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} - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>THE THIRD CIRCLE</title> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-03-31" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Third Circle" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="48620" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1909" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Third Circle" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Frank Norris" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> - -<link rel="schema.DCTERMS" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" /> -<link rel="schema.MARCREL" href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" /> -<meta content="The Third Circle" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="/home/ajhaines/circle/circle.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-04-01T04:29:02.374598+00:00" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48620" /> -<meta content="Frank Norris" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-03-31" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-third-circle"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE THIRD CIRCLE</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world 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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Third Circle -<br /> -<br />Author: Frank Norris -<br /> -<br />Release Date: March 31, 2015 [EBook #48620] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE THIRD CIRCLE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">THE THIRD CIRCLE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">FRANK NORRIS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "THE PIT," "THE OCTOPUS," ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">INTRODUCTION BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">WILL IRWIN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD -<br />NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY -<br />1909</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">CHEAP EDITION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Printed from electrotype plates -<br />by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics large">TABLE OF CONTENTS</em></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#id1">The Third Circle</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-house-with-the-blinds">The House With the Blinds</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#little-dramas-of-the-curbstone">Little Dramas of the Curbstone</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#shorty-stack-pugilist">Shorty Stack, Pugilist</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-strangest-thing">The Strangest Thing</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-reversion-to-type">A Reversion to Type</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#boom">"Boom"</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-dis-associated-charities">The Dis-Associated Charities</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#son-of-a-sheik">Son of a Sheik</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-defense-of-the-flag">A Defense of the Flag</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#toppan">Toppan</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-caged-lion">A Caged Lion</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#this-animal-of-a-buldy-jones">"This Animal of a Buldy Jones"</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#dying-fires">Dying Fires</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#grettir-at-drangey">Grettir at Drangey</a><span> -<br /></span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-guest-of-honour">The Guest of Honour</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics large">Introduction</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It used to be my duty, as sub editor of the old -San Francisco </span><em class="italics">Wave</em><span>, to "put the paper to -bed." We were printing a Seattle edition -in those days of the Alaskan gold rush; and the -last form had to be locked up on Tuesday night, -that we might reach the news stands by Friday. -Working short-handed, as all small weeklies do, -we were everlastingly late with copy or illustrations -or advertisements; and that Tuesday usually -stretched itself out into Wednesday. Most often, -indeed, the foreman and I pounded the last quoin -into place at four or five o'clock Wednesday -morning and went home with the milk-wagons—to -rise at noon and start next week's paper going.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For Yelton, most patient and cheerful of -foremen, those Tuesday night sessions meant steady -work. I, for my part, had only to confer with -him now and then on a "Caption" or to run over -a late proof. In the heavy intervals of waiting, -I killed time and gained instruction by reading -the back files of the </span><em class="italics">Wave</em><span>, and especially that -part of the files which preserved the early, prentice -work of Frank Norris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a hero to us all in those days, as he -will ever remain a heroic memory—that unique -product of our Western soil, killed, for some -hidden purpose of the gods, before the time of full -blossom. He had gone East but a year since to -publish the earliest in his succession of rugged, -virile novels—"Moran of the Lady Letty," -"McTeague," "Blix," "A Man's Woman," "The -Octopus," and "The Pit." The East was just -beginning to learn that he was great; we had known it -long before. With a special interest, then, did I, -his humble cub successor as sub editor and sole -staff writer, follow that prentice work of his from -the period of his first brief sketches, through the -period of rough, brilliant short stories hewed out -of our life in the Port of Adventures, to the -period of that first serial which brought him into -his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a surpassing study of the novelist in -the making. J. O'Hara Cosgrave, owner, editor -and burden-bearer of the </span><em class="italics">Wave</em><span>, was in his editing -more an artist than a man of business. He loved -"good stuff"; he could not bear to delete a -distinctive piece of work just because the populace -would not understand. Norris, then, had a free -hand. Whatever his thought of that day, whatever -he had seen with the eye of his flash or the -eye of his imagination, he might write and print. -You began to feel him in the files of the year 1895, -by certain distinctive sketches and fragments. -You traced his writing week by week until the -sketches became "Little Stories of the Pavements." Then -longer stories, one every week, even such -stories as "The Third Circle," "Miracle Joyeaux," -and "The House with the Blinds"; then, finally, -a novel, written </span><em class="italics">feuilleton</em><span> fashion week by -week—"Moran of the Lady Letty." A curious -circumstance attended the publication of "Moran" in -the </span><em class="italics">Wave</em><span>. I discovered it myself during those -Tuesday night sessions over the files; and it -illustrates how this work was done. He began it in -the last weeks of 1897, turning it out and sending -it straight to the printer as part of his daily stint. -The </span><em class="italics">Maine</em><span> was blown up February 14, 1898. In -the later chapters of "Moran," he introduced the -destruction of the </span><em class="italics">Maine</em><span> as an incident! It was -this serial, brought to the attention of </span><em class="italics">McClure's -Magazine</em><span>, which finally drew Frank Norris East.