be sure there had been a struggle; a
+period of travail while readjustment was being
+established; a desperate sense of homesickness
+at first view of the undulating, grass-covered,
+horizon-bounded prairies; an insatiable need
+of the shops, the theatres, the telephones, the
+<i>caf&eacute;s</i>, the newspapers, all of which previously
+had constituted everything that made life worth
+living. But these emotions had passed away.
+What evolvement of civilization could equal
+the beauty of a dew-scented, sun-sparkling
+prairie morning, or the grandeur of a soundless,
+star-dotted prairie night, wherein the very limitlessness
+of things, their immensity, was a never
+ending source of wonder? Verily, all changes
+and conditions of life have their compensations.</p>
+<p>Calmar Bye, the one time listless, had
+learned many things in this unheard-of world.</p>
+<p>First of all, most insistent of all, he was impressed
+with the overwhelming predominance
+of the physical over the mental. Later, in practical
+knowledge, he grew inured to the &#8220;feel&#8221;
+of a native bucking broncho and the sound of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span>
+mocking, human laughter after a stunning fall;
+in direct evolution, the method of throwing a
+steer and the odor of burnt hair and hide which
+followed the puff of smoke where the branding
+iron touched ceased to be cruel.</p>
+<p>Last of all, highest evolvement of all, came
+the absorption of revolver-lore under the instruction
+of experts who made but pastime of
+picking a jack-rabbit in its flight, or bringing a
+kite, soaring high in air, tumbling precipitate
+to earth. A wild life it was and a rough, but
+fascinating nevertheless in its demonstration of
+the overwhelming superiority of man, the animal,
+in nerve and endurance over every other
+live thing on earth.</p>
+<p>At the end of the year, with the hand of
+winter again pressed firmly upon the land, it
+seemed time could do no more; that the adaptation
+of the exotic to his new surroundings was
+complete. Already the past life seemed a
+thing interesting but aloof from reality, like
+the fantastic exploits of a hero of fiction, and
+the present, the insistently active, vital present,
+the sole consideration of importance.</p>
+<p>In the appreciation of the stoic indifference
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
+of the then West it was a slight incident which
+overthrew. One cowboy, &#8220;Slim&#8221; Rawley, had
+a particularly vicious broncho, which none but
+he had ever been able to control, and which in
+consequence, he prized as the apple of his eye.
+During his temporary absence from the ranch
+one day a <i>confr&egrave;re</i>, &#8220;Stiff&#8221; Warwick, had, in
+a spirit of bravado, roped the &#8220;devil&#8221; and
+instituted a contest of wills. The pony was
+stubborn, the man likewise, and a battle royal
+followed. As a buzzard scents carrion, other
+cowboys anticipated sport, and a group soon
+gathered. Ere minutes had passed the blood
+of the belligerents was up, and they were battling
+as for life, with a dogged determination
+which would have lasted upon the part of either,
+the man or the beast, until death. Rough
+scenes and inhuman, Bye had witnessed until
+<i>blas&eacute;</i>; but nothing before like this. The man
+used quirt, rowel, and profanity like a fiend.
+The pony, panting, quivering, bucking, struggling,
+covered with foam and streaming with
+blood, shrilled with the impotent anger of a
+demon. Even the impassive cowboy spectators
+from chaffing lapsed into silence.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p>
+<p>Of a sudden, loping easily over the frost-bound
+prairie and following the winding trail
+of a cowpath, appeared the approaching figure
+of a horse and rider. It came on steadily, clear
+to the gathered group, and stopped. An instant
+and the newcomer understood the scene
+and a curse sprang to his lips. Another instant
+and his own mustang was spurred in close by
+the strugglers. His right hand raised in air
+and bearing a heavy quirt, descended; not
+upon the broncho, but far across the cursing,
+devilish face of the man, its rider. Then
+swift as thought and simultaneously as twin
+machines, the hands of the intruder and of the
+struggling &#8220;buster&#8221; went to their hips.</p>
+<p>The spectators held their breaths; not one
+stirred. Before them they saw the hands
+which had gone to hips flash up and forward
+like pistons from companion cylinders, and
+they saw two puffs of smoke like escaping
+steam.</p>
+<p>Smoothly, as a scene in a rehearsed play,
+the reports mingled, the riders, scarcely ten
+feet apart, tottered in their saddles, and slowly,
+unconsciously resistant even in death, the two
+bodies slipped to earth.</p>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-074.jpg' alt='' title='' width='417' height='618' /><br />
+<p class='caption'>
+They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and forward<br />
+like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like escaping steam.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div>
+<p>But there the unison ended. The mustang
+which &#8220;Slim&#8221; Rawley rode stood still in its
+tracks; but before the spectators could rush
+in, the &#8220;devil&#8221; broncho, relieved of the hand
+upon the curb, sprang away, and with the
+&#8220;buster&#8217;s&#8221; foot caught fast in the stirrup ran
+squealing, kicking, crazy mad out over the
+prairie, dragging by its side the limp figure of
+its unseated enemy.</p>
+<p>Calmar Bye watched the whole spectacle as
+in a dream. So swift had been the action, so
+fantastic the denouement, that he could not at
+first reconcile it all with reality. He went
+slowly over to the prostrate &#8220;Slim&#8221; Rawley,
+whom the others had laid out decently upon the
+ground, half expecting him to leap up and
+laugh in their faces; but the already stiffening
+figure with the fiendish scowl upon its face, was
+convincing.</p>
+<p>Besides,&ndash;&ndash;gods, the indifference of these
+men to death! The party of onlookers were
+already separating&ndash;&ndash;one division, mounted,
+starting in pursuit of the escaping broncho,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
+along the narrow trail made by the dragged
+man; the others impassively reconnoitring for
+spades and shovels, were stolidly awaiting the
+breaking of the lock of frost-bound earth at
+the hands of a big, red-shirted cowboy with a
+pick!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here, Bye,&#8221; suggested one toiler, &#8220;you&#8217;re
+an eddicated man; say a prayer er something,
+can&#8217;t ye, before we plant old &#8216;Slim.&#8217; He wa&#8217;nt
+sech a bad sort.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tenderfoot complied, and said something&ndash;&ndash;he
+never knew just what&ndash;&ndash;as the dry clods
+thumped dully upon the huddled figure in the
+old gunny sack. What he said must have been
+good, for those present resisted with difficulty
+a disposition to applaud.</p>
+<p>This labor complete, the cowboys scattered,
+miles apart, each to his division of the herd,
+which for better range had been distributed
+over a wide territory. Bye was in charge of the
+home bunch, and sat long after the others had
+left, upon the new-formed mound in the ranch
+dooryard.</p>
+<p>Far over the broad, rolling prairies, as yet
+bare and frost-bound, the sun shone brightly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
+A half-mile away he could see his own herd
+scattered and grazing. The stillness after the
+sudden excitement was almost unbelievable.
+Minutes passed by which dragged into an hour.
+Over the face of the sun a faint haze began to
+form and, unnoticeable to one not prairie-trained,
+the air took on a sympathetic feel,
+almost of dampness. A native would have
+sensed a warning; but Calmar Bye, one time
+writer, paid no heed. An instinct of his life,
+one he had thought suppressed, a necessity imperative
+as hunger, was gathering upon him
+strongly&ndash;&ndash;the overwhelming instinct to portray
+the unusual.</p>
+<p>Under its guidance, as in a maze, he made his
+way into the rough, unplastered shanty. Automatically
+he found a pencil and collected some
+scraps of coarse wrapping paper. Already the
+opening words of the tale he had to tell were in
+his mind, and sitting down by the greasy pine-board
+table, he began to write.</p>
+<p>Hours passed. Over the sun the haze thickened.
+The whole sky grew sodden, the earth a
+corresponding grayish hue. Now and anon
+puffs of wind, like sudden breaths, stirred the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span>
+dull air, and the short buffalo grass trembled
+in anticipation. The puffs increased until their
+direction became definite, and at last here and
+there big, irregular feathers of snow drifted
+languidly to earth.</p>
+<p>Within the shanty the man wrote unceasingly.
+Many fragments he covered and deposited,
+an irregular heap, at his right hand.
+At his left an adolescent mound of cigarette
+stumps grew steadily larger. A cloud of tobacco
+smoke over his head, driven here and
+there by vagrant currents of air, gathered
+denser and denser.</p>
+<p>As the light failed, the writer unconsciously
+moved the rough table nearer and nearer the
+window until, blocked, it could go no farther.
+To one less preoccupied the grating over the
+uneven floor would have been startling. Once
+just outside the door the waiting pony neighed
+warningly&ndash;&ndash;and again. Upon the ledge beneath
+the window-pane a tiny mound of snowflakes
+began to take form; around the shanty
+the rising wind mourned dismally.</p>
+<p>The light failed by degrees, until the paper
+was scarcely visible, and, brought to consciousness,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span>
+the man rose to light a lamp. One look
+about and he passed his hand over his forehead,
+absently. Striding to the door, he flung it wide
+open.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hell!&#8221; he muttered in complex apostrophe.</p>
+<p>To put on hat and top-coat was the act of a
+moment. To release the tethered pony the work
+of another; then swift as a great brown shadow,
+out across the whitening prairie to the spot he
+remembered last to have seen the herd, the delinquent
+urged the willing broncho&ndash;&ndash;only to
+find emptiness; not even the suggestion of a
+trail.</p>
+<p>Back and forth, through miles and miles of
+country, in semi-circles ever widening, through
+a storm ever increasing and with daylight
+steadily diminishing, Calmar Bye searched
+doggedly for the departed herd; searched until
+at last even he, ignorant of the supreme terrors
+of a South Dakota blizzard, dared not remain
+out longer.</p>
+<p>That he found his way back to the ranch yard
+was almost a miracle. As it was, groping at
+last in utter darkness, blinded by a sleet which
+cut like dull knives, and buffeted by a wind like
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span>
+a hurricane, more dead than alive he stumbled
+upon the home shanty and opening the door
+drew the weary broncho in after him. Man and
+beast were brothers on such a night.</p>
+<p>Of the hours which followed, of moaning
+wind and drifting sleet, nature kindly gave him
+oblivion. Dead tired, he slept. And morning,
+crisp, smiling, cloudless, was about him when
+he awoke.</p>
+<p>Rising, and scarcely stopping for a lunch,
+the man again sallied forth upon his search,
+wading through drifts blown almost firm
+enough to bear the pony&#8217;s weight and alternate
+spots wind-swept bare as a floor; while all about,
+gorgeous as multiple rainbows, flashed mocking
+bright the shifting sparkle from innumerable
+frost crystals.</p>
+<p>All the morning he searched, farther and
+farther away, until the country grew rougher
+and he was full ten miles from home. At last,
+stopping upon a small hill to reconnoitre, the
+searcher heard far in the distance a sound
+he recognized and which sent his cheek pale&ndash;&ndash;the
+faint dying wail of a wounded steer. It
+came from a deep draw between two low hills,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span>
+one cut into a steep ravine by converged floods
+and hidden by the tall surrounding weeds. Bye
+knew the place well and the significance of the
+sound he heard. In a cattle country, after a
+sudden blizzard, it could have but one meaning,
+and that the terror of all time to animals wild
+or domestic&ndash;&ndash;the end of a stampede.</p>
+<p>Only too soon thereafter the searcher found
+his herd. Upon the brow of a hill overlooking
+the ravine he stopped. Below him, bellowing,
+groaning, struggling, wounded, dying, and
+dead&ndash;&ndash;a great mass of heavy bodies, mixed
+indiscriminately&ndash;&ndash;bruised, broken, segmented,
+blood-covered, horrible, lay the observer&#8217;s
+trust, the wealth of his employer, his own hope
+of regeneration, worse now than worthless
+carrion. And the cause of it all, the sole excuse
+for this delinquency, lay back there upon
+a greasy table in the shanty&ndash;&ndash;a short scrawling
+tale scribbled upon a handful of scrap
+paper!</p>
+<h3>III</h3>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;m back, Bob.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tall, thin Calmar Bye leaned back in his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span>
+chair and looked listlessly about the familiar
+<i>caf&eacute;</i>, without a suggestion of emotion. It
+seemed to him hardly credible that he had been
+away from it all for a year and more. Nothing
+was changed. Across the room the same
+mirrors repeated the reflections he had observed
+so many times before. Nearby were the same
+booths and from within them came the same
+laughter and chatter and suppressed song. Opposite
+the tiny table the same man with the
+broad, good-natured face was making critical,
+smiling observation, as of yore. As ever, the
+look recalled the visionary to the present.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Back for good, Bob,&#8221; he repeated slowly.</p>
+<p>The speaker&#8217;s attitude was far from being
+that of a conquering hero returned; the sympathies
+of the easy-going Robert, ever responsive,
+were roused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter, old man?&#8221; he queried
+tentatively. &#8220;Weren&#8217;t you a success as a
+broncho-buster?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A success!&#8221; Calmar Bye stroked a long,
+thin face with a long, thin hand. &#8220;A success!&#8221;
+he repeated. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t have been a worse
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span>
+failure, Bob.&#8221; He paused a moment, smoothing
+the table-cloth absently with his finger tips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Success!&#8221; once more, bitterly. &#8220;I&#8217;m not
+even a mediocre at anything unless it is at what
+I&#8217;m doing now, dangling and helping spend
+the money some one else has worked all day to
+earn.&#8221; He looked his astonished friend fair in
+the eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know what an idiot, a worse
+than idiot, I&#8217;ve made of myself,&#8221; and he began
+the story of the past year.</p>
+<p>Monotonously, unemotionally he told the
+tale, omitting nothing, adding nothing; while
+about him the sounds of the restaurant, the
+tinkling of glassware, the ring of silver, the
+familiar muffled pop of extracted corks, played
+a soft accompaniment. Occasionally Bob
+would make a comment or ask explanation of
+something to him entirely new; but that was all
+until near the end,&ndash;&ndash;where the delinquent
+herder, coming swiftly to the brow of the hill,
+looked down upon the scene in the ravine below.
+Then Bob, the care-free, the pleasure-seeking,
+raised a hand in swift protest.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t describe it, please, old man,&#8221; he requested.
+&#8220;I&#8217;d rather not hear.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The speaker&#8217;s voice ceased; over his thin features
+fell the light of a queer little half-smile
+which, instead of declaring itself, only provoked
+Bob Wilson&#8217;s curiosity. In the silence
+Bye, with a hand unaccustomed to the exercise,
+made the familiar gesture that brought one of
+the busy attendants to his side.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the story you wrote&ndash;&ndash;?&#8221; suggested
+Wilson while they waited.</p>
+<p>For answer Calmar Bye drew an envelope
+from his pocket and tossed it across the table
+to his friend. Wilson first noted that it bore
+the return address of one of the country&#8217;s foremost
+magazines; he then unfolded the letter
+and read aloud:</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;<span class='smcap'>Dear Mr. Bye</span>:&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;The receipt of your two stories, &#8216;Storm
+and Stampede&#8217; and &#8216;The Lonely Grave,&#8217; has
+settled a troublesome question for us, namely:
+What has become of Mr. Calmar Bye?</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;No doubt you will recall that our criticisms
+of the material which you have submitted from
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
+time to time in the past, were directed chiefly
+against faults arising out of your unfamiliarity
+with your subjects. The present manuscripts
+bear the best testimony that you have been
+gathering your material at first hand. We
+have the feeling, as we read, that every sentence
+flows straight from the heart.</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;Now we want just such vivid, gripping,
+red-blooded cross-sections of life as these, your
+two latest accomplishments; in fact, we can&#8217;t
+get enough of them. Therefore, instead of
+making you a cash offer for these two stories,
+we suggest that you first call at our office at
+your earliest convenience. If agreeable, we
+should like to arrange for a series of Western
+stories and articles, the evolving of which should
+keep you engaged for some time to come.</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 0.78125em;'>&#8220;Cordially,</span><br />
+<span style='margin-right: 1.0em;'>&#8220;&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</span><br /></p>
+<p>The hands of the two friends clasped across
+the table. No word disturbed the silence until
+the forgotten waiter broke in impatiently:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yo&#8217; o&#8217;der, sahs?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Champagne&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;this time it was Calmar
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span>
+Bye who gave it&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;a quart. And be lively
+about it, too.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, well!&#8221; Bob Wilson&#8217;s admiration
+burst forth. &#8220;It is worth a whole herd of
+steers.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span>
+<a name='THE_STUFF_OF_HEROES' id='THE_STUFF_OF_HEROES'></a>
+<h2>THE STUFF OF HEROES</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Springtime on the prairies of South
+Dakota. It is early morning, the sun is
+not yet up, but all is light and even and soft
+and all-surrounding, so that there are no
+shadows. In every direction the gently rolling
+country is dotted brown and white from the
+incomplete melting of winter&#8217;s snows. In the
+low places tiny streams of snow-water, melted
+yesterday, sing low under the lattice-work
+blanket the frost has built in the night. Nearby
+and in the distance prairie-chickens are calling,
+lonely, uncertain. Wild ducks in confused
+masses, mere specks in the distance, follow low
+over the winding curves of the river. High
+overhead, flocks of geese in regular black
+wedges, and brant, are flying northward, and
+the breezy sound of flapping wings and of
+voices calling, mingle in the sweetest of all
+music to those who know the prairies&ndash;&ndash;Nature&#8217;s
+morning song of springtime.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What a country! Look there!&#8221; The big
+man in the front seat of the rough, low wagon
+pointed east where the sun rose slowly from
+the lap of the prairie. The other men cleared
+their throats as if to speak, but said nothing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I&#8217;ve lived sixty years without knowing,&#8221;
+continued the first voice, musingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve never been West before, either,&#8221; admitted
+De Young, simply.</p>
+<p>They drove on, the trickling of snow-water
+sounding around the wagon wheels.</p>
+<p>The third man, Clark, pointed back in the
+direction they had come.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did any one back there inquire what we
+were doing?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A fellow &#8216;lowed,&#8217; with a rising inflection,
+that we were hunting ducks,&#8221; said De Young.
+&#8220;I temporized; made him forget that I hadn&#8217;t
+answered. You know what will happen once
+the curiosity of the natives is aroused.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t approached,&#8221; Morris joined in,
+without turning. The corners of the big man&#8217;s
+mouth twitched, as the suggested picture
+formed swiftly in his mind.</p>
+<p>After a pause, De Young spoke again.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I gave the postmaster a specially good tip
+to see that we got our mail out promptly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So did I,&#8221; Clark admitted.</p>
+<p>The face of the serious man lighted; and,
+their eyes meeting, the three friends smiled all
+together.</p>
+<p>The sun rose higher, without a breath of
+wind from over the prairies, and one after another
+the men removed their top-coats. The
+horses&#8217; hoofs splashed at each step in slush
+and running water, sending drops against the
+dashboard with a sound like rain.</p>
+<p>The trail which they were following could
+now scarcely be seen, except at intervals on
+higher ground, where hoof-prints and the
+tracks of wheels were scored in the soft mud,
+and with each mile these marks grew deeper
+and broader as the partly frozen earth
+softened.</p>
+<p>The air of solemnity which had hung about
+the men for days, and which lifted from time
+to time only temporarily, now silenced them
+again. Indeed, had there been anybody
+present to observe, he doubtless would have
+been impressed most of all with the unwonted
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span>
+soberness of the wagon&#8217;s occupants, a gravity
+strangely at variance with the rampant, fecund
+season.</p>
+<p>And the object of their journeying into this
+unknown world was in all truth a matter for
+silence rather than speech; its influence was
+toward deep and earnest meditation, to which
+the joyous, awakening world could do no more
+than chant in a minor key a melancholy accompaniment.
+Never did a soldier advancing
+upon a breach in the enemy&#8217;s breastworks
+more certainly confront the grinning face of
+Death, than did this trio in their progress
+across the singing prairie; but where the
+plaudits of the world spelled glory for the
+one, the three in the wagon knew that for
+them Death meant oblivion, extinction, a
+blotting out that must needs be utter and
+inevitable.</p>
+<p>The thoughts of each dwelt upon some aspect
+of two scenes which had happened only
+a brief fortnight previously. There had been
+a notable convention of physicians in a city
+many miles to the east. One delegate, a man
+young, slender, firm of jaw, his face shining
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span>
+with zeal and the spirit which courts self-immolation,
+had addressed the body. His
+speech had made a profound impression&ndash;&ndash;after
+its first effect of sensation had subsided&ndash;&ndash;upon
+the hundreds gathered there, who
+hearkened amazedly; but of those hundreds
+only two had been moved to lay aside the tools
+of their calling and follow him.</p>
+<p>And whither was he leading them? Into
+the Outer Darkness, each firmly believed.
+For them the future was spelled <i>nihil</i>; for
+the world, salvation&ndash;&ndash;perhaps.</p>
+<p>The inspired voice still rang in memory.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gentlemen, I repeat, it is a challenge....
+The flag of the enemy is hung up
+boldly, flauntingly, in every public place....
+Are we to permit this? Are we to
+sit idle and acknowledge ourselves beaten in
+the great struggle against Death? No, no, no!
+The Nation&ndash;&ndash;yea, the whole civilized world&ndash;&ndash;shrinks
+and shudders in terror before the sound
+of one dread word&ndash;&ndash;<i>tuberculosis</i>!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Our professional honor&ndash;&ndash;our personal
+honor as well, gentlemen&ndash;&ndash;is at stake. A
+solemn charge is laid upon us.... We
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span>
+must die if need be; but we must conquer this
+monstrous scourge, which is the single cause of
+more than one death in every ten.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And then, the deep silence which had
+marked the closing words:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gentlemen, I can cure consumption,&#8221; came
+the simple declaration. &#8220;If there are those
+among you who value Science more than gain;
+who are willing to dare with me, willing to pay
+the extreme price, if necessary&ndash;&ndash;if there are
+any such among you, and I believe there are,
+meet with me in my rooms this evening.&#8221;</p>
+<p>To the eight who accepted that invitation,
+Dr. De Young disclosed the details of his Great
+Experiment. It included, among many other
+things which no one but a physician can appreciate,
+the lending of their bodies to the Experiment&#8217;s
+exemplification. Of the eight, two had
+agreed to follow him to the end. Each of the
+three had placed his house in order, and here
+they were, nearing that end, whatever it was
+to be.</p>
+<p>An hour passed, and now ahead in the distance
+a rough shanty came into view. It was
+the only house in sight, and the three men knew
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span>
+it was to be theirs. In silence they drew up
+where the men were unpacking their goods.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good morning for ducks&ndash;&ndash;saw a big flock
+of mallards back here in a pond,&#8221; observed the
+man who took their team.</p>
+<p>The three doctors alighted without answering,
+and watching them, the man stroked a
+stubby red whisker in meditation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lord, they&#8217;re a frost!&#8221; he commented.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Night had come, and the stars shone early
+from a sky yet light and warm. In the low
+places the waters sang louder than before, with
+the increase of a day&#8217;s thawing. Looking away,
+the white spots were smaller and the brown
+patches larger; otherwise, all was the same, the
+prairie of yesterday, of to-day, and to-morrow.</p>
+<p>Tired with a day of settling, the three men
+stood in the doorway and for the first time
+viewed the country at night. They were not
+talkers at best, and now the immensity of the
+broad prairies held them silent. The daily
+struggle of life, the activity and rivalry and
+ambition which before to-night had seemed so
+great to these city-bred men, here alone with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span>
+Nature and Nature&#8217;s God, where none other
+might see, assumed their true worth. The
+tangled web of life loosened and many foreign
+things caught and held therein, fell out. Man,
+introspecting, saw himself at his real worth, and
+was not proud.</p>
+<p>The absolute quiet, so unusual, made them
+wakeful, and though tired, they sat long in the
+doorway, smoking, thinking. Small talk
+seemed to them profanation, and of that
+which was uppermost in each man&#8217;s mind,
+none cared first to speak. A subtle understanding,
+called telepathy, was making of their
+several minds a thing united.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, not to-night, it&#8217;s too beautiful,&#8221; said
+De Young at length, and the protesting voice
+sounded to his own ears as that of a stranger.</p>
+<p>The men started at the sound, and the glowing
+tips of three cigars described partial arcs in
+the half light as they turned each to each. No
+one answered. They were face to face with
+fundamentals at last.</p>
+<p>Minutes, an hour, passed. The cigars burned
+out, and as the pleasant odor of tobacco died
+away, there came the chill night air of the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span>
+prairie. The two older men rose stiffly, and
+with a low good-night, stumbled into the darkness
+of the shanty.</p>
+<p>De Young sat alone in the doorway. He
+realized that it was the supreme hour of his life.
+In his mind, memory of past and hope of future
+met on the battlefield of the present, and meeting,
+mingled in chaos. Thoughts came crowding
+upon each other thick&ndash;&ndash;the thoughts which
+come to few more than once in life, to multitudes,
+never; the thoughts which writers in every
+language, during all time, have sought words to
+express, and in vain.</p>
+<p>Everywhere the snow-streams sang lower and
+lower. A fog, dense, penetrating, born of early
+morning, wrapped all things about, uniting and
+at the same time setting apart. Shivering, he
+shut the door on the night and the damp, and as
+by instinct crept into bed. Listening in the
+darkness, the sound of the sleepers soothed him.
+Happier thoughts came, thoughts which made
+his heart beat more swiftly and his eyes grow
+tender; for he was yet young, and love untold
+ever dwelleth near heaven. Thus he fell asleep
+with a smile.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Choose, please. We&#8217;ll take our turns in the
+order of length,&#8221; said De Young, holding up
+the ends of three paper strips. Each man drew,
+and in the silence that followed, without a word
+Morris turned away, preparing swiftly for the
+operation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Give me chloroform,&#8221; he said, stretching
+himself horizontally,&ndash;&ndash;adding as the others
+bent over him, &#8220;Inoculate deep, please. Let&#8217;s
+not waste time.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Swiftly, with the precision of absolute knowledge,
+the two physicians did their work. A mist
+was over their eyes, so that all the room looked
+dim, as to old men; and hands which had not
+known a tremor for years, shook as they emptied
+the contents of the little syringe, teeming with
+tiny, unseen, living rods. Clark&#8217;s forehead was
+damp with a perspiration that physical pain
+could not have brought, and on De Young&#8217;s
+face, time marked those minutes as months.</p>
+<p>It was all done with the habit of years. The
+two doctors carefully sterilized their instruments
+and replaced them in cases, then, silently,
+drawn nearer together than ever before, the
+two friends watched the return of consciousness.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
+And Morris awakening, things real and of
+dreamland still confused to his senses, heard the
+soft voice which a legion of patients had thus
+heard and blessed, saying cheerily, &#8220;Wake up!
+wake up, my friend!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Thus the day passed. In turn, the men, hours
+apart, with active brains, and eyes wide open,
+sent their challenges to Death&ndash;&ndash;each man his
+own messenger.</p>
+<p>The months slipped by. Suns became torrid
+hot, and cooled until it seemed there was light
+but not heat on earth. Days grew longer, and
+in unison, earth waxed greener; then in descending
+scale, both together waned. Migratory
+wings fluttering at night, and passing voices
+calling in the darkness&ndash;&ndash;most lonely sounds of
+earth&ndash;&ndash;gave place to singers of the day. The
+robin, the meadow-lark, the ubiquitous catbird,
+all born of prairie and of summer, came and
+went. Blackbirds in countless flocks followed.
+Again the calling of prairie-chickens was heard
+at eve and morning, and anon frost glistened in
+the air.</p>
+<p>At last throughout the land no sound of
+animal voice was heard, for winter bound all
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
+things firm and white. Another cycle was complete;
+yet, almost ere the record could be made,
+there appeared, moving far in the distance, a
+black triangle. Passing swiftly, with the sound
+of wings and calling voices, there sprang anew
+in all things animate a mixed feeling of gladness
+and unrest, which was the spirit of returned
+spring.</p>
+<p>Thus twice the cycle of the seasons passed,
+and again the sun of early spring, shining
+bright, set the tiny snow-streams singing. It
+glistened over the prairie on snow-drift and
+frost; it lit up the few scattered shingled roofs
+of settlers newly come; and shone in at the
+open door of a rough cabin we know, touching
+without pity the faces of the two men who
+watched its rise. Shining low, even with the
+prairie, it touched in vivid contrast an oblong
+mound of fresh earth, heaped up target distance
+from the cabin door.</p>
+<p>The mound had not been there long; neither
+snow or rain had yet touched it; it was still
+strange to the men in the doorway, who saw it
+vividly now, at time of sunrise. Though thus
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span>
+early, each man sat idly smoking, an open book
+reversed on the knee.</p>
+<p>De Young first broke the silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We must do something, or else decide to do
+nothing about Clark&#8217;s mail.&#8221; He shifted in his
+seat, looking away from the open door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know&ndash;&ndash;whether&ndash;&ndash;it would be
+kinder to tell them or not.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A coughing fit shook Morris, and answering,
+a twitch as of pain tightened the corners of his
+companion&#8217;s eyes. Minutes passed, and Morris
+sat limply in his chair, before he answered,</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought at first we&#8217;d better write; now it
+seems different. Let&#8217;s wait until we go back.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Neither of the men looked at the other. They
+seldom did now; it was useless pain. Filled with
+the incomparable optimism of the consumptive,
+neither man realized his own condition, but
+marked the days of his friend. Morris, unbelieving,
+spoke of his friend&#8217;s return; yet, growing
+weaker each day himself, spoke in all hope
+and conviction of his future work, recording
+each day his mode of successful treatment, despite
+interruptions of coughing which left him
+breathless and trembling for minutes. De
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span>
+Young saw, and in pity marvelled; yet, seeing,
+and as a physician knowing, he not for a moment
+applied the gauge to himself.</p>
+<p>Nature, in sportive mood, commands the
+Angel of Death, who with matchless legerdemain,
+keeps the mirror of illusion, unsuspected,
+before the consumptive&#8217;s eyes; and, seeing, in
+derision the satirist smiles.</p>
+<p>Unavoidably acting parts, the two friends
+found a barrier of artificiality separating them,
+making each happier when alone. Thus day
+after day, monotonous, unchanging, went by.
+Not another person entered their door. From
+the little town a man at periods brought provisions
+and their mail, but the house was acquiring
+an uncanny reputation. They were
+not understood, and such are ever foreign.
+With the passage of time and the coming of
+the mound in the dooryard, the feeling had
+developed into positive fear, and travellers
+avoided the place as though warned by a scarlet
+placard.</p>
+<p>Morris grew weaker daily. At last the disillusionment
+that precedes death came to him.
+The artificial slipped from both men and a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span>
+nearness like that of brothers, joined them.
+They spoke not of the future but of the past.
+Years slipped aside and left them back in the
+midst of active, brain-satisfying practice. Over
+again they performed operations, where life
+and death were separated but by a hair&#8217;s
+width. Again, with eyes that brightened and
+breath that came more quickly, they lived their
+successes, and hand in hand, as children in the
+dark, told of their failures, and the tale was
+long, for they were but men.</p>
+<p>The end came quietly. A hemorrhage, a
+big spot of blood on the cover, a firm hand
+pressure, and Morris&#8217;s parting words,</p>
+<p>&#8220;Save my notes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>That night De Young knew no sleep. &#8220;I
+must finish the work,&#8221; he said, in lame excuse.
+Well he knew there could be no rest for him
+that night. He did his task thoroughly, making
+record of things that had passed, with the precision
+of a physician who knows a patient but
+as material.</p>
+<p>A tramp, who, unknowing, had taken shelter
+in an outbuilding, waking in the night, saw the
+light. Moved by curiosity, he crawled up
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span>
+softly in the darkness, and peeped in at the
+window. In the half light he saw on the bed
+a thin, white face motionless in the expression
+which even he knew was death; and at the
+table, writing rapidly with manuscript all
+about, a man whose eyes shone with the brilliancy
+of disease, and with a face as pale as the
+face on the pillow. In the blank, unreasoning
+terror of superstition, he fled until Nature rebelled
+and would carry him no farther. Next
+day to all he saw, he told the tale of supernatural
+things which lingers yet around a
+prairie ruin, in whose dooryard are mounds
+built of man.</p>
+<p>The mail carrier calling next day saw a man
+with spots of scarlet heightening the contrast
+of a face pale as death, digging in the dooryard.
+The man worked slowly, for he coughed
+often and must rest. In kindness the carrier
+offered help, but was refused with words that
+brought to the listener&#8217;s eyes a moisture unknown
+since boyhood, and the thought of which
+in days that followed, kept him silent concerning
+what he had seen.</p>
+<p>Summer, with the breath of warm life and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span>
+the odor of growing things; with days made
+dreamy and thoughtful by the purring of the
+soft wind and the droning of insects; and nights
+when all was good; with stars above and crickets
+singing below&ndash;&ndash;summer had come and was
+passing.</p>
+<p>De Young could no longer deceive himself.
+The personal faith that had upheld him so long&ndash;&ndash;when
+friends had failed&ndash;&ndash;could fight the
+inevitable no longer. With eyes wide open,
+he saw at last clearly, and, seeing, realized the
+end. He cared not for death; he was too strong
+for that; but it must needs be that, now, with
+the shadow of defeat lying dark over the future,
+the problem of motive, the great &#8220;why,&#8221;
+should come uppermost in his mind demanding
+an answer.</p>
+<p>Once before, at the time when other men
+read from their lives, he caught glimpses of
+something beyond. Now again the mood returned,
+and he knew why he was as he was;
+that with him love was, and had been, stronger
+than Science and all else beside. He knew that
+whatever he might have done, the entering
+into his life of The Woman, and the knowledge
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
+that followed her coming, had inspired the
+supreme motive that thenceforth drove him forward.
+With this realization came a new life,
+a happier and a sadder life, in which all things
+underwent readjustment.</p>
+<p>Regret came as sadness, regret that he had
+not told this woman all; that in his blind confidence
+he had not written, but had waited&ndash;&ndash;waited
+for this. He would wait no longer. He
+would tell her now. A thousand new thoughts
+came to his mind; a thousand new feelings
+surged over him as a flood, and he poured them
+out on paper. The man himself, not the physician,
+was unfolded for the first time in his life,
+and the writing of that letter which told all,
+his life, his love, that ended with a good-bye
+which was forever, was the sweetest labor of
+his life. He sealed the letter and sat for hours
+looking at it, dreaming.</p>
+<p>It was summer and the nights were short,
+so that with the writing and the dreams, morning
+had come. He could scarce wait that day
+for the carrier; time to him had become suddenly
+a thing most precious; and when at last
+the man appeared. De Young twice exacted the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span>
+promise that the letter should be mailed special
+delivery.</p>
+<p>The reaction was on and all the world was
+dark. Fool that he was, two years had passed
+since he had heard from her. She also was a
+consumptive; might not&ndash;&ndash;?</p>
+<p>The very thought was torture; perspiration
+started at every pore, and with the little
+strength that was left he paced up and down
+the room like a caged animal. A fit of coughing,
+such as he had never known before, seized
+him, and he dropped full length upon the bed.</p>
+<p>The limit was reached; he slept.</p>
+<p>As he had worked one night before to forget,
+so he spent the following days. It was the
+end, and he knew it; but he no longer cared.
+His future was centred on one event&ndash;&ndash;the
+coming of a letter. Beyond that all was
+shadow, and he cared not to explore. He
+worked all that Nature would allow, carrying
+to completion his observations, admitting his
+mistake with a candor which now caused no
+personal pain. He spent much time at his
+journal, writing needless things: his actions,
+his very thoughts,&ndash;&ndash;things which could not
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
+have been wrung from him before; but he was
+lonely and desperate. He must not think&ndash;&ndash;&#8217;t
+was madness. So he wrote and wrote and
+wrote.</p>
+<p>He watched for the carrier all the daylight
+hours. His mail was light, and the coming infrequent.
+There had been time for an answer,
+and the watcher could no longer compose himself
+to write. All day he sat in the doorway,
+looking across the two mounds, down the road
+whence the carrier would come.</p>
+<p>And at last he came. Far down the road
+toward town one morning a familiar moving
+figure grew distinct. De Young watched as
+though fascinated. He wanted to shout, to
+laugh, to cry. With an effort that sent his
+finger nails deep into his palms, he kept quiet,
+waiting.</p>
+<p>A letter was in the carrier&#8217;s hand. Struck
+by the look on De Young&#8217;s face, the postman
+did not turn, but stood near by watching. The
+exile, once the immovable, seized the missive
+feverishly, then paused to examine. It was a
+man&#8217;s writing he held, and he winced as at a
+blow, but with a hand that was nerved too
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
+high to tremble, he tore open the envelope. He
+read the few words, and read again; then in a
+motion of weariness and hopelessness indescribable,
+hands and paper dropped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My God! And she never knew,&#8221; he whispered.</p>
+<p>When next the carrier came, he shaped the
+third mound.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span>
+<a name='ARCADIA_IN_AVERNUS' id='ARCADIA_IN_AVERNUS'></a>
+<h2>ARCADIA IN AVERNUS</h2>
+</div>
+<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>&#8220;<i>For they have sown the wind, and<br />
+they shall reap the whirlwind.</i>&#8221;<br /></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter I&ndash;&ndash;Prelude</span></h3>
+<p>Silence, the silence of double doors and
+of padded walls was upon the private room
+of the down-town office. Across the littered,
+ink-stained desk a man and a woman faced
+each other. Threads of gray lightened the hair
+of each. Faint lines, delicate as pencillings,
+marked the forehead of the woman and radiated
+from the angles of her eyes. A deep fissure
+unequally separated the brows of the man,
+and on his shaven face another furrow added
+firmness to the mouth. Their eyes met squarely,
+without a motion from faces imperturbable in
+middle age and knowledge of life.</p>
+<p>The man broke silence slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean,&#8221; he hesitated, &#8220;what that would
+seem to mean?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221; A shade of resentment was
+in the answering voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you&#8217;re a woman&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And married&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The note of resentment became positive.
+&#8220;What difference does that make?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It ought to.&#8221; The man spoke almost mechanically.
+&#8220;You took oath before man and
+higher than man&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman interrupted him shortly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Another took oath with me and broke it.&#8221;
+She leaned gracefully forward in the big chair
+until their eyes met. &#8220;I&#8217;m no longer bound.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I love you!&#8221; she interjected.</p>
+<p>The man&#8217;s eyebrows lifted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Love?&#8221; he inflected.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, love. What is love but good friendship&ndash;&ndash;and
+sex?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man was silent.</p>
+<p>A strong white hand slid under the woman&#8217;s
+chin and her elbow met the desk.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I meant what you thought,&#8221; she completed
+slowly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;But I cannot&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It destroys all my ideas of things. Your
+promise to another&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I say he&#8217;s broken his promise to me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But your being a woman&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do you expect more of me because
+I&#8217;m a woman? Haven&#8217;t I feelings, rights, as
+well as you who are a man?&#8221; She waited until
+he looked up. &#8220;I ask you again, won&#8217;t you
+come?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man arose and walked slowly back and
+forth across the narrow room. At length he
+stopped by her chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I cannot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>In swift motion his companion stood up
+facing him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you wish to?&#8221; she challenged.</p>
+<p>The hand of the man dropped in outward
+motion of deprecation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The question is useless. I&#8217;m human.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why shouldn&#8217;t we do what pleases us,
+then?&#8221; The voice was insistent. &#8220;What is
+life for if not for pleasure?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would it be pleasure, though? Wouldn&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span>
+the future hold for us more of pain than of
+pleasure?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, never.&#8221; The words came with a slowness
+that meant finality. &#8220;Why need to-morrow
+or a year from now be different from
+to-day unless we make it so?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But it would change unconsciously. We&#8217;d
+think and hate ourselves.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;For what reason? Isn&#8217;t it Nature that attracts
+us to each other and can Nature be
+wrong?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We can&#8217;t always depend upon Nature,&#8221;
+commented the man absently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s an artificial argument, and you
+know it.&#8221; A reprimand was in her voice. &#8220;If
+you can&#8217;t depend upon Nature to tell you what
+is right, what other authority can you consult?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But Nature has been perverted,&#8221; he evaded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t it possible your judgment instead is
+at fault?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It can&#8217;t be at fault, here.&#8221; The voice was
+neutral as before. &#8220;Something tells us both
+it would be wrong&ndash;&ndash;to do&ndash;&ndash;as we want to do.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></p>
+<p>Once more they sat down facing each other,
+the desk between them as at first.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Artificial convention, I tell you again.&#8221;
+In motion graceful as nature the woman extended
+her hand, palm upward, on the polished
+desk top. &#8220;How could we be other than right?
+What do we mean by right, anyway? Is there
+any judge higher than our individual selves,
+and don&#8217;t they tell us pleasure is the chief aim
+of life and as such must be right?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The muscles at the angle of the man&#8217;s jaw
+tightened involuntarily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But pleasure is not the chief end of life.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is, then?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Development&ndash;&ndash;evolution.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Evolution to what?&#8221; she insisted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That we cannot answer as yet. Future
+generations must and will give answer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s for this then that you deny yourself?&#8221;
+A shade almost of contempt was in the questioning
+voice.</p>
+<p>The taunt brought no change of expression
+to the man&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman walked over to a bookcase, and,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span>
+drawing out a volume, turned the pages absently.
+Without reading a word, she came
+back and looked the man squarely in the face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will denying yourself help the world to
+evolve?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think so.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My determination makes me a positive
+force. It is my Karma for good, that makes
+my child stronger to do things.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you have no child,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;swiftly.</p>
+<p>Their eyes met again without faltering.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall have&ndash;&ndash;sometime.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Silence fell upon them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where were you a century ago?&#8221; digressed
+the woman.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t born.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where will your child be a hundred years
+from now?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dead likewise, probably; but the force for
+good, the Karma of the life, will be passed on
+and remain in the world.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Unconsciously they both rose to their feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Was man always on the earth?&#8221; she asked.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></p>
+<p>The question was answered almost before
+spoken.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will he always be here?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Science says &#8216;no.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman came a step forward until they
+almost touched.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What then becomes of your life of denial?&#8221;
+she challenged.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You make it hard for me,&#8221; said the man,
+simply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But am I not right?&#8221; She came toward
+him passionately. &#8220;I come near you, and you
+start.&#8221; She laid her hand on his. &#8220;I touch
+you, and your eyes grow warm. Both our
+hearts beat more quickly. Look at the sunshine!
+It&#8217;s brighter when we&#8217;re so close together.
+What of life? It&#8217;s soon gone&ndash;&ndash;and
+then? What of convention that says &#8216;no&#8217;?
+It&#8217;s but a farce that gives the same thing we
+ask&ndash;&ndash;at the price of a few words of mummery.
+Our strongest instincts of nature call for each
+other. Why shouldn&#8217;t we obey them when
+we wish?&#8221; She hesitated, and her voice became
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
+tender. &#8220;We would be very happy together.
+Won&#8217;t you come?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man broke away almost roughly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you know,&#8221; he demanded, &#8220;it&#8217;s madness
+for us to be talking like this? We&#8217;ll be
+taking it seriously, and then&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman made a swift gesture of protest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t. Let&#8217;s be honest&ndash;&ndash;with each other,
+at least. I&#8217;m tired of pretending to be other
+than I am. Why did you say &#8216;being true to
+my husband&#8217;? You know it&#8217;s mockery. Is it
+being true to live with a man I hate because
+man&#8217;s law demands it, rather than true to you
+whom Nature&#8217;s law sanctions? Don&#8217;t speak to
+me of society&#8217;s right and wrong! I despise it.
+There is no other tribunal than Nature, and
+Nature says &#8216;Come.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man sat down slowly and dropped his
+head wearily into his hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I say again, I cannot. I respect you too
+much. We&#8217;re intoxicated now being together.
+In an hour, after we&#8217;re separate&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>She broke in on him passionately.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you think a woman says what I have
+said on the spur of the moment? Do you think
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span>
+I merely happened to see you to-day, merely
+happened to say what I&#8217;ve said? You know
+better. This has been coming for months. I
+fought it hard at first; with convention, with
+your idea of right and wrong. Now I laugh
+at them both. Life is life, and short, and beyond
+is darkness. Think what atoms we are;
+and we struggle so hard. Our life that seems
+to us so short&ndash;&ndash;and so long! A thousand,
+perhaps ten thousand such, end to end, and we
+have the life of a world. And what is that?
+A cycle! A thing self-created, self-destructive:
+then of human life&ndash;&ndash;nothingness. Oh,
+it&#8217;s humorous! Our life, a ten thousandth
+part of that nothingness; and so full of tiny&ndash;&ndash;great
+struggles and worries!&#8221; She was
+silent a moment, her throat trembling, a multitude
+of expressions shifting swiftly on her
+face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you believe in God?&#8221; she questioned
+suddenly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hardly know. There must be&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you suppose, then, He&#8217;s laughing at
+us now?&#8221; She hesitated again and then went
+on, almost unconsciously. &#8220;I had a dream a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
+few nights ago.&#8221; The voice was low and very
+soft. &#8220;It seemed I was alone in a desert place,
+and partial darkness was about me. I was
+conscious only of listening and wondering, for
+out of the shadow came sounds of human suffering.
+I waited with my heart beating
+strangely. Gradually the voices grew louder,
+until I caught the meaning of occasional words
+and distinctly saw coming toward me the figure
+of a man and a woman bearing a great burden,
+a load so great that both together bent beneath
+the weight and sweat stood thick upon their
+brows. The edges of the burden were very
+sharp so that the hands of the man and the
+woman bled from the wounds and their shoulders
+were torn grievously where the load had
+shifted: those of the woman more than the
+man, for she bore more of the weight. I
+marvelled at the sight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Suddenly an intense brightness fell about
+me and I saw, near and afar, other figures each
+bearing similar burdens. The light passed
+away, and I drew near the man and questioned
+him.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;What rough load is that you carry?&#8217; I
+asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;The burden of conventionality,&#8217; answered
+the man, wearily and with a note of surprise
+in his voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Why do you bear it needlessly?&#8217; I remonstrated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;We dare not drop it,&#8217; said the woman,
+hopelessly, &#8216;lest that light, which is the searchlight
+of public opinion, return, showing us different
+from the others.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Even as she spoke the illumination again
+fell upon us, and by its brightness I saw a drop
+of blood gather slowly from the wounds on the
+woman&#8217;s hand and fall into the dust at her
+feet.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A silence fell upon the inmates of the tiny
+muffled office.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But the burden isn&#8217;t useless,&#8221; said the man,
+gently. &#8220;The condemnation of society is an
+hourly reality. From the patronage of others
+we live. The sun burns us, but we submit, for
+in return it gives life.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman arose with an abrupt movement,
+and looked down at him coldly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you a man, and use those arguments?&#8221;
+An expression akin to contempt formed about
+her mouth. &#8220;Are you afraid of a united voice
+the individuals of which you despise?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The first hint of restrained passion was in
+the answering voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You taunt me in safety, for you know I
+love you.&#8221; He looked up at her unhesitatingly.
+&#8220;Man&#8217;s law is artificial, that I know; but it&#8217;s
+made for conditions which are artificial, and
+for such it&#8217;s right. Were we as in the beginning,
+Nature&#8217;s law, which beside the law of man
+is no law, would be right; but we&#8217;re of the
+world as it is now. Things are as they are, and
+we must conform or pay the price.&#8221; He hesitated.
+His face settled back into a mask. &#8220;And
+that price of non-conformity is too high,&#8221; he
+completed steadily.</p>
+<p>The eyes of the woman blazed and her hands
+tightened convulsively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you&#8217;re frozen&ndash;&ndash;fossilized, man! I
+called you man! You&#8217;re not a man at all, but
+a nineteenth century machine! You&#8217;re run
+like a motor, from a power house; by the force
+of conventional thought, over wires of red
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span>
+tape. Fie on you! I thought to meet a human
+being, not a lifeless thing.&#8221; She looked at him
+steadily, her chin in the air, a world of scorn
+in her face. &#8220;Go on sweating beneath the useless
+load! Go on building your structure of
+artificiality that ends centuries from now in
+nothingness! Here&#8217;s happiness to you in your
+empty life of self-effacement, with your machine
+prompted acts, years considered!&#8221; Without
+looking at him, one hand made scornful
+motion of dismissal. &#8220;Good-bye, ghost of man;
+I wash my hands of you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait, Eleanor!&#8221; The man sprang to his
+feet, the mask lifting from his face, and there
+stood revealed a multitude of emotions, unseen
+of the world, that flashed from the depths of
+his brown eyes and quivered in the angles of
+his mouth. He came quickly over and took her
+hand between his own.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m proud of you,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;a world of tenderness
+was in his voice&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;unspeakably proud&ndash;&ndash;for
+I love you. I&#8217;ve done my best to keep us
+apart, yet all the time I believed with you.
+Nature is higher than man, and no power on
+earth can prove it otherwise.&#8221; He looked
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span>
+into the softest of brown eyes, and his voice
+trembled. &#8220;Beside you the world is nothing.
+Its approval or its condemnation are things to
+be laughed at. With you I challenge
+conventionality&ndash;&ndash;society&ndash;&ndash;everything.&#8221; He bent
+over her hand almost reverently and touched
+it softly with his lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Farewell&ndash;&ndash;until I come,&#8221; he said.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter II&ndash;&ndash;The Leap</span></h3>
+<p>A man and a woman emerged from the
+dilapidated day-car as it drew up before
+the tiny, sanded station which marked the
+terminus of the railway. The man was tall,
+clean-shaven, quick of step and of glance. The
+woman was likewise tall, well-gloved, and,
+strange phenomenon at a country station, carried
+no parcels.</p>
+<p>Though easily the centre of attention, the
+couple were far from being alone. On the
+contrary, the car and platform fairly swarmed
+with humanity. Men mostly composed the
+throng that alighted&ndash;&ndash;big, weather-stained
+fellows in rough jeans and denims. In the
+background, as spectators moved or lounged a
+sprinkling of others: thinner, lighter, enveloped
+in felt, woollen and buckskin, a fringe of heavy
+hair peeping out at their backs beneath the
+broad hat-brims. A few women were intermingled.
+Coarsely gowned, sun-browned, they
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span>
+stood; themselves like suns, but each the centre
+of a system of bleach-haired minor satellites. It
+was into this heterogeneous mass that the tall
+man elbowed his way, a neat grip in either hand;
+the woman following closely in his wake, her
+skirts carefully lifted.</p>
+<p>Clear of the out-flowing stream the man put
+down the satchels, and looked over the heads of
+the motley crowd into the still more motley
+street beyond. Two short rows of one-story
+buildings, distinctive by the brightness of new
+lumber on their sheltered side, bordered a narrow
+street, half clogged by the teams of visiting
+farmers. Not the faintest clue to a hostelry
+was visible, and the eyes of the man wandered
+back, interrupting by the way another pair of
+eyes frankly inquisitive.</p>
+<p>The curious one was short; by comparison
+his face was still shorter, and round. From his
+chin a tiny tuft of whiskers protruded, like the
+handle of a gourd. Never was countenance
+more unmistakably labelled good-humored,
+Americanized German.</p>
+<p>The eyes of the tall man stopped.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Is there a hotel in this&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he groped for a
+classification&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;this city?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>A rattling sound, startlingly akin to the agitated
+contents of over-ripe vegetables, came
+from somewhere in the internal mechanism of
+the small man. Inferentially, the inquiry was
+amusing to the questioned, likewise the immediately
+surrounding listeners who became suddenly
+silent, gazing at the stranger with the
+wonder of young calves.</p>
+<p>At length the innate spirit of courtesy in the
+German triumphed over his amusement.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hans Becher up by the postoffice takes
+folks in.&#8221; The inward commotion showed indications
+of resumption. &#8220;I never heard,
+though, that he called his place a hotel!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; and the circle of silence
+widened.</p>
+<p>The man and the woman walked up the
+street. Beneath their feet the cottonwood sidewalk,
+despite its newness, was warped in agony
+under sun and storm. Big puddles of water
+from a recent rain stood in the hollows of the
+roadway, side by side with tufts of native
+grasses fighting bravely for life against the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span>
+intruder&ndash;&ndash;Man. A fresh, indescribable odor
+was in their nostrils; an odor which puzzled
+them then, but which later they learned to
+recognize and never forgot&ndash;&ndash;the pungent
+scent of buffalo grass. A stillness, deeper than
+of Sabbath, unbelievable to urban ears, wrapped
+all things, and united with an absence of broken
+sky line, to produce an all-pervading sense of
+loneliness.</p>
+<p>Hans Becher did not belie his name. He was
+very German. Likewise the little woman who
+courtesied at his side. Ditto the choice assortment
+of inquisitive tow-heads, who stared wide-eyed
+from various corners. He shook hands
+at the door with each of his guests,&ndash;&ndash;which
+action also was unmistakably German.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You would in my house&ndash;&ndash;put up, you
+call it?&#8221; he inquired in labored English, while
+the little woman polished two speckless chairs
+with her apron, and with instinctive photographic
+art placed them stiffly side by side for
+the visitors.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, we&#8217;d like to stay with you for a time,&#8221;
+corroborated the tall man.</p>
+<p>The little German ran his fingers uncertainly
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
+through his hair for a moment; then his round
+face beamed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We should then become to each other
+known. Is it not so?&#8221; Without pausing for
+an answer, he put out a big hand to each in turn.
+&#8220;I am Hans Becher, and this&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;with elaborate
+indications&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;this my wife is&ndash;&ndash;Minna.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Minna courtesied dutifully, lower than before.
+The little Bechers were not classified,
+but their connection was apparent. They
+calmly sucked their thumbs.</p>
+<p>The lords of creation obviously held the rostrum.
+It was the tall man who responded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My name is Maurice, Ichabod Maurice.&#8221;
+He looked at the woman, his companion, from
+the corner of his eye. &#8220;Allow me, Camilla, to
+present Mr. Becher.&#8221; Then turning to his
+hosts, &#8220;Camilla Maurice: Mr. and Mrs.
+Becher.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tall lady shook hands with each.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pleased to meet you,&#8221; she said, and smiled
+a moment into their eyes. Thus Camilla Maurice
+made friends.</p>
+<p>There were a few low-spoken words in German
+and Minna vanished.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;She will dinner make ready,&#8221; Hans explained.</p>
+<p>The visitors sat down in their chairs, with
+Hans opposite studying them narrowly; singly
+and together.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The town is very new,&#8221; suggested Ichabod.</p>
+<p>&#8220;One year ago it was not.&#8221; The German&#8217;s
+short legs crossed each other nervously and
+their owner seized the opportunity to make
+further inspection. &#8220;It is very new,&#8221; he repeated
+absently.</p>
+<p>Camilla Maurice stood up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Might we wash, Mr. Becher?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+<p>The ultimate predicament was all at once
+staring the little man in the face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;To be sure.... I might have known....
+You will a room&ndash;&ndash;desire.&#8221; ...
+He ran his fingers through his hair, and inspiration
+came. &#8220;Mr. Maurice,&#8221; he motioned,
+&#8220;might I a moment with you&ndash;&ndash;speak?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, Mr. Becher.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The German saw light, and fairly beamed
+as he sought the safe seclusion of the doorway.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She is your sister or cousin&ndash;&ndash;<i>nein</i>?&#8221; he
+asked.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></p>
+<p>There was the faintest suggestion of a smile
+in the corners of Ichabod&#8217;s mouth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, she is neither my sister nor my cousin,
+Mr. Becher.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Hans heaved a sigh of relief: it had been a
+close corner.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She is your wife. One must know,&#8221; and
+he mopped his brow.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly&ndash;&ndash;one must know,&#8221; very soberly.</p>
+<p>Alone together in the little unfinished room
+under the rafters, the woman sat down on the
+corner of the bed, physical discomfort forgotten
+in feminine curiosity.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Those names&ndash;&ndash;where did you get them?&#8221;
+she queried.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They came to me&ndash;&ndash;at the moment,&#8221; smiled
+the man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But the cold-blooded horror of them!...
+Ichabod!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The glory has departed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>His companion started, and the smile left
+the man&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And Camilla?&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Attendant at a sacrifice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Of a sudden the room became very still.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></p>
+<p>Ichabod, exploring, discovered a tiny wash
+basin and a bucket of water.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You wished to wash, Camilla?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman did not move.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They were very kind&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;she looked
+through the window with the tiny panes:
+&#8220;have we any right to&ndash;&ndash;lie to them?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We have not lied.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tacitly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. I&#8217;m Ichabod Maurice and you&#8217;re
+Camilla Maurice. We have not lied.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The past is dead, dead!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman&#8217;s face dropped into her hands.
+Woman ever weeps instinctively for the dead.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are sorry that it is&ndash;&ndash;so?&#8221; There
+was no bitterness in the man&#8217;s voice, but he did
+not look at her, and Camilla misunderstood.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sorry!&#8221; She came close, and a soft warm
+face pressed tightly against his face. &#8220;Sorry!&#8221;
+Her arms were around him. &#8220;Sorry!&#8221; again
+repeated. &#8220;No! No! No! No, without end!
+I&#8217;m not sorry. I&#8217;m Camilla Maurice, the happiest
+woman in the world!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Later they utilized the tin basin and the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span>
+mirror with a crack across its centre. Dinner
+was waiting when they went below.</p>
+<p>To a casual observer, Hans had been very
+idle while they were gone. He sat absently on
+the doorstep, watching the grass that grew
+almost visibly in the warm spring sun. Occasionally
+he tapped his forehead with his finger
+tips. It helped him to think, and just now he
+sadly needed assistance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who were these people, anyway?&#8221; he
+wondered. Not farmers, certainly. Farmers
+did not have hands that dented when you
+pressed them, and farmers&#8217; wives did not lift
+their skirts daintily from behind. Hans had
+been very observant as his visitors came up the
+muddy street. No, that was not the way of
+farmers&#8217; wives: they took hold at the sides
+with both hands, and splashed right through
+on their heels.</p>
+<p>Hans pulled the yellow tuft on his chin.
+What could they be, then? Not summer
+boarders. It was only early spring; and, besides,
+although the little German was an
+optimist, even he could not imagine any one
+selecting a Dakota prairie for an outing.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
+Yet ... No, they could not be summer
+boarders.</p>
+<p>But what then? In his intensity Hans
+actually forgot the grass and, unfailing producer
+of inspiration, ran his fingers frantically
+through his mane.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah&ndash;&ndash;at last&ndash;&ndash;of course!&#8221; The round
+face beamed and a hard hand smote a harder
+knee, joyously. That he had not remembered
+at once! It was the new banker, to be sure. He
+would tell Minna, quite as a matter of fact, for
+there could be no mistake. Hank Judge, the
+machine agent, and Eli Stevens, the proprietor
+of the corner store, had said only yesterday
+there was to be a bank. Looking up the street
+the little man spied a familiar figure, and
+sprang to his feet as though released by a
+spring, his hand already in the air. There was
+Hank Judge, now, and he didn&#8217;t know&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dinner, Hans,&#8221; announced Minna at his
+elbow.</p>
+<p>Holding the child of his brain hard in both
+hands lest it should escape prematurely, the
+little German went inside to preside over a repast,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
+the distinctively German incense of which
+ascended most appetizingly.</p>
+<p>Hans, junior, in a childish treble, spoke
+an honest little German blessing, beginning
+&#8220;<i>Mein Vater von Himmel</i>,&#8221; and emphasized by
+the raps of Hans senior&#8217;s knuckles on certain
+other small heads to keep their owners quiet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fresh lettuce and radishes!&#8221; commented
+Camilla, joyously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Raised in our own garden <i>hinein</i>,&#8221; bobbed
+Minna, in ecstasy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And sauerkraut&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; began Ichabod.</p>
+<p>&#8220;From cabbages so large,&#8221; completed Hans,
+spreading his arms to designate an imaginary
+vegetable of heroic proportions.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They must have grown very fast to be so
+large in May,&#8221; commented Camilla.</p>
+<p>Hans and Minna exchanged glances&ndash;&ndash;pitying,
+superior glances&ndash;&ndash;such as we give behind
+the backs of the infirm, or the very old; and the
+subject of vegetables dropped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A great country for a bank, this,&#8221; commented
+Mr. Becher, with infinite <i>finesse</i> and
+between intermittent puffs at a hot potato.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that so?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p>
+<p>Hans nodded violent confirmation, then
+words, English words, being valuable to him,
+he came quickly to the test.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will build for the bank yourself, is it
+not so?&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was not the German and Minna who exchanged
+glances this time.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I shall not build for the bank myself,
+Mr. Becher.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will rent, perhaps?&#8221; Hans&#8217;s faith
+was beautiful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I shall not rent.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The German&#8217;s face fell. To have wasted all
+that thought; for after all it was not the banker!</p>
+<p>Minna, senior, stared in surprise, and her attention
+being diverted, Minna the younger
+seized the opportunity to inundate herself with
+a cup of hot coffee.</p>
+<p>The spell was broken.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m going to take a homestead,&#8221; explained
+Ichabod.</p>
+<p>Hans&#8217;s fork paused in mid-air and his mouth
+forgot to close. At the point where the German
+struck, the earth was very hard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So?&#8221; he interrogated, weakly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p>
+<p>At this juncture the difference between the
+two Minnas, which had been transferred from
+the table to the kitchen, was resumed; and although
+Ichabod ate the remaining kraut to the
+last shred, and Camilla talked to Hans of the
+<i>Vaterland</i> in his native German, each knew
+the occasion was a failure. An ideal had been
+raised, the ideal of a Napoleon of finance, a
+banker; and that ideal materializing, lo there
+stood forth a farmer! <i>Ach Gott von Himmel!</i></p>
+<p>After dinner Hans stood in the doorway and
+pointed out the land-office. Ichabod thanked
+him, and under the impulse of habit felt in his
+pocket for a cigar. None was there, and all at
+once he remembered Ichabod Maurice did not
+smoke. Strange he should have such an abominable
+inclination to do so just then; but nevertheless
+the fact remained. Ichabod Maurice
+never had smoked.</p>
+<p>He started up the street.</p>
+<p>A small man, with very high boots and a very
+long moustache, sat tipped back in the sun in
+front of the land-office. He was telling a story;
+a good one, judging from the attention of the
+row of listeners. He grasped the chair tightly
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span>
+with his left hand while his right, holding a cob
+pipe, gesticulated actively. The story halted
+abruptly as Ichabod came up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Howdy!&#8221; greeted the little man.</p>
+<p>Maurice nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t let me interrupt you,&#8221; he temporized.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not at all,&#8221; courtesied the teller of stories,
+as he led the way inside. &#8220;I&#8217;ve told that one
+until I&#8217;m tired of it, anyway.&#8221; He tapped the
+ashes from his pipe-bowl, meditatively. &#8220;A
+fellow has to kill the time some way, though,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I know,&#8221; acquiesced Ichabod.</p>
+<p>The agent took a chair behind the battered
+pine desk, and pointed to another opposite.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Any way I can help you?&#8221; he suggested.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered Maurice. &#8220;I&#8217;m thinking
+of taking a homestead.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The agent looked his visitor up and down and
+back again; then, being native born, his surprise
+broke forth in idiom.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m jiggered!&#8221; he avowed.</p>
+<p>It was Ichabod&#8217;s turn to make observation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I believe you; you look it,&#8221; he corroborated
+at length.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></p>
+<p>Again the little man stared; and in the silence
+following, a hungry-looking bird-dog thrust his
+thin muzzle in at the door, and sniffed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Get out,&#8221; shouted the owner at the intruder,
+adding in extenuation: &#8220;I&#8217;m busy.&#8221; He certainly
+was &#8220;jiggered.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod came to the rescue.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I called to learn how one goes at it to take
+a claim,&#8221; he explained. &#8220;The <i>modus operandi</i>
+isn&#8217;t exactly clear in my mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The agent braced up in his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you&#8217;ll say it&#8217;s none of my business,&#8221;
+he commented, &#8220;but as a speculation
+you&#8217;d do a lot better to buy up the claims of
+poor cusses who have to relinquish, than to
+settle yourself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not speculating. I expect to build a
+house, and live here.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As a friend, then, let me tell you you&#8217;ll
+never stand it.&#8221; A stubby thumb made motion
+up the narrow street. &#8220;You see this town. I
+won&#8217;t say what it is&ndash;&ndash;you realize for yourself;
+but bad as it is, it&#8217;s advanced civilization alongside
+of the country. You&#8217;ll have to go ten miles
+out to get any land that&#8217;s not taken.&#8221; He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span>
+stopped and lit his pipe. &#8220;Do you know what
+it means to live alone ten miles out on the
+prairie?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve never lived in the country.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you, then, what it means.&#8221; He put
+down his pipe and looked out at the open door.
+His face changed; became softer, milder,
+younger. His voice, when he spoke, added to
+the impression of reminiscence, bearing an almost
+forgotten tone of years ago.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The prairie!&#8221; he apostrophized. &#8220;It
+means the loneliest place on God&#8217;s earth. It
+means that living there, in life you bury yourself,
+your hopes, your ambitions. It means you
+work ever to forget the past&ndash;&ndash;and fail. It
+means self, always; morning, noon, night; until
+the very solitude becomes an incubus. It means
+that in time you die, or, from being a man, become
+as the cattle.&#8221; The speaker turned for
+the first time to the tall man before him, his big
+blue eyes wide open and round, his voice an
+entreaty.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t move into it, man. It&#8217;s death and
+worse than death to such as you! You&#8217;re too
+old to begin. One must be born to the life;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span>
+must never have known another. Don&#8217;t do it,
+I say.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod Maurice, listening, read in that appeal,
+beneath the words, the wild, unsatisfied
+tale of a disappointed human life.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are dissatisfied, lonesome&ndash;&ndash;There
+was a time years ago perhaps&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know.&#8221; The glow had passed and
+the face was old again, and heavy. &#8220;I remember
+nothing. I&#8217;m dead, dead.&#8221; He drew a
+rough map from his pocket and spread it out
+before him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you&#8217;ll move close, please, I&#8217;ll show you
+the open lands.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For an hour he explained homesteads, preemptions
+and tree claims, and the method of
+filing and proving up. At parting, Ichabod
+held out his hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thank you for your advice,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>The man behind the desk puffed stolidly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But don&#8217;t intend to follow it,&#8221; he completed.</p>
+<p>Instinctively, metaphor sprang to the lips of
+Ichabod Maurice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A small speck of circumstance, which is
+near, obliterates much that is in the distance.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span>
+He turned toward the door. &#8220;I shall not be
+alone.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The little agent smoked on in silence for
+some minutes, gazing motionless at the doorway
+through which Ichabod had passed out.
+Again the lean bird-dog thrust in an apologetic
+head, dutifully awaiting recognition. At length
+the man shook his pipe clean, and leaned back
+in soliloquy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Man, woman, human nature; habit, solitude,
+the prairie.&#8221; He spoke each word slowly,
+and with a shake of his head. &#8220;He&#8217;s mad, mad;
+but I pity him&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;a pause&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;for I know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The dog whined an interruption from the
+doorway, and the man looked up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come in, boy,&#8221; he said, in recognition.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter III&ndash;&ndash;The Wonder of Prairie</span></h3>
+<p>Ichabod and Camilla selected their
+claim together. A fair day&#8217;s drive it was
+from the little town; a half-mile from the
+nearest neighbor, a Norwegian, without two-score
+English words in his vocabulary. Level
+it was, as the surface of a lake or the plane of
+a railroad bed.</p>
+<p>Together, too, they chose the spot for their
+home. Camilla sobbed over the word; but she
+was soon dry-eyed and smiling again. Afterwards,
+side by side, they did much journeying
+to and from the nearest sawmill&ndash;&ndash;each trip
+through a day and a night&ndash;&ndash;thirty odd miles
+away. The mill was a small, primitive affair,
+almost lost in the straggling box-elders and soft
+maples that bordered the muddy Missouri, producing,
+amid noisy protestations, the most despisable
+of all lumber on the face of the globe&ndash;&ndash;twisting,
+creeping, crawling cottonwood.</p>
+<p>Having the material on the spot, Ichabod
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
+built the house himself, after a plan never before
+seen of man; joint product of his and
+Camilla&#8217;s brains. It took a month to complete;
+and in the meantime, each night they threw
+their tired bodies on the brown earth, indifferent
+to the thin canvas, which alone was spread
+between them and the stars.</p>
+<p>Too utterly weary for immediate sleep, they
+listened to the sounds of animal life&ndash;&ndash;wholly
+unfamiliar to ears urban trained&ndash;&ndash;as they stood
+out distinct by contrast with a silence otherwise
+absolute as the grave.</p>
+<p>... The sharp bark of the coyote, near or
+far away; soft as an echo, the gently cadenced
+tremolo of the prairie owl. To these, the mere
+opening numbers of the nightly concerts, the
+two exotics would listen wonderingly; then, of a
+sudden, typical, indescribable, lonely as death,
+there would boom the cry which, as often
+as it was repeated, recalled to Ichabod&#8217;s mind
+the words of the little man in the land-office,
+&#8220;loneliest sound on earth&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;the sound which,
+once heard, remains forever vivid&ndash;&ndash;the night
+call of the prairie rooster. Even now, new and
+fascinating as it all was, at the last wailing cry
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span>
+the two occupants of the tent would reach out
+in the darkness until their hands met. Not till
+then would they sleep.</p>
+<p>In May, they finished and moved their few
+belongings into the odd little two-room house.
+True to instinct, Ichabod had built a fireplace,
+though looking in any direction until the earth
+met the sky, not a tree was visible; and Camilla
+had added a cozy reading corner, which soon
+developed into a sleeping corner,&ndash;&ndash;out-of-door
+occupations in sun and wind being insurmountable
+obstacles to mental effort.</p>
+<p>But what matter! One straggling little folio,
+the local newspaper, made its way into the
+corner each week&ndash;&ndash;and that was all. They had
+cut themselves off from the world, deliberately,
+irrevocably. It was but natural that they
+should sleep. All dead things sleep!</p>
+<p>Month after month slipped by, and the first
+ripple of local excitement and curiosity born of
+their advent subsided. Ichabod knew nothing
+of farming, but to learn was simple. It needed
+only that he watch what his neighbors were
+doing, and proceed to do likewise. He learned
+soon to hold a breaking-plough in the tough
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span>
+prairie sod, and to swear mightily when it
+balked at an unusually tough root. As well,
+he came to know the oily feel of flax as he scattered
+it by hand over the brown breaking. Later
+he learned the smell of buckwheat blossoms, and
+the delicate green coloring of sod corn, greener
+by contrast with its dark background.</p>
+<p>Nor was Camilla idle. The dresses she had
+brought with her, dainty creations of foreign
+make, soon gave way to domestic productions
+of gingham and print. In these, the long brown
+hands neatly gloved, she struggled with a tiny
+garden, becoming in ratio as passed the weeks,
+warmer, browner, and healthier.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you happy?&#8221; asked Ichabod, one day,
+observing her thus amid the fruits of her hands.</p>
+<p>Camilla hesitated. Catching her hand,
+Ichabod lifted her chin so that their eyes met.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me, are you happy?&#8221; he repeated.</p>
+<p>Another pause, though her eyes did not
+falter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Happier than I ever thought to be.&#8221; She
+touched his sleeve tenderly. &#8220;But not completely
+so, for&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; she was not looking at him
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span>
+now,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;for I love you, and&ndash;&ndash;and&ndash;&ndash;I&#8217;m a
+woman.&#8221;</p>
+<p>They said no more; and though Ichabod went
+back to his team, it was not to work. For many
+minutes he stood motionless, a new problem of
+right and wrong throbbing in his brain.</p>
+<p>Fall came slowly, bringing the drowsy, hazy
+days of so-called Indian Summer. It was the
+season of threshing, and all day long to the
+drowse of the air was added, near and afar, all-pervading
+through the stillness, the sleepy hum
+of the separator. Typical voice of the prairie
+was that busy drone, penetrating to the ears as
+the ubiquitous odor of the buffalo grass to the
+nostril, again bearing resemblance in that, once
+heard, memory would reproduce the sound
+until recollection was no more.</p>
+<p>Winter followed, and they, who had thought
+the earth quiet before, found it still now indeed.
+Even the voice of the prairie-chicken was
+hushed; only the sharp knife-like cutting of
+spread wings told of a flock&#8217;s passage at night.
+The level country, mottled white with occasional
+drifts, and brown from spots blown bare
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
+by the wind, stretched out seemingly interminable,
+until the line of earth and sky met.</p>
+<p>Idle perforce, the two exotics would stand for
+hours in the sunshine of their open doorway,
+shading their eyes from the glare and looking
+out, out into the distance that was as yet only a
+name&ndash;&ndash;and that the borrowed name of an
+Indian tribe.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What a country!&#8221; Camilla would say,
+struck each time anew with a never-ending
+wonder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, what a country,&#8221; Ichabod would echo,
+unconscious that he had repeated the same
+words in the same way a score of times before.</p>
+<p>In January, a blizzard settled upon them, and
+for two days and nights they took turns keeping
+the big kitchen stove red hot. The West knows
+no such storms, now. Man has not only changed
+the face of the earth, but, in so doing, has annihilated
+that terror of the past&ndash;&ndash;the Dakota
+blizzard.</p>
+<p>In those days, though, it was very real, as
+Ichabod learned. He had prepared for winter,
+by hauling a huge pile of cordwood and stacking
+it, as a protection to windward, the full length
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span>
+of the little cabin, thinking the spot always accessible;
+but he had builded in ignorance.</p>
+<p>The snow first commenced falling in the
+afternoon. By the next morning the tiny house
+was buried to the window sashes. Looking out,
+there could be seen but an indistinct slanting
+white wall, scarcely ten feet away: a screen
+through which the sunlight filtered dimly, like
+the solemn haze of a church. The earth was not
+silent, now. The falling of the sleet and snow
+was as the striking of fine shot, and the sound
+of the wind a steady unceasing moan, resembling
+the sigh of a big dynamo at a distance.</p>
+<p>Slowly, inch by inch, during that day the
+snow crept up the window panes until, before
+the coming of darkness without, it fell within.
+Banked though they were on three sides, on the
+fourth side, unprotected, the cold penetrated
+bitterly,&ndash;&ndash;a cold no living thing could withstand
+without shelter. Then it was that
+Ichabod and Camilla feared to sleep, and
+that the long vigil began.</p>
+<p>By the next morning there was no light from
+the windows. The snow had drifted level with
+the eaves. Ichabod stood in the narrow window
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span>
+frame, and, lowering the glass from the top,
+beat a hole upward with a pole to admit air.
+Through the tunnel thus formed there filtered
+the dull gray light of day: and at its end, obstructing,
+there stood revealed a slanting drab
+wall,&ndash;&ndash;a condensed milky way.</p>
+<p>The storm was yet on, and he closed the
+window. To get outside for fuel that day was
+impossible, so with an axe Ichabod chopped a
+hole through the wall into the big pile, and on
+wood thus secured sawed steadily in the tiny
+kitchen, while the kerosene lamp at his side
+sputtered, and the fire crackled in a silence, like
+that surrounding a hunted animal in its den.</p>
+<p>Many usual events had occurred in the lives
+of the wandering Ichabod and Camilla, which
+had been forgotten; but the memory of that
+day, the overwhelming, incontestible knowledge
+of the impotency of wee, restless, inconsequent
+man, they were never to forget.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tiny, tiny, mortal!&#8221; laughed the storm.
+&#8220;To think you would combat Nature, would
+defy her, the power of which I am but one of
+many, many manifestations!&#8221; And it laughed
+again. The two prisoners, listening, their ears
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span>
+to the tunnel, heard the sound, and felt to the
+full its biting mockery.</p>
+<p>Next day the siege was raised, and the sun
+smiled as only the sun can smile upon miles and
+miles of dazzling snow crystals. Ichabod
+climbed out&ndash;&ndash;by way of the window route&ndash;&ndash;and
+worked for hours with a shovel before he
+had a channel from the tiny, submerged shanty
+to the light of day beyond. Then together he
+and Camilla stood side by side in the doorway,
+as they had done so many times before, looking
+about them at the boundless prairie, drifted in
+waves of snow like the sea: the wonder of it all,
+ever new, creeping over them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What a country!&#8221; voiced Camilla.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What a country, indeed,&#8221; echoed Ichabod.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lonely and mysterious as Death.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, as Death or&ndash;&ndash;Life.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter IV&ndash;&ndash;A Revelation</span></h3>
+<p>Time, unchanging automaton, moved on
+until late spring. Paradox of nature, the
+warm brown tints of chilly days gave place
+under the heat of slanting suns to the cool green
+of summer. All at once, sudden as though
+autochthonal, there appeared meadow-larks and
+blackbirds: dead weeds or man-erected posts
+serving in lieu of trees as vantage points from
+which to sing. Ground squirrels whistled cheerily
+from newly broken fields and roadways.
+Coveys of quail, tame as barn-yard fowls,
+played about the beaten paths, and ran pattering
+in the dust ahead of each passing team.
+Again, from its winter&#8217;s rest, lonely, uncertain
+as to distance, came the low, booming call of the
+prairie rooster. Nature had awakened, and the
+joy of that awakening was upon the land.</p>
+<p>Of a morning in May the faded, dust-covered
+day-coach drew in at the tiny prairie village. A
+little man alighted. He stood a moment on the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
+platform, his hands deep in his pockets, a big
+black cigar between his teeth, and looked out
+over the town. The coloring of the short straggling
+street was more weather-stained than
+a year ago, yet still very new, and the newcomer
+smiled as he looked; a big broad smile that
+played about his lips, turning up the corners of
+his brown moustache, showing a flash of white
+teeth, and lighting a pair of big blue eyes which
+lay, like a woman&#8217;s, beneath heavy lashes. In
+youth, that smile would have been a grin; but
+it was no grin now. The man was far from
+youth, and about the mouth and eyes were deep
+lines, which told of one who knew of the world.</p>
+<p>Slowly the smile disappeared, and as it faded
+the little man puffed harder at the cigar. Evidently
+something he particularly wished to
+explain would not become clear to his mind.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of all places,&#8221; he soliloquized, &#8220;to have
+chosen&ndash;&ndash;this!&#8221;</p>
+<p>He started up the street, over the irregular
+warping sidewalk.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hotel, sir-r?&#8221; The formula was American,
+the trilling r&#8217;s distinctly German.</p>
+<p>The traveller turned at the sound, to make
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span>
+acquaintance with Hans Becher; for it was
+Hans Becher, very much metamorphosed from
+the retiring German of a year ago. He made
+the train regularly now.</p>
+<p>The small man nodded and held out his grip;
+together they walked up the street. In front
+of the hotel they stopped, and the stranger
+pulled out his watch.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is there a livery here?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes; at the street end&ndash;&ndash;the side to the left
+hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks. I&#8217;ll be back with you this
+evening.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Hans Becher stared, open-mouthed, as the
+man moved off.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will not to dinner return?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The little man stopped, and smiled without
+apparent reason.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. Keep the grip. I expect to lunch,&#8221;
+again he smiled without provocation, &#8220;elsewhere.
+By the way,&#8221; he added, as an afterthought,
+&#8220;can you tell me where Mr. Maurice&ndash;&ndash;Ichabod
+Maurice&ndash;&ndash;lives?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The German nodded violent confirmation of
+a direction indicated by his free hand.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Straight out, eight miles. Little house with
+<i>paint</i>&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;strong emphasis on the last&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;<i>white</i>
+paint.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Hans saw the escape of an opportunity.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They are friends of yours, perhaps?&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he
+grasped at it.</p>
+<p>The little man did not turn, but the smile that
+seemed almost a habit, sprang to his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, they&#8217;re&ndash;&ndash;friends of mine,&#8221; he corroborated.</p>
+<p>Hans, personification of knowledge, stood
+bobbing on the doorstep, until the trail of smoke
+vanished from sight, then brought the satchel
+inside and set it down hard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Her brother has come,&#8221; he announced to
+the wide-eyed Minna.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Wessen Bruder?</i>&#8221; Minna was obviously
+excited, as attested by the lapse from English.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are we not now Americans naturalized?&#8221;
+rebuked Hans, icily. Suddenly he thawed.
+&#8220;Whose brother! The brother of Camilla
+Maurice, to be sure.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Minna scrutinized the bag, curiously.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Did he so&ndash;&ndash;inform you?&#8221; she questioned
+unadvisedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was not necessary. I have eyes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Offended masculine dignity clumped noisily
+toward the door; instinctive feminine diplomacy
+sprang to the rescue.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are so wise, Hans!&#8221;</p>
+<p>And Peace, sweet Peace, returned to the
+household of Becher.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the little man had secured a
+buggy, and was jogging out into the country.
+He drove very leisurely, looking about him curiously.
+Of a sudden he threw down his cigar,
+and sniffed at the air.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Buffalo grass, I&#8217;ll wager! I&#8217;ve heard of
+it,&#8221; and in the instinctive action of every newcomer
+he sniffed again.</p>
+<p>Camilla Maurice sat in front of her tiny
+house, the late morning sun warm about her;
+one hand supported a book, slanted carefully to
+avoid the light, the other held the crank of a
+barrel-churn. As she read, she turned steadily,
+the monotonous <i>chug!</i> <i>chug!</i> of the tumbling
+cream drowning all other sounds.</p>
+<p>Suddenly the shadow of a horse passed her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span>
+and a rough livery buggy stopped at her side.
+She looked up. Instinctively her hand dropped
+the crank, and her face turned white; then
+equally involuntarily she returned to her work,
+and the <i>chug!</i> <i>chug!</i> continued.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Does Ichabod Maurice,&#8221; drawling emphasis
+on the name, &#8220;live here?&#8221; asked a voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He does.&#8221; Camilla&#8217;s chin was trembling;
+her answer halted abruptly.</p>
+<p>The man looked down at her, genuine amusement
+depicted upon his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t you please stop your work for a
+moment, Camilla?&#8221;</p>
+<p>With the name, one hand made swift movement
+of deprecation. &#8220;Pardon if I mistake,
+but I take it you&#8217;re Camilla Maurice?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;m Camilla Maurice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Quite so! You see, Ichabod and I were old
+chums together in college&ndash;&ndash;all that sort of
+thing; consequently I&#8217;ve always wanted to
+meet&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman stood up. Her face still was
+very white, but her chin did not tremble now.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s stop this farce,&#8221; she insisted. &#8220;What
+is it you wish?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p>
+<p>The man in the buggy again made a motion
+of deprecation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was just about to say, that happening to
+be in town, and incidentally hearing the name,
+I wondered if it were possible.... But,
+pardon, I haven&#8217;t introduced myself. Allow
+me&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; and he bowed elaborately. &#8220;Arnold,
+Asa Arnold.... You&#8217;ve heard Ichabod
+mention my name, perhaps?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman held up her hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Again I ask, what do you wish?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Since you insist, first of all I&#8217;d like to
+speak a moment with Ichabod.&#8221; His face
+changed suddenly. &#8220;For Heaven&#8217;s sake,
+Eleanor, if he must alter his name, why did he
+choose such a barbaric substitute as Ichabod?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Were he here&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;evenly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;he&#8217;d doubtless
+explain that himself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s not here, then?&#8221; No banter in the
+voice now.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Never fear&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;quickly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;he&#8217;ll return.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A moment they looked into each other&#8217;s eyes;
+challengingly, as they had looked unnumbered
+times before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;As you suggest, Eleanor,&#8221; said the man,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span>
+slowly, &#8220;this farce has gone far enough. Where
+may I tie this horse? I wish to speak with
+you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Camilla pointed to a post, and silently went
+toward the house. Soon the man followed her,
+stopping a moment to take a final puff at his
+cigar before throwing it away.</p>
+<p>Within the tiny kitchen they sat opposite,
+a narrow band of warm spring sunshine creeping
+in at the open door separating them. The
+woman looked out over the broad prairie, her
+color a trifle higher than usual, the lids of her
+eyes a shade nearer together&ndash;&ndash;that was all.
+The man crossed his legs and waited, looking so
+small that he seemed almost boyish. In the silence,
+the drone of feeding poultry came from
+the back-yard, and the sleepy breathing of the
+big collie on the steps sounded plainly through
+the room.</p>
+<p>A minute passed. Neither spoke. Then,
+with a shade of annoyance, the man shifted in
+his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought, perhaps, you&#8217;d have something
+you wished to say. If not, however&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He
+paused meaningly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You said a moment ago, you wished to
+speak to <i>me</i>.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As usual, you make everything as difficult
+as possible.&#8221; The shade of annoyance became
+positive. &#8220;Such being the case, we may as well
+come to the point. How soon do you contemplate
+bringing this&ndash;&ndash;this incident to a close?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The answer to that question concerns me
+alone.&#8221;</p>
+<p>An ordinary man would have laughed; but
+Asa Arnold was not an ordinary man&ndash;&ndash;not at
+this time.</p>
+<p>&#8220;As your husband, I can&#8217;t agree with you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Camilla Maurice took up his words, quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mistake. You&#8217;re the husband of
+Eleanor Owen. I&#8217;m not she.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man went on calmly, as though there had
+been no interruption.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to be hard on you, Eleanor.
+I don&#8217;t think I have been hard on you. A year
+has passed, and I&#8217;ve known you were here from
+the first day. But this sort of thing can&#8217;t go
+on indefinitely; there&#8217;s a limit, even to good
+nature. I ask you again, when are you coming
+back?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p>
+<p>The woman looked at her companion, for the
+first time steadily. Even she, who knew him so
+well, felt a shade of wonder at the man who
+could adjust all the affairs of his life in the
+same voice with which he ordered his dinner.
+Before, she had always thought this attitude of
+his pure affectation. Now she knew better,
+knew it mirrored the man himself. He had
+done this thing. Knowing her whereabouts all
+the time, he had allotted her the past year, as an
+employer would grant a holiday to an assistant.
+Now he asked her to return to the old life, as
+calmly as one returns in the fall to the city home
+after an outing! Only one man in the world
+could have done that thing, and that man
+was before her&ndash;&ndash;her husband by law&ndash;&ndash;Asa
+Arnold!</p>
+<p>The wonder of it all crept into her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not coming back, can&#8217;t you understand?
+I&#8217;m never coming back,&#8221; she repeated.</p>
+<p>The man arose and stood in the doorway.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t say that,&#8221; he said very quietly. &#8220;Not
+yet. I won&#8217;t begin, now, after all these years
+to make protestations of love. The thing
+called Love we&#8217;ve discussed too often already,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span>
+and without result. Anyway, that&#8217;s not the
+point. We never pretended to be lovers, even
+when we were married. We were simply useful,
+very useful to each other.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Camilla started to interrupt him, but, preventing,
+he held up his hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We talked over a certain possibility&ndash;&ndash;one
+now a reality&ndash;&ndash;before we were married.&#8221; He
+caught the look upon her face. &#8220;I don&#8217;t say it
+was ideal. It simply <i>was</i>,&#8221; he digressed slowly
+in answer, then hurried on: &#8220;That was only
+five years ago, Eleanor, and we were far from
+young.&#8221; He looked at her, searchingly.
+&#8220;You&#8217;ve not forgotten the contract we drew
+up, that stood above the marriage obligation,
+above everything, supreme law for you and
+me?&#8221; Instinctively his hand went to an inner
+pocket, where the rustle of a paper answered
+his touch. &#8220;Remember; it&#8217;s not a favor I ask of
+you, but the fulfilment of your own word.