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The studio sketches of a great novelist," -Gellett Burgess has called these ventures and -fragments. Burgess and I, when the </span><em class="italics">Wave</em><span> finally -died of too much merit, stole into the building by -night and took away one set of old files. A -harmless theft of sentiment, we told ourselves; for by -moral right they belonged to us, the sole survivors -in San Francisco of those who had helped make -the </span><em class="italics">Wave</em><span>. And, indeed, by this theft we saved -them from the great fire of 1906. When we had -them safe at home, we spent a night running over -them, marveling again at those rough creations of -blood and nerve which Norris had made out of that -city which was the first love of his wakened -intelligence, and in which, so wofully soon afterward, -he died.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think that I remember them all, even now; -not one but a name or a phrase would bring back -to mind. Most vividly, perhaps, remains a little -column of four sketches called "Fragments." One -was a scene behind the barricades during the -Commune—a gay </span><em class="italics">flaneur</em><span> of a soldier playing on -a looted piano until a bullet caught him in the -midst of a note. Another pictured an empty hotel -room after the guest had left. Only that; but I -always remember it when I first enter my room in -a hotel. A third was the nucleus for the -description of the "Dental Parlors" in McTeague. A -fourth, the most daring of all, showed a sodden -workman coming home from his place of great -machines. A fresh violet lay on the pavement. -He, the primal brute in harness, picked it up. -Dimly, the aesthetic sense woke in him. It gave -him pleasure, a pleasure which called for some -tribute. He put it between his great jaws and -crushed it—the only way he knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here collected are the longest and most -important of his prentice products. Even without -those shorter sketches whose interest is, after all, -mainly technical, they are an incomparable study -in the way a genius takes to find himself. It is as -though we saw a complete collection of Rembrandt's -early sketches, say—full technique and -co-ordination not yet developed, but all the basic -force and vision there. Admirable in themselves, -these rough-hewn tales, they are most interesting -when compared with the later work which the -world knows, and when taken as a melancholy -indication of that power of growth which was in -him and which must have led, if the masters of -fate had only spared him, to the highest -achievement in letters.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>WILL IRWIN. -<br />March, 1909.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id1"><em class="bold italics large">The Third Circle</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There are more things in San Francisco's -Chinatown than are dreamed of in Heaven -and earth. In reality there are three parts -of Chinatown—the part the guides show you, the -part the guides don't show you, and the part that -no one ever hears of. It is with the latter part -that this story has to do. There are a good many -stories that might be written about this third circle -of Chinatown, but believe me, they never will be -written—at any rate not until the "town" has been, -as it were, drained off from the city, as one might -drain a noisome swamp, and we shall be able to see -the strange, dreadful life that wallows down there -in the lowest ooze of the place—wallows and -grovels there in the mud and in the dark. If you -don't think this is true, ask some of the Chinese -detectives (the regular squad are not to be relied -on), ask them to tell you the story of the Lee On -Ting affair, or ask them what was done to old -Wong Sam, who thought he could break up the -trade in slave girls, or why Mr. Clarence Lowney -(he was a clergyman from Minnesota who believed -in direct methods) is now a "dangerous" -inmate of the State Asylum—ask them to tell you -why Matsokura, the Japanese dentist, went back -to his home lacking a face—ask them to tell you -why the murderers of Little Pete will never be -found, and ask them to tell you about the little -slave girl, Sing Yee, or—no, on the second -thought, don't ask for that story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tale I am to tell you now began some -twenty years ago in a See Yup restaurant on -Waverly Place—long since torn down—where it -will end I do not know. I think it is still going -on. It began when young Hillegas and Miss Ten -Eyck (they were from the East, and engaged to -be married) found their way into the restaurant -of the Seventy Moons, late in the evening of a -day in March. (It was the year after the -downfall of Kearney and the discomfiture of the -sand-lotters.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a dear, quaint, curious old place!" -exclaimed Miss Ten Eyck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat down on an ebony stool with its marble -seat, and let her gloved hands fall into her lap, -looking about her at the huge hanging lanterns, -the gilded carven screens, the lacquer work, the -inlay work, the coloured glass, the dwarf oak trees -growing in Satsuma pots, the marquetry, the -painted matting, the incense jars of brass, high -as a man's head, and all the grotesque jim-crackery -of the Orient. The restaurant was deserted at -that hour. Young Hillegas pulled up a stool -opposite her and leaned his elbows on the table, -pushing back his hat and fumbling for a -cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Might just as well be in China itself," he -commented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Might?" she retorted; "we are in China, Tom—a -little bit of China dug out and transplanted -here. Fancy all America and the Nineteenth -Century just around the corner! Look! You -can even see the Palace Hotel from the window. -See out yonder, over the roof of that temple—the -Ming Yen, isn't it?