+Think a moment before you say you&#8217;ll never
+return.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Camilla Maurice found an answer very
+difficult. Had he been angry, or abusive, it
+would have been easy; but as it was&ndash;&ndash;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You overlook the fact of change. A lifetime
+isn&#8217;t required for that.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I overlook nothing.&#8221; The man went back
+to his chair. &#8220;You remember, as well as I, that
+we considered the problem of change&ndash;&ndash;and
+laughed at it. I repeat, we&#8217;re no longer in
+swaddling clothes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Be that as it may, I tell you the whole
+world looks different to me now.&#8221; The speaker
+struggled bravely, but the ghastliness of such a
+discussion wore on her nerves, and her face
+twitched. &#8220;No power on earth could make me
+keep that contract since I&#8217;ve changed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The suggestion of a smile played about the
+man&#8217;s mouth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve succeeded, perhaps, in finding that
+for which we searched so long in vain, an
+&aelig;sthetic, non-corporeal love?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I refuse to answer a question which was
+intended as an insult.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The words out of her mouth, the woman
+regretted them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Though quick yourself to take offence, you
+seem at no great pains to avoid giving affront
+to another.&#8221; The man voiced the reprimand
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span>
+without the twitch of an eyelid, and finished
+with another question: &#8220;Have you any reason
+for doing as you&#8217;ve done, other than the one
+you gave?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Reason! Reason!&#8221; Camilla Maurice stared
+again. &#8220;Isn&#8217;t it reason enough that I love him,
+and don&#8217;t love you? Isn&#8217;t it sufficient reason
+to one who has lived until middle life in darkness
+that a ray of light is in sight? Of all
+people in the world, you&#8217;re the one who should
+understand the reason best!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would any of those arguments be sufficient
+to break another contract?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, but one I didn&#8217;t mention would. Even
+when I lived with you, I was of no more importance
+than a half-dozen other women.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You didn&#8217;t protest at time of the agreement.
+You knew then my belief and,&#8221; Arnold
+paused meaningly, &#8220;your own.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A memory of the past came to the woman;
+the dark, lonely past, which, even yet, after so
+many years, came to her like a nightmare; the
+time when she was a stranger in a strange town,
+without joy of past or hope of future; most
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
+lonely being on God&#8217;s earth, a woman with an
+ambition&ndash;&ndash;and without friends.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was mad&ndash;&ndash;I see it now&ndash;&ndash;lonely mad. I
+met you. Our work was alike, and we were
+very useful to each other.&#8221; One white hand
+made motion of repugnance at the thought. &#8220;I
+was mad, I say.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that your excuse for ignoring a solemn
+obligation?&#8221; Arnold looked her through. &#8220;Is
+that your excuse for leaving me for another,
+without a word of explanation, or even the conventional
+form of a divorce?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was just that explanation&ndash;&ndash;this&ndash;&ndash;I
+wished to avoid. It&#8217;s hard for us both, and
+useless.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Useless!&#8221; The man quickly picked up the
+word. &#8220;Useless! I don&#8217;t like the suggestion
+of that word. It hints of death, and old age,
+and hateful things. It has no place with the
+living.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He drew a paper from his pocket, slowly, and
+spread it on his knee.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me for again recalling past history,
+Eleanor; but to use a word that is dead!...
+You must have forgotten&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; The writing, a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span>
+dainty, feminine hand, was turned toward her,
+tauntingly, compellingly.</p>
+<p>The man waited for some response; but
+Camilla Maurice was silent. That bit of paper,
+the shadow of a seemingly impossible past,
+made her, for the time, question her identity,
+almost doubt it.</p>
+<p>Five years ago, almost to the day, high up
+in a city building, in a dainty little room, half
+office, half <i>atelier</i>, a man and a woman had
+copied an agreement, each for the other, and
+had sworn an oath ever to remain true to that
+solemn bond.... She had brought nothing
+to him, but herself; not even affection. He,
+on the other hand, had saved her from a life of
+drudgery by elevating her to a position where,
+free of the necessity of struggling for a bare
+existence, she might hope to consummate the
+fruition of at least a part of her dreams. On
+her part....</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Witnesseth: The said Eleanor Owen is at
+liberty to follow her own inclinations as she may
+see fit; she is to remain free of any and all responsibilities
+and restrictions such as customarily
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
+attach to the supervision of a household,
+excepting as she may elect to exercise her wifely
+prerogatives; being absolutely free to pursue
+whatsoever occupation or devices she may desire
+or choose, the same as if she were yet a
+spinster....</i></p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>In Consideration of Which: The said Eleanor
+Owen agrees never so to comport herself
+that by word or conduct will she bring ridicule....
+dishonor upon the name....</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>Recollection of it all came to her with a rush;
+but the words ran together and swam in a maddening
+blur&ndash;&ndash;the roar from the street below,
+dull with distance; the hum of the big building,
+with its faint concussions of closing doors; the
+air from the open window, not like the sweet
+prairie air of to-day, but heavy, smoky, typical
+breath of the town, yet pregnant with the indescribable
+throb of spring, impossible to efface
+or to disguise! The compelling intimacy and
+irrevocability of that memory overwhelmed her,
+now; a dark, evil flood that blotted out the sunshine
+of the present.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></p>
+<p>The paper rustled, as the man smoothed it
+flat with his hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Shall I read?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>The woman&#8217;s face stood clear&ndash;&ndash;cruelly clear&ndash;&ndash;in
+the sunlight; about her mouth and eyes
+there was an expression which, from repetition,
+we have learned to associate with the circle surrounding
+a new-made grave: an expression
+hopelessly desperate, desperately hopeless.</p>
+<p>Of a sudden her chin trembled and her face
+dropped into her hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Read, if you wish&#8221;; and the smooth brown
+head, with its thread of gray, trembled uncontrollably.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Eleanor!&#8221; with a sudden vibration of tenderness
+in his voice. &#8220;Eleanor,&#8221; he repeated.</p>
+<p>But the woman made no response.</p>
+<p>The man had taken a step forward; now he
+sat down again, looking through the open doorway
+at the stretch of green prairie, with the
+road, a narrow ribbon of brown, dividing it fair
+in the middle. In the distance a farmer&#8217;s
+wagon was rumbling toward town, a trail of
+fine dust, like smoke, suspended in the air
+behind. It rattled past, and the big collie on
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span>
+the step woke to give furious chase in its wake,
+then returned slowly, a little conscious under the
+stranger&#8217;s eye, to sleep as before. Asa Arnold
+sat through it all, still as one devitalized; an
+expression on his face no man had ever seen
+before; one hopeless, lonely, akin to that of the
+woman.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Read, if you wish,&#8221; repeated Camilla,
+bitterly.</p>
+<p>For a long minute her companion made no
+motion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s unnecessary,&#8221; he intoned at last. &#8220;You
+know as well as I that neither of us will ever
+forget one word it contains.&#8221; He hesitated and
+his voice grew gentle. &#8220;Eleanor, you know I
+didn&#8217;t come here to insult you, or to hurt you
+needlessly;&ndash;&ndash;but I&#8217;m human. You seem to
+forget this. You brand me less than a man, and
+then ask of me the unselfishness of a God!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Camilla&#8217;s white face lifted from her hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I ask nothing except that you leave me
+alone.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For the first time the little man showed his
+teeth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;At last you mention the point I came here
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span>
+to arrange. Were you alone, rest assured I
+shouldn&#8217;t trouble you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I mean just this. I wouldn&#8217;t be human if I
+did what you ask&ndash;&ndash;if I condoned what you&#8217;ve
+done and are still doing.&#8221; He was fairly started
+now, and words came crowding each other; reproachful,
+tempestuous.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Didn&#8217;t you ever stop to think of the past&ndash;&ndash;think
+what you&#8217;ve done, Eleanor?&#8221; He
+paused without giving her an opportunity to
+answer. &#8220;Let me tell you, then. You&#8217;ve
+broken every manner of faith between man and
+woman. If you believe in God, you&#8217;ve broken
+faith with Him as well. Don&#8217;t think for a
+moment I ever had respect for marriage as a
+divine institution, but I did have respect for
+you, and at your wish we conformed. You&#8217;re
+my wife now, by your own choosing. Don&#8217;t
+interrupt me, please. I repeat, God has no
+more to do with ceremonial marriage now than
+he had at the time of the Old Testament and
+polygamy. It&#8217;s a man-made bond, but an
+obligation nevertheless, and as such, at the
+foundation of all good faith between man and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span>
+woman. It&#8217;s this good faith you&#8217;ve broken.&#8221;
+A look of bitterness flashed over his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Still, I could excuse this and release you at
+the asking, remaining your friend, your best
+friend as before; but to be thrown aside without
+even a &#8216;by your leave,&#8217; and that for another
+man&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He hesitated and finished slowly:</p>
+<p>&#8220;You know me well enough, Eleanor, to
+realize that I&#8217;m in earnest when I say that while
+I live the man has yet to be born who can take
+something of mine away from me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Camilla gestured passionately.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In other words: while growling hard at the
+dog who approached your bone, you have no
+hesitation in stealing from another!&#8221; The accumulated
+bitterness of years of repression
+spoke in the taunt.</p>
+<p>Across the little man&#8217;s face there fell an impenetrable
+mask, like the armor which dropped
+about an ancient ship of war before the shock
+of battle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not on trial. I&#8217;ve not changed my
+name&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he nodded significantly toward the
+view beyond the open door,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;and sought seclusion.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p>
+<p>Again the bitterness of memory prompted
+Camilla to speak the harshest words of her life.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, you hadn&#8217;t the decency. It was more
+pleasure to thrust your shame daily in my face.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Arnold&#8217;s color paled above the dark beard
+line; but the woman took no heed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why did you wait a year,&#8221; continued the
+bitter voice, &#8220;to end in&ndash;&ndash;this? If it must
+have been&ndash;&ndash;why not before?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I repeat, I&#8217;m not on trial. If you&#8217;ve anything
+to say, I&#8217;ll listen.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Something new in the man&#8217;s face caught Camilla&#8217;s
+attention, softened the tone of her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve only this to say. You&#8217;ve asked for an
+explanation and a promise; but I can give you
+neither. If there ever comes a time when I feel
+they&#8217;re due you, and I&#8217;m able to comply, I&#8217;ll
+give them both gladly.&#8221; The absent look of the
+past returned to her eyes. &#8220;Even if I wished,
+I couldn&#8217;t give you an explanation now. I can&#8217;t
+make myself understand the contradiction.
+Somehow, knowing you so long, your beliefs
+crept insistently into my loneliness. It seems
+hideous now, but I was honest then. I believed
+them, too. I don&#8217;t blame you; I only pity you.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
+You were the embodiment of protest against the
+established, of the non-responsibility of the individual,
+of skepticism in everything. Your eternal
+&#8216;why&#8217; covered my horizon. Every familiar
+thing came to bear a question I couldn&#8217;t answer.
+My whole life seemed one eternal doubt. One
+thing I&#8217;d never known, and I questioned it most
+of all; the one thing I know now to be the truth,&ndash;&ndash;the
+greatest truth in the world.&#8221; For an instant
+the present crowded the past from Camilla&#8217;s
+mind, but only for an instant. &#8220;Whatever I
+was at the time, you&#8217;d made me&ndash;&ndash;with your
+deathless &#8216;why.&#8217; When I signed the obligation
+of that day, I believed it was of my own free
+will; but I know now it was you who wrote it
+for both of us&ndash;&ndash;you, with your perpetual interrogation.
+I don&#8217;t accuse you of doing this
+deliberately, maliciously. We were both deceived;
+but none the less the fact remains.&#8221; A
+shadow, almost of horror, passed over her face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Time passed, and though you didn&#8217;t know,
+I was in Hell. Reason told me I was right. Instinct,
+something, called me a drag. I tried to
+compromise, and we were married. Then, for
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
+the first time, came realization. We were the
+best of friends,&ndash;&ndash;but only friends.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You wonder how I knew. I didn&#8217;t tell you
+then. I couldn&#8217;t. I could only feel, and that
+not clearly. The shadow of your &#8216;why&#8217; was
+still dark upon me. What I vaguely felt then,
+though, I know now; as I recognize light or cold
+or pain.&#8221; Her voice assumed the tone of one who
+speaks of mysteries; slow, vibrant. &#8220;In every
+woman&#8217;s mind the maternal instinct should be
+uppermost; before everything, before God,&ndash;&ndash;unashamed,
+inevitable. It&#8217;s unmistakably the
+distinction of a good woman from a bad. The
+choosing of the father of her child is a woman&#8217;s
+unfailing test of love.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The face of the man before her dropped into
+his hands, but she did not notice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gropingly I felt this, and the knowledge
+came almost as an inspiration. It gave a clue
+to&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop!&#8221; The man&#8217;s eyes blazed, as he
+leaped from his chair. &#8220;Stop!&#8221;</p>
+<p>He took a step forward, his hand before him,
+his face twitching uncontrollably. The collie
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span>
+on the step awoke, and seeing his mistress
+threatened, growled ominously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop, I tell you!&#8221; Arnold choked for
+words. This the man of &#8220;why,&#8221; whom nothing
+before could shake!</p>
+<p>Camilla paled as her companion arose, and
+the dog, bristling, came inside the room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Get out!&#8221; blazed the man, with a threatening
+step, and the collie fled.</p>
+<p>The interruption loosed words which came
+tumbling forth in a torrent, as Arnold returned
+to face her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You think I&#8217;m human, and yet tell me that
+to my face?&#8221; His voice was terrible. &#8220;You
+women brand men cruel! No man on earth
+would speak as you have spoken to a woman
+he&#8217;d lived with for four years!&#8221; The sentences
+crowded over each other, like water over a fall&ndash;&ndash;his
+eyes flashing like a spray.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I told you before, I&#8217;m not on trial; that it
+was not my place to defend. I don&#8217;t do so now;
+but since you&#8217;ve spoken, I&#8217;ll answer your question.
+You ask why I didn&#8217;t come a year ago,
+hinting that I wanted to be more cruel. God!
+the blindness and injustice of you women! Because
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span>
+we men don&#8217;t show&ndash;&ndash;Bah!... I
+was paying my own price. We weren&#8217;t living
+by the marriage vow; it was but a farce. Our
+own contract was the vital thing, and it had said&ndash;&ndash;But
+I won&#8217;t repeat. God, it was bitter! But
+I thought you&#8217;d come back. I loved you still.&#8221;
+He paused for words, breathing hard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You say, I&#8217;ll never know what love is.
+Blind! I&#8217;ve always loved you until this moment,
+when you killed my love. You say I was
+untrue. It&#8217;s false. I swear it before&ndash;&ndash;you, as
+you were once,&ndash;&ndash;when you were my god. Had
+you trusted me, as I trusted you, there&#8217;d have
+been no thought of unfaithfulness in your
+mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The woman sank back in the chair, her face
+covered, her whole body trembling; but Asa
+Arnold went on like the storm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I was ever true to you. From the first
+moment we met, and against my own beliefs.
+You didn&#8217;t see. You expected me to protest it
+daily: to repeat the tale as a child repeats its
+lesson for a comfit. Blind, I say, blind! You&#8217;ll
+charge that I never told you that I loved you.
+You wouldn&#8217;t have believed me, even had I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span>
+done so. Besides, I didn&#8217;t realize that you
+doubted, until the time when you were learning&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;
+he walked jerkily across the room and
+took up his hat,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;learning the thing you
+threw in my face.&#8221; He started to leave, but
+stopped in the doorway, without looking back.
+&#8220;You tell me you&#8217;ve suffered. For the first
+time in my life I say to another human being:
+I hope so.&#8221; He turned, unsteadily, down the
+steps.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait,&#8221; pleaded the woman. &#8220;Wait!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man did not stop, or turn.</p>
+<p>Camilla Maurice sank back in the chair, weak
+as one sick unto death, her mind a throbbing,
+whirling chaos,&ndash;&ndash;as of a patient under an
+an&aelig;sthetic. Something she knew she ought to
+do, intended doing, and could not. She groped
+desperately, but overwhelming, insistent, there
+had developed in her a sudden, preventing tumult&ndash;&ndash;in
+paradox, a confusion in rhythm&ndash;&ndash;like
+the beating of a great hammer on an anvil,
+only incredibly more swift than blows from human
+hands. Over and over again she repeated
+to herself the one word: &#8220;wait,&#8221; &#8220;wait,&#8221;
+&#8220;wait,&#8221; but mechanically now, without thought
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span>
+as to the reason. Then, all at once, soft, all-enfolding,
+kindly Nature wrapped her in
+darkness.</p>
+<p>She awoke with the big collie licking her
+hand, and a numbness of cramped limbs that
+was positive pain. A long-necked pullet was
+standing in the doorway, with her mouth open;
+others stood wondering, beyond. The sun had
+moved until it no longer shone in at the tiny
+south windows, and the shadow of the house had
+begun to lengthen.</p>
+<p>Camilla stood up in the doorway; uncertain,
+dazed. A great lump was on her forehead,
+which she stroked absently, without surprise at
+its presence. She looked about the yard, and, her
+breath coming more quickly, at the prairie. A
+broad green plain, parted by the road squarely
+in the centre, smiled at her in the sunlight.
+That was all. She stepped outside and shaded
+her eyes with her hand. Not a wagon nor a
+human being was in sight.</p>
+<p>Again the weakness and the blackness came
+stealing over her; she sank down on the doorstep.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;O God, what have I done!&#8221; she wailed.</p>
+<p>The hens returned to their search for bugs;
+but the big collie stayed by her side, whimpering
+and fondling her hand.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter V&ndash;&ndash;The Dominance of the Evolved</span></h3>
+<p>The keen joy of life was warmly flooding
+Ichabod Maurice this spring day. Not
+life for the sake of an ambition or a duty, but
+delight in the mere animal pleasure of existence.
+He had risen early, and, a neighbor with him,
+they had driven forth: stars all about, perpendicular,
+horizontal, save in the reddening east,
+upon their long day&#8217;s drive to the sawmill. The
+two teams plodded along steadily, their footfall
+muffled in the soft prairie loam; the earth elsewhere
+soundless, with a silence which even yet
+was a marvel to the city man.</p>
+<p>The majesty of it held him silent until day
+dawned, and with the coming of the sun there
+woke in unison the chorus of joyous animal life.
+Then Ichabod, his long legs dangling over the
+dashboard, lifted up a voice untrained as the
+note of a loon, and sang lustily, until his companion
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span>
+on the wagon ahead,&ndash;&ndash;boy-faced, man-bodied,&ndash;&ndash;grinned
+perilously.</p>
+<p>The long-visaged man was near happiness
+that morning,&ndash;&ndash;unbelievably near. By nature
+unsocial, by habit, city inbred, artificially taciturn,
+there came with the primitive happiness of
+the moment the concomitant primitive desire for
+companionship. He smiled self-tolerantly
+when, obeying an instinct, he wound the lines
+around the seat, and went ahead to the man,
+who grinned companionably as he made room
+beside him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;God&#8217;s country, this.&#8221; Ichabod&#8217;s hand made
+an all-including gesture, as he seated himself
+comfortably, his hat low over his eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; and the grin was repeated.</p>
+<p>The tall man reflected. Sunburned, roughly
+dressed, unshaven as he, Maurice, was, this boy-man
+never failed the word of respect. Ichabod
+examined him curiously out of his shaded lids.
+Big brown hands; body strong as a bull; powerful
+shoulders; neck turned like a model; a soft
+chin under a soft, light beard; gentle blue eyes&ndash;&ndash;all
+in all, a face so open that its very legibility
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span>
+seemed a mark. It reddened now, under
+the scrutiny.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon,&#8221; said Ichabod. &#8220;I was thinking
+how happy you are.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221; And the face reddened again.</p>
+<p>Ichabod smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;When is it to be, Ole?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The big body wriggled in blissful embarrassment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;As soon as the house is built,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;confusedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re building very fast, eh?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Swede grinned confirmation. Words
+were of value to Ole.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see the question was superfluous,&#8221; and
+Ichabod likewise smiled in genial comradery. A
+moment later, however, the smile vanished.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re very content as it is, Ole,&#8221; he
+digressed, equivocally; &#8220;but&ndash;&ndash;supposing&ndash;&ndash;Minna
+were already the wife of a friend?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Swede stared in breathless astonishment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She isn&#8217;t, though&#8221; he gasped at length in
+startled protest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But supposing&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It would be so. I couldn&#8217;t help it.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;d do nothing?&#8221; rank anarchy in the
+suggestion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What would there be to do?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod temporized.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Supposing again, she loved you, and didn&#8217;t
+love her husband?&#8221; Ole scratched his head, seeing
+very devious passages beyond. &#8220;That
+would be different,&#8221; and he crossed his legs.</p>
+<p>Ichabod smiled. The world over, human nature
+is fashioned from one mould.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Supposing, once more, it&#8217;s a year from now,&ndash;&ndash;five
+years from now. You&#8217;ve married
+Minna, but you&#8217;re not happy. She&#8217;s grown to
+hate you,&ndash;&ndash;to love another man?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ole&#8217;s faith was beautiful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not to be thought of. It&#8217;s impossible!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But supposing,&#8221; urged Ichabod.</p>
+<p>The boy-man was silent for a very long minute;
+then his face darkened, and the soft jaw
+grew hard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he said slowly,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;I don&#8217;t
+know, but I think I kill that man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod did not smile this time.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re all much alike, Ole. I think you
+would.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></p>
+<p>They drove on; far past the town, now; the
+sun high in the sky; dew sparkling like prisms
+innumerable; the prairie colorings soft as a
+rug&ndash;&ndash;its varied greens of groundwork blending
+with the narrow line of fresh breaking rolling
+at their feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You were born in this country?&#8221; asked
+Ichabod suddenly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In Iowa. It&#8217;s much like this&ndash;&ndash;only
+rougher.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll live here, always?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Swede shook his head and the boy&#8217;s
+face grew older.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No; some day, we&#8217;re going to the city&ndash;&ndash;Minna
+and I. We&#8217;ve planned.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod was thoughtful a minute.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m a friend of yours, Ole.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A very good friend,&#8221; repeated the mystified
+Swede.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then, listen, and don&#8217;t forget.&#8221; The voice
+was vibrant, low, but the boy heard it clearly
+above the noise of the wagon. &#8220;Don&#8217;t do it,
+Ole; in God&#8217;s name, don&#8217;t do it! Stay here,
+you&#8217;ll be happy.&#8221; He looked the open-mouthed
+listener deep in the eyes. &#8220;If you ever say a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span>
+prayer, let it be the old one, even though it be an
+insult to a just God:&ndash;&ndash;&#8216;Lead us not into temptation.&#8217;
+Avoid, as you would avoid death, the
+love of money, the fever of unrest, the desire to
+become greater than your fellows, the thirst to
+know and to taste all things, which is the spirit
+of the city. Live close to Nature, where all is
+equal and all is good; where sleep comes in the
+time of sleep, and work when it is day. Do that
+labor which comes to you at the moment, leaving
+to-morrow to Nature.&#8221; He crossed his long legs,
+and pressed his hat down over his eyes. &#8220;Accept
+life as Nature gives it, day by day. Don&#8217;t
+question, and you&#8217;ll find it good.&#8221; He repeated
+himself slowly. &#8220;That&#8217;s the secret. Don&#8217;t
+doubt, or question anything.&#8221;</p>
+<p>In the Swede&#8217;s throat there was a rattling,
+which presaged speech, but it died away.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you love children, Ole?&#8221; asked Ichabod,
+suddenly.</p>
+<p>The boy face flushed. Ole was very young.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he lagged.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course you do. Every living human being
+does. It&#8217;s the one good instinct, which even
+the lust of gain doesn&#8217;t down. It&#8217;s the tie that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span>
+binds,&ndash;&ndash;the badge of brotherhood which makes
+the world one.&#8221; He gently laid his hand on the
+broad shoulder beside him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be ashamed to say you love children,
+boy, though the rest of the world laugh,&ndash;&ndash;for
+they&#8217;re laughing at a lie. They&#8217;ll tell you the
+parental instinct is dying out with the advance
+of civilization; that the time will come when
+man will educate himself to his own extinction.
+It&#8217;s false, I tell you, absolutely false.&#8221; Ichabod
+had forgotten himself, and he rushed on,
+far above the head of the gaping Swede.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s one instinct in the world, the instinct
+of parenthood, which advances eternal,
+stronger, infinitely, as man&#8217;s mind grows
+stronger. So unvarying the rule that it&#8217;s almost
+an index of civilization itself, advancing from
+a crude instinct of the body-base and animal&ndash;&ndash;until
+it reaches the realm of the mind: the highest,
+the holiest of man&#8217;s desires: yet stronger immeasurably,
+as with the educated, things of the
+mind are stronger than things of the body.
+Those who deny this are fools, or imposters,&ndash;&ndash;I
+know not which. To do so is to strike at the
+very foundation of human nature,&ndash;&ndash;but impotently,&ndash;&ndash;for
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
+in fundamentals, human nature
+is good.&#8221; Unconsciously, a smile flashed over
+the long face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Talk about depopulating the earth! All
+the wars of primitive man were inadequate. The
+vices of civilization have likewise failed. Even
+man&#8217;s mightiest weapon, legislation, couldn&#8217;t
+stay the tide for a moment, if it would. While
+man is man, and woman is woman, that long,
+above government, religion,&ndash;&ndash;life and death
+itself,&ndash;&ndash;will reign supreme the eternal instinct
+of parenthood.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod caught himself in his own period and
+stopped, a little ashamed of his earnestness. He
+sat up in the seat preparatory to returning to
+his own wagon, then dropped his hand once
+more on the boy&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m old enough to be your father, boy, and
+have done, in all things, the reverse of what I
+advised you. Therefore, I know I was wrong.
+We may sneer and speak of poetry when the
+words proceed from another, my boy; but, as
+inevitable as death, there comes to every man
+the knowledge that he stands accursed of Nature,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span>
+who hasn&#8217;t heard the voice of his own
+child call &#8216;father!&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>He clambered down, leaving the speechless
+Ole sprawling on the wagon-seat. Back in his
+own wagon, he smiled broadly to himself.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Strange, how easily the apple falls when
+it&#8217;s ripe,&#8221; he soliloquized.</p>
+<p>They drove on clear to the mill without another
+word; without even a grin from the broad-faced
+Ole, who sat in ponderous thought in the
+wagon ahead. To a nature such as his the infrequency
+of a new idea gives it the force of a
+cataclysm; during its presence, obliterating
+everything else.</p>
+<p>It was nearly noon when they reached the
+narrow fringe of trees and underbrush&ndash;&ndash;deciduous
+and wind-tortured all&ndash;&ndash;which bordered
+the big, muddy, low-lying Missouri; and soon
+they could hear the throb of the engine at the
+mill, and the swish of the saw through the green
+lumber; a sound that heard near by, inevitably
+carries the suggestion of scalpel and living
+flesh. Nothing but green timber was sawed
+thereabout in those days. The country was settling
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span>
+rapidly, lumber was imperative, and available
+timber very, very limited.</p>
+<p>Returning, the heavy loads grumbled slowly
+along, so slowly that it was nearly evening, and
+their shadows preceded them by rods when they
+reached the little prairie town. They stopped
+to water their teams; and Ole, true to the instincts
+of his plebeian ancestry, went in search
+of a glass of beer. He returned, quickly, his
+face very red.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A fellow in there is talking about&ndash;&ndash;about
+Mrs. Maurice,&#8221; he blurted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In the saloon, Ole?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Swede repeated the story, watching the
+tall man from the corner of his eye.</p>
+<p>A man, very drunk, was standing by the bar,
+and telling how, in coming to town, he had seen
+a buggy drive away from the Maurice home
+very fast. He had thought it was the doctor&#8217;s
+buggy and had stopped in to see if any one was
+sick.</p>
+<p>The fellow had grinned here and drank some
+more, before finishing the story; the surrounding
+audience winking at each other meanwhile,
+and drinking in company.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></p>
+<p>Then he went on to tell how Camilla Maurice
+had sat just inside the doorway, her face in
+her hands, sobbing,&ndash;&ndash;so hard she hadn&#8217;t noticed
+him; and&ndash;&ndash;and&ndash;&ndash;it wasn&#8217;t the doctor who had
+been there at all!</p>
+<p>Ichabod had been holding a pail of water so
+that a horse might drink. At the end he motioned
+Ole very quietly, to take his place.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Finish watering them, and&ndash;&ndash;wait for me,
+please.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was far from what the Swede had expected;
+but he accepted the task, obediently.</p>
+<p>The only saloon of the town stood almost exactly
+opposite Hans Becher&#8217;s place, flush with
+the street. A long, low building, communicating
+with the outer world by one door&ndash;&ndash;sans
+glass&ndash;&ndash;its single window in front and at the
+rear lit it but imperfectly at midday, and now at
+early evening made faces almost indistinguishable,
+and cast kindly shadow over the fly specks
+and smoke stains of a low roof. A narrow pine
+bar, redolent of tribute absorbed from innumerable
+passing &#8220;schooners,&#8221; stretched the entire
+length of the room at one side; and back of it,
+in shirt sleeves and stained apron, presided the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span>
+typical bar-keeper of the frontier. All this Ichabod
+saw as he stepped inside; then, himself in
+shadow, he studied the group before him.</p>
+<p>Railroad and cattle men, mostly, made up
+the gathering, with a scant sprinkling of farmers
+and others unclassified. A big, ill-dressed
+fellow was repeating the tale of scandal for the
+benefit of a newcomer; the narrative moving
+jerkily over hiccoughs, like hurdles.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&ndash;&ndash;I drew up to th&#8217; house quick, an&#8217; went
+up th&#8217; path quiet like,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he tapped thunderously
+on the bar with a heavy glass for silence&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;quiet&ndash;&ndash;sh-h&ndash;&ndash;like;
+an&#8217; when I come t&#8217; th&#8217;
+door, ther&#8217; &#8217;t was open, an&#8217;&ndash;&ndash;as I hope&ndash;&ndash;hope
+t&#8217; die,... drink on me, b&#8217;ys, aller y&#8217;&ndash;&ndash;set
+&#8217;m up, Barney ol&#8217; b&#8217;y, m&#8217; treat,... hope
+t&#8217; die, ther&#8217; she sat, like this&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He
+looked around mistily for a chair, but none was
+convenient, and he slid flat to the floor in their
+midst, his face in his hands, blubbering dismally
+in imitation.... &#8220;Sat (hic) like this;
+rockin&#8217; an&#8217; moanin&#8217; n&#8217; callin&#8217; his name: Asa&ndash;&ndash;Asa&ndash;&ndash;Asa&ndash;&ndash;(hic)
+Arnold&ndash;&ndash;&#8217;shure &#8217;s I&#8217;m a
+sinner she&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>He did not finish. Very suddenly the surrounding
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span>
+group had scattered, and he peered up
+through maudlin tears to learn the cause. One
+man alone stood above him. The room had
+grown still as a church.</p>
+<p>The drunken one blinked his watery eyes and
+showed his yellow teeth in a convivial grin.</p>
+<p>&#8220;G&#8217;d evnin&#8217;, pard.... Serve th&#8217;&ndash;&ndash;th&#8217;
+gem&#8217;n, Barney; m&#8217; treat.&#8221; Again the teeth obtruded.
+&#8220;Was jes&#8217;&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Get up!&#8221;</p>
+<p>He of the story winked harder than before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bless m&#8217;&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He paused for an expletive,
+hiccoughed, and forgetting what had caused the
+halt, stumbled on:&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;Didn&#8217; rec&#8217;gniz&#8217; y&#8217; b&#8217;fore.
+Shake, ol&#8217; boy. S&ndash;&ndash;sh-sorry for y&#8217;.&#8221;
+Tears rose copiously. &#8220;Tough&ndash;&ndash;when feller&#8217;s
+wife&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Interrupting suddenly a muffled sound like
+the distant exhaust of a big engine&ndash;&ndash;the meeting
+of a heavy boot with an obstacle on the
+floor. &#8220;Get up!&#8221;</p>
+<p>A very mountain of human brawn resolved
+itself upward; a hand on its hips; a curse on its
+lips.</p>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-190.jpg' alt='' title='' width='423' height='612' /><br />
+<p class='caption'>
+&#8220;You&#8217;ll apologize.&#8221;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;You damned lantern-faced&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; No hiccough now,
+but a pause from pure physical impotence,
+pending a doubtful struggle against a
+half-dozen men.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Order, gentlemen!&#8221; demanded the bar-keeper,
+adding emphasis by hammering a heavy
+bottle on the bar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let him go,&#8221; commanded Ichabod very
+quietly; but they all heard through the confusion.
+&#8220;Let him go.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The country was by no means the wild West
+of the story-papers, but it was primitive, and no
+man thought, then, of preventing the obviously
+inevitable.</p>
+<p>Ichabod held up his hand, suggestively, imperatively,
+and the crowd fell back, silent,&ndash;&ndash;leaving
+him facing the big man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll apologize!&#8221; The thin jaw showed
+clear, through the shade of brown stubble on
+Ichabod&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>For answer, the big man leaning on the bar
+exhibited his discolored teeth and breathed
+hard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How shall it be?&#8221; asked Ichabod.</p>
+<p>A grimy hand twitched toward a grimier hip.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve seen the likes of this&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></p>
+<p>Ichabod turned toward the spectators.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will any man lend me&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And give us a little light.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Outside,&#8221; suggested the saloon-keeper.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re not advertising patent medicine,&#8221;
+blazed Ichabod, and the lamps were lit immediately.</p>
+<p>Once more the long-visaged man appealed to
+the group lined up now against the bar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gentlemen&ndash;&ndash;I never carried a revolver a
+half-hour in my life. Is it any more than fair
+that I name the details?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Name &#8217;m and be quick,&#8221; acquiesced his big
+opponent before the others could speak.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, Mr. Duggin,&#8221; with equal swiftness.
+&#8220;These, then, are the conditions.&#8221; For
+three seconds, that seemed a minute, Ichabod
+looked steadily between his adversary&#8217;s bushy
+eyebrows. &#8220;The conditions,&#8221; he repeated, &#8220;are,
+that starting from opposite ends of the room,
+we don&#8217;t fire until our toes touch in the middle
+line.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Good!&#8221; commended a voice; but it was not
+big Duggin who spoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll see that it&#8217;s done, too,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;added a listening
+cattleman, grasping Ichabod by the hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The building had been designed as a bowling-alley
+and was built the entire length of the lot.
+With an alacrity born of experience, the long
+space opposite the bar was cleared, and the belligerents
+stationed one at either end, their faces
+toward the wall. Midway between them a
+heavy line had been drawn with chalk, and beside
+it stood a half-dozen grim men, their hands
+resting suggestively on their hips. The room
+was again very quiet, and from out-of-doors
+penetrated the shrill sound of a schoolboy
+whistling &#8220;Annie Laurie&#8221; with original variations.
+So exotic seemed the entire scene in its
+prairie setting, that it might have been transferred
+bodily from the stage of a distant theatre
+and set down here,&ndash;&ndash;by mistake.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now,&#8221; directed a voice. &#8220;You understand,
+men. You&#8217;re to face and walk to the line.
+When your feet touch&ndash;&ndash;fire; and,&#8221; warningly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;remember,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span>
+not before. Ready, gentlemen.
+Turn.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod faced about, the cocked revolver in
+his hand, the name Asa Arnold singing in his
+ears. A terrible cold-white anger was in his
+heart against the man opposite, who had publicly
+caused the resurrection of this hated,
+buried thing. For a moment it blotted out all
+other sensations; then, rushing, crowding came
+other thoughts,&ndash;&ndash;vision from boyhood down.
+In the space of seconds, faded scenes of the
+dead past took on sudden color and as suddenly
+vanished. Faces, he had forgotten for years,
+flashed instantaneously into view. Voices long
+hushed in oblivion, re-embodied, spoke in accents
+as familiar as his own. Inwardly he was
+seething with the myriad shifting pictures of a
+drowning man. Outwardly he walked those
+half-score steps to the line, unflinchingly; came
+to certain death,&ndash;&ndash;and waited: personification
+of all that is cool and deliberate&ndash;&ndash;of the sudden
+abundant nerve in emergencies which
+comes only to the highly evolved.</p>
+<p>Duggin, the big man, turned likewise at the
+word and came part way swiftly; then stopped,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span>
+his face very pale. Another step he took, with
+another pause, and with great drops of perspiration
+gathering on his face, and on the backs of
+his hands. Yet another start, and he came very
+near; so near that he gazed into the blue of
+Ichabod&#8217;s eyes. They seemed to him now devil&#8217;s
+eyes, and he halted, looking at them, fingering
+the weapon in his hand, his courage oozing at
+every pore.</p>
+<p>Out of those eyes and that long, thin face
+stared death; not hot, sudden death, but nihility,
+cool, deliberate, that waited for one! The big
+beads on his forehead gathered in drops and ran
+down his cheeks. He tried to move on, but his
+legs only trembled beneath him. The hopeless,
+unreasoning terror of the frightened animal, the
+raw recruit, the superstitious negro, was upon
+him. The last fragment of self-respect, of
+bravado even, was in tatters. No object on
+earth, no fear of hereafter, could have made
+him face death in that way, with those eyes
+looking into his.</p>
+<p>The weapon shook from Duggin&#8217;s hand to
+the floor,&ndash;&ndash;with a sound like the first clatter of
+gravel on a coffin lid; and in abasement absolute
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
+he dropped his head; his hands nerveless, his
+jaw trembling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon&ndash;&ndash;and your wife&#8217;s,&#8221; he
+faltered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was all a lie? You were drunk?&#8221; Ichabod
+crossed the line, standing over him.</p>
+<p>A rustle and a great snort of contempt went
+around the room; but Duggin still felt those
+terrible eyes upon him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was very drunk. It was all a lie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Without another word Ichabod turned away,
+and almost immediately the other men followed,
+the door closing behind them. Only the bar-keeper
+stood impassive, watching.</p>
+<p>That instant the red heat of the liquor returned
+to the big man&#8217;s brain and he picked up
+the revolver. Muttering, he staggered over
+to the bar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;D&ndash;&ndash;n him&ndash;&ndash;the hide-faced&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he cursed.
+&#8220;Gimme a drink, Barney. Whiskey, straight.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not a drop.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Never another drop in my place so long as
+I live.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Barney, damn you!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Get out! You coward!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But, Barney&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not another word. Go.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again Duggin was sober as he stumbled out
+into the evening.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Ichabod moved slowly up the street, months
+aged in those last few minutes. Reaction was
+inevitable, and with it the future instead of the
+present, stared him in the face. He had
+crowded the lie down the man&#8217;s throat, but
+well he knew it had been useless. The story
+was true, and it would spread; no power of
+his could prevent. He could not deceive himself,
+even. That name! Again the white anger
+born of memory, flooded him. Curses on the
+name and on the man who had spoken it! Why
+must the fellow have turned coward at the last
+moment? Had they but touched feet over the
+line&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>Suddenly Ichabod stopped, his hands pressed
+to his head. Camilla, home&ndash;&ndash;alone! And he
+had forgotten! He hurried back to the waiting
+Swede, an anathema that was not directed at
+another, hot on his lips.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;All ready, Ole,&#8221; he announced, clambering
+to the seat.</p>
+<p>The boy handed up the lines lingeringly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here, sir.&#8221; Then uncontrollable, long-repressed
+curiosity broke the bounds of deference.
+&#8220;You&ndash;&ndash;heard him, sir?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ole edged toward his own wagon.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It wasn&#8217;t so?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Duggin swore it was a lie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He swore it was false, I say.&#8221;</p>
+<p>They drove out into the prairie and the night;
+the stars looking down, smiling, as in the morning
+which was so long ago, the man had smiled,&ndash;&ndash;looking
+upward.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tiny, tiny mortal,&#8221; they twinkled, each to
+the other. &#8220;So small and hot, and rebellious.
+Tiny, tiny, mortal!&#8221;</p>
+<p>But the man covered his face with his hands,
+shutting them out.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VI&ndash;&ndash;By a Candle&#8217;s Flame</span></h3>
+<p>Asa Arnold sat in the small upstairs
+room at the hotel of Hans Becher. It
+was the same room that Ichabod and Camilla
+had occupied when they first arrived; but he
+did not know that. Even had he known, however,
+it would have made slight difference;
+nothing could have kept them more constantly
+in his mind than they were at this time. He
+had not slept any the night before; a fact which
+would have spoken loudly to one who knew him
+well; and this morning he was very tired. He
+lounged low in the oak chair, his feet on the
+bed, the usual big cigar in his mouth.</p>
+<p>This morning, the perspective of the little
+man was anything but normal. Worse than
+that, he could not reduce it to the normal, try
+as he might.</p>
+<p>His meeting with Camilla yesterday had
+produced a deep and abiding shock; for either
+of them to have been so moved signified the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
+stirring of dangerous forces. They&ndash;&ndash;and
+especially himself&ndash;&ndash;who had always accepted
+life, even crises, so calmly; who had heretofore
+laughed at all display of emotion&ndash;&ndash;for them
+to have acted as they had, for them to have
+spoken to each other the things they had spoken,
+the things they could not forget, that he never
+could forgive&ndash;&ndash;it was unbelievable! It upset
+all the established order of things!</p>
+<p>His anger of yesterday against Camilla had
+died out. She was not to blame; she was a
+woman, and women were all alike. He had
+thought differently before; that she was an
+exception; but now he knew better. One and
+all they were mere puppets of emotion, and
+fickle.</p>
+<p>In a measure, though, as he had excused
+Camilla he had incriminated Ichabod. Ichabod
+was the guilty one, and a man. Ichabod had
+filched from him his possession of most value;
+and without even the form of a by-your-leave.
+The incident of last evening at the saloon (for
+he had heard of it in the hour, as had every one
+in the little town) had but served to make more
+implacable his resentment. By the satire of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span>
+circumstances it had come about that he again,
+Asa Arnold, had been the cause of another&#8217;s
+defending the honor of his own wife,&ndash;&ndash;for she
+was his wife as yet,&ndash;&ndash;and that other, the defender,
+was Ichabod Maurice!</p>
+<p>The little man&#8217;s face did not change at the
+thought. He only smoked harder, until the
+room was blue; but though he did not put
+the feeling in words even to himself, he knew in
+the depths of his own mind that the price of
+that last day was death. Whether it was his
+own death, or the death of Ichabod, he did not
+know; he did not care; but that one of them
+must die was inevitable. Horrible as was the
+thought, it had no terror for him, now. He
+wondered that it did not have; but, on the contrary,
+it seemed to him very ordinary, even
+logical&ndash;&ndash;as one orders a dinner when he is
+hungry.</p>
+<p>He lit another cigar, calmly. It was this very
+imperturbability of the little man which made
+him terrible. Like a great movement of
+Nature, it was awful from its very resistlessness;
+its imperviability to appeal. Steadily, as
+he had lit the cigar, he smoked until the air
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span>
+became bluer than before. In a ghastly way,
+he was trying to decide whose death it should
+be,&ndash;&ndash;as one decides a winter&#8217;s flitting, whether
+to Florida or California; only now the question
+was: should it be suicide, or,&ndash;&ndash;as in the saloon
+yesterday,&ndash;&ndash;leave the decision to Chance? For
+the time the personal equation was eliminated;
+the man weighed the evidence as impartially as
+though he were deciding the fate of another.</p>
+<p>He sat long and very still; until even in the
+daylight the red cigar-end grew redder in the
+haze. Without being conscious of the fact, he
+was probably doing the most unselfish thinking
+of his life. What the result of that thought
+would have been no man will ever know, for of
+a sudden, interrupting, Hans Becher&#8217;s round
+face appeared in the doorway.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ichabod Maurice to see you,&#8221; coughed the
+German, obscured in the cloud of smoke which
+passed out like steam through the opening.</p>
+<p>It cannot be said that Asa Arnold&#8217;s face
+grew impassive; it was that already. Certain it
+was, though, that behind the mask there occurred,
+at that moment, a revolution. Born of
+it, the old mocking smile sprang to his lips.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;The devil fights for his own,&#8221; he soliloquized.
+&#8220;I really believe I,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;again the smile,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;I
+was about to make a sacrifice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sir?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you, Hans.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The German&#8217;s jaw dropped in inexpressible
+surprise.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sir?&#8221; he repeated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You made a decision for me, then. Thank
+you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not you understand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell Mr. Maurice I shall be pleased to see
+him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The round face disappeared from the door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Donnerwetter!</i>&#8221; commented the little landlord
+in the safe seclusion of the stairway. Later,
+in relating the incident to Minna, he tapped his
+forehead, suggestively.</p>
+<p>Ichabod climbed the stair alone. &#8220;To your
+old room,&#8221; Hans had said; and Ichabod knew
+the place well. He knocked on the panel, a voice
+answered: &#8220;Come,&#8221; and he opened the door.
+Arnold had thrown away his cigar and opened
+the window. The room was clearing rapidly.</p>
+<p>Ichabod stepped inside and closed the door
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span>
+carefully behind him. A few seconds he stood
+holding it, then swung it open quickly and
+glanced down the hallway. Answering, there
+was a sudden, scuttling sound, not unlike the
+escape of frightened rats, as Hans Becher precipitately
+disappeared. The tall man came
+back and for the second time slowly closed the
+door.</p>
+<p>Asa Arnold had neither moved nor spoken
+since that first word,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;come&#8221;; and the self-invited
+visitor read the inaction correctly. No
+man, with the knowledge Ichabod possessed,
+could have misunderstood the challenge in that
+impassive face. No man, a year ago, would have
+accepted that challenge more quickly. Now&ndash;&ndash;But
+God only knew whether or no he would
+forget,&ndash;&ndash;now.</p>
+<p>For a minute, which to an onlooker would
+have seemed interminable, the two men faced
+each other. Up from the street came the ring
+of a heavy hammer on a sweet-voiced anvil, as
+Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, sharpened anew
+the breaking ploughs which were battling the
+prairie sod for bread. In the street below, a
+group of farmers were swapping yarns, an
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
+occasional chorus of guffaws interrupting to
+punctuate the narrative. The combatants
+heard it all, as one hears the drone of the cicada
+on a sleepy summer day; at the moment, as a
+mere colorless background which later, Time,
+the greater adjuster, utilizes to harmonize the
+whole memory.</p>
+<p>Ichabod had been standing; now he sat down
+upon the bed, his long legs stretched out before
+him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It would be useless for us to temporize,&#8221; he
+initiated. &#8220;I&#8217;ve intruded my presence in order
+to ask you a question.&#8221; The long fingers locked
+slowly over his knees. &#8220;What is your object
+here?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The innate spirit of mockery sprang to the
+little man&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re mistaken,&#8221; he smiled; &#8220;so far mistaken,
+that instead of your visit being an intrusion,
+I expected you&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;an amending memory
+came to him&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;although I wasn&#8217;t looking for
+you quite so soon, perhaps.&#8221; He paused for an
+instant, and the smile left his lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;As to the statement of object. I think&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;slowly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;a
+disinterested observer would have
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span>
+put the question you ask into my mouth.&#8221; He
+stared his tall visitor up and down critically,
+menacingly. Of a sudden, irresistibly, a very
+convulsion shot over his face. &#8220;God, man,
+you&#8217;re brazen!&#8221; he commented cumulatively.</p>
+<p>Ichabod had gambled with this man in the
+past, and had seen him lose half he possessed
+without the twitch of an eyelid. A force which
+now could cause that sudden change of expression&ndash;&ndash;no
+man on earth knew, better than
+Ichabod, its intensity. Perhaps a shade of the
+same feeling crept into his own answering voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll quarrel later, if you wish,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;swiftly.
+&#8220;Neither of us can afford to do
+so now. I ask you again, what are your intentions?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I repeat, the question is by right mine.
+It&#8217;s not I who&#8217;ve changed my name and&ndash;&ndash;and
+in other things emulated the hero of the yellow-back.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod&#8217;s face turned a shade paler, though
+his answer was calm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ve known each other too well for either
+to attempt explanation or condemnation. You
+wish me to testify first.&#8221; The long fingers unclasped
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span>
+from over his knee. &#8220;You know the
+story of the past year: it&#8217;s the key to the
+future.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A smile, sardonic, distinctive, lifted the tips
+of Arnold&#8217;s big moustaches.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your faith in your protecting gods is certainly
+beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod nursed a callous spot on one palm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I understand,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;very slowly. &#8220;At least,
+you&#8217;ll answer my question now, perhaps,&#8221; he
+suggested.</p>
+<p>&#8220;With pleasure. You intimate the future
+will be but a repetition of the past. It&#8217;ll be my
+endeavor to give that statement the lie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You insist on quarrelling?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I insist on but one thing,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;swiftly. &#8220;That
+you never again come into my sight, or into the
+sight of my wife.&#8221;</p>
+<p>One of Ichabod&#8217;s long hands extended in
+gesture.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I insist you shall never again use the
+name of Camilla Maurice as your wife.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The old mocking smile sprang to Asa
+Arnold&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Unconsciously, you&#8217;re amusing,&#8221; he derided.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
+&#8220;The old story of the mouse who forbids
+the cat.... You forget, man, she is
+my wife.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod stood up, seemingly longer and
+gaunter than ever before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good God, Arnold,&#8221; he flashed, &#8220;haven&#8217;t
+you the faintest element of pride, or of consistency
+in your make-up? Is it necessary for a
+woman to tell you more than once that she hates
+you? By your own statement your marriage,
+even at first, was merely of convenience; but
+even if this weren&#8217;t so, every principle of the
+belief you hold releases her. Before God, or
+man, you haven&#8217;t the slightest claim, and you
+know it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I love her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Asa Arnold did not stir, but the pupils of
+his eyes grew wider, until the whole eye seemed
+black.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You fool!&#8221; he accented slowly. &#8220;You
+brazen egoist! Did it never occur to you that
+others than yourself could love?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Score for the little man. Ichabod had been
+pinked first.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You dare tell me to my face you loved
+her?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You lie!&#8221; blazed Ichabod. &#8220;Every word
+and action of your life gives you the lie!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Not five minutes had passed since he came
+in and already he had forgotten!</p>
+<p>Asa Arnold likewise was upon his feet and
+they two faced each other,&ndash;&ndash;a bed length between;
+in their minds the past and future a
+blank, the present with its primitive animal
+hate blazing in their eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You know what it means to tell me that.&#8221;
+Arnold&#8217;s voice was a full note higher than usual.
+&#8220;You&#8217;ll apologize?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Never. It&#8217;s true. You lied, and you know
+you lied.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The surrounding world turned dark to the
+little man, and the dry-goods box with the tin
+dipper on its top, danced before his eyes. For
+the first time in his memory he felt himself
+losing self-control, and by main force of will he
+turned away to the window. For the instant
+all the savage of his nature was on the surface,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
+and he could fairly feel his fingers gripping at
+the tall man&#8217;s throat.</p>
+<p>A moment he stood in the narrow south
+window, full in the smiling irony of Nature&#8217;s
+sunshine; but only a moment. Then the mocking
+smile that had become an instinctive part of
+his nature spread over his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see but one way to settle this difficulty,&#8221;
+he intimated.</p>
+<p>A taunt sprang to Ichabod&#8217;s tongue, but was
+as quickly repressed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There is but one, unless&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; with meaning
+pause.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I repeat, there is but one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod&#8217;s long face held like wood.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Consider yourself, then, the challenged
+party.&#8221;</p>
+<p>They were both very calm, now; the immediate
+exciting cause in the mind of neither. It
+seemed as if they had been expecting this time
+for years, had been preparing for it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps, as yesterday, in the saloon?&#8221; The
+points of the big moustaches twitched ironically.
+&#8220;I promise you there&#8217;ll be no procrastination
+as&ndash;&ndash;at certain cases recorded.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p>
+<p>The mockery, malice inspired, was cleverly
+turned, and Ichabod&#8217;s big chin protruded ominously,
+as he came over and fairly towered
+above the small man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Most assuredly it&#8217;ll not be as yesterday.
+If we&#8217;re going to reverse civilization, we may
+as well roll it away back. We&#8217;ll settle it alone,
+and here.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Asa Arnold smiled up into the blue eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;d prefer to make the adjustment with
+your hands, too, perhaps? There&#8217;d be less risk,
+considering&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He stopped at the look on the
+face above his. No man <i>vis-&agrave;-vis</i> with Ichabod
+Maurice ever made accusation of cowardice.
+Instead, instinctive sarcasm leaped to his lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not being of the West, I don&#8217;t ordinarily
+carry an arsenal with me, in anticipation of such
+incidents as these. If you&#8217;re prepared, however,&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;
+and he paused again.</p>
+<p>Ichabod turned away; a terrible weariness
+and disgust of it all&ndash;&ndash;of life, himself, the little
+man,&ndash;&ndash;in his face. A tragedy would not be
+so bad, but this lingering comedy of death&ndash;&ndash;One
+thing alone was in his mind: to have it over,
+and quickly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t expect&ndash;&ndash;this, either. We&#8217;ll find
+another way.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He glanced about the room. A bed, the improvised
+commode, a chair, a small table with a
+book upon it, and a tallow candle&ndash;&ndash;an idea
+came to him, and his search terminated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I may&ndash;&ndash;suggest&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he hesitated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go on.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod took up the candle, and, with his
+pocket-knife, cut it down until it was a mere
+stub in the socket, then lit a match and held the
+flame to the wick, until the tallow sputtered
+into burning.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can estimate when that light will go
+out?&#8221; he intimated impassively.</p>
+<p>Asa Arnold watched the tall man, steadily,
+as the latter returned the candle to the table and
+drew out his watch.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think so,&#8221; <i>sotto voce</i>.</p>
+<p>Ichabod returned to his seat on the bed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are not afraid, perhaps, to go into the
+dark alone?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;By your own hand?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; again, very slowly. Arnold understood
+now.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You swear?&#8221; Ichabod flashed a glance
+with the question.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I swear.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A moment they both studied the sputtering
+candle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;ll be within fifteen minutes,&#8221; randomed
+Ichabod.</p>
+<p>Arnold drew out his watch slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;ll be longer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>That was all. Each had made his choice; a
+trivial matter of one second in the candle&#8217;s life
+would decide which of these two men would die
+by his own hand.</p>
+<p>For a minute there was no sound. They
+could not even hear their breathing. Then
+Arnold cleared his throat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You didn&#8217;t say when the loser must pay his
+debt,&#8221; he suggested.</p>
+<p>Ichabod&#8217;s voice in answer was a trifle husky.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It won&#8217;t be necessary.&#8221; A vision of the
+future flashed, sinister, inevitable. &#8220;The man
+who loses won&#8217;t care to face the necessity long.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></p>
+<p>Five minutes more passed. Down the street
+the blacksmith was hammering steadily. Beneath
+the window the group of farmers had
+separated; their departing footsteps tapping
+into distance and silence.</p>
+<p>Minna went to the street door, calling loudly
+for Hans, Jr., who had strayed,&ndash;&ndash;and both
+men started at the sound. The quick catch of
+their breathing was now plainly audible.</p>
+<p>Arnold shifted in his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You swear&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; his voice rang unnaturally
+sharp, and he paused to moisten his throat,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;you
+swear before God you&#8217;ll abide by this?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I swear before God,&#8221; repeated Ichabod
+slowly.</p>
+<p>A second, and the little man followed in echo.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I&ndash;&ndash;I swear, I, too, will abide.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Neither man remembered that one of this
+twain, who gave oath before the Deity, was an
+agnostic, the other an atheist!</p>
+<p>A lonely south wind was rising, and above
+the tinkle of the blacksmith&#8217;s hammer there
+sounded the tap of the light shade as it flapped
+in the wind against the window-pane. Low,
+drowsy, moaning,&ndash;&ndash;typical breath of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
+prairie,&ndash;&ndash;it droned through the loosely built house,
+with sound louder, but not unlike the perpetual
+roar of a great sea-shell.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes passed, and the men sat very
+still. Both their faces were white, and in the
+angle of the jaw of each the muscles were locked
+hard. Ichabod was leaning near the candle. It
+sputtered and a tiny globule of hot tallow
+struck his face. He winced and wiped the drop
+off quickly. Observing, Arnold smiled and
+opened his lips as if to make comment; then
+closed them suddenly, and the smile passed.</p>
+<p>Two minutes more the watches ticked off;
+very, very slowly. Neither of the men had
+thought, beforehand, of this time of waiting.
+Big drops of sweat were forming on both their
+faces, and in the ears of each the blood sang
+madly. A haze, as from the dropping of a
+shade, seemed to have formed and hung over
+the room, and in unison sounds from without
+acquired a certain faintness, like that born of
+distance. Through it all the two men sat
+motionless, watching the candle and the time,
+as the fascinated bird watches its charmer; as
+the subject watches the hypnotist,&ndash;&ndash;as if the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span>
+passive exercise were the one imperative thing
+in the world.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thirteen minutes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Unconsciously, Arnold was counting aloud.
+The flame was very low, now, and he started to
+move his chair closer, then sank back, a smile,
+almost ghastly, upon his lips. The blaze had
+reached the level of the socket, and was growing
+smaller and smaller. Two minutes yet to burn!
+He had lost.</p>
+<p>He tried to turn his eyes away, but they
+seemed fastened to the spot, and he powerless.
+It was as though death, from staring him in the
+face, had suddenly gripped him hard. The
+panorama of his past life flashed through his
+mind. The thoughts of the drowning man, of
+the miner who hears the rumble of crumbling
+earth, of the prisoner helpless and hopeless
+who feels the first touch of flame,&ndash;&ndash;common
+thought of all these were his; and in a space of
+time which, though seeming to him endless, was
+in reality but seconds.</p>
+<p>Then came the duller reaction and the events
+of the last few minutes repeated themselves, impersonally,
+spectacularly,&ndash;&ndash;as though they
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
+were the actions of another man; one for
+whom he felt very sorry. He even went into
+the future and saw this same man lying down
+with a tiny bottle in his hand, preparing for
+the sleep from which there would be no awakening,&ndash;&ndash;the
+sleep which, in anticipation, seemed
+so pleasant.</p>
+<p>Concomitant with this thought the visionary
+shaded into the real, and there came the determination
+to act at once, this very afternoon, as
+soon as Ichabod had gone. He even felt a little
+relief at the decision. After all, it was so much
+simpler than if he had won, for then&ndash;&ndash;then&ndash;&ndash;He
+laughed gratingly at the thought. Cursed
+if he would have known what to have done,
+then!</p>
+<p>The sound roused him and he looked at his
+watch. A minute had passed, fourteen from
+the first and the flame still sputtered. Was it
+possible after all&ndash;&ndash;after he had decided&ndash;&ndash;that
+he was not to lose, that the decision was unnecessary?
+There was not in his mind the slightest
+feeling of personal elation at the prospect, but
+rather a sense of injury that such a scurvy trick
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
+should be foisted off upon him. It was like
+going to a funeral and being confronted, suddenly,
+with the grinning head of the supposed
+dead projecting through the coffin lid. It was
+unseemly!</p>
+<p>Only a minute more: a half now&ndash;&ndash;yes, he
+would win. For the first time he felt that his
+forehead was wet, and he mopped his face with
+his handkerchief jerkily; then sank back in the
+chair, instinctively shooting forward his cuffs
+in motion habitual.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fifteen seconds.&#8221; There could be no question
+now of the result; and the outside world,
+banished for the once, returned. The blacksmith
+was hammering again, the strokes two
+seconds apart, and the fancy seized the little
+man to finish counting by the ring of the anvil.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Twelve, ten, eight,&#8221; he counted slowly.
+&#8220;Six&#8221; was forming on the tip of the tongue
+when of a sudden the tiny flame veered far over
+toward the holder, sputtered and went out. For
+the first time in those interminable minutes,
+Arnold looked at his companion. Ichabod&#8217;s
+face was within a foot of the table, and in line
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span>
+with the direction the flame had veered. Swift
+as thought the small man was on his feet, white
+anger in his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You blew that candle!&#8221; he challenged.</p>
+<p>Ichabod&#8217;s head dropped into his hands. An
+awful horror of himself fell crushingly upon
+him; an abhorrence of the selfishness that could
+have forgotten&ndash;&ndash;what he forgot; and for so
+long,&ndash;&ndash;almost irrevocably long. Mingled with
+this feeling was a sudden thanksgiving for the
+boon of which he was unworthy; the memory
+at the eleventh hour, in time to do as he had
+done before his word was passed. Arnold
+strode across the room, his breath coming fast,
+his eyes flashing fire. He shook the tall man
+by the shoulder roughly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You blew that flame, I say!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod looked up at the furious, dark face
+almost in surprise.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I blew it,&#8221; he corroborated absently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It would have burned longer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps&ndash;&ndash;I don&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Arnold moved back a step and the old smile,
+mocking, maddening, spread over his face;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
+tilting, perpendicular, the tips of the big
+moustaches.</p>
+<p>&#8220;After all&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; very slowly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;after all,
+then, you&#8217;re a coward.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tall man stood up; six-feet-two, long,
+bony, immovable: Ichabod himself again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You know that&#8217;s a lie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll meet me again,&ndash;&ndash;another way,
+then?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, never!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I repeat, you&#8217;re a cursed coward.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d be a coward if I did meet you,&#8221; quickly.</p>
+<p>Something in Ichabod&#8217;s voice caught the little
+man&#8217;s ear and held him silent, as, for a long
+half-minute, the last time in their lives, the two
+men looked into each other&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll perhaps explain.&#8221; Arnold&#8217;s voice
+was cold as death. &#8220;You have a reason?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod walked slowly over to the window
+and leaned against the frame. Standing there,
+the spring sunshine fell full upon his face,
+drawing clear the furrows at the angles of his
+eyes and the gray threads of his hair. He
+paused a moment, looking out over the broad
+prairie shimmering indistinctly in the heat, and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
+the calm of it all took hold of him, shone in his
+face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve a reason,&#8221; very measuredly, &#8220;but it&#8217;s
+not that I fear death, or you.&#8221; He took up his
+hat and smoothed it absently. &#8220;In future I
+shall neither seek, nor avoid you. Do what you
+wish&ndash;&ndash;and God judge us both.&#8221; Without a
+glance at the other man, he turned toward the
+door.</p>
+<p>Arnold moved a step, as if to prevent him
+going.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I repeat, it&#8217;s my right to know why you
+refuse.&#8221; His feet shifted uneasily upon the
+floor. &#8220;Is it because of another&ndash;&ndash;Eleanor?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ichabod paused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; very slowly. &#8220;It&#8217;s because of
+Eleanor&ndash;&ndash;<i>and</i> another.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tall man&#8217;s hand was upon the knob, but
+this time there was no interruption. An instant
+he hesitated; then absently, slowly, the door
+opened and closed. A moment later indistinct,
+descending steps sounded on the stairway.</p>
+<p>Alone, Asa Arnold stood immovable, looking
+blindly at the closed door, listening until the
+tapping feet had passed into silence. Then, in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span>
+a motion indescribable, of pain and of abandon,
+he sank back into the single chair.</p>
+<p>His dearest enemy would have pitied the
+little man at that moment!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VII&ndash;&ndash;The Price of the Leap</span></h3>
+<p>In the chronology of the little town, day
+followed day, as monotonously as ticks the
+tall clock on the wall. Only in multiple they
+merged into the seasons which glided so
+smoothly, one into the other, that the change
+was unnoticed, until it had taken place.</p>
+<p>Thus three months passed by, and man&#8217;s
+work for the year was nearly done. The face
+of the prairie had become one of many colors;
+eternal badge of civilization as opposed to Nature,
+who paints each season with its own hue.
+Beside the roadways great, rank sunflowers
+turned their glaring yellow faces to the light.
+In every direction stretched broad fields of flax;
+unequally ripening, their color scheme ranging
+from sky blue of blossoms to warm browns of
+maturity. Blotches of sod corn added here and
+there a dash of green to the picture. Surrounding
+all, a setting for all, the unbroken virgin
+prairie, mottled green and brown, stretched,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
+smiling, harmonious, beneficent; a land of
+promise and of plenty for generations yet
+unborn.</p>
+<p>All through the long, hot summer Asa
+Arnold had stayed in town, smoking a big
+pipe in front of the hotel of Hans Becher.
+Indolent, abnormally indolent, a stranger seeing
+him thus would have commented; but, save
+Hans the confiding, none other of the many
+interested observers were deceived. No man
+merely indolent sleeps neither by night nor by
+day; and it seemed the little man never slept.
+No man merely indolent sits wide-eyed hour
+after hour, gazing blankly at the earth beneath
+his feet&ndash;&ndash;and uttering never a word. Brooding,
+not dreaming, was Asa Arnold; brooding
+over the eternal problem of right and wrong.
+And, as passed the slow weeks, he moved back&ndash;&ndash;back
+on the trail of civilization, back until
+Passion and not Reason was the god enthroned;
+back until one thought alone was with him
+morning, noon, and night,&ndash;&ndash;and that thought
+preponderant, overmastering, deadly hate.</p>
+<p>Observant Curtis, the doctor, shrugged his
+shoulders.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;The old, old trail,&#8221; he satirized.</p>
+<p>It was to Bud Evans, the little agent, that he
+made the observation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Which has no ending,&#8221; completed the latter.</p>
+<p>The doctor shrugged afresh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That has one inevitable termination,&#8221; he
+refuted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Which is&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Madness&ndash;&ndash;sheer madness.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The agent was silent a moment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the end of that?&#8221; he suggested.</p>
+<p>Curtis pursed his lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tragedy, or a strait-jacket. The former,
+in this instance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Evans was silent longer than before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you really mean that?&#8221; he queried at
+last, significantly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve warned Maurice,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;sententiously. &#8220;I
+can do no more.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And he?&#8221; quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanked me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That was all?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That was all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The two friends looked at each other,
+steadily; yet, though they said no more, each
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span>
+knew the thought of the other, each knew that
+in future no move of Asa Arnold&#8217;s would pass
+unnoticed, unchallenged.</p>
+<p>Again, weeks, a month, passed without incident.
+It was well along in the fall and of an
+early evening that a vague rumor of the unusual
+passed swiftly, by word of mouth,
+throughout the tiny town. Only a rumor it
+was, but sufficient to set every man within
+hearing in motion.</p>
+<p>On this night Hans Becher had eaten his
+supper and returned to the hotel office, as was
+his wont, for an evening smoke, when, without
+apparent reason, Bud Evans and Jim Donovan,
+the blacksmith, came quietly in and sat down.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Evening,&#8221; they nodded, and looked about
+them.</p>
+<p>A minute later Dr. Curtis and Hank Judge,
+the machine man, dropped unostentatiously
+into chairs. They likewise muttered &#8220;Evening,&#8221;
+and made observation from under their
+hat-brims. Others followed rapidly, until the
+room was full and dark figures waited outside.
+At last Curtis spoke.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Your boarder, Asa Arnold, where is he,
+Hans?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The unsuspecting German blew a cloud of
+smoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He a while ago went out.&#8221; Then, as an
+afterthought: &#8220;He will return soon.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Silence once more for a time, and a steadily
+thickening haze of smoke in the room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did he have supper, Hans?&#8221; queried Bud
+Evans, impatiently.</p>
+<p>Again the German&#8217;s face expressed surprise.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, it is waiting for him. He went to shoot
+a rabbit he saw.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The men were on their feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He took a gun, Hans?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A rifle, to be sure.&#8221; The mild brown eyes
+glanced up reproachfully. &#8220;A man does not
+go hunting without&ndash;&ndash;... What is this!&#8221;
+he completed in consternation, as, finding himself
+suddenly alone, he hurried outside and
+stood confusedly scratching his bushy poll, in
+the block of light surrounding the open doorway.</p>
+<p>The yard was deserted. As one snuffs a
+candle, the men had vanished. Hans&#8217; pipe had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span>
+gone out and he went inside for a match.
+Though the stars fell, the German must needs
+smoke. Only a minute he was gone, but during
+that time a group of horsemen had gathered in
+the street. Others were coming across lots, and
+still others were emerging from the darkness of
+alleys. Some were mounted; some led by the
+rein, wiry little bronchos. Watching, it almost
+seemed to the German that they sprang from
+the ground.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you all ready?&#8221; called a voice, Bud
+Evans&#8217; voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All ready?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re off, then.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a sudden, confused trampling, as
+of cattle in stampede; a musical creaking of
+heavy saddles; a knife-like swish of many quirts
+through the air; a chorus of dull, chesty groans
+as the rowels of long spurs bit the flanks of the
+mustangs, and they were gone&ndash;&ndash;down the narrow
+street, out upon the prairie, their hoof beats
+pattering <i>diminuendo</i> into silence; a cloud of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span>
+dust, grayish in the starlight, marking the way
+they had taken.</p>
+<p>Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, came running
+excitedly up from a side street. He stopped in
+front of the hotel, breathlessly. Holding his
+sides, he followed with his eyes the trail of dust
+leading out into the night.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have they gone?&#8221; he panted. &#8220;I can&#8217;t
+find another horse in town.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where is it to?&#8221; sputtered the German.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have they gone, I say?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Hans gasped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, to be sure.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;ll never make it.&#8221; The blacksmith
+mopped his brow with conviction. &#8220;He has an
+hour&#8217;s start.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Hans grasped the big man by the coat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who is too late?&#8221; he emphasized. &#8220;Where
+are they going?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jim Donovan turned about, great pity for
+such density in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it possible you don&#8217;t understand? It&#8217;s
+to Ichabod Maurice&#8217;s they&#8217;re going, to tell him
+of Arnold.&#8221; The speaker mopped his face
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span>
+anew. &#8220;It&#8217;s useless though. They&#8217;re too late,&#8221;
+he completed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But Arnold is not there,&#8221; protested the
+German. &#8220;He went for a rabbit, out on the
+breaking. He so told me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He lied to you. He&#8217;s mad. I tell you
+they&#8217;re too late,&#8221; repeated the smith, obstinately.</p>
+<p>Hans clung tenaciously to the collar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Some one knew and told them?&#8221; He
+pointed in the direction the dust indicated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Bud Evans; but they wouldn&#8217;t believe
+him at first, and&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;bitterly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;and
+waited.&#8221; Donovan shook himself free, and
+started down the walk. &#8220;I&#8217;m going to bed,&#8221;
+he announced conclusively.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the cloud of dust was moving
+out over the prairie like the wind. The pace
+was terrific, and the tough little ponies were
+soon puffing steadily. Small game, roused
+from its sleep by the roadside, sprang winging
+into the night. Once a coyote, surprised, ran a
+distance confusedly ahead in the roadway; then,
+an indistinct black ball, it vanished amongst the
+tall grass.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></p>
+<p>Well out on the prairie, Bud Evans, the
+leader, raised in his stirrups and looked ahead.
+There was no light beyond where the little cottage
+should be. The rowels of his spur dug
+anew at the flank of his pony as he turned a
+voice like a fog-horn back over his shoulder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The place is dark, boys,&#8221; he called.
+&#8220;Hurry.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Answering, a muttering sound, not unlike an
+approaching storm, passed along the line, and
+in accompaniment the quirts cut the air anew.</p>
+<p>Silent as the grave was the little farmstead
+when, forty odd minutes from the time of starting,
+they steamed up at the high fence bounding
+the yard. One of Ichabod&#8217;s farm horses
+whinnied a lone greeting from the barn as they
+hastily dismounted and swarmed within the
+inclosure.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re too late,&#8221; prophesied a voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad my name&#8217;s not Arnold, if we are,&#8221;
+responded another, threateningly.</p>
+<p>Hurrying up the path in advance, the little
+land-agent stumbled over a soft, dark object,
+and a curse fell from his lips as he recognized
+the dead body of the big collie.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, we&#8217;re too late,&#8221; he echoed.</p>
+<p>The door of the house swung ajar, creaking
+upon its hinges; and, as penetrates the advance
+wave of a flood, the men swarmed through the
+doorway inside, until the narrow room was
+blocked. Simultaneously, like torches, lighted
+matches appeared aloft in their hands, and the
+tiny whitewashed room flashed into light. As
+simultaneously there sprang from the mouth of
+each man an oath, and another, and another.
+Waiting outside, not a listener but knew the
+meaning of that sound; and big, hairy faces
+crowded tightly to the one small window.</p>
+<p>For a moment not a man in the line stirred.
+Death was to them no stranger; but death such
+as this&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>In more than one hand the match burned
+down until it left a mark like charcoal, and
+without calling attention. One and all they
+stood spellbound, their eyes on the floor, their
+lips unconsciously uttering the speech universal
+of anger and of horror, the instinctive language
+of anathema.</p>
+<p>On the floor, sprawling, as falls a lifeless
+body, lay the long Ichabod. On his forehead,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span>
+almost geometrically near the centre, was a tiny,
+black spot, around it a lighter red blotch; his
+face otherwise very white; his hair, on the side
+toward which he leaned, a little matted; that
+was all.</p>
+<p>Prostrate across him, in an attitude of utter
+abandon, reposed the body of a woman, soft,
+graceful, motionless now as that of the man:
+the body of Camilla Maurice. One hand had
+held his head and was stained dark. On her lips
+was another stain, but lighter. The meaning of
+that last mark came as a flash to the spectators,
+and the room grew still as the figures on the
+floor.</p>
+<p>Suddenly in the silence the men caught their
+breath, with the quick guttural note that announces
+the unexpected. That there was no
+remaining life they had taken for granted&ndash;&ndash;and
+Camilla&#8217;s lips had moved! They stared as
+at sight of a ghost; all except Curtis, the
+physician.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A lamp, men,&#8221; he demanded, pressing his
+ear to Camilla&#8217;s chest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Help me here, Evans,&#8221; he continued without
+turning. &#8220;I think she&#8217;s fainted is all,&#8221; and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
+together they carried their burden into the tiny
+sleeping-room, closing the door behind.</p>
+<p>That instant Ole, the Swede, thrust a curious
+head in at the outer doorway. He had noticed
+the light and the gathering, and came to ascertain
+their meaning. Wondering, his big eyes
+passed around the waiting group and from them
+to the floor. With that look self-consciousness
+left him; he crowded to the front, bending over
+the tall man and speaking his name.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Maurice,&#8221; he called. &#8220;Mr. Maurice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He snatched off his own coat, rolling it under
+Ichabod&#8217;s head, and with his handkerchief
+touched the dark spot on the forehead. It
+was clotted already and hardening, and realization
+came to the boy Swede. He stood up,
+facing the men, the big veins in his throat
+throbbing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who did this?&#8221; he thundered, crouching
+for a spring like a great dog. &#8220;Who did this, I
+say?&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was the call to action. In the sudden
+horror of the tragedy the big fellows had momentarily
+forgotten their own grim epilogue.
+Now, at the words, they turned toward the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span>
+door. But the Swede was in advance, blocking
+the passage.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me first who did this thing,&#8221; he challenged,
+threateningly.</p>
+<p>A hand was laid gently upon his shoulder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Asa Arnold, my boy,&#8221; answered a quiet
+voice, which continued, in response to a sudden
+thought, &#8220;You live near here; have you seen
+him to-night?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Swede dropped the bar.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The little man who stays with Hans
+Becher?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The questioner nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, a half-hour ago.&#8221; The boy-man understood
+now. &#8220;He stopped at my house,
+and&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Which direction did he go?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ole stepped outside, his arm stretched over
+the prairie, white now in the moonlight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That way,&#8221; he indicated. &#8220;East.&#8221;</p>
+<p>As there had been quiescence before, now
+there was action. No charge of cavalry was
+ever more swift than their sudden departure.</p>
+<p>&#8220;East, toward Schooner&#8217;s ranch,&#8221; was called
+and repeated as they made their way back to the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span>
+road; and, following, the wiry little bronchos
+groaned in unison as the back cinch to each one
+of the heavy saddles, was, with one accord,
+drawn tight. Then, widening out upon the
+reflected whiteness of prairie, there spread a
+great black crescent. A moment later came
+silence, broken only by the quivering call of a
+lone coyote.</p>
+<p>Ole watched them out of sight, then turned
+back to the door; the mood of the heroic passed,
+once more the timid, retiring Swede. But now
+he was not alone. Bud Evans was quietly working
+over the body on the floor, laying it out
+decently as the quick ever lay out the dead.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Evans,&#8221; called the doctor from the bedroom.
+As the agent responded, Ole heard the
+smothered cry of a woman in pain.</p>
+<p>The big boy hesitated, then sat down on the
+doorstep. There was nothing now for him
+to do, and suddenly he felt very tired. His
+head dropped listlessly into his hands; like a
+great dog, he waited, watching.</p>
+<p>Minutes passed. On the table the oil lamp
+sputtered and burned lower. Out in the stable
+the horse repeated its former challenging
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span>
+whinny. Once again through the partition the
+listener caught the choking wail of pain, and
+the muffled sound of the doctor&#8217;s voice in
+answer.</p>
+<p>At last Bud Evans came to the door, his face
+very white. &#8220;Water,&#8221; he requested, and Ole ran
+to the well and back. Then, impassive, he sat
+down again to wait.</p>
+<p>Time passed, so long a time it seemed to the
+watcher that the riders must soon be returning.
+Finally Evans emerged from the side room,
+walking absently, his face gray in the lamplight.</p>
+<p>The Swede stood up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Camilla Maurice, is she hurt?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>The little agent busied himself making a fire.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s dead,&#8221; he answered slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dead, you say?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, dead,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;very quietly.</p>
+<p>The fire blazed up and lit the room, shining
+unpityingly upon the face of the man on the
+floor.</p>
+<p>Evans noticed, and drawing off his own coat
+spread it over the face and hands, covering them
+from sight; then, uncertain, he returned and sat
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span>
+down, mechanically holding his palms to the
+blaze.</p>
+<p>A moment later Dr. Curtis appeared at
+the tiny bedroom entrance; and, emerging
+as the little man had done before him, he closed
+the door softly behind. In his arms he carried
+a blanket, carefully rolled. From the depths of
+its folds, as he slowly crossed the room toward
+the stove, there escaped a sudden cry, muffled,
+unmistakable.</p>
+<p>The doctor sank down wearily in a chair.
+Ole, the boy-faced, without a question brought
+in fresh wood, laying it down on the floor very,
+very softly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will he&ndash;&ndash;live?&#8221; asked Bud Evans, suddenly,
+with an uncertain glance at the obscuring
+blanket; and hearing the query, the Swede
+paused in his work to listen.</p>
+<p>The big doctor hesitated, and cleared his
+throat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think so; though&ndash;&ndash;God forgive me&ndash;&ndash;I
+hope not.&#8221; And he cleared his throat again.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span>
+<a name='JOURNEYS_END' id='JOURNEYS_END'></a>
+<h2>JOURNEY&#8217;S END</h2>
+</div>
+<h3>I</h3>
+<p>&#8220;Steve!&#8221; It was the girl who spoke, but
+the man did not seem to hear. He was
+staring through the window, unseeingly, into
+the heart of his bitter foe, Winter. He sat silent,
+helpless.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve!&#8221;</p>
+<p>At last he awoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie!&ndash;&ndash;girlie!&#8221;</p>
+<p>An hour had passed since he left the doctor&#8217;s
+office to reel and stagger drunkenly through the
+slush and the sleet, and the icy blasts, which bit
+cruelly into his very vitals.</p>
+<p>Now he and Mollie were alone in the tiny
+library. Babcock had been warmed, washed,
+fed. Seemingly without volition on his part,
+he was before the hard-coal blaze, his feet on the
+fender, the light carefully shaded from his eyes.
+Once upon a time&ndash;&ndash;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p>
+<p>But Steve Babcock, master mechanic, had
+not lost his nerve&ndash;&ndash;once upon a time.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;the voice was as soft as the wide
+brown eyes, as the dainty oval chin&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;Steve,
+tell me what it is.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man&#8217;s hand, palm outward, dropped
+wearily, eloquently. That was all.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But tell me,&#8221; the girl&#8217;s chair came closer, so
+that she might have touched him, &#8220;you went to
+see the doctor?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And he&ndash;&ndash;?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again the silent, hopeless gesture, more fear-inspiring
+than words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t keep me in suspense, please.&#8221; A
+small hand was on the man&#8217;s knee, now, frankly
+unashamed. &#8220;Tell me what he said.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For an instant there was silence, then Babcock
+shrugged awkwardly, in an effort at nonchalance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He said I was&ndash;&ndash;was&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; in spite of himself,
+the speaker paused to moisten his lips&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;a
+dead man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Not a word this time; not even a shrug.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve, you&ndash;&ndash;you&#8217;re not&ndash;&ndash;not joking with
+me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Lower and lower, still in silence, dropped the
+man&#8217;s chin.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve,&#8221; in a steadier voice, &#8220;please answer
+me. You&#8217;re not joking?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Joking!&#8221; At last the query had pierced
+the fear-dulled brain. &#8220;Joking! God, no!
+It&#8217;s real, real, deadly real, that&#8217;s what ...
+Oh, Mollie&ndash;&ndash;!&#8221; Instinctively, as a child, the
+man&#8217;s head had gone to the girl&#8217;s lap. Though
+never before had they spoken of love or of marriage,
+neither noted the incongruity now. &#8220;It&#8217;s
+all over. We&#8217;ll never be married, never again
+get out into the country together, never even see
+the green grass next Spring&ndash;&ndash;at least I won&#8217;t&ndash;&ndash;never....
+Oh, Mollie, Mollie!&#8221; The
+man&#8217;s back rose and fell spasmodically. His
+voice broke. &#8220;Mollie, make me forget; I can&#8217;t
+bear to think of it. Can&#8217;t! Can&#8217;t!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Not a muscle of the girl&#8217;s body stirred; she
+made no sound. No one in advance would have
+believed it possible, but it was true. Five minutes
+passed. The man became quiet.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve,&#8221; the voice was very even, &#8220;what else
+did the doctor say?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Eh?&#8221; It was the doddering query of an
+old man.</p>
+<p>The girl repeated the question, slowly, with
+infinite patience, as though she were speaking
+to a child.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What else did the doctor say?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Her tranquillity in a measure calmed the man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he said a lot of things; but that&#8217;s all I
+remember&ndash;&ndash;what I told you. It was the last
+thing, and he kind of tilted back in his chair.
+The spring needed oil; it fairly screamed. I
+can hear it now.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Steve Babcock,&#8217; said he, &#8216;you&#8217;ve got to go
+some place where it&#8217;s drier, where the air&#8217;s pure
+and clean and sweet the year round. Mexico&#8217;s
+the spot for you, or somewhere in the Far West
+where you can spend all your time in the open&ndash;&ndash;under
+the roof of Heaven.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He leaned forward, and again that cursed
+spring interrupted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;If you don&#8217;t go, and go right away,&#8217; he
+said, &#8216;as sure as I&#8217;m talking to you, you&#8217;re a
+dead man.&#8217;&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p>
+<p>Babcock straightened, and, leaden-eyed,
+looked dully into the blaze.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Those,&#8221; he whispered, &#8220;were his last
+words.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And if you do go?&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;very quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He said I had a chance&ndash;&ndash;a fighting
+chance.&#8221; Once more the hopeless, deprecatory
+gesture.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what&#8217;s the use? You know, as well as
+I, that I haven&#8217;t a hundred dollars to my name.
+He might just as well have told me to go to the
+moon.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We poor folks are like rats in a trap when
+they turn the water on&ndash;&ndash;helpless. We&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Babcock had wandered on, forgetting, for
+the moment, that it was his own case he was
+analyzing. Now of a sudden it recurred to him,
+cumulatively, crushingly and, as before, his
+head instinctively sought refuge.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We can&#8217;t do anything but take our medicine,
+Mollie&ndash;&ndash;just take our medicine.&#8221;</p>
+<p><i>Patter</i>, <i>patter</i> sounded the sleet against the
+window-panes, mingling with the roar of the
+wind in the chimney, with the short, quick
+breaths of the man. In silence he reached out,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span>
+took one of the girl&#8217;s hands captive, and held it
+against his cheek.</p>
+<p>For a minute&ndash;&ndash;five minutes&ndash;&ndash;she did not
+stir, did not utter a sound; only the soft oval
+face tightened until its gentle outlines grew
+sharp, and the brown skin almost white.</p>
+<p>All at once her lips compressed; she had
+reached a decision.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve, sit up, please; I can talk to you better
+so.&#8221; Pityingly, protectingly, she placed an
+arm around him and drew him close; not as man
+to maid, but&ndash;&ndash;ah, the pity of it!&ndash;&ndash;as a feeble
+child to its mother.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Listen to what I say. To-day is Thursday.
+Next Monday you are going West, as the
+doctor orders.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&ndash;&ndash;what did you say, Mollie?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Next Monday you go West.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean, after all, I&#8217;m to have a chance?
+I&#8217;m not going to die like&ndash;&ndash;like a rat?&#8221;</p>
+<p>For a moment, a swiftly passing moment, it
+was the old vital Steve who spoke; the Babcock
+of a year ago; then, in quick recession, the mood
+passed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know what you&#8217;re talking about,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
+girl. I can&#8217;t go, I tell you. I haven&#8217;t the
+money.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll see that you have the money, Steve.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been teaching for eight years, and living
+at home all the while.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man, surprised out of his self centredness,
+looked wonderingly, unbelievingly, at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You never told me, Mollie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I never saw the need before.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man&#8217;s look of wonder passed. Another&ndash;&ndash;fearful,
+dependent, the look of a child in the
+dark&ndash;&ndash;took its place.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&ndash;&ndash;alone, Mollie! A strange land, a
+strange people, a strange tongue! Oh, I hate
+myself, girl, hate myself! I&#8217;ve lost my nerve.
+I can&#8217;t go alone. I can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re not going alone, Steve.&#8221; There was
+a triumphant note in her voice that thrilled the
+man through and through. She continued:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Only this morning&ndash;&ndash;I don&#8217;t know why I
+did it; it seems now like Providence pointing
+the way&ndash;&ndash;I read in the paper about the rich
+farm lands in South Dakota that are open for
+settlement. I thought of you at the time,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span>
+Steve; how such a life might restore your
+health; but it seemed so impossible, so impracticable,
+that I soon forgot about it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&ndash;&ndash;Steve&ndash;&ndash;we can each take up a
+quarter-section&ndash;&ndash;three hundred and twenty
+acres, altogether. Think of it! We&#8217;ll soon be
+rich. There you will have just the sort of outdoor
+life the doctor says you need.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He looked at her, marvelling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie&ndash;&ndash;you don&#8217;t mean it&ndash;&ndash;now, when
+I&#8217;m&ndash;&ndash;this way!&#8221; He arose, his breath coming
+quick, a deep blot of red in the centre of
+each cheek. &#8220;It can&#8217;t be true when&ndash;&ndash;when
+you&#8217;d never let me say anything before.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Steve, it&#8217;s true.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She was so calm, so self-possessed and withal
+so determined, that the man was incredulous.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That you&#8217;ll marry me? Say it, Mollie!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;ll marry you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie!&#8221; He took a step forward, then of
+a sudden, abruptly halted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But your parents,&#8221; in swift trepidation.
+&#8220;Mollie, they&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t let&#8217;s speak of them,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;sharply.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
+Then in quick contrition, her voice softened;
+once more it struck the maternal note.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me, I&#8217;m very tired. Come. We
+have a spare room; you mustn&#8217;t go home to-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man stopped, coughed, advanced a step,
+then stopped again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie, I can&#8217;t thank you; can&#8217;t ever repay
+you&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t talk of repaying me,&#8221; she said
+shyly, her dark face coloring. It was the first
+time during the interview that she had shown a
+trace of embarrassment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come,&#8221; she said, meeting his look again, her
+hand on the door; &#8220;it&#8217;s getting late. You must
+not venture out.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A moment longer the man hesitated, then
+obeyed. Not until he was very near, so near
+that he could touch her, did a vestige of his
+former manhood appear. He paused, and their
+eyes were locked in a soul-searching look. Then
+all at once his arm was round her waist, his face
+beside her face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie, girl, won&#8217;t you&ndash;&ndash;just once?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no&ndash;&ndash;not that! Don&#8217;t ask it.&#8221; Passionately
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span>
+the brown hands flew to the brown cheeks,
+covering them protectingly. But at once came
+thought, the spirit of sacrifice, and contrition
+for the involuntary repulse.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Forgive me, Steve; I&#8217;m unaccountable to-night.&#8221;
+Her voice, her manner were constrained,
+subdued. She accepted his injured
+look without comment, without further defence.
+She saw the perplexed look on his thin face;
+then she reached forward&ndash;&ndash;up&ndash;&ndash;and her two
+soft hands brought his face down to the level of
+her own.</p>
+<p>Deliberately, voluntarily, she kissed him fair
+upon the lips.</p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+<p>The sun was just peering over the rim of the
+prairie, when Mrs. Warren turned in from the
+dusty road, picked her way among the browning
+weeds to the plain, unpainted, shanty-like
+structure which marked the presence of a homesteader.
+Except to the east, where stood the
+tents and shacks of the new railroad&#8217;s construction
+gang, not another human habitation broke
+the dull, monotonous rolling sea of prairie.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p>
+<p>Mrs. Warren pounded vigorously upon the
+rough boards of the door.</p>
+<p>A full half-minute she waited; then she
+glared petulantly at the unresponsive barrier,
+and pounded upon it again.</p>
+<p>Ordinarily she would have waited patiently,
+for the multitude of duties of one day often
+found Mrs. Babcock still weary with the dawning
+of the next&ndash;&ndash;especially since Steve had
+allied himself with Jack Warren&#8217;s engineering
+corps.</p>
+<p>Funds had run low, and the two valetudinarians
+had reached the stage of desperation where
+they were driven to acknowledge failure, when
+Jack Warren happened along, in the van of
+the new railroad.</p>
+<p>The work of home-building, from the raw
+material, had been too much for Steve&#8217;s enfeebled
+physique; so it happened that Mollie
+performed most of his share, as well as all of
+her own. Yet Steve toiled to the limit of his
+endurance, and each day, at sundown, flung
+himself upon his blanket, spread beneath the
+stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling with weariness.
+But he soon developed a prodigious appetite,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
+and, after the first few weeks, slept each
+night like a dead man, until sunrise.</p>
+<p>This morning Annie Warren was too full of
+her errand to pause an instant. She stood a
+moment listening, one ear to the splintery,
+unfinished boards, then&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie,&#8221; she ventured, &#8220;are you awake?&#8221;</p>
+<p>No answer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;more insistent, &#8220;wake up and let
+me in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Still no response.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie,&#8221; for the third time, &#8220;it is I, Annie;
+may I enter?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come.&#8221; The voice was barely audible.</p>
+<p>Within the uncomfortably low, dim room the
+visitor impetuously crossed the earthen floor
+half-way to a rude bunk built against the wall,
+then paused, her round, childlike face soberly
+lengthening.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie, you have been crying!&#8221; she charged,
+resentfully, as if the act constituted a personal
+offence. &#8220;You can&#8217;t deceive me. The pillow is
+soaked, and your eyes are red.&#8221; She came forward,
+impulsively, and threw herself on the bed,
+her arm about the other.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it? Tell me&ndash;&ndash;your friend&ndash;&ndash;Annie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Beneath the light coverlet, Mollie Babcock
+made a motion of deprecation, almost of repugnance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is nothing. Please don&#8217;t pay any attention
+to me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But it <i>is</i> something. Am I not your
+friend?&#8221;</p>
+<p>For a moment neither spoke. Annie Warren
+all at once became conscious that the other
+woman was looking at her in a way she had
+never done before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Assuredly you are my friend, Annie. But
+just the same, it&#8217;s nothing.&#8221; The look altered
+until it became a smile.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me, instead, why you are here,&#8221; Mollie
+went on. &#8220;It is not usual at this time of day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Annie Warren felt the rebuff, and she was
+hurt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is nothing.&#8221; The visitor was on her feet,
+her voice again resentful; her chin was held
+high, while her long lashes drooped. &#8220;Pardon
+me for intruding, for&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Annie!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></p>
+<p>No answer save the quiver of a sensitive red
+lip.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Annie, child, pardon me. I wouldn&#8217;t for
+the world hurt you; but it is so hard, what you
+ask.&#8221; Mollie Babcock rose, now, likewise.
+&#8220;However, if you wish&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no!&#8221; The storm was clearing. &#8220;It
+was all my fault. I know you&#8217;d rather not.&#8221;
+She had grasped Mollie&#8217;s arms, and was forcing
+her backward, toward the bunk, gently,
+smilingly. &#8220;Be still. I&#8217;ve something to tell
+you. Are you quite ready to listen?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;m quite ready.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You haven&#8217;t the slightest idea what it is?
+You couldn&#8217;t even guess?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I couldn&#8217;t even guess.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you, then.&#8221; The plump Annie was
+bubbling like a child before a well-filled Christmas
+stocking. &#8220;It&#8217;s Jack: he&#8217;s coming this
+very day. A big, fierce Indian brought the
+letter this morning.&#8221; She sat down tailor fashion
+on the end of the bunk. &#8220;He nearly ate up
+Susie&ndash;&ndash;Jack christened her Susie because she&#8217;s
+a Sioux&ndash;&ndash;because she wouldn&#8217;t let him put the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
+letter right into my own hand. That&#8217;s why I&#8217;m
+up so early.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She looked slyly at the woman on the bed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who do you suppose is coming with him?&#8221;
+she asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sure I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; in a tone of not
+caring, either.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Guess, Mollie!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course&ndash;&ndash;Steve. You knew all the time,
+only you wouldn&#8217;t admit it. Oh, I&#8217;m so glad!
+I want to hug some one. Isn&#8217;t it fine?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, fine indeed. But you don&#8217;t mean that
+you want to hug Steve?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, goose. You know I meant Jack; but
+I&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; She regarded her friend doubtfully.
+But Mollie Babcock was dressing rapidly, and
+her face was averted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And Mollie, I didn&#8217;t tell you all&ndash;&ndash;almost
+the best. We&#8217;re going home, Jack says; going
+right away; this very week, maybe.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For a moment the dressing halted. &#8220;I am
+very glad&ndash;&ndash;for you,&#8221; said Mollie, in an even
+voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Glad, for me!&#8221; mimickingly, baitingly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span>
+&#8220;Mollie Babcock, if I didn&#8217;t know you better,
+I&#8217;d say you were envious.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mollie said nothing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Or weren&#8217;t glad your husband is coming.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Still no word.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Or&ndash;&ndash;or&ndash;&ndash;Mollie, what have I done?&#8221;
+Annie cried in dismay. &#8220;Don&#8217;t cry so; I was
+only joking. Of course you know that I didn&#8217;t
+mean that you envied our good luck, or that
+you wouldn&#8217;t be crazy to see Steve.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But it&#8217;s so. God help me, it&#8217;s so!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie!&#8221; Mrs. Warren was aghast. &#8220;Forgive
+me! I&#8217;m ashamed of myself!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s nothing to forgive; it&#8217;s so.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t.&#8221; The two were very close,
+very tense, but not touching. &#8220;Don&#8217;t say any
+more. I didn&#8217;t hear&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You did hear. And you suspected, or you
+wouldn&#8217;t have suggested!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie, I never dreamed. I&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Of a sudden the older woman faced about.
+Seizing the other by the shoulders, she held her
+prisoner. She fixed the frightened woman&#8217;s
+eyes with a stern look.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Will you swear that you never knew&ndash;&ndash;that
+it was mere chance&ndash;&ndash;what you said?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You swear you didn&#8217;t?&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;the grip tightened&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;you
+swear it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I swear&ndash;&ndash;oh, you&#8217;re hurting me!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mollie Babcock let her hands drop.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I believe you&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;wearily. &#8220;It seemed that
+everybody knew. God help me!&#8221; She sank to
+the bed, her face in her hands. &#8220;I believe I&#8217;m
+going mad!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie&ndash;&ndash;Mollie Babcock! You mustn&#8217;t
+talk so&ndash;&ndash;you mustn&#8217;t!&#8221; The seconds ticked
+away. Save for the quick catch of suppressed
+sobs, not a sound was heard in the mean, austere
+little room; not an echo penetrated from the
+outside world.</p>
+<p>Then suddenly the brown head lifted from
+the pillow, and Mollie faced almost fiercely
+about.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You think I am&ndash;&ndash;am mad already.&#8221; Then,
+feverishly: &#8220;Don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Helpless at a crisis, Annie Warren could only
+stand silent, the pink, childish under-lip held
+tight between her teeth to prevent a quiver.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
+Her fingers played nervously with the filmy
+lace shawl about her shoulders.</p>
+<p>Mollie advanced a step. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Annie found her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no, no! Oh, Mollie, no, of course
+not! You&ndash;&ndash;Mollie&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; Instinct all at once
+came to her rescue. With a sudden movement
+she gathered the woman in her arms, her tender
+heart quivering in her voice and glistening in
+her eyes. &#8220;Mollie, I can&#8217;t bear to have you so!
+I love you, Mollie. Tell me what it is&ndash;&ndash;me&ndash;&ndash;your
+friend, Annie.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mollie&#8217;s lips worked without speech, and
+Annie became insistent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me, Mollie. Let me share the ache at
+your heart. I love you!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Here was the crushing straw to one very, very
+heartsick and very weary. For the first time
+in her solitary life, Mollie Babcock threw reticence
+to the winds, and admitted another human
+being into the secret places of her confidence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you don&#8217;t think me already mad, you will
+before I&#8217;m through.&#8221; Like a caged wild thing
+that can not be still, she was once more on her
+feet, vibrating back and forth like a shuttle.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid of myself at times, afraid of the
+future. It&#8217;s like the garret used to be after
+dark, when we were children: it holds only
+horrors.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Child, child!&#8221; She paused, her arms
+folded across her breast, her throat a-throb.
+&#8220;You can&#8217;t understand&ndash;&ndash;thank God, you
+never will understand&ndash;&ndash;what the future holds
+for me. You are going back home; back to your
+own people, your own life. You&#8217;ve been here
+but a few months. To you it has been a lark,
+an outing, an experience. In a few short weeks
+it will be but a memory, stowed away in its own
+niche, the pleasant features alone remaining
+vivid.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Even, while here, you&#8217;ve never known the
+life itself. You&#8217;ve had Jack, the novelty of a
+strange environment, your anticipation of sure
+release. You are merely like a sightseer, locked
+for a minute in a prison-cell, for the sake of a
+new sensation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t understand, I say. You are this,
+and I&ndash;&ndash;I am the life-prisoner in the cell beyond,
+peering at you through the bars, viewing
+you and your mock imprisonment.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></p>
+<p>Once more the speaker was in motion, to and
+fro, to and fro, in the shuttle-trail. &#8220;The chief
+difference is, that the life-prisoner has a hope
+of pardon; I have none&ndash;&ndash;absolutely none.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;pleadingly, &#8220;you mustn&#8217;t. I&#8217;ll
+ask Jack to give Steve a place at home, and you
+can go&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go!&#8221; The bitterness of her heart welled
+up and vibrated in the word. &#8220;Go! We can&#8217;t
+go, now or ever. It&#8217;s death to Steve if we
+leave. I&#8217;ve got to stay here, month after month,
+year after year, dragging my life out until I
+grow gray-haired&ndash;&ndash;until I die!&#8221; She halted,
+her arms tensely folded, her breath coming
+quick. Only the intensity of her emotion saved
+the attitude from being histrionic. In a sudden
+outburst, she fiercely apostrophized:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Dakota! I hate you, I hate you! Because
+I am a woman, I hate you! Because I
+would live in a house, and not in this endless
+dreary waste of a dead world, I hate you! Because
+your very emptiness and solitude are worse
+than a prison, because the calls of the living
+things that creep and fly over your endless
+bosom are more mournful than death itself, I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
+hate you! Because I would be free, because I
+respect sex, because of the disdain for womanhood
+that dwells in your crushing silence, I
+hate&ndash;&ndash;oh, my God, how I hate you!&#8221; She
+threw her arms wide, in a frantic gesture of
+rebellion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I want but this,&#8221; she cried passionately:
+&#8220;to be free; free, as I was at home, in God&#8217;s
+country. And I can never be so here&ndash;&ndash;never,
+never, never! Oh, Annie, I&#8217;m homesick&ndash;&ndash;desperately,
+miserably homesick! I wish to
+Heaven I were dead!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Annie Warren, child-woman that she was,
+was helpless, when face to face with the unusual.
+Her senses were numbed, paralyzed.
+One thought alone suggested itself.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;haltingly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;for Steve&#8217;s sake&ndash;&ndash;certainly,
+for him&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop! As you love me, stop!&#8221; Again no
+suggestion of the histrionic in the passionate
+voice. &#8220;Don&#8217;t say that now. I can&#8217;t stand it.
+I&ndash;&ndash;oh, I don&#8217;t mean that! Forget that I said
+it. I&#8217;m not responsible this morning. Please
+leave me.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p>
+<p>She was prostrate on the bed at last, her whole
+body a-tremble.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&ndash;&ndash;Mollie&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go&ndash;&ndash;go!&#8221; cried Mollie, wildly. &#8220;Please
+go!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Awed to silence, Annie Warren stared helplessly
+a moment, then gathered her shawl about
+her shoulders, and slipped silently away.</p>
+<h3>III</h3>
+<p>Mollie Babcock was listlessly going about
+some imperative domestic task, behind the mean
+structure which represented home for her, when
+Steve came upon her.</p>
+<p>She was not looking for him. He had been
+gone so long, out there somewhere, in that abomination
+of desolation, building a railroad, that
+the morbid fancy had come to dwell with her
+that the prairie had swallowed him, and that
+she would never see him more. So he came upon
+her unawares.</p>
+<p>The buffalo grass rustled with the passage of
+her skirts. His eyes lighted, the man seemed
+to grow in stature&ndash;&ndash;six feet of sun-blessed,
+primitive health. Now was the time&ndash;&ndash;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie!&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a sudden gasp from the woman.
+With a hand to her throat, she wheeled swiftly
+round, confronting him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m back at last. Aren&#8217;t you glad to see
+me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>She was as pallid as an Easter-lily; pallid,
+despite the fact that she had decided, and had
+nerved herself for his coming.</p>
+<p>Steve was puzzled. &#8220;Mollie, girl&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he did
+not advance, merely stood as he was&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;aren&#8217;t
+you glad to see me? Won&#8217;t you&ndash;&ndash;come?&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a long space of silence; the woman
+did not stir. Then a strange, inarticulate cry
+was smothered in her throat. Swiftly, all but
+desperately, she stumbled blindly forward, although
+her eyes were shining with the enchantment
+of his presence; close to him she came,
+flung her arms around his broad chest, and
+strained him to her with the abandon of a wild
+creature.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Steve!&#8221; tensely, &#8220;how could you? Glad?
+You know I&#8217;m glad&ndash;&ndash;oh, so glad! You
+startled me, that was all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mollie, girlie&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he lifted her at arms&#8217;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span>
+length, joying in this testimony of his renewed
+strength and manhood&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;I rode all last night
+to get here&ndash;&ndash;to see you. Are you happy, girlie,
+happy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Steve&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;her voice was chastened to
+a murmur&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;I&#8217;m very happy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That completes my happiness.&#8221; Drawing
+her tenderly to him, he kissed her again and
+again&ndash;&ndash;hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly,
+he fell to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that
+she was quick to interpret.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t there something you&#8217;ve forgotten,
+Mollie?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;ve not forgotten, Steve.&#8221; She drew
+the bearded face down to her own. Had Steve
+been observant he would have noticed that the
+lips so near his own were trembling; but he was
+not observant, this Steve Babcock. Once, twice
+and again she kissed him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think I&#8217;ll never forget, Steve, man&ndash;&ndash;never!&#8221;
+With one hand she indicated the
+prairie that billowed away to the skyline. &#8220;This
+is our home, and I love it because it is ours. I
+shall always have you&ndash;&ndash;I know now, Steve.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span>
+And I&#8217;m the happiest, most contented woman
+in all the wide world.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She drew away with a sudden movement, her
+face aglow with love and happiness. She was
+pulling at his arm with all her might.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where are you going?&#8221; he asked, surprised.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Over to the camp&ndash;&ndash;to Journey&#8217;s End. I
+must tell Annie Warren just as soon as ever
+I can find her.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
+<a name='A_PRAIRIE_IDYL' id='A_PRAIRIE_IDYL'></a>
+<h2>A PRAIRIE IDYL</h2>
+</div>
+<p>A beautiful moonlight night early
+in September, the kind of night one remembers
+for years, when the air is not too
+cold to be pleasant, and yet has a suggestion of
+the frost that is to come. A kind of air that
+makes one think thoughts which cannot be put
+into words, that calls up sensations one cannot
+describe; an air which breeds restless energy;
+an air through which Mother Nature seems to
+speak, saying&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;Hasten, children; life is
+short and you have much to do.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was nearing ten o&#8217;clock, and a full moon
+lit up the rolling prairie country of South Dakota
+for miles, when the first team of a little
+train of six moved slowly out of the dark
+shadow blots thrown by the trees at the edge of
+the Big Sioux, advancing along a dim trail
+towards the main road. From the first wagon
+sounded the suggestive rattle of tin cooking-utensils,
+and the clatter of covers on an old
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span>
+cook stove. Next behind was a load piled high
+with a compound heap of tents, tennis nets, old
+carpets, hammocks, and the manifold unclassified
+paraphernalia which twenty young people
+will collect for a three weeks&#8217; outing.</p>
+<p>These wagons told their own story. &#8220;Camp
+Eden,&#8221; the fanciful name given to the quiet,
+shady spot where the low chain of hills met the
+river; the spot where the very waters seemed to
+lose themselves in their own cool depths, and
+depart sighing through the shallows beyond,&ndash;&ndash;Camp
+Eden was deserted, and a score of very
+tired campers were reluctantly returning to
+home and work.</p>
+<p>Last in the line and steadily losing ground,
+came a single trap carrying two people. One
+of them, a young man with the face of a
+dreamer, was speaking. The spell of the night
+was upon him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So this is the last of our good time&ndash;&ndash;and
+now for work.&#8221; He stopped the horse and
+stood up in the wagon. &#8220;Good-bye, little Camp
+Eden. Though I won&#8217;t be here, yet whenever
+I see the moon a-shining so&ndash;&ndash;and the air feeling
+frosty and warm and restless&ndash;&ndash;and the corn
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
+stalks whitening, and the young prairie chickens
+calling&ndash;&ndash;you&#8217;ll come back to me, and I&#8217;ll
+think of you&ndash;&ndash;and of the Big Sioux&ndash;&ndash;and of&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;
+His eyes dropped to a smooth brown head,
+every coil of the walnut hair glistening.</p>
+<p>It made him think of the many boat rides
+they two had taken together in the past two
+weeks, when he had watched the moonlight
+shimmering on rippling, running water, and
+compared the play of light upon it and upon
+that same brown head&ndash;&ndash;and had forgotten all
+else in the comparison. He forgot all else now.
+He sat down, and the horse started. The noisy
+wagons ahead had passed out of hearing. The
+pair were alone.</p>
+<p>He was silent a moment, looking sideways at
+the girl. The moonlight fell full upon her face,
+drawing clear the line of cheek and chin; bringing
+out the curve of the drooping mouth and the
+shadow from the long lashes. She seemed to
+the sensitive lad more than human. He had
+loved her for years, with the pure silent love
+known only to such a nature as his&ndash;&ndash;and never
+had he loved her so wildly as now.</p>
+<p>He was the sport of a multitude of passions;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
+love and ambition were the strongest, and they
+were fighting a death struggle with each other.
+How could he leave her for years&ndash;&ndash;perhaps
+never see her again&ndash;&ndash;and yet how could he
+ask her to be the wife of such as he was now&ndash;&ndash;a
+mere laborer? And again, his college course,
+his cherished ambition for years&ndash;&ndash;how could he
+give it up; and yet he felt&ndash;&ndash;he knew she loved
+him, and trusted him.</p>
+<p>He had been looking squarely at her. She
+turned, and their eyes met. Each knew the
+thought of the other, and each turned away.
+He hesitated no longer; he would tell her all,
+and she should judge. His voice trembled a
+little as he said: &#8220;I want to tell you a story,
+and ask you a question&ndash;&ndash;may I?&#8221;</p>
+<p>She looked at him quickly, then answered
+with a smile: &#8220;I&#8217;m always glad to hear stories&ndash;&ndash;and
+at the worst one can always decline to
+answer questions.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He looked out over the prairie, and saw the
+lights of the little town&ndash;&ndash;her home&ndash;&ndash;in the
+distance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t a short story, and I have only so
+long&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he pointed along the road ahead to the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span>
+village beyond&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;to tell it in.&#8221; He settled
+back in the seat, and began speaking. His
+voice was low and soft, like the prairie night-wind.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Part of the story you know; part of it I
+think you have guessed; a little of it will be
+new. For the sake of that little, I will tell
+all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thirteen years ago, what is now a little
+prairie town&ndash;&ndash;then a very little town indeed&ndash;&ndash;gained
+a new citizen&ndash;&ndash;a boy of nine. A
+party of farmers found him one day, sleeping
+in a pile of hay, in the market corner. He lay
+so they could see how his face was bruised&ndash;&ndash;and
+how, though asleep, he tossed in pain. He
+awoke, and, getting up, walked with a limp.
+Where he came from no one knew, and he would
+not tell; but his appearance told its own story.
+He had run away from somewhere. What had
+happened they could easily imagine.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was harvest-time and boys, even though
+minus a pedigree, were in demand; so he was
+promptly put on a farm. Though only a child,
+he had no one to care for him&ndash;&ndash;and he was
+made to work ceaselessly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Years passed and brought a marked change
+in the boy. How he lived was a marvel. It was
+a country of large families, and no one cared
+to adopt him. Summers, he would work for his
+board and clothes, and in winter, by the irony
+of Nature, for his board only; yet, perhaps because
+it was the warmest place he knew, he
+managed to attend district school.</p>
+<p>&#8220;When a lad of fifteen he began to receive
+wages&ndash;&ndash;and life&#8217;s horizon seemed to change.
+He dressed neatly, and in winter came to
+school in the little prairie town. He was put in
+the lower grades with boys of ten, and even
+here his blunders made him a laughing-stock;
+but not for long, for he worked&ndash;&ndash;worked always&ndash;&ndash;and
+next year was put in the high
+school.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There he established a precedent&ndash;&ndash;doing
+four years&#8217; work in two&ndash;&ndash;and graduated at
+eighteen. How he did it no one but he himself
+knew&ndash;&ndash;studying Sundays, holidays, and evenings,
+when he was so tired that he had to walk
+the floor to keep awake&ndash;&ndash;but he did it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The speaker stopped a moment to look at
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span>
+his companion. &#8220;Is this a bore? Somehow I
+can&#8217;t help talking to-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, please go on,&#8221; said the girl quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, the boy graduated&ndash;&ndash;but not alone.
+For two years he had worked side by side with
+a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. From the
+time he had first seen her she was his ideal&ndash;&ndash;his
+divinity. And she had never spoken with him
+five minutes in her life. After graduation, the
+girl went away to a big university. Her parents
+were wealthy, and her every wish was
+gratified.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again the speaker hesitated. When he went
+on his face was hard, his voice bitter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the boy&ndash;&ndash;he was poor and he went
+back to the farm. He was the best hand in the
+country; for the work he received good wages.
+If he had worked hard before, he worked now
+like a demon. He thought of the girl away at
+college, and tried at first to crowd her from his
+memory&ndash;&ndash;but in vain. Then he worked in
+self-defence&ndash;&ndash;and to forget.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He saw years slipping by&ndash;&ndash;and himself
+still a farmhand. The thought maddened him,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
+because he knew he was worthy of something
+better.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gradually, his whole life centred upon one
+object&ndash;&ndash;to save money for college. Other boys
+called him close and cold; but he did not care.
+He seldom went anywhere, so intent was he
+upon his one object. On hot summer nights,
+tired and drowsy he would read until Nature rebelled,
+and he would fall asleep to dream of a
+girl&ndash;&ndash;a girl with brown eyes that made one forget&ndash;&ndash;everything.
+In winter, he had more time&ndash;&ndash;and
+the little lamp in his room became a sort
+of landmark: it burned for hours after every
+other light in the valley had ceased shining.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Four years passed, and at last the boy had
+won. In a month he would pass from the
+prairie to university life. He had no home, few
+friends&ndash;&ndash;who spoke; those who did not were
+safely packed at the bottom of his trunk. His
+going from the little town would excite no more
+comment than had his coming. He was all
+ready, and for the first time in his life set apart
+a month&ndash;&ndash;the last&ndash;&ndash;as a vacation. He
+felt positively gay. He had fought a hard fight&ndash;&ndash;and
+had won. He saw the dawning of a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span>
+great light&ndash;&ndash;saw the future as a battle-ground
+where he would fight; not as he was then, but
+fully equipped for the struggle.... But
+no matter what air-castles he built; they were
+such as young men will build to the end of
+time.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The speaker&#8217;s voice lowered&ndash;&ndash;stopped. He
+looked straight out over the prairie, his eyes
+glistening.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If so far the boy&#8217;s life had been an inferno,
+he was to be repaid. The girl&ndash;&ndash;she of the
+brown eyes&ndash;&ndash;was home once more, and they
+met again as members of a camping party.&#8221;
+He half-turned in his seat to look at her, but
+she sat with face averted, so quiet, so motionless,
+that he wondered if she heard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you listening?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Listening!&#8221; Her voice carried conviction,
+so the lad continued.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For a fortnight he lived a dream&ndash;&ndash;and
+that dream was Paradise. He forgot the past,
+ignored the future, and lived solely for the
+moment&ndash;&ndash;with the joy of Nature&#8217;s own child.
+It was the pure love of the idealist and the
+dreamer&ndash;&ndash;it was divine.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Then came the reaction. One day he awoke&ndash;&ndash;saw
+things as they were&ndash;&ndash;saw again the
+satire of Fate. At the very time he left for college,
+she returned&ndash;&ndash;a graduate. She was
+young, beautiful, accomplished. He was a
+mere farmhand, without money or education,
+homeless, obscure. The thought was maddening,
+and one day he suddenly disappeared from
+camp. He didn&#8217;t say good-bye to any one; he
+felt he had no apology that he could offer. But
+he had to go, for he felt the necessity for work,
+longed for it, as a drunkard longs for liquor.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; The exclamation came from the
+lips of the girl beside him. &#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;we&ndash;&ndash;all
+wondered why&ndash;&ndash;.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, that was why.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He fell in with a threshing-crew, and asked
+to work for his board. They thought him queer,
+but accepted his offer. For two days he stayed
+with them, doing the work of two men. It
+seemed as if he couldn&#8217;t do enough&ndash;&ndash;he
+couldn&#8217;t become tired. He wanted to think it
+all out, and he couldn&#8217;t with the fever in his
+blood.</p>
+<p>&#8220;At night he couldn&#8217;t sleep&ndash;&ndash;Nature was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span>
+pitiless. He would walk the road for miles
+until morning.</p>
+<p>&#8220;With the third day came relief. All at once
+he felt fearfully tired, and fell asleep where he
+stood. Several of the crew carried him to a
+darkened room, and there he slept as a dumb
+animal sleeps. When he awoke, he was himself
+again; his mind was clear and cool. He looked
+the future squarely in the face, now, and
+clearly, as if a finger pointed, he saw the path
+that was marked for him. He must go his way&ndash;&ndash;and
+she must go hers. Perhaps, after four
+years or more&ndash;&ndash;but the future was God&#8217;s.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The boy paused. The lights of the town
+were nearing, now; but he still looked out over
+the moon-kissed prairie.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The rest you know. The dreamer returned.
+The party scarcely knew him, for he seemed
+years older. There were but a few days more
+of camp life, and he spent most of the time with
+the girl. Like a malefactor out on bail, he was
+painting a picture for the future. He thought
+he had conquered himself&ndash;&ndash;but he hadn&#8217;t. It
+was the same old struggle. Was not love more
+than ambition or wealth? Had he not earned
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span>
+the right to speak? But something held him
+back. If justice to himself, was it justice to the
+girl? Conscience said &#8216;No.&#8217; It was hard&ndash;&ndash;no
+one knows how hard&ndash;&ndash;but he said nothing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Once more he turned to his companion, in his
+voice the tenderness of a life-long passion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;This is the story: did the boy do right?&#8221;
+A life&#8217;s work&ndash;&ndash;greater than a life itself, hung
+on the answer to that question.</p>
+<p>The girl understood it all. She had always
+known that she liked him; but now&ndash;&ndash;now&ndash;&ndash;As
+he had told his story, she had felt, first, pity,
+and then something else; something incomparably
+sweeter; something that made her heart
+beat wildly, that seemed almost to choke her
+with its ecstasy.</p>
+<p>He loved her&ndash;&ndash;had loved her all these years!
+He belonged to her&ndash;&ndash;and his future lay in her
+hands.</p>
+<p>His future! The thought fell upon her new-found
+happiness with the suddenness of a blow.
+She could keep him, but had she the right to do
+so? She saw in him something that he did not
+suspect&ndash;&ndash;and that something was genius. She
+knew he had the ability to make for himself a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
+name that would stand among the great names
+of the earth.</p>
+<p>Then, did his life really belong to her? Did
+it not rather belong to himself and to the world?</p>
+<p>She experienced a struggle, fierce as he himself
+had fought. And the boy sat silent, tense,
+waiting for her answer.</p>
+<p>Yes, she must give him up; she would be
+brave. She started to speak, but the words
+would not come. Suddenly she buried her face
+in her hands, while the glistening brown head
+trembled with her sobs.</p>
+<p>It was the last drop to the cup overflowing.
+A second, and then, his arms were around her.
+The touch was electrifying&ndash;&ndash;it was oblivion&ndash;&ndash;it
+was heaven&ndash;&ndash;it was&ndash;&ndash;but only a young lover
+knows what.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have answered,&#8221; said the boy. &#8220;God
+forgive me&ndash;&ndash;but I can&#8217;t go away now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Thus Fate sported with two lives.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span>
+<a name='THE_MADNESS_OF_WHISTLING_WINGS' id='THE_MADNESS_OF_WHISTLING_WINGS'></a>
+<h2>THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS</h2>
+</div>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter I&ndash;&ndash;Sandford the Exemplary</span></h3>
+<p>Ordinarily Sandford is sane&ndash;&ndash;undeniably
+so. Barring the seventh, upon
+any other day of the week, fifty-one weeks in
+the year, from nine o&#8217;clock in the morning until
+six at night&ndash;&ndash;omitting again a scant half-hour
+at noon for lunch&ndash;&ndash;he may be found in his
+tight little box of an office on the fifth floor of
+the Exchange Building, at the corner of Main
+Avenue and Thirteenth Street, where the elevated
+makes its loop.</p>
+<p>No dog chained beside his kennel is more
+invariably present, no caged songster more incontestably
+anchored. If you need his services,
+you have but to seek his address between the
+hours mentioned. You may do so with the
+same assurance of finding him on duty that you
+would feel, if you left a jug of water out of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
+doors over night in a blizzard, that the jug, as
+a jug, would be no longer of value in the morning.
+He was, and is, routine impersonate, exponent
+of sound business personified; a living
+sermon against sloth and improvidence, and
+easy derelictions of the flesh.</p>
+<p>That is to say, he is such fifty-one weeks out
+of the fifty-two. All through the frigid winter
+season, despite the lure of California limiteds or
+Havana liners, he holds hard in that den of his,
+with its floor and walls of sanitary tiling and
+its ceiling of white enamel, and hews&ndash;&ndash;or
+grinds rather, for Sandford is a dental surgeon&ndash;&ndash;close
+to the line.</p>
+<p>All through the heat of summer, doggedly
+superior to the call of Colorado or the Adirondacks
+or the Thousand Islands, he comes and
+departs by the tick of the clock. Base-ball
+fans find him adamant; turf devotees, marble;
+golf enthusiasts, cold as the tiles beneath his
+feet.</p>
+<p>Even in early June, when Dalton, whose
+suburban home is next door, returns, tanned
+and clear-eyed from a week-end at <i>the</i> lake&ndash;&ndash;there
+is but one lake to Dalton&ndash;&ndash;and calls
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
+him mysteriously back to the rear of the house,
+where, with a flourish, the cover is removed
+from a box the expressman has just delivered,
+to disclose a shining five-pound bass reposing
+upon its bed of packed ice&ndash;&ndash;even then, hands
+in pockets, Sandford merely surveys and expresses
+polite congratulation. Certainly it
+is a fine fish, a noble fish, even; but for the sake
+of one like it&ndash;&ndash;or, yes, granted a dozen such&ndash;&ndash;to
+leave the office, the sanitary-tiled office, deserted
+for four whole days (especially when Dr.
+Corliss on the floor below is watching like a
+hawk)&ndash;&ndash;such a crazy proceeding is not to be
+thought of.</p>
+<p>Certainly he will not go along the next week
+end&ndash;&ndash;or the next, either. The suggestion
+simply is unthinkable. Such digressions may be
+all right for the leisure class or for invalids;
+but for adults, live ones, strong and playing the
+game? A shrug and a tolerant smile end the
+discussion, as, hands still in his pockets, an
+after-dinner cigar firm between his teeth, Sandford
+saunters back across the dozen feet of sod
+separating his own domicile from that of his
+fallen and misguided neighbor.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Dalton&#8217;s got the fever again, bad,&#8221; he comments
+to the little woman upon his own domain,
+whom he calls &#8220;Polly,&#8221; or &#8220;Mrs. Sandford,&#8221;
+as occasion dictates. She has been watching the
+preceding incident with inscrutable eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; Polly acknowledges, with the air
+of harkening to a familiar harangue while casting
+ahead, in anticipation of what was to come
+next.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Curious about Dalton; peculiar twist to his
+mental machinery somewhere.&#8221; Sandford
+blows a cloud of smoke and eyes it meditatively.
+&#8220;Leaving business that way, chopping it all to
+pieces in fact; and just for a fish! Curious!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Harry&#8217;s got something back there that&#8217;ll
+probably interest you,&#8221; he calls out to me as I
+chug by in my last year&#8217;s motor; &#8220;better stop
+and see.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I acknowledge simply; and though
+Polly&#8217;s eyes and mine meet we never smile, or
+twitch an eyelid, or turn a hair; for Sandford
+is observing&ndash;&ndash;and this is only June.</p>
+<p>So much for Dr. Jekyll Sandford, the Sandford
+of fifty-one weeks in the year.</p>
+<p>Then, as inevitably as time rolls by, comes
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
+that final week; period of mania, of abandon;
+and in the mere sorcerous passage of a pair of
+whirring wings, Dr. Jekyll, the exemplary, is
+no more. In his place, wearing his shoes, audaciously
+signing his name even to checks, is
+that other being, Hyde: one absolutely the reverse
+of the reputable Jekyll; repudiating with
+scorn that gentleman&#8217;s engagements; with
+brazen effrontery denying him utterly, and all
+the sane conventionality for which the name has
+become a synonyme.</p>
+<p>Worst of all, rank blasphemy, he not only refuses
+to set foot in that modern sanitary office
+of enamel and tiling, at the corner of Thirteenth
+and Main, below which, by day and by
+night, the &#8220;L&#8221; trains go thundering, but
+deliberately holds it up to ridicule and derision
+and insult.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter II&ndash;&ndash;The Presage of the Wings</span></h3>
+<p>And I, the observer&ndash;&ndash;worse, the accessory&ndash;&ndash;know,
+in advance, when the metamorphosis
+will transpire.</p>
+<p>When, on my desk-pad calendar the month
+recorded is October, and the day begins with a
+twenty, there comes the first premonition of
+winter; not the reality, but a premonition;
+when, at noon the sun is burning hot, and, in the
+morning, frost glistens on the pavements; when
+the leaves are falling steadily in the parks, and
+not a bird save the ubiquitous sparrow is seen,
+I begin to suspect.</p>
+<p>But when at last, of an afternoon, the wind
+switches with a great flurry from south to
+dead north, and on the flag-pole atop of the
+government building there goes up this signal:
+<img alt='signal flag' src='images/illus-emb.png' />;
+and when later, just before retiring, I surreptitiously
+slip out of doors, and, listening
+breathlessly, hear after a moment despite the
+clatter of the wind, high up in the darkness
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
+overhead that muffled <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> of
+the Canada-goose winging on its southern
+journey in advance of the coming storm&ndash;&ndash;then
+I <i>know</i>.</p>
+<p>So well do I know, that I do not retire&ndash;&ndash;not
+just yet. Instead, on a pretext, any pretext, I
+knock out the ashes from my old pipe, fill it
+afresh, and wait. I wait patiently, because, inevitable
+as Fate, inevitable as that call from out
+the dark void of the sky, I know there will come
+a trill of the telephone on the desk at my elbow;
+my own Polly&ndash;&ndash;whose name happens to be
+Mary&ndash;&ndash;is watching as I take down the receiver
+to reply.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter III&ndash;&ndash;The Other Man</span></h3>
+<p>It is useless to dissimulate longer, then. I
+am discovered, and I know I am discovered.
+&#8220;Hello, Sandford,&#8221; I greet without preface.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sandford!&#8221; (I am repeating in whispers
+what he says for my Polly&#8217;s benefit.) &#8220;Sandford!
+How the deuce did you know?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Know?&#8221; With the Hyde-like change
+comes another, and I feel positively facetious.
+&#8220;Why I know your ring of course, the same as
+I know your handwriting on a telegram. What
+is it? I&#8217;m busy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m busy, too. Don&#8217;t swell up.&#8221; (Imagine
+&#8220;swell up&#8221; from Sandford, the repressed and
+decorous!) &#8220;I just wanted to tell you that
+the honkers are coming.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No! You&#8217;re imagining, or you dreamed
+it!... Anyway, what of it? I tell
+you I&#8217;m busy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Cut it out!&#8221; I&#8217;m almost scared myself,
+the voice is positively ferocious. &#8220;I heard them
+not five minutes ago, and besides, the storm
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
+signal is up. I&#8217;m getting my traps together
+now. Our train goes at three-ten in the morning,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Our-train-goes-at-three-ten&ndash;&ndash;in-the-morning!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I said so.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Our</i> train?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Our train: the one which is to take us out
+to Rush Lake. Am I clear? I&#8217;ll wire Johnson
+to meet us with the buckboard.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Clear, yes; but go in the morning&ndash;&ndash;Why,
+man, you&#8217;re crazy! I have engagements for
+all day to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So have I.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the next day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the next.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A whole week with me. What of it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What of it! Why, business&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Confound business! I tell you they&#8217;re
+coming; I heard them. I haven&#8217;t any more
+time to waste talking, either. I&#8217;ve got to get
+ready. Meet you at three-ten, remember.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Number, please,&#8221; requests Central, wearily.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter IV&ndash;&ndash;Capitulation</span></h3>
+<p>Thus it comes to pass that I go; as I
+know from the first I shall go, and Sandford
+knows that I will go; and, most of all, as
+Mary knows that I will go.</p>
+<p>In fact, she is packing for me already; not
+saying a word, but simply packing; and I&ndash;&ndash;I
+go out-doors again, sidling into a jog beside the
+bow-window, to diminish the din of the wind in
+my ears, listening open-mouthed until&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>Yes, there it sounds again; faint, but distinct;
+mellow, sonorous, vibrant. <i>Honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i>
+and again <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> It wafts downward
+from some place, up above where the stars
+should be and are not; up above the artificial illumination
+of the city; up where there are freedom,
+and space infinite, and abandon absolute.</p>
+<p>With an effort, I force myself back into the
+house. I take down and oil my old double-barrel,
+lovingly, and try the locks to see that
+all is in order. I lay out my wrinkled and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
+battered duck suit handy for the morning, after
+carefully storing away in an inner pocket,
+where they will keep dry, the bundle of postcards
+Mary brings me&ndash;&ndash;first exacting a promise
+to report on one each day, when I know I
+shall be five miles from the nearest postoffice,
+and that I shall bring them all back unused.</p>
+<p>And, last of all, I slip to bed, and to dreams
+of gigantic honkers serene in the blue above;
+of whirring, whistling wings that cut the air
+like myriad knife blades; until I wake up with
+a start at the rattle of the telephone beside my
+bed, and I know that, though dark as a pit of
+pitch, it is morning, and that Sandford is already
+astir.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter V&ndash;&ndash;Anticipation</span></h3>
+<p>In the smoking-car forward I find Sandford.
+He is a most disreputable-looking
+specimen. Garbed in weather-stained corduroys,
+and dried-grass sweater, and great calfskin
+boots, he sprawls among gun-cases and
+shell-carriers&ndash;&ndash;no sportsman will entrust these
+essentials to the questionable ministrations of a
+baggage-man&ndash;&ndash;and the air about him is blue
+from the big cigar he is puffing so ecstatically.
+He nods and proffers me its mate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Going to be a great day,&#8221; he announces
+succinctly, and despite a rigorous censorship
+there is a suggestion of excitement in the voice.
+&#8220;The wind&#8217;s dead north, and it&#8217;s cloudy and
+damp. Rain, maybe, about daylight.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; I am lighting up stolidly, although
+my nerves are atingle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re going to hit it right, just right. The
+flight&#8217;s on. I heard them going over all night.
+The lake will be black with the big fellows, the
+Canada boys.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I repeat; then conscience gives a
+last dig. &#8220;I ought not to do it, though. I
+didn&#8217;t have time to break a single engagement&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;I&#8217;m
+a dental surgeon, too, by the way,
+with likewise an office of tile and enamel&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;or
+explain at all. And the muss there&#8217;ll be at the
+shop when&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Forget it, you confounded old dollar-grubber!&#8221;
+A fresh torrent of smoke belches
+forth, so that I see Sandford&#8217;s face but dimly
+through the haze. &#8220;If you mention teeth again,
+until we&#8217;re back&ndash;&ndash;merely mention them&ndash;&ndash;I&#8217;ll
+throttle you!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The train is in motion now, and the arc-lights
+at the corners, enshrouded each by a zone of
+mist, are flitting by.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he repeats, and again his voice has
+that minor strain of suppressed excitement,
+&#8220;we&#8217;re hitting it just right. There&#8217;ll be rain,
+or a flurry of snow, maybe, and the paddle feet
+will be down in the clouds.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VI&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;Mark the Right, Sandford!&#8221;</span></h3>
+<p>And they are. Almost before we have
+stumbled off at the deserted station into
+the surrounding darkness, Johnson&#8217;s familiar
+bass is heralding the fact.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Millions of &#8217;em, boys,&#8221; he assures us, &#8220;billions!
+Couldn&#8217;t sleep last night for the racket
+they made on the lake. Never saw anything
+like it in the twenty years I&#8217;ve lived on the
+bank. You sure have struck it this time. Right
+this way,&#8221; he is staggering under the load of
+our paraphernalia; &#8220;rig&#8217;s all ready and Molly&#8217;s
+got the kettle on at home, waiting breakfast for
+you.... Just as fat as you were last
+year, ain&#8217;t ye?&#8221; a time-proven joke, for I weigh
+one hundred and eight pounds. &#8220;Try to pull
+you out, though; try to.&#8221; And his great laugh
+drowns the roar of the retreating train.</p>
+<p>At another time, that five-mile drive in the
+denser darkness, just preceding dawn, would
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span>
+have been long perhaps, the springs of that antiquated
+buckboard inadequate, the chill of that
+damp October air piercing; but now&ndash;&ndash;we notice
+nothing, feel nothing uncomfortable. My
+teeth chatter a bit now and then, when I am off
+guard, to be sure; but it is not from cold, and
+the vehicle might be a Pullman coach for aught
+I am conscious.</p>
+<p>For we have reached the border of the marsh,
+now, and are skirting its edge, and&ndash;&ndash;Yes, those
+are ducks, really; that black mass, packed into
+the cove at the lee of those clustering rushes,
+protected from the wind, the whole just distinguishable
+from the lighter shadow of the
+water: ducks and brant; dots of white, like the
+first scattered snowflakes on a sooty city roof!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mark the right, Sandford,&#8221; I whisper in
+oblivion. &#8220;Mark the right!&#8221;</p>
+<p>And, breaking the spell, Johnson laughs.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VII&ndash;&ndash;The Bacon What Am!</span></h3>
+<p>When is bacon bacon, and eggs eggs?
+When is coffee coffee, and the despised
+pickerel, fresh from the cold water of the
+shaded lake, a glorious brown food, fit for the
+gods?</p>
+<p>Answer, while Molly (whose real name is
+Aunt Martha) serves them to us, forty-five
+minutes later.</p>
+<p>Oh, if we only had time to eat, as that breakfast
+deserves to be eaten! If we only had time!</p>
+<p>But we haven&#8217;t; no; Sandford says so, in a
+voice that leaves no room for argument. The
+sky is beginning to redden in the east; the surface
+of the water reflects the glow, like a mirror;
+and, seen through the tiny-paned windows,
+black specks, singly and in groups, appear and
+disappear, in shifting patterns, against the
+lightening background.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No more now, Aunt Martha&ndash;&ndash;no. Wait
+until noon; just wait&ndash;&ndash;and <i>then</i> watch us!
+Ready, Ed?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Waiting for you, Sam.&#8221; It&#8217;s been a year
+since I called him by his Christian name; but I
+never notice, nor does he. &#8220;All ready.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Better try the point this morning; don&#8217;t
+you think, Johnson?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, if you&#8217;ve your eye with ye. Won&#8217;t
+wait while y&#8217; sprinkle salt on their tails, them
+red-heads and canvas boys. No, sir-ree.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VIII&ndash;&ndash;Feathered Bullets</span></h3>
+<p>The breath of us is whistling through
+our nostrils, like the muffled exhaust of a
+gasoline engine, and our hearts are thumping
+two-steps on our ribs from the exertion, when
+we reach the end of the rock-bestrewn point
+which, like a long index finger, is thrust out
+into the bosom of the lake. The wind, still dead
+north, and laden with tiny drops of moisture,
+like spray from a giant atomizer, buffets us
+steadily; but thereof we are sublimely unconscious.</p>
+<p>For at last we are there, there; precisely
+where we were yesterday&ndash;&ndash;no, a year ago&ndash;&ndash;and
+the light is strong enough now, so that when
+our gun-barrels stand out against the sky, we
+can see the sights, and&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>Down! Down, behind the nearest stunted
+willow tree; behind anything&ndash;&ndash;quick!&ndash;&ndash;for
+they&#8217;re coming: a great dim wedge, with the
+apex toward us, coming swiftly on wings that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span>
+propel two miles to the minute, when backed by
+a wind that makes a mile in one.</p>
+<p>Coming&ndash;&ndash;no; arrived. Fair overhead are
+the white of breasts, of plump bodies flashing
+through the mist, the swishing hiss of many
+wings cutting the air, the rhythmic <i>pat</i>, <i>pat</i>&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;<i>Bang!</i>
+<i>Bang!</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>Was it Sandford&#8217;s gun, or was it mine? Who
+knows? The reports were simultaneous.</p>
+<p>And then&ndash;&ndash;<i>splash!</i> and a second later,&ndash;&ndash;<i>splash!</i>
+as two dots leave the hurtling
+wedge and, with folded wings, pitch at an
+angle, following their own momentum, against
+the dull brown surface of the rippling water.</p>
+<p>Through the intervening branches and dead
+sunflower stalks, I look at Sandford&ndash;&ndash;to find
+that Sandford is looking at me.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good work, old man!&#8221; I say, and notice
+that my voice is a little higher than normal.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good work, yourself,&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;generously. &#8220;I
+missed clean, both barrels. Do better next time,
+though, perhaps.... <i>Down!</i> Mark
+north! Take the leader, you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>From out the mist, dead ahead, just skimming
+the surface of the water, and coming
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span>
+straight at us, like a mathematically arranged
+triangle of cannon balls, taking definite form
+and magnitude oh, so swiftly, unbelievably
+swift; coming&ndash;&ndash;yes&ndash;&ndash;directly overhead, as before,
+the pulsing, echoing din in our ears.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ready!</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again the four reports that sounded as two;
+and they are past; no longer a regular formation,
+but scattered erratically by the alarm, individual
+vanishing and dissolving dots, speedily
+swallowed up by the gray of the mist.</p>
+<p>But this time there was no echoing splash, as
+a hurtling body struck the water, nor tense
+spoken word of congratulation following&ndash;&ndash;nothing.
+For ten seconds, which is long under
+the circumstances, not a word is spoken; only
+the metallic click of opened locks, as they spring
+home, breaks the steady purr of the wind; then:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Safe from me when they come like that,&#8221;
+admits Sandford, &#8220;unless I have a ten-foot
+pole, and they happen to run into it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And from me,&#8221; I echo.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lord, how they come! They just simply
+materialize before your eyes, like an impression
+by flash-light; and then&ndash;&ndash;vanish.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Seems as though they&#8217;d take fire, like meteorites,
+from the friction.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m looking for the smoke, myself&ndash;&ndash;<i>Down!</i>
+Mark your left!&#8221;</p>
+<p><i>Pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> Swifter than spoken
+words, swift as the strokes of an electric fan,
+the wings beat the air. <i>Swish-h-h!</i> long-drawn
+out, <i>crescendo</i>, yet <i>crescendo</i> as, razor-keen, irresistible,
+those same invisible wings cut it
+through and through; while, answering the
+primitive challenge, responding to the stimulus
+of the game, the hot tingle of excitement speeds
+up and down our spines. Nearer, nearer,
+mounting, perpendicular&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>The third battalion of that seemingly inexhaustible
+army has come and gone; and, mechanically,
+we are thrusting fresh shells into
+the faintly smoking gun-barrels.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Got mine that time, both of them.&#8221; No repression,
+nor polite self-abnegation from Sandford
+this time; just plain, frank exultation and
+pride of achievement. &#8220;Led &#8217;em a yard&ndash;&ndash;two,
+maybe; but I got &#8217;em clean. Did you see?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, good work,&#8221; I echo in the formula.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Canvas-backs, every one; nothing but canvas-backs.&#8221;
+Again the old marvel, the old palliation
+that makes the seemingly unequal game
+fair. &#8220;But, Lord, how they do go; how anything
+alive can go so&ndash;&ndash;and be stopped!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mark to windward! Straight ahead!
+<i>Down!</i>&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter IX&ndash;&ndash;Oblivion</span></h3>
+<p>This, the morning. Then, almost before
+we mark the change, swift-passing
+time has moved on; the lowering mist has lifted;
+the occasional pattering rain-drops have ceased;
+the wind, in sympathy, is diminished. And of a
+sudden, arousing us to a consciousness of time
+and place, the sun peeps forth through a rift in
+the scattering clouds, and at a point a bit south
+of the zenith.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Noon!&#8221; comments Sandford, intensely surprised.
+Somehow, we are always astonished
+that noon should follow so swiftly upon sunrise.
+&#8220;Well, who would have thought it!&#8221;</p>
+<p>That instant I am conscious, for the first
+time, of a certain violent aching void making
+insistent demand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t have done so before, but now
+that you mention it, I do think it emphatically.&#8221;
+This is a pitiful effort at a jest, but it passes
+unpunished. &#8220;There comes Johnson to bring
+in the birds.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></p>
+<p>After dinner&ndash;&ndash;and oh, what a dinner! for,
+having adequate time to do it justice, we drag
+it on and on, until even Aunt Martha is satisfied&ndash;&ndash;we
+curl up in the sunshine, undimmed and
+gloriously warm; we light our briers, and, too
+lazily, nervelessly content to even talk, lay
+looking out over the blue water that melts and
+merges in the distance with the bluer sky above.
+After a bit, our pipes burn dead and our eyelids
+drop, and with a last memory of sunlight
+dancing on a myriad tiny wavelets, and a
+blessed peace and abandon soaking into our
+very souls we doze, then sleep, sleep as we never
+sleep in the city; as we had fancied a short day
+before never to sleep again; dreamlessly, childishly,
+as Mother Nature intended her children
+to sleep.</p>
+<p>Then, from without the pale of utter oblivion,
+a familiar voice breaks slowly upon our consciousness:
+the voice of Johnson, the vigilant.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Got your blind all built, boys, and the decoys
+is out&ndash;&ndash;four dozen of them,&#8221; he admonishes,
+sympathetically. &#8220;Days are getting
+short, now, so you&#8217;d better move lively, if you
+get your limit before dark.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter X&ndash;&ndash;Upon &#8220;Wiping the Eye&#8221;</span></h3>
+<p>&#8220;To poets and epicures, perhaps, the lordly
+canvas-back&ndash;&ndash;though brown from the
+oven, I challenge the supercilious <i>gourmet</i> to
+distinguish between his favorite, and a fat
+American coot. But for me the loud-voiced
+mallard, with his bottle-green head and audaciously
+curling tail; for he will decoy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>I am quoting Sandford. Be that as it may,
+we are there, amid frost-browned rushes that
+rustle softly in the wind: a patch of shallow
+open water, perhaps an acre in extent, to the
+leeward of us, where the decoys, heading all to
+windward, bob gently with the slight swell.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now this is something like sport,&#8221; adds my
+companion, settling back comfortably in the
+slough-grass blind, built high to the north to
+cut out the wind, and low to the south to let in
+the sun. &#8220;On the point, there, this morning
+you scored on me, I admit it; but this is where
+I shine: real shooting; one, or a pair at most, at
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span>
+a time; no scratches; no excuses. Lead on, MacDuff,
+and if you miss, all&#8217;s fair to the second
+gun.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right, Sam.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No small birds, either, understand: no teal,
+or widgeon, or shovellers. This is a mallard
+hole. Nothing but mallards goes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right, Sam.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now is your chance, then.... <i>Now!</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>He&#8217;s right. Now is my chance, indeed.</p>
+<p>Over the sea of rushes, straight toward us, is
+coming a pair, a single pair; and, yes, they are
+unmistakably mallards. It is feeding time, or
+resting time, and they are flying lazily, long
+necks extended, searching here and there for the
+promised lands. Our guns indubitably cover it;
+and though I freeze still and motionless, my
+nerves stretch tight in anticipation, until they
+tingle all but painfully.</p>
+<p>On the great birds come; on and still on, until
+in another second&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>That instant they see the decoys, and, warned
+simultaneously by an ancestral suspicion, they
+swing outward in a great circle, without apparent
+effort on their part, to reconnoitre.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p>
+<p>Though I do not stir, I hear the <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i>
+of their wings, as they pass by at the side, just
+out of gunshot. Then, <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> back of me,
+then, <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> on the other side, until once
+again I see them, from the tail of my eye, merge
+into view ahead.</p>
+<p>All is well&ndash;&ndash;very well&ndash;&ndash;and, suspicions
+wholly allayed at last, they whirl for the second
+oncoming; just above the rushes, now; wings
+spread wide and motionless; sailing nearer,
+nearer&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Now!</i>&#8221; whispers Sandford, &#8220;<i>now!</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>Out of our nest suddenly peeps my gun barrel;
+and, simultaneously, the wings, a second
+before motionless, begin to beat the air in frantic
+retreat.</p>
+<p>But it is too late.</p>
+<p><i>Bang!</i> What! not a feather drops?...
+<i>Bang!</i> Quack! Quack! <i>Bang!</i> <i>Bang!</i>...
+Splash!... Quack! Quack!
+Quack!</p>
+<p>That is the story&ndash;&ndash;all except for Sandford&#8217;s
+derisive laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;d I tell you?&#8221; he exults. &#8220;Wiped
+your eye for you that time, didn&#8217;t I?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;How in the world I missed&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; It is all
+that I can say. &#8220;They looked as big as&ndash;&ndash;as
+suspended tubs.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Buck-fever,&#8221; explains Sandford, laconically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s all right.&#8221; I feel my fighting-blood
+rising, and I swear with a mighty wordless
+oath that I&#8217;ll be avenged for that laugh.
+&#8220;The day is young yet. If, before night, I
+don&#8217;t wipe both your eyes, and wipe them
+good&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know you will, old man.&#8221; Sandford is
+smiling understandingly, and in a flash I return
+the smile with equal understanding. &#8220;And
+when you do, laugh at me, laugh long and
+loud.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p>
+<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter XI&ndash;&ndash;The Cold Gray Dawn</span></h3>
+<p>At a quarter of twelve o&#8217;clock a week later,
+I slip out of my office sheepishly, and,
+walking a half-block, take the elevator to the
+fifth floor of the Exchange Building, on the
+corner. The white enamel of Sandford&#8217;s tiny
+box of an office glistens, as I enter the door, and
+the tiling looks fresh and clean, as though
+scrubbed an hour before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Doctor&#8217;s back in the laboratory,&#8221; smiles the
+white-uniformed attendant, as she grasps my
+identity.</p>
+<p>On a tall stool, beside the laboratory lathe,
+sits Sandford, hard at work. He acknowledges
+my presence with a nod&ndash;&ndash;and that is all.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Noon, Sandford,&#8221; I announce.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it?&#8221; laconically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thought I&#8217;d drop over to the club for
+lunch, and a little smoke afterward. Want to
+go along?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t.&#8221; The whirr of the electric lathe
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span>
+never ceases. &#8220;Got to finish this bridge before
+one o&#8217;clock. Sorry, old man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Harry just &#8217;phoned and asked me to come
+and bring you.&#8221; I throw the bait with studied
+nicety. &#8220;He&#8217;s getting up a party to go out to
+Johnson&#8217;s, and wants to talk things over a bit in
+advance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Harry!&#8221; Irony fairly drips from the
+voice. &#8220;He&#8217;s always going somewhere.
+Mustn&#8217;t have much else to do. Anyway,
+can&#8217;t possibly meet him this noon.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To-night, then.&#8221; I suggest tentatively.
+&#8220;He can wait until then, I&#8217;m sure.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Got to work to-night, too. Things are all
+piled up on me.&#8221; Sandford applies a fresh
+layer of pumice to the swiftly moving polishing
+wheel, with practised accuracy. &#8220;Tell Harry
+I&#8217;m sorry; but business is business, you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Purr-r-r!</i>&#8221; drones on the lathe, &#8220;<i>purr-r-r!</i>&#8221;
+I hear it as I silently slip away.</p>
+<p>Yes, Sandford is sane; and will be for fifty-one
+weeks.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span>
+<a name='A_FRONTIER_ROMANCE_A_TALE_OF_JUMEL_MANSION' id='A_FRONTIER_ROMANCE_A_TALE_OF_JUMEL_MANSION'></a>
+<h2>A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION</h2>
+</div>
+<h3>I</h3>
+<p>A new settlement in a new country: no
+contemporary mind can conceive the possibilities
+of future greatness that lie in the fulfilment
+of its prophecy.</p>
+<p>A long, irregular quadrangle has been hewn
+from the woods bordering the north bank of the
+Ohio River. Scattered through the clearing are
+rude houses, built of the forest logs. Bounding
+the space upon three sides, and so close that its
+storm music sounds plain in every ear, is the
+forest itself. On the fourth side flows the wide
+river, covered now, firm and silent, with a thick
+ice blanket. Across the river on the Kentucky
+shore, softened by the blue haze of distance,
+another forest crowds down to the very water&#8217;s
+edge.</p>
+<p>It is night, and of the cabins in the clearing
+each reflects, in one way or another, the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span>
+character of its builder. Here a broad pencil
+of light writes &#8220;Careless!&#8221; on the black
+sheet of the forest; there a mere thread escaping
+tells of patient carpentry.</p>
+<p>At one end of the clearing, so near the forest
+that the top of a falling tree would have
+touched it, stood a cabin, individual in its complete
+darkness except for a dull ruddy glow at
+one end, where a window extended as high as
+the eaves. An open fire within gnawed at the
+half-green logs, sending smoke and steam up
+the cavernous chimney, and casting about the
+room an uncertain, fitful light&ndash;&ndash;now bright,
+again shadowy.</p>
+<p>It was a bare room that the flickering firelight
+revealed, bare alike as to its furnishings
+and the freshness of its peeled logs, the spaces
+between which had been &#8220;chinked&#8221; with clay
+from the river-bank. Scarcely a thing built of
+man was in sight which had not been designed
+to kill; scarcely a product of Nature which had
+not been gathered at cost of animal life. Guns
+of English make, stretched horizontally along
+the walls upon pegs driven into the logs; in the
+end opposite the wide fireplace, home-made
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
+cooking utensils dangled from the end of a
+rough table, itself a product of the same factory.
+In front of the fire, just beyond the
+blaze and the coals and ashes, were heaped the
+pelts of various animals; black bear and cinnamon
+rested side by side with the rough, shaggy
+fur of the buffalo, brought by Indians from the
+far western land of the Dakotas.</p>
+<p>Upon the heap, dressed in the picturesque
+utility garb of buckskin, homespun, and &#8220;hickory&#8221;
+which stamped the pioneer of his day, a
+big man lay at full length: a large man even
+here, where the law of the fittest reigned
+supreme. A stubbly growth of beard covered
+his face, giving it the heavy expression common
+to those accustomed to silent places, and dim
+forest trails.</p>
+<p>Aside from his size, there was nothing striking
+or handsome about this backwoods giant,
+neither of face nor of form; yet, sleeping or
+waking, working or at leisure, he would be
+noticed&ndash;&ndash;and remembered. In his every feature,
+every action, was the absolute unconsciousness
+of self, which cannot be mistaken;
+whether active or passive, there was about him
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
+an insinuation of reserve force, subtly felt, of a
+strong, determined character, impossible to
+sway or bend. He lay, now, motionless, staring
+with wide-open eyes into the fire and breathing
+slowly, deeply, like one in sleep.</p>
+<p>There was a hammering upon the door; another,
+louder; then a rattling that made the
+walls vibrate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come!&#8221; called the man, rousing and rolling
+away from the fire.</p>
+<p>A heavy shoulder struck the door hard, and
+the screaming wooden hinges covered the sound
+of the entering footfall.</p>
+<p>He who came was also of the type: homespun
+and buckskin, hair long and face unshaven.
+He straightened from a passage which was not
+low, then turning pushed the unwieldy door
+shut. It closed reluctantly, with a loud shrilling
+of its frost-bound hinges and frame. In a
+moment he dropped his hands and impatiently
+kicked the stubborn offender home, the suction
+drawing a puff of smoke from the fireplace into
+the room, and sending the ashes spinning in
+miniature whirlwinds upon the hearth.</p>
+<p>The man on the floor contemplated the entry
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
+with indifference; but a new light entered his
+eyes as he recognized his visitor, though his face
+held like wood.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Evenin&#8217;, Clayton,&#8221; he greeted, nodding
+toward a stool by the hearth. &#8220;Come over &#8217;n sit
+down to the entertainment.&#8221; A whimsical
+smile struggled through the heavy whiskers.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve been seeing all sorts of things in there&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;a
+thoughtful nod toward the fire. &#8220;Guess,
+though, a fellow generally does see what he&#8217;s
+looking for in this world.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;See here, Bud,&#8221; the visitor bluntly broke in,
+coming into the light and slurring a dialect of
+no nationality pure, &#8220;y&#8217; can&#8217;t stop me thataway.
+There ain&#8217;t no use talkin&#8217; about the
+weather, neither.&#8221; A motion of impatience;
+then swifter, with a shade of menace:</p>
+<p>&#8220;You know what I came over fer. It&#8217;s
+actin&#8217; the fool, I know, we few families out
+here weeks away from ev&#8217;rybody, but this
+clearin&#8217; can&#8217;t hold us both.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The menace suddenly left the voice, unconsciously
+giving place to a note of tenderness
+and of vague self-fear.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I love that girl better &#8217;n you er life er anything
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span>
+else, Bud; I tell ye this square to yer
+face. I can&#8217;t stand it. I followed ye last night
+clean home from the party&ndash;&ndash;an&#8217; I had a knife.
+I jest couldn&#8217;t help it. Every time I know
+nex&#8217; time it&#8217;ll happen. I don&#8217;t ask ye to give
+her up, Bud, but to settle it with me now, fair
+an&#8217; open, &#8217;fore I do something I can&#8217;t help.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He strode swiftly to and fro across the room
+as he spoke, his skin-shod feet tapping muffled
+upon the bare floor, like the pads of an animal.
+The fur of his leggings, rubbing together as he
+walked, generated static sparks which snapped
+audibly. He halted presently by the fireplace,
+and looked down at the man lying there.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s &#8217;tween us, Bud,&#8221; he said, passion quivering
+in his voice.</p>
+<p>Minutes passed before Bud Ellis spoke, then
+he shifted his head, quickly, and for the first
+time squarely met Clayton&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You say it&#8217;s between you and me,&#8221; he initiated
+slowly: &#8220;how do you propose to settle
+it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The other man hesitated, then his face grew
+red.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ye make it hard for me, Bud, &#8217;s though I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
+was a boy talkin&#8217; to ye big here; but it&#8217;s true,
+as I told ye: I ain&#8217;t myself when I see ye settin&#8217;
+close to &#8217;Liz&#8217;beth, er dancin&#8217; with your arm
+touchin&#8217; hern. I ain&#8217;t no coward, Bud; an&#8217; I
+can&#8217;t give her up&ndash;&ndash;to you ner nobody else.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hate it. We&#8217;ve always been like brothers
+afore, an&#8217; it &#8217;pears kinder dreamy &#8217;n foolish &#8217;n
+unnatural us settin&#8217; here talkin&#8217; &#8217;bout it; but
+there ain&#8217;t no other way I can see. I give ye
+yer choice, Bud: I&#8217;ll fight ye fair any way y&#8217;
+want.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ellis&#8217;s attitude remained unchanged: one big
+hand supported his chin while he gazed silently
+into the fire. Clayton stood contemplating him
+a moment, then sat down.</p>
+<p>By and by Ellis&#8217;s head moved a little, a very
+little, and their eyes again met. A minute
+passed, and in those seconds the civilization of
+each man moved back generations.</p>
+<p>The strain was beyond Clayton; he bounded
+to his feet with a motion that sent the stool
+spinning.</p>
+<p>&#8220;God A&#8217;mighty! Are y&#8217; wood er are y&#8217; a
+coward? Y&#8217; seem to think I&#8217;m practisin&#8217;
+speech-makin&#8217;. D&#8217;ye know what it means fer
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span>
+me to come up here like this to you?&#8221; He
+waited, but there was no response.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I tell ye fer the last time, I love that girl,
+an&#8217; if it warn&#8217;t fer you&ndash;&ndash;fer you, Bud Ellis&ndash;&ndash;she&#8217;d
+marry me. Can ye understand that?
+Now will ye fight?&ndash;&ndash;or won&#8217;t ye?&#8221;</p>
+<p>A movement, swift and easy, like a released
+spring, the unconscious trick of a born athlete,
+and Ellis was upon his feet. Involuntarily,
+Clayton squared himself, as if an attack were
+imminent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I won&#8217;t fight you,&#8221; said the big man,
+slowly. Without the least hesitation, he advanced
+and laid a hand upon the other man&#8217;s
+shoulder, facing him at arm&#8217;s length and speaking
+deliberately.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t that I&#8217;m afraid of you, either,
+Bert Clayton; you know it. You say you love
+her; I believe you. I love her, too. And Elizabeth&ndash;&ndash;you
+have tried, and I have tried&ndash;&ndash;and
+she told us both the same.</p>
+<p>&#8220;God, man! I know how you feel. I&#8217;ve
+expected something like this a long time.&#8221; He
+drew his hand across his eyes, and turned away.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve had murder in my heart when I saw
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span>
+you, and hated myself. It&#8217;s only in such places
+as this, where nothing happens to divert one&#8217;s
+mind, that people get like you and me, Bert.
+We brood and brood, and it&#8217;s love and insanity
+and a good deal of the animal mixed. Yes,
+you&#8217;re right. It&#8217;s between you and me, Bert,&ndash;&ndash;but
+not to fight. One of us has got to
+leave&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It won&#8217;t be me,&#8221; Clayton quickly broke in.
+&#8220;I tell ye, I&#8217;d rather die, than leave.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For a full minute Ellis steadily returned the
+other man&#8217;s fiery look, then went on as though
+there had been no interruption:</p>
+<p>&#8220;&ndash;&ndash;and the sooner we go the better. How do
+you want to settle it&ndash;&ndash;shall we draw straws?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, we&#8217;ll not draw straws. Go ef you&#8217;re
+afraid; but I won&#8217;t stir a step. I came to warn
+ye, or to fight ye if y&#8217; wanted. Seein&#8217; y&#8217; won&#8217;t&ndash;&ndash;good-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ellis stepped quickly in front of the door,
+and with the motion Clayton&#8217;s hand went to his
+knife.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sit down, man,&#8221; demanded Ellis, sternly.
+&#8220;We&#8217;re not savages. Let&#8217;s settle this matter
+in civilized fashion.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></p>
+<p>They confronted each other for a moment,
+the muscles of Clayton&#8217;s face twitching an accompaniment
+to the nervous fingering of the
+buckhorn hilt; then he stepped up until they
+could have touched.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What d&#8217; y&#8217; mean anyway?&#8221; he blazed. &#8220;Get
+out o&#8217; my road.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ellis leaned against the door-bar without a
+word. The fire had burned down, and in the
+shadow his face had again the same expression
+of heaviness. The breathing of Clayton, swift
+and short, like one who struggles physically,
+painfully intensified the silence of that dimly
+lighted, log-bound room.</p>
+<p>With his right hand Clayton drew his knife;
+he laid his left on the broad half-circle of wood
+that answered as a door handle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Open that door,&#8221; he demanded huskily, &#8220;or
+by God, I&#8217;ll stab ye!&#8221;</p>
+<p>In the half-light the men faced each other, so
+near their breaths mingled. Twice Clayton
+tried to strike. The eyes of the other man held
+him powerless, and to save his life&ndash;&ndash;even to
+satisfy a new, fierce hate&ndash;&ndash;he could not stir.
+He stood a moment thus, then an animal-like
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span>
+frenzy, irresistible but impotent, seized him.
+He darted his head forward and spat in the
+heavy face so close to his own.</p>
+<p>The unspeakable contempt of the insult
+shattered Bud Ellis&#8217;s self-control. Prompted
+by blind fury, the great fist of the man shot out,
+hammer-like, and Clayton crumpled at his feet.
+It was a blow that would have felled the proverbial
+ox; it was the counterpart of many other
+blows, plus berserker rage, that had split pine
+boards for sheer joy in the ability to do so.
+These thoughts came sluggishly to the inflamed
+brain, and Ellis all at once dropped to his knees
+beside the limp, prostrate figure.</p>
+<p>He bent over Clayton, he who had once been
+his friend. He was scarcely apprehensive at
+first, and he called his name brusquely; then,
+as grim conviction grew, his appeals became
+frantic.</p>
+<p>At last Ellis shrank away from the Thing
+upon the floor. He stared until his eyeballs
+burnt like fire. It would never, while time
+lasted, move again.</p>
+<p>Horror unutterable fell upon him.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+<p>In the year 1807 there were confined in
+a common Western jail, amid a swarm of
+wretches of every degree of baseness, two men
+as unlike as storm and sunshine. One was
+charged with treason, the other with murder;
+conviction, in either case, meant death.</p>
+<p>One was a man of middle age, an aristocrat
+born; a college graduate and a son of a college
+graduate; a man handsome of appearance, passionate
+and ambitious, who knew men&#8217;s natures
+as he knew their names. He had fought bravely
+for his country, and his counsels had helped
+mould the foundations of the new republic.
+Honored by his fellow-men, he had served brilliantly
+in such exalted positions as that of
+United States Senator, and Attorney General
+for the State of New York. On one occasion,
+only a single vote stood between him and the
+presidency.</p>
+<p>His name was Aaron Burr.</p>
+<p>The other was a big backwoodsman of
+twenty, whose life had been as obscure as
+that of a domestic animal. He was rough of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span>
+manner and slow of speech, and just now,
+owing to a combination of physical confinement
+and mental torture altogether unlovely in
+disposition.</p>
+<p>This man was Bud Ellis.</p>
+<p>The other prisoners&ndash;&ndash;a motley lot of frontier
+reprobates&ndash;&ndash;ate together, slept together,
+and quarrelled together. Looking constantly
+for trouble, and thrown into actual contact
+with an object as convenient as Aaron Burr,
+it was inevitable that he should be made the
+butt of their coarse gibes and foul witticisms;
+and when these could not penetrate his calm,
+superior self-possession, it was just as inevitable
+that taunts should extend even to worse
+indignities.</p>
+<p>Burr was not the man to be stirred against
+his calm judgment; but one day his passionate
+nature broke loose, and he and the offender
+came to blows.</p>
+<p>There were a dozen prisoners in the single
+ill-lighted, log-bound room, and almost to a
+man they attacked him. The fight would not
+have lasted long had not the inequality appealed
+to Ellis on the second.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></p>
+<p>Moreover, with him, the incident was to the
+moment opportune. If ever a man was in the
+mood for war, it was the big, square-jawed
+pioneer. He was reckless and desperate for the
+first time in his life, and he joined with Burr
+against the room, with the abandon of a
+madman.</p>
+<p>For minutes they fought. Elbows and
+knees, fists and feet, teeth and tough-skulled
+heads; every hard spot and every sharp angle
+bored and jabbed at the crushing mass which
+swiftly closed them in. They struggled like
+cats against numbers, and held the wall until
+the sound of battle brought the negligent guard
+running, and the muzzle of a carbine peeped
+through the grating. Burr and Ellis came out
+with scarce a rag and with many bruises, but
+with the new-born lust of battle hot within
+them. Ellis glowered at the enemy, and having
+of the two the more breath, fired the parting
+shot.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How I&#8217;d like to take you fellows out, one
+at a time,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>From that day the two men were kept apart
+from the others, and the friendship grew. When
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span>
+Burr chose, neither man nor woman could resist
+him. He chose now and Ellis, by habit and by
+nature silent, told of his life and of his thoughts.
+It was a new tale to Burr, these dream products
+of a strong man, and of solitude; and so, listening,
+he forgot his own trouble. The hard look
+that had formed over his face in the three years
+past vanished, leaving him again the natural,
+fascinating man who had first taken the
+drawing-room of the rare old Jumel mansion
+by storm. It was genuine, this tale that Ellis
+told; it was strong, with the savor of Mother
+Nature and of wild things, and fascinating with
+the beauty of unconscious telling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the girl?&#8221; asked Burr after Ellis
+finished a passionate account of the last year.
+Unintentionally, he touched flame to tinder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t ask me about her. I&#8217;m not fit. She
+was coming to see me, but I wouldn&#8217;t let her.
+She&#8217;s good and innocent; she never imagined
+we were not as strong as she, and it&#8217;s killing
+her. There&#8217;s no question what will happen to
+me; everything is against me, and I&#8217;ll be
+convicted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No one understands&ndash;&ndash;she can&#8217;t herself;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span>
+but she feels responsible for one of us, already,
+and will feel the same for me when it&#8217;s over.
+Anyway, I&#8217;d never see her again. I feel different
+toward her now, and always would. I&#8217;d
+never live over again days like I have in the
+past year: days I hated a friend I&#8217;d known all
+my life&ndash;&ndash;because we both loved the same
+woman. If the Almighty sent love of woman
+into the world to be bought at the price I paid,
+it&#8217;s wrong, and He&#8217;s made a mistake. It&#8217;s
+contrary to Nature, because Nature is kind.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Last summer I&#8217;d sit out of doors at night
+and watch the stars come out thick, like old
+friends, till I&#8217;d catch the mood and be content.
+The wind would blow up from the south,
+softly, like some one fanning me, and the frogs
+and crickets would sing even and sleepy, and
+I&#8217;d think of her and be as nearly happy as it
+was possible for me to be.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then, somehow, he&#8217;d drift into the picture,
+and it grated. I&#8217;d wonder why this love of
+woman, which ought to make one feel the best
+of everything there is in life; which ought to
+make one kinder and tenderer to every one,
+should make me hate him, my best friend. The
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span>
+night would be spoiled, and from then on the
+crickets would sing out of tune. I&#8217;d go to bed,
+where, instead of sleeping, I would try to find
+out, and couldn&#8217;t.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And at last, that night&ndash;&ndash;and the end! Oh,
+it&#8217;s horrible, horrible! I wish to God they&#8217;d
+try me quick, and end it. It makes me hate that
+girl to think she&#8217;s the cause. And that makes
+me hate myself, for I know she&#8217;s innocent. Oh,
+it&#8217;s tangled&ndash;&ndash;tangled&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Of the trial which followed, the world knows.
+How Burr pleaded his own case, and of the
+brilliancy of the pleading, history makes record
+at length. &#8217;T was said long before, when the
+name of Burr was proud on the Nation&#8217;s tongue&ndash;&ndash;years
+before that fatal morning on Weekawken
+Heights&ndash;&ndash;that no judge could decide
+against him. Though reviled by half the nation,
+it would seem it were yet true.</p>
+<p>Another trial followed; but of this history is
+silent, though Aaron Burr pleaded this case as
+well. It was a trial for manslaughter, and
+every circumstance, even the prisoner&#8217;s word,
+declared guilt. To show that a person may be
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span>
+guilty in act, and at the same time, in reality, innocent,
+calls for a master mind&ndash;&ndash;the mind of
+a Burr. To tell of passion, one must have felt
+passion, and of such Burr had known his full
+share. No lawyer for the defence was ever
+better prepared than Burr, and he did his best.
+In court he told the jury a tale of motive, of
+circumstance, and of primitive love, such as had
+never been heard in that county before; such
+that the twelve men, without leaving their seats,
+brought a verdict of &#8220;Not guilty.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t thank you right,&#8221; said the big man,
+with a catch in his voice, wringing Burr&#8217;s hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t try,&#8221; interrupted Burr, quickly.
+&#8220;You did as much for me.&#8221; And even Burr
+did not attempt to say any more just then.</p>
+<h3>III</h3>
+<p>The two men went East together, travelling
+days where now hours would suffice. Why Burr
+took the countryman home with him, knowing,
+as he did, the incongruity of such a step, he himself
+could not have told. It puzzled Ellis still
+more. He had intended going far away to
+some indefinite place; but this opportunity of
+being virtually thrust into the position where he
+most wished to be, was unusual; it was a reversal
+of all precedent; and so why demur?</p>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-326.jpg' alt='' title='' width='417' height='613' /><br />
+<p class='caption'>
+The two men went East together.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span></div>
+<p>On the way, Burr told much of his life&ndash;&ndash;probably
+more than he had told before in years.
+He knew that the sympathy of Ellis was sincere,
+and a disinterested motive was with him a
+new thing, a key to confidence.</p>
+<p>A woman was at this time, and had been for
+years, foremost in Burr&#8217;s mind. He was going
+to see her now; beyond that his plans were dim.
+During a career of politics, there had crept into
+the man&#8217;s life much that was hard and worldly;
+but this attachment was from ambition far
+apart&ndash;&ndash;his most sacred thing.</p>
+<p>She was a brilliant woman, this friend of
+Burr&#8217;s; one whom many sought; but it was not
+this which influenced him. She had been his
+best friend, and had taken him into her own
+home during the darkest hour of his life, when
+condemnation was everywhere. Gossip had
+fluttered, but to no avail. Burr never forgot a
+friend, and in this case it was more than friendship:
+it was a genuine love that lasted; for
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span>
+years later, in his old age and hers as well, old
+Jumel mansion made gay at their wedding.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you expect to do?&#8221; asked Burr
+of Ellis.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Anything just now that will make me forget,&#8221;
+answered the countryman, quickly. &#8220;So
+there&#8217;s enough of it is all that I ask. I&#8217;m going
+to get a little more education first. Sometime
+I&#8217;ll study law&ndash;&ndash;that is, if I&#8217;m here
+&#8216;sometime.&#8217; I&#8217;ve got to be where there&#8217;s life
+and action. I&#8217;ll never end by being common.&#8221;
+He paused a moment, and on his face there
+formed the peculiar heavy look that had confronted
+Clayton; a mask that hid a determination,
+which nothing of earth could shake. He
+finished slowly: &#8220;I&#8217;ll either be something, or
+nothing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Biographers leave the impression that at this
+time Burr was devoid of prestige on earth.
+Politically, this is true; but respecting his standing
+with the legal fraternity, it is wholly false.
+He had influence, and he used it, securing the
+stranger a place in a New York office, where his
+risk depended only upon himself. More than
+this, he gave Ellis money.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You can pay me any interest you wish,&#8221;
+said he when the latter protested.</p>
+<p>Ellis had been settled a week. One evening
+he sat in the back room of the city office, fighting
+the demon of homesickness with work, and
+the light of an open fire. It was late, and he
+had studied till Nature rebelled; now he sat in
+his own peculiar position, gazing into the glow,
+motionless and wide-eyed.</p>
+<p>He started at a tap on the door, and the past
+came back in a rush.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come in,&#8221; he called.</p>
+<p>Burr entered, and closed the door carefully
+behind him. Ellis motioned to a chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I won&#8217;t sit down,&#8221; said Burr. &#8220;I&#8217;m
+only going to stay a moment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He came over to the blaze, looking down on
+the other man&#8217;s head. Finally he laid a hand
+on Ellis&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lonesome, eh?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+<p>The student nodded silent assent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So am I,&#8221; said Burr, beginning to pace up
+and down the narrow room. &#8220;Do you know,&#8221;
+he burst out at last, &#8220;this town is like hell to
+me. Every hand is against me. There&#8217;s not
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span>
+one man here, beside you, whom I can trust. I
+can&#8217;t stand it. I&#8217;m going to leave the country.
+Some day I&#8217;ll come back; but now it&#8217;s too
+much.&#8221; There was the accumulated bitterness
+of months in his voice. &#8220;My God!&#8221; he interjected,
+&#8220;you&#8217;d think these people never did
+anything wrong in their lives.&#8221; He stopped and
+laid his hand again on the other man&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But enough of this&ndash;&ndash;I didn&#8217;t come to
+make you more lonesome. I want you to meet
+my friends before I go. You&#8217;ll go out with
+me to-morrow afternoon?&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was silence for a moment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you wish. You know what I am,&#8221; said
+Ellis.</p>
+<p>Burr&#8217;s hand rested a moment longer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-night,&#8221; he said simply.</p>
+<p>Some eight or ten miles north of the beach,
+on the island of Manhattan, stood Jumel home;
+a fine, white house, surrounded by a splendid
+lawn and gardens. A generation had already
+passed since its erection, and the city was slowly
+creeping near. It was a stately specimen of
+Colonial domestic architecture, built on simple,
+restful lines, and distinguished by the noble
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span>
+columns of its Grecian front. Destined to be
+diminished, the grounds had already begun to
+shrink; but from its commanding position it
+had a view that was magnificent, overlooking as
+it did, the Hudson, the Harlem, the East
+River, the Sound, and upon every side, miles
+upon miles of undulating land.</p>
+<p>On the way, and again upon the grounds,
+Burr related the history of the old landmark,
+telling much with the fascination of personal
+knowledge. The tale of the Morrises, of Washington
+and of Mary Philipse was yet upon his
+tongue, as he led Ellis through the broad pillared
+entrance, into the great hall.</p>
+<p>Things moved swiftly, very swiftly and very
+dreamily, to the countryman in the next few
+hours. Nothing but the lack of ability prevented
+his vanishing at the sound of approaching
+skirts; nothing but physical timidity prevented
+his answering the greeting of the
+hostess; nothing but conscious awkwardness
+prompted the crude bow that answered the
+courtesy of the girl with the small hands, and
+the dark eyes who accompanied her&ndash;&ndash;the first
+courtesy from powdered maid of fashion that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span>
+he had ever known. Her name, Mary Philipse,
+coming so soon after Burr&#8217;s story, staggered
+him, and, open-mouthed, he stood looking at
+her. Remembrance came to Burr simultaneously,
+and he touched Ellis on the arm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t worry, my friend,&#8221; he laughed;
+&#8220;she&#8217;s not the one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ellis grew red to the ears.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll leave you to Mary,&#8221; said Burr retreating
+with a smile; &#8220;she&#8217;ll tell you the rest&ndash;&ndash;from
+where I left off.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The girl with the big brown eyes was still
+smiling in an amused sort of way, but Ellis
+showed no resentment. He knew that to her he
+was a strange animal&ndash;&ndash;very new and very
+peculiar. He did not do as a lesser man would
+have done, pretend knowledge of things unknown,
+but looked the girl frankly in the eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me, but it was all rather sudden,&#8221;
+he explained. The red had left his face now.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve only known a few women&ndash;&ndash;and they
+were not&ndash;&ndash;of your class. This is Mr. Burr&#8217;s
+joke, not mine.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The smile faded from the girl&#8217;s face. She
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span>
+met him on his own ground, and they were
+friends.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t take it that way,&#8221; she protested,
+quickly. &#8220;I see, he&#8217;s been telling you of
+Washington&#8217;s Mary Philipse. It merely happens
+that my name is the same. I&#8217;m simply a
+friend visiting here. Can&#8217;t I show you the
+house? It&#8217;s rather interesting.&#8221;</p>
+<p>If Ellis was a novelty to the woman, she was
+equally so to him. Unconventionality reigned
+in that house, and they were together an hour.
+Never before in his life had Ellis learned so
+much, nor caught so many glimpses of things
+beyond, in an equal length of time. His idea of
+woman had been trite, a little vague. He had
+no ideal; he had simply accepted, without question,
+the one specimen he had known well.</p>
+<p>In an uncertain sort of way he had thought
+of the sex as being invariably creatures of unquestioned
+virtue, but of mind somewhat defective;
+who were to be respected and protected,
+loved perhaps with the love animals know; but
+of such an one as this he had no conception.</p>
+<p>Here was a woman, younger than he, whose
+unconscious familiarity with things, which to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span>
+him lay hidden in the dark land of ignorance,
+affected him like a stimulant. A woman who
+had read and travelled and thought and felt;
+whose mind met him even in the unhesitating
+confidence of knowledge&ndash;&ndash;it is no wonder that
+he was in a dream. It turned his little world
+upside down: so brief a time had elapsed since
+he had cursed woman for bringing crime into
+his life, in the narrowness of his ignorance
+thinking them all alike. He was in the presence
+of a superior, and his own smallness came over
+him like a flood.</p>
+<p>He mentally swore, then and there, with a
+tightening of his jaw that meant finality, that
+he would raise himself to her plane. The girl
+saw the look, and wondered at it.</p>
+<p>That night, at parting, the eyes of the two
+met. A moment passed&ndash;&ndash;and another, and
+neither spoke a word. Then a smile broke over
+the face of Mary Philipse, and it was answered
+on the face of the man. Equals had met equals.
+At last the girl held out her hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Call again, please,&#8221; she requested. &#8220;Good-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Years passed. Burr had gone and returned
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span>
+again, and Jumel mansion had waxed festive to
+honor his home-coming. Then he opened an
+office in the city, and drab-colored routine fell
+upon him&ndash;&ndash;to remain.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile Time had done much for Ellis&ndash;&ndash;rather,
+it had allowed him to do much for himself.