—and I can actually make -out Aunt Harriett's rooms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Harry (Miss Ten Eyck's first name -was Harriett) let's have some tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, you're a genius! Won't it be fun! Of -course we must have some tea. What a lark! -And you can smoke if you want to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the way one ought to see places," said -Hillegas, as he lit a cigarette; "just nose around -by yourself and discover things. Now, the guides -never brought us here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, they never did. I wonder why? Why, -we just found it out by ourselves. It's ours, isn't -it, Tom, dear, by right of discovery?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment Hillegas was sure that Miss -Ten Eyck was quite the most beautiful girl he -ever remembered to have seen. There was a -daintiness about her—a certain chic trimness in -her smart tailor-made gown, and the least -perceptible tilt of her crisp hat that gave her the -last charm. Pretty she certainly was—the fresh, -vigorous, healthful prettiness only seen in certain -types of unmixed American stock. All at once -Hillegas reached across the table, and, taking her -hand, kissed the little crumpled round of flesh that -showed where her glove buttoned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The China boy appeared to take their order, -and while waiting for their tea, dried almonds, -candied fruit and watermelon rinds, the pair -wandered out upon the overhanging balcony and -looked down into the darkening streets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's that fortune-teller again," observed -Hillegas, presently. "See—down there on the -steps of the joss house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where? Oh, yes, I see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have him up. Shall we? We'll have -him tell our fortunes while we're waiting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hillegas called and beckoned, and at last got -the fellow up into the restaurant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hoh! You're no Chinaman," said he, as the -fortune-teller came into the circle of the -lantern-light. The other showed his brown teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Part Chinaman, part Kanaka."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kanaka?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All same Honolulu. Sabe? Mother Kanaka -lady—washum clothes for sailor peoples down -Kaui way," and he laughed as though it were -a huge joke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, say, Jim," said Hillegas; "we want you -to tell our fortunes. You sabe? Tell the lady's -fortune. Who she going to marry, for instance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No fortune—tattoo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tattoo?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Um. All same tattoo—three, four, seven, -plenty lil birds on lady's arm. Hey? You want -tattoo?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew a tattooing needle from his sleeve -and motioned towards Miss Ten Eyck's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tattoo my arm? What an idea! But -wouldn't it be funny, Tom? Aunt Hattie's sister -came back from Honolulu with the prettiest little -butterfly tattooed on her finger. I've half a mind -to try. And it would be so awfully queer and -original."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him do it on your finger, then. You never -could wear evening dress if it was on your arm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. He can tattoo something as though -it was a ring, and my marquise can hide it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kanaka-Chinaman drew a tiny fantastic-looking -butterfly on a bit of paper with a blue -pencil, licked the drawing a couple of times, and -wrapped it about Miss Ten Eyck's little finger—the -little finger of her left hand. The removal of -the wet paper left an imprint of the drawing. -Then he mixed his ink in a small sea-shell, dipped -his needle, and in ten minutes had finished the -tattooing of a grotesque little insect, as much butterfly -as anything else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said Hillegas, when the work was done -and the fortune-teller gone his way; "there you -are, and it will never come out. It won't do for -you now to plan a little burglary, or forge a little -check, or slay a little baby for the coral round its -neck, 'cause you can always be identified by that -butterfly upon the little finger of your left hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm almost sorry now I had it done. Won't -it ever come out? Pshaw! Anyhow I think it's -very chic," said Harriett Ten Eyck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, though!" exclaimed Hillegas, jumping -up; "where's our tea and cakes and things? It's -getting late. We can't wait here all evening. I'll -go out and jolly that chap along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Chinaman to whom he had given the order -was not to be found on that floor of the restaurant. -Hillegas descended the stairs to the kitchen. The -place seemed empty of life. On the ground floor, -however, where tea and raw silk was sold, -Hillegas found a Chinaman figuring up accounts by -means of little balls that slid to and fro upon rods. -The Chinaman was a very gorgeous-looking chap -in round horn spectacles and a costume that looked -like a man's nightgown, of quilted blue satin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, John," said Hillegas to this one, "I want -some tea. You sabe?—up stairs—restaurant. -Give China boy order—he no come. Get plenty -much move on. Hey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The merchant turned and looked at Hillegas -over his spectacles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, calmly, "I regret that you have -been detained. You will, no doubt, be attended -to presently. You are a stranger in Chinatown?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ahem!—well, yes—I—we are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Without doubt—without doubt!" murmured -the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you are the proprietor?" ventured -Hillegas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? Oh, no! My agents have a silk house -here. I believe they sub-let the upper floors to the -See Yups. By the way, we have just received a -consignment of India silk shawls you may be -pleased to see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spread a pile upon the counter, and selected -one that was particularly beautiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Permit me," he remarked gravely, "to offer you -this as a present to your good lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hillegas's interest in this extraordinary Oriental -was aroused. Here was a side of the Chinese life -he had not seen, nor even suspected. He stayed -for some little while talking to this man, whose -bearing might have been that of Cicero before the -Senate assembled, and left him with the -understanding to call upon him the next day at the -Consulate. He returned to the restaurant to find Miss -Ten Eyck gone. He never saw her again. No -white man ever did.