+He had passed through all the stages of
+transition&ndash;&ndash;confusion, homesickness, despondency;
+but incentive to do was ever with him.</p>
+<p>At first he had worked to forget, and, in self-defence;
+but Nature had been kind, and with
+years memory touched him softly, as though it
+were the past of another.</p>
+<p>Then a new incentive came to him: an incentive
+more potent than the former, and which
+grew so slowly he did not recognize it, until he
+met it unmistakably face to face. Again into
+his life and against his will had crept a woman,
+and this woman&#8217;s name was Mary Philipse. He
+met her now on her own ground, but still, as of
+old, with honors even. She had changed little
+since he first saw her. As often as he called,
+he met the same frank smile, and the brown eyes
+still regarded him with the same old candid, unreserved
+interest.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></p>
+<p>Ellis was, as the town would have said, successful.
+He had risen from a man-of-all-work
+to the State bar, and an office of his own. He
+had passed the decisive line and his rise was
+simply a question of time. He was in a position
+where he could do as he chose. He appreciated
+that Mary Philipse was the incentive that
+had put him where he was. She appealed to the
+best there was in his nature. She caused him to
+do better work, to think better thoughts. He
+unselfishly wished her the best there was of life.
+Just how much more he felt he did not know&ndash;&ndash;at
+least this was sufficient.</p>
+<p>He would ask her to marry him. It was not
+the mad, dazzling passion of which poets sing;
+but he was wiser than of yore. Of Mary he was
+uncertain. That he was not the only man who
+went often to old Jumel mansion he was well
+aware, and with the determination to learn
+certainties, there came a tenderer regard than
+he had yet known.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Jumel was gay that night. There would be
+few more such scenes, for the owner was no
+longer young; but of this the throng in brocade
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span>
+and broadcloth and powder, who filled the
+spacious mansion, were thoughtless. Everywhere
+was an atmosphere of welcome; from the
+steady light of lanterns festooned on facade and
+lawn, to the sparkle of countless candles within.</p>
+<p>It was that night that Ellis drew Mary
+Philipse aside and told her the tale that grew
+passionate in the telling. Fortune was kind,
+for he told it to the soft accompaniment of
+wine glasses ringing, and the slow music of the
+stately minuet.</p>
+<p>Mary Philipse heard him through without a
+word, an expression on her face he had never
+seen before. Then their eyes met in the same
+frank way they had hundreds of times before,
+and she gave him her answer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve expected this, and I&#8217;ve tried to be
+ready; but I&#8217;m not. I can&#8217;t say no, and I can&#8217;t
+say yes. I wouldn&#8217;t try to explain to any one
+else, but I think you&#8217;ll understand. Forgive
+me if I analyze you a little, and don&#8217;t interrupt,
+please.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She passed her hand over her face slowly, a
+shade wearily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There are times when I come near loving
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span>
+you: for what you are, not for what you are to
+me. You are natural, you&#8217;re strong; but you
+lack something I feel to be necessary to make
+life completely happy&ndash;&ndash;the ability to forget all
+and enjoy the moment. I have watched you
+for years. It has been so in the past, and will
+be so in the future. Other men who see me,
+men born to the plane, have the quality&ndash;&ndash;call
+it butterfly if you will&ndash;&ndash;to enjoy the &#8216;now.&#8217; It
+appeals to me&ndash;&ndash;I am of their manner born.&#8221;
+Their eyes met and she finished slowly, &#8220;It&#8217;s
+injustice to you, I know; but I can&#8217;t answer&ndash;&ndash;now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>They sat a moment side by side in silence.
+The dancers were moving more swiftly to the
+sound of the Virginia reel.</p>
+<p>Ellis reached over and took her hand, then
+bent and touched it softly with his lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will wait&ndash;&ndash;and abide,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span>
+<a name='THE_CUP_THAT_OERFLOWED_AN_OUTLINE' id='THE_CUP_THAT_OERFLOWED_AN_OUTLINE'></a>
+<h2>THE CUP THAT O&#8217;ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE</h2>
+</div>
+<h3>I</h3>
+<p>In a room, half-lighted by the red rays of a
+harvest moon, a woman lay in the shadow;
+face downward, on the bed. It was not the
+figure of youth: the full lines of waist and hip
+spoke maturity. She was sobbing aloud and
+bitterly, so that her whole body trembled.</p>
+<p>The clock struck the hour, the half, again the
+hour; and yet she lay there, but quiet, with face
+turned toward the window and the big, red
+harvest moon. It was not a handsome face;
+besides, now it was tear-stained and hard with
+the reflection of a bitter battle fought.</p>
+<p>A light foot tapped down the hallway and
+stopped in front of the door. There was gentle
+accompaniment on the panel to the query, &#8220;Are
+you asleep?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></p>
+<p>The woman on the bed opened her eyes wider,
+without a word.</p>
+<p>The step in the hall tapped away into silence.
+The firm, round arm in its black elbow-sleeve
+setting, white, beautiful, made a motion of impatience
+and of weariness; then slowly, so
+slowly that one could scarce mark its coming,
+the blank stupor that comes as Nature&#8217;s panacea
+to those whom she has tortured to the limit,
+crept over the woman, and the big brown eyes
+closed. The moon passed over and the night-wind,
+murmuring lower and lower, became still.
+In the darkness and silence the woman sobbed
+as she slept.</p>
+<p>In the lonely, uncertain time between night
+and morning she awoke; her face and the pillow
+were damp with the tears of sleep. She was
+numb from the drawing of tight clothing, and
+with a great mental pain and a confused sense
+of sadness, that weighed on her like a tangible
+thing. Her mind groped uncertainly for a
+moment; then, with a great rush, the past night
+and the things before it returned to her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, God, Thy injustice to us women!&#8221; she
+moaned.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></p>
+<p>The words roused her; and, craving companionship,
+she rose and lit the gas.</p>
+<p>Back and forth she crossed the room, avoiding
+the furniture as by instinct&ndash;&ndash;one moment
+smiling, bitter; the next with face moving, uncontrollable,
+and eyes damp: all the moods, the
+passions of a woman&#8217;s soul showing here where
+none other might see. Tired out, at last, she
+stopped and disrobed, swiftly, without a glance
+at her own reflection, and returned to bed.</p>
+<p>Nature will not be forced. Sleep will not
+come again. She can only think, and thoughts
+are madness. She gets up and moves to her
+desk. Aimlessly at first, as a respite, she begins
+to write. Her thoughts take words as she
+writes, and a great determination, an impulse of
+the moment, comes to her. She takes up fresh
+paper and writes sheet after sheet, swiftly.
+Passion sways the hand that writes, and shines
+warmly from the big, brown eyes. The first
+light of morning stains the east as she collects
+the scattered sheets, and writes a name on the
+envelope, a name which brings a tenderness to
+her eyes. Stealthily she tiptoes down the stairs
+and places the letter where the servant will see,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span>
+and mail it in the early morning. A glad light,
+the light of relief, is in her face as she steals
+back slowly and creeps into bed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If it is wrong I couldn&#8217;t help it,&#8221; she
+whispers low. She turns her face to the pillow
+and covers it with a soft, white arm. One ear
+alone shows, a rosy spot against the white.</p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+<p>Nine o&#8217;clock at a down-town medical office.
+A man who walks rapidly, but quietly, enters
+and takes up the morning mail. A number of
+business letters he finds and a dainty envelope,
+with writing which he knows at sight. He steps
+to the light and looks at the postmark.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-morning,&#8221; says his partner, entering.</p>
+<p>The man nods absently, and, tearing open
+the envelope, takes out this letter:</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;<span class='smcap'>My friend</span>:&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know what you will think of me
+after this; anyway, I cannot help telling you
+what to-night lies heavy on my heart and mind.
+I&#8217;ve tried to keep still; God knows I&#8217;ve tried,
+and so hard; but Nature is Nature, and I am a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span>
+woman. Oh, if you men only knew what that
+means, you&#8217;d forgive us much, and pity! You
+have so much in life and we so little, and you
+torture us so with that little, which to us is so
+great, our all; leading us on against our will,
+against our better judgment, until we love you,
+not realizing at first the madness of unrequited
+love. Oh, the cruelty of it, and but for a
+pastime.</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;But I do not mean to charge you. You are
+not as other men; you are not wrong. Besides,
+why should I not say it? I love you. Yes, you;
+a man who knows not the meaning of the word;
+who meant to be but a friend, my best friend.
+Oh, you have been blind, blind all the years
+since first I knew you; since first you began
+telling me of yourself and of your hopes. You
+did not know what it meant to such as I to live
+in the ambition of another, to hope through
+another&#8217;s hope, to exult in another&#8217;s success. I
+am confessing, for the first time&ndash;&ndash;and the last
+time. Know, man, all the time I loved you.
+Forgive me that I tell you. I cannot help it. I
+am a woman, and love in a woman&#8217;s life is
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span>
+stronger than will, stronger than all else
+together.</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;I ask nothing. I expect nothing. I could
+not keep quiet longer. It was killing me, and
+you never saw. I did not mean to tell you anything,
+till this moment&ndash;&ndash;least of all, in this
+way. But it is done, and I&#8217;m glad&ndash;&ndash;yes, happier
+than I have been for weeks. It is our
+woman&#8217;s nature; a nature we do not ourselves
+understand.</p>
+<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>&#8220;My friend, I cannot see you again. Things
+cannot go on as they were. It was torture&ndash;&ndash;you
+know not what torture&ndash;&ndash;and life is short.
+If you would be kind, avoid me. The town is
+wide, and we have each our work. Time will
+pass. Remember, you have done nothing
+wrong. If there be one at fault it is Nature,
+for only half doing her work. You are good
+and noble. Good-bye. I trust you, for, God
+bless you, I love you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The letter dropped, and the man stood looking
+out with unseeing eyes, on the shifting
+street.</p>
+<p>A patient came in and sat down, waiting.</p>
+<p>He had read as in a dream. Now with a rush
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span>
+came thought,&ndash;&ndash;the past, the present, mingled;
+and as by a great light he saw clearly the years
+of comradery, thoughtless on his part, filled as
+his life had been with work and with thought of
+the future. It all came home to him now, and
+the coming was of brightness. The coldness
+melted from his face; the very squareness of the
+jaw seemed softer; the knowledge that is joy
+and that comes but once in a lifetime, swept
+over him, warm, and his heart beat swift. All
+things seemed beautiful.</p>
+<p>Without a word he took up his hat, and
+walked rapidly toward the elevator. A smile
+was in the frank blue eyes, and to all whom he
+met, whether stranger or friend, he gave
+greeting.</p>
+<p>The patient, waiting for his return, grew
+tired and left, and leaving, slammed the office
+door behind him.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span>
+<a name='UNJUDGED' id='UNJUDGED'></a>
+<h2>UNJUDGED</h2>
+</div>
+<p>The source of this manuscript lies in
+tragedy. My possession of it is purely
+adventitious. That I have had it long you may
+know, for it came to me at an inland prairie
+town, far removed from water or mountain,
+while for ten years or more my name, above the
+big-lettered dentist sign, has stood here on my
+office window in this city by the lake. I have
+waited, hoping some one would come as claimant;
+but my hair is turning white and I can wait
+no longer. As now I write of the past, the time
+of the manuscript&#8217;s coming stands clear amid
+a host of hazy, half-forgotten things.</p>
+<p>It was after regular hours, of the day I write,
+that a man came hurriedly into my office, complaining
+of a fiercely aching tooth. Against
+my advice he insisted on an immediate extraction,
+and the use of an an&aelig;sthetic. I telephoned
+for a physician, and while awaiting his coming
+my patient placed in my keeping an expansible
+leather-covered book of a large pocket size.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Should anything go wrong,&#8221; he said, &#8220;there
+are instructions inside.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The request is common from those unused to
+an operation, and I accepted without other comment
+than to assure him he need fear no danger.</p>
+<p>Upon arriving, the physician made the customary
+examination and proceeded to administer
+chloroform. The patient was visibly excited,
+but neither of us attached any importance
+to that under the circumstances. Almost before
+the effect of the an&aelig;sthetic was noticeable, however,
+there began a series of violent muscular
+spasms and contractions. The inhaler was removed
+and all restoratives known to the profession
+used, but without avail. He died in a
+few moments, and without regaining consciousness.
+The symptoms were suspicious, entirely
+foreign to any caused by the an&aelig;sthetic, and at
+the inquest the cause came to light. In the
+man&#8217;s stomach was a large quantity of strychnine.
+That he knew something of medicine is
+certain, for the action of the alkaloid varies
+little, and he had the timing to a nicety.</p>
+<p>The man was, I should judge, thirty years
+of age, smooth of face and slightly built. Nerve
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span>
+was in every line of face and body. He was
+faultlessly dressed and perfectly groomed. He
+wore no jewelry, not even a watch; but within
+the pocket of his vest was found a small jewel-case
+containing two beautiful white diamonds,
+each of more than a carat weight. One was
+unset, the other mounted in a lady&#8217;s ring. There
+was money in plenty upon his person, but not
+an article that would give the slightest clue to
+his identity.</p>
+<p>One peculiar thing about him I noticed, and
+could not account for: upon the palm of each
+hand was a row of irregular abrasions, but
+slightly healed, and which looked as though
+made by some dull instrument.</p>
+<p>The book with which he entrusted me had
+begun as a journal, but with the passage of
+events it had outgrown its original plan. Being
+expansible, fresh sheets had been added as
+it grew, and at the back of the book, on one of
+these blanks, had been hastily scratched, in
+pencil, the message of which he spoke:</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will find sufficient money in my pockets
+to cover all expenses. Do not take my
+trinkets, please! Associations make them dear
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span>
+to me. Any attempt to discover my friends
+will be useless.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Notwithstanding the last sentence the body
+was embalmed and the death advertised; but no
+response came, and after three days the body
+and the tokens he loved were quietly buried here
+in the city.</p>
+<p>Meantime I had read the book, beginning
+from a sense of duty that grew into a passing
+interest, and ended by making me unaware of
+both time and place. I give you the journal
+as it stands, word for word and date for date.
+Would that I could show you the handwriting
+in the original as well. No printed page can
+tell the story of mood as can the lines of this
+journal. There were moments of passion when
+words slurred and overtook each other, as
+thought moved more rapidly than the characters
+which recorded; and again, periods of uncertainty
+when the hand tarried and busied itself
+with forming meaningless figures, while the
+conscious mind roamed far away.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p><i>March 17.</i> Why do I begin a journal now,
+a thing I have never done before? Had another
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span>
+asked the question, I could have turned it off
+with a laugh, but with myself it will not do. I
+must answer it, and honestly. Know then, my
+ego who catechises, I have things to tell, feelings
+to describe that are new to me and which I cannot
+tell to another. The excuse sounds childish;
+but listen: I speak it softly: I love, and he who
+loves is ever as a child. I smile at myself for
+making the admission. I, a man whose hair is
+thinning and silvering, who has written of love
+all his life, and laughed at it. Oh, it&#8217;s humorous,
+deliciously humorous. To think that I have
+become, in reality, the fool I pictured others in
+fancy!</p>
+<p><i>April 2.</i> Gods, she was beautiful to-night!&ndash;&ndash;the
+way she came to meet me: the long skirt
+that hung so gracefully, and that fluffy, white,
+sleeveless thing that fitted her so perfectly and
+showed her white arms and the curves of her
+throat. I forgot to rise, and I fear I stared
+at her. I can yet see the smile that crept
+through the long lashes as she looked at me, and
+as I stumbled an apology she was smiling all
+the time. How I came away I swear I don&#8217;t
+know. Instinct, I suppose; for now at last I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span>
+have an incentive. I must work mightily, and
+earn a name&ndash;&ndash;for her.</p>
+<p><i>April 4.</i> He says it is a strong plot and that
+he will help me. That means the book will succeed.
+I wonder how a man feels who can do
+things, not merely dream them. I expected he
+would laugh when I told him the plot, especially
+when I told whom the woman was; but
+he didn&#8217;t say a word. He thinks, as I do, that
+it would be better to leave the story&#8217;s connection
+with her a surprise until the book is published.
+He is coming up here to work to-morrow.
+&#8220;Keep a plot warm,&#8221; he says:
+&#8220;especially one with a love in it.&#8221; He looked at
+me out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, so
+peculiarly I hardly knew whether he was laughing
+at me or not. I suppose, just now, my
+state of mind is rather obvious and amusing.</p>
+<p><i>May 3.</i> As I expected, the reaction is on.
+What a price we have to pay for our happy
+moments in this world! I&#8217;m tired to-night and
+a little discouraged, for I worked hard all day,
+and did not accomplish much. &#8220;Lack of inspiration,&#8221;
+he said. &#8220;The heroine is becoming a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span>
+trifle dim. Hadn&#8217;t you better go and enthuse a
+little to-night?&#8221;</p>
+<p>I was not in a mood to be chaffed; I told him
+shortly: &#8220;No, you had better go yourself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He smiled and thanked me. &#8220;With your
+permission,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I will.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nature certainly has been kind to him, for
+he is handsome and fascinating beyond any man
+I ever knew. I wanted to use him in the story,
+but he positively refused. He said that I would
+do better. So we finally compromised on a
+combination. &#8220;The man&#8221; has his hair and my
+eyes, his nose and my mouth. Over the chin we
+each smiled a little grimly, for it is stubborn&ndash;&ndash;square,
+and fits us both. After all, it is not a
+bad <i>ensemble</i>. The character has his weak
+points, but, all in all, he is not bad to look upon.</p>
+<p><i>June 10.</i> We went driving this evening, she
+and I, far out into the country, going and coming
+slowly. The night was perfect, with a
+full moon and a soft south wind. Nature&#8217;s
+music makers were all busy. On the high
+places, the crickets sang loudly their lonesome
+song to the night, while from the distant river
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span>
+and lowlands there came the uncertain minor
+of countless frogs in chorus.</p>
+<p>For two hours I tasted happiness, divine
+happiness, happiness so complete that I forgot
+time.</p>
+<p>I have known many beautiful women,
+women splendid as animals are splendid, but
+never before one whose intense womanliness
+made me forget that she was beautiful. I can&#8217;t
+explain; it is too subtle and holy a thing. I
+sat by her side, so near that we touched, and
+worshipped as I never worshipped at church. If
+but for this night alone, my life is worth the
+living.</p>
+<p><i>June 12.</i> It seems peculiar that he should be
+working with me at this story; strange that he
+should care to know me at all. Perhaps I stand
+a little in awe of the successful man; I think we
+all do. At least, he is the example <i>par excellence</i>.
+I have seen him go into a room filled
+with total strangers, and though he never spoke
+a word, have heard the question all about,&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;Who
+is he?&#8221; Years ago, when he as well as I
+was an unknown writer, we each submitted a
+story to the same editor, by the same mail. Both
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span>
+were returned. I can still see the expression on
+his face as he opened his envelope, and thrust
+the manuscript into his pocket. He did not
+say a word, but his manner of donning his top-coat
+and hat, and the crash of the front door
+behind him betrayed his disappointment. His
+work was afterwards published at his own risk.
+The ink on my story is fading, but I have it
+still.</p>
+<p><i>July 2.</i> She is going to the coast for the
+season, and I called to-night to say <i>au revoir</i>.
+I could see her only a few minutes as her carriage
+was already waiting; something, I believe,
+in honor of her last night in town. She was in
+evening dress, and beautiful&ndash;&ndash;I cannot describe.
+Think of the most beautiful woman you
+have ever known, and then&ndash;&ndash;but it is useless,
+for you have not known her.</p>
+<p>I was intoxicated; happy as a boy; happy as
+a god. I filled the few moments I had, full to
+overflowing. I told her what every man tells
+some woman some time in his life. For once I
+felt the power of a master, and I spoke well.</p>
+<p>She did not answer; I asked her not to. I
+could not tell her all, and I would have no reply
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span>
+before. Her face was turned from me as
+I spoke, but her ears turned pink and her
+breath came quickly. I looked at her and the
+magnitude of my presumption held me dumb;
+yet a warm happy glow was upon me, and the
+tapping of feet on the pavement below sounded
+as sweetest music.</p>
+<p>As I watched her she turned, her eyes glistening
+and her throat all a-tremble. She held out
+her hand to say good-bye. I took it in mine;
+and at the touch my resolution and all other
+things of earth were forgotten, and I did that
+which I had come hoping to do. Gently, I
+slipped a ring with a single setting over her
+finger, then bending low, I touched the hand
+with my lips&ndash;&ndash;whitest, softest, dearest hand
+in God&#8217;s world. Then I heard her breath
+break in a sob, and felt upon my hair the falling
+of a tear.</p>
+<p><i>August 5.</i> I am homesick to-night and tired.
+It is ten-thirty, and, I have just gotten dinner.
+I forgot all about it before. The story is moving
+swiftly. It is nearly finished now, moreover
+it is good; I know it. I sent a big roll of
+manuscript to him to-day. He is at the coast,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span>
+and polishes the rough draft as fast as I send
+it in. He tells me he has secured a publisher,
+and that the book will be out in a few months.
+I can hardly wait to finish, for then I, too, can
+leave town. I will not go before; I have work
+to do, and can do it better here. He tells me
+he has seen her several times. God! a man who
+writes novels and can mention her incidentally,
+as though speaking of a dinner-party!</p>
+<p><i>August 30.</i> I finished to-day and expressed
+him the last scrap of copy. I wanted to sing, I
+was so happy. Then I bethought me, it is her
+birthday. I went down town and picked out
+a stone that pleased me. Their messenger will
+deliver it, and she can choose her own setting.
+How I&#8217;d like to carry it myself, but I have a
+little more work to do before I go. Only two
+more days, and then&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>I have been counting the time since she left:
+almost two months; it seems incredible when I
+think of it.</p>
+<p>How I have worked! Next time I write,
+my journal confessor, I will have something to
+tell: I will have seen her&ndash;&ndash;she who wears my
+ring.... Ah! here comes my man for
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span>
+orders. A few of my bachelor friends help me
+celebrate here to-night. I have not told them
+it is the last time.</p>
+<p><i>September 5.</i> Let me think; I am confused.
+This hotel is vile, abominable, but there is no
+other. That cursed odor of stale tobacco, and
+of cookery!</p>
+<p>The landlord says they were here yesterday
+and went West. It&#8217;s easy to trace them&ndash;&ndash;everybody
+notices. A tall man, dark, with a
+firm jaw; the most beautiful woman they have
+ever seen&ndash;&ndash;they all say the same. My God!
+and I&#8217;m hung up here, inactive a whole day!
+But I&#8217;ll find them, they can&#8217;t escape; and then
+they&#8217;ll laugh at me, probably.</p>
+<p>What can I do? I don&#8217;t know. I can&#8217;t
+think. I must find them first ... that
+cursed odor again!</p>
+<p>Oh, what a child, a worse than fool I have
+been! To sit there in town pouring the best
+work of my life into his hands! I must have
+that book, I will have it. To think how I
+trusted her&ndash;&ndash;waited until my hair began to
+turn&ndash;&ndash;for this!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p>
+<p>But I must stop. This is useless, it&#8217;s madness.</p>
+<p><i>September 9.</i> It is a beautiful night. I have
+just come in from a long walk, how long I
+don&#8217;t know. I went to the suburbs and through
+the parks, watching the young people sitting,
+two and two, in the shadow. I smiled at the
+sight, for in fancy I could hear what they were
+saying. Then I wandered over to the lakefront
+and stood a long time, with the waves
+lapping musically against the rocks below, and
+the moonlight glistening on a million reflectors.
+The great stretch of water in front, and the
+great city behind me sang low in concord, while
+the stars looked down smiling at the refrain.
+&#8220;Be calm, little mortal, be calm,&#8221; they said;
+&#8220;calm, tiny mortal, calm,&#8221; repeated endlessly,
+until the mood took hold of me, and in sympathy
+I smiled in return.</p>
+<p>Was it yesterday? It seems a month since
+I found them. Was it I who was so hot and
+angry? I hold up my hand; it is as steady as
+my mother&#8217;s when, years ago, as a boy, she
+laid it on my forehead with her good-night.
+The murmur of this big hotel speaks soothingly,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span>
+like the voice of an old friend. The purr of the
+elevator is a voice I know. It all seems incredible.
+To-day is so commonplace and real, and
+yesterday so remote and fantastic.</p>
+<p>He was lounging in the lobby, a hand in
+either pocket, when I touched him on the
+shoulder. He turned, but neither hands nor
+face failed him by a motion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I presume you would prefer to talk in
+private?&#8221; I said, &#8220;Will you come to my
+room?&#8221;</p>
+<p>A smile formed slowly over his lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t wish to deprive my&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; He paused,
+and his eyes met mine,&#8220;&ndash;&ndash;my wife of a pleasant
+chat with an old friend. I would suggest
+that you come with us to our suite.&#8221;</p>
+<p>I nodded. In silence we went up the elevator;
+in equal silence, he leading, we passed
+along the corridor over carpets that gave out no
+telltale sound.</p>
+<p>She was standing by the window when we
+entered. Her profile stood out clear in the
+shaded room, and in spite of myself a great
+heart-throb passed over me. She did not move
+at first, but at last turning she saw him and me.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span>
+Then I could see her tremble; she started
+quickly to leave, but he barred the way. The
+smile was still upon his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me, my dear,&#8221; he protested, &#8220;but
+certainly you recognize an old friend.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She grew white to the lips, and her eyes
+blazed. Her hands pressed together so tightly
+that the fingers became blue at the nails. She
+looked at him; such scorn I had never seen
+before. Before it, the smile slowly left his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Were you the fraction of a man,&#8221; she voiced
+slowly, icily, &#8220;you would have stopped short
+of&ndash;&ndash;this.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She made a motion of her hand, so slight one
+could scarce see it, and without a word he
+stepped aside. She turned toward me and, instinctively,
+I bent in courtesy, my eyes on the
+floor and a great tumult in my heart. She hesitated
+at passing me; without looking up I knew
+it; then, slowly, moved away down the corridor.</p>
+<p>I advanced inside, closing the door behind me
+and snapping the lock. Neither of us said a
+word; no word was needed. The fighting-blood
+of each was up, and on each the square jaw that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span>
+marked us both was set hard. I stepped up
+within a yard of him and looked him square in
+the eye. I pray God I may never be so angry
+again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What explanation have you to offer?&#8221; I
+asked.</p>
+<p>His eye never wavered, though the blood left
+his face and lip; even then I admired his nerve.
+When he spoke his voice was even and natural.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; he sneered. &#8220;You have lost;
+that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Quick as thought, I threw back the taunt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lost the woman, yes, thank God; the book,
+never. I came for that, not for her. I demand
+that you turn over the copy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again the cool smile and the steady voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re a trifle late. I haven&#8217;t a sheet; it
+is all gone.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You lie!&#8221; I flung the hot words fair in
+his teeth.</p>
+<p>A smile, mocking, maddening, formed upon
+his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I told you before you had lost. The book
+is copyrighted&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;a pause, while the smile
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span>
+broadened&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;copyrighted in my name, and
+sold.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The instinct of battle, primitive, uncontrollable,
+came over me and the room turned dark.
+I fought it, until my hands grew greasy from
+the wounds where the nails bit my palms, then
+I lost control; of what follows all is confused.</p>
+<p>I dimly see myself leaping at him like a wild
+animal; I feel the tightening of the big neck
+muscles as my fingers closed on his throat; I
+feel a soft breath of night air as we neared the
+open window; then in my hands a sudden lightness,
+and in my ears a cry of terror.</p>
+<p>I awoke at a pounding on the door. It
+seemed hours later, though it must have been
+but seconds. I arose&ndash;&ndash;and was alone. The
+window was wide open; in the street below,
+a crowd was gathering on the run, while a policeman&#8217;s
+shrill whistle rang out on the night.
+A hundred faces were turned toward me as I
+looked down and I dimly wondered thereat.</p>
+<p>The knocking on the door became more insistent.
+I turned the lock, slowly, and a woman
+rushed into the room. Something about her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span>
+seemed familiar to me. I passed my hand over
+my forehead&ndash;&ndash;but it was useless. I bowed
+low and started to walk out, but she seized me
+by the arm, calling my name, pleadingly. Her
+soft brown hair was all loose and hanging,
+and her big eyes swimming; her whole body
+trembled so that she could scarcely speak.</p>
+<p>The grip of the white hand on my arm
+tightened.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh! You must not go,&#8221; she cried; &#8220;you
+cannot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>I tried gently to shake her off, but she clung
+more closely than before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You must let me explain,&#8221; she wailed. &#8220;I
+call God to witness, I was not to blame.&#8221; She
+drew a case from the bosom of her dress.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here are those stones; I never wore them.
+I wanted to, God knows, but I couldn&#8217;t. Take
+them, I beg of you.&#8221; She thrust the case into
+my pocket. &#8220;He made me take them, you
+understand; made me do everything from the
+first. I loved him once, long ago, and since
+then I couldn&#8217;t get away. I can&#8217;t explain.&#8221;
+She was pleading as I never heard woman plead
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span>
+before. &#8220;Forgive me&ndash;&ndash;tell me you forgive
+me&ndash;&ndash;speak to me.&#8221; The grip on my arm loosened
+and her voice dropped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh! God, to have brought this on you when
+I loved you!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The words sounded in my ears, but made no
+impression. It all seemed very, very strange.
+Why should she say such things to me? She
+must be mistaken&ndash;&ndash;must take me for another.</p>
+<p>I broke away from her grasp, and groped
+staggeringly toward the door. A weariness intense
+was upon me and I wanted to be home
+alone. As I moved away, I heard behind me
+a swift step as though she would follow, and my
+name called softly, then another movement,
+away.</p>
+<p>Mechanically I turned at the sound, and saw
+her profile standing clear in the open window-frame.
+Realization came to me with a mighty
+rush, and with a cry that was a great sob I
+sprang toward her.</p>
+<p>Suddenly the window became clear again,
+and through the blackness that formed about
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span>
+me I dimly heard a great wail of horror arise
+from the street below.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>There was no other entry save the hasty
+scrawl in pencil.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span>
+<a name='THE_TOUCH_HUMAN' id='THE_TOUCH_HUMAN'></a>
+<h2>THE TOUCH HUMAN</h2>
+</div>
+<p>&#8220;Good-night.&#8221; A lingering of finger
+tips that touched, as by accident; a bared
+head; the regular tap of shoes on cement, as a
+man walked down the path.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-night&ndash;&ndash;and God bless thee,&#8221; he repeated
+softly, tenderly, under his breath, that
+none but he might hear: words of faith spoken
+reverently, and by one who believes not in the
+God known of the herd.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-night&ndash;&ndash;and God bless thee,&#8221; whispered
+the woman slowly; and the south wind,
+murmuring northward, took the words and
+carried them gently away as sacred things.</p>
+<p>The woman stood thinking, dreaming, her
+color mounting, her eyes dimming, as she read
+deep the mystery of her own heart.</p>
+<p>They had sat side by side the entire evening,
+and had talked of life and of its hidden things;
+or else had remained silent in the unspoken converse
+that is even sweeter to those who understand
+each other.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span></p>
+<p>She had said of a mutual friend: &#8220;He is a
+man I admire; he has an ideal.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A thing but few of earth possess.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No; I think you are wrong. I believe all
+people have ideals. They must; life would not
+be life without.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean object rather than ideal. Does
+not an ideal mean something beautiful&ndash;&ndash;something
+beyond&ndash;&ndash;something we&#8217;d give our all
+for? Not our working hours alone, but our
+hours of pleasure and our times of thought. An
+ideal is an intangible thing&ndash;&ndash;having much of
+the supernatural in its make-up; &#8217;tis a fetish for
+which we&#8217;d sacrifice life&ndash;&ndash;or the strongest passion
+of life,&ndash;&ndash;love.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is this an ideal, though? Could anything
+be beautiful to us after we&#8217;d sacrificed much of
+life, and all of love in its attainment? Is not
+everything that is opposed to love also opposed
+to the ideal? Is not an ideal, when all is told,
+nothing but a great love&ndash;&ndash;the great personal
+love of each individual?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He turned to the woman, and there was that
+in his face which caused her eyes to drop, and
+her breath to come more quickly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. I&#8217;m miserable, and lonely,
+and tired. I&#8217;ve thought I had an ideal, and I
+followed it, working for it faithfully and for it
+alone. I&#8217;ve shown it to myself, glowing, splendid,
+when I became weary and ready to yield.
+I&#8217;ve sacrificed, in attempting its attainment,
+youth and pleasure&ndash;&ndash;self, continually. Still,
+I&#8217;m afar off&ndash;&ndash;and still the light beckons me
+on. I work day after day, and night after
+night, as ever; but the faith within me is growing
+weaker. Might not the ideal I worshipped
+after all be an earth-born thing, an ambition
+whose brightness is not of pure gold, but of
+tinsel? That which I have sought, speaks
+always to me so loudly that there may be no
+mistake in hearing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I am thy god,&#8217; it says; &#8216;worship me&ndash;&ndash;and
+me alone. Sacrifice&ndash;&ndash;sacrifice&ndash;&ndash;sacrifice&ndash;&ndash;thyself&ndash;&ndash;thy
+love. Thus shalt thou attain me.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;One day I stopped my work to think; hid
+myself solitary that I might question. &#8216;What
+shall I have when I attain thee?&#8217; I asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Fame&ndash;&ndash;fame&ndash;&ndash;the plaudits of the people&ndash;&ndash;a
+pedestal apart.&#8217;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes,&#8217; whispered my soul to me, &#8216;and a
+great envy always surrounding; a great fight
+always to hold thy small pedestal secure.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of such as this are ideals made? No. &#8217;Twas
+a mistake. I have sought not an ideal, but an
+ambition&ndash;&ndash;a worthless thing. An ideal is
+something beautiful&ndash;&ndash;a great love. &#8217;Tis not
+yet too late to correct my fault; to seek this
+ideal&ndash;&ndash;this beautiful thing&ndash;&ndash;this love.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He reached over to the woman and their
+fingers, as by chance, touching, lingered together.
+His eyes shone, and when he spoke his
+voice trembled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>You</i> know the ideal&ndash;&ndash;the beautiful thing&ndash;&ndash;the
+love I seek.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Side by side they sat, each bosom throbbing;
+not with the wild passion of youth, but with the
+deeper, more spiritual love of middle-life.
+Overhead, the night wind murmured; all about,
+the crickets sang.</p>
+<p>Turning, she met him face to face, frankly,
+earnestly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let us think.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She rose, in her eyes the look men worship
+and, worshipping, find oblivion.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></p>
+<p>A moment they stood together.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-night,&#8221; she whispered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-night,&#8221; his lips silently answered,
+pressing upon hers.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span>
+<a name='A_DARK_HORSE' id='A_DARK_HORSE'></a>
+<h2>A DARK HORSE</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Iowa City is not large, nor are the prospects
+for metropolitan greatness at all flattering.
+Even her most zealous citizen, the
+ancient of the market corner, admits that
+&#8220;there ain&#8217;t been much stirrin&#8217; for quite a spell
+back,&#8221; and among the broad fraternity of commercial
+travellers, the town is a standing joke.
+Yet, throughout the entire State, no community
+of equal size is so well known. It is the home
+of the State University.</p>
+<p>In the year &#8217;90-something-or-other, there was
+enrolled in the junior class of the university,
+one Walter R. Chester, but it is doubtful
+whether five other students in the same classic
+seat of learning could have told you his given
+name. Away back in his freshman year he had
+been dubbed &#8220;Lord&#8221; Chester. And as &#8220;Lord&#8221;
+Chester alone is his name still preserved, and
+revered in university annals.</p>
+<p>The reasons lying back of this exaltation to
+the peerage were not very complex, but quite as
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span>
+adequate as those usually inspiring college
+nicknames. He was known to be country-bred,
+and the average freshwater school defines
+the &#8220;country&#8221; as a region of dense mental
+darkness, commencing where the campus ends
+and extending thence in every direction,
+throughout the unchartered realms of space.</p>
+<p>Each Friday afternoon, &#8220;Lord&#8221; Chester
+would carefully lock his room and disappear
+upon a bicycle; this much was plainly visible
+to everybody. On Monday he would reappear.
+The hiatus afforded a peg from which much
+unprofitable speculation was suspended. The
+argument most plausible was that he went
+home, while one romantic youth suggested a
+girl. The accusation was never repeated.
+What? The &#8220;Lord&#8221; a ladies&#8217; man? Tut!
+One would as soon expect a statue to drill a
+minstrel show.</p>
+<p>Thus Chester&#8217;s personal affairs remained a
+mystery. He never talked reflexively&ndash;&ndash;rare
+attribute in a college man&ndash;&ndash;and, moreover,
+curiosity never throve well in his presence. It
+utterly failed to bear fruit.</p>
+<p>Another peculiarity distinguished him from
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span>
+all the rest of the student body: he roomed by
+himself. Although invariably courteous and
+polite to visitors, he was never known to extend
+an invitation for a second visit. He quite obviously
+wanted to be left alone, and the &#8220;fellows&#8221;
+met him more than half-way.</p>
+<p>But what, more than anything else, probably
+helped to designate him &#8220;Lord,&#8221; was the scrupulous
+way in which he dressed. There was no
+hint of the pastoral in his sartorial accomplishments,
+and it was his one extravagance. Though
+from the country and therefore presumably
+poor, no swell son of the Western <i>haute monde</i>
+made an equally smart appearance.</p>
+<p>We have been viewing the youth from the
+standpoint of his fellow-students. As a matter
+of fact, they never saw the real man, the man
+behind the closed door, at all. He was a terrific
+worker. When he decided to do a thing, he did
+it. Night was as day at such times, and meals
+were unthought of. He literally plunged out
+of sight into his work, and as yet he had never
+failed.</p>
+<p>One reason for this uniform success lay in the
+fact that he was able to define his limitations,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span>
+and never attempted the impossible. He was,
+indeed, poor; that is, relatively so. His earliest
+recollections were associated with corn rows
+and grilling suns; which accounted for the
+present cheerfulness with which he tackled any
+task, and for his appetite for hard work. When
+tired, he would think of the weight of a hoe in a
+boy&#8217;s hand at six o&#8217;clock in the afternoon, and
+proceed with renewed vigor.</p>
+<p>Such was &#8220;Lord&#8221; Chester: product of work
+and solitude; a man who knew more about the
+ideal than the real; a man who would never
+forget a friend nor forgive an injury; who
+would fight to the bitter end and die game&ndash;&ndash;hero
+of &#8220;<i>the</i>&#8221; Marathon, whose exciting history
+is impossible to avoid in Iowa City.</p>
+<p>By nature, Chester was an athlete, and by
+way of exercise he was accustomed to indulge
+in a few turns daily upon the cinder path.
+One evening in early spring he was jogging
+along at a steady brisk pace, when two men in
+training-suits caught up with him. They were
+puffing when they fell in beside him. Presently
+they dropped behind, and one, a tall important
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span>
+youth, of the name of Richards, called
+out:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I say, me lud, aren&#8217;t you going to clear the
+trail?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Quick as a shot Chester halted and faced
+around.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s that?&#8221; he asked quietly.</p>
+<p>The other two nearly bumped into him, but
+managed to come to a standstill, before precipitating
+that catastrophe. They lurched
+back upon their heels, nearly toppling backwards,
+too surprised for the moment to speak.
+Chester did not stir.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Jiminy crickets!&#8221; Richards&#8217; companion exclaimed
+in a moment. &#8220;You&#8217;re deuced sudden,
+Chester, I must say.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And Richards&#8217; manner promptly grew conciliatory.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Old man,&#8221; he said, smiling, &#8220;you really
+ought to train. You&#8217;ve got form&ndash;&ndash;by George,
+you have! Besides, you wouldn&#8217;t have any
+opposition to speak of, you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Richards was still smiling; but a smile, however
+warmly encouraged from within, is apt to
+take cold in a frost. The casual glance with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span>
+which Chester took in the young man, from his
+light sprinting-pumps to his eyes, may be accurately
+described as frigid. Not until he had
+held the other&#8217;s embarrassed look for an appreciable
+pause did he deign to speak.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There really ought to be,&#8221; he said without
+emotion, &#8220;at least one man in the field. I think
+I shall train.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Thus it came about that &#8220;Lord&#8221; Chester
+decided to enter athletics. Five minutes previously
+even the thought had not occurred to
+him; but he wasn&#8217;t the man to quail before a
+bluff.</p>
+<p>The track management of this particular
+university was an oligarchy; was governed by a
+few absolute individuals. Perhaps such a condition
+is not as rare as might be supposed.
+However that may be, it was here a case of
+being either &#8220;in&#8221; or &#8220;out.&#8221; Chester was unpopular,
+and from the first had been out.</p>
+<p>There were only four entries for the running
+events, the same names appearing in all; so he
+could not be kept from the field. But he well
+knew that various ways existed by which favoritism
+could be shown, and that these preferences,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span>
+too trifling in themselves to warrant complaint,
+might prove a serious handicap in a close
+contest. He knew that, however honors might
+lie among the other entries, they would hesitate
+at nothing to prevent him from taking a
+place. In fact, Richards openly boasted that
+he would pocket &#8220;&#8217;is ludship&#8221; at the finish.</p>
+<p>So Chester shaped his plans accordingly.
+He had never aimed at the impossible, nor did
+he now. He withdrew from all short-distance
+runs and yard dashes, and concentrated his
+mind upon the Marathon&ndash;&ndash;thus dignified, although
+the faculty would permit nothing more
+arduous than two miles.</p>
+<p>In saying trained, everything is meant that
+the word can be made to imply: the sort of hour
+in, hour out, to-the-limit-of-endurance training
+which either makes or kills. A fortnight before
+Field Day Chester was in perfect condition,
+and had his capabilities gauged to a nicety. He
+was now entered only in the Marathon; they
+virtually had forced him from the half-mile,
+and they should be made to pay the penalty.</p>
+<p>One day before the race Chester went to
+the bank and inquired the amount of his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span>
+balance. It was shown him: one hundred and
+six dollars and some odd cents. He drew a
+cheque for the amount, and thrust the bills into
+his pocket. From the bank he walked straight
+up Main Street for three blocks, then turned in
+at a well-kept brick house.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Richards in?&#8221; he asked of the servant-girl.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir. Right upstairs&ndash;&ndash;second door to
+the left. He&#8217;s got company now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The junior nevertheless resolutely mounted
+the stairs and knocked upon the door. The
+noise inside resembled a pocket-edition of the
+Chicago Board of Trade, so Chester hammered
+again, louder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come!&#8221; some one yelled, and the noise
+subsided.</p>
+<p>He opened the door and stepped inside. A
+half-dozen young fellows were scattered about,
+but as he knew none of them, except by name,
+he ignored their presence and walked directly
+up to Richards.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve come on business,&#8221; he said; &#8220;can I
+speak with you a moment?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure!&#8221; Richards removed his feet from a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span>
+chair, kicking it at the same time toward his
+visitor. &#8220;These fellows know more about my
+business now than I do myself, so get it off of
+your chest, Chester.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The company laughed, but Chester remained
+wholly unmoved.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; said he, calmly. &#8220;You&#8217;re in the
+Marathon: want to risk anything on it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Up went Richards&#8217; feet once more, this time
+to a table. He winked broadly at his friends,
+and replied with an air of vast carelessness,</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why&ndash;&ndash;yes; I don&#8217;t mind. Guess I can
+cover you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How much?&#8221; demanded Chester. &#8220;Odds
+even, mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I said I&#8217;d cover you, didn&#8217;t I?&#8221; with some
+warmth. Richards fumbled in his trousers
+pockets, extracting therefrom a handful of
+loose change.</p>
+<p>Chester advanced to the table. At sight of
+his roll of bills a sudden silence fell. All eyes
+were glued upon them while he counted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Five&ndash;&ndash;ten&ndash;&ndash;fifteen&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;and so on, up to
+one hundred. He stowed the remaining five
+back in his pocket, pushed the pile into the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span>
+middle of the table and looked coolly down at
+his host. Said he,</p>
+<p>&#8220;One hundred, even, that I win the Marathon.
+Cover, or show these fellows the sort of
+piker you are.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And Richards came very near to showing
+them. His face was a study. He hadn&#8217;t ten
+dollars to his name; he was painfully aware of
+the fact, and here were these six boys who would
+know it too in about two seconds. He was rattled,
+and sat looking at the pile of bills as
+though charmed. He racked his brain for some
+way out of the predicament, but the only thing
+he could think of was to wonder whether the
+portrait on the top note was that of Hendricks
+or Rufus Choate. &#8220;It can&#8217;t be Choate,&#8221; suddenly
+occurred to him. &#8220;But then it&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a laugh in the back of the room.
+Richards stood up. A dozen fire alarms would
+not have recalled him so quickly. Whatever
+else might be said of the man he was game, and
+now his gameness showed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Give me an hour; I&#8217;ll meet you then in
+front of the postoffice.&#8221; While speaking he
+had gotten into his coat; now he walked toward
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span>
+the door. &#8220;Amuse yourselves while I&#8217;m gone,
+fellows,&#8221; he said, and disappeared down the
+stairway.</p>
+<p>Chester replaced the notes in his pocket,
+nodded gravely to the company and followed.</p>
+<p>Not a boy spoke, but all sat staring blankly
+at the doorway.</p>
+<p>An hour later, both Richards and Chester appeared
+at the postoffice. The former, by dint
+of much persistent circulation among his fellow
+athletes, had found enough of them who were
+willing to pool their funds in order to secure the
+necessary amount. The two young men had
+witnesses, the wager was properly closed and
+the money deposited. Neither spoke an unnecessary
+word during the meeting, but when
+Chester started to leave, Richards turned facetiously
+to his friends.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Is bloomin&#8217; ludship will start training Friday;
+bet he has his wheel in soak.&#8221;</p>
+<p>To which remark Chester paid not the
+slightest attention.</p>
+<p>Whatever may be said to the contrary, six
+boys can no more retain a secret than can six
+girls, and inside of an hour the story of the big
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span>
+bet had spread over the town. In due course it
+penetrated to the city: one day a reporter appeared
+and interviewed the principals, and
+on the following Sunday their photographs
+adorned the pink section of a great daily. This
+was nuts for the university&ndash;&ndash;but it is getting
+ahead of our own story somewhat.</p>
+<p>Chester, naturally, was the centre of curiosity.
+He had not pawned his &#8220;bike,&#8221; as was
+demonstrated when Friday rolled around; but
+had it been known that the last cent he owned
+in the world had been staked upon the issue, no
+doubt the interest would have been greater.</p>
+<p>Field Day opened bright and clear, and early
+in the afternoon Athletic Park began to fill. A
+rumor had gone abroad that the two principal
+competitors had actually come to blows, and
+that each had sworn to die rather than lose the
+race. Long before the opening event the inclosure
+was crowded with spectators, all eagerly
+discussing the Marathon, to the exclusion of
+every other contest. The opinion was freely
+expressed that Richards would &#8220;put a crimp in
+that chesty Chester,&#8221; and that he would &#8220;win
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span>
+in a walk.&#8221; They made no bones about playing
+favorites.</p>
+<p>It was a still, hot day, and if there is any advantage
+in atmospheric conditions each contestant
+should have been inspired with that absolute
+confidence of winning, without which the
+fastest race is but a tame affair. At two o&#8217;clock
+the band commenced playing. The judges
+tried to follow the programme, but the cries of
+&#8220;Marathon! Marathon!&#8221; grew so insistent and
+clamorous that they finally yielded, and the
+event was called.</p>
+<p>Richards responded first. He was popular,
+and the grandstand gave him an ovation as he
+took his position under the wire. It seemed as
+though the handkerchief of every girl present
+was in the air. The two figureheads, friends of
+Richards, came next, and last of all Chester.</p>
+<p>A feeble attempt at applause marked his passage
+in front of the grandstand; but he never
+looked up, and for any indication he gave to
+the contrary, he might have been the only person
+on the grounds. His track suit was hidden by
+a long black door curtain, in lieu of a bath-robe,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span>
+and a pretty girl on the front row remarked
+audibly, &#8220;He&#8217;s all ready for the funeral.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure thing,&#8221; answered her companion.
+&#8220;He knows his obsequies are about to take
+place.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Peels well,&#8221; a man by the rail critically
+commented. &#8220;But&ndash;&ndash;rats!&ndash;&ndash;Richards has
+pocketed this event ever since he&#8217;s been here;
+you can&#8217;t make the pace for him with anything
+slower than an auto.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The runners were in line at last, crouching
+low, tense, finger-tips upon the ground, the
+starting-pistol above their heads.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Starters ready?&#8221; floated in a sing-song
+voice from the judges&#8217; stand. &#8220;Timers r-r-read-y-y?&#8221;
+A sharp crack from the pistol, and
+they were off.</p>
+<p>Then a queer thing happened. Instead of
+dawdling along behind, as every one expected,
+Chester, without an instant&#8217;s hesitation, pushed
+to the front and set the pace.</p>
+<p>And what a pace! It was literally a race
+from the word go. Chester took the inside and
+faced the music, Richards and the others close
+in behind. Sympathy in the grandstand was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span>
+beginning to turn; everybody appreciates
+pluck. The spectators, however, knew him to
+be a novice, and many supposed that he had
+lost his head; so when he passed the grandstand
+on the first lap, any amount of contradictory
+advice was shouted noisily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let them set the pace!&#8221; &#8220;You&#8217;re killing
+yourself!&#8221; &#8220;Oh, you bally Lord!&ndash;&ndash;go it,
+kid!&#8221; &#8220;Don&#8217;t let &#8217;em nose you out, Chester,
+old scout!&#8221; &#8220;Save your air, old top, you&#8217;ll
+need it!&#8221; and much more of a like kind was
+hurled at him, which reached his ears through
+the veil of singing wind, like the roar of distant
+breakers upon the seashore.</p>
+<p>He kept his own counsel. He had followed
+that pace every day during the last two weeks
+of his training, and he knew precisely what he
+could do. Besides the air was quiet, and the
+disadvantage of being pace-maker was not so
+great as people thought.</p>
+<p>In this formation they came round the half-mile
+oval the second time, each man working
+with the nice regularity of well-oiled machinery.
+Not a sound now from the grandstand; only
+the soft <i>pat</i> of the runners&#8217; feet could be heard.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span>
+The crowd had caught Chester&#8217;s idea: but could
+he hold out?</p>
+<p>They had passed the three-quarter pole on
+the third lap when a yell went up, and everybody
+rose excitedly to their feet. Space was
+growing rapidly between the leaders and those
+behind; it was now resolved to a duel between
+the principals.</p>
+<p>As they dashed past, the crowd examined
+them closely, scores of field-glasses being
+trained upon them like so many guns.</p>
+<p>Chester was still erect, his head well back,
+chest forward, arms working piston-like, close
+down at his sides, while his long, regular tread
+was as light and springy as an Indian&#8217;s. His
+jaw was set grimly, but it was manifest that he
+was still breathing deep and regularly through
+his nostrils.</p>
+<p>It was equally manifest that his opponent
+was in distress. The last of his strength and
+determination was dying away in a desperate
+effort to keep his pace; his face was colorless,
+eyes staring, his step irregular. Worst of all,
+his mouth was open, and his chest could be seen
+to vibrate as he panted.</p>
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-388.jpg' alt='' title='' width='420' height='612' /><br />
+<p class='caption'>
+He heard a voice ... and glanced back.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;By Jove!&#8221; muttered the man at the rail,
+as amazed as though the blue canopy of heaven
+had suddenly fallen, &#8220;Chester&#8217;ll take it, I do
+believe!&#8221; And the crowd was beginning to
+believe the same.</p>
+<p>The rivals maintained their relative positions
+until, on the last lap, the three-quarter pole was
+once more reached. The two figureheads had
+dropped out and mounted a fence where they
+would not be too far away from the finish.</p>
+<p>Every eye was trained upon the racers, the
+excitement was tense. Chester was pounding
+grimly away; sweat was pouring down his face
+until it glistened in the sun; his legs ached as
+though in a boot of torture. But he had no
+thought of allowing Richards to close the gap
+between them by an inch. He was counting the
+<i>pat-pat-pat!</i> of his feet upon the track.
+&#8220;Seventy-three more, and it&#8217;s won, old boy,&#8221;
+he muttered. He could hear Richards&#8217; every
+breath. &#8220;One, two, three,&ndash;&ndash;&#8221; he counted.</p>
+<p>He heard a voice, so broken that the words
+could hardly be distinguished, and he glanced
+back.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For God&#8217;s&ndash;&ndash;sake, Chester&ndash;&ndash;hold&ndash;&ndash;up!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span>
+gasped Richards. &#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;can&#8217;t lose&ndash;&ndash;this race&ndash;&ndash;now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He was a pitiable figure, his white face drawn
+in lines of pain, his body swaying uncertainly,
+as he pressed despairingly on.</p>
+<p>For one moment Chester&#8217;s heart felt a throb
+of pity. Then he thought of his work in sun
+and rain; of Richards&#8217; contempt in the past; of
+the cheers for his rival and the open ridicule of
+his own pretensions; and last of all, but far
+from being the least consideration, the two hundred
+dollars absolutely necessary to carry him
+through his final year to graduation.</p>
+<p>Ah, nobody knew about that two hundred
+dollars, save himself and one little girl, who
+had driven into town early in the afternoon,
+and who had slipped timidly into as good a seat
+as she could find in the stand. She showed one
+dot of pink among hundreds of fluffy white
+gowns; Chester was ignorant of her presence,
+but as he sped round and round the track, her
+eyes never once left him, nor did she cease praying
+silently that he might win!</p>
+<p>Only for an instant did he hesitate; then his
+face settled into an expression not pleasant to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span>
+look upon. He forgot that he was tired, that
+a grandstand full of howling maniacs was
+ahead of him. He thought only of the girl in
+pink&ndash;&ndash;and made his spurt.</p>
+<p>Richards tried to follow, but a haze was
+forming over his eyes. His heart was pounding
+until he believed that he must suffocate.
+Then he reeled suddenly, lost his balance and
+fell into darkness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So this is victory!&#8221; murmured Chester to
+himself a moment later, as he swayed unsteadily
+upon the shoulders of a howling mob.
+He was thinking of poor Richards lying back
+there upon the track. But just then he espied
+the transfigured face of the girl in pink.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is! It is!&#8221; he shouted joyfully.</p>
+<hr class='toprule' />
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span>
+<a name='THE_WORTH_OF_THE_PRICE' id='THE_WORTH_OF_THE_PRICE'></a>
+<h2>THE WORTH OF THE PRICE</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Nobody in a normal humor would dispute
+the fact that Clementine Willis was
+a strikingly handsome girl. One might even be
+moved, by a burst of enthusiasm, to declare her
+beautiful. There was about her that subtle,
+elusive charm of perfection in minute detail,
+possible only to the wealthy who can discriminate
+between art and that which is artificial, and
+who can take advantage of all of art&#8217;s magic
+resources, without imparting the slightest suggestion
+of artificiality.</p>
+<p>Her hair and eyes were dark&ndash;&ndash;very dark;
+her skin bore the matchless, transparent tint of
+ivory; every line of her high-bred face, and of
+her hands and her slender, arched feet, bespoke
+the ultimate degree of refinement.</p>
+<p>She was the sort of girl, in short, that a full-blooded
+man must needs stare at, perhaps furtively,
+but with no thought of boldness. Stupid,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span>
+indeed, must be he who would attempt anything
+even remotely approaching familiarity with
+Miss Willis.</p>
+<p>Her smart brougham waits in front of a new
+and resplendent down-town office building on
+a certain afternoon, while Miss Willis ascends
+in one of the elevators to the tenth floor. She
+proceeds with assurance, but leisurely&ndash;&ndash;mayhap
+she is a trifle bored&ndash;&ndash;to a door which somehow
+manages to convey an impression of prosperity
+beyond. It bears upon its frosted glass
+the name of Dr. Leonard, a renowned specialist
+in diseases of the throat, besides the names of a
+half-dozen assistants&ndash;&ndash;in much smaller lettering&ndash;&ndash;who,
+doubtless, are in the ferment of
+struggling for positions of equal renown.</p>
+<p>The door opening discloses a neat, uniformed
+maid and a large and richly furnished reception-room.
+Five ladies, of various ages and all handsomely
+gowned, are seated here and there, manifestly
+forcing patience to relieve the <i>ennui</i>
+which would have been tolerated with no other
+detail of the day&#8217;s routine.</p>
+<p>This cursory survey is sufficient, it is hoped,
+to demonstrate that Dr. Leonard&#8217;s practice is
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span>
+confined among a class of which most other
+practitioners might be pardonably envious.</p>
+<p>The white-aproned, white-capped maid
+smiled a polite recognition of the newest
+arrival. A bit flustered by the calmly impersonal
+scrutiny with which her greeting was received,
+she addressed Miss Willis in a subdued
+voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was to tell you, Miss Willis, that there is
+no occasion for Dr. Leonard to see you himself
+to-day. If you please, Dr. Carter will fill your
+engagement.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Willis did not please. It was quite
+clear that she regarded this arrangement with
+considerable disfavor.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You may inform Dr. Leonard that I shall
+not wait,&#8221; she said coldly. &#8220;If I am so far improved
+that I do not require his personal attention,
+I shall not come again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>With that, she turned decisively to leave.
+The maid followed her, hesitantly, to the door,
+and Miss Willis could not repress a smile at the
+girl&#8217;s consternation. The situation had ended
+in an altogether unexpected manner. And then,
+in the next instant, it became manifest that,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span>
+however absolute Dr. Leonard might be, it was
+not a part of the maid&#8217;s duties to discourage
+those who would seek his services. She was
+emboldened to protest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just try him, please, Miss Willis,&#8221; in a
+nervous murmur; &#8220;he&ndash;&ndash;truly&ndash;&ndash;he&#8217;s&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The assurance was left unfinished; but the
+speaker&#8217;s flurry revealed her predicament, and
+Miss Willis smiled encouragement.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; she returned graciously.</p>
+<p>The maid gave her a grateful look and conducted
+her though several rooms, all in accord
+with the sumptuous reception-room, to a tiny
+private office, where she opened the door and
+stood respectfully on one side.</p>
+<p>The visitor&#8217;s submissive mood all at once
+vanished. She stared resentfully at the
+cramped quarters, and entered reluctantly, as
+if with a feeling of being thrust willy-nilly into
+a labelled pill-box. A man was writing at a
+desk in a corner, and he continued writing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Take a chair, please,&#8221; he said crisply, without
+looking up. And this was the only sign to
+indicate that he was aware that his privacy had
+been invaded.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span></p>
+<p>Miss Willis&#8217;s dark eyes flashed. She seemed
+about to make an indignant rejoinder, but
+thought better of it. She ignored the invitation
+to sit down, however, and by and by the circumstance
+caught the writer&#8217;s attention; he
+bent a quick, surprised look round at her&ndash;&ndash;then
+proceeded with his writing. He did not repeat
+the request.</p>
+<p>He presently finished his task, noted the
+time, and made an entry upon a tabulated sheet
+beside him; he then filed the memorandum upon
+a hook, and swung round in his chair, facing the
+intruder&ndash;&ndash;for such the girl felt herself to be.</p>
+<p>Fortunately Miss Willis was not without a
+sense of humor, and she was able to perceive
+an amusing quality in her reception to-day.
+Such supreme indifference to her very existence
+was so wholly foreign to anything in her past
+experience, that she was acutely sensible of its
+freshness and novelty.</p>
+<p>But now the man became all at once impressed
+with the circumstance that she was still
+standing, and he bounded guiltily to his feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me!&#8221; he exclaimed in confusion.
+&#8220;I was&ndash;&ndash;was very busy when you came in.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span>
+Won&#8217;t you please have this chair?&#8221; He awkwardly
+shoved one forward.</p>
+<p>The man was young; Miss Willis was unable
+to determine whether he was good-looking, or
+ugly; whether he was the right sort, or impossible;
+so she accepted the proffered chair.</p>
+<p>He resumed his own seat, and leaned one arm
+wearily upon the desk. Already he had forgotten
+his momentary embarrassment, and he
+was now regarding the girl simply as a patient.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dr. Leonard has given me the history of
+your case,&#8221; he informed her in a matter of fact
+way. &#8220;He requests that I continue with it&ndash;&ndash;unless,
+of course, you prefer that he treat you
+himself.&#8221; He got up as he spoke, and Miss
+Willis decided that he was good-looking and
+young, and that he was tall and of a figure to
+appeal to the feminine eye.</p>
+<p>Then she was guilty of a most reprehensible
+act of slyness. She turned full upon him the
+batteries of her lustrous dark eyes, and smiled
+dazzlingly, bewitchingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I came to see Dr. Leonard,&#8221; she said in a
+tone that made one think of dripping honey.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span>
+&#8220;And I object to being turned over to an
+assistant&ndash;&ndash;at least before consulting me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Utterly at variance with all precedent, the
+bewitching look produced no effect whatever.
+The man bowed gravely, pressed a bell-button,
+and then went over to where Miss Willis was
+sitting. Before he could speak&ndash;&ndash;if he had any
+such intention&ndash;&ndash;a girl in starched cap and
+apron appeared in answer to his ring.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Miss Willis has concluded not to remain,&#8221;
+he informed the maid. &#8220;Show Number
+Twenty-seven into Room Four. Inform her
+that I will see her in two minutes.&#8221; Producing
+his watch, he deliberately marked the time.</p>
+<p>He turned to Miss Willis in a moment, with
+an air which said as plainly as words could have
+said it: &#8220;It&#8217;s a terrible waste of precious time,
+but if necessary I&#8217;ll sacrifice the two minutes
+to humoring any further caprices you may
+develop.&#8221;</p>
+<p>This was too much for the young lady&#8217;s tranquillity:
+she laughed, and laughed frankly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pray tell me,&#8221; she managed to say, &#8220;what
+<i>my</i> number is.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400' name='page_400'></a>400</span></p>
+<p>Without the slightest alteration in his serious
+mien, he consulted a list hanging beside his desk.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Seven,&#8221; he announced at length.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; quickly. &#8220;Has there been some
+mistake?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No&ndash;&ndash;oh, no&#8221;; Miss Willis was now perfectly
+composed. &#8220;I had a feeling, though,
+that it must have been nearer seven thousand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It would be impossible, you know,&#8221; the man
+patiently explained, &#8220;to see that many patients
+in a day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Indeed? How interesting!&#8221; Her irony
+was unnoticed, and once more she laughed. To
+tell the truth, if anybody could associate such a
+frivolity with Miss Willis&#8217;s dignity, she giggled.</p>
+<p>She contemplated the man with undisguised
+curiosity. Naturally enough she had met more
+men than she could even remember, but never
+one anything like this particular specimen. To
+add to her quickened interest, he was not only
+positively good-looking, but every line of his
+face, the poise of his well-proportioned, upstanding
+figure, the tilt of his head and the
+squareness of his chin, all spoke of strength; of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401' name='page_401'></a>401</span>
+elemental strength, and of a purposeful, resolute
+character. And, too, she told herself that
+he had nice eyes. The nice eyes never wavered
+in their respectful regard of her.</p>
+<p>He spoke again:</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can assure you that Dr. Leonard meant
+no discourtesy. The new arrangement means
+nothing further than that your trouble is more
+distinctively within my province. It is his
+custom, once he has thoroughly diagnosed a
+case, to assign it to the one of his assistants best
+qualified to treat it. Dr. Leonard is a very
+busy man; he can&#8217;t be expected to do more than
+supervise his aides.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And now he was actually rebuking her!</p>
+<p>He bowed once more, and moved toward the
+door. His hand was upon the knob, when an
+imperious command brought him to a standstill.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait,&#8221; said Miss Willis. &#8220;Dr. Carter, if
+I remain here&ndash;&ndash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>He coolly interrupted. &#8220;Pardon me, Miss
+Willis, but my patient is waiting. I shall be at
+liberty in ten minutes, then I shall return.&#8221;</p>
+<p>This time he was gone.</p>
+<p>Number Four must have been an adjoining
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402' name='page_402'></a>402</span>
+room, for the next instant she could hear Dr.
+Carter&#8217;s voice through the thin board partition.
+His speech was as unemotional and businesslike
+as when addressing her. She could not
+make up her mind whether to go or wait, and
+so sat pondering and presently forgot to go.</p>
+<p>Here was a man such as she had never
+dreamed of as existing; one absolutely disinterested,
+who treated people&ndash;&ndash;even people like
+Clementine Willis&ndash;&ndash;as abstractly as a master
+mechanic goes about repairing a worn-out engine.
+Perhaps it was a characteristically feminine
+decision at which she presently arrived, but
+anyway she made up her mind, then and there,
+to know more of this man.</p>
+<p>After a while Miss Willis fell to surveying
+the room; with an undefined hope, perhaps, that
+it would throw some further light upon the
+young doctor&#8217;s character. It was essentially
+the home of a busy man. Every article had a
+use and a definite one. The spirit of the place
+was contagious, and presently she began to
+have a feeling that she was the one useless thing
+there.</p>
+<p>In one corner of the room was the desk where
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403' name='page_403'></a>403</span>
+he had been writing, upon which was a pile of
+loose manuscript. Reference books were scattered
+all about, some with improvised bookmarks,
+but mostly face downward, just as they
+had been left. The environment was that of
+one who seeks to overtake and outstrip Time,
+rather than to forget him.</p>
+<p>Dr. Carter returned at last, entering quickly
+but quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon my leaving you so abruptly,&#8221; he
+apologized, the impersonal note again in his
+voice, and an inquiry as well. He seemed surprised
+that she had not departed.</p>
+<p>The girl was manifestly at a loss for words;
+this was such an extraordinary predicament for
+her to find herself in that she determined to say
+something at any cost.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dr. Carter,&#8221; she faltered, &#8220;I&ndash;&ndash;have
+changed my mind; I&ndash;&ndash;I&ndash;&ndash;wish you to continue
+my treatment&ndash;&ndash;if you will.&#8221; It was not
+at all what she had intended saying, and she
+was chagrined to feel her cheeks grow suddenly
+hot; she knew that they must be rosy.</p>
+<p>It was likely that young Dr. Carter was unused
+to smiling; but suddenly his eyes were
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404' name='page_404'></a>404</span>
+alight. He spoke, and the dry, impersonal note
+was gone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad,&#8221; he said. &#8220;We hard-working
+doctors can stand almost anything&ndash;&ndash;without
+caring a snap of our fingers, too&ndash;&ndash;but when it
+comes to doubting or questioning&ndash;&ndash;not <i>our</i>
+methods, but those that have been tried and
+proven, and of which we merely avail ourselves,&ndash;&ndash;why,
+we can&#8217;t be expected to waste much
+sympathy on the scoffers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He rang the inevitable bell, and gave word to
+the maid: &#8220;Tell Dr. Leonard that Miss Willis
+has decided to continue her treatment
+with me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Now, in the light of the foregoing experience,
+it was strange that during the next week Miss
+Willis&#8217;s throat should require considerably more
+attention than it ever had under the celebrated
+specialist&#8217;s personal ministrations. She made
+five visits to Dr. Carter, but it could not be said
+that he had advanced an inch toward the opening
+she had made. His voice and manner were
+a bit more sympathetic&ndash;&ndash;and that was all.</p>
+<p>Miss Willis seemed to find a keen delight in
+the fact that her identity, for the time being,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405' name='page_405'></a>405</span>
+was erased by a number; during each visit she
+made it a point to learn what this number was,
+treating the matter in a sportive spirit, unbending
+her wit to ridicule a practice which failed to
+discriminate among the host of patients who
+came to see Dr. Leonard.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For our purposes,&#8221; Dr. Carter tolerantly
+explained, &#8220;a number more conveniently identifies
+our patients; their differences are only
+pathological. A name is easily forgotten, Miss
+Willis, unless there is some unusual circumstance
+associated with it, to impress it upon the
+mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She was curious to learn what unusual circumstance
+had caused him to retain her name,
+but lacked the temerity to ask. She would have
+been amazed, unbelieving, had he told her that
+it was her beauty; that he was clinging rather
+desperately to the unlovely number, which had
+no individuality and whose features were altogether
+neutral and negative.</p>
+<p>The change in his manner, when it came,
+almost took away her breath. It was on the occasion
+of her last visit. After the familiar preliminary
+examination, instead of proceeding at
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_406' name='page_406'></a>406</span>
+once with the treatment, as had been his invariable
+custom, Dr. Carter walked over to his desk
+and sat down. For a space he soberly regarded
+her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Miss Willis,&#8221; said he, presently, &#8220;there is
+nothing whatever the matter with your throat.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She gasped. This calm statement brought
+confusingly to her mind the circumstance that
+she had forgotten her throat and its ailment,
+when, of all considerations, the afflicted member
+should have been uppermost in her mind. Dr.
+Carter had not, however, and he must be wondering
+why she continued to come after the occasion
+to do so no longer existed. He at once
+relieved her embarrassment, though.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose,&#8221; he said, and she felt a thrill at
+the note of regret in his voice, &#8220;that you will be
+glad to escape from this hive?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I shan&#8217;t,&#8221; she said, with unnecessary
+warmth. This involuntary denial surprised
+even herself, and she blushed.</p>
+<p>The smile left Dr. Carter&#8217;s lips, but he said
+nothing&ndash;&ndash;merely sat looking at her in his
+grave way.</p>
+<p>Here was to be another period, which Miss
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_407' name='page_407'></a>407</span>
+Willis could look back upon as one of temporary
+inability to find words. She started to
+leave, furious with herself for her inaptness,
+and instead of going she paused and turned
+back.</p>
+<p>Dr. Carter had risen; he was standing as she
+had left him. She drew a card from her cardcase.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You may think what you please of me,
+Dr. Carter,&#8221; she said with sudden impulse, extending
+the card and meeting his look steadily,
+&#8220;but I would be glad if you were to call.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It seemed to take him a long time to read the
+address. All at once his hands were trembling,
+and when he looked up the expression in the
+gray eyes brought a swift tide of color to the
+girl&#8217;s face, where it deepened, and deepened,
+until she tingled from head to foot, and a mist
+obscured her vision.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing in all this world would give me
+more pleasure,&#8221; said the man.</p>
+<p>The girl turned and fled.</p>
+<p>That very evening Dr. Carter availed himself
+of the invitation. Singularly enough, since she
+had been hoping all the afternoon that he would
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_408' name='page_408'></a>408</span>
+come, Clementine Willis was frightened when
+his name was announced. Her hand was shaking
+when he took it in his; but there was not a
+trace of expression on his face.</p>
+<p>Miss Willis realized, for the first time, that
+she had been horribly brazen&ndash;&ndash;or, at least, she
+told herself that she had been&ndash;&ndash;and as a consequence,
+she was wretchedly ill at ease. Her
+distress was in marked contrast with the man&#8217;s
+self-possession, which amounted almost to indifference.
+There was no spark visible of the
+fire which had flashed earlier in the day. It was
+as though he had steeled himself to remain invulnerable
+throughout the call.</p>
+<p>And the usually composed girl prattled aimlessly,
+voicing platitudes, conventionalities, banalities,
+inanities&ndash;&ndash;anything to gain time and
+to cover her embarrassment: to all of which the
+man listened in sober silence, watching her
+steadily.</p>
+<p>Abruptly, Miss Willis grew angry with
+herself, and stopped. When angry she was
+collected.</p>
+<p>Dr. Carter&#8217;s face lit up humorously.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_409' name='page_409'></a>409</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You have no idea,&#8221; he said, &#8220;how you have
+relieved my mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The girl looked a question.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I supposed I was the embarrassed individual,&#8221;
+he laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you had only given me a hint,&#8221; suggested
+the girl, reproachfully. She was now amazed
+that she had ever lost her grip upon herself, and
+wondered why she had.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A hint!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;I was dumb; I
+thought you&#8217;d see.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The tension was off, and they laughed together.
+From then on, both remained natural.
+In the midst of a lull, Dr. Carter suddenly said:</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll think me a barbarian, Miss Willis,
+but I have a request to make. I am in the mood
+to-night to be unconventional&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;the corners of
+his serious mouth lifted humorously&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;to be
+what I really am,&#8221; he illuminated, &#8220;and to meet
+you in the same spirit.&#8221; He paused with a little
+shrug. &#8220;It is a disappointing reversion to the
+primitive, I must admit.&#8221; He glanced up
+whimsically. &#8220;May I ask you a question&ndash;&ndash;any
+question?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you think it possible,&#8221; the girl evaded,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_410' name='page_410'></a>410</span>
+&#8220;for a modern woman to meet you&ndash;&ndash;the way
+you say&ndash;&ndash;naturally?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He seemed to question her seriousness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have seen little of women for a number of
+years,&#8221; he returned, &#8220;but I&#8217;d hate to think it
+impossible.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Little of women!&#8221; was the surprised
+comment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You misunderstand,&#8221; he quickly corrected.
+&#8220;I go out so seldom that the woman I see is not
+the real woman at all; not the woman of home.&#8221;
+His hand made a little motion of forbearance.
+&#8220;In his consultation-room the patients of a
+physician are&ndash;&ndash;sexless.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think that a woman&ndash;&ndash;that I&ndash;&ndash;can still
+be natural, Dr. Carter,&#8221; said Miss Willis,
+slowly, her eyes downcast. &#8220;What did you
+wish to ask?&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was his turn to hesitate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hardly know how to put it, now that I
+have permission,&#8221; he apologized, with a deprecatory
+little laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We seldom do things in this world,&#8221; he
+went on at once, &#8220;unless we want to, or unless
+the alternative of not doing them is more unpleasant.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_411' name='page_411'></a>411</span>
+He merged generalities into a more
+specific assertion. &#8220;There was no alternative
+in your requesting me to call. Candidly, why
+do I interest you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>His voice was alive, and the woman, now
+thoroughly mistress of herself, gazed into the
+frankest of frank gray eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I scarcely know,&#8221; she said, weighing her
+answer. &#8220;Perhaps it was the novel experience
+of being considered&ndash;&ndash;sexless; of being classified
+by a number, like a beetle in a case. Let
+me answer with another question: Why did I
+interest you sufficiently to come?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He sat in the big chair with his chin in his
+hand, looking now steadily past and beyond her,
+one foot restlessly tapping the rug.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t answer without it seeming so hopelessly
+egotistical.&#8221; The half-whimsical, half-serious
+smile returned to his eyes. &#8220;Don&#8217;t let
+me impose upon your leniency, please; I may
+wish to make a request sometime again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will accept the responsibility,&#8221; she
+insisted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;On your head, then, the consequences.&#8221; He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_412' name='page_412'></a>412</span>
+spoke lightly, but with a note of restlessness
+and rebellion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;To me you are attractive, Miss Willis, because
+you are everything that I am not. With
+you there is no necessity higher than the present;
+no responsibility beyond the chance
+thought of the moment. You choose your
+surroundings, your thoughts. Your life is
+what you make it: it is life.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You certainly would not charge me with
+being more independent than you?&#8221; protested
+the girl.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Independent!&#8221; he flashed upon her, and she
+knew she had stirred something lying close to
+his soul. His voice grew soft, and he repeated
+the word, musingly, more to himself than to
+her: &#8220;Independent!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; with abrupt feeling, &#8220;with the sort
+of independence that chooses its own manner of
+absolute dependence; with the independence
+that gives you only so much of my time, so that
+the remainder may go to another; with the independence
+of imperative impartiality; the sort
+of independence that is never through working
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_413' name='page_413'></a>413</span>
+and planning for others&ndash;&ndash;that&#8217;s the independence
+I know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But there are breathing-spells,&#8221; interrupted
+Miss Willis, smilingly. &#8220;To-night, for
+example, you are not working for somebody
+else.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You compel me to incriminate myself,&#8221; he
+rejoined, the whimsical, half-serious smile again
+lighting his gray eyes. &#8220;I should be working
+now, and I will have to make up the lost time
+when I go home.&#8221; He bowed gallantly. &#8220;The
+pleasure is double with me, you observe; I do
+not think twice about paying a double price for
+it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He spoke lightly, almost mockingly; but beneath
+the surface there was even the bitter ring
+of revolt, and constantly before the girl were the
+little gestures, intense, impatient, that conveyed
+a meaning he did not voice. She could feel in
+it all the insistent atmosphere of the town,
+where time is counted by seconds. She wondered
+that he felt as he did, ignorant that the
+disquiet had come into his life only during the
+past week. To her, the glimpse of activity was
+fascinating simply because it was in sharp
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_414' name='page_414'></a>414</span>
+contrast with her life of comparative, dull
+emptiness.</p>
+<p>He caught the wistful look on her face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You wonder that I rebel,&#8221; he said, with an
+odd little throaty laugh. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t well appear
+any more unsophisticated: I might as well
+tell you. It&#8217;s not the work itself, but the lack
+of anything else but work that makes the lives
+of such as I so bare. We are constantly holding
+a stop-watch on time itself, fearful of losing a
+second; the scratch of a pen sealing the life of
+a Nation, commuting a death-sentence, defining
+the difference between a man&#8217;s success and ruin
+can all be accomplished in a second. If we let
+that second get away from us, we have been
+deaf to Opportunity&#8217;s knock. We stop at times
+to think; and then the object for which we give
+our all appears so petty and inadequate, and
+what we are losing, so great. We laugh at our
+work at such times, and for the moment hate
+it.&#8221; But he laughed lightly, and finished with
+a deprecating little minor.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You see, I&#8217;m relaxing to-night&ndash;&ndash;and
+thinking.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But,&#8221; Miss Willis protested, &#8220;I don&#8217;t see
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_415' name='page_415'></a>415</span>
+why you should have only the one thing in your
+life. It is certainly unnecessary, unless you
+choose.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He smiled indulgently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have no conception of what it means
+to shape your life to your income. I am poor,
+and I know. Years ago I had to choose between
+mediocrity and&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;he looked at her peculiarly&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;and
+love, or advancement alone. I had to
+choose, and fixing my choice upon the higher
+aim, I had to put everything else out of my life.
+The thought is intolerable that my name should
+always be under another&#8217;s upon some office-door.
+You know what I chose: you know nothing
+of the constant struggle which alone keeps
+me, mind, soul, and body, centred upon my
+ideal, nor how readily I respond to a temptation
+to turn aside.</p>
+<p>&#8220;This,&#8221; he completed listlessly, &#8220;is one of
+the nights when the price seems too large; in
+spite of me, regret will creep in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But,&#8221; persisted the girl, &#8220;when you succeed&ndash;&ndash;it
+will not be&ndash;&ndash;too late?&#8221; There was a
+plaintive inquiry in the words; the tragedy of
+the man&#8217;s life had awakened pity.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_416' name='page_416'></a>416</span></p>
+<p>He spoke with a sudden passion that startled
+her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is too late already; my work has refashioned
+my life. I am desperately restless except
+when doing something that counts; something
+visible; and doing it intensely. I&#8217;ll never&#8221;&ndash;&ndash;his
+voice was bitter with regret&ndash;&ndash;&#8220;never conform&ndash;&ndash;now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The girl answered, almost unconsciously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think you can,&#8221; she hesitated, &#8220;and will.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For a long, long moment they searched each
+other&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And this price you are paying,&#8221; said the
+girl at last, &#8220;is it worth it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man drew a long breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, I wonder! To-night doubt has undermined
+my resolution.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you question yourself so seriously,&#8221; she
+said very softly, &#8220;then surely you can find but
+one answer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Again I wonder. I have wondered and&ndash;&ndash;and
+hoped&ndash;&ndash;God help me!&ndash;&ndash;since the moment
+I looked into your eyes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Suddenly he was out of his chair and coming
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_417' name='page_417'></a>417</span>
+toward her. Her heart leaped, her eyes shone;
+she extended her hands in welcome.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then you will come again,&#8221; she whispered,
+as they drew together.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you will let me. I couldn&#8217;t stay away
+now.&#8221;</p>
+<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p>
+
+<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0623 -->
+<!-- timestamp: Wed Jun 24 19:26:14 -0600 2009 -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by 
+Will Lillibridge
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,9431 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by
+Will Lillibridge
+
+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: A Breath of Prairie and other stories
+
+Author: Will Lillibridge
+
+Illustrator: J. N. Marchand
+
+Release Date: June 26, 2009 [EBook #29245]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREATH OF PRAIRIE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+
+
+By WILL LILLIBRIDGE
+
+ THE DOMINANT DOLLAR. Illustrated in color by Lester Ralph.
+ Crown 8vo . . . $1.50
+
+ BEN BLAIR, PLAINSMAN. Frontispiece in color by Maynard Dixon.
+ Seventieth thousand. Crown 8vo . . . $1.50
+
+ QUERCUS ALBA: The Veteran of the Ozarks.
+ With frontispiece. 16mo. Net . . . $.50
+
+A. C. MCCLURG & CO., Publishers
+
+CHICAGO
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him. [See
+"Journey's End."]]
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+BY WILL LILLIBRIDGE
+
+AUTHOR OF "BEN BLAIR," "THE DOMINANT DOLLAR," ETC.
+
+WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR
+
+BY J. N. MARCHAND
+
+CHICAGO
+
+A. C. McCLURG & CO.
+
+1911
+
+
+
+
+Copyright
+
+A. C. McCLURG & CO.
+
+1911
+
+Published April, 1911
+
+W. J. Hall Printing Company
+
+Chicago
+
+
+
+
+A TRIBUTE
+
+
+It is an accepted truth, I believe, that every novelist embodies in
+the personalities of his heroes some of his own traits of character.
+Those who were intimately acquainted with William Otis Lillibridge
+could not fail to recognize this in a marked degree. To a casual
+reader, the heroes of his five novels might perhaps suggest five
+totally different personalities, but one who knows them well will
+inevitably recognize beneath the various disguises the same dominant
+characteristics in them all. Whether it be Ben Blair the sturdy
+plainsman, Bob McLeod the cripple, Dr. Watson, Darley Roberts, or even
+How Landor the Indian, one finds the same foundation stones of
+character,--repression, virility, firmness of purpose, an abhorrence
+of artificiality or affectation,--love of Nature and of Nature's works
+rather than things man-made. And these were unquestionably the
+pronounced traits of Will Lillibridge's personality. Markedly
+reserved, silent, forceful, he was seldom found in the places where
+men congregate, but loved rather the company of books and of the great
+out-doors. Living practically his entire life on the prairies it is
+undoubtedly true that he was greatly influenced by his environment.
+And certain it is that he could never have so successfully painted the
+various phases of prairie-life without a sympathetic, personal
+knowledge.
+
+The story of his life is characteristically told in this brief
+autobiographical sketch, written at the request of an interested
+magazine.
+
+"I was born on a farm in Union County, Iowa, near the boundary of the
+then Dakota Territory. Like most boys bred and raised in an atmosphere
+of eighteen hours of work out of twenty-four, I matured early. At
+twelve I was a useful citizen, at fifteen I was to all practical
+purposes a man,--did a man's work whatever the need. In this capacity
+I was alternately farmer, rancher, cattleman. Something prompted me to
+explore a university and I went to Iowa, where for six years I
+vibrated between the collegiate, dental, and medical departments.
+After graduating from the dental in 1898 I drifted to Sioux Falls and
+began to practise my profession. As the years passed the roots sank
+deeper and I am still here.
+
+"Work? My writing is done entirely at night. The waiting-room,--the
+plum-tree,--requires vigorous shaking in the daytime. After dinner,--I
+have a den, telephone-proof, piano-proof, friend-proof. What
+transpires therein no one knows because no one has ever seen.
+
+"Recreation? I have a mania, by no means always gratified,--to be out
+of doors. Once each summer 'the Lady' and I go somewhere for a
+time,--and forget it absolutely. In this way we've been able to travel
+a bit. We,--again 'the Lady' and I,--steal an hour when we can, and
+drive a gasoline car, keeping within the speed laws when necessary.
+Once each Fall, when the first frost shrivels the corn-stalk and when,
+if you chance to be out of doors after dark you hear, away up
+overhead, invisible, the accelerating, throbbing, diminishing purr of
+wings that drives the sportsman mad,--the town knows me no more."
+
+Every novel may have a happy close, but a real life's story has but
+one inevitable ending,--Death.
+
+And to "the Lady" has been left the sorrowful task of writing "Finis"
+across the final page.
+
+January 29, 1909, he died at his home in Sioux Falls after a brief
+illness. But thirty-one years of age, he had won a place in literature
+so gratifying that one might well rest content with a recital of his
+accomplishments. But his youth suggests a tale that is only partly
+told and the conjecture naturally arises,--"What success might he not
+have won?" Five novels, "Ben Blair," "Where the Trail Divides," "The
+Dissolving Circle," "The Quest Eternal," and "The Dominant Dollar,"
+besides magazine articles, and a number of short stories (many of them
+appearing in this volume) were all written in the space of eight
+years' time, and, as he said, were entirely produced after nightfall.
+
+While interested naturally in the many phases of his life,--as a
+professional man, as an author, as the chief factor in the domestic
+drama,--yet most of all it pleases me to remember him as he appeared
+when under the spell of the prairies he loved so well. Tramping the
+fields in search of prairie-chicken or quail, a patient watcher in the
+rushes of a duck-pond, or merely lying flat on his back in the
+sunshine,--he was a being transformed. For he had in him much of the
+primitive man and his whole nature responded to the "call of the
+wild." But you who know his prairie-tales must have read between the
+lines,--for who, unless he loved the "honk" of the wild geese, could
+write, "to those who have heard it year by year it is the sweetest,
+most insistent of music. It is the spirit of the wild, of magnificent
+distances, of freedom impersonate"?
+
+To the late Mrs. Wilbur Teeters I am indebted for the following
+tribute, which appeared in the "Iowa Alumnus."
+
+"Dr. Lillibridge's field of romance was his own. Others have told of
+the Western mountains and pictured the great desert of the Southwest,
+but none has painted with so masterful a hand the great prairies of
+the Northwest, shown the lavish hand with which Nature pours out her
+gifts upon the pioneer, and again the calm cruelty with which she
+effaces him. In the midst of these scenes his actors played their
+parts and there he played his own part, clean in life and thought, a
+man to the last, slipping away upon the wings of the great storm which
+had just swept over his much-loved land, wrapped in the snowy mantle
+of his own prairies."
+
+                                              Edith Keller-Lillibridge
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+    I A BREATH OF PRAIRIE                                           13
+   II THE DOMINANT IMPULSE                                          61
+  III THE STUFF OF HEROES                                           87
+   IV ARCADIA IN AVERNUS                                           109
+      Chapter    I  Prelude
+      Chapter   II  The Leap
+      Chapter  III  The Wonder of Prairie
+      Chapter   IV  A Revelation
+      Chapter    V  The Dominance of the Evolved
+      Chapter   VI  By a Candle's Flame
+      Chapter  VII  The Price of the Leap
+    V JOURNEY'S END                                                239
+   VI A PRAIRIE IDYL                                               265
+  VII THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS                               279
+      Chapter    I  Sandford the Exemplary
+      Chapter   II  The Presage of the Wings
+      Chapter  III  The Other Man
+      Chapter   IV  Capitulation
+      Chapter    V  Anticipation
+      Chapter   VI  "Mark the Right, Sandford!"
+      Chapter  VII  The Bacon What Am!