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There is a certain friend of mine in San -Francisco who calls himself Manning. He is a Plaza -bum—that is, he sleeps all day in the old Plaza -(that shoal where so much human jetsom has -been stranded), and during the night follows his -own devices in Chinatown, one block above. -Manning was at one time a deep-sea pearl diver -in Oahu, and, having burst his ear drums in the -business, can now blow smoke out of either ear. -This accomplishment first endeared him to me, -and latterly I found out that he knew more of -Chinatown than is meet and right for a man to -know. The other day I found Manning in the -shade of the Stevenson ship, just rousing from the -effects of a jag on undiluted gin, and told him, or -rather recalled to him the story of Harriett Ten -Eyck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember," he said, resting on an elbow and -chewing grass. "It made a big noise at the time, -but nothing ever came of it—nothing except a -long row and the cutting down of one of -Mr. Hillegas's Chinese detectives in Gambler's Alley. -The See Yups brought a chap over from Peking -just to do the business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hatchet-man?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered Manning, spitting green; "he -was a two-knife Kai-Gingh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As how?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two knives—one in each hand—cross your -arms and then draw 'em together, right and left, -scissor-fashion—damn near slashed his man in two. -He got five thousand for it. After that the -detectives said they couldn't find much of a clue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Miss Ten Eyck was not so much as heard -from again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered Manning, biting his fingernails. -"They took her to China, I guess, or may -be up to Oregon. That sort of thing was new -twenty years ago, and that's why they raised such -a row, I suppose. But there are plenty of -women living with Chinamen now, and nobody -thinks anything about it, and they are Canton -Chinamen, too—lowest kind of coolies. There's -one of them up in St. Louis Place, just back of the -Chinese theatre, and she's a Sheeny. There's a -queer team for you—the Hebrew and the -Mongolian—and they've got a kid with red, crinkly -hair, who's a rubber in a Hammam bath. Yes, -it's a queer team, and there's three more white -women in a slave girl joint under Ah Yee's tan -room. There's where I get my opium. They can -talk a little English even yet. Funny thing—one -of 'em's dumb, but if you get her drunk enough -she'll talk a little English to you. It's a fact! -I've seen 'em do it with her often—actually get -her so drunk that she can talk. Tell you what," -added Manning, struggling to his feet, "I'm going -up there now to get some dope. You can come -along, and we'll get Sadie (Sadie's her name) we'll -get Sadie full, and ask her if she ever heard about -Miss Ten Eyck. They do a big business," said -Manning, as we went along. "There's Ah Yeo -and these three women and a policeman named -Yank. They get all the yen shee—that's the -cleanings of the opium pipes, you know, and make -it into pills and smuggle it into the cons over at -San Quentin prison by means of the trusties. -Why, they'll make five dollars worth of dope sell -for thirty by the time it gets into the yard over at -the Pen. When I was over there, I saw a chap -knifed behind a jute mill for a pill as big as a -pea. Ah Yee gets the stuff, the three women roll -it into pills, and the policeman, Yank, gets it over -to the trusties somehow. Ah Yee is independent -rich by now, and the policeman's got a bank -account."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the women?'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord! they're slaves—Ah Yee's slaves! They -get the swift kick most generally."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Manning and I found Sadie and her two companions -four floors underneath the tan room, sitting -cross-legged in a room about as big as a big trunk. -I was sure they were Chinese women at first, until -my eyes got accustomed to the darkness of the place. -They were dressed in Chinese fashion, but I noted -soon that their hair was brown and the bridges of -each one's nose was high. They were rolling pills -from a jar of yen shee that stood in the middle of -the floor, their fingers twinkling with a rapidity -that was somehow horrible to see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Manning spoke to them briefly in Chinese while -he lit a pipe, and two of them answered with the -true Canton sing-song—all vowels and no consonants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That one's Sadie," said Manning, pointing to -the third one, who remained silent the while. -I turned to her. She was smoking a cigar, and -from time to time spat through her teeth -man-fashion. She was a dreadful-looking beast of a -woman, wrinkled like a shriveled apple, her teeth -quite black from nicotine, her hands bony and -prehensile, like a hawk's claws—but a white -woman beyond all doubt. At first Sadie refused -to drink, but the smell of Manning's can of gin -removed her objections, and in half an hour she -was hopelessly loquacious. What effect the alcohol -had upon the paralysed organs of her speech I -cannot say. Sober, she was tongue-tied—drunk, -she could emit a series of faint bird-like twitterings -that sounded like a voice heard from the bottom -of a well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sadie," said Manning, blowing smoke out of -his ears, "what makes you live with Chinamen? -You're a white girl. You got people somewhere. -Why don't you get back to them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sadie shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like um China boy better," she said, in a voice -so faint we had to stoop to listen. "Ah Yee's -pretty good to us—plenty to eat, plenty to smoke, -and as much yen shee as we can stand. Oh, I don't -complain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know you can get out of this whenever you -want. Why don't you make a run for it some -day when you're out? Cut for the Mission -House on Sacramento street—they'll be good to -you there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said Sadie, listlessly, rolling a pill between -her stained palms, "I been here so long I guess I'm -kind of used to it. I've about got out of white -people's ways by now. They wouldn't let me have -my yen shee and my cigar, and that's about all I -want nowadays. You can't eat yen shee long and -care for much else, you know. Pass that