+      Chapter VIII  Feathered Bullets
+      Chapter   IX  Oblivion
+      Chapter    X  Upon "Wiping the Eye"
+      Chapter   XI  The Cold Gray Dawn
+ VIII A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION                  309
+   IX THE CUP THAT O'ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE                          339
+    X UNJUDGED                                                     347
+   XI THE TOUCH HUMAN                                              367
+  XII A DARK HORSE                                                 373
+ XIII THE WORTH OF THE PRICE                                       393
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+ She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.              Frontispiece
+ They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and
+     forward like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like
+     escaping steam.                                                74
+ "You'll apologize."                                               190
+ The two men went East together.                                   326
+ He heard a voice ... and glanced back.                            388
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+AND OTHER STORIES
+
+
+
+
+A BREATH OF PRAIRIE
+
+
+I
+
+
+Dense darkness of early morning wrapped all things within and without
+a square, story-and-a-half prairie farm-house. Silence, all-pervading,
+dense as the darkness, its companion, needed but a human ear to become
+painfully noticeable.
+
+Up-stairs in the half-story attic was Life. From one corner of the
+room deep, regular breathing marked the unvarying time of healthy
+physical life asleep. Nearby a clock beat loud automatic time, with a
+brassy resonance--healthy mechanical life awake. Man and machine, side
+by side, punctuated the passage of time.
+
+Alone in the darkness the mechanical mind of the clock conceived a bit
+of fiendish pleasantry. With violent, shocking clamor, its deafening
+alarm suddenly shattered the stillness.
+
+The two victims of the outrage sat up in bed and blinked sleepily at
+the dark. The younger, in a voice of wrath, relieved his feelings with
+a vigorously expressed opinion of the applied uses of things in
+general, and of alarm-clocks and milk pans in particular. He thereupon
+yawned prodigiously, and promptly began snoring away again, as though
+nothing had interrupted.
+
+The other man made one final effort, and came down hard upon the
+middle of the floor. Rough it was, uncarpeted, cold with the damp
+chill of early morning. He groped for a match, and dressed rapidly in
+the dim light, his teeth chattering a diminishing accompaniment until
+the last piece was on.
+
+Deep, regular breathing still came from the bed. The man listened a
+moment, irresolutely; then with a smile on his face he drew a feather
+from a pillow, and, rolling back the bed-clothes, he applied the
+feather's tip to the sleeper's bare soles, where experience had
+demonstrated it to be the most effective. Dodging the ensuing kick,
+he remarked simply, "I'll leave the light, Jim. Better hurry--this is
+going to be a busy day."
+
+Outside, a reddish light in the sky marked east, but over all else
+there lay only starlight, as, lantern in hand, he swung down the
+frozen path. With the opening barn door there came a puff of warm
+animal breath. As the first rays of light entered, the stock stood up
+with many a sleepy groan, and bright eyes shining in the half-light
+swayed back and forth in the narrow stalls, while their owners waited
+patiently for the feed they knew was coming.
+
+Jim, still sleepy, appeared presently; together the two went through
+the routine of chores, as they had done hundreds of times before. They
+worked mechanically, being still stiff and sore from the previous
+day's work, but swiftly, in the way mechanical work is sometimes
+done.
+
+Side by side, with singing milk pails between their knees, Jim stopped
+long enough to ask, "Made up your mind yet what you'll do, Guy?"
+
+The older brother answered without a break in the swish of milk
+through foam:
+
+"No, I haven't, Jim. If it wasn't for you and father and mother and--"
+he diverted with a redoubled clatter of milk on tin.
+
+"Be honest, Guy," was the reproachful caution.
+
+"--and Faith," added the older brother simply.
+
+The reddish glow in the east had spread and lit up the earth; so they
+put out the lantern, and, bending under the weight of steaming milk
+pails, walked single file toward the house and breakfast. Far in the
+distance a thin jet of steam spreading broadly in the frosty air
+marked the location of a threshing crew. The whistle,--thin,
+brassy,--spoke the one word "Come!" over miles of level prairie, to
+the scattered neighbors.
+
+Four people, rough, homely, sat down to a breakfast of coarse, plain
+cookery, and talked of common, homely things.
+
+"I see you didn't get so much milk as usual this morning, Jim," said
+the mother.
+
+"No, the line-backed heifer kicked over a half-pailful."
+
+"Goin' to finish shuckin' that west field this week, Guy?" asked the
+father.
+
+"Yes. We'll cross over before night."
+
+Nothing more was said. They were all hungry, and in the following
+silence the jangle of iron on coarse queensware, and the aspiration of
+beverages steaming still though undergoing the cooling medium of
+saucers, filled in all lulls that might otherwise have seemed to
+require conversation.
+
+Not until the boys got up to go to work did the family bond draw tight
+enough to show. Then the mother, tenderly as a surgeon, dressed the
+chafed spots on her boys' hands, saying low in words that spoke
+volumes, "I'll be so glad when the corn's all husked"; and the father
+followed them out onto the little porch to add, "Better quit early
+so's to hear the speakin' to-night, Guy."
+
+"How are you feeling to-day, father?" asked the young man, in a tone
+he attempted to make honestly interested, but which an infinite
+number of repetitions had made almost automatic.
+
+The father hesitated, and a look of sadness crept over his weathered
+face.
+
+"No better, Guy." He laid his hand on the young man's shoulder,
+looking down into the frank blue eyes with a tenderness that made his
+rough features almost beautiful.
+
+"It all depends upon you now, Guy, my boy." Unconsciously his voice
+took on the incomparable pathos of age displaced. "I'm out of the
+race," he finished simply.
+
+The heavy, weather-painted lumber wagon turned at the farm-yard, and
+rumbled down a country road, bound hard as asphalt in the fall frosts.
+The air cut sharply at the ears of the man in the box, as he held the
+lines in either hand alternately, swinging its mate with vigor. The
+sun was just peeping from the broad lap of the prairie, casting the
+beauty of color and of sparkle over all things. Ahead of the wagon
+coveys of quail broke and ran swiftly in the track until tired, when,
+with a side movement the tall grass by the border absorbed them.
+Flocks of prairie-chickens, frightened by the clatter, sprang winging
+from the roadside, and together sailed away on spread wings. The man
+in the wagon looked about him and forgetting all else in the
+quick-flowing blood of morning, smiled gladly.
+
+He stopped at the edge of the field, tying the reins loosely and
+building up the sideboards, gradually shorter, each above the other,
+pyramid-like, until they reached higher than his own head as he stood
+in the wagon-box. Stiff from the jolting and inactivity of the drive,
+he jumped out upon the uneven surface of the corn-field.
+
+Slowly at first, as sore fingers rebelled against the roughness of
+husks, he began work, touching the frosty ears gingerly; then as
+he warmed to the task, stopping at nothing. The frost, dense,
+all-covering, shook from the stalks as he moved, coloring the rusty
+blue of his overalls white, and melting ice-cold, wet him through
+to the skin on arms and shoulders and knees. Swiftly, two motions to
+the ear, he kept up a tapping like the regular blows of a hammer, as
+the ears struck the sideboard. Fifteen taps to the minute, you would
+have counted; a goodly man's record.
+
+This morning, though, Landers' mind was not upon his work. The vague,
+uncertain restlessness that marked the birth of a desire for broader
+things than he had known heretofore, was taking form in his brain. He
+himself could not have told what he wanted, what he planned; he simply
+felt a distaste for the things of Now; an unrest that prevented his
+sitting quiet; that took him up very early at morning; that made him
+husk more bushels of corn, and toss more bundles of grain into the
+self-feed of a threshing machine than any other man he knew; that kept
+him awake thinking at night until the discordant snores of the family
+sent him to bed, with the covers over his ears in self-defence.
+
+A vague wonder that such thoughts were in his mind at all was upon
+him. He was the son of his parents; his life so far had been their
+life: why should he not be as content as they?
+
+He could not answer, yet the distaste grew. Irresistibly he had
+acquired a habit of seeing unpleasant things: the meanness and the
+smallness of his surroundings; the uncouth furnishings of his home;
+the lack of grace in his parents and acquaintances; the trifling
+incidents that required so many hours of discussion; and in all things
+the absence of that sense of humor and appreciation of the lighter
+side of life which, from reading, he had learned to recognize.
+
+Try as he might, he could not recollect even the faint flash of a poor
+pun coming originally from his parents. Was he to be as they? A
+feeling of intense repugnance swept over him at the thought--a
+repugnance unaccountable, and of which he felt much ashamed.
+
+Self-suspicion followed. Was it well for him to read the books and
+think the thoughts of the past year? He could not escape except by
+brutally tearing himself by the roots from his parents' lives. It was
+all so hopelessly selfish on his part!
+
+"True," answered the hot spirit of resentment, "but is it not right
+that you should think first of Self? Is not individual advancement the
+first law of Nature? If there is something better, why should you not
+secure it?"
+
+The innate spirit of independence, the intense passion of pride and
+equality inborn with the true country-bred, surged warmly through his
+body until he fairly tingled.
+
+Why should others have things, think thoughts, enjoy pleasures of
+which he was to remain in ignorance? The mood of rebellion was upon
+him and he swore he would be as they. Of the best the world contained,
+he, Guy Landers, would partake.
+
+With the decision came an exultant consciousness of the graceful play
+of his own muscles in rapid action. The self-confidence of the
+splendid animal was his. He would work and advance himself. The world
+must move, and he would help. He would do things, great things, of
+which he and the world would be proud.
+
+Unconsciously he worked faster and faster as thought travelled. The
+other wagons dropped behind, the tapping of corn ears on their
+sideboards making faint music in the clear air.
+
+The sun rose swiftly, warming and drying the earth. Instead of frost
+the dust of weathered husks fell thickly over him. Overflowing with
+life and physical power, he worked through the long rows to the end,
+then mounted the wagon and looked around. Silently he noted the gain
+over the other workers, and a smile lit up the sturdy lines of his
+face.
+
+Evening was approaching. The rough lumber wagon, heavily loaded from
+the afternoon's work, groaned loudly over the uneven ground. Instead
+of the east, the west was now red, glorious. High up in the sky,
+surrounding the glow, a part of it as well, narrow luminous sun-dogs
+presaged uncertain weather to follow.
+
+Guy Landers mounted the wagon wearily, and looked ahead. The end of
+the two loaded corn-rows which he was robbing was in sight, and he
+returned doggedly to his task. The ardor of the morning had succumbed
+to the steady grind of physical toil, and he worked with the impassive
+perseverance of a machine.
+
+Night and the stillness thereof settled fast. The world darkened so
+swiftly that the change could almost be distinguished. The rows ahead
+grew shadowy, and in their midst, by contrast, the corn-ears stood out
+white and distinct. The whole world seemed to draw more closely
+together. The low vibrant hum that marked the location of the distant
+threshing crew, sounded now almost as near as the voice of a friend. A
+flock of prairie-chickens flew low overhead, their flatly spread wings
+cutting the air with a sound like whips. They settled nearby, and out
+of the twilight came anon the confused murmur of their voices.
+
+Landers stopped the impatient horses at the end of the field, and
+shook level the irregular, golden heap in the wagon-box. Slowly he
+drew on coat and top-coat, and mounted the full load, sitting sideways
+with legs hanging over the bulging wagon-box. It was dark now, but he
+was not alone. Other wagons were groaning homeward as well. Suddenly,
+thin and brassy, out of the distance came the sound of a steam
+whistle; and when it was again silent the hum of the thresher had
+ceased. From a field by the roadside, a solitary prairie-rooster gave
+once, twice, its lone, restless call.
+
+The man stretched back full length on the corn bed and looked up where
+the stars sparkled clear and bright. It all appealed to him, and a
+moisture formed in his eyes. A new side to the problem of the morning
+came to him. These sounds--he realized now how he loved them. Verily
+they were a part of his life. Mid them he had been bred; of them as of
+food he had grown. That whistle, thin and unmusical; that elusive,
+indescribable call of prairie male; all these homely sounds that meant
+so much to him--could he leave them?
+
+The moisture in his eyes deepened and a tightness gripped his throat.
+Slowly two great tears fought their way down through the dust on his
+face, and dropped lingeringly, one after the other amid the
+corn-ears.
+
+
+II
+
+
+The little, low, weather-white school-house stood glaring solitarily
+in the bright starlight, from out its setting of brown, hard-trodden
+prairie. Within, the assembled farmers were packed tight and regular
+in the seats and aisles, like kernels on an ear of corn. In the front
+of the room a little space had been shelled bare for the speaker, and
+the displaced human kernels thereto incident were scattered crouching
+in the narrow hall and anteroom. From without, groups of men denied
+admittance, thrust hairy faces in at the open windows. A row of dusty,
+grease-covered lamps flanked by composition metal reflectors,
+concentrated light upon the shelled spot, leaving the remainder of the
+room in variant shadow. The low murmur of suppressed conversation,
+accompanied by the unconscious shuffling of restless feet, sounded
+through the place. Becoming constantly more noticeable, an unpleasant,
+penetrating odor, of the unclean human animal filled the room.
+
+Guy Landers sat on a crowded back seat, where, leaning one elbow on
+his knee, he shaded his eyes with his hand. On his right a big, sweaty
+farmer was smoking a stale pipe. The smell of the cheap, vile tobacco,
+bad as it was, became a welcome substitute for the odor of the man
+himself.
+
+At his left were two boys of his own age, splendid, both of them, with
+the overflowing vitality that makes all young animals splendid. They
+were talking--of women. They spoke low, watching sheepishly whether
+any one was listening, and snickering suppressedly together.
+
+The young man's head dropped in his hands. It all depressed him like a
+weight. From the depths of his soul he despised them for their
+vulgarity, and hated himself for so doing, for he was of their life
+and work akin. He shut his eyes, suffering blindly.
+
+Consciousness returned at the sound of a strangely soft voice, and he
+looked up a little bewildered. A swarm of night-bugs encircled each of
+the greasy lamps, blindly beating out their lives against the hot
+chimney; but save this and the soft voice there was no other sound.
+The man at the right held his pipe in his hand; to the left the boys
+had ceased whispering; one and all were listening to the speaker with
+the stolid, expressionless gaze of interested animals.
+
+Guy Landers could not have told why he had come that night. Perhaps it
+was in response to that gregarious instinct which prompts us all at
+times to mingle with a crowd; certainly he had not expected to be
+interested. Thus it was with almost a feeling of rebellious curiosity
+that he caught himself listening intently.
+
+The speech was political, the speaker a college man. What he said was
+immaterial--not a listener but had heard the same arguments a dozen
+times before; it was the man himself that held them.
+
+What the farmers in that dingy little room saw was a smooth-faced
+young man, with blue eyes set far apart and light hair that exposed
+the temples far back; they heard a soft voice which made them forget
+for a time that they were very tired--forget all else but that he was
+speaking.
+
+Landers saw further: not a single man, but a type; the concrete
+illustration of a vague ideal he had long known. He realized as
+the others did not, that the speaker was merely practising on
+them--training, as the man himself would have said. When Landers
+was critically conscious, he was not deceived; yet, with this
+knowledge, at times he forgot and moved along with the speaker,
+unconsciously.
+
+It was all deliriously intoxicating to the farmer--this first
+understanding glimpse of things he had before merely dreamed
+of--and he waited exultantly for those brief moments when he felt,
+sympathetically with the speaker, the keen joy of mastery in
+perfect art; that joy beside which no other of earth can compare, the
+compelling magnetism which carries another's mind irresistibly
+along with one's own.
+
+The speaker finished and sat down wearily, and almost simultaneously
+the hairy faces left the windows. The shuffling of feet and the murmur
+of rough voices once more sounded through the room; again the odor of
+vile tobacco filled the air. Several of the older men gathered around
+the speaker, in turn holding his hand in a relentless grip while they
+struggled bravely for words to express the broadest of compliments.
+Young boys stood wide-eyed under their fathers' arms and looked at the
+college man steadily, like young calves.
+
+The reaction was on the slender young speaker, and though the
+experience was new, he shook hands wearily. In spite of himself a
+shade of disgust crept into his face. He was not bidding for these
+farmers' votes, and the big sweaty men were foully odorous. He worked
+his way steadily out into the open air.
+
+Landers, in response to a motive he made no attempt to explain even to
+himself, walked over and touched the chairman on the shoulder.
+
+"'Evening, Ross," he greeted perfunctorily. "Pretty good talk, wasn't
+it?" Without waiting for a reply he went on, "Suppose you're not
+hankering for a drive back to town to-night? I'll see that"--a swift
+nod toward the departing group--"he gets back home, if you wish."
+
+Ross looked up in pleased surprise. He was tired and sleepy and only
+too glad to accept the suggestion.
+
+"Thank you, Guy," he answered gratefully. "I'll do as much for you
+some time."
+
+Landers waited silently until the last eulogist had lingeringly
+departed, leaving the bewildered speaker gazing about for the
+chairman.
+
+"I'm to take you to town," said Landers, simply, as he led the way
+toward his wagon. He then added, as an afterthought: "If you're tired
+and prefer, you may stay with me to-night."
+
+The collegian, looking up to decline, met the countryman's eye, and
+for the first time the two studied each other steadily.
+
+"I will stay with you, if you please," he said in sudden change of
+mind.
+
+They drove out, slowly, into the frosty night, the sound of the other
+wagons rattling over frozen roads coming pleasantly to their ears.
+Overhead countless stars lit up the earth and sky, almost as brightly
+as moonlight.
+
+"I suppose you are husking corn these days," initiated the collegian,
+perfunctorily.
+
+"Yes," was the short answer.
+
+They rode on again in silence, the other wagons rumbling slowly away
+into the distance until their sound came only as a low humming from
+the frozen earth.
+
+"Prices pretty good this season?" questioned the college man,
+tentatively.
+
+Landers flashed around on him almost fiercely.
+
+"In Heaven's name, man," he protested, "give me credit for a thought
+outside my work--" He paused, and his voice became natural: "--a
+thought such as other people have," he finished, sadly.
+
+The two men looked steadily at each other, a multitude of conflicting
+emotions on the face of the collegian. He could not have been more
+surprised had a clothing dummy raised its voice and spoken. Landers
+turned away and looked out over the frosty prairie.
+
+"I beg your pardon,"--wearily. "You're not to blame for thinking--as
+everybody else thinks." His companion started to interrupt but Landers
+raised his hand in silencing motion. "Let us be honest--with
+ourselves, at least," he anticipated.
+
+"I know we of the farm are dull, and crude, and vulgar, and our
+thoughts are of common things. You of the other world patronize us;
+you practise on us as you did to-night, thinking we do not know. But
+some of us do, and it hurts."
+
+The other man impulsively held out his hand; a swift apology came to
+his lips, but as he looked into the face before him, he felt it would
+be better left unsaid. Instead, he voiced the question that came
+uppermost to his mind.
+
+"Why don't you leave--this--and go to school?" he asked abruptly. "You
+have an equal chance with the rest. We're each what we make
+ourselves."
+
+Landers broke in on him quickly.
+
+"We all like to talk of equality, but in reality we know there is
+none. You say 'leave' without the slightest knowledge of what in my
+case it means." He gave the collegian a quick look.
+
+"I'm talking as though I'd known you all my life." A question was in
+his voice.
+
+"I'm listening," said the man, simply.
+
+"I'll tell you what it means, then. It means that I divorce myself
+from everything of Now; that I unlive my past life; that I leave my
+companionship with dumb things--horses and cattle and birds--and I
+love them, for they are natural. This seems childish to you; but live
+with them for years, more than with human beings, and you will
+understand.
+
+"More than all else it means that I must become as a stranger to my
+family; and they depend upon me. My friends of now would not be my
+friends when I returned; they would be as I am to you now--a thing to
+be patronized."
+
+He hesitated, and then went recklessly on:
+
+"I've told you so much, I may as well tell you everything. On the next
+farm to ours there's a little, brown-eyed girl--Faith's her
+name--and--and--" His new-found flow of words failed, and he ended in
+unconscious apostrophe:
+
+"To think of growing out of her life, and strange to my father and
+mother--it's all so selfish, so hideously selfish!"
+
+"I think I understand," said the soft voice at his side.
+
+They drove on without a word, the frost-bound road ringing under the
+horses' feet, the stars above smiling sympathetic indulgence at this
+last repetition of the old, old tale of man.
+
+The gentle voice of the collegian broke the silence.
+
+"You say it would be selfish to leave. Is it not right, though, and of
+necessity, that we think first of self?" He paused, then boldly
+sounded the keynote of the universe.
+
+"Is not selfishness the first law of nature?" he asked.
+
+Landers opened his lips to answer, but closed them without a word.
+
+
+III
+
+
+Brown, magnetic Fall, with her overflow of animal activity, shaded
+gradually into the white of lethic Winter; then in slow dissolution
+relinquished supremacy to the tans and mottled greens of Springtime.
+Unsatisfied as man, the mighty cycle of the seasons' evolution moved
+on until the ripe yellow of harvest and of corn-field wrote "Autumn"
+on the broad page of the prairies.
+
+Of an evening in early September, Guy Landers turned out from the
+uncut grass of the farm-yard into the yellow, beaten dust of the
+country road. He walked slowly, for it was his last night on the farm,
+and it would be long ere he passed that way again. This was the road
+that led to the district school-house, and with him every inch had
+been familiar from childhood. As a boy he had run barefoot in its
+yellow dust, and paddled joyously in the soft mud of its summer
+showers. The rows of tall cottonwoods that bordered it on either side
+he had helped plant, watching them grow year by year, as he himself
+had grown, until now the whispering of prairie night winds in their
+loosely hung leaves spoke a language as familiar as his native
+tongue.
+
+He walked down the road for a half-mile, and turned in between still
+other tall cottonwoods at another weather-stained, square farm-house,
+scarcely distinguishable from his own.
+
+"'Evening, Mr. Baker." He nodded to the round-shouldered man who sat
+smoking on the doorstep.
+
+The farmer moved to one side, making generous room beside him.
+
+"'Evening, Guy," he echoed. "Won't y' set down?"
+
+"Not to-night, Mr. Baker. I came over to see Faith." He hesitated,
+then added as an afterthought: "I go away to-morrow."
+
+The man on the steps smoked silently for a minute, the glow from the
+corn-cob bowl emphasizing the gathering twilight. Slowly he took the
+pipe from his mouth, and, standing up, seized the young man's hand in
+the grip of a vise.
+
+"I heerd y' were goin', Guy." He looked down through the steadiest of
+mild blue eyes. "Good-bye, my boy." An uncertain catch came into his
+voice, and he shook the hand harder than before. "We'll all miss ye."
+
+He dropped his arm, and sat down on the step, impassively resuming his
+pipe. Without raising his eyes, he nodded toward the back yard.
+
+"Faith's back there with her posies," he said.
+
+The young man hesitated, swallowing fiercely at the lump in his
+throat.
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Baker," he faltered at length.
+
+He walked slowly around the corner of the house, stopping a moment to
+pat the friendly collie that wagged his tail, welcomingly, in the
+path. A large mixed orchard-garden, surrounded by a row of sturdy soft
+maples, opened up before him; and, coming up its side path, with the
+most cautious of gingerly treads, was the big hired man, bearing a
+huge striped watermelon. He nodded in passing, and grinned with a
+meaning hospitality on the visitor.
+
+At one corner of the garden an oblong mound of earth, bordered with
+bright stones and river-clam shells, marked the "posy" bed. Within
+its boundaries a collection of overgrown house plants, belated pinks,
+and seeding sweet-peas, fought for life with the early fall frosts.
+Landers looked steadily down at the sorry little garden. Like
+everything else he had seen that night, it told its pathetic tale of
+things that had been but would be no more.
+
+As he looked, a multitude of homely blossoms that he had plucked in
+the past flowered anew in his memory. The mild faces of violets and
+pansies, the gaudy blotches of phlox, stood out like nature. He could
+almost smell the heavy odor of mignonette. A mist gathered over his
+eyes, and again, as at the good-bye of a moment ago, the lump rose
+chokingly in his throat.
+
+He turned away from the tiny, damaged bed to send a searching look
+around the garden.
+
+"Faith!" he called gently.
+
+"Faith!"--louder.
+
+A soft little sound caught his ear from the grass-plot at the border.
+He started swiftly toward it, but stopped half-way, for the sound was
+repeated, and this time came distinctly--a bitter, half-choked sob.
+With a motion of weariness and of pain the man passed his hand over
+his eyes, then walked on firmly, his footsteps muffled in the short
+grass.
+
+A dainty little figure in the plainest of calico, lay curled up on the
+sod beneath the big maple. Her face was buried in both arms; her whole
+body trembled, as she struggled hard against the great sobs.
+
+"Faith--" interrupted the man softly, "Faith--"
+
+The sobs became more violent.
+
+"Go away, Guy," pleaded a tearful, muffled voice between the breaks.
+"Please go away, please--"
+
+The man knelt swiftly down on the grass; irresistibly his arm spread
+over the dainty, trembling, little woman. Then as suddenly he drew
+back with a face white as moonlight, and a sound in his throat that
+was almost a groan.
+
+He knelt a moment so, then touched her shoulder gently--as he would
+have touched earth's most sacred thing.
+
+"Faith--" he repeated uncertainly.
+
+The girl buried her head more deeply.
+
+"I won't, I tell you," she cried chokingly, "I won't--" she could say
+no more. There were no words in her meagre vocabulary to voice her
+bitterness of heart.
+
+The man got to his feet almost roughly, face and hands set like a
+lock. He stood a second looking passionately down at her.
+
+"Good-bye, Faith," he said, and his trembling voice was the gentlest
+of caresses. He started swiftly away down the path.
+
+The girl listened a moment to the retreating steps, then raised a
+tear-stained face above her arms.
+
+"Guy!" she called chokingly, "Guy!"
+
+The man quickened his steps at the sound, but did not turn.
+
+The girl sprang to her feet.
+
+"Oh, Guy! Guy!" pleadingly, desperately. "Guy!"
+
+The man had reached the open. With a motion that was almost insane, he
+clapped his hands over his ears, and ran blindly down the dusty path
+until he was tired, then dropped hopelessly by the roadside.
+
+Overhead the big cottonwoods whispered softly in the starlight, and a
+solitary catbird sang its lonely night song.
+
+The man flung his arms around the big, friendly tree, and sobbed
+wildly--as the girl had sobbed.
+
+"Oh, Faith!" he groaned.
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A month had passed by, bringing to Guy Landers a new Heaven and a new
+earth. Already the prosy old university town had begun to assume an
+atmosphere of home. The well-clipped campus, with its huge oaks and
+its limestone walks, had taken on the familiar possessive plural "our
+campus," and the solitary red squirrel which sported fearlessly in its
+midst had likewise become "our squirrel." The imposing, dignified
+college buildings had ceased to elicit open-mouthed observance, and
+among the student-body surnames had yielded precedence to Christian
+names--oftener, though, to some outlandish sobriquet which satirized
+an idiosyncrasy of temperament or outward aspect.
+
+Meantime the farmer had learned many things. Prominent among these was
+a conception of the preponderant amount he had yet to learn. Another
+matter of illumination involved the relation of clothes to man. He had
+been reared in the delusion that the person who gave thought to that
+which he wore, must necessarily think of nothing else. Very confusing,
+therefore, was the experience of having representatives of this same
+class immeasurably outdistance him in the quiz room.
+
+Again, on the athletic field he saw men of much lighter weight excel
+him in a way that made his face burn with a redness not of physical
+exertion. It was a wholesome lesson that he was learning--that there
+are everywhere scores of others, equally or better fitted by Nature
+for the struggle of life than oneself, and who can only be surpassed
+by the indomitable application and determination that wins all
+things.
+
+Landers' nature though was that of the born combatant. The class that
+laughed openly at his first tremblingly bashful, and ludicrously inapt
+answer at quiz, was indelibly photographed upon his memory.
+
+"Before this session is complete--" he challenged softly to himself,
+and glared at those members nearest him in a way that made them
+suddenly forget the humor of the situation.
+
+But youth is ever tractable, and even this short time had accomplished
+much. Already the warm, contagious, college comradeship possessed him.
+Violent attacks of homesickness that made gray the brightest fall
+days, like the callous spots on his palms, were becoming more rare.
+The old existence was already a dream, as yet a little sad, but none
+the less a thing without a substance. The new life was a warm,
+magnetic reality; the future glowed bright with limitless promise.
+
+"The first day of the second month," remarked Landers, meeting a
+fellow-classman on the way to college hall one morning.
+
+"Yes, an auspicious time to quit--this," completed the student with a
+suggestive shuffle of his feet. "We've furnished our share of
+amusement."
+
+Landers looked up questioningly.
+
+"Is that from the class president?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," answered the other, "hadn't you heard? No more dancing, 'his
+nibs' says."
+
+They had reached the entrance to the big college building, and at that
+moment a great roar of voices sounded from out the second-floor
+windows. Simultaneously the two freshmen quickened their pace.
+
+"The fun's on," commented Landers' informant excitedly, as together
+they broke for the lecture-room, two stairs at the jump.
+
+The large department amphitheatre opened up like a fan--the handle in
+the centre of the building on the entrance floor, the spread edge,
+nearly a complete half-circle, marked by the boundary walls of the
+building, a full story higher. The intervening space, at an
+inclination of thirty odd degrees, was a field of seats, cut into
+three equal parts by two aisles that ran from the entrance,
+divergently upward. The small space at the entrance--popularly dubbed
+"the pit"--was professordom's own particular region. From this point,
+by an unwritten law, the classes ranged themselves according to the
+length of their university life; the seniors at the extreme apex of
+the angle, the other classes respectively above, leaving the freshmen
+far beyond in space.
+
+As guardians of the two narrow aisles, the seniors dealt lightly with
+juniors and "sophs," but demanded insatiable toll of every freshman
+before he was allowed to ascend.
+
+That a first-year man must dance was irrevocable. It had the authority
+of precedent in uncounted graduate classes. To be sure, it was neither
+required nor expected that all applicants be masters of the art; but,
+agitate his feet in some manner, every able-bodied male member must,
+or remain forever a freshman.
+
+When Landers and his companion arrived at the top of the stairs they
+found the hall packed close with fellow-classmates. The lower rows of
+seats were already filled with triumphant seniors, waiting for the
+throng that crowded pit and lobby to come within their reach. With
+regular tapping of feet and clapping of hands in unison, the class as
+one man beat the steady time of one who marches.
+
+"Dance, freshies!" they repeated monotonously. "Dance!"
+
+"Clear the pit for a rush," yelled the president of the besieging
+freshmen, elbowing his way back into the mass.
+
+A lull fell upon the room, as both sides gathered themselves
+together.
+
+"Now--all at once!" yelled the president, and pandemonium broke
+loose.
+
+"Rush 'em! Shove, behind there!" shrieked the struggling freshmen at
+the front.
+
+"Dance, freshies! Dance!" challenged the seniors, as they locked arms
+across the narrow aisle.
+
+"Hold 'em, fellows! Hold 'em!" encouraged the men of the upper seats,
+bracing themselves against the broad backs below.
+
+The classes met like water against a wall. To go up was impossible;
+advantage of gravity and of position was all with the seniors. For an
+instant, at the centre, there were frantic yelling and pulling of
+loose wearing apparel; then, packed like cotton in a bale, they could
+only scream for mercy.
+
+"Loosen up, back there! Back!" they panted, squirming impotently as
+they gasped for breath.
+
+Slowly the reaction came amid the triumphant, "Dance, freshies!" of
+the conquering hosts.
+
+The jam loosened; the seniors' opportunity came. Like a big machine,
+the occupants of the front row leaned forward, and seized upon a
+circle of unsuspecting, retreating freshmen, among the number the
+class president.
+
+"Pass 'em up! Pass 'em up!" insisted the men above, reaching out eager
+hands to aid; and with an irresistibility that seemed miraculous, the
+squirming, kicking, struggling freshmen found themselves rolling
+upward--head foremost, feet foremost, position unclassified--over the
+heads of the upper classmen; bumping against seats, and scattering the
+contents of their pockets loosely along the way.
+
+"Up with them," repeated the denizens of the front row as they reached
+forward for a fresh supply.
+
+But there was no more material available; the besieging party had
+retreated. On the top row the dishevelled president was confusedly
+pulling himself together, and grinning sheepishly. The rebellion was
+over.
+
+"Dance, freshies," resumed the seniors mockingly; and once more the
+regular tap of feet and clapping of hands beat slow march-time.
+
+One by one the freshmen came forward, and, shuffling a few steps to
+the encouraging "well done" of the seniors, mounted the steps between
+the rows of laughing upper classmen.
+
+It happened that Landers came last. He wore heavy shoes and walked
+with an undeniable clump.
+
+"He's Dutch, make him clog," called a man from an upper row.
+
+The class caught the cry. "Clog! Clog!" they commanded.
+
+A big fellow next the aisle made an addition. "Clog there, hayseed,"
+he grumbled.
+
+Landers stopped as though the words were a blow. That one word
+"hayseed" with all that it meant to him--to be thrown at him now,
+tauntingly, before the whole class! His face grew white beneath the
+remaining coat of tan, and he stepped up to the big senior with a
+swiftness of which no one would have suspected him capable.
+
+"Take that back!" he blazed into the man's face.
+
+The senior hesitated; the room grew breathlessly quiet.
+
+"Take it back, I say!"
+
+The big fellow tried to laugh, but his voice only grated.
+
+"Damned if I will--hayseed," he retorted with a meaning pause and
+accent.
+
+Before the words were out of his mouth Landers had the man by the
+collar, and they were fighting like cats.
+
+For a time things in that pit were very confused and very noisy. Both
+students were big and both were furiously angry. By rule they would
+have been very evenly matched, but in a rough-and-tumble scrimmage
+there was no comparison. The classes made silent and neutral
+spectators, as Landers swung the man around in the narrow pit like a
+whirlwind, and finally pushed him back into his seat.
+
+"Now will you take it back!" he roared breathlessly, vigorously
+shaking his victim.
+
+The hot lust of battle was upon the farmer, and he forgot that several
+hundred students were watching his every motion.
+
+"Take it back," he repeated, "or I'll--" and he lifted the man half
+out of the seat.
+
+The senior seized both arms of the chair, and looked up in a dazed
+sort of way.
+
+"I--" he began weakly.
+
+"Louder--" interrupted Landers.
+
+"I--beg your pardon," said the reluctant, trembling voice.
+
+That instant the amphitheatre went wild. "Bravo!" yelled a hundred
+voices over the clamor of cheering hands.
+
+"Three cheers for the freshman!" shrilled a voice over the tumult; and
+the "rah, rah, rah" that followed made the skylight rattle.
+
+Landers stepped back and looked up bewildered; then a realization of
+the thing came to him and his face burned as no sun could make it
+burn, and his knees grew weak. He gladly would have given all his
+present earthly belongings, and all in prospect for the immediate
+future for a kindly earth to open suddenly and swallow him.
+Perspiration stood out on his face as he went slowly up the stairs, at
+every step a row of friendly hands grasping him in congratulation.
+
+Slowly the room became quiet. The whole confusion had not taken up
+even the time of grace at the beginning of the hour; and a great burst
+of applause greeted the mild old dean as he came absently in, as was
+his wont, at the tap of the ten-minute bell. He looked up innocently
+at the unusual greeting, and the cheer was repeated with interest. As
+first in authority he was supposed to report all such inter-class
+offences; but in effect he invariably happened to be conveniently
+absent at such times--the times of the freshman rebellion. He began
+lecturing now without a word of comment, and on the instant the
+peaceful scratching of fountain pens on notebooks replaced the clamors
+of war.
+
+The lecture was about half over when there was a tap on the entrance
+door; and the white-haired dean, answering, stepped out into the hall.
+In a second he returned carrying a thin, yellow envelope.
+
+"A message for--," he studied the writing with near-sighted eyes,
+"--for Guy Landers," he announced slowly.
+
+The message went up the incline, hand over hand toward the top row,
+and the boy who waited felt the room growing gradually close and dark.
+To him a telegram could mean but one thing.
+
+The class sat watching silently until they saw him take the paper from
+his neighbor; then in kindness they turned away at the look on his
+face. In the pit below the mild old dean began talking absently.
+
+Landers tried to open the envelope, but his nervous hands rebelled. He
+laid the broad side firmly against his knee and tore open the end
+raggedly, drawing out the inclosed sheet with a trembling rustle that
+could be heard all over the room.
+
+The open page was before him; but the letters only danced before his
+eyes. He spread the paper as before, flat upon his knee, ere he could
+read.
+
+The one short line, the line of which every word was as he expected,
+stood clear before him. He felt now a vague sort of wonder that the
+brief, picked sentences should have affected him as they had. He had
+already known what they told for so long--ever since his name was
+spoken at the door--ages ago. He looked hesitatingly around the room.
+Several students were scrutinizing him curiously, as though expecting
+something. Oh, yes--that recalled him. He must go--home. He hated to
+interrupt the lecture, but he must. He got up unsteadily, and started
+down the stair, groping his way uncertainly, as a man walks in the
+dark.
+
+The kind old dean waited in silence until Landers had passed
+hesitatingly through the door; then followed him out into the hall. A
+moment, and he returned, standing abstractedly by the lecture table.
+He picked up his scattered notes absently, shaking the ends even with
+a painstaking hand; then as carefully scattered them as before. He
+looked up at the silent, waiting class, and those who were near saw
+the tears sparkling in the mild old eyes.
+
+"Landers' father is dead," came the simple, hushed announcement.
+
+
+V
+
+
+The bright afternoon sun of late October shone slantingly on the train
+of weathered wagons that stretched out like an uncoiling spring from
+the group collected in front of the little farm-house. From near and
+afar the neighbors had gathered; and now, falling slowly into line,
+they formed a chain a full quarter-mile in length.
+
+Guy Landers was glad that at last it was over and they were out in the
+sunshine once more. He turned into the carefully reserved place at the
+head of the procession with almost a sense of relief. He was tired,
+fiercely tired, of the well-meant but insistent pity which dogged him
+with a tenacity that drove him desperate. They would not even allow
+him to think.
+
+He rode alone on the front seat of the open wagon. Behind him, his
+mother and Jim sat stiffly, hand in hand. They gazed dully at the
+black thing ahead, and sobbed softly, now singly, now together.
+Both--himself as well--were dressed in complete black; old musty
+black, gotten out of the dark, hurriedly, and with the close smell of
+the closet still upon it. Even the horses conformed to the sober
+shade. They had been supplied by a neighbor on account of their
+sombre color.
+
+A heavy black tassel swung back and forth with the motion of the
+uneven road just ahead of the horses' heads, and Landers sat watching
+it idly. He even caught himself counting the vibrations, as though it
+were a pendulum, dividing the beats into minutes. Very slow time it
+was; but somehow it did not surprise him. It all conformed so
+perfectly with the brown, quiet prairie, and the sun shining, slanting
+and sleepy.
+
+The swinging tassel grew indistinct, and the _patter_, _patter_,
+_patter_ of the teams behind came as from a distance. He closed his
+eyes, and the events of the past two days drifted through his mind.
+Already they seemed indistinct, as a dream. He wondered dully that
+they could be true and yet seem so foreign to his life, now. He even
+began to doubt their verity, and opened his eyes slowly, half
+expecting to see the cool, green campus, and the big college
+buildings. The slanting sunlight met him full in the face, and the
+black pendant swung monotonously, from side to side, as before. He
+wearily closed his eyes again.
+
+Only two days since he had heard the taunting "Dance, freshy!" of the
+seniors, and felt the mighty rush of the freshman hosts; since the
+"rah, rah, rah, Landers!" had shook the old amphitheatre and the
+dozens of welcoming hands had greeted him; and then--the darkness--the
+hesitating leave-taking of the building, and the lingering walk across
+the deserted campus toward his room--the walk he knew so well he would
+take no more. A brief time of waiting--a blank--and then the bitter,
+thumping ride across two States toward his home, when he could only
+think, and think, and try to adjust himself--and fail; and at last the
+end. And again, at the little station, when he felt the touch of his
+mother's hand, and heard her choking "Guy, my boy--" that spoke so
+much of love and of trust; when he heard his own voice answering
+cheerily, with a firmness which surprised him even then, speaking that
+which all through the long ride he had known he must speak--but could
+not: "It's all right, mother; don't worry; I'll not leave you
+again!"--it all came back to him now, and he lived it over again and
+again.
+
+The big, black tassel danced tantalizingly in front of him. Yes, he
+had said that he would never leave again. He dully repeated the words
+now to himself: "never again." It was so fitting; quite in accordance
+with the rest of the black pageant. His dream of life, his new-felt
+ambitions--all were dead, dead, like his father before him, where the
+black plume nodded.
+
+They passed up through the little town and the shop-keepers came out
+to look. Some were in their shirt sleeves; the butcher had his white
+apron tucked up around his belt. They gathered together in twos and
+groups, nodding toward the procession, their lips moving as in
+pantomime. One man walked out to the crossing, counting aloud as the
+teams went by. "One, two, three, four, five, six--" he intoned. To him
+it was all a thing to amuse, like a circus parade,--interesting in
+proportion to its length.
+
+Landers looked almost curiously at the stolid shopmen. It required no
+flush of inspiration to tell him that but a few years of this life
+were necessary to make him as impassive as they. He who had sworn to
+make the world move would be contentedly sitting on an empty goods
+box, diligently numbering a passing procession!
+
+The biting humor of the thought appealed to him. He smiled grimly to
+himself.
+
+
+VI
+
+
+Once more on an early evening, a man turned out from a weather-stained
+prairie farm-house, through the frosted grass, arriving presently at
+the dusty public road. As before, he walked slowly along between the
+tall cottonwoods; but not, as on a memorable former occasion, because
+it would be for the last time. He was tired, tired with that absolute
+abandon of youth that sees no hope in the future, and has no
+philosophy to support it. Only thirty odd days since he went that way
+before! That many years would not add more to his life in the future.
+
+Unconsciously he searched along the way for the landmarks he had
+watched with so much interest the past summer. He found the nest
+where the quail had reared their brood, empty now, and covered thick
+with the scattered dust of passing teams. Forgetful that he was weary
+he climbed well up the bole of a shaggy old friend, to peep in at the
+opening of a deserted woodpecker's home. He came to the big tree at
+whose roots, on that other night he remembered so well, he had thrown
+himself hopelessly. With a stolid sort of curiosity he looked down at
+the spot. Yes, there was the place. A few fallen leaves were scattered
+upon the earth where his body had pressed tightly against the
+tree-trunk, and there were the hollows where his clenched hands had
+found hold. A dull rebellion crept over him as he looked. It had been
+needless to torture him so!
+
+He came in sight of the familiar little farm-house and turned in
+slowly at the break between the trees. It was growing dark now, but
+the odor of tobacco was on the air, and looking closely, he could
+catch the gleam from a glowing pipe-bowl in the doorway. He passed his
+hand across his brow, almost doubting--it was all so like--before--
+
+A light step came tapping quickly down the pathway toward him. "Guy!"
+a voice called softly. "Guy, is that you?"
+
+The voice was quite near him now, and he stopped short, a big maple
+above him.
+
+"Yes, Faith."
+
+She came up close, peering into the shadow.
+
+"Guy--" she repeated, "Guy, where are you?"
+
+He reached out and clasped her hand; then again, and took both hands.
+Her breath came quickly. Slowly his arm slipped about her waist, she
+struggling a little against her own will; then her head fell forward
+on his breast, and he could feel her whole body tremble.
+
+The man looked out through the rifts in the half-naked trees; into the
+sky, clear and sparkling beyond; on his face an expression of sadness,
+of joy, of abandon--all blended indescribably.
+
+Two soft arms crept gently about his neck, and a mass of fluffy hair
+caressed his face.
+
+"Oh! Guy! Guy!" sobbed the girl, "it's wicked, I know, but I'm so
+glad--so glad--"
+
+
+
+
+THE DOMINANT IMPULSE
+
+
+I
+
+
+Calmar Bye was a writer. That is to say, writing was his vocation and
+his recreation as well.
+
+As yet, unfortunately, he had been unable to find publishers; but for
+that deficiency no reasonable person could hold him responsible. He
+had tried them all--and repeatedly. A certain expressman now smiled
+when he saw the long, slim figure approaching with a package under his
+arm, which from frequent reappearances had become easily recognizable;
+but as a person becomes accustomed to a physical deformity, Calmar Bye
+had ceased to notice banter.
+
+Of but one thing in his life he was positively certain; and that was
+if Nature had fashioned him for any purpose in particular, it was to
+do the very thing he was doing now. The reason for this certainty was
+that he could do nothing else with even moderate satisfaction. He had
+tried, frequently, to break away, and had even succeeded for a month
+at a time in an endeavor to avoid writing a word; but inevitably there
+came a relapse and a more desperate debauch in literature. Try as he
+might he could not avoid the temptation. An incident, a trifle out of
+the ordinary in his commonplace life, a sudden thrill at the reading
+of another man's story, a night of insomnia, and resolution was in
+tatters, and shortly thereafter Calmar Bye's pencil would be coursing
+with redoubled vigor over a sheet of virgin paper.
+
+To be sure, Calmar did other things besides write. Being a normal man
+with a normal appetite, he could not successfully evade the demands of
+animal existence, and when his finances became unbearably low, he
+would proceed to their improvement by whatever means came first to
+hand. Book-keeping, clerical work, stenography--anything was grist for
+his mill at such times, and for a period he would work without rest.
+No better assistant could be found anywhere--until he had satisfied
+his few creditors and established a small surplus of his own. Then,
+presto, change!--and on the surface reappeared Bye, the long, slender,
+blue-eyed, dreaming, dawdling, irresponsible writer.
+
+Being what he was, the tenor of Calmar's life was markedly uneven. At
+times the lust to write, the spirit of inspiration, as he would have
+explained to himself in the privacy of his own study, would come upon
+him strong, and for hours or days life would be a joyous thing, his
+fellow-men dear brothers of a happy family, the obvious unhappiness
+and injustice about him not reality, but mere comedy being enacted for
+his particular delectation.
+
+Then at last, his work finished, would come inevitable reaction. The
+product of his hand and brain, completed, seemed inadequate and
+commonplace. He would smile grimly as with dogged persistence he
+started this latest child of his fancy out along the trail so thickly
+bestrewn with the skeletons of elder offspring. In measure, as
+badinage had previously passed him harmlessly by, it now cut deeply.
+No one in the entire town thought him a more complete failure than he
+considered himself. Skies, from being sunny, grew suddenly sodden; not
+a tenement or alley but thrust obtrusively forward its tale of
+misery.
+
+"Think of me," he confided to his friend Bob Wilson one evening as
+during his transit through a particularly dismal slough of despond
+they in company were busily engaged in blazing the trail with empty
+bottles; "One such as I, a man of thirty and of good health, without a
+dollar or the prospect of a dollar, an income or the prospect of an
+income, a home or the prospect of a home, following a cold scent like
+the one I am now on!" He snapped his finger against the rim of his
+thin drinking glass until it rang merrily.
+
+"The idea, again, of a man such as I, untravelled, penniless,
+self-educated, thinking to compete with others who journey the world
+over to secure material, and who have spent a fortune in preparation
+for this particular work." He excitedly drained the contents of the
+glass.
+
+"It's preposterous, childlike!"--he brought the frail trifle down to the
+table with an emphasis which was all but its destruction--"imbecile!
+I tell you I'm going to quit.
+
+"Quit for good," he repeated at the expression on the other's face.
+
+Bob Wilson scrutinized his companion with a critical eye.
+
+"Waiter," he said, speaking over his shoulder, "waiter, kindly tax our
+credit further to the extent of a couple of Havanas."
+
+"Yes, sah," acknowledged the waiter.
+
+Silence fell; but Bob's observation of his friend continued.
+
+"So you are going to quit the fight?" he commented at last.
+
+"I am,"--decidedly.
+
+Wilson lit his cigar.
+
+"You have completed that latest--production on which you were engaged,
+I suppose?"
+
+The writer scratched a match.
+
+"This afternoon."
+
+"And sent it on?"
+
+A nod. "Yes, on to the furnace room."
+
+A smile which approached a grin formed over Bob's big face.
+
+"You have hope of its acceptance, I trust?"
+
+Calmar Bye blew a cloud of smoke far toward the ceiling, and the
+smile, a shade grim, was reflected.
+
+"More than hope," laconically. "I have certainty at last."
+
+Another pause followed and slowly the smile vanished from the faces of
+both.
+
+"Bob," and the long Calmar straightened in his chair, "I've been an
+ass. It's all apparent, too apparent, now. I've tried to compete with
+the entire world, and I'm too small. It's enough for me to work
+against local competition." He meditatively flicked the ash from his
+cigar with his little finger.
+
+"I realize that a lot of my friends--women friends particularly--will
+say they always knew I had no determination, wouldn't stay in the game
+until I won. They're all alike in this one particular, Bob; all
+sticklers for the big lower jaw.
+
+"But I don't care. I've been shooting into a covey of publishers for
+twelve years and never have touched a feather. Perseverance is a good
+quality, but there is such a thing as insanity." He stared
+unconsciously at the portieres of the booth.
+
+"Once and for all, I tell you I'm through," he repeated.
+
+"What are you going at?" queried Bob, sympathetically, a shade
+quizzically.
+
+The long Calmar reached into his pocket with deliberation.
+
+"Read that." He tossed a letter across the tiny table.
+
+Bob poised the epistle in his hand gingerly.
+
+"South Dakota," he commented, as he observed the postmark. "Humph, I
+can't make out the town."
+
+"It's not a town at all, only a postoffice. Immaterial anyway,"
+explained Calmar, irritably.
+
+The round-faced man unfolded the letter slowly and read aloud:--
+
+  "MY DEAR SIR:--
+
+  "Your request, coming from a stranger, is rather unusual; but if
+  you really mean business, I will say this: Provided you're
+  willing to take hold and stay right with me, I'll take you in
+  and at the end of a half-year pay $75.00 per month. You can then
+  put into the common fund whatever part of your savings you wish
+  and have a proportionate interest in the herd. Permit me to
+  observe, however, that you will find your surroundings somewhat
+  different from those amid which you are living at present, and I
+  should advise you to consider carefully before you make the
+  change.
+
+                                          "Very truly yours,
+                                               "E. J. DOUGLASS."
+
+Bob slowly folded the sheet, and tossed it back.
+
+"In what particular portion of that desert, if I may ask, does your
+new employer reside?" There was uncertainty in the speaker's voice,
+as of one who spoke of India or the islands of the Pacific.
+"Likewise--pardon my ignorance--is that herd he mentions--buffalo?"
+
+Calmar imperturbably returned the letter to his pocket.
+
+"I'm serious, Robert. Douglass is a cattle man west of the river."
+
+"The river!" apostrophized Bob. "The man juggles with mysteries. What
+river, pray?"
+
+"The Missouri, of course. Didn't you ever study geography?"
+
+"I beg your pardon," in humble apology. "Is that," vaguely, "what they
+call the Bad Lands?"
+
+Bye looked across at his friend, of a mind to be indignant; then his
+good-nature triumphed.
+
+"No, it's not so bad as that," with a feeble attempt at a pun. He
+paused to light a cigar, and absent-minded as usual, continued in
+digression.
+
+"I've dangled long enough, old man; too long. I'm going to do
+something now. I start to-morrow."
+
+Bob Wilson the skeptic, looked at his friend again critically.
+Resolutions of reconstruction he had heard before--and later watched
+their downfall; but this time somehow there was a new element
+introduced. Perhaps, after all--
+
+"Waiter," he called, "we'll trifle with another quart of extra-dry, if
+you please."
+
+"To your success," he added to his companion across the table, when
+the waiter had returned from his mission.
+
+
+II
+
+
+A year passed around, as years have a way of doing, and found
+Calmar Bye, the city man, metamorphosed indeed. Bronzed, bearded,
+corduroy-clothed, cigarette-smoking,--for cigars fifty miles from a
+railroad are a curiosity,--as the seasons are dissimilar, so was he
+unlike his former inconsequent self. In his every action now was a
+directness and a purpose of which he had not even a conception in
+his former existence.
+
+Very, very thin upon us all is the veneer of civilization; very, very
+swift is the reversion to the primitive when opportunity presents.
+Only twelve short months and this man, end product of civilization,
+doer of nothing practical, dreamer of dreams and recorder of fancies,
+had become a positive force, a contributor to the world's food supply,
+a producer of meat. What a satire, in a period of time of which the
+shifting seasons could be counted upon one hand, to have vibrated
+from manuscript to beef, and for the change to be seemingly
+unalterable!
+
+To be sure there had been a struggle; a period of travail while
+readjustment was being established; a desperate sense of homesickness
+at first view of the undulating, grass-covered, horizon-bounded
+prairies; an insatiable need of the shops, the theatres, the
+telephones, the _cafes_, the newspapers, all of which previously had
+constituted everything that made life worth living. But these emotions
+had passed away. What evolvement of civilization could equal the
+beauty of a dew-scented, sun-sparkling prairie morning, or the
+grandeur of a soundless, star-dotted prairie night, wherein the very
+limitlessness of things, their immensity, was a never ending source of
+wonder? Verily, all changes and conditions of life have their
+compensations.
+
+Calmar Bye, the one time listless, had learned many things in this
+unheard-of world.
+
+First of all, most insistent of all, he was impressed with the
+overwhelming predominance of the physical over the mental. Later, in
+practical knowledge, he grew inured to the "feel" of a native bucking
+broncho and the sound of mocking, human laughter after a stunning
+fall; in direct evolution, the method of throwing a steer and the odor
+of burnt hair and hide which followed the puff of smoke where the
+branding iron touched ceased to be cruel.
+
+Last of all, highest evolvement of all, came the absorption of
+revolver-lore under the instruction of experts who made but pastime of
+picking a jack-rabbit in its flight, or bringing a kite, soaring high
+in air, tumbling precipitate to earth. A wild life it was and a rough,
+but fascinating nevertheless in its demonstration of the overwhelming
+superiority of man, the animal, in nerve and endurance over every
+other live thing on earth.
+
+At the end of the year, with the hand of winter again pressed firmly
+upon the land, it seemed time could do no more; that the adaptation of
+the exotic to his new surroundings was complete. Already the past life
+seemed a thing interesting but aloof from reality, like the fantastic
+exploits of a hero of fiction, and the present, the insistently
+active, vital present, the sole consideration of importance.
+
+In the appreciation of the stoic indifference of the then West it was
+a slight incident which overthrew. One cowboy, "Slim" Rawley, had a
+particularly vicious broncho, which none but he had ever been able to
+control, and which in consequence, he prized as the apple of his eye.
+During his temporary absence from the ranch one day a _confrere_,
+"Stiff" Warwick, had, in a spirit of bravado, roped the "devil" and
+instituted a contest of wills. The pony was stubborn, the man
+likewise, and a battle royal followed. As a buzzard scents carrion,
+other cowboys anticipated sport, and a group soon gathered. Ere
+minutes had passed the blood of the belligerents was up, and they were
+battling as for life, with a dogged determination which would have
+lasted upon the part of either, the man or the beast, until death.
+Rough scenes and inhuman, Bye had witnessed until _blase_; but nothing
+before like this. The man used quirt, rowel, and profanity like a
+fiend. The pony, panting, quivering, bucking, struggling, covered with
+foam and streaming with blood, shrilled with the impotent anger of a
+demon. Even the impassive cowboy spectators from chaffing lapsed into
+silence.
+
+Of a sudden, loping easily over the frost-bound prairie and following
+the winding trail of a cowpath, appeared the approaching figure of a
+horse and rider. It came on steadily, clear to the gathered group, and
+stopped. An instant and the newcomer understood the scene and a curse
+sprang to his lips. Another instant and his own mustang was spurred in
+close by the strugglers. His right hand raised in air and bearing a
+heavy quirt, descended; not upon the broncho, but far across the
+cursing, devilish face of the man, its rider. Then swift as thought
+and simultaneously as twin machines, the hands of the intruder and of
+the struggling "buster" went to their hips.
+
+The spectators held their breaths; not one stirred. Before them they
+saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and forward like pistons
+from companion cylinders, and they saw two puffs of smoke like
+escaping steam.
+
+Smoothly, as a scene in a rehearsed play, the reports mingled, the
+riders, scarcely ten feet apart, tottered in their saddles, and
+slowly, unconsciously resistant even in death, the two bodies slipped
+to earth.
+
+[Illustration: They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and
+forward like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like escaping steam.]
+
+But there the unison ended. The mustang which "Slim" Rawley rode stood
+still in its tracks; but before the spectators could rush in, the
+"devil" broncho, relieved of the hand upon the curb, sprang away, and
+with the "buster's" foot caught fast in the stirrup ran squealing,
+kicking, crazy mad out over the prairie, dragging by its side the limp
+figure of its unseated enemy.
+
+Calmar Bye watched the whole spectacle as in a dream. So swift had
+been the action, so fantastic the denouement, that he could not at
+first reconcile it all with reality. He went slowly over to the
+prostrate "Slim" Rawley, whom the others had laid out decently upon
+the ground, half expecting him to leap up and laugh in their faces;
+but the already stiffening figure with the fiendish scowl upon its
+face, was convincing.
+
+Besides,--gods, the indifference of these men to death! The party of
+onlookers were already separating--one division, mounted, starting in
+pursuit of the escaping broncho, along the narrow trail made by the
+dragged man; the others impassively reconnoitring for spades and
+shovels, were stolidly awaiting the breaking of the lock of
+frost-bound earth at the hands of a big, red-shirted cowboy with a
+pick!
+
+"Here, Bye," suggested one toiler, "you're an eddicated man; say a
+prayer er something, can't ye, before we plant old 'Slim.' He wa'nt
+sech a bad sort."
+
+The tenderfoot complied, and said something--he never knew just
+what--as the dry clods thumped dully upon the huddled figure in the
+old gunny sack. What he said must have been good, for those present
+resisted with difficulty a disposition to applaud.
+
+This labor complete, the cowboys scattered, miles apart, each to his
+division of the herd, which for better range had been distributed over
+a wide territory. Bye was in charge of the home bunch, and sat long
+after the others had left, upon the new-formed mound in the ranch
+dooryard.
+
+Far over the broad, rolling prairies, as yet bare and frost-bound, the
+sun shone brightly. A half-mile away he could see his own herd
+scattered and grazing. The stillness after the sudden excitement was
+almost unbelievable. Minutes passed by which dragged into an hour.
+Over the face of the sun a faint haze began to form and, unnoticeable
+to one not prairie-trained, the air took on a sympathetic feel, almost
+of dampness. A native would have sensed a warning; but Calmar Bye, one
+time writer, paid no heed. An instinct of his life, one he had thought
+suppressed, a necessity imperative as hunger, was gathering upon him
+strongly--the overwhelming instinct to portray the unusual.
+
+Under its guidance, as in a maze, he made his way into the rough,
+unplastered shanty. Automatically he found a pencil and collected some
+scraps of coarse wrapping paper. Already the opening words of the tale
+he had to tell were in his mind, and sitting down by the greasy
+pine-board table, he began to write.
+
+Hours passed. Over the sun the haze thickened. The whole sky grew
+sodden, the earth a corresponding grayish hue. Now and anon puffs of
+wind, like sudden breaths, stirred the dull air, and the short
+buffalo grass trembled in anticipation. The puffs increased until
+their direction became definite, and at last here and there big,
+irregular feathers of snow drifted languidly to earth.
+
+Within the shanty the man wrote unceasingly. Many fragments he covered
+and deposited, an irregular heap, at his right hand. At his left an
+adolescent mound of cigarette stumps grew steadily larger. A cloud of
+tobacco smoke over his head, driven here and there by vagrant currents
+of air, gathered denser and denser.
+
+As the light failed, the writer unconsciously moved the rough table
+nearer and nearer the window until, blocked, it could go no farther.
+To one less preoccupied the grating over the uneven floor would have
+been startling. Once just outside the door the waiting pony neighed
+warningly--and again. Upon the ledge beneath the window-pane a tiny
+mound of snowflakes began to take form; around the shanty the rising
+wind mourned dismally.
+
+The light failed by degrees, until the paper was scarcely visible,
+and, brought to consciousness, the man rose to light a lamp. One look
+about and he passed his hand over his forehead, absently. Striding to
+the door, he flung it wide open.
+
+"Hell!" he muttered in complex apostrophe.
+
+To put on hat and top-coat was the act of a moment. To release the
+tethered pony the work of another; then swift as a great brown shadow,
+out across the whitening prairie to the spot he remembered last to
+have seen the herd, the delinquent urged the willing broncho--only to
+find emptiness; not even the suggestion of a trail.
+
+Back and forth, through miles and miles of country, in semi-circles
+ever widening, through a storm ever increasing and with daylight
+steadily diminishing, Calmar Bye searched doggedly for the departed
+herd; searched until at last even he, ignorant of the supreme terrors
+of a South Dakota blizzard, dared not remain out longer.
+
+That he found his way back to the ranch yard was almost a miracle. As
+it was, groping at last in utter darkness, blinded by a sleet which
+cut like dull knives, and buffeted by a wind like a hurricane, more
+dead than alive he stumbled upon the home shanty and opening the door
+drew the weary broncho in after him. Man and beast were brothers on
+such a night.
+
+Of the hours which followed, of moaning wind and drifting sleet,
+nature kindly gave him oblivion. Dead tired, he slept. And morning,
+crisp, smiling, cloudless, was about him when he awoke.
+
+Rising, and scarcely stopping for a lunch, the man again sallied forth
+upon his search, wading through drifts blown almost firm enough to
+bear the pony's weight and alternate spots wind-swept bare as a floor;
+while all about, gorgeous as multiple rainbows, flashed mocking bright
+the shifting sparkle from innumerable frost crystals.
+
+All the morning he searched, farther and farther away, until the
+country grew rougher and he was full ten miles from home. At last,
+stopping upon a small hill to reconnoitre, the searcher heard far in
+the distance a sound he recognized and which sent his cheek pale--the
+faint dying wail of a wounded steer. It came from a deep draw between
+two low hills, one cut into a steep ravine by converged floods and
+hidden by the tall surrounding weeds. Bye knew the place well and the
+significance of the sound he heard. In a cattle country, after a
+sudden blizzard, it could have but one meaning, and that the terror of
+all time to animals wild or domestic--the end of a stampede.
+
+Only too soon thereafter the searcher found his herd. Upon the
+brow of a hill overlooking the ravine he stopped. Below him,
+bellowing, groaning, struggling, wounded, dying, and dead--a great
+mass of heavy bodies, mixed indiscriminately--bruised, broken,
+segmented, blood-covered, horrible, lay the observer's trust, the
+wealth of his employer, his own hope of regeneration, worse now than
+worthless carrion. And the cause of it all, the sole excuse for
+this delinquency, lay back there upon a greasy table in the
+shanty--a short scrawling tale scribbled upon a handful of scrap
+paper!
+
+
+III
+
+
+"Yes, I'm back, Bob."
+
+The tall, thin Calmar Bye leaned back in his chair and looked
+listlessly about the familiar _cafe_, without a suggestion of emotion.
+It seemed to him hardly credible that he had been away from it all for
+a year and more. Nothing was changed. Across the room the same mirrors
+repeated the reflections he had observed so many times before. Nearby
+were the same booths and from within them came the same laughter and
+chatter and suppressed song. Opposite the tiny table the same man with
+the broad, good-natured face was making critical, smiling observation,
+as of yore. As ever, the look recalled the visionary to the present.
+
+"Back for good, Bob," he repeated slowly.
+
+The speaker's attitude was far from being that of a conquering hero
+returned; the sympathies of the easy-going Robert, ever responsive,
+were roused.
+
+"What's the matter, old man?" he queried tentatively. "Weren't you a
+success as a broncho-buster?"
+
+"A success!" Calmar Bye stroked a long, thin face with a long, thin
+hand. "A success!" he repeated. "I couldn't have been a worse
+failure, Bob." He paused a moment, smoothing the table-cloth absently
+with his finger tips.
+
+"Success!" once more, bitterly. "I'm not even a mediocre at anything
+unless it is at what I'm doing now, dangling and helping spend the
+money some one else has worked all day to earn." He looked his
+astonished friend fair in the eyes.
+
+"You don't know what an idiot, a worse than idiot, I've made of
+myself," and he began the story of the past year.
+
+Monotonously, unemotionally he told the tale, omitting nothing, adding
+nothing; while about him the sounds of the restaurant, the tinkling of
+glassware, the ring of silver, the familiar muffled pop of extracted
+corks, played a soft accompaniment. Occasionally Bob would make a
+comment or ask explanation of something to him entirely new; but that
+was all until near the end,--where the delinquent herder, coming
+swiftly to the brow of the hill, looked down upon the scene in the
+ravine below. Then Bob, the care-free, the pleasure-seeking, raised a
+hand in swift protest.
+
+"Don't describe it, please, old man," he requested. "I'd rather not
+hear."
+
+The speaker's voice ceased; over his thin features fell the light of a
+queer little half-smile which, instead of declaring itself, only
+provoked Bob Wilson's curiosity. In the silence Bye, with a hand
+unaccustomed to the exercise, made the familiar gesture that brought
+one of the busy attendants to his side.
+
+"And the story you wrote--?" suggested Wilson while they waited.
+
+For answer Calmar Bye drew an envelope from his pocket and tossed it
+across the table to his friend. Wilson first noted that it bore the
+return address of one of the country's foremost magazines; he then
+unfolded the letter and read aloud:
+
+  "DEAR MR. BYE:--
+
+  "The receipt of your two stories, 'Storm and Stampede' and 'The
+  Lonely Grave,' has settled a troublesome question for us,
+  namely: What has become of Mr. Calmar Bye?
+
+  "No doubt you will recall that our criticisms of the material
+  which you have submitted from time to time in the past,
+  were directed chiefly against faults arising out of your
+  unfamiliarity with your subjects. The present manuscripts
+  bear the best testimony that you have been gathering your
+  material at first hand. We have the feeling, as we read, that
+  every sentence flows straight from the heart.
+
+  "Now we want just such vivid, gripping, red-blooded cross-sections
+  of life as these, your two latest accomplishments; in fact, we
+  can't get enough of them. Therefore, instead of making you a cash
+  offer for these two stories, we suggest that you first call at
+  our office at your earliest convenience. If agreeable, we should
+  like to arrange for a series of Western stories and articles, the
+  evolving of which should keep you engaged for some time to come.
+
+                                                     "Cordially,
+                                                        "------"
+
+The hands of the two friends clasped across the table. No word
+disturbed the silence until the forgotten waiter broke in impatiently:
+
+"Yo' o'der, sahs?"
+
+"Champagne"--this time it was Calmar Bye who gave it--"a quart. And
+be lively about it, too."
+
+"Well, well!" Bob Wilson's admiration burst forth. "It is worth a
+whole herd of steers."
+
+
+
+
+THE STUFF OF HEROES
+
+
+Springtime on the prairies of South Dakota. It is early morning,
+the sun is not yet up, but all is light and even and soft and
+all-surrounding, so that there are no shadows. In every direction
+the gently rolling country is dotted brown and white from the
+incomplete melting of winter's snows. In the low places tiny
+streams of snow-water, melted yesterday, sing low under the
+lattice-work blanket the frost has built in the night. Nearby and in
+the distance prairie-chickens are calling, lonely, uncertain. Wild
+ducks in confused masses, mere specks in the distance, follow low
+over the winding curves of the river. High overhead, flocks of geese
+in regular black wedges, and brant, are flying northward, and the
+breezy sound of flapping wings and of voices calling, mingle in the
+sweetest of all music to those who know the prairies--Nature's
+morning song of springtime.
+
+"What a country! Look there!" The big man in the front seat of the
+rough, low wagon pointed east where the sun rose slowly from the lap
+of the prairie. The other men cleared their throats as if to speak,
+but said nothing.
+
+"And I've lived sixty years without knowing," continued the first
+voice, musingly.
+
+"I've never been West before, either," admitted De Young, simply.
+
+They drove on, the trickling of snow-water sounding around the wagon
+wheels.
+
+The third man, Clark, pointed back in the direction they had come.
+
+"Did any one back there inquire what we were doing?" he asked.
+
+"A fellow 'lowed,' with a rising inflection, that we were hunting
+ducks," said De Young. "I temporized; made him forget that I hadn't
+answered. You know what will happen once the curiosity of the natives
+is aroused."
+
+"I wasn't approached," Morris joined in, without turning. The corners
+of the big man's mouth twitched, as the suggested picture formed
+swiftly in his mind.
+
+After a pause, De Young spoke again.
+
+"I gave the postmaster a specially good tip to see that we got our
+mail out promptly."
+
+"So did I," Clark admitted.
+
+The face of the serious man lighted; and, their eyes meeting, the
+three friends smiled all together.
+
+The sun rose higher, without a breath of wind from over the prairies,
+and one after another the men removed their top-coats. The horses'
+hoofs splashed at each step in slush and running water, sending drops
+against the dashboard with a sound like rain.
+
+The trail which they were following could now scarcely be seen, except
+at intervals on higher ground, where hoof-prints and the tracks of
+wheels were scored in the soft mud, and with each mile these marks
+grew deeper and broader as the partly frozen earth softened.
+
+The air of solemnity which had hung about the men for days, and which
+lifted from time to time only temporarily, now silenced them again.
+Indeed, had there been anybody present to observe, he doubtless would
+have been impressed most of all with the unwonted soberness of the
+wagon's occupants, a gravity strangely at variance with the rampant,
+fecund season.
+
+And the object of their journeying into this unknown world was in all
+truth a matter for silence rather than speech; its influence was
+toward deep and earnest meditation, to which the joyous, awakening
+world could do no more than chant in a minor key a melancholy
+accompaniment. Never did a soldier advancing upon a breach in the
+enemy's breastworks more certainly confront the grinning face of
+Death, than did this trio in their progress across the singing
+prairie; but where the plaudits of the world spelled glory for the
+one, the three in the wagon knew that for them Death meant oblivion,
+extinction, a blotting out that must needs be utter and inevitable.
+
+The thoughts of each dwelt upon some aspect of two scenes which had
+happened only a brief fortnight previously. There had been a notable
+convention of physicians in a city many miles to the east. One
+delegate, a man young, slender, firm of jaw, his face shining with
+zeal and the spirit which courts self-immolation, had addressed the
+body. His speech had made a profound impression--after its first
+effect of sensation had subsided--upon the hundreds gathered there,
+who hearkened amazedly; but of those hundreds only two had been moved
+to lay aside the tools of their calling and follow him.
+
+And whither was he leading them? Into the Outer Darkness, each firmly
+believed. For them the future was spelled _nihil_; for the world,
+salvation--perhaps.
+
+The inspired voice still rang in memory.
+
+"Gentlemen, I repeat, it is a challenge.... The flag of the enemy is
+hung up boldly, flauntingly, in every public place.... Are we to
+permit this? Are we to sit idle and acknowledge ourselves beaten in
+the great struggle against Death? No, no, no! The Nation--yea, the
+whole civilized world--shrinks and shudders in terror before the sound
+of one dread word--_tuberculosis_!
+
+"Our professional honor--our personal honor as well, gentlemen--is at
+stake. A solemn charge is laid upon us.... We must die if need be;
+but we must conquer this monstrous scourge, which is the single cause
+of more than one death in every ten."
+
+And then, the deep silence which had marked the closing words:
+
+"Gentlemen, I can cure consumption," came the simple declaration. "If
+there are those among you who value Science more than gain; who are
+willing to dare with me, willing to pay the extreme price, if
+necessary--if there are any such among you, and I believe there are,
+meet with me in my rooms this evening."
+
+To the eight who accepted that invitation, Dr. De Young disclosed the
+details of his Great Experiment. It included, among many other things
+which no one but a physician can appreciate, the lending of their
+bodies to the Experiment's exemplification. Of the eight, two had
+agreed to follow him to the end. Each of the three had placed his
+house in order, and here they were, nearing that end, whatever it was
+to be.
+
+An hour passed, and now ahead in the distance a rough shanty came into
+view. It was the only house in sight, and the three men knew it was
+to be theirs. In silence they drew up where the men were unpacking
+their goods.
+
+"Good morning for ducks--saw a big flock of mallards back here in a
+pond," observed the man who took their team.
+
+The three doctors alighted without answering, and watching them, the
+man stroked a stubby red whisker in meditation.
+
+"Lord, they're a frost!" he commented.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Night had come, and the stars shone early from a sky yet light and
+warm. In the low places the waters sang louder than before, with the
+increase of a day's thawing. Looking away, the white spots were
+smaller and the brown patches larger; otherwise, all was the same, the
+prairie of yesterday, of to-day, and to-morrow.
+
+Tired with a day of settling, the three men stood in the doorway and
+for the first time viewed the country at night. They were not talkers
+at best, and now the immensity of the broad prairies held them silent.
+The daily struggle of life, the activity and rivalry and ambition
+which before to-night had seemed so great to these city-bred men, here
+alone with Nature and Nature's God, where none other might see,
+assumed their true worth. The tangled web of life loosened and many
+foreign things caught and held therein, fell out. Man, introspecting,
+saw himself at his real worth, and was not proud.
+
+The absolute quiet, so unusual, made them wakeful, and though tired,
+they sat long in the doorway, smoking, thinking. Small talk seemed to
+them profanation, and of that which was uppermost in each man's mind,
+none cared first to speak. A subtle understanding, called telepathy,
+was making of their several minds a thing united.
+
+"No, not to-night, it's too beautiful," said De Young at length, and
+the protesting voice sounded to his own ears as that of a stranger.
+
+The men started at the sound, and the glowing tips of three cigars
+described partial arcs in the half light as they turned each to each.
+No one answered. They were face to face with fundamentals at last.
+
+Minutes, an hour, passed. The cigars burned out, and as the pleasant
+odor of tobacco died away, there came the chill night air of the
+prairie. The two older men rose stiffly, and with a low good-night,
+stumbled into the darkness of the shanty.
+
+De Young sat alone in the doorway. He realized that it was the supreme
+hour of his life. In his mind, memory of past and hope of future met
+on the battlefield of the present, and meeting, mingled in chaos.
+Thoughts came crowding upon each other thick--the thoughts which come
+to few more than once in life, to multitudes, never; the thoughts
+which writers in every language, during all time, have sought words to
+express, and in vain.
+
+Everywhere the snow-streams sang lower and lower. A fog, dense,
+penetrating, born of early morning, wrapped all things about, uniting
+and at the same time setting apart. Shivering, he shut the door on the
+night and the damp, and as by instinct crept into bed. Listening in
+the darkness, the sound of the sleepers soothed him. Happier thoughts
+came, thoughts which made his heart beat more swiftly and his eyes
+grow tender; for he was yet young, and love untold ever dwelleth near
+heaven. Thus he fell asleep with a smile.
+
+"Choose, please. We'll take our turns in the order of length," said De
+Young, holding up the ends of three paper strips. Each man drew, and
+in the silence that followed, without a word Morris turned away,
+preparing swiftly for the operation.
+
+"Give me chloroform," he said, stretching himself horizontally,--adding
+as the others bent over him, "Inoculate deep, please. Let's not
+waste time."
+
+Swiftly, with the precision of absolute knowledge, the two physicians
+did their work. A mist was over their eyes, so that all the room
+looked dim, as to old men; and hands which had not known a tremor for
+years, shook as they emptied the contents of the little syringe,
+teeming with tiny, unseen, living rods. Clark's forehead was damp with
+a perspiration that physical pain could not have brought, and on De
+Young's face, time marked those minutes as months.
+
+It was all done with the habit of years. The two doctors carefully
+sterilized their instruments and replaced them in cases, then,
+silently, drawn nearer together than ever before, the two friends
+watched the return of consciousness. And Morris awakening, things
+real and of dreamland still confused to his senses, heard the soft
+voice which a legion of patients had thus heard and blessed, saying
+cheerily, "Wake up! wake up, my friend!"
+
+Thus the day passed. In turn, the men, hours apart, with active
+brains, and eyes wide open, sent their challenges to Death--each man
+his own messenger.
+
+The months slipped by. Suns became torrid hot, and cooled until it
+seemed there was light but not heat on earth. Days grew longer, and in
+unison, earth waxed greener; then in descending scale, both together
+waned. Migratory wings fluttering at night, and passing voices calling
+in the darkness--most lonely sounds of earth--gave place to singers of
+the day. The robin, the meadow-lark, the ubiquitous catbird, all born
+of prairie and of summer, came and went. Blackbirds in countless
+flocks followed. Again the calling of prairie-chickens was heard at
+eve and morning, and anon frost glistened in the air.
+
+At last throughout the land no sound of animal voice was heard, for
+winter bound all things firm and white. Another cycle was complete;
+yet, almost ere the record could be made, there appeared, moving far
+in the distance, a black triangle. Passing swiftly, with the sound of
+wings and calling voices, there sprang anew in all things animate a
+mixed feeling of gladness and unrest, which was the spirit of returned
+spring.
+
+Thus twice the cycle of the seasons passed, and again the sun of early
+spring, shining bright, set the tiny snow-streams singing. It
+glistened over the prairie on snow-drift and frost; it lit up the few
+scattered shingled roofs of settlers newly come; and shone in at the
+open door of a rough cabin we know, touching without pity the faces of
+the two men who watched its rise. Shining low, even with the prairie,
+it touched in vivid contrast an oblong mound of fresh earth, heaped up
+target distance from the cabin door.
+
+The mound had not been there long; neither snow or rain had yet
+touched it; it was still strange to the men in the doorway, who saw it
+vividly now, at time of sunrise. Though thus early, each man sat idly
+smoking, an open book reversed on the knee.
+
+De Young first broke the silence.
+
+"We must do something, or else decide to do nothing about Clark's
+mail." He shifted in his seat, looking away from the open door.
+
+"I don't know--whether--it would be kinder to tell them or not."
+
+A coughing fit shook Morris, and answering, a twitch as of pain
+tightened the corners of his companion's eyes. Minutes passed, and
+Morris sat limply in his chair, before he answered,
+
+"I thought at first we'd better write; now it seems different. Let's
+wait until we go back."
+
+Neither of the men looked at the other. They seldom did now; it
+was useless pain. Filled with the incomparable optimism of the
+consumptive, neither man realized his own condition, but marked the
+days of his friend. Morris, unbelieving, spoke of his friend's
+return; yet, growing weaker each day himself, spoke in all hope and
+conviction of his future work, recording each day his mode of
+successful treatment, despite interruptions of coughing which left
+him breathless and trembling for minutes. De Young saw, and in
+pity marvelled; yet, seeing, and as a physician knowing, he not for a
+moment applied the gauge to himself.
+
+Nature, in sportive mood, commands the Angel of Death, who with
+matchless legerdemain, keeps the mirror of illusion, unsuspected,
+before the consumptive's eyes; and, seeing, in derision the satirist
+smiles.
+
+Unavoidably acting parts, the two friends found a barrier of
+artificiality separating them, making each happier when alone. Thus
+day after day, monotonous, unchanging, went by. Not another person
+entered their door. From the little town a man at periods brought
+provisions and their mail, but the house was acquiring an uncanny
+reputation. They were not understood, and such are ever foreign. With
+the passage of time and the coming of the mound in the dooryard, the
+feeling had developed into positive fear, and travellers avoided the
+place as though warned by a scarlet placard.
+
+Morris grew weaker daily. At last the disillusionment that precedes
+death came to him. The artificial slipped from both men and a
+nearness like that of brothers, joined them. They spoke not of the
+future but of the past. Years slipped aside and left them back in the
+midst of active, brain-satisfying practice. Over again they performed
+operations, where life and death were separated but by a hair's width.
+Again, with eyes that brightened and breath that came more quickly,
+they lived their successes, and hand in hand, as children in the dark,
+told of their failures, and the tale was long, for they were but men.
+
+The end came quietly. A hemorrhage, a big spot of blood on the cover,
+a firm hand pressure, and Morris's parting words,
+
+"Save my notes."
+
+That night De Young knew no sleep. "I must finish the work," he said,
+in lame excuse. Well he knew there could be no rest for him that
+night. He did his task thoroughly, making record of things that had
+passed, with the precision of a physician who knows a patient but as
+material.
+
+A tramp, who, unknowing, had taken shelter in an outbuilding, waking
+in the night, saw the light. Moved by curiosity, he crawled up softly
+in the darkness, and peeped in at the window. In the half light he saw
+on the bed a thin, white face motionless in the expression which even
+he knew was death; and at the table, writing rapidly with manuscript
+all about, a man whose eyes shone with the brilliancy of disease, and
+with a face as pale as the face on the pillow. In the blank,
+unreasoning terror of superstition, he fled until Nature rebelled and
+would carry him no farther. Next day to all he saw, he told the tale
+of supernatural things which lingers yet around a prairie ruin, in
+whose dooryard are mounds built of man.
+
+The mail carrier calling next day saw a man with spots of scarlet
+heightening the contrast of a face pale as death, digging in the
+dooryard. The man worked slowly, for he coughed often and must rest.
+In kindness the carrier offered help, but was refused with words that
+brought to the listener's eyes a moisture unknown since boyhood, and
+the thought of which in days that followed, kept him silent concerning
+what he had seen.
+
+Summer, with the breath of warm life and the odor of growing things;
+with days made dreamy and thoughtful by the purring of the soft wind
+and the droning of insects; and nights when all was good; with stars
+above and crickets singing below--summer had come and was passing.
+
+De Young could no longer deceive himself. The personal faith that had
+upheld him so long--when friends had failed--could fight the
+inevitable no longer. With eyes wide open, he saw at last clearly,
+and, seeing, realized the end. He cared not for death; he was too
+strong for that; but it must needs be that, now, with the shadow of
+defeat lying dark over the future, the problem of motive, the great
+"why," should come uppermost in his mind demanding an answer.
+
+Once before, at the time when other men read from their lives, he
+caught glimpses of something beyond. Now again the mood returned, and
+he knew why he was as he was; that with him love was, and had been,
+stronger than Science and all else beside. He knew that whatever he
+might have done, the entering into his life of The Woman, and the
+knowledge that followed her coming, had inspired the supreme motive
+that thenceforth drove him forward. With this realization came a new
+life, a happier and a sadder life, in which all things underwent
+readjustment.
+
+Regret came as sadness, regret that he had not told this woman
+all; that in his blind confidence he had not written, but had
+waited--waited for this. He would wait no longer. He would tell
+her now. A thousand new thoughts came to his mind; a thousand new
+feelings surged over him as a flood, and he poured them out on paper.
+The man himself, not the physician, was unfolded for the first time in
+his life, and the writing of that letter which told all, his life,
+his love, that ended with a good-bye which was forever, was the
+sweetest labor of his life. He sealed the letter and sat for hours
+looking at it, dreaming.
+
+It was summer and the nights were short, so that with the writing and
+the dreams, morning had come. He could scarce wait that day for the
+carrier; time to him had become suddenly a thing most precious; and
+when at last the man appeared. De Young twice exacted the promise
+that the letter should be mailed special delivery.
+
+The reaction was on and all the world was dark. Fool that he was, two
+years had passed since he had heard from her. She also was a
+consumptive; might not--?
+
+The very thought was torture; perspiration started at every pore, and
+with the little strength that was left he paced up and down the room
+like a caged animal. A fit of coughing, such as he had never known
+before, seized him, and he dropped full length upon the bed.
+
+The limit was reached; he slept.
+
+As he had worked one night before to forget, so he spent the following
+days. It was the end, and he knew it; but he no longer cared. His
+future was centred on one event--the coming of a letter. Beyond that
+all was shadow, and he cared not to explore. He worked all that Nature
+would allow, carrying to completion his observations, admitting his
+mistake with a candor which now caused no personal pain. He spent much
+time at his journal, writing needless things: his actions, his very
+thoughts,--things which could not have been wrung from him before;
+but he was lonely and desperate. He must not think--'t was madness. So
+he wrote and wrote and wrote.
+
+He watched for the carrier all the daylight hours. His mail was light,
+and the coming infrequent. There had been time for an answer, and the
+watcher could no longer compose himself to write. All day he sat in
+the doorway, looking across the two mounds, down the road whence the
+carrier would come.
+
+And at last he came. Far down the road toward town one morning a
+familiar moving figure grew distinct. De Young watched as though
+fascinated. He wanted to shout, to laugh, to cry. With an effort that
+sent his finger nails deep into his palms, he kept quiet, waiting.
+
+A letter was in the carrier's hand. Struck by the look on De Young's
+face, the postman did not turn, but stood near by watching. The exile,
+once the immovable, seized the missive feverishly, then paused to
+examine. It was a man's writing he held, and he winced as at a blow,
+but with a hand that was nerved too high to tremble, he tore open the
+envelope. He read the few words, and read again; then in a motion of
+weariness and hopelessness indescribable, hands and paper dropped.
+
+"My God! And she never knew," he whispered.
+
+When next the carrier came, he shaped the third mound.
+
+
+
+
+ARCADIA IN AVERNUS
+
+
+                  "_For they have sown the wind, and
+                   they shall reap the whirlwind._"
+
+
+CHAPTER I--PRELUDE
+
+
+Silence, the silence of double doors and of padded walls was upon the
+private room of the down-town office. Across the littered, ink-stained
+desk a man and a woman faced each other. Threads of gray lightened the
+hair of each. Faint lines, delicate as pencillings, marked the
+forehead of the woman and radiated from the angles of her eyes. A deep
+fissure unequally separated the brows of the man, and on his shaven
+face another furrow added firmness to the mouth. Their eyes met
+squarely, without a motion from faces imperturbable in middle age and
+knowledge of life.
+
+The man broke silence slowly.
+
+"You mean," he hesitated, "what that would seem to mean?"
+
+"Why not?" A shade of resentment was in the answering voice.
+
+"But you're a woman--"
+
+"Well--"
+
+"And married--"
+
+The note of resentment became positive. "What difference does that
+make?"
+
+"It ought to." The man spoke almost mechanically. "You took oath
+before man and higher than man--"
+
+The woman interrupted him shortly.
+
+"Another took oath with me and broke it." She leaned gracefully
+forward in the big chair until their eyes met. "I'm no longer bound."
+
+"But I--"
+
+"I love you!" she interjected.
+
+The man's eyebrows lifted.
+
+"Love?" he inflected.
+
+"Yes, love. What is love but good friendship--and sex?"
+
+The man was silent.
+
+A strong white hand slid under the woman's chin and her elbow met the
+desk.
+
+"I meant what you thought," she completed slowly.
+
+"But I cannot--"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It destroys all my ideas of things. Your promise to another--"
+
+"I say he's broken his promise to me."
+
+"But your being a woman--"
+
+"Why do you expect more of me because I'm a woman? Haven't I feelings,
+rights, as well as you who are a man?" She waited until he looked up.
+"I ask you again, won't you come?"
+
+The man arose and walked slowly back and forth across the narrow room.
+At length he stopped by her chair.
+
+"I cannot."
+
+In swift motion his companion stood up facing him.
+
+"Don't you wish to?" she challenged.
+
+The hand of the man dropped in outward motion of deprecation.
+
+"The question is useless. I'm human."
+
+"Why shouldn't we do what pleases us, then?" The voice was insistent.
+"What is life for if not for pleasure?"
+
+"Would it be pleasure, though? Wouldn't the future hold for us more
+of pain than of pleasure?"
+
+"No, never." The words came with a slowness that meant finality. "Why
+need to-morrow or a year from now be different from to-day unless we
+make it so?"
+
+"But it would change unconsciously. We'd think and hate ourselves."
+
+"For what reason? Isn't it Nature that attracts us to each other and
+can Nature be wrong?"
+
+"We can't always depend upon Nature," commented the man absently.
+
+"That's an artificial argument, and you know it." A reprimand was in
+her voice. "If you can't depend upon Nature to tell you what is right,
+what other authority can you consult?"
+
+"But Nature has been perverted," he evaded.
+
+"Isn't it possible your judgment instead is at fault?"