gin -along, will you? I'm going to faint in a minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute," said I, my hand on Manning's -arm. "How long have you been living with -Chinamen, Sadie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't know. All my life, I guess. I -can't remember back very far—only spots here -and there. Where's that gin you promised me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only in spots?" said I; "here a little and there -a little—is that it? Can you remember how -you came to take up with this kind of life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't," -answered Sadie. Suddenly her head rolled upon her -shoulder, her eyes closing. Manning shook her -roughly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let be! let be!" she exclaimed, rousing up; -"I'm dead sleepy. Can't you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wake up, and keep awake, if you can," said -Manning; "this gentleman wants to ask you something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah Yee bought her from a sailor on a junk in -the Pei Ho river," put in one of the other women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How about that, Sadie?" I asked. "Were -you ever on a junk in a China river? Hey? Try -and think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I think -I was. There's lots of things I can't explain, but -it's because I can't remember far enough back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever hear of a girl named Ten Eyck—Harriett -Ten Eyck—who was stolen by Chinamen -here in San Francisco a long time ago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long silence. Sadie looked straight -before her, wide-eyed, the other women rolled pills -industriously, Manning looked over my shoulder -at-the scene, still blowing smoke through his ears; -then Sadie's eyes began to close and her head to -loll sideways.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My cigar's gone out," she muttered. "You -said you'd have gin for me. Ten Eyck! Ten -Eyck! No, I don't remember anybody named -that." Her voice failed her suddenly, then she -whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, how did I get that on me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thrust out her left hand, and I saw a butterfly -tattooed on the little finger.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-house-with-the-blinds"><em class="bold italics large">The House With the Blinds</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is a thing said and signed and implicitly -believed in by the discerning few that San -Francisco is a place wherein Things can happen. -There are some cities like this—cities that have -come to be picturesque—that offer opportunities -in the matter of background and local colour, -and are full of stories and dramas and novels, -written and unwritten. There seems to be no adequate -explanation for this state of things, but you can't -go about the streets anywhere within a mile radius -of Lotta's fountain without realising the peculiarity, -just as you would realise the hopelessness of -making anything out of Chicago, fancy a novel -about Chicago or Buffalo, let us say, or Nashville, -Tennessee. There are just three big cities in the -United States that are "story cities"—New York, -of course, New Orleans, and best of the lot, San -Francisco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here, if you put yourself in the way of it, you -shall see life uncloaked and bare of convention—the -raw, naked thing, that perplexes and fascinates—life -that involves death of the sudden and swift -variety, the jar and shock of unleased passions, the -friction of men foregathered from every ocean, -and you may touch upon the edge of mysteries for -which there is no explanation—little eddies on the -surface of unsounded depths, sudden outflashings -of the inexplicable—troublesome, disquieting, and -a little fearful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About this "House With the Blinds" now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If you go far enough afield, with your face -towards Telegraph Hill, beyond Chinatown, beyond -the Barbary Coast, beyond the Mexican quarter -and Luna's restaurant, beyond even the tamale -factory and the Red House, you will come at -length to a park in a strange, unfamiliar, -unfrequented quarter. You will know the place by -reason of a granite stone set up there by the -Geodetic surveyors, for some longitudinal purposes -of their own, and by an enormous flagstaff erected -in the center. Stockton street flanks it on one side -and Powell on the other. It is an Italian quarter as -much as anything else, and the Societa Alleanza -holds dances in a big white hall hard by. The -Russian Church, with its minarets (that look for -all the world like inverted balloons) overlook it on -one side, and at the end of certain seaward streets -you may see the masts and spars of wheat ships and -the Asiatic steamers. The park lies in a valley -between Russian and Telegraph Hills, and in -August and early September the trades come -flogging up from the bay, overwhelming one with -sudden, bulging gusts that strike downward, blanket-wise -and bewildering. There are certain residences -here where, I am sure, sea-captains and sailing -masters live, and on one corner is an ancient -house with windows opening door-fashion upon a -deep veranda, that was used as a custom office in -Mexican times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have a very good friend who is a sailing-master -aboard the "</span><em class="italics">Mary Baker</em><span>," a full-rigged -wheat ship, a Cape Horner, and the most beautiful -thing I ever remember to have seen. Occasionally -I am invited to make a voyage with him as -supercargo, an invitation which you may be sure -I accept. Such an invitation came to me one day -some four or five years ago, and I made the trip -with him to Calcutta and return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day before the "</span><em class="italics">Mary Baker</em><span>" cast off I had -been aboard (she was lying in the stream off -Meigg's wharf) attending to the stowing of my -baggage and the appointment of my stateroom. -The yawl put me ashore at three in the afternoon, -and I started home via the park I have been -speaking about. On my way across the park I stopped -in front of that fool Geodetic stone, wondering -what it might be. And while I stood there puzzling -about it, a nurse-maid came up and spoke to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The story of "The House With the Blinds" begins here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse-maid was most dreadfully drunk, her -bonnet was awry, her face red and swollen, and one -eye was blackened. She was not at all pleasant. -In the baby carriage, which she dragged behind -her, an overgrown infant yelled like a sabbath of -witches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," says she; "you're a gemmleman, -and I wantcher sh'd help me outen a fix. I'm in -a fix, s'wat I am—a damn bad fix."