+
+"It can't be at fault, here." The voice was neutral as before.
+"Something tells us both it would be wrong--to do--as we want to
+do."
+
+Once more they sat down facing each other, the desk between them as at
+first.
+
+"Artificial convention, I tell you again." In motion graceful as
+nature the woman extended her hand, palm upward, on the polished desk
+top. "How could we be other than right? What do we mean by right,
+anyway? Is there any judge higher than our individual selves, and
+don't they tell us pleasure is the chief aim of life and as such must
+be right?"
+
+The muscles at the angle of the man's jaw tightened involuntarily.
+
+"But pleasure is not the chief end of life."
+
+"What is, then?"
+
+"Development--evolution."
+
+"Evolution to what?" she insisted.
+
+"That we cannot answer as yet. Future generations must and will give
+answer."
+
+"It's for this then that you deny yourself?" A shade almost of
+contempt was in the questioning voice.
+
+The taunt brought no change of expression to the man's face.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The woman walked over to a bookcase, and, drawing out a volume,
+turned the pages absently. Without reading a word, she came back and
+looked the man squarely in the face.
+
+"Will denying yourself help the world to evolve?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"How?"
+
+"My determination makes me a positive force. It is my Karma for good,
+that makes my child stronger to do things."
+
+"But you have no child,"--swiftly.
+
+Their eyes met again without faltering.
+
+"I shall have--sometime."
+
+Silence fell upon them.
+
+"Where were you a century ago?" digressed the woman.
+
+"I wasn't born."
+
+"Where will your child be a hundred years from now?"
+
+"Dead likewise, probably; but the force for good, the Karma of the
+life, will be passed on and remain in the world."
+
+Unconsciously they both rose to their feet.
+
+"Was man always on the earth?" she asked.
+
+The question was answered almost before spoken.
+
+"No."
+
+"Will he always be here?"
+
+"Science says 'no.'"
+
+The woman came a step forward until they almost touched.
+
+"What then becomes of your life of denial?" she challenged.
+
+"You make it hard for me," said the man, simply.
+
+"But am I not right?" She came toward him passionately. "I come near
+you, and you start." She laid her hand on his. "I touch you, and your
+eyes grow warm. Both our hearts beat more quickly. Look at the
+sunshine! It's brighter when we're so close together. What of life?
+It's soon gone--and then? What of convention that says 'no'? It's but
+a farce that gives the same thing we ask--at the price of a few words
+of mummery. Our strongest instincts of nature call for each other. Why
+shouldn't we obey them when we wish?" She hesitated, and her voice
+became tender. "We would be very happy together. Won't you come?"
+
+The man broke away almost roughly.
+
+"Don't you know," he demanded, "it's madness for us to be talking like
+this? We'll be taking it seriously, and then--"
+
+The woman made a swift gesture of protest.
+
+"Don't. Let's be honest--with each other, at least. I'm tired of
+pretending to be other than I am. Why did you say 'being true to my
+husband'? You know it's mockery. Is it being true to live with a man I
+hate because man's law demands it, rather than true to you whom
+Nature's law sanctions? Don't speak to me of society's right and
+wrong! I despise it. There is no other tribunal than Nature, and
+Nature says 'Come.'"
+
+The man sat down slowly and dropped his head wearily into his hands.
+
+"I say again, I cannot. I respect you too much. We're intoxicated now
+being together. In an hour, after we're separate--"
+
+She broke in on him passionately.
+
+"Do you think a woman says what I have said on the spur of the moment?
+Do you think I merely happened to see you to-day, merely happened to
+say what I've said? You know better. This has been coming for months.
+I fought it hard at first; with convention, with your idea of right
+and wrong. Now I laugh at them both. Life is life, and short, and
+beyond is darkness. Think what atoms we are; and we struggle so hard.
+Our life that seems to us so short--and so long! A thousand, perhaps
+ten thousand such, end to end, and we have the life of a world. And
+what is that? A cycle! A thing self-created, self-destructive: then of
+human life--nothingness. Oh, it's humorous! Our life, a ten thousandth
+part of that nothingness; and so full of tiny--great struggles and
+worries!" She was silent a moment, her throat trembling, a multitude
+of expressions shifting swiftly on her face.
+
+"Do you believe in God?" she questioned suddenly.
+
+"I hardly know. There must be--"
+
+"Don't you suppose, then, He's laughing at us now?" She hesitated
+again and then went on, almost unconsciously. "I had a dream a few
+nights ago." The voice was low and very soft. "It seemed I was alone
+in a desert place, and partial darkness was about me. I was conscious
+only of listening and wondering, for out of the shadow came sounds of
+human suffering. I waited with my heart beating strangely. Gradually
+the voices grew louder, until I caught the meaning of occasional words
+and distinctly saw coming toward me the figure of a man and a woman
+bearing a great burden, a load so great that both together bent
+beneath the weight and sweat stood thick upon their brows. The edges
+of the burden were very sharp so that the hands of the man and the
+woman bled from the wounds and their shoulders were torn grievously
+where the load had shifted: those of the woman more than the man, for
+she bore more of the weight. I marvelled at the sight.
+
+"Suddenly an intense brightness fell about me and I saw, near and
+afar, other figures each bearing similar burdens. The light passed
+away, and I drew near the man and questioned him.
+
+"'What rough load is that you carry?' I asked.
+
+"'The burden of conventionality,' answered the man, wearily and with a
+note of surprise in his voice.
+
+"'Why do you bear it needlessly?' I remonstrated.
+
+"'We dare not drop it,' said the woman, hopelessly, 'lest that light,
+which is the searchlight of public opinion, return, showing us
+different from the others.'
+
+"Even as she spoke the illumination again fell upon us, and by its
+brightness I saw a drop of blood gather slowly from the wounds on the
+woman's hand and fall into the dust at her feet."
+
+A silence fell upon the inmates of the tiny muffled office.
+
+"But the burden isn't useless," said the man, gently. "The condemnation
+of society is an hourly reality. From the patronage of others we live.
+The sun burns us, but we submit, for in return it gives life."
+
+The woman arose with an abrupt movement, and looked down at him
+coldly.
+
+"Are you a man, and use those arguments?" An expression akin to
+contempt formed about her mouth. "Are you afraid of a united voice the
+individuals of which you despise?"
+
+The first hint of restrained passion was in the answering voice.
+
+"You taunt me in safety, for you know I love you." He looked up at her
+unhesitatingly. "Man's law is artificial, that I know; but it's made
+for conditions which are artificial, and for such it's right. Were we
+as in the beginning, Nature's law, which beside the law of man is no
+law, would be right; but we're of the world as it is now. Things are
+as they are, and we must conform or pay the price." He hesitated. His
+face settled back into a mask. "And that price of non-conformity is
+too high," he completed steadily.
+
+The eyes of the woman blazed and her hands tightened convulsively.
+
+"Oh, you're frozen--fossilized, man! I called you man! You're not a
+man at all, but a nineteenth century machine! You're run like a motor,
+from a power house; by the force of conventional thought, over wires
+of red tape. Fie on you! I thought to meet a human being, not a
+lifeless thing." She looked at him steadily, her chin in the air, a
+world of scorn in her face. "Go on sweating beneath the useless load!
+Go on building your structure of artificiality that ends centuries
+from now in nothingness! Here's happiness to you in your empty life of
+self-effacement, with your machine prompted acts, years considered!"
+Without looking at him, one hand made scornful motion of dismissal.
+"Good-bye, ghost of man; I wash my hands of you."
+
+"Wait, Eleanor!" The man sprang to his feet, the mask lifting from his
+face, and there stood revealed a multitude of emotions, unseen of the
+world, that flashed from the depths of his brown eyes and quivered in
+the angles of his mouth. He came quickly over and took her hand
+between his own.
+
+"I'm proud of you,"--a world of tenderness was in his voice--"unspeakably
+proud--for I love you. I've done my best to keep us apart, yet all the
+time I believed with you. Nature is higher than man, and no power on
+earth can prove it otherwise." He looked into the softest of brown
+eyes, and his voice trembled. "Beside you the world is nothing. Its
+approval or its condemnation are things to be laughed at. With you I
+challenge conventionality--society--everything." He bent over her hand
+almost reverently and touched it softly with his lips.
+
+"Farewell--until I come," he said.
+
+
+CHAPTER II--THE LEAP
+
+
+A man and a woman emerged from the dilapidated day-car as it drew up
+before the tiny, sanded station which marked the terminus of the
+railway. The man was tall, clean-shaven, quick of step and of glance.
+The woman was likewise tall, well-gloved, and, strange phenomenon at a
+country station, carried no parcels.
+
+Though easily the centre of attention, the couple were far from being
+alone. On the contrary, the car and platform fairly swarmed with
+humanity. Men mostly composed the throng that alighted--big,
+weather-stained fellows in rough jeans and denims. In the background,
+as spectators moved or lounged a sprinkling of others: thinner,
+lighter, enveloped in felt, woollen and buckskin, a fringe of heavy
+hair peeping out at their backs beneath the broad hat-brims. A few
+women were intermingled. Coarsely gowned, sun-browned, they stood;
+themselves like suns, but each the centre of a system of bleach-haired
+minor satellites. It was into this heterogeneous mass that the tall
+man elbowed his way, a neat grip in either hand; the woman following
+closely in his wake, her skirts carefully lifted.
+
+Clear of the out-flowing stream the man put down the satchels, and
+looked over the heads of the motley crowd into the still more motley
+street beyond. Two short rows of one-story buildings, distinctive by
+the brightness of new lumber on their sheltered side, bordered a
+narrow street, half clogged by the teams of visiting farmers. Not the
+faintest clue to a hostelry was visible, and the eyes of the man
+wandered back, interrupting by the way another pair of eyes frankly
+inquisitive.
+
+The curious one was short; by comparison his face was still shorter,
+and round. From his chin a tiny tuft of whiskers protruded, like the
+handle of a gourd. Never was countenance more unmistakably labelled
+good-humored, Americanized German.
+
+The eyes of the tall man stopped.
+
+"Is there a hotel in this"--he groped for a classification--"this
+city?" he asked.
+
+A rattling sound, startlingly akin to the agitated contents of
+over-ripe vegetables, came from somewhere in the internal mechanism of
+the small man. Inferentially, the inquiry was amusing to the
+questioned, likewise the immediately surrounding listeners who became
+suddenly silent, gazing at the stranger with the wonder of young
+calves.
+
+At length the innate spirit of courtesy in the German triumphed over
+his amusement.
+
+"Hans Becher up by the postoffice takes folks in." The inward
+commotion showed indications of resumption. "I never heard, though,
+that he called his place a hotel!"
+
+"Thank you," and the circle of silence widened.
+
+The man and the woman walked up the street. Beneath their feet the
+cottonwood sidewalk, despite its newness, was warped in agony under
+sun and storm. Big puddles of water from a recent rain stood in the
+hollows of the roadway, side by side with tufts of native grasses
+fighting bravely for life against the intruder--Man. A fresh,
+indescribable odor was in their nostrils; an odor which puzzled them
+then, but which later they learned to recognize and never forgot--the
+pungent scent of buffalo grass. A stillness, deeper than of Sabbath,
+unbelievable to urban ears, wrapped all things, and united with an
+absence of broken sky line, to produce an all-pervading sense of
+loneliness.
+
+Hans Becher did not belie his name. He was very German. Likewise the
+little woman who courtesied at his side. Ditto the choice assortment
+of inquisitive tow-heads, who stared wide-eyed from various corners.
+He shook hands at the door with each of his guests,--which action also
+was unmistakably German.
+
+"You would in my house--put up, you call it?" he inquired in labored
+English, while the little woman polished two speckless chairs with her
+apron, and with instinctive photographic art placed them stiffly side
+by side for the visitors.
+
+"Yes, we'd like to stay with you for a time," corroborated the tall
+man.
+
+The little German ran his fingers uncertainly through his hair for a
+moment; then his round face beamed.
+
+"We should then become to each other known. Is it not so?" Without
+pausing for an answer, he put out a big hand to each in turn. "I am
+Hans Becher, and this"--with elaborate indications--"this my wife
+is--Minna."
+
+Minna courtesied dutifully, lower than before. The little Bechers were
+not classified, but their connection was apparent. They calmly sucked
+their thumbs.
+
+The lords of creation obviously held the rostrum. It was the tall man
+who responded.
+
+"My name is Maurice, Ichabod Maurice." He looked at the woman, his
+companion, from the corner of his eye. "Allow me, Camilla, to present
+Mr. Becher." Then turning to his hosts, "Camilla Maurice: Mr. and Mrs.
+Becher."
+
+The tall lady shook hands with each.
+
+"Pleased to meet you," she said, and smiled a moment into their eyes.
+Thus Camilla Maurice made friends.
+
+There were a few low-spoken words in German and Minna vanished.
+
+"She will dinner make ready," Hans explained.
+
+The visitors sat down in their chairs, with Hans opposite studying
+them narrowly; singly and together.
+
+"The town is very new," suggested Ichabod.
+
+"One year ago it was not." The German's short legs crossed each other
+nervously and their owner seized the opportunity to make further
+inspection. "It is very new," he repeated absently.
+
+Camilla Maurice stood up.
+
+"Might we wash, Mr. Becher?" she asked.
+
+The ultimate predicament was all at once staring the little man in the
+face.
+
+"To be sure.... I might have known.... You will a room--desire." ...
+He ran his fingers through his hair, and inspiration came. "Mr.
+Maurice," he motioned, "might I a moment with you--speak?"
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Becher."
+
+The German saw light, and fairly beamed as he sought the safe
+seclusion of the doorway.
+
+"She is your sister or cousin--_nein_?" he asked.
+
+There was the faintest suggestion of a smile in the corners of
+Ichabod's mouth.
+
+"No, she is neither my sister nor my cousin, Mr. Becher."
+
+Hans heaved a sigh of relief: it had been a close corner.
+
+"She is your wife. One must know," and he mopped his brow.
+
+"Certainly--one must know," very soberly.
+
+Alone together in the little unfinished room under the rafters, the
+woman sat down on the corner of the bed, physical discomfort forgotten
+in feminine curiosity.
+
+"Those names--where did you get them?" she queried.
+
+"They came to me--at the moment," smiled the man.
+
+"But the cold-blooded horror of them!... Ichabod!"
+
+"The glory has departed."
+
+His companion started, and the smile left the man's face.
+
+"And Camilla?"--slowly.
+
+"Attendant at a sacrifice."
+
+Of a sudden the room became very still.
+
+Ichabod, exploring, discovered a tiny wash basin and a bucket of
+water.
+
+"You wished to wash, Camilla?"
+
+The woman did not move.
+
+"They were very kind"--she looked through the window with the tiny
+panes: "have we any right to--lie to them?"
+
+"We have not lied."
+
+"Tacitly."
+
+"No. I'm Ichabod Maurice and you're Camilla Maurice. We have not
+lied."
+
+"But--"
+
+"The past is dead, dead!"
+
+The woman's face dropped into her hands. Woman ever weeps instinctively
+for the dead.
+
+"You are sorry that it is--so?" There was no bitterness in the man's
+voice, but he did not look at her, and Camilla misunderstood.
+
+"Sorry!" She came close, and a soft warm face pressed tightly against
+his face. "Sorry!" Her arms were around him. "Sorry!" again repeated.
+"No! No! No! No, without end! I'm not sorry. I'm Camilla Maurice, the
+happiest woman in the world!"
+
+Later they utilized the tin basin and the mirror with a crack across
+its centre. Dinner was waiting when they went below.
+
+To a casual observer, Hans had been very idle while they were gone. He
+sat absently on the doorstep, watching the grass that grew almost
+visibly in the warm spring sun. Occasionally he tapped his forehead
+with his finger tips. It helped him to think, and just now he sadly
+needed assistance.
+
+"Who were these people, anyway?" he wondered. Not farmers, certainly.
+Farmers did not have hands that dented when you pressed them, and
+farmers' wives did not lift their skirts daintily from behind. Hans
+had been very observant as his visitors came up the muddy street. No,
+that was not the way of farmers' wives: they took hold at the sides
+with both hands, and splashed right through on their heels.
+
+Hans pulled the yellow tuft on his chin. What could they be, then? Not
+summer boarders. It was only early spring; and, besides, although the
+little German was an optimist, even he could not imagine any one
+selecting a Dakota prairie for an outing. Yet ... No, they could not
+be summer boarders.
+
+But what then? In his intensity Hans actually forgot the grass and,
+unfailing producer of inspiration, ran his fingers frantically through
+his mane.
+
+"Ah--at last--of course!" The round face beamed and a hard hand smote
+a harder knee, joyously. That he had not remembered at once! It was
+the new banker, to be sure. He would tell Minna, quite as a matter of
+fact, for there could be no mistake. Hank Judge, the machine agent,
+and Eli Stevens, the proprietor of the corner store, had said only
+yesterday there was to be a bank. Looking up the street the little man
+spied a familiar figure, and sprang to his feet as though released by
+a spring, his hand already in the air. There was Hank Judge, now, and
+he didn't know--
+
+"Dinner, Hans," announced Minna at his elbow.
+
+Holding the child of his brain hard in both hands lest it should
+escape prematurely, the little German went inside to preside over a
+repast, the distinctively German incense of which ascended most
+appetizingly.
+
+Hans, junior, in a childish treble, spoke an honest little German
+blessing, beginning "_Mein Vater von Himmel_," and emphasized by the
+raps of Hans senior's knuckles on certain other small heads to keep
+their owners quiet.
+
+"Fresh lettuce and radishes!" commented Camilla, joyously.
+
+"Raised in our own garden _hinein_," bobbed Minna, in ecstasy.
+
+"And sauerkraut--" began Ichabod.
+
+"From cabbages so large," completed Hans, spreading his arms to
+designate an imaginary vegetable of heroic proportions.
+
+"They must have grown very fast to be so large in May," commented
+Camilla.
+
+Hans and Minna exchanged glances--pitying, superior glances--such as
+we give behind the backs of the infirm, or the very old; and the
+subject of vegetables dropped.
+
+"A great country for a bank, this," commented Mr. Becher, with
+infinite _finesse_ and between intermittent puffs at a hot potato.
+
+"Is that so?"
+
+Hans nodded violent confirmation, then words, English words, being
+valuable to him, he came quickly to the test.
+
+"You will build for the bank yourself, is it not so?"
+
+It was not the German and Minna who exchanged glances this time.
+
+"No, I shall not build for the bank myself, Mr. Becher."
+
+"You will rent, perhaps?" Hans's faith was beautiful.
+
+"No, I shall not rent."
+
+The German's face fell. To have wasted all that thought; for after all
+it was not the banker!
+
+Minna, senior, stared in surprise, and her attention being diverted,
+Minna the younger seized the opportunity to inundate herself with a
+cup of hot coffee.
+
+The spell was broken.
+
+"I'm going to take a homestead," explained Ichabod.
+
+Hans's fork paused in mid-air and his mouth forgot to close. At the
+point where the German struck, the earth was very hard.
+
+"So?" he interrogated, weakly.
+
+At this juncture the difference between the two Minnas, which had been
+transferred from the table to the kitchen, was resumed; and although
+Ichabod ate the remaining kraut to the last shred, and Camilla talked
+to Hans of the _Vaterland_ in his native German, each knew the
+occasion was a failure. An ideal had been raised, the ideal of a
+Napoleon of finance, a banker; and that ideal materializing, lo there
+stood forth a farmer! _Ach Gott von Himmel!_
+
+After dinner Hans stood in the doorway and pointed out the land-office.
+Ichabod thanked him, and under the impulse of habit felt in his
+pocket for a cigar. None was there, and all at once he remembered
+Ichabod Maurice did not smoke. Strange he should have such an
+abominable inclination to do so just then; but nevertheless the fact
+remained. Ichabod Maurice never had smoked.
+
+He started up the street.
+
+A small man, with very high boots and a very long moustache, sat
+tipped back in the sun in front of the land-office. He was telling a
+story; a good one, judging from the attention of the row of listeners.
+He grasped the chair tightly with his left hand while his right,
+holding a cob pipe, gesticulated actively. The story halted abruptly
+as Ichabod came up.
+
+"Howdy!" greeted the little man.
+
+Maurice nodded.
+
+"Don't let me interrupt you," he temporized.
+
+"Not at all," courtesied the teller of stories, as he led the way
+inside. "I've told that one until I'm tired of it, anyway." He tapped
+the ashes from his pipe-bowl, meditatively. "A fellow has to kill the
+time some way, though, you know."
+
+"Yes, I know," acquiesced Ichabod.
+
+The agent took a chair behind the battered pine desk, and pointed to
+another opposite.
+
+"Any way I can help you?" he suggested.
+
+"Yes," answered Maurice. "I'm thinking of taking a homestead."
+
+The agent looked his visitor up and down and back again; then, being
+native born, his surprise broke forth in idiom.
+
+"Well, I'm jiggered!" he avowed.
+
+It was Ichabod's turn to make observation.
+
+"I believe you; you look it," he corroborated at length.
+
+Again the little man stared; and in the silence following, a
+hungry-looking bird-dog thrust his thin muzzle in at the door, and
+sniffed.
+
+"Get out," shouted the owner at the intruder, adding in extenuation:
+"I'm busy." He certainly was "jiggered."
+
+Ichabod came to the rescue.
+
+"I called to learn how one goes at it to take a claim," he explained.
+"The _modus operandi_ isn't exactly clear in my mind."
+
+The agent braced up in his chair.
+
+"I suppose you'll say it's none of my business," he commented, "but as
+a speculation you'd do a lot better to buy up the claims of poor
+cusses who have to relinquish, than to settle yourself."
+
+"I'm not speculating. I expect to build a house, and live here."
+
+"As a friend, then, let me tell you you'll never stand it." A stubby
+thumb made motion up the narrow street. "You see this town. I won't
+say what it is--you realize for yourself; but bad as it is, it's
+advanced civilization alongside of the country. You'll have to go ten
+miles out to get any land that's not taken." He stopped and lit his
+pipe. "Do you know what it means to live alone ten miles out on the
+prairie?"
+
+"I've never lived in the country."
+
+"I'll tell you, then, what it means." He put down his pipe and looked
+out at the open door. His face changed; became softer, milder,
+younger. His voice, when he spoke, added to the impression of
+reminiscence, bearing an almost forgotten tone of years ago.
+
+"The prairie!" he apostrophized. "It means the loneliest place on
+God's earth. It means that living there, in life you bury yourself,
+your hopes, your ambitions. It means you work ever to forget the
+past--and fail. It means self, always; morning, noon, night; until the
+very solitude becomes an incubus. It means that in time you die, or,
+from being a man, become as the cattle." The speaker turned for the
+first time to the tall man before him, his big blue eyes wide open and
+round, his voice an entreaty.
+
+"Don't move into it, man. It's death and worse than death to such as
+you! You're too old to begin. One must be born to the life; must
+never have known another. Don't do it, I say."
+
+Ichabod Maurice, listening, read in that appeal, beneath the words,
+the wild, unsatisfied tale of a disappointed human life.
+
+"You are dissatisfied, lonesome--There was a time years ago
+perhaps--"
+
+"I don't know." The glow had passed and the face was old again, and
+heavy. "I remember nothing. I'm dead, dead." He drew a rough map from
+his pocket and spread it out before him.
+
+"If you'll move close, please, I'll show you the open lands."
+
+For an hour he explained homesteads, preemptions and tree claims, and
+the method of filing and proving up. At parting, Ichabod held out his
+hand.
+
+"I thank you for your advice," he said.
+
+The man behind the desk puffed stolidly.
+
+"But don't intend to follow it," he completed.
+
+Instinctively, metaphor sprang to the lips of Ichabod Maurice.
+
+"A small speck of circumstance, which is near, obliterates much that
+is in the distance." He turned toward the door. "I shall not be
+alone."
+
+The little agent smoked on in silence for some minutes, gazing
+motionless at the doorway through which Ichabod had passed out. Again
+the lean bird-dog thrust in an apologetic head, dutifully awaiting
+recognition. At length the man shook his pipe clean, and leaned back
+in soliloquy.
+
+"Man, woman, human nature; habit, solitude, the prairie." He spoke
+each word slowly, and with a shake of his head. "He's mad, mad; but I
+pity him"--a pause--"for I know."
+
+The dog whined an interruption from the doorway, and the man looked
+up.
+
+"Come in, boy," he said, in recognition.
+
+
+CHAPTER III--THE WONDER OF PRAIRIE
+
+
+Ichabod and Camilla selected their claim together. A fair day's drive
+it was from the little town; a half-mile from the nearest neighbor, a
+Norwegian, without two-score English words in his vocabulary. Level it
+was, as the surface of a lake or the plane of a railroad bed.
+
+Together, too, they chose the spot for their home. Camilla sobbed over
+the word; but she was soon dry-eyed and smiling again. Afterwards,
+side by side, they did much journeying to and from the nearest
+sawmill--each trip through a day and a night--thirty odd miles away.
+The mill was a small, primitive affair, almost lost in the straggling
+box-elders and soft maples that bordered the muddy Missouri,
+producing, amid noisy protestations, the most despisable of all lumber
+on the face of the globe--twisting, creeping, crawling cottonwood.
+
+Having the material on the spot, Ichabod built the house himself,
+after a plan never before seen of man; joint product of his and
+Camilla's brains. It took a month to complete; and in the meantime,
+each night they threw their tired bodies on the brown earth,
+indifferent to the thin canvas, which alone was spread between them
+and the stars.
+
+Too utterly weary for immediate sleep, they listened to the sounds of
+animal life--wholly unfamiliar to ears urban trained--as they stood
+out distinct by contrast with a silence otherwise absolute as the
+grave.
+
+... The sharp bark of the coyote, near or far away; soft as an echo,
+the gently cadenced tremolo of the prairie owl. To these, the mere
+opening numbers of the nightly concerts, the two exotics would listen
+wonderingly; then, of a sudden, typical, indescribable, lonely as
+death, there would boom the cry which, as often as it was repeated,
+recalled to Ichabod's mind the words of the little man in the
+land-office, "loneliest sound on earth"--the sound which, once heard,
+remains forever vivid--the night call of the prairie rooster. Even
+now, new and fascinating as it all was, at the last wailing cry the
+two occupants of the tent would reach out in the darkness until their
+hands met. Not till then would they sleep.
+
+In May, they finished and moved their few belongings into the odd
+little two-room house. True to instinct, Ichabod had built a
+fireplace, though looking in any direction until the earth met the
+sky, not a tree was visible; and Camilla had added a cozy reading
+corner, which soon developed into a sleeping corner,--out-of-door
+occupations in sun and wind being insurmountable obstacles to mental
+effort.
+
+But what matter! One straggling little folio, the local newspaper,
+made its way into the corner each week--and that was all. They had cut
+themselves off from the world, deliberately, irrevocably. It was but
+natural that they should sleep. All dead things sleep!
+
+Month after month slipped by, and the first ripple of local excitement
+and curiosity born of their advent subsided. Ichabod knew nothing of
+farming, but to learn was simple. It needed only that he watch what
+his neighbors were doing, and proceed to do likewise. He learned soon
+to hold a breaking-plough in the tough prairie sod, and to swear
+mightily when it balked at an unusually tough root. As well, he came
+to know the oily feel of flax as he scattered it by hand over the
+brown breaking. Later he learned the smell of buckwheat blossoms, and
+the delicate green coloring of sod corn, greener by contrast with its
+dark background.
+
+Nor was Camilla idle. The dresses she had brought with her, dainty
+creations of foreign make, soon gave way to domestic productions of
+gingham and print. In these, the long brown hands neatly gloved, she
+struggled with a tiny garden, becoming in ratio as passed the weeks,
+warmer, browner, and healthier.
+
+"Are you happy?" asked Ichabod, one day, observing her thus amid the
+fruits of her hands.
+
+Camilla hesitated. Catching her hand, Ichabod lifted her chin so that
+their eyes met.
+
+"Tell me, are you happy?" he repeated.
+
+Another pause, though her eyes did not falter.
+
+"Happier than I ever thought to be." She touched his sleeve tenderly.
+"But not completely so, for--" she was not looking at him now,--"for
+I love you, and--and--I'm a woman."
+
+They said no more; and though Ichabod went back to his team, it was
+not to work. For many minutes he stood motionless, a new problem of
+right and wrong throbbing in his brain.
+
+Fall came slowly, bringing the drowsy, hazy days of so-called Indian
+Summer. It was the season of threshing, and all day long to the drowse
+of the air was added, near and afar, all-pervading through the
+stillness, the sleepy hum of the separator. Typical voice of the
+prairie was that busy drone, penetrating to the ears as the ubiquitous
+odor of the buffalo grass to the nostril, again bearing resemblance in
+that, once heard, memory would reproduce the sound until recollection
+was no more.
+
+Winter followed, and they, who had thought the earth quiet before,
+found it still now indeed. Even the voice of the prairie-chicken was
+hushed; only the sharp knife-like cutting of spread wings told of a
+flock's passage at night. The level country, mottled white with
+occasional drifts, and brown from spots blown bare by the wind,
+stretched out seemingly interminable, until the line of earth and sky
+met.
+
+Idle perforce, the two exotics would stand for hours in the sunshine
+of their open doorway, shading their eyes from the glare and looking
+out, out into the distance that was as yet only a name--and that the
+borrowed name of an Indian tribe.
+
+"What a country!" Camilla would say, struck each time anew with a
+never-ending wonder.
+
+"Yes, what a country," Ichabod would echo, unconscious that he had
+repeated the same words in the same way a score of times before.
+
+In January, a blizzard settled upon them, and for two days and nights
+they took turns keeping the big kitchen stove red hot. The West knows
+no such storms, now. Man has not only changed the face of the earth,
+but, in so doing, has annihilated that terror of the past--the Dakota
+blizzard.
+
+In those days, though, it was very real, as Ichabod learned. He had
+prepared for winter, by hauling a huge pile of cordwood and stacking
+it, as a protection to windward, the full length of the little cabin,
+thinking the spot always accessible; but he had builded in ignorance.
+
+The snow first commenced falling in the afternoon. By the next morning
+the tiny house was buried to the window sashes. Looking out, there
+could be seen but an indistinct slanting white wall, scarcely ten feet
+away: a screen through which the sunlight filtered dimly, like the
+solemn haze of a church. The earth was not silent, now. The falling of
+the sleet and snow was as the striking of fine shot, and the sound of
+the wind a steady unceasing moan, resembling the sigh of a big dynamo
+at a distance.
+
+Slowly, inch by inch, during that day the snow crept up the window
+panes until, before the coming of darkness without, it fell within.
+Banked though they were on three sides, on the fourth side,
+unprotected, the cold penetrated bitterly,--a cold no living thing
+could withstand without shelter. Then it was that Ichabod and Camilla
+feared to sleep, and that the long vigil began.
+
+By the next morning there was no light from the windows. The snow had
+drifted level with the eaves. Ichabod stood in the narrow window
+frame, and, lowering the glass from the top, beat a hole upward with a
+pole to admit air. Through the tunnel thus formed there filtered the
+dull gray light of day: and at its end, obstructing, there stood
+revealed a slanting drab wall,--a condensed milky way.
+
+The storm was yet on, and he closed the window. To get outside for
+fuel that day was impossible, so with an axe Ichabod chopped a hole
+through the wall into the big pile, and on wood thus secured sawed
+steadily in the tiny kitchen, while the kerosene lamp at his side
+sputtered, and the fire crackled in a silence, like that surrounding a
+hunted animal in its den.
+
+Many usual events had occurred in the lives of the wandering Ichabod
+and Camilla, which had been forgotten; but the memory of that day, the
+overwhelming, incontestible knowledge of the impotency of wee,
+restless, inconsequent man, they were never to forget.
+
+"Tiny, tiny, mortal!" laughed the storm. "To think you would combat
+Nature, would defy her, the power of which I am but one of many, many
+manifestations!" And it laughed again. The two prisoners, listening,
+their ears to the tunnel, heard the sound, and felt to the full its
+biting mockery.
+
+Next day the siege was raised, and the sun smiled as only the sun can
+smile upon miles and miles of dazzling snow crystals. Ichabod climbed
+out--by way of the window route--and worked for hours with a shovel
+before he had a channel from the tiny, submerged shanty to the light
+of day beyond. Then together he and Camilla stood side by side in the
+doorway, as they had done so many times before, looking about them at
+the boundless prairie, drifted in waves of snow like the sea: the
+wonder of it all, ever new, creeping over them.
+
+"What a country!" voiced Camilla.
+
+"What a country, indeed," echoed Ichabod.
+
+"Lonely and mysterious as Death."
+
+"Yes, as Death or--Life."
+
+
+CHAPTER IV--A REVELATION
+
+
+Time, unchanging automaton, moved on until late spring. Paradox of
+nature, the warm brown tints of chilly days gave place under the heat
+of slanting suns to the cool green of summer. All at once, sudden as
+though autochthonal, there appeared meadow-larks and blackbirds: dead
+weeds or man-erected posts serving in lieu of trees as vantage points
+from which to sing. Ground squirrels whistled cheerily from newly
+broken fields and roadways. Coveys of quail, tame as barn-yard fowls,
+played about the beaten paths, and ran pattering in the dust ahead of
+each passing team. Again, from its winter's rest, lonely, uncertain as
+to distance, came the low, booming call of the prairie rooster. Nature
+had awakened, and the joy of that awakening was upon the land.
+
+Of a morning in May the faded, dust-covered day-coach drew in at the
+tiny prairie village. A little man alighted. He stood a moment on the
+platform, his hands deep in his pockets, a big black cigar between his
+teeth, and looked out over the town. The coloring of the short
+straggling street was more weather-stained than a year ago, yet still
+very new, and the newcomer smiled as he looked; a big broad smile that
+played about his lips, turning up the corners of his brown moustache,
+showing a flash of white teeth, and lighting a pair of big blue eyes
+which lay, like a woman's, beneath heavy lashes. In youth, that smile
+would have been a grin; but it was no grin now. The man was far from
+youth, and about the mouth and eyes were deep lines, which told of one
+who knew of the world.
+
+Slowly the smile disappeared, and as it faded the little man puffed
+harder at the cigar. Evidently something he particularly wished to
+explain would not become clear to his mind.
+
+"Of all places," he soliloquized, "to have chosen--this!"
+
+He started up the street, over the irregular warping sidewalk.
+
+"Hotel, sir-r?" The formula was American, the trilling r's distinctly
+German.
+
+The traveller turned at the sound, to make acquaintance with Hans
+Becher; for it was Hans Becher, very much metamorphosed from the
+retiring German of a year ago. He made the train regularly now.
+
+The small man nodded and held out his grip; together they walked up
+the street. In front of the hotel they stopped, and the stranger
+pulled out his watch.
+
+"Is there a livery here?" he asked.
+
+"Yes; at the street end--the side to the left hand."
+
+"Thanks. I'll be back with you this evening."
+
+Hans Becher stared, open-mouthed, as the man moved off.
+
+"You will not to dinner return?"
+
+The little man stopped, and smiled without apparent reason.
+
+"No. Keep the grip. I expect to lunch," again he smiled without
+provocation, "elsewhere. By the way," he added, as an afterthought,
+"can you tell me where Mr. Maurice--Ichabod Maurice--lives?"
+
+The German nodded violent confirmation of a direction indicated by his
+free hand.
+
+"Straight out, eight miles. Little house with _paint_"--strong
+emphasis on the last--"_white_ paint."
+
+"Thanks."
+
+Hans saw the escape of an opportunity.
+
+"They are friends of yours, perhaps?"--he grasped at it.
+
+The little man did not turn, but the smile that seemed almost a habit,
+sprang to his face.
+
+"Yes, they're--friends of mine," he corroborated.
+
+Hans, personification of knowledge, stood bobbing on the doorstep,
+until the trail of smoke vanished from sight, then brought the satchel
+inside and set it down hard.
+
+"Her brother has come," he announced to the wide-eyed Minna.
+
+"_Wessen Bruder?_" Minna was obviously excited, as attested by the
+lapse from English.
+
+"Are we not now Americans naturalized?" rebuked Hans, icily. Suddenly
+he thawed. "Whose brother! The brother of Camilla Maurice, to be
+sure."
+
+Minna scrutinized the bag, curiously.
+
+"Did he so--inform you?" she questioned unadvisedly.
+
+"It was not necessary. I have eyes."
+
+Offended masculine dignity clumped noisily toward the door;
+instinctive feminine diplomacy sprang to the rescue.
+
+"You are so wise, Hans!"
+
+And Peace, sweet Peace, returned to the household of Becher.
+
+Meanwhile the little man had secured a buggy, and was jogging out into
+the country. He drove very leisurely, looking about him curiously. Of
+a sudden he threw down his cigar, and sniffed at the air.
+
+"Buffalo grass, I'll wager! I've heard of it," and in the instinctive
+action of every newcomer he sniffed again.
+
+Camilla Maurice sat in front of her tiny house, the late morning sun
+warm about her; one hand supported a book, slanted carefully to avoid
+the light, the other held the crank of a barrel-churn. As she read,
+she turned steadily, the monotonous _chug!_ _chug!_ of the tumbling
+cream drowning all other sounds.
+
+Suddenly the shadow of a horse passed her and a rough livery buggy
+stopped at her side. She looked up. Instinctively her hand dropped the
+crank, and her face turned white; then equally involuntarily she
+returned to her work, and the _chug!_ _chug!_ continued.
+
+"Does Ichabod Maurice," drawling emphasis on the name, "live here?"
+asked a voice.
+
+"He does." Camilla's chin was trembling; her answer halted abruptly.
+
+The man looked down at her, genuine amusement depicted upon his face.
+
+"Won't you please stop your work for a moment, Camilla?"
+
+With the name, one hand made swift movement of deprecation. "Pardon if
+I mistake, but I take it you're Camilla Maurice?"
+
+"Yes, I'm Camilla Maurice."
+
+"Quite so! You see, Ichabod and I were old chums together in
+college--all that sort of thing; consequently I've always wanted to
+meet--"
+
+The woman stood up. Her face still was very white, but her chin did
+not tremble now.
+
+"Let's stop this farce," she insisted. "What is it you wish?"
+
+The man in the buggy again made a motion of deprecation.
+
+"I was just about to say, that happening to be in town, and
+incidentally hearing the name, I wondered if it were possible.... But,
+pardon, I haven't introduced myself. Allow me--" and he bowed
+elaborately. "Arnold, Asa Arnold.... You've heard Ichabod mention my
+name, perhaps?"
+
+The woman held up her hand.
+
+"Again I ask, what do you wish?"
+
+"Since you insist, first of all I'd like to speak a moment with
+Ichabod." His face changed suddenly. "For Heaven's sake, Eleanor, if
+he must alter his name, why did he choose such a barbaric substitute
+as Ichabod?"
+
+"Were he here"--evenly--"he'd doubtless explain that himself."
+
+"He's not here, then?" No banter in the voice now.
+
+"Never fear"--quickly--"he'll return."
+
+A moment they looked into each other's eyes; challengingly, as they
+had looked unnumbered times before.
+
+"As you suggest, Eleanor," said the man, slowly, "this farce has gone
+far enough. Where may I tie this horse? I wish to speak with you."
+
+Camilla pointed to a post, and silently went toward the house. Soon
+the man followed her, stopping a moment to take a final puff at his
+cigar before throwing it away.
+
+Within the tiny kitchen they sat opposite, a narrow band of warm
+spring sunshine creeping in at the open door separating them. The
+woman looked out over the broad prairie, her color a trifle higher
+than usual, the lids of her eyes a shade nearer together--that was
+all. The man crossed his legs and waited, looking so small that he
+seemed almost boyish. In the silence, the drone of feeding poultry
+came from the back-yard, and the sleepy breathing of the big collie on
+the steps sounded plainly through the room.
+
+A minute passed. Neither spoke. Then, with a shade of annoyance, the
+man shifted in his chair.
+
+"I thought, perhaps, you'd have something you wished to say. If not,
+however--" He paused meaningly.
+
+"You said a moment ago, you wished to speak to _me_."
+
+"As usual, you make everything as difficult as possible." The shade of
+annoyance became positive. "Such being the case, we may as well come
+to the point. How soon do you contemplate bringing this--this incident
+to a close?"
+
+"The answer to that question concerns me alone."
+
+An ordinary man would have laughed; but Asa Arnold was not an ordinary
+man--not at this time.
+
+"As your husband, I can't agree with you."
+
+Camilla Maurice took up his words, quickly.
+
+"You mistake. You're the husband of Eleanor Owen. I'm not she."
+
+The man went on calmly, as though there had been no interruption.
+
+"I don't want to be hard on you, Eleanor. I don't think I have been
+hard on you. A year has passed, and I've known you were here from the
+first day. But this sort of thing can't go on indefinitely; there's a
+limit, even to good nature. I ask you again, when are you coming
+back?"
+
+The woman looked at her companion, for the first time steadily. Even
+she, who knew him so well, felt a shade of wonder at the man who could
+adjust all the affairs of his life in the same voice with which he
+ordered his dinner. Before, she had always thought this attitude of
+his pure affectation. Now she knew better, knew it mirrored the man
+himself. He had done this thing. Knowing her whereabouts all the time,
+he had allotted her the past year, as an employer would grant a
+holiday to an assistant. Now he asked her to return to the old life,
+as calmly as one returns in the fall to the city home after an outing!
+Only one man in the world could have done that thing, and that man was
+before her--her husband by law--Asa Arnold!
+
+The wonder of it all crept into her voice.
+
+"I'm not coming back, can't you understand? I'm never coming back,"
+she repeated.
+
+The man arose and stood in the doorway.
+
+"Don't say that," he said very quietly. "Not yet. I won't begin, now,
+after all these years to make protestations of love. The thing called
+Love we've discussed too often already, and without result. Anyway,
+that's not the point. We never pretended to be lovers, even when we
+were married. We were simply useful, very useful to each other."
+
+Camilla started to interrupt him, but, preventing, he held up his
+hand.
+
+"We talked over a certain possibility--one now a reality--before we
+were married." He caught the look upon her face. "I don't say it was
+ideal. It simply _was_," he digressed slowly in answer, then hurried
+on: "That was only five years ago, Eleanor, and we were far from
+young." He looked at her, searchingly. "You've not forgotten the
+contract we drew up, that stood above the marriage obligation, above
+everything, supreme law for you and me?" Instinctively his hand went
+to an inner pocket, where the rustle of a paper answered his touch.
+"Remember; it's not a favor I ask of you, but the fulfilment of your
+own word. Think a moment before you say you'll never return."
+
+Camilla Maurice found an answer very difficult. Had he been angry, or
+abusive, it would have been easy; but as it was--
+
+"You overlook the fact of change. A lifetime isn't required for
+that."
+
+"I overlook nothing." The man went back to his chair. "You remember,
+as well as I, that we considered the problem of change--and laughed at
+it. I repeat, we're no longer in swaddling clothes."
+
+"Be that as it may, I tell you the whole world looks different to me
+now." The speaker struggled bravely, but the ghastliness of such a
+discussion wore on her nerves, and her face twitched. "No power on
+earth could make me keep that contract since I've changed."
+
+The suggestion of a smile played about the man's mouth.
+
+"You've succeeded, perhaps, in finding that for which we searched so
+long in vain, an aesthetic, non-corporeal love?"
+
+"I refuse to answer a question which was intended as an insult."
+
+The words out of her mouth, the woman regretted them.
+
+"Though quick yourself to take offence, you seem at no great pains to
+avoid giving affront to another." The man voiced the reprimand
+without the twitch of an eyelid, and finished with another question:
+"Have you any reason for doing as you've done, other than the one you
+gave?"
+
+"Reason! Reason!" Camilla Maurice stared again. "Isn't it reason
+enough that I love him, and don't love you? Isn't it sufficient reason
+to one who has lived until middle life in darkness that a ray of light
+is in sight? Of all people in the world, you're the one who should
+understand the reason best!"
+
+"Would any of those arguments be sufficient to break another
+contract?"
+
+"No, but one I didn't mention would. Even when I lived with you, I was
+of no more importance than a half-dozen other women."
+
+"You didn't protest at time of the agreement. You knew then my belief
+and," Arnold paused meaningly, "your own."
+
+A memory of the past came to the woman; the dark, lonely past, which,
+even yet, after so many years, came to her like a nightmare; the time
+when she was a stranger in a strange town, without joy of past or hope
+of future; most lonely being on God's earth, a woman with an
+ambition--and without friends.
+
+"I was mad--I see it now--lonely mad. I met you. Our work was alike,
+and we were very useful to each other." One white hand made motion of
+repugnance at the thought. "I was mad, I say."
+
+"Is that your excuse for ignoring a solemn obligation?" Arnold looked
+her through. "Is that your excuse for leaving me for another, without
+a word of explanation, or even the conventional form of a divorce?"
+
+"It was just that explanation--this--I wished to avoid. It's hard for
+us both, and useless."
+
+"Useless!" The man quickly picked up the word. "Useless! I don't like
+the suggestion of that word. It hints of death, and old age, and
+hateful things. It has no place with the living."
+
+He drew a paper from his pocket, slowly, and spread it on his knee.
+
+"Pardon me for again recalling past history, Eleanor; but to use
+a word that is dead!... You must have forgotten--" The writing,
+a dainty, feminine hand, was turned toward her, tauntingly,
+compellingly.
+
+The man waited for some response; but Camilla Maurice was silent. That
+bit of paper, the shadow of a seemingly impossible past, made her, for
+the time, question her identity, almost doubt it.
+
+Five years ago, almost to the day, high up in a city building, in a
+dainty little room, half office, half _atelier_, a man and a woman had
+copied an agreement, each for the other, and had sworn an oath ever to
+remain true to that solemn bond.... She had brought nothing to him,
+but herself; not even affection. He, on the other hand, had saved her
+from a life of drudgery by elevating her to a position where, free of
+the necessity of struggling for a bare existence, she might hope to
+consummate the fruition of at least a part of her dreams. On her
+part....
+
+"_Witnesseth: The said Eleanor Owen is at liberty to follow her own
+inclinations as she may see fit; she is to remain free of any and all
+responsibilities and restrictions such as customarily attach to the
+supervision of a household, excepting as she may elect to exercise her
+wifely prerogatives; being absolutely free to pursue whatsoever
+occupation or devices she may desire or choose, the same as if she
+were yet a spinster...._
+
+"_In Consideration of Which: The said Eleanor Owen agrees never so to
+comport herself that by word or conduct will she bring ridicule....
+dishonor upon the name...._"
+
+Recollection of it all came to her with a rush; but the words ran
+together and swam in a maddening blur--the roar from the street below,
+dull with distance; the hum of the big building, with its faint
+concussions of closing doors; the air from the open window, not like
+the sweet prairie air of to-day, but heavy, smoky, typical breath of
+the town, yet pregnant with the indescribable throb of spring,
+impossible to efface or to disguise! The compelling intimacy and
+irrevocability of that memory overwhelmed her, now; a dark, evil flood
+that blotted out the sunshine of the present.
+
+The paper rustled, as the man smoothed it flat with his hand.
+
+"Shall I read?" he asked.
+
+The woman's face stood clear--cruelly clear--in the sunlight; about
+her mouth and eyes there was an expression which, from repetition, we
+have learned to associate with the circle surrounding a new-made
+grave: an expression hopelessly desperate, desperately hopeless.
+
+Of a sudden her chin trembled and her face dropped into her hands.
+
+"Read, if you wish"; and the smooth brown head, with its thread of
+gray, trembled uncontrollably.
+
+"Eleanor!" with a sudden vibration of tenderness in his voice.
+"Eleanor," he repeated.
+
+But the woman made no response.
+
+The man had taken a step forward; now he sat down again, looking
+through the open doorway at the stretch of green prairie, with the
+road, a narrow ribbon of brown, dividing it fair in the middle. In the
+distance a farmer's wagon was rumbling toward town, a trail of fine
+dust, like smoke, suspended in the air behind. It rattled past, and
+the big collie on the step woke to give furious chase in its wake,
+then returned slowly, a little conscious under the stranger's eye, to
+sleep as before. Asa Arnold sat through it all, still as one
+devitalized; an expression on his face no man had ever seen before;
+one hopeless, lonely, akin to that of the woman.
+
+"Read, if you wish," repeated Camilla, bitterly.
+
+For a long minute her companion made no motion.
+
+"It's unnecessary," he intoned at last. "You know as well as I that
+neither of us will ever forget one word it contains." He hesitated and
+his voice grew gentle. "Eleanor, you know I didn't come here to
+insult you, or to hurt you needlessly;--but I'm human. You seem to
+forget this. You brand me less than a man, and then ask of me the
+unselfishness of a God!"
+
+Camilla's white face lifted from her hands.
+
+"I ask nothing except that you leave me alone."
+
+For the first time the little man showed his teeth.
+
+"At last you mention the point I came here to arrange. Were you
+alone, rest assured I shouldn't trouble you."
+
+"You mean--"
+
+"I mean just this. I wouldn't be human if I did what you ask--if I
+condoned what you've done and are still doing." He was fairly started
+now, and words came crowding each other; reproachful, tempestuous.
+
+"Didn't you ever stop to think of the past--think what you've done,
+Eleanor?" He paused without giving her an opportunity to answer. "Let
+me tell you, then. You've broken every manner of faith between man and
+woman. If you believe in God, you've broken faith with Him as well.
+Don't think for a moment I ever had respect for marriage as a divine
+institution, but I did have respect for you, and at your wish we
+conformed. You're my wife now, by your own choosing. Don't interrupt
+me, please. I repeat, God has no more to do with ceremonial marriage
+now than he had at the time of the Old Testament and polygamy. It's a
+man-made bond, but an obligation nevertheless, and as such, at the
+foundation of all good faith between man and woman. It's this good
+faith you've broken." A look of bitterness flashed over his face.
+
+"Still, I could excuse this and release you at the asking, remaining
+your friend, your best friend as before; but to be thrown aside
+without even a 'by your leave,' and that for another man--" He
+hesitated and finished slowly:
+
+"You know me well enough, Eleanor, to realize that I'm in earnest when
+I say that while I live the man has yet to be born who can take
+something of mine away from me."
+
+Camilla gestured passionately.
+
+"In other words: while growling hard at the dog who approached your
+bone, you have no hesitation in stealing from another!" The
+accumulated bitterness of years of repression spoke in the taunt.
+
+Across the little man's face there fell an impenetrable mask, like the
+armor which dropped about an ancient ship of war before the shock of
+battle.
+
+"I'm not on trial. I've not changed my name--" he nodded significantly
+toward the view beyond the open door,--"and sought seclusion."
+
+Again the bitterness of memory prompted Camilla to speak the harshest
+words of her life.
+
+"No, you hadn't the decency. It was more pleasure to thrust your shame
+daily in my face."
+
+Arnold's color paled above the dark beard line; but the woman took no
+heed.
+
+"Why did you wait a year," continued the bitter voice, "to end
+in--this? If it must have been--why not before?"
+
+"I repeat, I'm not on trial. If you've anything to say, I'll listen."
+
+Something new in the man's face caught Camilla's attention, softened
+the tone of her voice.
+
+"I've only this to say. You've asked for an explanation and a promise;
+but I can give you neither. If there ever comes a time when I feel
+they're due you, and I'm able to comply, I'll give them both gladly."
+The absent look of the past returned to her eyes. "Even if I wished, I
+couldn't give you an explanation now. I can't make myself understand
+the contradiction. Somehow, knowing you so long, your beliefs crept
+insistently into my loneliness. It seems hideous now, but I was honest
+then. I believed them, too. I don't blame you; I only pity you. You
+were the embodiment of protest against the established, of the
+non-responsibility of the individual, of skepticism in everything.
+Your eternal 'why' covered my horizon. Every familiar thing came to
+bear a question I couldn't answer. My whole life seemed one eternal
+doubt. One thing I'd never known, and I questioned it most of all; the
+one thing I know now to be the truth,--the greatest truth in the
+world." For an instant the present crowded the past from Camilla's
+mind, but only for an instant. "Whatever I was at the time, you'd made
+me--with your deathless 'why.' When I signed the obligation of that
+day, I believed it was of my own free will; but I know now it was you
+who wrote it for both of us--you, with your perpetual interrogation. I
+don't accuse you of doing this deliberately, maliciously. We were both
+deceived; but none the less the fact remains." A shadow, almost of
+horror, passed over her face.
+
+"Time passed, and though you didn't know, I was in Hell. Reason told
+me I was right. Instinct, something, called me a drag. I tried to
+compromise, and we were married. Then, for the first time, came
+realization. We were the best of friends,--but only friends."
+
+"You wonder how I knew. I didn't tell you then. I couldn't. I could
+only feel, and that not clearly. The shadow of your 'why' was still
+dark upon me. What I vaguely felt then, though, I know now; as I
+recognize light or cold or pain." Her voice assumed the tone of one
+who speaks of mysteries; slow, vibrant. "In every woman's mind the
+maternal instinct should be uppermost; before everything, before
+God,--unashamed, inevitable. It's unmistakably the distinction of a
+good woman from a bad. The choosing of the father of her child is a
+woman's unfailing test of love."
+
+The face of the man before her dropped into his hands, but she did not
+notice.
+
+"Gropingly I felt this, and the knowledge came almost as an
+inspiration. It gave a clue to--"
+
+"Stop!" The man's eyes blazed, as he leaped from his chair. "Stop!"
+
+He took a step forward, his hand before him, his face twitching
+uncontrollably. The collie on the step awoke, and seeing his mistress
+threatened, growled ominously.
+
+"Stop, I tell you!" Arnold choked for words. This the man of "why,"
+whom nothing before could shake!
+
+Camilla paled as her companion arose, and the dog, bristling, came
+inside the room.
+
+"Get out!" blazed the man, with a threatening step, and the collie
+fled.
+
+The interruption loosed words which came tumbling forth in a torrent,
+as Arnold returned to face her.
+
+"You think I'm human, and yet tell me that to my face?" His voice was
+terrible. "You women brand men cruel! No man on earth would speak as
+you have spoken to a woman he'd lived with for four years!" The
+sentences crowded over each other, like water over a fall--his eyes
+flashing like a spray.
+
+"I told you before, I'm not on trial; that it was not my place to
+defend. I don't do so now; but since you've spoken, I'll answer your
+question. You ask why I didn't come a year ago, hinting that I wanted
+to be more cruel. God! the blindness and injustice of you women!
+Because we men don't show--Bah!... I was paying my own price. We
+weren't living by the marriage vow; it was but a farce. Our own
+contract was the vital thing, and it had said--But I won't repeat.
+God, it was bitter! But I thought you'd come back. I loved you still."
+He paused for words, breathing hard.
+
+"You say, I'll never know what love is. Blind! I've always loved you
+until this moment, when you killed my love. You say I was untrue. It's
+false. I swear it before--you, as you were once,--when you were my
+god. Had you trusted me, as I trusted you, there'd have been no
+thought of unfaithfulness in your mind."
+
+The woman sank back in the chair, her face covered, her whole body
+trembling; but Asa Arnold went on like the storm.
+
+"Yes, I was ever true to you. From the first moment we met, and
+against my own beliefs. You didn't see. You expected me to protest it
+daily: to repeat the tale as a child repeats its lesson for a comfit.
+Blind, I say, blind! You'll charge that I never told you that I loved
+you. You wouldn't have believed me, even had I done so. Besides, I
+didn't realize that you doubted, until the time when you were
+learning--" he walked jerkily across the room and took up his
+hat,--"learning the thing you threw in my face." He started to leave,
+but stopped in the doorway, without looking back. "You tell me you've
+suffered. For the first time in my life I say to another human being:
+I hope so." He turned, unsteadily, down the steps.
+
+"Wait," pleaded the woman. "Wait!"
+
+The man did not stop, or turn.
+
+Camilla Maurice sank back in the chair, weak as one sick unto death,
+her mind a throbbing, whirling chaos,--as of a patient under an
+anaesthetic. Something she knew she ought to do, intended doing, and
+could not. She groped desperately, but overwhelming, insistent, there
+had developed in her a sudden, preventing tumult--in paradox, a
+confusion in rhythm--like the beating of a great hammer on an anvil,
+only incredibly more swift than blows from human hands. Over and over
+again she repeated to herself the one word: "wait," "wait," "wait,"
+but mechanically now, without thought as to the reason. Then, all at
+once, soft, all-enfolding, kindly Nature wrapped her in darkness.
+
+She awoke with the big collie licking her hand, and a numbness of
+cramped limbs that was positive pain. A long-necked pullet was
+standing in the doorway, with her mouth open; others stood wondering,
+beyond. The sun had moved until it no longer shone in at the tiny
+south windows, and the shadow of the house had begun to lengthen.
+
+Camilla stood up in the doorway; uncertain, dazed. A great lump was on
+her forehead, which she stroked absently, without surprise at its
+presence. She looked about the yard, and, her breath coming more
+quickly, at the prairie. A broad green plain, parted by the road
+squarely in the centre, smiled at her in the sunlight. That was all.
+She stepped outside and shaded her eyes with her hand. Not a wagon nor
+a human being was in sight.
+
+Again the weakness and the blackness came stealing over her; she sank
+down on the doorstep.
+
+"O God, what have I done!" she wailed.
+
+The hens returned to their search for bugs; but the big collie stayed
+by her side, whimpering and fondling her hand.
+
+
+CHAPTER V--THE DOMINANCE OF THE EVOLVED
+
+
+The keen joy of life was warmly flooding Ichabod Maurice this
+spring day. Not life for the sake of an ambition or a duty, but
+delight in the mere animal pleasure of existence. He had risen
+early, and, a neighbor with him, they had driven forth: stars all
+about, perpendicular, horizontal, save in the reddening east, upon
+their long day's drive to the sawmill. The two teams plodded along
+steadily, their footfall muffled in the soft prairie loam; the
+earth elsewhere soundless, with a silence which even yet was a
+marvel to the city man.
+
+The majesty of it held him silent until day dawned, and with the
+coming of the sun there woke in unison the chorus of joyous animal
+life. Then Ichabod, his long legs dangling over the dashboard, lifted
+up a voice untrained as the note of a loon, and sang lustily, until
+his companion on the wagon ahead,--boy-faced, man-bodied,--grinned
+perilously.
+
+The long-visaged man was near happiness that morning,--unbelievably
+near. By nature unsocial, by habit, city inbred, artificially
+taciturn, there came with the primitive happiness of the moment
+the concomitant primitive desire for companionship. He smiled
+self-tolerantly when, obeying an instinct, he wound the lines around
+the seat, and went ahead to the man, who grinned companionably as
+he made room beside him.
+
+"God's country, this." Ichabod's hand made an all-including gesture,
+as he seated himself comfortably, his hat low over his eyes.
+
+"Yes, sir," and the grin was repeated.
+
+The tall man reflected. Sunburned, roughly dressed, unshaven as he,
+Maurice, was, this boy-man never failed the word of respect. Ichabod
+examined him curiously out of his shaded lids. Big brown hands; body
+strong as a bull; powerful shoulders; neck turned like a model; a soft
+chin under a soft, light beard; gentle blue eyes--all in all, a face
+so open that its very legibility seemed a mark. It reddened now,
+under the scrutiny.
+
+"Pardon," said Ichabod. "I was thinking how happy you are."
+
+"Yes, sir." And the face reddened again.
+
+Ichabod smiled.
+
+"When is it to be, Ole?"
+
+The big body wriggled in blissful embarrassment.
+
+"As soon as the house is built,"--confusedly.
+
+"You're building very fast, eh?"
+
+The Swede grinned confirmation. Words were of value to Ole.
+
+"I see the question was superfluous," and Ichabod likewise smiled in
+genial comradery. A moment later, however, the smile vanished.
+
+"You're very content as it is, Ole," he digressed, equivocally;
+"but--supposing--Minna were already the wife of a friend?"
+
+The Swede stared in breathless astonishment.
+
+"She isn't, though" he gasped at length in startled protest.
+
+"But supposing--"
+
+"It would be so. I couldn't help it."
+
+"You'd do nothing?" rank anarchy in the suggestion.
+
+"What would there be to do?"
+
+Ichabod temporized.
+
+"Supposing again, she loved you, and didn't love her husband?" Ole
+scratched his head, seeing very devious passages beyond. "That would
+be different," and he crossed his legs.
+
+Ichabod smiled. The world over, human nature is fashioned from one
+mould.
+
+"Supposing, once more, it's a year from now,--five years from now.
+You've married Minna, but you're not happy. She's grown to hate
+you,--to love another man?"
+
+Ole's faith was beautiful.
+
+"It's not to be thought of. It's impossible!"
+
+"But supposing," urged Ichabod.
+
+The boy-man was silent for a very long minute; then his face darkened,
+and the soft jaw grew hard.
+
+"I don't know--" he said slowly,--"I don't know, but I think I kill
+that man."
+
+Ichabod did not smile this time.
+
+"We're all much alike, Ole. I think you would."
+
+They drove on; far past the town, now; the sun high in the sky; dew
+sparkling like prisms innumerable; the prairie colorings soft as a
+rug--its varied greens of groundwork blending with the narrow line of
+fresh breaking rolling at their feet.
+
+"You were born in this country?" asked Ichabod suddenly.
+
+"In Iowa. It's much like this--only rougher."
+
+"You'll live here, always?"
+
+The Swede shook his head and the boy's face grew older.
+
+"No; some day, we're going to the city--Minna and I. We've planned."
+
+Ichabod was thoughtful a minute.
+
+"I'm a friend of yours, Ole."
+
+"A very good friend," repeated the mystified Swede.
+
+"Then, listen, and don't forget." The voice was vibrant, low, but the
+boy heard it clearly above the noise of the wagon. "Don't do it, Ole;
+in God's name, don't do it! Stay here, you'll be happy." He looked the
+open-mouthed listener deep in the eyes. "If you ever say a prayer,
+let it be the old one, even though it be an insult to a just
+God:--'Lead us not into temptation.' Avoid, as you would avoid death,
+the love of money, the fever of unrest, the desire to become greater
+than your fellows, the thirst to know and to taste all things, which
+is the spirit of the city. Live close to Nature, where all is equal
+and all is good; where sleep comes in the time of sleep, and work when
+it is day. Do that labor which comes to you at the moment, leaving
+to-morrow to Nature." He crossed his long legs, and pressed his hat
+down over his eyes. "Accept life as Nature gives it, day by day. Don't
+question, and you'll find it good." He repeated himself slowly.
+"That's the secret. Don't doubt, or question anything."
+
+In the Swede's throat there was a rattling, which presaged speech, but
+it died away.
+
+"Do you love children, Ole?" asked Ichabod, suddenly.
+
+The boy face flushed. Ole was very young.
+
+"I--" he lagged.
+
+"Of course you do. Every living human being does. It's the one good
+instinct, which even the lust of gain doesn't down. It's the tie that
+binds,--the badge of brotherhood which makes the world one." He gently
+laid his hand on the broad shoulder beside him.
+
+"Don't be ashamed to say you love children, boy, though the rest of
+the world laugh,--for they're laughing at a lie. They'll tell you the
+parental instinct is dying out with the advance of civilization; that
+the time will come when man will educate himself to his own
+extinction. It's false, I tell you, absolutely false." Ichabod had
+forgotten himself, and he rushed on, far above the head of the gaping
+Swede.
+
+"There's one instinct in the world, the instinct of parenthood,
+which advances eternal, stronger, infinitely, as man's mind grows
+stronger. So unvarying the rule that it's almost an index of
+civilization itself, advancing from a crude instinct of the
+body-base and animal--until it reaches the realm of the mind: the
+highest, the holiest of man's desires: yet stronger immeasurably, as
+with the educated, things of the mind are stronger than things of
+the body. Those who deny this are fools, or imposters,--I know not
+which. To do so is to strike at the very foundation of human
+nature,--but impotently,--for in fundamentals, human nature is
+good." Unconsciously, a smile flashed over the long face.
+
+"Talk about depopulating the earth! All the wars of primitive man were
+inadequate. The vices of civilization have likewise failed. Even man's
+mightiest weapon, legislation, couldn't stay the tide for a moment, if
+it would. While man is man, and woman is woman, that long, above
+government, religion,--life and death itself,--will reign supreme the
+eternal instinct of parenthood."
+
+Ichabod caught himself in his own period and stopped, a little ashamed
+of his earnestness. He sat up in the seat preparatory to returning to
+his own wagon, then dropped his hand once more on the boy's shoulder.
+
+"I'm old enough to be your father, boy, and have done, in all things,
+the reverse of what I advised you. Therefore, I know I was wrong. We
+may sneer and speak of poetry when the words proceed from another, my
+boy; but, as inevitable as death, there comes to every man the
+knowledge that he stands accursed of Nature, who hasn't heard the
+voice of his own child call 'father!'"
+
+He clambered down, leaving the speechless Ole sprawling on the
+wagon-seat. Back in his own wagon, he smiled broadly to himself.
+
+"Strange, how easily the apple falls when it's ripe," he soliloquized.
+
+They drove on clear to the mill without another word; without even a
+grin from the broad-faced Ole, who sat in ponderous thought in the
+wagon ahead. To a nature such as his the infrequency of a new idea
+gives it the force of a cataclysm; during its presence, obliterating
+everything else.
+
+It was nearly noon when they reached the narrow fringe of trees and
+underbrush--deciduous and wind-tortured all--which bordered the big,
+muddy, low-lying Missouri; and soon they could hear the throb of the
+engine at the mill, and the swish of the saw through the green lumber;
+a sound that heard near by, inevitably carries the suggestion of
+scalpel and living flesh. Nothing but green timber was sawed
+thereabout in those days. The country was settling rapidly, lumber
+was imperative, and available timber very, very limited.
+
+Returning, the heavy loads grumbled slowly along, so slowly that it
+was nearly evening, and their shadows preceded them by rods when they
+reached the little prairie town. They stopped to water their teams;
+and Ole, true to the instincts of his plebeian ancestry, went in
+search of a glass of beer. He returned, quickly, his face very red.
+
+"A fellow in there is talking about--about Mrs. Maurice," he blurted.
+
+"In the saloon, Ole?"
+
+The Swede repeated the story, watching the tall man from the corner of
+his eye.
+
+A man, very drunk, was standing by the bar, and telling how, in coming
+to town, he had seen a buggy drive away from the Maurice home very
+fast. He had thought it was the doctor's buggy and had stopped in to
+see if any one was sick.
+
+The fellow had grinned here and drank some more, before finishing the
+story; the surrounding audience winking at each other meanwhile, and
+drinking in company.
+
+Then he went on to tell how Camilla Maurice had sat just inside the
+doorway, her face in her hands, sobbing,--so hard she hadn't noticed
+him; and--and--it wasn't the doctor who had been there at all!
+
+Ichabod had been holding a pail of water so that a horse might drink.
+At the end he motioned Ole very quietly, to take his place.
+
+"Finish watering them, and--wait for me, please."
+
+It was far from what the Swede had expected; but he accepted the task,
+obediently.
+
+The only saloon of the town stood almost exactly opposite Hans
+Becher's place, flush with the street. A long, low building,
+communicating with the outer world by one door--sans glass--its single
+window in front and at the rear lit it but imperfectly at midday, and
+now at early evening made faces almost indistinguishable, and cast
+kindly shadow over the fly specks and smoke stains of a low roof. A
+narrow pine bar, redolent of tribute absorbed from innumerable passing
+"schooners," stretched the entire length of the room at one side; and
+back of it, in shirt sleeves and stained apron, presided the typical
+bar-keeper of the frontier. All this Ichabod saw as he stepped inside;
+then, himself in shadow, he studied the group before him.
+
+Railroad and cattle men, mostly, made up the gathering, with a scant
+sprinkling of farmers and others unclassified. A big, ill-dressed
+fellow was repeating the tale of scandal for the benefit of a
+newcomer; the narrative moving jerkily over hiccoughs, like hurdles.
+
+"--I drew up to th' house quick, an' went up th' path quiet
+like,"--he tapped thunderously on the bar with a heavy glass for
+silence--"quiet--sh-h--like; an' when I come t' th' door, ther' 't
+was open, an'--as I hope--hope t' die,... drink on me, b'ys, aller
+y'--set 'm up, Barney ol' b'y, m' treat,... hope t' die, ther' she
+sat, like this--" He looked around mistily for a chair, but none was
+convenient, and he slid flat to the floor in their midst, his face
+in his hands, blubbering dismally in imitation.... "Sat (hic) like
+this; rockin' an' moanin' n' callin' his name: Asa--Asa--Asa--(hic)
+Arnold--'shure 's I'm a sinner she--"
+
+He did not finish. Very suddenly the surrounding group had scattered,
+and he peered up through maudlin tears to learn the cause. One man
+alone stood above him. The room had grown still as a church.
+
+The drunken one blinked his watery eyes and showed his yellow teeth in
+a convivial grin.
+
+"G'd evnin', pard.... Serve th'--th' gem'n, Barney; m' treat." Again
+the teeth obtruded. "Was jes'--"
+
+"Get up!"
+
+He of the story winked harder than before.
+
+"Bless m'--" He paused for an expletive, hiccoughed, and forgetting
+what had caused the halt, stumbled on:--"Didn' rec'gniz' y'
+b'fore. Shake, ol' boy. S--sh-sorry for y'." Tears rose copiously.
+"Tough--when feller's wife--"
+
+Interrupting suddenly a muffled sound like the distant exhaust of a
+big engine--the meeting of a heavy boot with an obstacle on the floor.
+"Get up!"
+
+A very mountain of human brawn resolved itself upward; a hand on its
+hips; a curse on its lips.
+
+[Illustration: "You'll apologize."]
+
+"You damned lantern-faced--" No hiccough now, but a pause from pure
+physical impotence, pending a doubtful struggle against a half-dozen
+men.
+
+"Order, gentlemen!" demanded the bar-keeper, adding emphasis by
+hammering a heavy bottle on the bar.
+
+"Let him go," commanded Ichabod very quietly; but they all heard
+through the confusion. "Let him go."
+
+The country was by no means the wild West of the story-papers, but it
+was primitive, and no man thought, then, of preventing the obviously
+inevitable.
+
+Ichabod held up his hand, suggestively, imperatively, and the crowd
+fell back, silent,--leaving him facing the big man.
+
+"You'll apologize!" The thin jaw showed clear, through the shade of
+brown stubble on Ichabod's face.
+
+For answer, the big man leaning on the bar exhibited his discolored
+teeth and breathed hard.
+
+"How shall it be?" asked Ichabod.
+
+A grimy hand twitched toward a grimier hip.
+
+"You've seen the likes of this--"
+
+Ichabod turned toward the spectators.
+
+"Will any man lend me--"
+
+"Here--"
+
+"Here--"
+
+"And give us a little light."
+
+"Outside," suggested the saloon-keeper.
+
+"We're not advertising patent medicine," blazed Ichabod, and the lamps
+were lit immediately.
+
+Once more the long-visaged man appealed to the group lined up now
+against the bar.
+
+"Gentlemen--I never carried a revolver a half-hour in my life. Is it
+any more than fair that I name the details?"
+
+"Name 'm and be quick," acquiesced his big opponent before the others
+could speak.
+
+"Thanks, Mr. Duggin," with equal swiftness. "These, then, are the
+conditions." For three seconds, that seemed a minute, Ichabod looked
+steadily between his adversary's bushy eyebrows. "The conditions," he
+repeated, "are, that starting from opposite ends of the room, we don't
+fire until our toes touch in the middle line."
+
+"Good!" commended a voice; but it was not big Duggin who spoke.
+
+"I'll see that it's done, too,"--added a listening cattleman, grasping
+Ichabod by the hand.
+
+"And I."
+
+The building had been designed as a bowling-alley and was built the
+entire length of the lot. With an alacrity born of experience, the
+long space opposite the bar was cleared, and the belligerents
+stationed one at either end, their faces toward the wall. Midway
+between them a heavy line had been drawn with chalk, and beside it
+stood a half-dozen grim men, their hands resting suggestively on their
+hips. The room was again very quiet, and from out-of-doors penetrated
+the shrill sound of a schoolboy whistling "Annie Laurie" with original
+variations. So exotic seemed the entire scene in its prairie setting,
+that it might have been transferred bodily from the stage of a distant
+theatre and set down here,--by mistake.
+
+"Now," directed a voice. "You understand, men. You're to face and walk
+to the line. When your feet touch--fire; and," warningly--"remember,
+not before. Ready, gentlemen. Turn."
+
+Ichabod faced about, the cocked revolver in his hand, the name Asa
+Arnold singing in his ears. A terrible cold-white anger was in his
+heart against the man opposite, who had publicly caused the
+resurrection of this hated, buried thing. For a moment it blotted
+out all other sensations; then, rushing, crowding came other
+thoughts,--vision from boyhood down. In the space of seconds, faded
+scenes of the dead past took on sudden color and as suddenly
+vanished. Faces, he had forgotten for years, flashed instantaneously
+into view. Voices long hushed in oblivion, re-embodied, spoke in
+accents as familiar as his own. Inwardly he was seething with the
+myriad shifting pictures of a drowning man. Outwardly he walked
+those half-score steps to the line, unflinchingly; came to certain
+death,--and waited: personification of all that is cool and
+deliberate--of the sudden abundant nerve in emergencies which comes
+only to the highly evolved.
+
+Duggin, the big man, turned likewise at the word and came part way
+swiftly; then stopped, his face very pale. Another step he took, with
+another pause, and with great drops of perspiration gathering on his
+face, and on the backs of his hands. Yet another start, and he came
+very near; so near that he gazed into the blue of Ichabod's eyes. They
+seemed to him now devil's eyes, and he halted, looking at them,
+fingering the weapon in his hand, his courage oozing at every pore.
+
+Out of those eyes and that long, thin face stared death; not hot,
+sudden death, but nihility, cool, deliberate, that waited for one! The
+big beads on his forehead gathered in drops and ran down his cheeks.
+He tried to move on, but his legs only trembled beneath him. The
+hopeless, unreasoning terror of the frightened animal, the raw
+recruit, the superstitious negro, was upon him. The last fragment of
+self-respect, of bravado even, was in tatters. No object on earth, no
+fear of hereafter, could have made him face death in that way, with
+those eyes looking into his.
+
+The weapon shook from Duggin's hand to the floor,--with a sound like
+the first clatter of gravel on a coffin lid; and in abasement
+absolute he dropped his head; his hands nerveless, his jaw
+trembling.
+
+"I beg your pardon--and your wife's," he faltered.
+
+"It was all a lie? You were drunk?" Ichabod crossed the line, standing
+over him.
+
+A rustle and a great snort of contempt went around the room; but
+Duggin still felt those terrible eyes upon him.
+
+"I was very drunk. It was all a lie."
+
+Without another word Ichabod turned away, and almost immediately the
+other men followed, the door closing behind them. Only the bar-keeper
+stood impassive, watching.
+
+That instant the red heat of the liquor returned to the big man's
+brain and he picked up the revolver. Muttering, he staggered over to
+the bar.
+
+"D--n him--the hide-faced--" he cursed. "Gimme a drink, Barney.
+Whiskey, straight."
+
+"Not a drop."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Never another drop in my place so long as I live."
+
+"Barney, damn you!"
+
+"Get out! You coward!"
+
+"But, Barney--"
+
+"Not another word. Go."
+
+Again Duggin was sober as he stumbled out into the evening.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ichabod moved slowly up the street, months aged in those last few
+minutes. Reaction was inevitable, and with it the future instead of
+the present, stared him in the face. He had crowded the lie down the
+man's throat, but well he knew it had been useless. The story was
+true, and it would spread; no power of his could prevent. He could not
+deceive himself, even. That name! Again the white anger born of
+memory, flooded him. Curses on the name and on the man who had spoken
+it! Why must the fellow have turned coward at the last moment? Had
+they but touched feet over the line--
+
+Suddenly Ichabod stopped, his hands pressed to his head. Camilla,
+home--alone! And he had forgotten! He hurried back to the waiting
+Swede, an anathema that was not directed at another, hot on his
+lips.
+
+"All ready, Ole," he announced, clambering to the seat.
+
+The boy handed up the lines lingeringly.
+
+"Here, sir." Then uncontrollable, long-repressed curiosity broke the
+bounds of deference. "You--heard him, sir?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Ole edged toward his own wagon.
+
+"It wasn't so?"
+
+"Duggin swore it was a lie."
+
+"He--"
+
+"He swore it was false, I say."
+
+They drove out into the prairie and the night; the stars looking down,
+smiling, as in the morning which was so long ago, the man had
+smiled,--looking upward.
+
+"Tiny, tiny mortal," they twinkled, each to the other. "So small and
+hot, and rebellious. Tiny, tiny, mortal!"
+
+But the man covered his face with his hands, shutting them out.
+
+
+CHAPTER VI--BY A CANDLE'S FLAME
+
+
+Asa Arnold sat in the small upstairs room at the hotel of Hans Becher.
+It was the same room that Ichabod and Camilla had occupied when they
+first arrived; but he did not know that. Even had he known, however,
+it would have made slight difference; nothing could have kept them
+more constantly in his mind than they were at this time. He had not
+slept any the night before; a fact which would have spoken loudly to
+one who knew him well; and this morning he was very tired. He lounged
+low in the oak chair, his feet on the bed, the usual big cigar in his
+mouth.
+
+This morning, the perspective of the little man was anything but
+normal. Worse than that, he could not reduce it to the normal, try as
+he might.
+
+His meeting with Camilla yesterday had produced a deep and abiding
+shock; for either of them to have been so moved signified the
+stirring of dangerous forces. They--and especially himself--who had
+always accepted life, even crises, so calmly; who had heretofore
+laughed at all display of emotion--for them to have acted as they had,
+for them to have spoken to each other the things they had spoken, the
+things they could not forget, that he never could forgive--it was
+unbelievable! It upset all the established order of things!
+
+His anger of yesterday against Camilla had died out. She was not to
+blame; she was a woman, and women were all alike. He had thought
+differently before; that she was an exception; but now he knew better.
+One and all they were mere puppets of emotion, and fickle.
+
+In a measure, though, as he had excused Camilla he had incriminated
+Ichabod. Ichabod was the guilty one, and a man. Ichabod had filched
+from him his possession of most value; and without even the form of a
+by-your-leave. The incident of last evening at the saloon (for he had
+heard of it in the hour, as had every one in the little town) had but
+served to make more implacable his resentment. By the satire of
+circumstances it had come about that he again, Asa Arnold, had been
+the cause of another's defending the honor of his own wife,--for she
+was his wife as yet,--and that other, the defender, was Ichabod
+Maurice!
+
+The little man's face did not change at the thought. He only smoked
+harder, until the room was blue; but though he did not put the feeling
+in words even to himself, he knew in the depths of his own mind that
+the price of that last day was death. Whether it was his own death, or
+the death of Ichabod, he did not know; he did not care; but that one
+of them must die was inevitable. Horrible as was the thought, it had
+no terror for him, now. He wondered that it did not have; but, on the
+contrary, it seemed to him very ordinary, even logical--as one orders
+a dinner when he is hungry.
+
+He lit another cigar, calmly. It was this very imperturbability of the
+little man which made him terrible. Like a great movement of Nature,
+it was awful from its very resistlessness; its imperviability to
+appeal. Steadily, as he had lit the cigar, he smoked until the air
+became bluer than before. In a ghastly way, he was trying to decide
+whose death it should be,--as one decides a winter's flitting, whether
+to Florida or California; only now the question was: should it be
+suicide, or,--as in the saloon yesterday,--leave the decision to
+Chance? For the time the personal equation was eliminated; the man
+weighed the evidence as impartially as though he were deciding the
+fate of another.
+
+He sat long and very still; until even in the daylight the red
+cigar-end grew redder in the haze. Without being conscious of the
+fact, he was probably doing the most unselfish thinking of his life.
+What the result of that thought would have been no man will ever know,
+for of a sudden, interrupting, Hans Becher's round face appeared in
+the doorway.
+
+"Ichabod Maurice to see you," coughed the German, obscured in the
+cloud of smoke which passed out like steam through the opening.
+
+It cannot be said that Asa Arnold's face grew impassive; it was that
+already. Certain it was, though, that behind the mask there occurred,
+at that moment, a revolution. Born of it, the old mocking smile sprang
+to his lips.
+
+"The devil fights for his own," he soliloquized. "I really believe
+I,"--again the smile,--"I was about to make a sacrifice."
+
+"Sir?"
+
+"Thank you, Hans."
+
+The German's jaw dropped in inexpressible surprise.
+
+"Sir?" he repeated.
+
+"You made a decision for me, then. Thank you."
+
+"I do not you understand."
+
+"Tell Mr. Maurice I shall be pleased to see him."
+
+The round face disappeared from the door.
+
+"_Donnerwetter!_" commented the little landlord in the safe seclusion
+of the stairway. Later, in relating the incident to Minna, he tapped
+his forehead, suggestively.
+
+Ichabod climbed the stair alone. "To your old room," Hans had said;
+and Ichabod knew the place well. He knocked on the panel, a voice
+answered: "Come," and he opened the door. Arnold had thrown away his
+cigar and opened the window. The room was clearing rapidly.
+
+Ichabod stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind him. A
+few seconds he stood holding it, then swung it open quickly and
+glanced down the hallway. Answering, there was a sudden, scuttling
+sound, not unlike the escape of frightened rats, as Hans Becher
+precipitately disappeared. The tall man came back and for the second
+time slowly closed the door.
+
+Asa Arnold had neither moved nor spoken since that first word,--"come";
+and the self-invited visitor read the inaction correctly. No man, with
+the knowledge Ichabod possessed, could have misunderstood the challenge
+in that impassive face. No man, a year ago, would have accepted that
+challenge more quickly. Now--But God only knew whether or no he
+would forget,--now.
+
+For a minute, which to an onlooker would have seemed interminable, the
+two men faced each other. Up from the street came the ring of a heavy
+hammer on a sweet-voiced anvil, as Jim Donovan, the blacksmith,
+sharpened anew the breaking ploughs which were battling the prairie
+sod for bread. In the street below, a group of farmers were swapping
+yarns, an occasional chorus of guffaws interrupting to punctuate the
+narrative. The combatants heard it all, as one hears the drone of the
+cicada on a sleepy summer day; at the moment, as a mere colorless
+background which later, Time, the greater adjuster, utilizes to
+harmonize the whole memory.
+
+Ichabod had been standing; now he sat down upon the bed, his long legs
+stretched out before him.
+
+"It would be useless for us to temporize," he initiated. "I've
+intruded my presence in order to ask you a question." The long fingers
+locked slowly over his knees. "What is your object here?"
+
+The innate spirit of mockery sprang to the little man's face.
+
+"You're mistaken," he smiled; "so far mistaken, that instead of your
+visit being an intrusion, I expected you"--an amending memory came to
+him--"although I wasn't looking for you quite so soon, perhaps." He
+paused for an instant, and the smile left his lips.
+
+"As to the statement of object. I think"--slowly--"a disinterested
+observer would have put the question you ask into my mouth." He
+stared his tall visitor up and down critically, menacingly. Of a
+sudden, irresistibly, a very convulsion shot over his face. "God, man,
+you're brazen!" he commented cumulatively.
+
+Ichabod had gambled with this man in the past, and had seen him lose
+half he possessed without the twitch of an eyelid. A force which now
+could cause that sudden change of expression--no man on earth knew,
+better than Ichabod, its intensity. Perhaps a shade of the same
+feeling crept into his own answering voice.
+
+"We'll quarrel later, if you wish,"--swiftly. "Neither of us can
+afford to do so now. I ask you again, what are your intentions?"
+
+"And I repeat, the question is by right mine. It's not I who've
+changed my name and--and in other things emulated the hero of the
+yellow-back."
+
+Ichabod's face turned a shade paler, though his answer was calm.
+
+"We've known each other too well for either to attempt explanation or
+condemnation. You wish me to testify first." The long fingers
+unclasped from over his knee. "You know the story of the past year:
+it's the key to the future."
+
+A smile, sardonic, distinctive, lifted the tips of Arnold's big
+moustaches.
+
+"Your faith in your protecting gods is certainly beautiful."
+
+Ichabod nursed a callous spot on one palm.
+
+"I understand,"--very slowly. "At least, you'll answer my question
+now, perhaps," he suggested.
+
+"With pleasure. You intimate the future will be but a repetition of
+the past. It'll be my endeavor to give that statement the lie."
+
+"You insist on quarrelling?"
+
+"I insist on but one thing,"--swiftly. "That you never again come into
+my sight, or into the sight of my wife."
+
+One of Ichabod's long hands extended in gesture.
+
+"And I insist you shall never again use the name of Camilla Maurice as
+your wife."
+
+The old mocking smile sprang to Asa Arnold's face.
+
+"Unconsciously, you're amusing," he derided. "The old story of the
+mouse who forbids the cat.... You forget, man, she is my wife."
+
+Ichabod stood up, seemingly longer and gaunter than ever before.
+
+"Good God, Arnold," he flashed, "haven't you the faintest element of
+pride, or of consistency in your make-up? Is it necessary for a woman
+to tell you more than once that she hates you? By your own statement
+your marriage, even at first, was merely of convenience; but even if
+this weren't so, every principle of the belief you hold releases her.
+Before God, or man, you haven't the slightest claim, and you know
+it."
+
+"And you--"
+
+"I love her."
+
+Asa Arnold did not stir, but the pupils of his eyes grew wider, until
+the whole eye seemed black.
+
+"You fool!" he accented slowly. "You brazen egoist! Did it never occur
+to you that others than yourself could love?"
+
+Score for the little man. Ichabod had been pinked first.
+
+"You dare tell me to my face you loved her?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"You lie!" blazed Ichabod. "Every word and action of your life gives
+you the lie!"
+
+Not five minutes had passed since he came in and already he had
+forgotten!
+
+Asa Arnold likewise was upon his feet and they two faced each
+other,--a bed length between; in their minds the past and future a
+blank, the present with its primitive animal hate blazing in their
+eyes.
+
+"You know what it means to tell me that." Arnold's voice was a full
+note higher than usual. "You'll apologize?"
+
+"Never. It's true. You lied, and you know you lied."
+
+The surrounding world turned dark to the little man, and the dry-goods
+box with the tin dipper on its top, danced before his eyes. For the
+first time in his memory he felt himself losing self-control, and by
+main force of will he turned away to the window. For the instant all
+the savage of his nature was on the surface, and he could fairly feel
+his fingers gripping at the tall man's throat.
+
+A moment he stood in the narrow south window, full in the smiling
+irony of Nature's sunshine; but only a moment. Then the mocking smile
+that had become an instinctive part of his nature spread over his
+face.
+
+"I see but one way to settle this difficulty," he intimated.
+
+A taunt sprang to Ichabod's tongue, but was as quickly repressed.
+
+"There is but one, unless--" with meaning pause.
+
+"I repeat, there is but one."
+
+Ichabod's long face held like wood.
+
+"Consider yourself, then, the challenged party."
+
+They were both very calm, now; the immediate exciting cause in the
+mind of neither. It seemed as if they had been expecting this time for
+years, had been preparing for it.
+
+"Perhaps, as yesterday, in the saloon?" The points of the big
+moustaches twitched ironically. "I promise you there'll be no
+procrastination as--at certain cases recorded."
+
+The mockery, malice inspired, was cleverly turned, and Ichabod's big
+chin protruded ominously, as he came over and fairly towered above the
+small man.
+
+"Most assuredly it'll not be as yesterday. If we're going to reverse
+civilization, we may as well roll it away back. We'll settle it alone,
+and here."