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I got that fool stone between myself and this -object, and listened to it pouring out an incoherent -tirade against some man who had done it dirt, -b'Gawd, and with whom it was incumbent I should -fight, and she was in a fix, s'what she was, and -could I, who was evidently a perfick gemmleman, -oblige her with four bits? All this while the baby -yelled till my ears sang again. Well, I gave her -four bits to get rid of her, but she stuck to me -yet the closer, and confided to me that she lived in -that house over yonder, she did—the house with -the blinds, and was nurse-maid there, so she was, -b'Gawd. But at last I got away and fled in the -direction of Stockton street. As I was going -along, however, I reflected that the shrieking -infant was somebody's child, and no doubt popular -in the house with the blinds. The parents ought -to know that its nurse got drunk and into fixes. -It was a duty—a dirty duty—for me to inform -upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Much as I loathed to do so I turned towards the -house with the blinds. It stood hard by the -Russian Church, a huge white-painted affair, all -the windows closely shuttered and a bit of stained -glass in the front door—quite the most pretentious -house in the row. I had got directly opposite, and -was about to cross the street when, lo! around the -corner, marching rapidly, and with blue coats -flapping, buttons and buckles flashing, came a squad -of three, seven, nine—ten policemen. They -marched straight upon the house with the blinds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am not brilliant nor adventurous, but I have -been told that I am good, and I do strive to be -respectable, and pay my taxes and pew rent. As -a corollary to this, I loathed with, a loathing -unutterable to be involved in a mess of any kind. -The squad of policemen were about to enter the -house with the blinds, and not for worlds would -I have been found by them upon its steps. The -nurse-girl might heave that shrieking infant over -the cliff of Telegraph Hill, it were all one with me. -So I shrank back upon the sidewalk and watched -what followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fifty yards from the house the squad broke into -a run, swarmed upon the front steps, and in a -moment were thundering upon the front door till -the stained glass leaped in its leads and shivered -down upon their helmets. And then, just at this -point, occurred an incident which, though it had no -bearing upon or connection with this yarn, is quite -queer enough to be set down. The shutters of one -of the top-story windows opened slowly, like the -gills of a breathing fish, the sash raised some six -inches with a reluctant wail, and a hand groped -forth into the open air. On the sill of the window -was lying a gilded Indian-club, and while I -watched, wondering, the hand closed upon it, drew -it under the sash, the window dropped guillotine-fashion, -and the shutters clapped to like the shutters -of a cuckoo clock. Why was the Indian-club lying -on the sill? Why, in Heaven's name, was it gilded? -Why did the owner of that mysterious groping -hand, seize upon it at the first intimation of -danger? I don't know—I never will know. But -I do know that the thing was eldritch and uncanny, -ghostly even, in the glare of that cheerless -afternoon's sun, in that barren park, with the trade -winds thrashing up from the seaward streets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the door crashed in. The policemen -vanished inside the house. Everything fell silent -again. I waited for perhaps fifty seconds—waited, -watching and listening, ready for anything -that might happen, expecting I knew not -what—everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not more than five minutes had elapsed when -the policemen began to reappear. They came -slowly, and well they might, for they carried with -them the inert bodies of six gentlemen. When I -say carried I mean it in its most literal sense, for -never in all my life have I seen six gentlemen so -completely, so thoroughly, so hopelessly and -helplessly intoxicated. Well dressed they were, too, -one of them even in full dress. Salvos of artillery -could not have awakened that drunken half dozen, -and I doubt if any one of them could even have -been racked into consciousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three hacks appeared (note that the patrol-wagon -was conspicuously absent), the six were -loaded upon the cushions, the word was given and -one by one the hacks rattled down Stockton street -and disappeared in the direction of the city. The -captain of the squad remained behind for a few -moments, locked the outside doors in the deserted -shuttered house, descended the steps, and went his -way across the park, softly whistling a quickstep. -In time he too vanished. The park, the rows of -houses, the windflogged streets, resumed their -normal quiet. The incident was closed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Or was it closed? Judge you now. Next day -I was down upon the wharves, gripsack in hand, -capped and clothed for a long sea voyage. The -"</span><em class="italics">Mary Baker's</em><span>" boat was not yet come ashore, -but the beauty lay out there in the stream, flirting -with a bustling tug that circled about her, coughing -uneasily at intervals. Idle sailormen, 'longshoremen -and stevedores sat upon the stringpiece of the -wharf, chewing slivers and spitting reflectively into -the water. Across the intervening stretch of bay -came the noises from the "</span><em class="italics">Mary Baker's</em><span>" decks—noises -that were small and distinct, as if heard -through a telephone, the rattle of blocks, the -straining of a windlass, the bos'n's whistle, and once the -noise of sawing. A white cruiser sat solidly in the -waves over by Alcatraz, and while I took note of -her the flag was suddenly broken out and I heard -the strains of the ship's band. The morning was -fine. Tamalpais climbed out of the water like a -rousing lion. In a few hours we would be off on a -voyage to the underside of the earth. There was a -note of gayety in the nimble air, and one felt that -the world was young after all, and that it was good -to be young with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bum-boat woman came down the wharf, -corpulent and round, with a roll in her walk that -shook first one fat cheek and then the other. She -was peddling trinkets amongst the wharf-loungers—pocket -combs, little round mirrors, shoestrings -and collar-buttons. She knew them all, or at least -was known to all of them, and in a few moments -she was retailing to them the latest news of the -town. Soon I caught a name or two, and on the -instant was at some pains to listen. The bum-boat -woman was telling