+
+Asa Arnold smiled up into the blue eyes.
+
+"You'd prefer to make the adjustment with your hands, too, perhaps?
+There'd be less risk, considering--" He stopped at the look on the
+face above his. No man _vis-a-vis_ with Ichabod Maurice ever made
+accusation of cowardice. Instead, instinctive sarcasm leaped to his
+lips.
+
+"Not being of the West, I don't ordinarily carry an arsenal with me,
+in anticipation of such incidents as these. If you're prepared,
+however,--" and he paused again.
+
+Ichabod turned away; a terrible weariness and disgust of it all--of
+life, himself, the little man,--in his face. A tragedy would not be so
+bad, but this lingering comedy of death--One thing alone was in his
+mind: to have it over, and quickly.
+
+"I didn't expect--this, either. We'll find another way."
+
+He glanced about the room. A bed, the improvised commode, a chair, a
+small table with a book upon it, and a tallow candle--an idea came to
+him, and his search terminated.
+
+"I may--suggest--" he hesitated.
+
+"Go on."
+
+Ichabod took up the candle, and, with his pocket-knife, cut it down
+until it was a mere stub in the socket, then lit a match and held the
+flame to the wick, until the tallow sputtered into burning.
+
+"You can estimate when that light will go out?" he intimated
+impassively.
+
+Asa Arnold watched the tall man, steadily, as the latter returned the
+candle to the table and drew out his watch.
+
+"I think so," _sotto voce_.
+
+Ichabod returned to his seat on the bed.
+
+"You are not afraid, perhaps, to go into the dark alone?"
+
+"No."
+
+"By your own hand?"
+
+"No," again, very slowly. Arnold understood now.
+
+"You swear?" Ichabod flashed a glance with the question.
+
+"I swear."
+
+"And I."
+
+A moment they both studied the sputtering candle.
+
+"It'll be within fifteen minutes," randomed Ichabod.
+
+Arnold drew out his watch slowly.
+
+"It'll be longer."
+
+That was all. Each had made his choice; a trivial matter of one second
+in the candle's life would decide which of these two men would die by
+his own hand.
+
+For a minute there was no sound. They could not even hear their
+breathing. Then Arnold cleared his throat.
+
+"You didn't say when the loser must pay his debt," he suggested.
+
+Ichabod's voice in answer was a trifle husky.
+
+"It won't be necessary." A vision of the future flashed, sinister,
+inevitable. "The man who loses won't care to face the necessity
+long."
+
+Five minutes more passed. Down the street the blacksmith was hammering
+steadily. Beneath the window the group of farmers had separated; their
+departing footsteps tapping into distance and silence.
+
+Minna went to the street door, calling loudly for Hans, Jr., who had
+strayed,--and both men started at the sound. The quick catch of their
+breathing was now plainly audible.
+
+Arnold shifted in his chair.
+
+"You swear--" his voice rang unnaturally sharp, and he paused to
+moisten his throat,--"you swear before God you'll abide by this?"
+
+"I swear before God," repeated Ichabod slowly.
+
+A second, and the little man followed in echo.
+
+"And I--I swear, I, too, will abide."
+
+Neither man remembered that one of this twain, who gave oath before
+the Deity, was an agnostic, the other an atheist!
+
+A lonely south wind was rising, and above the tinkle of the
+blacksmith's hammer there sounded the tap of the light shade as
+it flapped in the wind against the window-pane. Low, drowsy,
+moaning,--typical breath of prairie,--it droned through the
+loosely built house, with sound louder, but not unlike the perpetual
+roar of a great sea-shell.
+
+Ten minutes passed, and the men sat very still. Both their faces were
+white, and in the angle of the jaw of each the muscles were locked
+hard. Ichabod was leaning near the candle. It sputtered and a tiny
+globule of hot tallow struck his face. He winced and wiped the drop
+off quickly. Observing, Arnold smiled and opened his lips as if to
+make comment; then closed them suddenly, and the smile passed.
+
+Two minutes more the watches ticked off; very, very slowly. Neither of
+the men had thought, beforehand, of this time of waiting. Big drops of
+sweat were forming on both their faces, and in the ears of each the
+blood sang madly. A haze, as from the dropping of a shade, seemed to
+have formed and hung over the room, and in unison sounds from without
+acquired a certain faintness, like that born of distance. Through it
+all the two men sat motionless, watching the candle and the time, as
+the fascinated bird watches its charmer; as the subject watches the
+hypnotist,--as if the passive exercise were the one imperative thing
+in the world.
+
+"Thirteen minutes."
+
+Unconsciously, Arnold was counting aloud. The flame was very low, now,
+and he started to move his chair closer, then sank back, a smile,
+almost ghastly, upon his lips. The blaze had reached the level of the
+socket, and was growing smaller and smaller. Two minutes yet to burn!
+He had lost.
+
+He tried to turn his eyes away, but they seemed fastened to the spot,
+and he powerless. It was as though death, from staring him in the
+face, had suddenly gripped him hard. The panorama of his past life
+flashed through his mind. The thoughts of the drowning man, of the
+miner who hears the rumble of crumbling earth, of the prisoner
+helpless and hopeless who feels the first touch of flame,--common
+thought of all these were his; and in a space of time which, though
+seeming to him endless, was in reality but seconds.
+
+Then came the duller reaction and the events of the last few minutes
+repeated themselves, impersonally, spectacularly,--as though they
+were the actions of another man; one for whom he felt very sorry. He
+even went into the future and saw this same man lying down with a tiny
+bottle in his hand, preparing for the sleep from which there would be
+no awakening,--the sleep which, in anticipation, seemed so pleasant.
+
+Concomitant with this thought the visionary shaded into the real, and
+there came the determination to act at once, this very afternoon, as
+soon as Ichabod had gone. He even felt a little relief at the
+decision. After all, it was so much simpler than if he had won, for
+then--then--He laughed gratingly at the thought. Cursed if he would
+have known what to have done, then!
+
+The sound roused him and he looked at his watch. A minute had passed,
+fourteen from the first and the flame still sputtered. Was it possible
+after all--after he had decided--that he was not to lose, that the
+decision was unnecessary? There was not in his mind the slightest
+feeling of personal elation at the prospect, but rather a sense of
+injury that such a scurvy trick should be foisted off upon him. It
+was like going to a funeral and being confronted, suddenly, with the
+grinning head of the supposed dead projecting through the coffin lid.
+It was unseemly!
+
+Only a minute more: a half now--yes, he would win. For the first time
+he felt that his forehead was wet, and he mopped his face with his
+handkerchief jerkily; then sank back in the chair, instinctively
+shooting forward his cuffs in motion habitual.
+
+"Fifteen seconds." There could be no question now of the result; and
+the outside world, banished for the once, returned. The blacksmith was
+hammering again, the strokes two seconds apart, and the fancy seized
+the little man to finish counting by the ring of the anvil.
+
+"Twelve, ten, eight," he counted slowly. "Six" was forming on the tip
+of the tongue when of a sudden the tiny flame veered far over toward
+the holder, sputtered and went out. For the first time in those
+interminable minutes, Arnold looked at his companion. Ichabod's face
+was within a foot of the table, and in line with the direction the
+flame had veered. Swift as thought the small man was on his feet,
+white anger in his face.
+
+"You blew that candle!" he challenged.
+
+Ichabod's head dropped into his hands. An awful horror of himself fell
+crushingly upon him; an abhorrence of the selfishness that could have
+forgotten--what he forgot; and for so long,--almost irrevocably long.
+Mingled with this feeling was a sudden thanksgiving for the boon of
+which he was unworthy; the memory at the eleventh hour, in time to do
+as he had done before his word was passed. Arnold strode across the
+room, his breath coming fast, his eyes flashing fire. He shook the
+tall man by the shoulder roughly.
+
+"You blew that flame, I say!"
+
+Ichabod looked up at the furious, dark face almost in surprise.
+
+"Yes, I blew it," he corroborated absently.
+
+"It would have burned longer."
+
+"Perhaps--I don't know."
+
+Arnold moved back a step and the old smile, mocking, maddening, spread
+over his face; tilting, perpendicular, the tips of the big
+moustaches.
+
+"After all--" very slowly--"after all, then, you're a coward."
+
+The tall man stood up; six-feet-two, long, bony, immovable: Ichabod
+himself again.
+
+"You know that's a lie."
+
+"You'll meet me again,--another way, then?"
+
+"No, never!"
+
+"I repeat, you're a cursed coward."
+
+"I'd be a coward if I did meet you," quickly.
+
+Something in Ichabod's voice caught the little man's ear and held him
+silent, as, for a long half-minute, the last time in their lives, the
+two men looked into each other's eyes.
+
+"You'll perhaps explain." Arnold's voice was cold as death. "You have
+a reason?"
+
+Ichabod walked slowly over to the window and leaned against the frame.
+Standing there, the spring sunshine fell full upon his face, drawing
+clear the furrows at the angles of his eyes and the gray threads of
+his hair. He paused a moment, looking out over the broad prairie
+shimmering indistinctly in the heat, and the calm of it all took hold
+of him, shone in his face.
+
+"I've a reason," very measuredly, "but it's not that I fear death, or
+you." He took up his hat and smoothed it absently. "In future I shall
+neither seek, nor avoid you. Do what you wish--and God judge us both."
+Without a glance at the other man, he turned toward the door.
+
+Arnold moved a step, as if to prevent him going.
+
+"I repeat, it's my right to know why you refuse." His feet shifted
+uneasily upon the floor. "Is it because of another--Eleanor?"
+
+Ichabod paused.
+
+"Yes," very slowly. "It's because of Eleanor--_and_ another."
+
+The tall man's hand was upon the knob, but this time there was no
+interruption. An instant he hesitated; then absently, slowly, the door
+opened and closed. A moment later indistinct, descending steps sounded
+on the stairway.
+
+Alone, Asa Arnold stood immovable, looking blindly at the closed door,
+listening until the tapping feet had passed into silence. Then, in a
+motion indescribable, of pain and of abandon, he sank back into the
+single chair.
+
+His dearest enemy would have pitied the little man at that moment!
+
+
+CHAPTER VII--THE PRICE OF THE LEAP
+
+
+In the chronology of the little town, day followed day, as monotonously
+as ticks the tall clock on the wall. Only in multiple they merged
+into the seasons which glided so smoothly, one into the other, that
+the change was unnoticed, until it had taken place.
+
+Thus three months passed by, and man's work for the year was nearly
+done. The face of the prairie had become one of many colors; eternal
+badge of civilization as opposed to Nature, who paints each season
+with its own hue. Beside the roadways great, rank sunflowers turned
+their glaring yellow faces to the light. In every direction stretched
+broad fields of flax; unequally ripening, their color scheme ranging
+from sky blue of blossoms to warm browns of maturity. Blotches of sod
+corn added here and there a dash of green to the picture. Surrounding
+all, a setting for all, the unbroken virgin prairie, mottled green and
+brown, stretched, smiling, harmonious, beneficent; a land of promise
+and of plenty for generations yet unborn.
+
+All through the long, hot summer Asa Arnold had stayed in town,
+smoking a big pipe in front of the hotel of Hans Becher. Indolent,
+abnormally indolent, a stranger seeing him thus would have commented;
+but, save Hans the confiding, none other of the many interested
+observers were deceived. No man merely indolent sleeps neither by
+night nor by day; and it seemed the little man never slept. No man
+merely indolent sits wide-eyed hour after hour, gazing blankly at the
+earth beneath his feet--and uttering never a word. Brooding, not
+dreaming, was Asa Arnold; brooding over the eternal problem of right
+and wrong. And, as passed the slow weeks, he moved back--back on the
+trail of civilization, back until Passion and not Reason was the god
+enthroned; back until one thought alone was with him morning, noon,
+and night,--and that thought preponderant, overmastering, deadly
+hate.
+
+Observant Curtis, the doctor, shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"The old, old trail," he satirized.
+
+It was to Bud Evans, the little agent, that he made the observation.
+
+"Which has no ending," completed the latter.
+
+The doctor shrugged afresh.
+
+"That has one inevitable termination," he refuted.
+
+"Which is--"
+
+"Madness--sheer madness."
+
+The agent was silent a moment.
+
+"And the end of that?" he suggested.
+
+Curtis pursed his lips.
+
+"Tragedy, or a strait-jacket. The former, in this instance."
+
+Evans was silent longer than before.
+
+"Do you really mean that?" he queried at last, significantly.
+
+"I've warned Maurice,"--sententiously. "I can do no more."
+
+"And he?" quickly.
+
+"Thanked me."
+
+"That was all?"
+
+"That was all."
+
+The two friends looked at each other, steadily; yet, though they said
+no more, each knew the thought of the other, each knew that in future
+no move of Asa Arnold's would pass unnoticed, unchallenged.
+
+Again, weeks, a month, passed without incident. It was well along in
+the fall and of an early evening that a vague rumor of the unusual
+passed swiftly, by word of mouth, throughout the tiny town. Only a
+rumor it was, but sufficient to set every man within hearing in
+motion.
+
+On this night Hans Becher had eaten his supper and returned to the
+hotel office, as was his wont, for an evening smoke, when, without
+apparent reason, Bud Evans and Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, came
+quietly in and sat down.
+
+"Evening," they nodded, and looked about them.
+
+A minute later Dr. Curtis and Hank Judge, the machine man, dropped
+unostentatiously into chairs. They likewise muttered "Evening," and
+made observation from under their hat-brims. Others followed rapidly,
+until the room was full and dark figures waited outside. At last
+Curtis spoke.
+
+"Your boarder, Asa Arnold, where is he, Hans?"
+
+The unsuspecting German blew a cloud of smoke.
+
+"He a while ago went out." Then, as an afterthought: "He will return
+soon."
+
+Silence once more for a time, and a steadily thickening haze of smoke
+in the room.
+
+"Did he have supper, Hans?" queried Bud Evans, impatiently.
+
+Again the German's face expressed surprise.
+
+"No, it is waiting for him. He went to shoot a rabbit he saw."
+
+The men were on their feet.
+
+"He took a gun, Hans?"
+
+"A rifle, to be sure." The mild brown eyes glanced up reproachfully.
+"A man does not go hunting without--... What is this!" he completed in
+consternation, as, finding himself suddenly alone, he hurried outside
+and stood confusedly scratching his bushy poll, in the block of light
+surrounding the open doorway.
+
+The yard was deserted. As one snuffs a candle, the men had vanished.
+Hans' pipe had gone out and he went inside for a match. Though the
+stars fell, the German must needs smoke. Only a minute he was gone,
+but during that time a group of horsemen had gathered in the street.
+Others were coming across lots, and still others were emerging from
+the darkness of alleys. Some were mounted; some led by the rein, wiry
+little bronchos. Watching, it almost seemed to the German that they
+sprang from the ground.
+
+"Are you all ready?" called a voice, Bud Evans' voice.
+
+"Here--"
+
+"Here--"
+
+"All ready?"
+
+"Yes--"
+
+"We're off, then."
+
+There was a sudden, confused trampling, as of cattle in stampede; a
+musical creaking of heavy saddles; a knife-like swish of many quirts
+through the air; a chorus of dull, chesty groans as the rowels of long
+spurs bit the flanks of the mustangs, and they were gone--down the
+narrow street, out upon the prairie, their hoof beats pattering
+_diminuendo_ into silence; a cloud of dust, grayish in the starlight,
+marking the way they had taken.
+
+Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, came running excitedly up from a side
+street. He stopped in front of the hotel, breathlessly. Holding his
+sides, he followed with his eyes the trail of dust leading out into
+the night.
+
+"Have they gone?" he panted. "I can't find another horse in town."
+
+"Where is it to?" sputtered the German.
+
+"Have they gone, I say?"
+
+Hans gasped.
+
+"Yes, to be sure."
+
+"They'll never make it." The blacksmith mopped his brow with
+conviction. "He has an hour's start."
+
+Hans grasped the big man by the coat.
+
+"Who is too late?" he emphasized. "Where are they going?"
+
+Jim Donovan turned about, great pity for such density in his eyes.
+
+"Is it possible you don't understand? It's to Ichabod Maurice's
+they're going, to tell him of Arnold." The speaker mopped his face
+anew. "It's useless though. They're too late," he completed.
+
+"But Arnold is not there," protested the German. "He went for a
+rabbit, out on the breaking. He so told me."
+
+"He lied to you. He's mad. I tell you they're too late," repeated the
+smith, obstinately.
+
+Hans clung tenaciously to the collar.
+
+"Some one knew and told them?" He pointed in the direction the dust
+indicated.
+
+"Yes, Bud Evans; but they wouldn't believe him at first,
+and"--bitterly--"and waited." Donovan shook himself free, and started
+down the walk. "I'm going to bed," he announced conclusively.
+
+Meanwhile the cloud of dust was moving out over the prairie like the
+wind. The pace was terrific, and the tough little ponies were soon
+puffing steadily. Small game, roused from its sleep by the roadside,
+sprang winging into the night. Once a coyote, surprised, ran a
+distance confusedly ahead in the roadway; then, an indistinct black
+ball, it vanished amongst the tall grass.
+
+Well out on the prairie, Bud Evans, the leader, raised in his stirrups
+and looked ahead. There was no light beyond where the little cottage
+should be. The rowels of his spur dug anew at the flank of his pony as
+he turned a voice like a fog-horn back over his shoulder.
+
+"The place is dark, boys," he called. "Hurry."
+
+Answering, a muttering sound, not unlike an approaching storm, passed
+along the line, and in accompaniment the quirts cut the air anew.
+
+Silent as the grave was the little farmstead when, forty odd minutes
+from the time of starting, they steamed up at the high fence bounding
+the yard. One of Ichabod's farm horses whinnied a lone greeting from
+the barn as they hastily dismounted and swarmed within the inclosure.
+
+"We're too late," prophesied a voice.
+
+"I'm glad my name's not Arnold, if we are," responded another,
+threateningly.
+
+Hurrying up the path in advance, the little land-agent stumbled over a
+soft, dark object, and a curse fell from his lips as he recognized the
+dead body of the big collie.
+
+"Yes, we're too late," he echoed.
+
+The door of the house swung ajar, creaking upon its hinges; and, as
+penetrates the advance wave of a flood, the men swarmed through the
+doorway inside, until the narrow room was blocked. Simultaneously,
+like torches, lighted matches appeared aloft in their hands, and the
+tiny whitewashed room flashed into light. As simultaneously there
+sprang from the mouth of each man an oath, and another, and another.
+Waiting outside, not a listener but knew the meaning of that sound;
+and big, hairy faces crowded tightly to the one small window.
+
+For a moment not a man in the line stirred. Death was to them no
+stranger; but death such as this--
+
+In more than one hand the match burned down until it left a mark like
+charcoal, and without calling attention. One and all they stood
+spellbound, their eyes on the floor, their lips unconsciously uttering
+the speech universal of anger and of horror, the instinctive language
+of anathema.
+
+On the floor, sprawling, as falls a lifeless body, lay the long
+Ichabod. On his forehead, almost geometrically near the centre, was a
+tiny, black spot, around it a lighter red blotch; his face otherwise
+very white; his hair, on the side toward which he leaned, a little
+matted; that was all.
+
+Prostrate across him, in an attitude of utter abandon, reposed the
+body of a woman, soft, graceful, motionless now as that of the man:
+the body of Camilla Maurice. One hand had held his head and was
+stained dark. On her lips was another stain, but lighter. The meaning
+of that last mark came as a flash to the spectators, and the room grew
+still as the figures on the floor.
+
+Suddenly in the silence the men caught their breath, with the quick
+guttural note that announces the unexpected. That there was no
+remaining life they had taken for granted--and Camilla's lips had
+moved! They stared as at sight of a ghost; all except Curtis, the
+physician.
+
+"A lamp, men," he demanded, pressing his ear to Camilla's chest.
+
+"Help me here, Evans," he continued without turning. "I think she's
+fainted is all," and together they carried their burden into the tiny
+sleeping-room, closing the door behind.
+
+That instant Ole, the Swede, thrust a curious head in at the outer
+doorway. He had noticed the light and the gathering, and came to
+ascertain their meaning. Wondering, his big eyes passed around
+the waiting group and from them to the floor. With that look
+self-consciousness left him; he crowded to the front, bending
+over the tall man and speaking his name.
+
+"Mr. Maurice," he called. "Mr. Maurice."
+
+He snatched off his own coat, rolling it under Ichabod's head, and
+with his handkerchief touched the dark spot on the forehead. It was
+clotted already and hardening, and realization came to the boy Swede.
+He stood up, facing the men, the big veins in his throat throbbing.
+
+"Who did this?" he thundered, crouching for a spring like a great dog.
+"Who did this, I say?"
+
+It was the call to action. In the sudden horror of the tragedy the big
+fellows had momentarily forgotten their own grim epilogue. Now, at the
+words, they turned toward the door. But the Swede was in advance,
+blocking the passage.
+
+"Tell me first who did this thing," he challenged, threateningly.
+
+A hand was laid gently upon his shoulder.
+
+"Asa Arnold, my boy," answered a quiet voice, which continued, in
+response to a sudden thought, "You live near here; have you seen him
+to-night?"
+
+The Swede dropped the bar.
+
+"The little man who stays with Hans Becher?"
+
+The questioner nodded.
+
+"Yes, a half-hour ago." The boy-man understood now. "He stopped at my
+house, and--"
+
+"Which direction did he go?"
+
+Ole stepped outside, his arm stretched over the prairie, white now in
+the moonlight.
+
+"That way," he indicated. "East."
+
+As there had been quiescence before, now there was action. No charge
+of cavalry was ever more swift than their sudden departure.
+
+"East, toward Schooner's ranch," was called and repeated as they made
+their way back to the road; and, following, the wiry little bronchos
+groaned in unison as the back cinch to each one of the heavy saddles,
+was, with one accord, drawn tight. Then, widening out upon the
+reflected whiteness of prairie, there spread a great black crescent. A
+moment later came silence, broken only by the quivering call of a lone
+coyote.
+
+Ole watched them out of sight, then turned back to the door; the mood
+of the heroic passed, once more the timid, retiring Swede. But now he
+was not alone. Bud Evans was quietly working over the body on the
+floor, laying it out decently as the quick ever lay out the dead.
+
+"Evans," called the doctor from the bedroom. As the agent responded,
+Ole heard the smothered cry of a woman in pain.
+
+The big boy hesitated, then sat down on the doorstep. There was
+nothing now for him to do, and suddenly he felt very tired. His head
+dropped listlessly into his hands; like a great dog, he waited,
+watching.
+
+Minutes passed. On the table the oil lamp sputtered and burned lower.
+Out in the stable the horse repeated its former challenging whinny.
+Once again through the partition the listener caught the choking wail
+of pain, and the muffled sound of the doctor's voice in answer.
+
+At last Bud Evans came to the door, his face very white. "Water," he
+requested, and Ole ran to the well and back. Then, impassive, he sat
+down again to wait.
+
+Time passed, so long a time it seemed to the watcher that the riders
+must soon be returning. Finally Evans emerged from the side room,
+walking absently, his face gray in the lamplight.
+
+The Swede stood up.
+
+"Camilla Maurice, is she hurt?" he asked.
+
+The little agent busied himself making a fire.
+
+"She's dead," he answered slowly.
+
+"Dead, you say?"
+
+"Yes, dead,"--very quietly.
+
+The fire blazed up and lit the room, shining unpityingly upon the face
+of the man on the floor.
+
+Evans noticed, and drawing off his own coat spread it over the face
+and hands, covering them from sight; then, uncertain, he returned and
+sat down, mechanically holding his palms to the blaze.
+
+A moment later Dr. Curtis appeared at the tiny bedroom entrance; and,
+emerging as the little man had done before him, he closed the door
+softly behind. In his arms he carried a blanket, carefully rolled.
+From the depths of its folds, as he slowly crossed the room toward the
+stove, there escaped a sudden cry, muffled, unmistakable.
+
+The doctor sank down wearily in a chair. Ole, the boy-faced, without a
+question brought in fresh wood, laying it down on the floor very, very
+softly.
+
+"Will he--live?" asked Bud Evans, suddenly, with an uncertain glance
+at the obscuring blanket; and hearing the query, the Swede paused in
+his work to listen.
+
+The big doctor hesitated, and cleared his throat.
+
+"I think so; though--God forgive me--I hope not." And he cleared his
+throat again.
+
+
+
+
+JOURNEY'S END
+
+
+I
+
+
+"Steve!" It was the girl who spoke, but the man did not seem to hear.
+He was staring through the window, unseeingly, into the heart of his
+bitter foe, Winter. He sat silent, helpless.
+
+"Steve!"
+
+At last he awoke.
+
+"Mollie!--girlie!"
+
+An hour had passed since he left the doctor's office to reel and
+stagger drunkenly through the slush and the sleet, and the icy blasts,
+which bit cruelly into his very vitals.
+
+Now he and Mollie were alone in the tiny library. Babcock had been
+warmed, washed, fed. Seemingly without volition on his part, he was
+before the hard-coal blaze, his feet on the fender, the light
+carefully shaded from his eyes. Once upon a time--
+
+But Steve Babcock, master mechanic, had not lost his nerve--once upon
+a time.
+
+"Steve"--the voice was as soft as the wide brown eyes, as the dainty
+oval chin--"Steve, tell me what it is."
+
+The man's hand, palm outward, dropped wearily, eloquently. That was
+all.
+
+"But tell me," the girl's chair came closer, so that she might have
+touched him, "you went to see the doctor?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And he--?"
+
+Again the silent, hopeless gesture, more fear-inspiring than words.
+
+"Don't keep me in suspense, please." A small hand was on the man's
+knee, now, frankly unashamed. "Tell me what he said."
+
+For an instant there was silence, then Babcock shrugged awkwardly, in
+an effort at nonchalance.
+
+"He said I was--was--" in spite of himself, the speaker paused to
+moisten his lips--"a dead man."
+
+"Steve!"
+
+Not a word this time; not even a shrug.
+
+"Steve, you--you're not--not joking with me?"
+
+Lower and lower, still in silence, dropped the man's chin.
+
+"Steve," in a steadier voice, "please answer me. You're not joking?"
+
+"Joking!" At last the query had pierced the fear-dulled brain.
+"Joking! God, no! It's real, real, deadly real, that's what ... Oh,
+Mollie--!" Instinctively, as a child, the man's head had gone to the
+girl's lap. Though never before had they spoken of love or of
+marriage, neither noted the incongruity now. "It's all over. We'll
+never be married, never again get out into the country together, never
+even see the green grass next Spring--at least I won't--never.... Oh,
+Mollie, Mollie!" The man's back rose and fell spasmodically. His voice
+broke. "Mollie, make me forget; I can't bear to think of it. Can't!
+Can't!"
+
+Not a muscle of the girl's body stirred; she made no sound. No one in
+advance would have believed it possible, but it was true. Five minutes
+passed. The man became quiet.
+
+"Steve," the voice was very even, "what else did the doctor say?"
+
+"Eh?" It was the doddering query of an old man.
+
+The girl repeated the question, slowly, with infinite patience, as
+though she were speaking to a child.
+
+"What else did the doctor say?"
+
+Her tranquillity in a measure calmed the man.
+
+"Oh, he said a lot of things; but that's all I remember--what I told
+you. It was the last thing, and he kind of tilted back in his chair.
+The spring needed oil; it fairly screamed. I can hear it now.
+
+"'Steve Babcock,' said he, 'you've got to go some place where it's
+drier, where the air's pure and clean and sweet the year round.
+Mexico's the spot for you, or somewhere in the Far West where you can
+spend all your time in the open--under the roof of Heaven.'
+
+"He leaned forward, and again that cursed spring interrupted.
+
+"'If you don't go, and go right away,' he said, 'as sure as I'm
+talking to you, you're a dead man.'"
+
+Babcock straightened, and, leaden-eyed, looked dully into the blaze.
+
+"Those," he whispered, "were his last words."
+
+"And if you do go?"--very quietly.
+
+"He said I had a chance--a fighting chance." Once more the hopeless,
+deprecatory gesture.
+
+"But what's the use? You know, as well as I, that I haven't a hundred
+dollars to my name. He might just as well have told me to go to the
+moon.
+
+"We poor folks are like rats in a trap when they turn the water
+on--helpless. We--"
+
+Babcock had wandered on, forgetting, for the moment, that it was his
+own case he was analyzing. Now of a sudden it recurred to him,
+cumulatively, crushingly and, as before, his head instinctively sought
+refuge.
+
+"We can't do anything but take our medicine, Mollie--just take our
+medicine."
+
+_Patter_, _patter_ sounded the sleet against the window-panes,
+mingling with the roar of the wind in the chimney, with the short,
+quick breaths of the man. In silence he reached out, took one of the
+girl's hands captive, and held it against his cheek.
+
+For a minute--five minutes--she did not stir, did not utter a sound;
+only the soft oval face tightened until its gentle outlines grew
+sharp, and the brown skin almost white.
+
+All at once her lips compressed; she had reached a decision.
+
+"Steve, sit up, please; I can talk to you better so." Pityingly,
+protectingly, she placed an arm around him and drew him close; not as
+man to maid, but--ah, the pity of it!--as a feeble child to its
+mother.
+
+"Listen to what I say. To-day is Thursday. Next Monday you are going
+West, as the doctor orders."
+
+"What--what did you say, Mollie?"
+
+"Next Monday you go West."
+
+"You mean, after all, I'm to have a chance? I'm not going to die
+like--like a rat?"
+
+For a moment, a swiftly passing moment, it was the old vital Steve who
+spoke; the Babcock of a year ago; then, in quick recession, the mood
+passed.
+
+"You don't know what you're talking about, girl. I can't go, I tell
+you. I haven't the money."
+
+"I'll see that you have the money, Steve."
+
+"You?"
+
+"I've been teaching for eight years, and living at home all the
+while."
+
+The man, surprised out of his self centredness, looked wonderingly,
+unbelievingly, at her.
+
+"You never told me, Mollie."
+
+"No, I never saw the need before."
+
+The man's look of wonder passed. Another--fearful, dependent, the look
+of a child in the dark--took its place.
+
+"But--alone, Mollie! A strange land, a strange people, a strange
+tongue! Oh, I hate myself, girl, hate myself! I've lost my nerve. I
+can't go alone. I can't."
+
+"You're not going alone, Steve." There was a triumphant note in her
+voice that thrilled the man through and through. She continued:
+
+"Only this morning--I don't know why I did it; it seems now like
+Providence pointing the way--I read in the paper about the rich farm
+lands in South Dakota that are open for settlement. I thought of you
+at the time, Steve; how such a life might restore your health; but it
+seemed so impossible, so impracticable, that I soon forgot about it.
+
+"But--Steve--we can each take up a quarter-section--three hundred and
+twenty acres, altogether. Think of it! We'll soon be rich. There you
+will have just the sort of outdoor life the doctor says you need."
+
+He looked at her, marvelling.
+
+"Mollie--you don't mean it--now, when I'm--this way!" He arose, his
+breath coming quick, a deep blot of red in the centre of each cheek.
+"It can't be true when--when you'd never let me say anything before."
+
+"Yes, Steve, it's true."
+
+She was so calm, so self-possessed and withal so determined, that the
+man was incredulous.
+
+"That you'll marry me? Say it, Mollie!"
+
+"Yes, I'll marry you."
+
+"Mollie!" He took a step forward, then of a sudden, abruptly halted.
+
+"But your parents," in swift trepidation. "Mollie, they--"
+
+"Don't let's speak of them,"--sharply. Then in quick contrition, her
+voice softened; once more it struck the maternal note.
+
+"Pardon me, I'm very tired. Come. We have a spare room; you mustn't go
+home to-night."
+
+The man stopped, coughed, advanced a step, then stopped again.
+
+"Mollie, I can't thank you; can't ever repay you--"
+
+"You mustn't talk of repaying me," she said shyly, her dark face
+coloring. It was the first time during the interview that she had
+shown a trace of embarrassment.
+
+"Come," she said, meeting his look again, her hand on the door; "it's
+getting late. You must not venture out."
+
+A moment longer the man hesitated, then obeyed. Not until he was
+very near, so near that he could touch her, did a vestige of his
+former manhood appear. He paused, and their eyes were locked in a
+soul-searching look. Then all at once his arm was round her waist, his
+face beside her face.
+
+"Mollie, girl, won't you--just once?"
+
+"No, no--not that! Don't ask it." Passionately the brown hands flew
+to the brown cheeks, covering them protectingly. But at once came
+thought, the spirit of sacrifice, and contrition for the involuntary
+repulse.
+
+"Forgive me, Steve; I'm unaccountable to-night." Her voice, her manner
+were constrained, subdued. She accepted his injured look without
+comment, without further defence. She saw the perplexed look on his
+thin face; then she reached forward--up--and her two soft hands
+brought his face down to the level of her own.
+
+Deliberately, voluntarily, she kissed him fair upon the lips.
+
+
+II
+
+
+The sun was just peering over the rim of the prairie, when Mrs. Warren
+turned in from the dusty road, picked her way among the browning weeds
+to the plain, unpainted, shanty-like structure which marked the
+presence of a homesteader. Except to the east, where stood the tents
+and shacks of the new railroad's construction gang, not another human
+habitation broke the dull, monotonous rolling sea of prairie.
+
+Mrs. Warren pounded vigorously upon the rough boards of the door.
+
+A full half-minute she waited; then she glared petulantly at the
+unresponsive barrier, and pounded upon it again.
+
+Ordinarily she would have waited patiently, for the multitude of
+duties of one day often found Mrs. Babcock still weary with the
+dawning of the next--especially since Steve had allied himself with
+Jack Warren's engineering corps.
+
+Funds had run low, and the two valetudinarians had reached the stage
+of desperation where they were driven to acknowledge failure, when
+Jack Warren happened along, in the van of the new railroad.
+
+The work of home-building, from the raw material, had been too much
+for Steve's enfeebled physique; so it happened that Mollie performed
+most of his share, as well as all of her own. Yet Steve toiled to the
+limit of his endurance, and each day, at sundown, flung himself upon
+his blanket, spread beneath the stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling
+with weariness. But he soon developed a prodigious appetite, and,
+after the first few weeks, slept each night like a dead man, until
+sunrise.
+
+This morning Annie Warren was too full of her errand to pause an
+instant. She stood a moment listening, one ear to the splintery,
+unfinished boards, then--
+
+"Mollie," she ventured, "are you awake?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Mollie"--more insistent, "wake up and let me in."
+
+Still no response.
+
+"Mollie," for the third time, "it is I, Annie; may I enter?"
+
+"Come." The voice was barely audible.
+
+Within the uncomfortably low, dim room the visitor impetuously crossed
+the earthen floor half-way to a rude bunk built against the wall, then
+paused, her round, childlike face soberly lengthening.
+
+"Mollie, you have been crying!" she charged, resentfully, as if the
+act constituted a personal offence. "You can't deceive me. The pillow
+is soaked, and your eyes are red." She came forward, impulsively, and
+threw herself on the bed, her arm about the other.
+
+"What is it? Tell me--your friend--Annie."
+
+Beneath the light coverlet, Mollie Babcock made a motion of
+deprecation, almost of repugnance.
+
+"It is nothing. Please don't pay any attention to me."
+
+"But it _is_ something. Am I not your friend?"
+
+For a moment neither spoke. Annie Warren all at once became conscious
+that the other woman was looking at her in a way she had never done
+before.
+
+"Assuredly you are my friend, Annie. But just the same, it's nothing."
+The look altered until it became a smile.
+
+"Tell me, instead, why you are here," Mollie went on. "It is not usual
+at this time of day."
+
+Annie Warren felt the rebuff, and she was hurt.
+
+"It is nothing." The visitor was on her feet, her voice again
+resentful; her chin was held high, while her long lashes drooped.
+"Pardon me for intruding, for--"
+
+"Annie!"
+
+No answer save the quiver of a sensitive red lip.
+
+"Annie, child, pardon me. I wouldn't for the world hurt you; but it is
+so hard, what you ask." Mollie Babcock rose, now, likewise. "However,
+if you wish--"
+
+"No, no!" The storm was clearing. "It was all my fault. I know you'd
+rather not." She had grasped Mollie's arms, and was forcing her
+backward, toward the bunk, gently, smilingly. "Be still. I've
+something to tell you. Are you quite ready to listen?"
+
+"Yes, I'm quite ready."
+
+"You haven't the slightest idea what it is? You couldn't even guess?"
+
+"No, I couldn't even guess."
+
+"I'll tell you, then." The plump Annie was bubbling like a child
+before a well-filled Christmas stocking. "It's Jack: he's coming this
+very day. A big, fierce Indian brought the letter this morning." She
+sat down tailor fashion on the end of the bunk. "He nearly ate up
+Susie--Jack christened her Susie because she's a Sioux--because she
+wouldn't let him put the letter right into my own hand. That's why
+I'm up so early."
+
+She looked slyly at the woman on the bed.
+
+"Who do you suppose is coming with him?" she asked.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know," in a tone of not caring, either.
+
+"Guess, Mollie!"
+
+"Steve?"
+
+"Of course--Steve. You knew all the time, only you wouldn't admit it.
+Oh, I'm so glad! I want to hug some one. Isn't it fine?"
+
+"Yes, fine indeed. But you don't mean that you want to hug Steve?"
+
+"No, goose. You know I meant Jack; but I--" She regarded her friend
+doubtfully. But Mollie Babcock was dressing rapidly, and her face was
+averted.
+
+"And Mollie, I didn't tell you all--almost the best. We're going home,
+Jack says; going right away; this very week, maybe."
+
+For a moment the dressing halted. "I am very glad--for you," said
+Mollie, in an even voice.
+
+"Glad, for me!" mimickingly, baitingly. "Mollie Babcock, if I didn't
+know you better, I'd say you were envious."
+
+Mollie said nothing.
+
+"Or weren't glad your husband is coming."
+
+Still no word.
+
+"Or--or--Mollie, what have I done?" Annie cried in dismay. "Don't cry
+so; I was only joking. Of course you know that I didn't mean that you
+envied our good luck, or that you wouldn't be crazy to see Steve."
+
+"But it's so. God help me, it's so!"
+
+"Mollie!" Mrs. Warren was aghast. "Forgive me! I'm ashamed of
+myself!"
+
+"There's nothing to forgive; it's so."
+
+"Please don't." The two were very close, very tense, but not touching.
+"Don't say any more. I didn't hear--"
+
+"You did hear. And you suspected, or you wouldn't have suggested!"
+
+"Mollie, I never dreamed. I--"
+
+Of a sudden the older woman faced about. Seizing the other by the
+shoulders, she held her prisoner. She fixed the frightened woman's
+eyes with a stern look.
+
+"Will you swear that you never knew--that it was mere chance--what you
+said?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You swear you didn't?"--the grip tightened--"you swear it?"
+
+"I swear--oh, you're hurting me!"
+
+Mollie Babcock let her hands drop.
+
+"I believe you"--wearily. "It seemed that everybody knew. God help
+me!" She sank to the bed, her face in her hands. "I believe I'm going
+mad!"
+
+"Mollie--Mollie Babcock! You mustn't talk so--you mustn't!" The
+seconds ticked away. Save for the quick catch of suppressed sobs, not
+a sound was heard in the mean, austere little room; not an echo
+penetrated from the outside world.
+
+Then suddenly the brown head lifted from the pillow, and Mollie faced
+almost fiercely about.
+
+"You think I am--am mad already." Then, feverishly: "Don't you?"
+
+Helpless at a crisis, Annie Warren could only stand silent, the pink,
+childish under-lip held tight between her teeth to prevent a quiver.
+Her fingers played nervously with the filmy lace shawl about her
+shoulders.
+
+Mollie advanced a step. "Don't you?"
+
+Annie found her voice.
+
+"No, no, no! Oh, Mollie, no, of course not! You--Mollie--" Instinct
+all at once came to her rescue. With a sudden movement she gathered
+the woman in her arms, her tender heart quivering in her voice and
+glistening in her eyes. "Mollie, I can't bear to have you so! I love
+you, Mollie. Tell me what it is--me--your friend, Annie."
+
+Mollie's lips worked without speech, and Annie became insistent.
+
+"Tell me, Mollie. Let me share the ache at your heart. I love you!"
+
+Here was the crushing straw to one very, very heartsick and very
+weary. For the first time in her solitary life, Mollie Babcock threw
+reticence to the winds, and admitted another human being into the
+secret places of her confidence.
+
+"If you don't think me already mad, you will before I'm through." Like
+a caged wild thing that can not be still, she was once more on her
+feet, vibrating back and forth like a shuttle. "I'm afraid of myself
+at times, afraid of the future. It's like the garret used to be after
+dark, when we were children: it holds only horrors.
+
+"Child, child!" She paused, her arms folded across her breast, her
+throat a-throb. "You can't understand--thank God, you never will
+understand--what the future holds for me. You are going back home;
+back to your own people, your own life. You've been here but a few
+months. To you it has been a lark, an outing, an experience. In a few
+short weeks it will be but a memory, stowed away in its own niche, the
+pleasant features alone remaining vivid.
+
+"Even, while here, you've never known the life itself. You've had
+Jack, the novelty of a strange environment, your anticipation of sure
+release. You are merely like a sightseer, locked for a minute in a
+prison-cell, for the sake of a new sensation.
+
+"You can't understand, I say. You are this, and I--I am the
+life-prisoner in the cell beyond, peering at you through the bars,
+viewing you and your mock imprisonment."
+
+Once more the speaker was in motion, to and fro, to and fro, in the
+shuttle-trail. "The chief difference is, that the life-prisoner has a
+hope of pardon; I have none--absolutely none."
+
+"Mollie"--pleadingly, "you mustn't. I'll ask Jack to give Steve a
+place at home, and you can go--"
+
+"Go!" The bitterness of her heart welled up and vibrated in the word.
+"Go! We can't go, now or ever. It's death to Steve if we leave. I've
+got to stay here, month after month, year after year, dragging my life
+out until I grow gray-haired--until I die!" She halted, her arms
+tensely folded, her breath coming quick. Only the intensity of her
+emotion saved the attitude from being histrionic. In a sudden
+outburst, she fiercely apostrophized:
+
+"Oh, Dakota! I hate you, I hate you! Because I am a woman, I hate you!
+Because I would live in a house, and not in this endless dreary waste
+of a dead world, I hate you! Because your very emptiness and solitude
+are worse than a prison, because the calls of the living things that
+creep and fly over your endless bosom are more mournful than death
+itself, I hate you! Because I would be free, because I respect sex,
+because of the disdain for womanhood that dwells in your crushing
+silence, I hate--oh, my God, how I hate you!" She threw her arms wide,
+in a frantic gesture of rebellion.
+
+"I want but this," she cried passionately: "to be free; free, as I was
+at home, in God's country. And I can never be so here--never, never,
+never! Oh, Annie, I'm homesick--desperately, miserably homesick! I
+wish to Heaven I were dead!"
+
+Annie Warren, child-woman that she was, was helpless, when face to
+face with the unusual. Her senses were numbed, paralyzed. One thought
+alone suggested itself.
+
+"But"--haltingly--"for Steve's sake--certainly, for him--"
+
+"Stop! As you love me, stop!" Again no suggestion of the histrionic in
+the passionate voice. "Don't say that now. I can't stand it. I--oh, I
+don't mean that! Forget that I said it. I'm not responsible this
+morning. Please leave me."
+
+She was prostrate on the bed at last, her whole body a-tremble.
+
+"But--Mollie--"
+
+"Go--go!" cried Mollie, wildly. "Please go!"
+
+Awed to silence, Annie Warren stared helplessly a moment, then
+gathered her shawl about her shoulders, and slipped silently away.
+
+
+III
+
+
+Mollie Babcock was listlessly going about some imperative domestic
+task, behind the mean structure which represented home for her, when
+Steve came upon her.
+
+She was not looking for him. He had been gone so long, out there
+somewhere, in that abomination of desolation, building a railroad,
+that the morbid fancy had come to dwell with her that the prairie had
+swallowed him, and that she would never see him more. So he came upon
+her unawares.
+
+The buffalo grass rustled with the passage of her skirts. His eyes
+lighted, the man seemed to grow in stature--six feet of sun-blessed,
+primitive health. Now was the time--
+
+"Mollie!"
+
+There was a sudden gasp from the woman. With a hand to her throat, she
+wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.
+
+"I'm back at last. Aren't you glad to see me?"
+
+She was as pallid as an Easter-lily; pallid, despite the fact that she
+had decided, and had nerved herself for his coming.
+
+Steve was puzzled. "Mollie, girl"--he did not advance, merely stood as
+he was--"aren't you glad to see me? Won't you--come?"
+
+There was a long space of silence; the woman did not stir. Then a
+strange, inarticulate cry was smothered in her throat. Swiftly, all
+but desperately, she stumbled blindly forward, although her eyes were
+shining with the enchantment of his presence; close to him she came,
+flung her arms around his broad chest, and strained him to her with
+the abandon of a wild creature.
+
+"Steve!" tensely, "how could you? Glad? You know I'm glad--oh, so
+glad! You startled me, that was all."
+
+"Mollie, girlie"--he lifted her at arms' length, joying in this
+testimony of his renewed strength and manhood--"I rode all last night
+to get here--to see you. Are you happy, girlie, happy?"
+
+"Yes, Steve"--her voice was chastened to a murmur--"I--I'm very
+happy."
+
+"That completes my happiness." Drawing her tenderly to him, he kissed
+her again and again--hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly, he fell
+to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that she was quick to interpret.
+
+"Isn't there something you've forgotten, Mollie?"
+
+"No, I've not forgotten, Steve." She drew the bearded face down to her
+own. Had Steve been observant he would have noticed that the lips so
+near his own were trembling; but he was not observant, this Steve
+Babcock. Once, twice and again she kissed him.
+
+"I think I'll never forget, Steve, man--never!" With one hand she
+indicated the prairie that billowed away to the skyline. "This is our
+home, and I love it because it is ours. I shall always have you--I
+know now, Steve. And I'm the happiest, most contented woman in all
+the wide world."
+
+She drew away with a sudden movement, her face aglow with love and
+happiness. She was pulling at his arm with all her might.
+
+"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.
+
+"Over to the camp--to Journey's End. I must tell Annie Warren just as
+soon as ever I can find her."
+
+
+
+
+A PRAIRIE IDYL
+
+
+A beautiful moonlight night early in September, the kind of night one
+remembers for years, when the air is not too cold to be pleasant, and
+yet has a suggestion of the frost that is to come. A kind of air that
+makes one think thoughts which cannot be put into words, that calls up
+sensations one cannot describe; an air which breeds restless energy;
+an air through which Mother Nature seems to speak, saying--"Hasten,
+children; life is short and you have much to do."
+
+It was nearing ten o'clock, and a full moon lit up the rolling prairie
+country of South Dakota for miles, when the first team of a little
+train of six moved slowly out of the dark shadow blots thrown by the
+trees at the edge of the Big Sioux, advancing along a dim trail
+towards the main road. From the first wagon sounded the suggestive
+rattle of tin cooking-utensils, and the clatter of covers on an old
+cook stove. Next behind was a load piled high with a compound heap of
+tents, tennis nets, old carpets, hammocks, and the manifold
+unclassified paraphernalia which twenty young people will collect for
+a three weeks' outing.
+
+These wagons told their own story. "Camp Eden," the fanciful name
+given to the quiet, shady spot where the low chain of hills met the
+river; the spot where the very waters seemed to lose themselves in
+their own cool depths, and depart sighing through the shallows
+beyond,--Camp Eden was deserted, and a score of very tired campers
+were reluctantly returning to home and work.
+
+Last in the line and steadily losing ground, came a single trap
+carrying two people. One of them, a young man with the face of a
+dreamer, was speaking. The spell of the night was upon him.
+
+"So this is the last of our good time--and now for work." He stopped
+the horse and stood up in the wagon. "Good-bye, little Camp Eden.
+Though I won't be here, yet whenever I see the moon a-shining so--and
+the air feeling frosty and warm and restless--and the corn stalks
+whitening, and the young prairie chickens calling--you'll come back to
+me, and I'll think of you--and of the Big Sioux--and of--" His eyes
+dropped to a smooth brown head, every coil of the walnut hair
+glistening.
+
+It made him think of the many boat rides they two had taken together
+in the past two weeks, when he had watched the moonlight shimmering on
+rippling, running water, and compared the play of light upon it and
+upon that same brown head--and had forgotten all else in the
+comparison. He forgot all else now. He sat down, and the horse
+started. The noisy wagons ahead had passed out of hearing. The pair
+were alone.
+
+He was silent a moment, looking sideways at the girl. The moonlight
+fell full upon her face, drawing clear the line of cheek and chin;
+bringing out the curve of the drooping mouth and the shadow from the
+long lashes. She seemed to the sensitive lad more than human. He had
+loved her for years, with the pure silent love known only to such a
+nature as his--and never had he loved her so wildly as now.
+
+He was the sport of a multitude of passions; love and ambition were
+the strongest, and they were fighting a death struggle with each
+other. How could he leave her for years--perhaps never see her
+again--and yet how could he ask her to be the wife of such as he was
+now--a mere laborer? And again, his college course, his cherished
+ambition for years--how could he give it up; and yet he felt--he knew
+she loved him, and trusted him.
+
+He had been looking squarely at her. She turned, and their eyes met.
+Each knew the thought of the other, and each turned away. He hesitated
+no longer; he would tell her all, and she should judge. His voice
+trembled a little as he said: "I want to tell you a story, and ask you
+a question--may I?"
+
+She looked at him quickly, then answered with a smile: "I'm always
+glad to hear stories--and at the worst one can always decline to
+answer questions."
+
+He looked out over the prairie, and saw the lights of the little
+town--her home--in the distance.
+
+"It isn't a short story, and I have only so long"--he pointed along
+the road ahead to the village beyond--"to tell it in." He settled
+back in the seat, and began speaking. His voice was low and soft, like
+the prairie night-wind.
+
+"Part of the story you know; part of it I think you have guessed; a
+little of it will be new. For the sake of that little, I will tell
+all."
+
+"Thirteen years ago, what is now a little prairie town--then a very
+little town indeed--gained a new citizen--a boy of nine. A party of
+farmers found him one day, sleeping in a pile of hay, in the market
+corner. He lay so they could see how his face was bruised--and how,
+though asleep, he tossed in pain. He awoke, and, getting up, walked
+with a limp. Where he came from no one knew, and he would not tell;
+but his appearance told its own story. He had run away from somewhere.
+What had happened they could easily imagine.
+
+"It was harvest-time and boys, even though minus a pedigree, were in
+demand; so he was promptly put on a farm. Though only a child, he had
+no one to care for him--and he was made to work ceaselessly.
+
+"Years passed and brought a marked change in the boy. How he lived was
+a marvel. It was a country of large families, and no one cared to
+adopt him. Summers, he would work for his board and clothes, and in
+winter, by the irony of Nature, for his board only; yet, perhaps
+because it was the warmest place he knew, he managed to attend
+district school.
+
+"When a lad of fifteen he began to receive wages--and life's horizon
+seemed to change. He dressed neatly, and in winter came to school in
+the little prairie town. He was put in the lower grades with boys of
+ten, and even here his blunders made him a laughing-stock; but not for
+long, for he worked--worked always--and next year was put in the high
+school.
+
+"There he established a precedent--doing four years' work in
+two--and graduated at eighteen. How he did it no one but he himself
+knew--studying Sundays, holidays, and evenings, when he was so tired
+that he had to walk the floor to keep awake--but he did it."
+
+The speaker stopped a moment to look at his companion. "Is this a
+bore? Somehow I can't help talking to-night."
+
+"No, please go on," said the girl quickly.
+
+"Well, the boy graduated--but not alone. For two years he had worked
+side by side with a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. From the time he
+had first seen her she was his ideal--his divinity. And she had never
+spoken with him five minutes in her life. After graduation, the girl
+went away to a big university. Her parents were wealthy, and her every
+wish was gratified."
+
+Again the speaker hesitated. When he went on his face was hard, his
+voice bitter.
+
+"And the boy--he was poor and he went back to the farm. He was the
+best hand in the country; for the work he received good wages. If he
+had worked hard before, he worked now like a demon. He thought of the
+girl away at college, and tried at first to crowd her from his
+memory--but in vain. Then he worked in self-defence--and to forget.
+
+"He saw years slipping by--and himself still a farmhand. The thought
+maddened him, because he knew he was worthy of something better.
+
+"Gradually, his whole life centred upon one object--to save money for
+college. Other boys called him close and cold; but he did not care. He
+seldom went anywhere, so intent was he upon his one object. On hot
+summer nights, tired and drowsy he would read until Nature rebelled,
+and he would fall asleep to dream of a girl--a girl with brown eyes
+that made one forget--everything. In winter, he had more time--and the
+little lamp in his room became a sort of landmark: it burned for hours
+after every other light in the valley had ceased shining.
+
+"Four years passed, and at last the boy had won. In a month he would
+pass from the prairie to university life. He had no home, few
+friends--who spoke; those who did not were safely packed at the bottom
+of his trunk. His going from the little town would excite no more
+comment than had his coming. He was all ready, and for the first time
+in his life set apart a month--the last--as a vacation. He felt
+positively gay. He had fought a hard fight--and had won. He saw the
+dawning of a great light--saw the future as a battle-ground where he
+would fight; not as he was then, but fully equipped for the
+struggle.... But no matter what air-castles he built; they were such
+as young men will build to the end of time."
+
+The speaker's voice lowered--stopped. He looked straight out over the
+prairie, his eyes glistening.
+
+"If so far the boy's life had been an inferno, he was to be repaid.
+The girl--she of the brown eyes--was home once more, and they met
+again as members of a camping party." He half-turned in his seat to
+look at her, but she sat with face averted, so quiet, so motionless,
+that he wondered if she heard.
+
+"Are you listening?" he asked.
+
+"Listening!" Her voice carried conviction, so the lad continued.
+
+"For a fortnight he lived a dream--and that dream was Paradise. He
+forgot the past, ignored the future, and lived solely for the
+moment--with the joy of Nature's own child. It was the pure love of
+the idealist and the dreamer--it was divine.
+
+"Then came the reaction. One day he awoke--saw things as they
+were--saw again the satire of Fate. At the very time he left for
+college, she returned--a graduate. She was young, beautiful,
+accomplished. He was a mere farmhand, without money or education,
+homeless, obscure. The thought was maddening, and one day he suddenly
+disappeared from camp. He didn't say good-bye to any one; he felt he
+had no apology that he could offer. But he had to go, for he felt the
+necessity for work, longed for it, as a drunkard longs for liquor."
+
+"Oh!" The exclamation came from the lips of the girl beside him.
+"I--we--all wondered why--."
+
+"Well, that was why.
+
+"He fell in with a threshing-crew, and asked to work for his board.
+They thought him queer, but accepted his offer. For two days he stayed
+with them, doing the work of two men. It seemed as if he couldn't do
+enough--he couldn't become tired. He wanted to think it all out, and
+he couldn't with the fever in his blood.
+
+"At night he couldn't sleep--Nature was pitiless. He would walk the
+road for miles until morning.
+
+"With the third day came relief. All at once he felt fearfully tired,
+and fell asleep where he stood. Several of the crew carried him to a
+darkened room, and there he slept as a dumb animal sleeps. When he
+awoke, he was himself again; his mind was clear and cool. He looked
+the future squarely in the face, now, and clearly, as if a finger
+pointed, he saw the path that was marked for him. He must go his
+way--and she must go hers. Perhaps, after four years or more--but the
+future was God's."
+
+The boy paused. The lights of the town were nearing, now; but he still
+looked out over the moon-kissed prairie.
+
+"The rest you know. The dreamer returned. The party scarcely knew him,
+for he seemed years older. There were but a few days more of camp
+life, and he spent most of the time with the girl. Like a malefactor
+out on bail, he was painting a picture for the future. He thought he
+had conquered himself--but he hadn't. It was the same old struggle.
+Was not love more than ambition or wealth? Had he not earned the
+right to speak? But something held him back. If justice to himself,
+was it justice to the girl? Conscience said 'No.' It was hard--no one
+knows how hard--but he said nothing."
+
+Once more he turned to his companion, in his voice the tenderness of a
+life-long passion.
+
+"This is the story: did the boy do right?" A life's work--greater than
+a life itself, hung on the answer to that question.
+
+The girl understood it all. She had always known that she liked him;
+but now--now--As he had told his story, she had felt, first, pity, and
+then something else; something incomparably sweeter; something that
+made her heart beat wildly, that seemed almost to choke her with its
+ecstasy.
+
+He loved her--had loved her all these years! He belonged to her--and
+his future lay in her hands.
+
+His future! The thought fell upon her new-found happiness with the
+suddenness of a blow. She could keep him, but had she the right to do
+so? She saw in him something that he did not suspect--and that
+something was genius. She knew he had the ability to make for himself
+a name that would stand among the great names of the earth.
+
+Then, did his life really belong to her? Did it not rather belong to
+himself and to the world?
+
+She experienced a struggle, fierce as he himself had fought. And the
+boy sat silent, tense, waiting for her answer.
+
+Yes, she must give him up; she would be brave. She started to speak,
+but the words would not come. Suddenly she buried her face in her
+hands, while the glistening brown head trembled with her sobs.
+
+It was the last drop to the cup overflowing. A second, and then, his
+arms were around her. The touch was electrifying--it was oblivion--it
+was heaven--it was--but only a young lover knows what.
+
+"You have answered," said the boy. "God forgive me--but I can't go
+away now."
+
+Thus Fate sported with two lives.
+
+
+
+
+THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS
+
+
+CHAPTER I--SANDFORD THE EXEMPLARY
+
+
+Ordinarily Sandford is sane--undeniably so. Barring the seventh, upon
+any other day of the week, fifty-one weeks in the year, from nine
+o'clock in the morning until six at night--omitting again a scant
+half-hour at noon for lunch--he may be found in his tight little box
+of an office on the fifth floor of the Exchange Building, at the
+corner of Main Avenue and Thirteenth Street, where the elevated makes
+its loop.
+
+No dog chained beside his kennel is more invariably present, no caged
+songster more incontestably anchored. If you need his services, you
+have but to seek his address between the hours mentioned. You may do
+so with the same assurance of finding him on duty that you would feel,
+if you left a jug of water out of doors over night in a blizzard,
+that the jug, as a jug, would be no longer of value in the morning. He
+was, and is, routine impersonate, exponent of sound business
+personified; a living sermon against sloth and improvidence, and easy
+derelictions of the flesh.
+
+That is to say, he is such fifty-one weeks out of the fifty-two. All
+through the frigid winter season, despite the lure of California
+limiteds or Havana liners, he holds hard in that den of his, with its
+floor and walls of sanitary tiling and its ceiling of white enamel,
+and hews--or grinds rather, for Sandford is a dental surgeon--close to
+the line.
+
+All through the heat of summer, doggedly superior to the call of
+Colorado or the Adirondacks or the Thousand Islands, he comes and
+departs by the tick of the clock. Base-ball fans find him adamant;
+turf devotees, marble; golf enthusiasts, cold as the tiles beneath his
+feet.
+
+Even in early June, when Dalton, whose suburban home is next door,
+returns, tanned and clear-eyed from a week-end at _the_ lake--there is
+but one lake to Dalton--and calls him mysteriously back to the rear
+of the house, where, with a flourish, the cover is removed from a box
+the expressman has just delivered, to disclose a shining five-pound
+bass reposing upon its bed of packed ice--even then, hands in pockets,
+Sandford merely surveys and expresses polite congratulation. Certainly
+it is a fine fish, a noble fish, even; but for the sake of one like
+it--or, yes, granted a dozen such--to leave the office, the
+sanitary-tiled office, deserted for four whole days (especially when
+Dr. Corliss on the floor below is watching like a hawk)--such a crazy
+proceeding is not to be thought of.
+
+Certainly he will not go along the next week end--or the next, either.
+The suggestion simply is unthinkable. Such digressions may be all
+right for the leisure class or for invalids; but for adults, live
+ones, strong and playing the game? A shrug and a tolerant smile end
+the discussion, as, hands still in his pockets, an after-dinner cigar
+firm between his teeth, Sandford saunters back across the dozen feet
+of sod separating his own domicile from that of his fallen and
+misguided neighbor.
+
+"Dalton's got the fever again, bad," he comments to the little woman
+upon his own domain, whom he calls "Polly," or "Mrs. Sandford," as
+occasion dictates. She has been watching the preceding incident with
+inscrutable eyes.
+
+"Yes?" Polly acknowledges, with the air of harkening to a familiar
+harangue while casting ahead, in anticipation of what was to come
+next.
+
+"Curious about Dalton; peculiar twist to his mental machinery
+somewhere." Sandford blows a cloud of smoke and eyes it meditatively.
+"Leaving business that way, chopping it all to pieces in fact; and
+just for a fish! Curious!"
+
+"Harry's got something back there that'll probably interest you," he
+calls out to me as I chug by in my last year's motor; "better stop and
+see."
+
+"Yes," I acknowledge simply; and though Polly's eyes and mine meet we
+never smile, or twitch an eyelid, or turn a hair; for Sandford is
+observing--and this is only June.
+
+So much for Dr. Jekyll Sandford, the Sandford of fifty-one weeks in
+the year.
+
+Then, as inevitably as time rolls by, comes that final week; period
+of mania, of abandon; and in the mere sorcerous passage of a pair
+of whirring wings, Dr. Jekyll, the exemplary, is no more. In his
+place, wearing his shoes, audaciously signing his name even to
+checks, is that other being, Hyde: one absolutely the reverse of
+the reputable Jekyll; repudiating with scorn that gentleman's
+engagements; with brazen effrontery denying him utterly, and all the
+sane conventionality for which the name has become a synonyme.
+
+Worst of all, rank blasphemy, he not only refuses to set foot in that
+modern sanitary office of enamel and tiling, at the corner of
+Thirteenth and Main, below which, by day and by night, the "L" trains
+go thundering, but deliberately holds it up to ridicule and derision
+and insult.
+
+
+CHAPTER II--THE PRESAGE OF THE WINGS
+
+
+And I, the observer--worse, the accessory--know, in advance, when the
+metamorphosis will transpire.
+
+When, on my desk-pad calendar the month recorded is October, and the
+day begins with a twenty, there comes the first premonition of winter;
+not the reality, but a premonition; when, at noon the sun is burning
+hot, and, in the morning, frost glistens on the pavements; when the
+leaves are falling steadily in the parks, and not a bird save the
+ubiquitous sparrow is seen, I begin to suspect.
+
+But when at last, of an afternoon, the wind switches with a great
+flurry from south to dead north, and on the flag-pole atop of the
+government building there goes up this signal: [Transcriber's Note:
+signal flag image here]; and when later, just before retiring, I
+surreptitiously slip out of doors, and, listening breathlessly, hear
+after a moment despite the clatter of the wind, high up in the
+darkness overhead that muffled _honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ of the
+Canada-goose winging on its southern journey in advance of the coming
+storm--then I _know_.
+
+So well do I know, that I do not retire--not just yet. Instead, on a
+pretext, any pretext, I knock out the ashes from my old pipe, fill it
+afresh, and wait. I wait patiently, because, inevitable as Fate,
+inevitable as that call from out the dark void of the sky, I know
+there will come a trill of the telephone on the desk at my elbow; my
+own Polly--whose name happens to be Mary--is watching as I take down
+the receiver to reply.
+
+
+CHAPTER III--THE OTHER MAN
+
+
+It is useless to dissimulate longer, then. I am discovered, and I know
+I am discovered. "Hello, Sandford," I greet without preface.
+
+"Sandford!" (I am repeating in whispers what he says for my Polly's
+benefit.) "Sandford! How the deuce did you know?"
+
+"Know?" With the Hyde-like change comes another, and I feel positively
+facetious. "Why I know your ring of course, the same as I know your
+handwriting on a telegram. What is it? I'm busy."
+
+"I'm busy, too. Don't swell up." (Imagine "swell up" from Sandford,
+the repressed and decorous!) "I just wanted to tell you that the
+honkers are coming."
+
+"No! You're imagining, or you dreamed it!... Anyway, what of it? I
+tell you I'm busy."
+
+"Cut it out!" I'm almost scared myself, the voice is positively
+ferocious. "I heard them not five minutes ago, and besides, the storm
+signal is up. I'm getting my traps together now. Our train goes at
+three-ten in the morning, you know."
+
+"Our-train-goes-at-three-ten--in-the-morning!"
+
+"I said so."
+
+"_Our_ train?"
+
+"Our train: the one which is to take us out to Rush Lake. Am I clear?
+I'll wire Johnson to meet us with the buckboard."
+
+"Clear, yes; but go in the morning--Why, man, you're crazy! I have
+engagements for all day to-morrow."
+
+"So have I."
+
+"And the next day."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the next."
+
+"A whole week with me. What of it?"
+
+"What of it! Why, business--"
+
+"Confound business! I tell you they're coming; I heard them. I haven't
+any more time to waste talking, either. I've got to get ready. Meet
+you at three-ten, remember."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Number, please," requests Central, wearily.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV--CAPITULATION
+
+
+Thus it comes to pass that I go; as I know from the first I shall go,
+and Sandford knows that I will go; and, most of all, as Mary knows
+that I will go.
+
+In fact, she is packing for me already; not saying a word, but simply
+packing; and I--I go out-doors again, sidling into a jog beside the
+bow-window, to diminish the din of the wind in my ears, listening
+open-mouthed until--
+
+Yes, there it sounds again; faint, but distinct; mellow, sonorous,
+vibrant. _Honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ and again _honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ It
+wafts downward from some place, up above where the stars should be and
+are not; up above the artificial illumination of the city; up where
+there are freedom, and space infinite, and abandon absolute.
+
+With an effort, I force myself back into the house. I take down and
+oil my old double-barrel, lovingly, and try the locks to see that all
+is in order. I lay out my wrinkled and battered duck suit handy for
+the morning, after carefully storing away in an inner pocket, where
+they will keep dry, the bundle of postcards Mary brings me--first
+exacting a promise to report on one each day, when I know I shall be
+five miles from the nearest postoffice, and that I shall bring them
+all back unused.
+
+And, last of all, I slip to bed, and to dreams of gigantic honkers
+serene in the blue above; of whirring, whistling wings that cut the
+air like myriad knife blades; until I wake up with a start at the
+rattle of the telephone beside my bed, and I know that, though dark as
+a pit of pitch, it is morning, and that Sandford is already astir.
+
+
+CHAPTER V--ANTICIPATION
+
+
+In the smoking-car forward I find Sandford. He is a most
+disreputable-looking specimen. Garbed in weather-stained corduroys,
+and dried-grass sweater, and great calfskin boots, he sprawls among
+gun-cases and shell-carriers--no sportsman will entrust these
+essentials to the questionable ministrations of a baggage-man--and the
+air about him is blue from the big cigar he is puffing so
+ecstatically. He nods and proffers me its mate.
+
+"Going to be a great day," he announces succinctly, and despite a
+rigorous censorship there is a suggestion of excitement in the voice.
+"The wind's dead north, and it's cloudy and damp. Rain, maybe, about
+daylight."
+
+"Yes." I am lighting up stolidly, although my nerves are atingle.
+
+"We're going to hit it right, just right. The flight's on. I heard
+them going over all night. The lake will be black with the big
+fellows, the Canada boys."
+
+"Yes," I repeat; then conscience gives a last dig. "I ought not to do
+it, though. I didn't have time to break a single engagement"--I'm a
+dental surgeon, too, by the way, with likewise an office of tile and
+enamel--"or explain at all. And the muss there'll be at the shop
+when--"
+
+"Forget it, you confounded old dollar-grubber!" A fresh torrent of
+smoke belches forth, so that I see Sandford's face but dimly through
+the haze. "If you mention teeth again, until we're back--merely
+mention them--I'll throttle you!"
+
+The train is in motion now, and the arc-lights at the corners,
+enshrouded each by a zone of mist, are flitting by.
+
+"Yes," he repeats, and again his voice has that minor strain of
+suppressed excitement, "we're hitting it just right. There'll be rain,
+or a flurry of snow, maybe, and the paddle feet will be down in the
+clouds."
+
+
+CHAPTER VI--"MARK THE RIGHT, SANDFORD!"
+
+
+And they are. Almost before we have stumbled off at the deserted
+station into the surrounding darkness, Johnson's familiar bass is
+heralding the fact.
+
+"Millions of 'em, boys," he assures us, "billions! Couldn't sleep last
+night for the racket they made on the lake. Never saw anything like it
+in the twenty years I've lived on the bank. You sure have struck it
+this time. Right this way," he is staggering under the load of our
+paraphernalia; "rig's all ready and Molly's got the kettle on at home,
+waiting breakfast for you.... Just as fat as you were last year, ain't
+ye?" a time-proven joke, for I weigh one hundred and eight pounds.
+"Try to pull you out, though; try to." And his great laugh drowns the
+roar of the retreating train.
+
+At another time, that five-mile drive in the denser darkness, just
+preceding dawn, would have been long perhaps, the springs of that
+antiquated buckboard inadequate, the chill of that damp October air
+piercing; but now--we notice nothing, feel nothing uncomfortable. My
+teeth chatter a bit now and then, when I am off guard, to be sure; but
+it is not from cold, and the vehicle might be a Pullman coach for
+aught I am conscious.
+
+For we have reached the border of the marsh, now, and are skirting its
+edge, and--Yes, those are ducks, really; that black mass, packed into
+the cove at the lee of those clustering rushes, protected from the
+wind, the whole just distinguishable from the lighter shadow of the
+water: ducks and brant; dots of white, like the first scattered
+snowflakes on a sooty city roof!
+
+"Mark the right, Sandford," I whisper in oblivion. "Mark the right!"
+
+And, breaking the spell, Johnson laughs.
+
+
+CHAPTER VII--THE BACON WHAT AM!
+
+
+When is bacon bacon, and eggs eggs? When is coffee coffee, and the
+despised pickerel, fresh from the cold water of the shaded lake, a
+glorious brown food, fit for the gods?
+
+Answer, while Molly (whose real name is Aunt Martha) serves them to
+us, forty-five minutes later.
+
+Oh, if we only had time to eat, as that breakfast deserves to be
+eaten! If we only had time!
+
+But we haven't; no; Sandford says so, in a voice that leaves no room
+for argument. The sky is beginning to redden in the east; the surface
+of the water reflects the glow, like a mirror; and, seen through the
+tiny-paned windows, black specks, singly and in groups, appear and
+disappear, in shifting patterns, against the lightening background.
+
+"No more now, Aunt Martha--no. Wait until noon; just wait--and _then_
+watch us! Ready, Ed?"
+
+"Waiting for you, Sam." It's been a year since I called him by his
+Christian name; but I never notice, nor does he. "All ready."
+
+"Better try the point this morning; don't you think, Johnson?"
+
+"Yes, if you've your eye with ye. Won't wait while y' sprinkle salt on
+their tails, them red-heads and canvas boys. No, sir-ree."
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII--FEATHERED BULLETS
+
+
+The breath of us is whistling through our nostrils, like the muffled
+exhaust of a gasoline engine, and our hearts are thumping two-steps on
+our ribs from the exertion, when we reach the end of the rock-bestrewn
+point which, like a long index finger, is thrust out into the bosom of
+the lake. The wind, still dead north, and laden with tiny drops of
+moisture, like spray from a giant atomizer, buffets us steadily; but
+thereof we are sublimely unconscious.
+
+For at last we are there, there; precisely where we were yesterday--no,
+a year ago--and the light is strong enough now, so that when our
+gun-barrels stand out against the sky, we can see the sights, and--
+
+Down! Down, behind the nearest stunted willow tree; behind
+anything--quick!--for they're coming: a great dim wedge, with the apex
+toward us, coming swiftly on wings that propel two miles to the
+minute, when backed by a wind that makes a mile in one.
+
+Coming--no; arrived. Fair overhead are the white of breasts, of plump
+bodies flashing through the mist, the swishing hiss of many wings
+cutting the air, the rhythmic _pat_, _pat_--"_Bang!_ _Bang!_"
+
+Was it Sandford's gun, or was it mine? Who knows? The reports were
+simultaneous.
+
+And then--_splash!_ and a second later,--_splash!_ as two dots leave
+the hurtling wedge and, with folded wings, pitch at an angle,
+following their own momentum, against the dull brown surface of the
+rippling water.
+
+Through the intervening branches and dead sunflower stalks, I look at
+Sandford--to find that Sandford is looking at me.
+
+"Good work, old man!" I say, and notice that my voice is a little
+higher than normal.
+
+"Good work, yourself,"--generously. "I missed clean, both barrels. Do
+better next time, though, perhaps.... _Down!_ Mark north! Take the
+leader, you."
+
+From out the mist, dead ahead, just skimming the surface of the water,
+and coming straight at us, like a mathematically arranged triangle of
+cannon balls, taking definite form and magnitude oh, so swiftly,
+unbelievably swift; coming--yes--directly overhead, as before, the
+pulsing, echoing din in our ears.
+
+"_Ready!_"
+
+Again the four reports that sounded as two; and they are past; no
+longer a regular formation, but scattered erratically by the alarm,
+individual vanishing and dissolving dots, speedily swallowed up by the
+gray of the mist.
+
+But this time there was no echoing splash, as a hurtling body struck
+the water, nor tense spoken word of congratulation following--nothing.
+For ten seconds, which is long under the circumstances, not a word is
+spoken; only the metallic click of opened locks, as they spring home,
+breaks the steady purr of the wind; then:
+
+"Safe from me when they come like that," admits Sandford, "unless I
+have a ten-foot pole, and they happen to run into it."
+
+"And from me," I echo.
+
+"Lord, how they come! They just simply materialize before your eyes,
+like an impression by flash-light; and then--vanish."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Seems as though they'd take fire, like meteorites, from the
+friction."
+
+"I'm looking for the smoke, myself--_Down!_ Mark your left!"
+
+_Pat!_ _pat!_ _pat!_ Swifter than spoken words, swift as the strokes
+of an electric fan, the wings beat the air. _Swish-h-h!_ long-drawn
+out, _crescendo_, yet _crescendo_ as, razor-keen, irresistible, those
+same invisible wings cut it through and through; while, answering the
+primitive challenge, responding to the stimulus of the game, the hot
+tingle of excitement speeds up and down our spines. Nearer, nearer,
+mounting, perpendicular--
+
+The third battalion of that seemingly inexhaustible army has come and
+gone; and, mechanically, we are thrusting fresh shells into the
+faintly smoking gun-barrels.
+
+"Got mine that time, both of them." No repression, nor polite
+self-abnegation from Sandford this time; just plain, frank exultation
+and pride of achievement. "Led 'em a yard--two, maybe; but I got 'em
+clean. Did you see?"
+
+"Yes, good work," I echo in the formula.
+
+"Canvas-backs, every one; nothing but canvas-backs." Again the old
+marvel, the old palliation that makes the seemingly unequal game fair.
+"But, Lord, how they do go; how anything alive can go so--and be
+stopped!"
+
+"Mark to windward! Straight ahead! _Down!_"
+
+
+CHAPTER IX--OBLIVION
+
+
+This, the morning. Then, almost before we mark the change, swift-passing
+time has moved on; the lowering mist has lifted; the occasional
+pattering rain-drops have ceased; the wind, in sympathy, is diminished.
+And of a sudden, arousing us to a consciousness of time and place, the
+sun peeps forth through a rift in the scattering clouds, and at a
+point a bit south of the zenith.
+
+"Noon!" comments Sandford, intensely surprised. Somehow, we are always
+astonished that noon should follow so swiftly upon sunrise. "Well, who
+would have thought it!"
+
+That instant I am conscious, for the first time, of a certain violent
+aching void making insistent demand.
+
+"I wouldn't have done so before, but now that you mention it, I do
+think it emphatically." This is a pitiful effort at a jest, but it
+passes unpunished. "There comes Johnson to bring in the birds."
+
+After dinner--and oh, what a dinner! for, having adequate time to do
+it justice, we drag it on and on, until even Aunt Martha is
+satisfied--we curl up in the sunshine, undimmed and gloriously warm;
+we light our briers, and, too lazily, nervelessly content to even
+talk, lay looking out over the blue water that melts and merges in the
+distance with the bluer sky above. After a bit, our pipes burn
+dead and our eyelids drop, and with a last memory of sunlight
+dancing on a myriad tiny wavelets, and a blessed peace and abandon
+soaking into our very souls we doze, then sleep, sleep as we never
+sleep in the city; as we had fancied a short day before never to
+sleep again; dreamlessly, childishly, as Mother Nature intended her
+children to sleep.
+
+Then, from without the pale of utter oblivion, a familiar voice breaks
+slowly upon our consciousness: the voice of Johnson, the vigilant.
+
+"Got your blind all built, boys, and the decoys is out--four dozen of
+them," he admonishes, sympathetically. "Days are getting short, now,
+so you'd better move lively, if you get your limit before dark."
+
+
+CHAPTER X--UPON "WIPING THE EYE"
+
+
+"To poets and epicures, perhaps, the lordly canvas-back--though brown
+from the oven, I challenge the supercilious _gourmet_ to distinguish
+between his favorite, and a fat American coot. But for me the
+loud-voiced mallard, with his bottle-green head and audaciously
+curling tail; for he will decoy."
+
+I am quoting Sandford. Be that as it may, we are there, amid
+frost-browned rushes that rustle softly in the wind: a patch of
+shallow open water, perhaps an acre in extent, to the leeward of us,
+where the decoys, heading all to windward, bob gently with the slight
+swell.
+
+"Now this is something like sport," adds my companion, settling back
+comfortably in the slough-grass blind, built high to the north to cut
+out the wind, and low to the south to let in the sun. "On the point,
+there, this morning you scored on me, I admit it; but this is where I
+shine: real shooting; one, or a pair at most, at a time; no
+scratches; no excuses. Lead on, MacDuff, and if you miss, all's fair
+to the second gun."
+
+"All right, Sam."
+
+"No small birds, either, understand: no teal, or widgeon, or
+shovellers. This is a mallard hole. Nothing but mallards goes."
+
+"All right, Sam."
+
+"Now is your chance, then.... _Now!_"
+
+He's right. Now is my chance, indeed.
+
+Over the sea of rushes, straight toward us, is coming a pair, a single
+pair; and, yes, they are unmistakably mallards. It is feeding time, or
+resting time, and they are flying lazily, long necks extended,
+searching here and there for the promised lands. Our guns indubitably
+cover it; and though I freeze still and motionless, my nerves stretch
+tight in anticipation, until they tingle all but painfully.
+
+On the great birds come; on and still on, until in another second--
+
+That instant they see the decoys, and, warned simultaneously by an
+ancestral suspicion, they swing outward in a great circle, without
+apparent effort on their part, to reconnoitre.
+
+Though I do not stir, I hear the _pat!_ _pat!_ of their wings, as they
+pass by at the side, just out of gunshot. Then, _pat!_ _pat!_ back of
+me, then, _pat!_ _pat!_ on the other side, until once again I see
+them, from the tail of my eye, merge into view ahead.
+
+All is well--very well--and, suspicions wholly allayed at last, they
+whirl for the second oncoming; just above the rushes, now; wings
+spread wide and motionless; sailing nearer, nearer--
+
+"_Now!_" whispers Sandford, "_now!_"
+
+Out of our nest suddenly peeps my gun barrel; and, simultaneously, the
+wings, a second before motionless, begin to beat the air in frantic
+retreat.
+
+But it is too late.
+
+_Bang!_ What! not a feather drops?... _Bang!_ Quack! Quack! _Bang!_
+_Bang!_... Splash!... Quack! Quack! Quack!
+
+That is the story--all except for Sandford's derisive laugh.
+
+"What'd I tell you?" he exults. "Wiped your eye for you that time,
+didn't I?"
+
+"How in the world I missed--" It is all that I can say. "They looked
+as big as--as suspended tubs."
+
+"Buck-fever," explains Sandford, laconically.
+
+"That's all right." I feel my fighting-blood rising, and I swear with
+a mighty wordless oath that I'll be avenged for that laugh. "The day
+is young yet. If, before night, I don't wipe both your eyes, and wipe
+them good--"
+
+"I know you will, old man." Sandford is smiling understandingly, and
+in a flash I return the smile with equal understanding. "And when you
+do, laugh at me, laugh long and loud."
+
+
+CHAPTER XI--THE COLD GRAY DAWN
+
+
+At a quarter of twelve o'clock a week later, I slip out of my office
+sheepishly, and, walking a half-block, take the elevator to the fifth
+floor of the Exchange Building, on the corner. The white enamel of
+Sandford's tiny box of an office glistens, as I enter the door, and
+the tiling looks fresh and clean, as though scrubbed an hour before.
+
+"Doctor's back in the laboratory," smiles the white-uniformed
+attendant, as she grasps my identity.
+
+On a tall stool, beside the laboratory lathe, sits Sandford, hard at
+work. He acknowledges my presence with a nod--and that is all.
+
+"Noon, Sandford," I announce.
+
+"Is it?" laconically.
+
+"Thought I'd drop over to the club for lunch, and a little smoke
+afterward. Want to go along?"
+
+"Can't." The whirr of the electric lathe never ceases. "Got to finish
+this bridge before one o'clock. Sorry, old man."
+
+"Harry just 'phoned and asked me to come and bring you." I throw the
+bait with studied nicety. "He's getting up a party to go out to
+Johnson's, and wants to talk things over a bit in advance."
+
+"Harry!" Irony fairly drips from the voice. "He's always going
+somewhere. Mustn't have much else to do. Anyway, can't possibly meet
+him this noon."
+
+"To-night, then." I suggest tentatively. "He can wait until then, I'm
+sure."
+
+"Got to work to-night, too. Things are all piled up on me." Sandford
+applies a fresh layer of pumice to the swiftly moving polishing wheel,
+with practised accuracy. "Tell Harry I'm sorry; but business is
+business, you know."
+
+"_Purr-r-r!_" drones on the lathe, "_purr-r-r!_" I hear it as I
+silently slip away.
+
+Yes, Sandford is sane; and will be for fifty-one weeks.
+
+
+
+
+A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION
+
+
+I
+
+
+A new settlement in a new country: no contemporary mind can conceive
+the possibilities of future greatness that lie in the fulfilment of
+its prophecy.
+
+A long, irregular quadrangle has been hewn from the woods bordering
+the north bank of the Ohio River. Scattered through the clearing are
+rude houses, built of the forest logs. Bounding the space upon three
+sides, and so close that its storm music sounds plain in every ear, is
+the forest itself. On the fourth side flows the wide river, covered
+now, firm and silent, with a thick ice blanket. Across the river on
+the Kentucky shore, softened by the blue haze of distance, another
+forest crowds down to the very water's edge.
+
+It is night, and of the cabins in the clearing each reflects, in one
+way or another, the character of its builder. Here a broad pencil of
+light writes "Careless!" on the black sheet of the forest; there a
+mere thread escaping tells of patient carpentry.
+
+At one end of the clearing, so near the forest that the top of a
+falling tree would have touched it, stood a cabin, individual in its
+complete darkness except for a dull ruddy glow at one end, where a
+window extended as high as the eaves. An open fire within gnawed at
+the half-green logs, sending smoke and steam up the cavernous chimney,
+and casting about the room an uncertain, fitful light--now bright,
+again shadowy.
+
+It was a bare room that the flickering firelight revealed, bare alike
+as to its furnishings and the freshness of its peeled logs, the spaces
+between which had been "chinked" with clay from the river-bank.
+Scarcely a thing built of man was in sight which had not been designed
+to kill; scarcely a product of Nature which had not been gathered at
+cost of animal life. Guns of English make, stretched horizontally
+along the walls upon pegs driven into the logs; in the end opposite
+the wide fireplace, home-made cooking utensils dangled from the end
+of a rough table, itself a product of the same factory. In front of
+the fire, just beyond the blaze and the coals and ashes, were heaped
+the pelts of various animals; black bear and cinnamon rested side by
+side with the rough, shaggy fur of the buffalo, brought by Indians
+from the far western land of the Dakotas.
+
+Upon the heap, dressed in the picturesque utility garb of buckskin,
+homespun, and "hickory" which stamped the pioneer of his day, a big
+man lay at full length: a large man even here, where the law of the
+fittest reigned supreme. A stubbly growth of beard covered his face,
+giving it the heavy expression common to those accustomed to silent
+places, and dim forest trails.
+
+Aside from his size, there was nothing striking or handsome about this
+backwoods giant, neither of face nor of form; yet, sleeping or waking,
+working or at leisure, he would be noticed--and remembered. In his
+every feature, every action, was the absolute unconsciousness of self,
+which cannot be mistaken; whether active or passive, there was about
+him an insinuation of reserve force, subtly felt, of a strong,
+determined character, impossible to sway or bend. He lay, now,
+motionless, staring with wide-open eyes into the fire and breathing
+slowly, deeply, like one in sleep.
+
+There was a hammering upon the door; another, louder; then a rattling
+that made the walls vibrate.
+
+"Come!" called the man, rousing and rolling away from the fire.
+
+A heavy shoulder struck the door hard, and the screaming wooden hinges
+covered the sound of the entering footfall.
+
+He who came was also of the type: homespun and buckskin, hair long and
+face unshaven. He straightened from a passage which was not low, then
+turning pushed the unwieldy door shut. It closed reluctantly, with a
+loud shrilling of its frost-bound hinges and frame. In a moment he
+dropped his hands and impatiently kicked the stubborn offender home,
+the suction drawing a puff of smoke from the fireplace into the room,
+and sending the ashes spinning in miniature whirlwinds upon the
+hearth.
+
+The man on the floor contemplated the entry with indifference; but a
+new light entered his eyes as he recognized his visitor, though his
+face held like wood.
+
+"Evenin', Clayton," he greeted, nodding toward a stool by the hearth.
+"Come over 'n sit down to the entertainment." A whimsical smile
+struggled through the heavy whiskers. "I've been seeing all sorts of
+things in there"--a thoughtful nod toward the fire. "Guess, though, a
+fellow generally does see what he's looking for in this world."
+
+"See here, Bud," the visitor bluntly broke in, coming into the light
+and slurring a dialect of no nationality pure, "y' can't stop me
+thataway. There ain't no use talkin' about the weather, neither." A
+motion of impatience; then swifter, with a shade of menace:
+
+"You know what I came over fer. It's actin' the fool, I know, we few
+families out here weeks away from ev'rybody, but this clearin' can't
+hold us both."
+
+The menace suddenly left the voice, unconsciously giving place to a
+note of tenderness and of vague self-fear.
+
+"I love that girl better 'n you er life er anything else, Bud; I tell
+ye this square to yer face. I can't stand it. I followed ye last night
+clean home from the party--an' I had a knife. I jest couldn't help it.
+Every time I know nex' time it'll happen. I don't ask ye to give her
+up, Bud, but to settle it with me now, fair an' open, 'fore I do
+something I can't help."
+
+He strode swiftly to and fro across the room as he spoke, his
+skin-shod feet tapping muffled upon the bare floor, like the pads of
+an animal. The fur of his leggings, rubbing together as he walked,
+generated static sparks which snapped audibly. He halted presently by
+the fireplace, and looked down at the man lying there.
+
+"It's 'tween us, Bud," he said, passion quivering in his voice.
+
+Minutes passed before Bud Ellis spoke, then he shifted his head,
+quickly, and for the first time squarely met Clayton's eyes.
+
+"You say it's between you and me," he initiated slowly: "how do you
+propose to settle it?"