the story of the house with the blinds:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sax of um, an' nobs ivry wan. But that bad -wid bug-juice! Whoo! Niver have Oi seen the -bate! An' divil a wan as can remimber owt for -two days by. Bory-eyed they were; struck dumb -an' deef an' dead wid whiskey and bubble-wather. -Not a manjack av um can tell the tale, but wan av -um used his knife cruel bad. Now which wan was -it? Howse the coort to find out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It appeared that the house with the blinds was, -or had been, a gambling house, and what I had -seen had been a raid. Then the rest of the story -came out, and the mysteries began to thicken. -That same evening, after the arrest of the six -inebriates, the house had been searched. The police -had found evidences of a drunken debauch of a -monumental character. But they had found more. -In a closet under the stairs the dead body of a man, -a well dressed fellow—beyond a doubt one of the -party—knifed to death by dreadful slashes in his -loins and at the base of his spine in true evil -hand-over-back fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now this is the mystery of the house with the blinds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond all doubt, one of the six drunken men -had done the murder. Which one? How to find -out? So completely were they drunk that not a -single one of them could recall anything of the -previous twelve hours. They had come out there -with their friend the day before. They woke from -their orgie to learn that one of them had worried -him to his death by means of a short palm-broad -dagger taken from a trophy of Persian arms that -hung over a divan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whose hand had done it? Which one of them -was the murdered? I could fancy them—I think -I can see them now—sitting there in their cells, -each man apart, withdrawn from his fellow-reveler, -and each looking furtively into his fellow's face, -asking himself, "Was it you? Was it you? or -was it I? Which of us, in God's name, has done -this thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, it was never known. When I came back -to San Francisco a year or so later I asked about the -affair of the house with the blinds, and found that -it had been shelved with the other mysterious -crimes: The six men had actually been -"discharged for the want of evidence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But for a long time the thing harassed me. -More than once since I have gone to that windy -park, with its quivering flagstaff and Geodetic -monument, and, sitting on a bench opposite the house, -asked myself again and again the bootless -questions. Why had the drunken nurse-maid -mentioned the house to me in the first place? And -why at that particular time? Why had she lied to -me in telling me that she lived there? Why was -that gilded Indian-club on the sill of the upper -window? And whose—here's a point—whose was the -hand that drew it inside the house? And then, of -course, last of all, the ever recurrent question, -which one of those six inebriates should have stood -upon the drop and worn the cap—which one of -the company had knifed his friend and bundled him -into that closet under the stairs? Had he done it -during the night of the orgie, or before it? Was his -friend drunk at the time, or sober? I never could -answer these questions, and I suppose I shall never -know the secret of "The House With the Blinds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A Greek family lives there now, and rent the -upper story to a man who blows the organ in the -Russian Church, and to two Japanese, who have -a photograph gallery on Stockton street. I wonder -to what use they have put the little closet under -the stairs?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="little-dramas-of-the-curbstone"><em class="bold italics large">Little Dramas of the Curbstone</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The first Little Drama had for backing the -red brick wall of the clinic at the Medical -Hospital, and the calcium light was the -feeble glimmer of a new-lighted street lamp, -though it was yet early in the evening and quite -light. There were occasional sudden explosions of -a northeast wind at the street corners, and at long -intervals an empty cable-car trundled heavily past -with a strident whirring of jostled glass windows. -Nobody was in sight—the street was deserted. -There was the pale red wall of the clinic, severe as -that of a prison, the livid grey of the cement -sidewalk, and above the faint greenish blue of a windy -sky. A door in the wall of the hospital opened, and -a woman and a young boy came out. They were -dressed darkly, and at once their two black figures -detached themselves violently against the pale blue -of the background. They made the picture. All -the faint tones of the wall and the sky and the -grey-brown sidewalk focused immediately upon them. -They came across the street to the corner upon -which I stood, and the woman asked a direction. -She was an old woman, and poorly dressed. The -boy, I could see, was her son. Him I took notice -of, for she led him to the steps of the nearest -house and made him sit down upon the lowest one. -She guided all his movements, and he seemed to be -a mere figure of wax in her hands. She stood -over him, looking at him critically, and muttering -to herself. Then she turned to me, and her -muttering rose to a shrill, articulate plaint:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, these fool doctors—these dirty beasts of -medical students! They impose upon us because -we're poor and rob us and tell us lies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upon this I asked her what her grievance was, -but she would not answer definitely, putting her -chin the air and nodding with half-shut eyes, as -if she could say a lot about that if she chose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your son is sick?