+
+The other man hesitated, then his face grew red.
+
+"Ye make it hard for me, Bud, 's though I was a boy talkin' to ye big
+here; but it's true, as I told ye: I ain't myself when I see ye
+settin' close to 'Liz'beth, er dancin' with your arm touchin' hern. I
+ain't no coward, Bud; an' I can't give her up--to you ner nobody
+else.
+
+"I hate it. We've always been like brothers afore, an' it 'pears
+kinder dreamy 'n foolish 'n unnatural us settin' here talkin' 'bout
+it; but there ain't no other way I can see. I give ye yer choice, Bud:
+I'll fight ye fair any way y' want."
+
+Ellis's attitude remained unchanged: one big hand supported his chin
+while he gazed silently into the fire. Clayton stood contemplating him
+a moment, then sat down.
+
+By and by Ellis's head moved a little, a very little, and their eyes
+again met. A minute passed, and in those seconds the civilization of
+each man moved back generations.
+
+The strain was beyond Clayton; he bounded to his feet with a motion
+that sent the stool spinning.
+
+"God A'mighty! Are y' wood er are y' a coward? Y' seem to think I'm
+practisin' speech-makin'. D'ye know what it means fer me to come up
+here like this to you?" He waited, but there was no response.
+
+"I tell ye fer the last time, I love that girl, an' if it warn't fer
+you--fer you, Bud Ellis--she'd marry me. Can ye understand that? Now
+will ye fight?--or won't ye?"
+
+A movement, swift and easy, like a released spring, the unconscious
+trick of a born athlete, and Ellis was upon his feet. Involuntarily,
+Clayton squared himself, as if an attack were imminent.
+
+"No, I won't fight you," said the big man, slowly. Without the least
+hesitation, he advanced and laid a hand upon the other man's shoulder,
+facing him at arm's length and speaking deliberately.
+
+"It isn't that I'm afraid of you, either, Bert Clayton; you know
+it. You say you love her; I believe you. I love her, too. And
+Elizabeth--you have tried, and I have tried--and she told us both
+the same.
+
+"God, man! I know how you feel. I've expected something like this a
+long time." He drew his hand across his eyes, and turned away. "I've
+had murder in my heart when I saw you, and hated myself. It's only in
+such places as this, where nothing happens to divert one's mind, that
+people get like you and me, Bert. We brood and brood, and it's love
+and insanity and a good deal of the animal mixed. Yes, you're right.
+It's between you and me, Bert,--but not to fight. One of us has got to
+leave--"
+
+"It won't be me," Clayton quickly broke in. "I tell ye, I'd rather
+die, than leave."
+
+For a full minute Ellis steadily returned the other man's fiery look,
+then went on as though there had been no interruption:
+
+"--and the sooner we go the better. How do you want to settle
+it--shall we draw straws?"
+
+"No, we'll not draw straws. Go ef you're afraid; but I won't stir a
+step. I came to warn ye, or to fight ye if y' wanted. Seein' y'
+won't--good-night."
+
+Ellis stepped quickly in front of the door, and with the motion
+Clayton's hand went to his knife.
+
+"Sit down, man," demanded Ellis, sternly. "We're not savages. Let's
+settle this matter in civilized fashion."
+
+They confronted each other for a moment, the muscles of Clayton's face
+twitching an accompaniment to the nervous fingering of the buckhorn
+hilt; then he stepped up until they could have touched.
+
+"What d' y' mean anyway?" he blazed. "Get out o' my road."
+
+Ellis leaned against the door-bar without a word. The fire had burned
+down, and in the shadow his face had again the same expression of
+heaviness. The breathing of Clayton, swift and short, like one who
+struggles physically, painfully intensified the silence of that dimly
+lighted, log-bound room.
+
+With his right hand Clayton drew his knife; he laid his left on the
+broad half-circle of wood that answered as a door handle.
+
+"Open that door," he demanded huskily, "or by God, I'll stab ye!"
+
+In the half-light the men faced each other, so near their breaths
+mingled. Twice Clayton tried to strike. The eyes of the other man held
+him powerless, and to save his life--even to satisfy a new, fierce
+hate--he could not stir. He stood a moment thus, then an animal-like
+frenzy, irresistible but impotent, seized him. He darted his head
+forward and spat in the heavy face so close to his own.
+
+The unspeakable contempt of the insult shattered Bud Ellis's
+self-control. Prompted by blind fury, the great fist of the man shot
+out, hammer-like, and Clayton crumpled at his feet. It was a blow that
+would have felled the proverbial ox; it was the counterpart of many
+other blows, plus berserker rage, that had split pine boards for sheer
+joy in the ability to do so. These thoughts came sluggishly to the
+inflamed brain, and Ellis all at once dropped to his knees beside the
+limp, prostrate figure.
+
+He bent over Clayton, he who had once been his friend. He was scarcely
+apprehensive at first, and he called his name brusquely; then, as grim
+conviction grew, his appeals became frantic.
+
+At last Ellis shrank away from the Thing upon the floor. He stared
+until his eyeballs burnt like fire. It would never, while time lasted,
+move again.
+
+Horror unutterable fell upon him.
+
+
+II
+
+
+In the year 1807 there were confined in a common Western jail, amid a
+swarm of wretches of every degree of baseness, two men as unlike as
+storm and sunshine. One was charged with treason, the other with
+murder; conviction, in either case, meant death.
+
+One was a man of middle age, an aristocrat born; a college graduate
+and a son of a college graduate; a man handsome of appearance,
+passionate and ambitious, who knew men's natures as he knew their
+names. He had fought bravely for his country, and his counsels had
+helped mould the foundations of the new republic. Honored by his
+fellow-men, he had served brilliantly in such exalted positions as
+that of United States Senator, and Attorney General for the State of
+New York. On one occasion, only a single vote stood between him and
+the presidency.
+
+His name was Aaron Burr.
+
+The other was a big backwoodsman of twenty, whose life had been as
+obscure as that of a domestic animal. He was rough of manner and slow
+of speech, and just now, owing to a combination of physical
+confinement and mental torture altogether unlovely in disposition.
+
+This man was Bud Ellis.
+
+The other prisoners--a motley lot of frontier reprobates--ate
+together, slept together, and quarrelled together. Looking constantly
+for trouble, and thrown into actual contact with an object as
+convenient as Aaron Burr, it was inevitable that he should be made the
+butt of their coarse gibes and foul witticisms; and when these could
+not penetrate his calm, superior self-possession, it was just as
+inevitable that taunts should extend even to worse indignities.
+
+Burr was not the man to be stirred against his calm judgment; but one
+day his passionate nature broke loose, and he and the offender came to
+blows.
+
+There were a dozen prisoners in the single ill-lighted, log-bound
+room, and almost to a man they attacked him. The fight would not have
+lasted long had not the inequality appealed to Ellis on the second.
+
+Moreover, with him, the incident was to the moment opportune. If ever
+a man was in the mood for war, it was the big, square-jawed pioneer.
+He was reckless and desperate for the first time in his life, and he
+joined with Burr against the room, with the abandon of a madman.
+
+For minutes they fought. Elbows and knees, fists and feet, teeth and
+tough-skulled heads; every hard spot and every sharp angle bored and
+jabbed at the crushing mass which swiftly closed them in. They
+struggled like cats against numbers, and held the wall until the sound
+of battle brought the negligent guard running, and the muzzle of a
+carbine peeped through the grating. Burr and Ellis came out with
+scarce a rag and with many bruises, but with the new-born lust of
+battle hot within them. Ellis glowered at the enemy, and having of the
+two the more breath, fired the parting shot.
+
+"How I'd like to take you fellows out, one at a time," he said.
+
+From that day the two men were kept apart from the others, and the
+friendship grew. When Burr chose, neither man nor woman could resist
+him. He chose now and Ellis, by habit and by nature silent, told of
+his life and of his thoughts. It was a new tale to Burr, these dream
+products of a strong man, and of solitude; and so, listening, he
+forgot his own trouble. The hard look that had formed over his face in
+the three years past vanished, leaving him again the natural,
+fascinating man who had first taken the drawing-room of the rare old
+Jumel mansion by storm. It was genuine, this tale that Ellis told; it
+was strong, with the savor of Mother Nature and of wild things, and
+fascinating with the beauty of unconscious telling.
+
+"And the girl?" asked Burr after Ellis finished a passionate account
+of the last year. Unintentionally, he touched flame to tinder.
+
+"Don't ask me about her. I'm not fit. She was coming to see me, but I
+wouldn't let her. She's good and innocent; she never imagined we were
+not as strong as she, and it's killing her. There's no question what
+will happen to me; everything is against me, and I'll be convicted.
+
+"No one understands--she can't herself; but she feels responsible for
+one of us, already, and will feel the same for me when it's over.
+Anyway, I'd never see her again. I feel different toward her now, and
+always would. I'd never live over again days like I have in the past
+year: days I hated a friend I'd known all my life--because we both
+loved the same woman. If the Almighty sent love of woman into the
+world to be bought at the price I paid, it's wrong, and He's made a
+mistake. It's contrary to Nature, because Nature is kind.
+
+"Last summer I'd sit out of doors at night and watch the stars come
+out thick, like old friends, till I'd catch the mood and be content.
+The wind would blow up from the south, softly, like some one fanning
+me, and the frogs and crickets would sing even and sleepy, and I'd
+think of her and be as nearly happy as it was possible for me to be.
+
+"Then, somehow, he'd drift into the picture, and it grated. I'd wonder
+why this love of woman, which ought to make one feel the best of
+everything there is in life; which ought to make one kinder and
+tenderer to every one, should make me hate him, my best friend. The
+night would be spoiled, and from then on the crickets would sing out
+of tune. I'd go to bed, where, instead of sleeping, I would try to
+find out, and couldn't.
+
+"And at last, that night--and the end! Oh, it's horrible, horrible! I
+wish to God they'd try me quick, and end it. It makes me hate that
+girl to think she's the cause. And that makes me hate myself, for I
+know she's innocent. Oh, it's tangled--tangled--"
+
+Of the trial which followed, the world knows. How Burr pleaded his own
+case, and of the brilliancy of the pleading, history makes record at
+length. 'T was said long before, when the name of Burr was proud on
+the Nation's tongue--years before that fatal morning on Weekawken
+Heights--that no judge could decide against him. Though reviled by
+half the nation, it would seem it were yet true.
+
+Another trial followed; but of this history is silent, though Aaron
+Burr pleaded this case as well. It was a trial for manslaughter, and
+every circumstance, even the prisoner's word, declared guilt. To show
+that a person may be guilty in act, and at the same time, in reality,
+innocent, calls for a master mind--the mind of a Burr. To tell of
+passion, one must have felt passion, and of such Burr had known his
+full share. No lawyer for the defence was ever better prepared than
+Burr, and he did his best. In court he told the jury a tale of motive,
+of circumstance, and of primitive love, such as had never been heard
+in that county before; such that the twelve men, without leaving their
+seats, brought a verdict of "Not guilty."
+
+"I can't thank you right," said the big man, with a catch in his
+voice, wringing Burr's hand.
+
+"Don't try," interrupted Burr, quickly. "You did as much for me." And
+even Burr did not attempt to say any more just then.
+
+
+III
+
+
+The two men went East together, travelling days where now hours would
+suffice. Why Burr took the countryman home with him, knowing, as he
+did, the incongruity of such a step, he himself could not have told.
+It puzzled Ellis still more. He had intended going far away to some
+indefinite place; but this opportunity of being virtually thrust into
+the position where he most wished to be, was unusual; it was a
+reversal of all precedent; and so why demur?
+
+[Illustration: The two men went East together.]
+
+On the way, Burr told much of his life--probably more than he had told
+before in years. He knew that the sympathy of Ellis was sincere, and a
+disinterested motive was with him a new thing, a key to confidence.
+
+A woman was at this time, and had been for years, foremost in Burr's
+mind. He was going to see her now; beyond that his plans were dim.
+During a career of politics, there had crept into the man's life much
+that was hard and worldly; but this attachment was from ambition far
+apart--his most sacred thing.
+
+She was a brilliant woman, this friend of Burr's; one whom many
+sought; but it was not this which influenced him. She had been his
+best friend, and had taken him into her own home during the darkest
+hour of his life, when condemnation was everywhere. Gossip had
+fluttered, but to no avail. Burr never forgot a friend, and in this
+case it was more than friendship: it was a genuine love that lasted;
+for years later, in his old age and hers as well, old Jumel mansion
+made gay at their wedding.
+
+"What do you expect to do?" asked Burr of Ellis.
+
+"Anything just now that will make me forget," answered the countryman,
+quickly. "So there's enough of it is all that I ask. I'm going to get
+a little more education first. Sometime I'll study law--that is, if
+I'm here 'sometime.' I've got to be where there's life and action.
+I'll never end by being common." He paused a moment, and on his face
+there formed the peculiar heavy look that had confronted Clayton; a
+mask that hid a determination, which nothing of earth could shake. He
+finished slowly: "I'll either be something, or nothing."
+
+Biographers leave the impression that at this time Burr was devoid of
+prestige on earth. Politically, this is true; but respecting his
+standing with the legal fraternity, it is wholly false. He had
+influence, and he used it, securing the stranger a place in a New York
+office, where his risk depended only upon himself. More than this, he
+gave Ellis money.
+
+"You can pay me any interest you wish," said he when the latter
+protested.
+
+Ellis had been settled a week. One evening he sat in the back room of
+the city office, fighting the demon of homesickness with work, and the
+light of an open fire. It was late, and he had studied till Nature
+rebelled; now he sat in his own peculiar position, gazing into the
+glow, motionless and wide-eyed.
+
+He started at a tap on the door, and the past came back in a rush.
+
+"Come in," he called.
+
+Burr entered, and closed the door carefully behind him. Ellis motioned
+to a chair.
+
+"No, I won't sit down," said Burr. "I'm only going to stay a moment."
+
+He came over to the blaze, looking down on the other man's head.
+Finally he laid a hand on Ellis's shoulder.
+
+"Lonesome, eh?" he inquired.
+
+The student nodded silent assent.
+
+"So am I," said Burr, beginning to pace up and down the narrow room.
+"Do you know," he burst out at last, "this town is like hell to me.
+Every hand is against me. There's not one man here, beside you, whom
+I can trust. I can't stand it. I'm going to leave the country. Some
+day I'll come back; but now it's too much." There was the accumulated
+bitterness of months in his voice. "My God!" he interjected, "you'd
+think these people never did anything wrong in their lives." He
+stopped and laid his hand again on the other man's shoulder.
+
+"But enough of this--I didn't come to make you more lonesome. I want
+you to meet my friends before I go. You'll go out with me to-morrow
+afternoon?"
+
+There was silence for a moment.
+
+"If you wish. You know what I am," said Ellis.
+
+Burr's hand rested a moment longer.
+
+"Good-night," he said simply.
+
+Some eight or ten miles north of the beach, on the island of
+Manhattan, stood Jumel home; a fine, white house, surrounded by a
+splendid lawn and gardens. A generation had already passed since its
+erection, and the city was slowly creeping near. It was a stately
+specimen of Colonial domestic architecture, built on simple, restful
+lines, and distinguished by the noble columns of its Grecian front.
+Destined to be diminished, the grounds had already begun to shrink;
+but from its commanding position it had a view that was magnificent,
+overlooking as it did, the Hudson, the Harlem, the East River, the
+Sound, and upon every side, miles upon miles of undulating land.
+
+On the way, and again upon the grounds, Burr related the history of
+the old landmark, telling much with the fascination of personal
+knowledge. The tale of the Morrises, of Washington and of Mary
+Philipse was yet upon his tongue, as he led Ellis through the broad
+pillared entrance, into the great hall.
+
+Things moved swiftly, very swiftly and very dreamily, to the
+countryman in the next few hours. Nothing but the lack of ability
+prevented his vanishing at the sound of approaching skirts; nothing
+but physical timidity prevented his answering the greeting of the
+hostess; nothing but conscious awkwardness prompted the crude bow that
+answered the courtesy of the girl with the small hands, and the dark
+eyes who accompanied her--the first courtesy from powdered maid of
+fashion that he had ever known. Her name, Mary Philipse, coming so
+soon after Burr's story, staggered him, and, open-mouthed, he stood
+looking at her. Remembrance came to Burr simultaneously, and he
+touched Ellis on the arm.
+
+"Don't worry, my friend," he laughed; "she's not the one."
+
+Ellis grew red to the ears.
+
+"We'll leave you to Mary," said Burr retreating with a smile; "she'll
+tell you the rest--from where I left off."
+
+The girl with the big brown eyes was still smiling in an amused sort
+of way, but Ellis showed no resentment. He knew that to her he was a
+strange animal--very new and very peculiar. He did not do as a lesser
+man would have done, pretend knowledge of things unknown, but looked
+the girl frankly in the eyes.
+
+"Pardon me, but it was all rather sudden," he explained. The red had
+left his face now. "I've only known a few women--and they were not--of
+your class. This is Mr. Burr's joke, not mine."
+
+The smile faded from the girl's face. She met him on his own ground,
+and they were friends.
+
+"Don't take it that way," she protested, quickly. "I see, he's been
+telling you of Washington's Mary Philipse. It merely happens that my
+name is the same. I'm simply a friend visiting here. Can't I show you
+the house? It's rather interesting."
+
+If Ellis was a novelty to the woman, she was equally so to him.
+Unconventionality reigned in that house, and they were together an
+hour. Never before in his life had Ellis learned so much, nor caught
+so many glimpses of things beyond, in an equal length of time. His
+idea of woman had been trite, a little vague. He had no ideal; he had
+simply accepted, without question, the one specimen he had known
+well.
+
+In an uncertain sort of way he had thought of the sex as being
+invariably creatures of unquestioned virtue, but of mind somewhat
+defective; who were to be respected and protected, loved perhaps with
+the love animals know; but of such an one as this he had no
+conception.
+
+Here was a woman, younger than he, whose unconscious familiarity with
+things, which to him lay hidden in the dark land of ignorance,
+affected him like a stimulant. A woman who had read and travelled and
+thought and felt; whose mind met him even in the unhesitating
+confidence of knowledge--it is no wonder that he was in a dream. It
+turned his little world upside down: so brief a time had elapsed since
+he had cursed woman for bringing crime into his life, in the
+narrowness of his ignorance thinking them all alike. He was in the
+presence of a superior, and his own smallness came over him like a
+flood.
+
+He mentally swore, then and there, with a tightening of his jaw that
+meant finality, that he would raise himself to her plane. The girl saw
+the look, and wondered at it.
+
+That night, at parting, the eyes of the two met. A moment passed--and
+another, and neither spoke a word. Then a smile broke over the face of
+Mary Philipse, and it was answered on the face of the man. Equals had
+met equals. At last the girl held out her hand.
+
+"Call again, please," she requested. "Good-night."
+
+Years passed. Burr had gone and returned again, and Jumel mansion had
+waxed festive to honor his home-coming. Then he opened an office in
+the city, and drab-colored routine fell upon him--to remain.
+
+Meanwhile Time had done much for Ellis--rather, it had allowed him to
+do much for himself. He had passed through all the stages of
+transition--confusion, homesickness, despondency; but incentive to do
+was ever with him.
+
+At first he had worked to forget, and, in self-defence; but Nature had
+been kind, and with years memory touched him softly, as though it were
+the past of another.
+
+Then a new incentive came to him: an incentive more potent than the
+former, and which grew so slowly he did not recognize it, until he met
+it unmistakably face to face. Again into his life and against his will
+had crept a woman, and this woman's name was Mary Philipse. He met her
+now on her own ground, but still, as of old, with honors even. She had
+changed little since he first saw her. As often as he called, he met
+the same frank smile, and the brown eyes still regarded him with the
+same old candid, unreserved interest.
+
+Ellis was, as the town would have said, successful. He had risen from
+a man-of-all-work to the State bar, and an office of his own. He had
+passed the decisive line and his rise was simply a question of time.
+He was in a position where he could do as he chose. He appreciated
+that Mary Philipse was the incentive that had put him where he was.
+She appealed to the best there was in his nature. She caused him to do
+better work, to think better thoughts. He unselfishly wished her the
+best there was of life. Just how much more he felt he did not know--at
+least this was sufficient.
+
+He would ask her to marry him. It was not the mad, dazzling passion of
+which poets sing; but he was wiser than of yore. Of Mary he was
+uncertain. That he was not the only man who went often to old Jumel
+mansion he was well aware, and with the determination to learn
+certainties, there came a tenderer regard than he had yet known.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jumel was gay that night. There would be few more such scenes, for the
+owner was no longer young; but of this the throng in brocade and
+broadcloth and powder, who filled the spacious mansion, were
+thoughtless. Everywhere was an atmosphere of welcome; from the steady
+light of lanterns festooned on facade and lawn, to the sparkle of
+countless candles within.
+
+It was that night that Ellis drew Mary Philipse aside and told her the
+tale that grew passionate in the telling. Fortune was kind, for he
+told it to the soft accompaniment of wine glasses ringing, and the
+slow music of the stately minuet.
+
+Mary Philipse heard him through without a word, an expression on her
+face he had never seen before. Then their eyes met in the same frank
+way they had hundreds of times before, and she gave him her answer.
+
+"I've expected this, and I've tried to be ready; but I'm not. I can't
+say no, and I can't say yes. I wouldn't try to explain to any one
+else, but I think you'll understand. Forgive me if I analyze you a
+little, and don't interrupt, please."
+
+She passed her hand over her face slowly, a shade wearily.
+
+"There are times when I come near loving you: for what you are, not
+for what you are to me. You are natural, you're strong; but you lack
+something I feel to be necessary to make life completely happy--the
+ability to forget all and enjoy the moment. I have watched you for
+years. It has been so in the past, and will be so in the future. Other
+men who see me, men born to the plane, have the quality--call it
+butterfly if you will--to enjoy the 'now.' It appeals to me--I am of
+their manner born." Their eyes met and she finished slowly, "It's
+injustice to you, I know; but I can't answer--now."
+
+They sat a moment side by side in silence. The dancers were moving
+more swiftly to the sound of the Virginia reel.
+
+Ellis reached over and took her hand, then bent and touched it softly
+with his lips.
+
+"I will wait--and abide," he said.
+
+
+
+
+THE CUP THAT O'ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE
+
+
+I
+
+
+In a room, half-lighted by the red rays of a harvest moon, a woman lay
+in the shadow; face downward, on the bed. It was not the figure of
+youth: the full lines of waist and hip spoke maturity. She was sobbing
+aloud and bitterly, so that her whole body trembled.
+
+The clock struck the hour, the half, again the hour; and yet she lay
+there, but quiet, with face turned toward the window and the big, red
+harvest moon. It was not a handsome face; besides, now it was
+tear-stained and hard with the reflection of a bitter battle fought.
+
+A light foot tapped down the hallway and stopped in front of the door.
+There was gentle accompaniment on the panel to the query, "Are you
+asleep?"
+
+The woman on the bed opened her eyes wider, without a word.
+
+The step in the hall tapped away into silence. The firm, round arm in
+its black elbow-sleeve setting, white, beautiful, made a motion of
+impatience and of weariness; then slowly, so slowly that one could
+scarce mark its coming, the blank stupor that comes as Nature's
+panacea to those whom she has tortured to the limit, crept over the
+woman, and the big brown eyes closed. The moon passed over and the
+night-wind, murmuring lower and lower, became still. In the darkness
+and silence the woman sobbed as she slept.
+
+In the lonely, uncertain time between night and morning she awoke; her
+face and the pillow were damp with the tears of sleep. She was numb
+from the drawing of tight clothing, and with a great mental pain and a
+confused sense of sadness, that weighed on her like a tangible thing.
+Her mind groped uncertainly for a moment; then, with a great rush, the
+past night and the things before it returned to her.
+
+"Oh, God, Thy injustice to us women!" she moaned.
+
+The words roused her; and, craving companionship, she rose and lit the
+gas.
+
+Back and forth she crossed the room, avoiding the furniture as by
+instinct--one moment smiling, bitter; the next with face moving,
+uncontrollable, and eyes damp: all the moods, the passions of a
+woman's soul showing here where none other might see. Tired out, at
+last, she stopped and disrobed, swiftly, without a glance at her own
+reflection, and returned to bed.
+
+Nature will not be forced. Sleep will not come again. She can only
+think, and thoughts are madness. She gets up and moves to her desk.
+Aimlessly at first, as a respite, she begins to write. Her thoughts
+take words as she writes, and a great determination, an impulse of the
+moment, comes to her. She takes up fresh paper and writes sheet after
+sheet, swiftly. Passion sways the hand that writes, and shines warmly
+from the big, brown eyes. The first light of morning stains the east
+as she collects the scattered sheets, and writes a name on the
+envelope, a name which brings a tenderness to her eyes. Stealthily she
+tiptoes down the stairs and places the letter where the servant will
+see, and mail it in the early morning. A glad light, the light of
+relief, is in her face as she steals back slowly and creeps into bed.
+
+"If it is wrong I couldn't help it," she whispers low. She turns her
+face to the pillow and covers it with a soft, white arm. One ear alone
+shows, a rosy spot against the white.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Nine o'clock at a down-town medical office. A man who walks rapidly,
+but quietly, enters and takes up the morning mail. A number of
+business letters he finds and a dainty envelope, with writing which he
+knows at sight. He steps to the light and looks at the postmark.
+
+"Good-morning," says his partner, entering.
+
+The man nods absently, and, tearing open the envelope, takes out this
+letter:
+
+  "MY FRIEND:--
+
+  "I don't know what you will think of me after this; anyway, I
+  cannot help telling you what to-night lies heavy on my heart and
+  mind. I've tried to keep still; God knows I've tried, and so
+  hard; but Nature is Nature, and I am a woman. Oh, if you men
+  only knew what that means, you'd forgive us much, and pity! You
+  have so much in life and we so little, and you torture us so
+  with that little, which to us is so great, our all; leading us
+  on against our will, against our better judgment, until we love
+  you, not realizing at first the madness of unrequited love. Oh,
+  the cruelty of it, and but for a pastime.
+
+  "But I do not mean to charge you. You are not as other men; you
+  are not wrong. Besides, why should I not say it? I love you.
+  Yes, you; a man who knows not the meaning of the word; who meant
+  to be but a friend, my best friend. Oh, you have been blind,
+  blind all the years since first I knew you; since first you
+  began telling me of yourself and of your hopes. You did not know
+  what it meant to such as I to live in the ambition of another,
+  to hope through another's hope, to exult in another's success. I
+  am confessing, for the first time--and the last time. Know, man,
+  all the time I loved you. Forgive me that I tell you. I cannot
+  help it. I am a woman, and love in a woman's life is stronger
+  than will, stronger than all else together.
+
+  "I ask nothing. I expect nothing. I could not keep quiet longer.
+  It was killing me, and you never saw. I did not mean to tell you
+  anything, till this moment--least of all, in this way. But it is
+  done, and I'm glad--yes, happier than I have been for weeks. It
+  is our woman's nature; a nature we do not ourselves understand.
+
+  "My friend, I cannot see you again. Things cannot go on as they
+  were. It was torture--you know not what torture--and life is
+  short. If you would be kind, avoid me. The town is wide, and we
+  have each our work. Time will pass. Remember, you have done
+  nothing wrong. If there be one at fault it is Nature, for only
+  half doing her work. You are good and noble. Good-bye. I trust
+  you, for, God bless you, I love you."
+
+The letter dropped, and the man stood looking out with unseeing eyes,
+on the shifting street.
+
+A patient came in and sat down, waiting.
+
+He had read as in a dream. Now with a rush came thought,--the past,
+the present, mingled; and as by a great light he saw clearly the years
+of comradery, thoughtless on his part, filled as his life had been
+with work and with thought of the future. It all came home to him now,
+and the coming was of brightness. The coldness melted from his face;
+the very squareness of the jaw seemed softer; the knowledge that is
+joy and that comes but once in a lifetime, swept over him, warm, and
+his heart beat swift. All things seemed beautiful.
+
+Without a word he took up his hat, and walked rapidly toward the
+elevator. A smile was in the frank blue eyes, and to all whom he met,
+whether stranger or friend, he gave greeting.
+
+The patient, waiting for his return, grew tired and left, and leaving,
+slammed the office door behind him.
+
+
+
+
+UNJUDGED
+
+
+The source of this manuscript lies in tragedy. My possession of it is
+purely adventitious. That I have had it long you may know, for it came
+to me at an inland prairie town, far removed from water or mountain,
+while for ten years or more my name, above the big-lettered dentist
+sign, has stood here on my office window in this city by the lake. I
+have waited, hoping some one would come as claimant; but my hair is
+turning white and I can wait no longer. As now I write of the past,
+the time of the manuscript's coming stands clear amid a host of hazy,
+half-forgotten things.
+
+It was after regular hours, of the day I write, that a man came
+hurriedly into my office, complaining of a fiercely aching tooth.
+Against my advice he insisted on an immediate extraction, and the use
+of an anaesthetic. I telephoned for a physician, and while awaiting his
+coming my patient placed in my keeping an expansible leather-covered
+book of a large pocket size.
+
+"Should anything go wrong," he said, "there are instructions inside."
+
+The request is common from those unused to an operation, and I
+accepted without other comment than to assure him he need fear no
+danger.
+
+Upon arriving, the physician made the customary examination and
+proceeded to administer chloroform. The patient was visibly excited,
+but neither of us attached any importance to that under the
+circumstances. Almost before the effect of the anaesthetic was
+noticeable, however, there began a series of violent muscular spasms
+and contractions. The inhaler was removed and all restoratives known
+to the profession used, but without avail. He died in a few moments,
+and without regaining consciousness. The symptoms were suspicious,
+entirely foreign to any caused by the anaesthetic, and at the inquest
+the cause came to light. In the man's stomach was a large quantity of
+strychnine. That he knew something of medicine is certain, for the
+action of the alkaloid varies little, and he had the timing to a
+nicety.
+
+The man was, I should judge, thirty years of age, smooth of face and
+slightly built. Nerve was in every line of face and body. He was
+faultlessly dressed and perfectly groomed. He wore no jewelry, not
+even a watch; but within the pocket of his vest was found a small
+jewel-case containing two beautiful white diamonds, each of more than
+a carat weight. One was unset, the other mounted in a lady's ring.
+There was money in plenty upon his person, but not an article that
+would give the slightest clue to his identity.
+
+One peculiar thing about him I noticed, and could not account for:
+upon the palm of each hand was a row of irregular abrasions, but
+slightly healed, and which looked as though made by some dull
+instrument.
+
+The book with which he entrusted me had begun as a journal, but with
+the passage of events it had outgrown its original plan. Being
+expansible, fresh sheets had been added as it grew, and at the back of
+the book, on one of these blanks, had been hastily scratched, in
+pencil, the message of which he spoke:
+
+"You will find sufficient money in my pockets to cover all expenses.
+Do not take my trinkets, please! Associations make them dear to me.
+Any attempt to discover my friends will be useless."
+
+Notwithstanding the last sentence the body was embalmed and the death
+advertised; but no response came, and after three days the body and
+the tokens he loved were quietly buried here in the city.
+
+Meantime I had read the book, beginning from a sense of duty that grew
+into a passing interest, and ended by making me unaware of both time
+and place. I give you the journal as it stands, word for word and date
+for date. Would that I could show you the handwriting in the original
+as well. No printed page can tell the story of mood as can the lines
+of this journal. There were moments of passion when words slurred and
+overtook each other, as thought moved more rapidly than the characters
+which recorded; and again, periods of uncertainty when the hand
+tarried and busied itself with forming meaningless figures, while the
+conscious mind roamed far away.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+_March 17._ Why do I begin a journal now, a thing I have never done
+before? Had another asked the question, I could have turned it off
+with a laugh, but with myself it will not do. I must answer it, and
+honestly. Know then, my ego who catechises, I have things to tell,
+feelings to describe that are new to me and which I cannot tell to
+another. The excuse sounds childish; but listen: I speak it softly: I
+love, and he who loves is ever as a child. I smile at myself for
+making the admission. I, a man whose hair is thinning and silvering,
+who has written of love all his life, and laughed at it. Oh, it's
+humorous, deliciously humorous. To think that I have become, in
+reality, the fool I pictured others in fancy!
+
+_April 2._ Gods, she was beautiful to-night!--the way she came to meet
+me: the long skirt that hung so gracefully, and that fluffy, white,
+sleeveless thing that fitted her so perfectly and showed her white
+arms and the curves of her throat. I forgot to rise, and I fear I
+stared at her. I can yet see the smile that crept through the long
+lashes as she looked at me, and as I stumbled an apology she was
+smiling all the time. How I came away I swear I don't know. Instinct,
+I suppose; for now at last I have an incentive. I must work mightily,
+and earn a name--for her.
+
+_April 4._ He says it is a strong plot and that he will help me. That
+means the book will succeed. I wonder how a man feels who can do
+things, not merely dream them. I expected he would laugh when I told
+him the plot, especially when I told whom the woman was; but he didn't
+say a word. He thinks, as I do, that it would be better to leave the
+story's connection with her a surprise until the book is published. He
+is coming up here to work to-morrow. "Keep a plot warm," he says:
+"especially one with a love in it." He looked at me out of the corner
+of his eye as he spoke, so peculiarly I hardly knew whether he was
+laughing at me or not. I suppose, just now, my state of mind is rather
+obvious and amusing.
+
+_May 3._ As I expected, the reaction is on. What a price we have to
+pay for our happy moments in this world! I'm tired to-night and a
+little discouraged, for I worked hard all day, and did not accomplish
+much. "Lack of inspiration," he said. "The heroine is becoming a
+trifle dim. Hadn't you better go and enthuse a little to-night?"
+
+I was not in a mood to be chaffed; I told him shortly: "No, you had
+better go yourself."
+
+He smiled and thanked me. "With your permission," he said, "I will."
+
+Nature certainly has been kind to him, for he is handsome and
+fascinating beyond any man I ever knew. I wanted to use him in the
+story, but he positively refused. He said that I would do better. So
+we finally compromised on a combination. "The man" has his hair and my
+eyes, his nose and my mouth. Over the chin we each smiled a little
+grimly, for it is stubborn--square, and fits us both. After all, it is
+not a bad _ensemble_. The character has his weak points, but, all in
+all, he is not bad to look upon.
+
+_June 10._ We went driving this evening, she and I, far out into the
+country, going and coming slowly. The night was perfect, with a full
+moon and a soft south wind. Nature's music makers were all busy. On
+the high places, the crickets sang loudly their lonesome song to the
+night, while from the distant river and lowlands there came the
+uncertain minor of countless frogs in chorus.
+
+For two hours I tasted happiness, divine happiness, happiness so
+complete that I forgot time.
+
+I have known many beautiful women, women splendid as animals are
+splendid, but never before one whose intense womanliness made me
+forget that she was beautiful. I can't explain; it is too subtle and
+holy a thing. I sat by her side, so near that we touched, and
+worshipped as I never worshipped at church. If but for this night
+alone, my life is worth the living.
+
+_June 12._ It seems peculiar that he should be working with me at this
+story; strange that he should care to know me at all. Perhaps I stand
+a little in awe of the successful man; I think we all do. At least, he
+is the example _par excellence_. I have seen him go into a room filled
+with total strangers, and though he never spoke a word, have heard the
+question all about,--"Who is he?" Years ago, when he as well as I was
+an unknown writer, we each submitted a story to the same editor, by
+the same mail. Both were returned. I can still see the expression on
+his face as he opened his envelope, and thrust the manuscript into his
+pocket. He did not say a word, but his manner of donning his top-coat
+and hat, and the crash of the front door behind him betrayed his
+disappointment. His work was afterwards published at his own risk. The
+ink on my story is fading, but I have it still.
+
+_July 2._ She is going to the coast for the season, and I called
+to-night to say _au revoir_. I could see her only a few minutes as her
+carriage was already waiting; something, I believe, in honor of her
+last night in town. She was in evening dress, and beautiful--I cannot
+describe. Think of the most beautiful woman you have ever known, and
+then--but it is useless, for you have not known her.
+
+I was intoxicated; happy as a boy; happy as a god. I filled the few
+moments I had, full to overflowing. I told her what every man tells
+some woman some time in his life. For once I felt the power of a
+master, and I spoke well.
+
+She did not answer; I asked her not to. I could not tell her all, and
+I would have no reply before. Her face was turned from me as I spoke,
+but her ears turned pink and her breath came quickly. I looked at her
+and the magnitude of my presumption held me dumb; yet a warm happy
+glow was upon me, and the tapping of feet on the pavement below
+sounded as sweetest music.
+
+As I watched her she turned, her eyes glistening and her throat all
+a-tremble. She held out her hand to say good-bye. I took it in mine;
+and at the touch my resolution and all other things of earth were
+forgotten, and I did that which I had come hoping to do. Gently, I
+slipped a ring with a single setting over her finger, then bending
+low, I touched the hand with my lips--whitest, softest, dearest hand
+in God's world. Then I heard her breath break in a sob, and felt upon
+my hair the falling of a tear.
+
+_August 5._ I am homesick to-night and tired. It is ten-thirty, and, I
+have just gotten dinner. I forgot all about it before. The story is
+moving swiftly. It is nearly finished now, moreover it is good; I
+know it. I sent a big roll of manuscript to him to-day. He is at the
+coast, and polishes the rough draft as fast as I send it in. He
+tells me he has secured a publisher, and that the book will be out
+in a few months. I can hardly wait to finish, for then I, too, can
+leave town. I will not go before; I have work to do, and can do it
+better here. He tells me he has seen her several times. God! a man
+who writes novels and can mention her incidentally, as though
+speaking of a dinner-party!
+
+_August 30._ I finished to-day and expressed him the last scrap of
+copy. I wanted to sing, I was so happy. Then I bethought me, it is her
+birthday. I went down town and picked out a stone that pleased me.
+Their messenger will deliver it, and she can choose her own setting.
+How I'd like to carry it myself, but I have a little more work to do
+before I go. Only two more days, and then--
+
+I have been counting the time since she left: almost two months; it
+seems incredible when I think of it.
+
+How I have worked! Next time I write, my journal confessor, I will
+have something to tell: I will have seen her--she who wears my
+ring.... Ah! here comes my man for orders. A few of my bachelor
+friends help me celebrate here to-night. I have not told them it is
+the last time.
+
+_September 5._ Let me think; I am confused. This hotel is vile,
+abominable, but there is no other. That cursed odor of stale tobacco,
+and of cookery!
+
+The landlord says they were here yesterday and went West. It's easy to
+trace them--everybody notices. A tall man, dark, with a firm jaw; the
+most beautiful woman they have ever seen--they all say the same. My
+God! and I'm hung up here, inactive a whole day! But I'll find them,
+they can't escape; and then they'll laugh at me, probably.
+
+What can I do? I don't know. I can't think. I must find them first ...
+that cursed odor again!
+
+Oh, what a child, a worse than fool I have been! To sit there in town
+pouring the best work of my life into his hands! I must have that
+book, I will have it. To think how I trusted her--waited until my hair
+began to turn--for this!
+
+But I must stop. This is useless, it's madness.
+
+_September 9._ It is a beautiful night. I have just come in from a
+long walk, how long I don't know. I went to the suburbs and through
+the parks, watching the young people sitting, two and two, in the
+shadow. I smiled at the sight, for in fancy I could hear what they
+were saying. Then I wandered over to the lakefront and stood a long
+time, with the waves lapping musically against the rocks below, and
+the moonlight glistening on a million reflectors. The great stretch of
+water in front, and the great city behind me sang low in concord,
+while the stars looked down smiling at the refrain. "Be calm, little
+mortal, be calm," they said; "calm, tiny mortal, calm," repeated
+endlessly, until the mood took hold of me, and in sympathy I smiled in
+return.
+
+Was it yesterday? It seems a month since I found them. Was it I who
+was so hot and angry? I hold up my hand; it is as steady as my
+mother's when, years ago, as a boy, she laid it on my forehead with
+her good-night. The murmur of this big hotel speaks soothingly, like
+the voice of an old friend. The purr of the elevator is a voice I
+know. It all seems incredible. To-day is so commonplace and real, and
+yesterday so remote and fantastic.
+
+He was lounging in the lobby, a hand in either pocket, when I touched
+him on the shoulder. He turned, but neither hands nor face failed him
+by a motion.
+
+"I presume you would prefer to talk in private?" I said, "Will you
+come to my room?"
+
+A smile formed slowly over his lips.
+
+"I don't wish to deprive my--" He paused, and his eyes met mine,"--my
+wife of a pleasant chat with an old friend. I would suggest that you
+come with us to our suite."
+
+I nodded. In silence we went up the elevator; in equal silence, he
+leading, we passed along the corridor over carpets that gave out no
+telltale sound.
+
+She was standing by the window when we entered. Her profile stood out
+clear in the shaded room, and in spite of myself a great heart-throb
+passed over me. She did not move at first, but at last turning she saw
+him and me. Then I could see her tremble; she started quickly to
+leave, but he barred the way. The smile was still upon his face.
+
+"Pardon me, my dear," he protested, "but certainly you recognize an
+old friend."
+
+She grew white to the lips, and her eyes blazed. Her hands pressed
+together so tightly that the fingers became blue at the nails. She
+looked at him; such scorn I had never seen before. Before it, the
+smile slowly left his face.
+
+"Were you the fraction of a man," she voiced slowly, icily, "you would
+have stopped short of--this."
+
+She made a motion of her hand, so slight one could scarce see it,
+and without a word he stepped aside. She turned toward me and,
+instinctively, I bent in courtesy, my eyes on the floor and a great
+tumult in my heart. She hesitated at passing me; without looking
+up I knew it; then, slowly, moved away down the corridor.
+
+I advanced inside, closing the door behind me and snapping the lock.
+Neither of us said a word; no word was needed. The fighting-blood of
+each was up, and on each the square jaw that marked us both was set
+hard. I stepped up within a yard of him and looked him square in the
+eye. I pray God I may never be so angry again.
+
+"What explanation have you to offer?" I asked.
+
+His eye never wavered, though the blood left his face and lip; even
+then I admired his nerve. When he spoke his voice was even and
+natural.
+
+"Nothing," he sneered. "You have lost; that's all."
+
+Quick as thought, I threw back the taunt.
+
+"Lost the woman, yes, thank God; the book, never. I came for that, not
+for her. I demand that you turn over the copy."
+
+Again the cool smile and the steady voice.
+
+"You're a trifle late. I haven't a sheet; it is all gone."
+
+"You lie!" I flung the hot words fair in his teeth.
+
+A smile, mocking, maddening, formed upon his face.
+
+"I told you before you had lost. The book is copyrighted"--a pause,
+while the smile broadened--"copyrighted in my name, and sold."
+
+The instinct of battle, primitive, uncontrollable, came over me and
+the room turned dark. I fought it, until my hands grew greasy from the
+wounds where the nails bit my palms, then I lost control; of what
+follows all is confused.
+
+I dimly see myself leaping at him like a wild animal; I feel the
+tightening of the big neck muscles as my fingers closed on his throat;
+I feel a soft breath of night air as we neared the open window; then
+in my hands a sudden lightness, and in my ears a cry of terror.
+
+I awoke at a pounding on the door. It seemed hours later, though it
+must have been but seconds. I arose--and was alone. The window was
+wide open; in the street below, a crowd was gathering on the run,
+while a policeman's shrill whistle rang out on the night. A hundred
+faces were turned toward me as I looked down and I dimly wondered
+thereat.
+
+The knocking on the door became more insistent. I turned the lock,
+slowly, and a woman rushed into the room. Something about her seemed
+familiar to me. I passed my hand over my forehead--but it was useless.
+I bowed low and started to walk out, but she seized me by the arm,
+calling my name, pleadingly. Her soft brown hair was all loose and
+hanging, and her big eyes swimming; her whole body trembled so that
+she could scarcely speak.
+
+The grip of the white hand on my arm tightened.
+
+"Oh! You must not go," she cried; "you cannot."
+
+I tried gently to shake her off, but she clung more closely than
+before.
+
+"You must let me explain," she wailed. "I call God to witness, I was
+not to blame." She drew a case from the bosom of her dress.
+
+"Here are those stones; I never wore them. I wanted to, God knows, but
+I couldn't. Take them, I beg of you." She thrust the case into my
+pocket. "He made me take them, you understand; made me do everything
+from the first. I loved him once, long ago, and since then I couldn't
+get away. I can't explain." She was pleading as I never heard woman
+plead before. "Forgive me--tell me you forgive me--speak to me." The
+grip on my arm loosened and her voice dropped.
+
+"Oh! God, to have brought this on you when I loved you!"
+
+The words sounded in my ears, but made no impression. It all seemed
+very, very strange. Why should she say such things to me? She must be
+mistaken--must take me for another.
+
+I broke away from her grasp, and groped staggeringly toward the door.
+A weariness intense was upon me and I wanted to be home alone. As I
+moved away, I heard behind me a swift step as though she would follow,
+and my name called softly, then another movement, away.
+
+Mechanically I turned at the sound, and saw her profile standing clear
+in the open window-frame. Realization came to me with a mighty rush,
+and with a cry that was a great sob I sprang toward her.
+
+Suddenly the window became clear again, and through the blackness that
+formed about me I dimly heard a great wail of horror arise from the
+street below.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was no other entry save the hasty scrawl in pencil.
+
+
+
+
+THE TOUCH HUMAN
+
+
+"Good-night." A lingering of finger tips that touched, as by accident;
+a bared head; the regular tap of shoes on cement, as a man walked down
+the path.
+
+"Good-night--and God bless thee," he repeated softly, tenderly, under
+his breath, that none but he might hear: words of faith spoken
+reverently, and by one who believes not in the God known of the herd.
+
+"Good-night--and God bless thee," whispered the woman slowly; and the
+south wind, murmuring northward, took the words and carried them
+gently away as sacred things.
+
+The woman stood thinking, dreaming, her color mounting, her eyes
+dimming, as she read deep the mystery of her own heart.
+
+They had sat side by side the entire evening, and had talked of life
+and of its hidden things; or else had remained silent in the unspoken
+converse that is even sweeter to those who understand each other.
+
+She had said of a mutual friend: "He is a man I admire; he has an
+ideal."
+
+"A thing but few of earth possess."
+
+"No; I think you are wrong. I believe all people have ideals. They
+must; life would not be life without."
+
+"You mean object rather than ideal. Does not an ideal mean something
+beautiful--something beyond--something we'd give our all for? Not our
+working hours alone, but our hours of pleasure and our times of
+thought. An ideal is an intangible thing--having much of the
+supernatural in its make-up; 'tis a fetish for which we'd sacrifice
+life--or the strongest passion of life,--love."
+
+"Is this an ideal, though? Could anything be beautiful to us after
+we'd sacrificed much of life, and all of love in its attainment? Is
+not everything that is opposed to love also opposed to the ideal? Is
+not an ideal, when all is told, nothing but a great love--the great
+personal love of each individual?"
+
+He turned to the woman, and there was that in his face which caused
+her eyes to drop, and her breath to come more quickly.
+
+"I don't know. I'm miserable, and lonely, and tired. I've thought I
+had an ideal, and I followed it, working for it faithfully and for it
+alone. I've shown it to myself, glowing, splendid, when I became weary
+and ready to yield. I've sacrificed, in attempting its attainment,
+youth and pleasure--self, continually. Still, I'm afar off--and still
+the light beckons me on. I work day after day, and night after night,
+as ever; but the faith within me is growing weaker. Might not the
+ideal I worshipped after all be an earth-born thing, an ambition whose
+brightness is not of pure gold, but of tinsel? That which I have
+sought, speaks always to me so loudly that there may be no mistake in
+hearing.
+
+"'I am thy god,' it says; 'worship me--and me alone.
+Sacrifice--sacrifice--sacrifice--thyself--thy love. Thus shalt thou
+attain me.'
+
+"One day I stopped my work to think; hid myself solitary that I might
+question. 'What shall I have when I attain thee?' I asked.
+
+"'Fame--fame--the plaudits of the people--a pedestal apart.'
+
+"'Yes,' whispered my soul to me, 'and a great envy always surrounding;
+a great fight always to hold thy small pedestal secure.'
+
+"Of such as this are ideals made? No. 'Twas a mistake. I have sought
+not an ideal, but an ambition--a worthless thing. An ideal is
+something beautiful--a great love. 'Tis not yet too late to correct my
+fault; to seek this ideal--this beautiful thing--this love."
+
+He reached over to the woman and their fingers, as by chance,
+touching, lingered together. His eyes shone, and when he spoke his
+voice trembled.
+
+"_You_ know the ideal--the beautiful thing--the love I seek."
+
+Side by side they sat, each bosom throbbing; not with the wild passion
+of youth, but with the deeper, more spiritual love of middle-life.
+Overhead, the night wind murmured; all about, the crickets sang.
+
+Turning, she met him face to face, frankly, earnestly.
+
+"Let us think."
+
+She rose, in her eyes the look men worship and, worshipping, find
+oblivion.
+
+A moment they stood together.
+
+"Good-night," she whispered.
+
+"Good-night," his lips silently answered, pressing upon hers.
+
+
+
+
+A DARK HORSE
+
+
+Iowa City is not large, nor are the prospects for metropolitan
+greatness at all flattering. Even her most zealous citizen, the
+ancient of the market corner, admits that "there ain't been much
+stirrin' for quite a spell back," and among the broad fraternity of
+commercial travellers, the town is a standing joke. Yet, throughout
+the entire State, no community of equal size is so well known. It is
+the home of the State University.
+
+In the year '90-something-or-other, there was enrolled in the junior
+class of the university, one Walter R. Chester, but it is doubtful
+whether five other students in the same classic seat of learning could
+have told you his given name. Away back in his freshman year he had
+been dubbed "Lord" Chester. And as "Lord" Chester alone is his name
+still preserved, and revered in university annals.
+
+The reasons lying back of this exaltation to the peerage were not very
+complex, but quite as adequate as those usually inspiring college
+nicknames. He was known to be country-bred, and the average freshwater
+school defines the "country" as a region of dense mental darkness,
+commencing where the campus ends and extending thence in every
+direction, throughout the unchartered realms of space.
+
+Each Friday afternoon, "Lord" Chester would carefully lock his room
+and disappear upon a bicycle; this much was plainly visible to
+everybody. On Monday he would reappear. The hiatus afforded a peg from
+which much unprofitable speculation was suspended. The argument most
+plausible was that he went home, while one romantic youth suggested a
+girl. The accusation was never repeated. What? The "Lord" a ladies'
+man? Tut! One would as soon expect a statue to drill a minstrel show.
+
+Thus Chester's personal affairs remained a mystery. He never talked
+reflexively--rare attribute in a college man--and, moreover, curiosity
+never throve well in his presence. It utterly failed to bear fruit.
+
+Another peculiarity distinguished him from all the rest of the
+student body: he roomed by himself. Although invariably courteous and
+polite to visitors, he was never known to extend an invitation for a
+second visit. He quite obviously wanted to be left alone, and the
+"fellows" met him more than half-way.
+
+But what, more than anything else, probably helped to designate him
+"Lord," was the scrupulous way in which he dressed. There was no hint
+of the pastoral in his sartorial accomplishments, and it was his one
+extravagance. Though from the country and therefore presumably poor,
+no swell son of the Western _haute monde_ made an equally smart
+appearance.
+
+We have been viewing the youth from the standpoint of his fellow-students.
+As a matter of fact, they never saw the real man, the man behind the
+closed door, at all. He was a terrific worker. When he decided to do a
+thing, he did it. Night was as day at such times, and meals were unthought
+of. He literally plunged out of sight into his work, and as yet he had
+never failed.
+
+One reason for this uniform success lay in the fact that he was able
+to define his limitations, and never attempted the impossible. He
+was, indeed, poor; that is, relatively so. His earliest recollections
+were associated with corn rows and grilling suns; which accounted for
+the present cheerfulness with which he tackled any task, and for his
+appetite for hard work. When tired, he would think of the weight of a
+hoe in a boy's hand at six o'clock in the afternoon, and proceed with
+renewed vigor.
+
+Such was "Lord" Chester: product of work and solitude; a man who knew
+more about the ideal than the real; a man who would never forget a
+friend nor forgive an injury; who would fight to the bitter end and
+die game--hero of "_the_" Marathon, whose exciting history is
+impossible to avoid in Iowa City.
+
+By nature, Chester was an athlete, and by way of exercise he was
+accustomed to indulge in a few turns daily upon the cinder path. One
+evening in early spring he was jogging along at a steady brisk pace,
+when two men in training-suits caught up with him. They were puffing
+when they fell in beside him. Presently they dropped behind, and one,
+a tall important youth, of the name of Richards, called out:
+
+"I say, me lud, aren't you going to clear the trail?"
+
+Quick as a shot Chester halted and faced around.
+
+"What's that?" he asked quietly.
+
+The other two nearly bumped into him, but managed to come to a
+standstill, before precipitating that catastrophe. They lurched back
+upon their heels, nearly toppling backwards, too surprised for the
+moment to speak. Chester did not stir.
+
+"Jiminy crickets!" Richards' companion exclaimed in a moment. "You're
+deuced sudden, Chester, I must say."
+
+And Richards' manner promptly grew conciliatory.
+
+"Old man," he said, smiling, "you really ought to train. You've got
+form--by George, you have! Besides, you wouldn't have any opposition
+to speak of, you know."
+
+Richards was still smiling; but a smile, however warmly encouraged
+from within, is apt to take cold in a frost. The casual glance with
+which Chester took in the young man, from his light sprinting-pumps to
+his eyes, may be accurately described as frigid. Not until he had held
+the other's embarrassed look for an appreciable pause did he deign to
+speak.
+
+"There really ought to be," he said without emotion, "at least one man
+in the field. I think I shall train."
+
+Thus it came about that "Lord" Chester decided to enter athletics.
+Five minutes previously even the thought had not occurred to him; but
+he wasn't the man to quail before a bluff.
+
+The track management of this particular university was an oligarchy;
+was governed by a few absolute individuals. Perhaps such a condition
+is not as rare as might be supposed. However that may be, it was here
+a case of being either "in" or "out." Chester was unpopular, and from
+the first had been out.
+
+There were only four entries for the running events, the same names
+appearing in all; so he could not be kept from the field. But he well
+knew that various ways existed by which favoritism could be shown, and
+that these preferences, too trifling in themselves to warrant
+complaint, might prove a serious handicap in a close contest. He knew
+that, however honors might lie among the other entries, they would
+hesitate at nothing to prevent him from taking a place. In fact,
+Richards openly boasted that he would pocket "'is ludship" at the
+finish.
+
+So Chester shaped his plans accordingly. He had never aimed at the
+impossible, nor did he now. He withdrew from all short-distance runs
+and yard dashes, and concentrated his mind upon the Marathon--thus
+dignified, although the faculty would permit nothing more arduous than
+two miles.
+
+In saying trained, everything is meant that the word can be made to
+imply: the sort of hour in, hour out, to-the-limit-of-endurance
+training which either makes or kills. A fortnight before Field Day
+Chester was in perfect condition, and had his capabilities gauged to a
+nicety. He was now entered only in the Marathon; they virtually had
+forced him from the half-mile, and they should be made to pay the
+penalty.
+
+One day before the race Chester went to the bank and inquired the
+amount of his balance. It was shown him: one hundred and six dollars
+and some odd cents. He drew a cheque for the amount, and thrust the
+bills into his pocket. From the bank he walked straight up Main Street
+for three blocks, then turned in at a well-kept brick house.
+
+"Mr. Richards in?" he asked of the servant-girl.
+
+"Yes, sir. Right upstairs--second door to the left. He's got company
+now."
+
+The junior nevertheless resolutely mounted the stairs and knocked upon
+the door. The noise inside resembled a pocket-edition of the Chicago
+Board of Trade, so Chester hammered again, louder.
+
+"Come!" some one yelled, and the noise subsided.
+
+He opened the door and stepped inside. A half-dozen young fellows were
+scattered about, but as he knew none of them, except by name, he
+ignored their presence and walked directly up to Richards.
+
+"I've come on business," he said; "can I speak with you a moment?"
+
+"Sure!" Richards removed his feet from a chair, kicking it at the
+same time toward his visitor. "These fellows know more about my
+business now than I do myself, so get it off of your chest, Chester."
+
+The company laughed, but Chester remained wholly unmoved.
+
+"All right," said he, calmly. "You're in the Marathon: want to risk
+anything on it?"
+
+Up went Richards' feet once more, this time to a table. He winked
+broadly at his friends, and replied with an air of vast carelessness,
+
+"Why--yes; I don't mind. Guess I can cover you."
+
+"How much?" demanded Chester. "Odds even, mind."
+
+"I said I'd cover you, didn't I?" with some warmth. Richards fumbled
+in his trousers pockets, extracting therefrom a handful of loose
+change.
+
+Chester advanced to the table. At sight of his roll of bills a sudden
+silence fell. All eyes were glued upon them while he counted.
+
+"Five--ten--fifteen"--and so on, up to one hundred. He stowed the
+remaining five back in his pocket, pushed the pile into the middle of
+the table and looked coolly down at his host. Said he,
+
+"One hundred, even, that I win the Marathon. Cover, or show these
+fellows the sort of piker you are."
+
+And Richards came very near to showing them. His face was a study. He
+hadn't ten dollars to his name; he was painfully aware of the fact,
+and here were these six boys who would know it too in about two
+seconds. He was rattled, and sat looking at the pile of bills as
+though charmed. He racked his brain for some way out of the
+predicament, but the only thing he could think of was to wonder
+whether the portrait on the top note was that of Hendricks or Rufus
+Choate. "It can't be Choate," suddenly occurred to him. "But then
+it--"
+
+There was a laugh in the back of the room. Richards stood up. A dozen
+fire alarms would not have recalled him so quickly. Whatever else
+might be said of the man he was game, and now his gameness showed.
+
+"Give me an hour; I'll meet you then in front of the postoffice."
+While speaking he had gotten into his coat; now he walked toward the
+door. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone, fellows," he said, and
+disappeared down the stairway.
+
+Chester replaced the notes in his pocket, nodded gravely to the
+company and followed.
+
+Not a boy spoke, but all sat staring blankly at the doorway.
+
+An hour later, both Richards and Chester appeared at the postoffice.
+The former, by dint of much persistent circulation among his fellow
+athletes, had found enough of them who were willing to pool their
+funds in order to secure the necessary amount. The two young men had
+witnesses, the wager was properly closed and the money deposited.
+Neither spoke an unnecessary word during the meeting, but when Chester
+started to leave, Richards turned facetiously to his friends.
+
+"'Is bloomin' ludship will start training Friday; bet he has his wheel
+in soak."
+
+To which remark Chester paid not the slightest attention.
+
+Whatever may be said to the contrary, six boys can no more retain a
+secret than can six girls, and inside of an hour the story of the big
+bet had spread over the town. In due course it penetrated to the city:
+one day a reporter appeared and interviewed the principals, and on the
+following Sunday their photographs adorned the pink section of a great
+daily. This was nuts for the university--but it is getting ahead of
+our own story somewhat.
+
+Chester, naturally, was the centre of curiosity. He had not pawned his
+"bike," as was demonstrated when Friday rolled around; but had it been
+known that the last cent he owned in the world had been staked upon
+the issue, no doubt the interest would have been greater.
+
+Field Day opened bright and clear, and early in the afternoon Athletic
+Park began to fill. A rumor had gone abroad that the two principal
+competitors had actually come to blows, and that each had sworn to die
+rather than lose the race. Long before the opening event the inclosure
+was crowded with spectators, all eagerly discussing the Marathon, to
+the exclusion of every other contest. The opinion was freely expressed
+that Richards would "put a crimp in that chesty Chester," and that he
+would "win in a walk." They made no bones about playing favorites.
+
+It was a still, hot day, and if there is any advantage in atmospheric
+conditions each contestant should have been inspired with that
+absolute confidence of winning, without which the fastest race is but
+a tame affair. At two o'clock the band commenced playing. The judges
+tried to follow the programme, but the cries of "Marathon! Marathon!"
+grew so insistent and clamorous that they finally yielded, and the
+event was called.
+
+Richards responded first. He was popular, and the grandstand gave him
+an ovation as he took his position under the wire. It seemed as though
+the handkerchief of every girl present was in the air. The two
+figureheads, friends of Richards, came next, and last of all Chester.
+
+A feeble attempt at applause marked his passage in front of the
+grandstand; but he never looked up, and for any indication he gave to
+the contrary, he might have been the only person on the grounds. His
+track suit was hidden by a long black door curtain, in lieu of a
+bath-robe, and a pretty girl on the front row remarked audibly, "He's
+all ready for the funeral."
+
+"Sure thing," answered her companion. "He knows his obsequies are
+about to take place."
+
+"Peels well," a man by the rail critically commented.
+"But--rats!--Richards has pocketed this event ever since he's been
+here; you can't make the pace for him with anything slower than an
+auto."
+
+The runners were in line at last, crouching low, tense, finger-tips
+upon the ground, the starting-pistol above their heads.
+
+"Starters ready?" floated in a sing-song voice from the judges' stand.
+"Timers r-r-read-y-y?" A sharp crack from the pistol, and they were
+off.
+
+Then a queer thing happened. Instead of dawdling along behind, as
+every one expected, Chester, without an instant's hesitation, pushed
+to the front and set the pace.
+
+And what a pace! It was literally a race from the word go. Chester
+took the inside and faced the music, Richards and the others close in
+behind. Sympathy in the grandstand was beginning to turn; everybody
+appreciates pluck. The spectators, however, knew him to be a novice,
+and many supposed that he had lost his head; so when he passed the
+grandstand on the first lap, any amount of contradictory advice was
+shouted noisily.
+
+"Let them set the pace!" "You're killing yourself!" "Oh, you bally
+Lord!--go it, kid!" "Don't let 'em nose you out, Chester, old scout!"
+"Save your air, old top, you'll need it!" and much more of a like kind
+was hurled at him, which reached his ears through the veil of singing
+wind, like the roar of distant breakers upon the seashore.
+
+He kept his own counsel. He had followed that pace every day during
+the last two weeks of his training, and he knew precisely what he
+could do. Besides the air was quiet, and the disadvantage of being
+pace-maker was not so great as people thought.
+
+In this formation they came round the half-mile oval the second time,
+each man working with the nice regularity of well-oiled machinery. Not
+a sound now from the grandstand; only the soft _pat_ of the runners'
+feet could be heard. The crowd had caught Chester's idea: but could
+he hold out?
+
+They had passed the three-quarter pole on the third lap when a yell
+went up, and everybody rose excitedly to their feet. Space was growing
+rapidly between the leaders and those behind; it was now resolved to a
+duel between the principals.
+
+As they dashed past, the crowd examined them closely, scores of
+field-glasses being trained upon them like so many guns.
+
+Chester was still erect, his head well back, chest forward, arms
+working piston-like, close down at his sides, while his long, regular
+tread was as light and springy as an Indian's. His jaw was set grimly,
+but it was manifest that he was still breathing deep and regularly
+through his nostrils.
+
+It was equally manifest that his opponent was in distress. The last of
+his strength and determination was dying away in a desperate effort to
+keep his pace; his face was colorless, eyes staring, his step
+irregular. Worst of all, his mouth was open, and his chest could be
+seen to vibrate as he panted.
+
+[Illustration: He heard a voice ... and glanced back.]
+
+"By Jove!" muttered the man at the rail, as amazed as though the blue
+canopy of heaven had suddenly fallen, "Chester'll take it, I do
+believe!" And the crowd was beginning to believe the same.
+
+The rivals maintained their relative positions until, on the last lap,
+the three-quarter pole was once more reached. The two figureheads had
+dropped out and mounted a fence where they would not be too far away
+from the finish.
+
+Every eye was trained upon the racers, the excitement was tense.
+Chester was pounding grimly away; sweat was pouring down his face
+until it glistened in the sun; his legs ached as though in a boot of
+torture. But he had no thought of allowing Richards to close the gap
+between them by an inch. He was counting the _pat-pat-pat!_ of his
+feet upon the track. "Seventy-three more, and it's won, old boy," he
+muttered. He could hear Richards' every breath. "One, two, three,--"
+he counted.
+
+He heard a voice, so broken that the words could hardly be distinguished,
+and he glanced back.
+
+"For God's--sake, Chester--hold--up!" gasped Richards. "I--can't
+lose--this race--now."
+
+He was a pitiable figure, his white face drawn in lines of pain, his
+body swaying uncertainly, as he pressed despairingly on.
+
+For one moment Chester's heart felt a throb of pity. Then he thought
+of his work in sun and rain; of Richards' contempt in the past; of the
+cheers for his rival and the open ridicule of his own pretensions; and
+last of all, but far from being the least consideration, the two
+hundred dollars absolutely necessary to carry him through his final
+year to graduation.
+
+Ah, nobody knew about that two hundred dollars, save himself and one
+little girl, who had driven into town early in the afternoon, and who
+had slipped timidly into as good a seat as she could find in the
+stand. She showed one dot of pink among hundreds of fluffy white
+gowns; Chester was ignorant of her presence, but as he sped round and
+round the track, her eyes never once left him, nor did she cease
+praying silently that he might win!
+
+Only for an instant did he hesitate; then his face settled into an
+expression not pleasant to look upon. He forgot that he was tired,
+that a grandstand full of howling maniacs was ahead of him. He thought
+only of the girl in pink--and made his spurt.
+
+Richards tried to follow, but a haze was forming over his eyes. His
+heart was pounding until he believed that he must suffocate. Then he
+reeled suddenly, lost his balance and fell into darkness.
+
+"So this is victory!" murmured Chester to himself a moment later, as
+he swayed unsteadily upon the shoulders of a howling mob. He was
+thinking of poor Richards lying back there upon the track. But just
+then he espied the transfigured face of the girl in pink.
+
+"It is! It is!" he shouted joyfully.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORTH OF THE PRICE
+
+
+Nobody in a normal humor would dispute the fact that Clementine Willis
+was a strikingly handsome girl. One might even be moved, by a burst of
+enthusiasm, to declare her beautiful. There was about her that subtle,
+elusive charm of perfection in minute detail, possible only to the
+wealthy who can discriminate between art and that which is artificial,
+and who can take advantage of all of art's magic resources, without
+imparting the slightest suggestion of artificiality.
+
+Her hair and eyes were dark--very dark; her skin bore the matchless,
+transparent tint of ivory; every line of her high-bred face, and of
+her hands and her slender, arched feet, bespoke the ultimate degree of
+refinement.
+
+She was the sort of girl, in short, that a full-blooded man must needs
+stare at, perhaps furtively, but with no thought of boldness. Stupid,
+indeed, must be he who would attempt anything even remotely
+approaching familiarity with Miss Willis.
+
+Her smart brougham waits in front of a new and resplendent down-town
+office building on a certain afternoon, while Miss Willis ascends
+in one of the elevators to the tenth floor. She proceeds with
+assurance, but leisurely--mayhap she is a trifle bored--to a door
+which somehow manages to convey an impression of prosperity beyond.
+It bears upon its frosted glass the name of Dr. Leonard, a renowned
+specialist in diseases of the throat, besides the names of a
+half-dozen assistants--in much smaller lettering--who, doubtless,
+are in the ferment of struggling for positions of equal renown.
+
+The door opening discloses a neat, uniformed maid and a large and
+richly furnished reception-room. Five ladies, of various ages and all
+handsomely gowned, are seated here and there, manifestly forcing
+patience to relieve the _ennui_ which would have been tolerated with
+no other detail of the day's routine.
+
+This cursory survey is sufficient, it is hoped, to demonstrate that
+Dr. Leonard's practice is confined among a class of which most other
+practitioners might be pardonably envious.
+
+The white-aproned, white-capped maid smiled a polite recognition of
+the newest arrival. A bit flustered by the calmly impersonal scrutiny
+with which her greeting was received, she addressed Miss Willis in a
+subdued voice.
+
+"I was to tell you, Miss Willis, that there is no occasion for Dr.
+Leonard to see you himself to-day. If you please, Dr. Carter will fill
+your engagement."
+
+Miss Willis did not please. It was quite clear that she regarded this
+arrangement with considerable disfavor.
+
+"You may inform Dr. Leonard that I shall not wait," she said coldly.
+"If I am so far improved that I do not require his personal attention,
+I shall not come again."
+
+With that, she turned decisively to leave. The maid followed her,
+hesitantly, to the door, and Miss Willis could not repress a smile at
+the girl's consternation. The situation had ended in an altogether
+unexpected manner. And then, in the next instant, it became manifest
+that, however absolute Dr. Leonard might be, it was not a part of the
+maid's duties to discourage those who would seek his services. She was
+emboldened to protest.
+
+"Just try him, please, Miss Willis," in a nervous murmur;
+"he--truly--he's--"
+
+The assurance was left unfinished; but the speaker's flurry revealed
+her predicament, and Miss Willis smiled encouragement.
+
+"Very well," she returned graciously.
+
+The maid gave her a grateful look and conducted her though several
+rooms, all in accord with the sumptuous reception-room, to a tiny
+private office, where she opened the door and stood respectfully on
+one side.
+
+The visitor's submissive mood all at once vanished. She stared
+resentfully at the cramped quarters, and entered reluctantly, as if
+with a feeling of being thrust willy-nilly into a labelled pill-box. A
+man was writing at a desk in a corner, and he continued writing.
+
+"Take a chair, please," he said crisply, without looking up. And this
+was the only sign to indicate that he was aware that his privacy had
+been invaded.
+
+Miss Willis's dark eyes flashed. She seemed about to make an indignant
+rejoinder, but thought better of it. She ignored the invitation to sit
+down, however, and by and by the circumstance caught the writer's
+attention; he bent a quick, surprised look round at her--then
+proceeded with his writing. He did not repeat the request.
+
+He presently finished his task, noted the time, and made an entry upon
+a tabulated sheet beside him; he then filed the memorandum upon a
+hook, and swung round in his chair, facing the intruder--for such the
+girl felt herself to be.
+
+Fortunately Miss Willis was not without a sense of humor, and she was
+able to perceive an amusing quality in her reception to-day. Such
+supreme indifference to her very existence was so wholly foreign to
+anything in her past experience, that she was acutely sensible of its
+freshness and novelty.
+
+But now the man became all at once impressed with the circumstance
+that she was still standing, and he bounded guiltily to his feet.
+
+"Pardon me!" he exclaimed in confusion. "I was--was very busy when you
+came in. Won't you please have this chair?" He awkwardly shoved one
+forward.
+
+The man was young; Miss Willis was unable to determine whether he was
+good-looking, or ugly; whether he was the right sort, or impossible;
+so she accepted the proffered chair.
+
+He resumed his own seat, and leaned one arm wearily upon the desk.
+Already he had forgotten his momentary embarrassment, and he was now
+regarding the girl simply as a patient.
+
+"Dr. Leonard has given me the history of your case," he informed her
+in a matter of fact way. "He requests that I continue with it--unless,
+of course, you prefer that he treat you himself." He got up as he
+spoke, and Miss Willis decided that he was good-looking and young, and
+that he was tall and of a figure to appeal to the feminine eye.
+
+Then she was guilty of a most reprehensible act of slyness. She turned
+full upon him the batteries of her lustrous dark eyes, and smiled
+dazzlingly, bewitchingly.
+
+"I came to see Dr. Leonard," she said in a tone that made one think
+of dripping honey. "And I object to being turned over to an
+assistant--at least before consulting me."
+
+Utterly at variance with all precedent, the bewitching look produced
+no effect whatever. The man bowed gravely, pressed a bell-button, and
+then went over to where Miss Willis was sitting. Before he could
+speak--if he had any such intention--a girl in starched cap and apron
+appeared in answer to his ring.
+
+"Miss Willis has concluded not to remain," he informed the maid. "Show
+Number Twenty-seven into Room Four. Inform her that I will see her in
+two minutes." Producing his watch, he deliberately marked the time.
+
+He turned to Miss Willis in a moment, with an air which said as
+plainly as words could have said it: "It's a terrible waste of
+precious time, but if necessary I'll sacrifice the two minutes to
+humoring any further caprices you may develop."
+
+This was too much for the young lady's tranquillity: she laughed, and
+laughed frankly.
+
+"Pray tell me," she managed to say, "what _my_ number is."
+
+Without the slightest alteration in his serious mien, he consulted a
+list hanging beside his desk.
+
+"Seven," he announced at length.
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Why?" quickly. "Has there been some mistake?"
+
+"No--oh, no"; Miss Willis was now perfectly composed. "I had a
+feeling, though, that it must have been nearer seven thousand."
+
+"It would be impossible, you know," the man patiently explained, "to
+see that many patients in a day."
+
+"Indeed? How interesting!" Her irony was unnoticed, and once more she
+laughed. To tell the truth, if anybody could associate such a
+frivolity with Miss Willis's dignity, she giggled.
+
+She contemplated the man with undisguised curiosity. Naturally enough
+she had met more men than she could even remember, but never one
+anything like this particular specimen. To add to her quickened
+interest, he was not only positively good-looking, but every line of
+his face, the poise of his well-proportioned, upstanding figure, the
+tilt of his head and the squareness of his chin, all spoke of
+strength; of elemental strength, and of a purposeful, resolute
+character. And, too, she told herself that he had nice eyes. The nice
+eyes never wavered in their respectful regard of her.
+
+He spoke again:
+
+"I can assure you that Dr. Leonard meant no discourtesy. The new
+arrangement means nothing further than that your trouble is more
+distinctively within my province. It is his custom, once he has
+thoroughly diagnosed a case, to assign it to the one of his assistants
+best qualified to treat it. Dr. Leonard is a very busy man; he can't
+be expected to do more than supervise his aides."
+
+And now he was actually rebuking her!
+
+He bowed once more, and moved toward the door. His hand was upon the
+knob, when an imperious command brought him to a standstill.
+
+"Wait," said Miss Willis. "Dr. Carter, if I remain here--"
+
+He coolly interrupted. "Pardon me, Miss Willis, but my patient is
+waiting. I shall be at liberty in ten minutes, then I shall return."
+
+This time he was gone.
+
+Number Four must have been an adjoining room, for the next instant
+she could hear Dr. Carter's voice through the thin board partition.
+His speech was as unemotional and businesslike as when addressing her.
+She could not make up her mind whether to go or wait, and so sat
+pondering and presently forgot to go.
+
+Here was a man such as she had never dreamed of as existing; one
+absolutely disinterested, who treated people--even people like
+Clementine Willis--as abstractly as a master mechanic goes about
+repairing a worn-out engine. Perhaps it was a characteristically
+feminine decision at which she presently arrived, but anyway she made
+up her mind, then and there, to know more of this man.
+
+After a while Miss Willis fell to surveying the room; with an
+undefined hope, perhaps, that it would throw some further light upon
+the young doctor's character. It was essentially the home of a busy
+man. Every article had a use and a definite one. The spirit of the
+place was contagious, and presently she began to have a feeling that
+she was the one useless thing there.
+
+In one corner of the room was the desk where he had been writing,
+upon which was a pile of loose manuscript. Reference books were
+scattered all about, some with improvised bookmarks, but mostly face
+downward, just as they had been left. The environment was that of one
+who seeks to overtake and outstrip Time, rather than to forget him.
+
+Dr. Carter returned at last, entering quickly but quietly.
+
+"Pardon my leaving you so abruptly," he apologized, the impersonal
+note again in his voice, and an inquiry as well. He seemed surprised
+that she had not departed.
+
+The girl was manifestly at a loss for words; this was such an
+extraordinary predicament for her to find herself in that she
+determined to say something at any cost.
+
+"Dr. Carter," she faltered, "I--have changed my mind; I--I--wish you
+to continue my treatment--if you will." It was not at all what she had
+intended saying, and she was chagrined to feel her cheeks grow
+suddenly hot; she knew that they must be rosy.
+
+It was likely that young Dr. Carter was unused to smiling; but
+suddenly his eyes were alight. He spoke, and the dry, impersonal note
+was gone.
+
+"I'm glad," he said. "We hard-working doctors can stand almost
+anything--without caring a snap of our fingers, too--but when it comes
+to doubting or questioning--not _our_ methods, but those that have
+been tried and proven, and of which we merely avail ourselves,--why,
+we can't be expected to waste much sympathy on the scoffers."
+
+He rang the inevitable bell, and gave word to the maid: "Tell Dr.
+Leonard that Miss Willis has decided to continue her treatment with
+me."
+
+Now, in the light of the foregoing experience, it was strange that
+during the next week Miss Willis's throat should require considerably
+more attention than it ever had under the celebrated specialist's
+personal ministrations. She made five visits to Dr. Carter, but it
+could not be said that he had advanced an inch toward the opening she
+had made. His voice and manner were a bit more sympathetic--and that
+was all.
+
+Miss Willis seemed to find a keen delight in the fact that her
+identity, for the time being, was erased by a number; during each
+visit she made it a point to learn what this number was, treating the
+matter in a sportive spirit, unbending her wit to ridicule a practice
+which failed to discriminate among the host of patients who came to
+see Dr. Leonard.
+
+"For our purposes," Dr. Carter tolerantly explained, "a number more
+conveniently identifies our patients; their differences are only
+pathological. A name is easily forgotten, Miss Willis, unless there is
+some unusual circumstance associated with it, to impress it upon the
+mind."
+
+She was curious to learn what unusual circumstance had caused him to
+retain her name, but lacked the temerity to ask. She would have been
+amazed, unbelieving, had he told her that it was her beauty; that he
+was clinging rather desperately to the unlovely number, which had no
+individuality and whose features were altogether neutral and
+negative.
+
+The change in his manner, when it came, almost took away her breath.
+It was on the occasion of her last visit. After the familiar
+preliminary examination, instead of proceeding at once with the
+treatment, as had been his invariable custom, Dr. Carter walked over
+to his desk and sat down. For a space he soberly regarded her.
+
+"Miss Willis," said he, presently, "there is nothing whatever the
+matter with your throat."
+
+She gasped. This calm statement brought confusingly to her mind the
+circumstance that she had forgotten her throat and its ailment, when,
+of all considerations, the afflicted member should have been uppermost
+in her mind. Dr. Carter had not, however, and he must be wondering why
+she continued to come after the occasion to do so no longer existed.
+He at once relieved her embarrassment, though.
+
+"I suppose," he said, and she felt a thrill at the note of regret in
+his voice, "that you will be glad to escape from this hive?"
+
+"No, I shan't," she said, with unnecessary warmth. This involuntary
+denial surprised even herself, and she blushed.
+
+The smile left Dr. Carter's lips, but he said nothing--merely sat
+looking at her in his grave way.
+
+Here was to be another period, which Miss Willis could look back upon
+as one of temporary inability to find words. She started to leave,
+furious with herself for her inaptness, and instead of going she
+paused and turned back.
+
+Dr. Carter had risen; he was standing as she had left him. She drew a
+card from her cardcase.
+
+"You may think what you please of me, Dr. Carter," she said with
+sudden impulse, extending the card and meeting his look steadily, "but
+I would be glad if you were to call."
+
+It seemed to take him a long time to read the address. All at once his
+hands were trembling, and when he looked up the expression in the gray
+eyes brought a swift tide of color to the girl's face, where it
+deepened, and deepened, until she tingled from head to foot, and a
+mist obscured her vision.
+
+"Nothing in all this world would give me more pleasure," said the
+man.
+
+The girl turned and fled.
+
+That very evening Dr. Carter availed himself of the invitation.
+Singularly enough, since she had been hoping all the afternoon that he
+would come, Clementine Willis was frightened when his name was
+announced. Her hand was shaking when he took it in his; but there was
+not a trace of expression on his face.
+
+Miss Willis realized, for the first time, that she had been horribly
+brazen--or, at least, she told herself that she had been--and as a
+consequence, she was wretchedly ill at ease. Her distress was in
+marked contrast with the man's self-possession, which amounted almost
+to indifference. There was no spark visible of the fire which had
+flashed earlier in the day. It was as though he had steeled himself to
+remain invulnerable throughout the call.
+
+And the usually composed girl prattled aimlessly, voicing platitudes,
+conventionalities, banalities, inanities--anything to gain time and to
+cover her embarrassment: to all of which the man listened in sober
+silence, watching her steadily.
+
+Abruptly, Miss Willis grew angry with herself, and stopped. When angry
+she was collected.
+
+Dr. Carter's face lit up humorously.
+
+"You have no idea," he said, "how you have relieved my mind."
+
+The girl looked a question.
+
+"I supposed I was the embarrassed individual," he laughed.
+
+"If you had only given me a hint," suggested the girl, reproachfully.
+She was now amazed that she had ever lost her grip upon herself, and
+wondered why she had.
+
+"A hint!" he exclaimed. "I was dumb; I thought you'd see."
+
+The tension was off, and they laughed together. From then on, both
+remained natural. In the midst of a lull, Dr. Carter suddenly said:
+
+"You'll think me a barbarian, Miss Willis, but I have a request to
+make. I am in the mood to-night to be unconventional"--the corners of
+his serious mouth lifted humorously--"to be what I really am," he
+illuminated, "and to meet you in the same spirit." He paused with a
+little shrug. "It is a disappointing reversion to the primitive, I
+must admit." He glanced up whimsically. "May I ask you a question--any
+question?"
+
+"Do you think it possible," the girl evaded, "for a modern woman to
+meet you--the way you say--naturally?"
+
+He seemed to question her seriousness.
+
+"I have seen little of women for a number of years," he returned, "but
+I'd hate to think it impossible."
+
+"Little of women!" was the surprised comment.
+
+"You misunderstand," he quickly corrected. "I go out so seldom that
+the woman I see is not the real woman at all; not the woman of
+home." His hand made a little motion of forbearance. "In his
+consultation-room the patients of a physician are--sexless."
+
+"I think that a woman--that I--can still be natural, Dr. Carter," said
+Miss Willis, slowly, her eyes downcast. "What did you wish to ask?"
+
+It was his turn to hesitate.
+
+"I hardly know how to put it, now that I have permission," he
+apologized, with a deprecatory little laugh.
+
+"We seldom do things in this world," he went on at once, "unless we
+want to, or unless the alternative of not doing them is more
+unpleasant." He merged generalities into a more specific assertion.
+"There was no alternative in your requesting me to call. Candidly, why
+do I interest you?"
+
+His voice was alive, and the woman, now thoroughly mistress of
+herself, gazed into the frankest of frank gray eyes.
+
+"I scarcely know," she said, weighing her answer. "Perhaps it was the
+novel experience of being considered--sexless; of being classified by
+a number, like a beetle in a case. Let me answer with another
+question: Why did I interest you sufficiently to come?"
+
+He sat in the big chair with his chin in his hand, looking now
+steadily past and beyond her, one foot restlessly tapping the rug.
+
+"I can't answer without it seeming so hopelessly egotistical." The
+half-whimsical, half-serious smile returned to his eyes. "Don't let me
+impose upon your leniency, please; I may wish to make a request
+sometime again."
+
+"I will accept the responsibility," she insisted.
+
+"On your head, then, the consequences." He spoke lightly, but with a
+note of restlessness and rebellion.
+
+"To me you are attractive, Miss Willis, because you are everything
+that I am not. With you there is no necessity higher than the present;
+no responsibility beyond the chance thought of the moment. You choose
+your surroundings, your thoughts. Your life is what you make it: it is
+life."
+
+"You certainly would not charge me with being more independent than
+you?" protested the girl.
+
+"Independent!" he flashed upon her, and she knew she had stirred
+something lying close to his soul. His voice grew soft, and he repeated
+the word, musingly, more to himself than to her: "Independent!"
+
+"Yes," with abrupt feeling, "with the sort of independence that
+chooses its own manner of absolute dependence; with the independence
+that gives you only so much of my time, so that the remainder may go
+to another; with the independence of imperative impartiality; the sort
+of independence that is never through working and planning for
+others--that's the independence I know."
+
+"But there are breathing-spells," interrupted Miss Willis, smilingly.
+"To-night, for example, you are not working for somebody else."
+
+"You compel me to incriminate myself," he rejoined, the whimsical,
+half-serious smile again lighting his gray eyes. "I should be working
+now, and I will have to make up the lost time when I go home." He
+bowed gallantly. "The pleasure is double with me, you observe; I do
+not think twice about paying a double price for it."
+
+He spoke lightly, almost mockingly; but beneath the surface there was
+even the bitter ring of revolt, and constantly before the girl were
+the little gestures, intense, impatient, that conveyed a meaning he
+did not voice. She could feel in it all the insistent atmosphere of
+the town, where time is counted by seconds. She wondered that he felt
+as he did, ignorant that the disquiet had come into his life only
+during the past week. To her, the glimpse of activity was fascinating
+simply because it was in sharp contrast with her life of comparative,
+dull emptiness.
+
+He caught the wistful look on her face.
+
+"You wonder that I rebel," he said, with an odd little throaty laugh.
+"I couldn't well appear any more unsophisticated: I might as well tell
+you. It's not the work itself, but the lack of anything else but work
+that makes the lives of such as I so bare. We are constantly holding a
+stop-watch on time itself, fearful of losing a second; the scratch of
+a pen sealing the life of a Nation, commuting a death-sentence,
+defining the difference between a man's success and ruin can all be
+accomplished in a second. If we let that second get away from us, we
+have been deaf to Opportunity's knock. We stop at times to think; and
+then the object for which we give our all appears so petty and
+inadequate, and what we are losing, so great. We laugh at our work at
+such times, and for the moment hate it." But he laughed lightly, and
+finished with a deprecating little minor.
+
+"You see, I'm relaxing to-night--and thinking."
+
+"But," Miss Willis protested, "I don't see why you should have only
+the one thing in your life. It is certainly unnecessary, unless you
+choose."
+
+He smiled indulgently.
+
+"You have no conception of what it means to shape your life to your
+income. I am poor, and I know. Years ago I had to choose between
+mediocrity and"--he looked at her peculiarly--"and love, or
+advancement alone. I had to choose, and fixing my choice upon the
+higher aim, I had to put everything else out of my life. The thought
+is intolerable that my name should always be under another's upon some
+office-door. You know what I chose: you know nothing of the constant
+struggle which alone keeps me, mind, soul, and body, centred upon my
+ideal, nor how readily I respond to a temptation to turn aside.
+
+"This," he completed listlessly, "is one of the nights when the price
+seems too large; in spite of me, regret will creep in."
+
+"But," persisted the girl, "when you succeed--it will not be--too
+late?" There was a plaintive inquiry in the words; the tragedy of the
+man's life had awakened pity.
+
+He spoke with a sudden passion that startled her.
+
+"It is too late already; my work has refashioned my life. I am
+desperately restless except when doing something that counts;
+something visible; and doing it intensely. I'll never"--his voice was
+bitter with regret--"never conform--now."
+
+The girl answered, almost unconsciously.
+
+"I think you can," she hesitated, "and will."
+
+For a long, long moment they searched each other's eyes.
+
+"And this price you are paying," said the girl at last, "is it worth
+it?"
+
+The man drew a long breath.
+
+"Ah, I wonder! To-night doubt has undermined my resolution."
+
+"If you question yourself so seriously," she said very softly, "then
+surely you can find but one answer."
+
+"Again I wonder. I have wondered and--and hoped--God help me!--since
+the moment I looked into your eyes."
+
+Suddenly he was out of his chair and coming toward her. Her heart
+leaped, her eyes shone; she extended her hands in welcome.
+
+"Then you will come again," she whispered, as they drew together.
+
+"If you will let me. I couldn't stay away now."
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by
+Will Lillibridge
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