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—or no—not sick; but he's blind, -and—and—he's blind and he's an idiot—born that -way—blind and idiot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blind and an idiot! Blind and an idiot! Will -you think of that for a moment, you with your full -stomachs, you with your brains, you with your two -sound eyes. Born blind and idiotic! Do you fancy -the horror of that thing? Perhaps you cannot, nor -perhaps could I myself have conceived of what -it meant to be blind and an idiot had I not seen that -woman's son in front of the clinic, in the empty, -windy street, where nothing stirred, and where -there was nothing green. I looked at him as he sat -there, tall, narrow, misshapen. His ready-made -suit, seldom worn, but put on that day because of -the weekly visit to the clinic, hung in stupid -wrinkles and folds upon him. His cheap felt hat, -clapped upon his head by his mother with as little -unconcern as an extinguisher upon a candle, was -wrong end foremost, so that the bow of the band -came upon the right hand side. His hands were -huge and white, and lay open and palm upward at -his side, the fingers inertly lax, like those of a -discarded glove, and his face——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I looked at the face of him I know not -what insane desire, born of an unconquerable -disgust, came up in me to rush upon him and club -him down to the pavement with my stick and batter -in that face—that face of a blind idiot—and blot it -out from the sight of the sun for good and all. It -was impossible to feel pity for the wretch. I -hated him because he was blind and an idiot. His -eyes were filmy, like those of a fish, and he never -blinked them. His mouth hung open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blind and an idiot, absolute stagnation, life -as unconscious as that of the jelly-fish, an -excrescence, a parasitic fungus in the form of a man, -a creature far below the brute. The last horror -of the business was that he never moved; he sat -there just as his mother had placed him, his motionless, -filmy eyes fixed, his jaw dropped, his hands -open at his sides, his hat on wrong side foremost. -He would sit like that, I knew, for hours—for -days, perhaps—would, if left to himself, die of -starvation, without raising a finger. What was -going on inside of that misshapen head—behind -those fixed eyes?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had remembered the case by now. One of the -students had told me of it. His mother brought -him to the clinic occasionally, so that the lecturer -might experiment upon his brain, stimulating it -with electricity. "Heredity," the student had -commented, "father a degenerate, exhausted race, -drank himself into a sanitarium."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While I was thinking all this the mother of the -boy had gone on talking, her thin voice vibrant -with complaining and vituperation. But indeed I -could bear with it no longer, and went away. I -left them behind me in the deserted, darkening -street, the querulous, nagging woman and her blind, -idiotic boy, and the last impression I have of the -scene was her shrill voice ringing after me the -oft-repeated words:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the dirty beasts of doctors—they robs us -and impose on us and tell us lies because we're -poor!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The second Little Drama was wrought out for -me the next day. I was sitting in the bay window -of the club watching the world go by, when my eye -was caught by a little group on the curbstone -directly opposite. An old woman, meanly dressed, -and two little children, both girls, the eldest about -ten, the youngest, say, six or seven. They had been -coming slowly along, and the old woman had been -leading the youngest child by the hand. Just as -they came opposite to where I was sitting the -younger child lurched away from the woman once -or twice, dragging limply at her hand, then its -knees wobbled and bent and the next moment it had -collapsed upon the pavement. Some children will -do this from sheer perversity and with intent to be -carried. But it was not perversity on this child's -part. The poor old woman hauled the little girl -up to her feet, but she collapsed again at once after -a couple of steps and sat helplessly down upon the -sidewalk, staring vaguely about, her thumb in her -mouth. There was something wrong with the -little child—one could see that at half a glance. -Some complaint, some disease of the muscles, some -weakness of the joints, that smote upon her like -this at inopportune moments. Again and again -her old mother, with very painful exertion—she -was old and weak herself—raised her to her feet, -only that she might sink in a heap before she had -moved a yard. The old woman's bonnet fell off—a -wretched, battered black bonnet, and the other -little girl picked it up and held it while she looked -on at her mother's efforts with an indifference that -could only have been born of familiarity. Twice -the old woman tried to carry the little girl, but her -strength was not equal to it; indeed, the effort of -raising the heavy child to its feet was exhausting -her. She looked helplessly at the street cars as -they passed, but you could see she had not enough -money to pay even three fares. Once more she set -her little girl upon her feet, and helped her -forward half a dozen steps. And so, little by little, -with many pauses for rest and breath, the little -group went down the street and passed out of view, -the little child staggering and falling as if from -drunkenness, her sister looking on gravely, holding -the mother's battered bonnet, and the mother herself, -patient, half-exhausted, her grey hair blowing -about her face, labouring on step by step, trying to -appear indifferent to the crowd that passed by on -either side, trying bravely to make light of the -whole matter until she should reach home. As I -watched them I thought of this woman's husband, -the father of this paralytic little girl, and somehow -it was brought to me that none of them would ever -see him again, but that he was alive for all that.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The third Little Drama was lively, and there -was action in it, and speech, and a curious, baffling -mystery. On a corner near a certain bank in this -city there is affixed to the lamp post a call-box that -the police use to ring up for the patrol wagon. -When an arrest is made in the neighbourhood the -offender is brought here, the wagon called for, and -he is conveyed to the City Prison. On the -afternoon of the day of the second Little Drama, as -I came near to this corner, I was aware of a crowd -gathered about the lamp post that held the call-box, -and between the people's heads and over their -shoulders I could see the blue helmets of a couple -of officers. I stopped and pushed up into the inner -circle of the crowd. The two officers had in -custody a young fellow of some eighteen or nineteen -years. And I was surprised to find that he was -as well dressed and as fine looking a lad as one -would wish to see. I did not know what the charge -was, I don't know it now,—but the boy did not seem -capable of any great meanness. As I got into the -midst of the crowd, and while I was noting what -was going forward, it struck me that the people -about me were unusually silent—silent as people -are who are interested and unusually observant. -Then I saw why. The young fellow's mother was -there, and the Little Drama was enacting itself -between her, her son, and the officers who had him -in charge. One of these latter had the key to the -call-box in his hand. He had not yet rung for the -wagon. An altercation was going on between the -mother and the son—she entreating him to come -home, he steadily refusing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's up to you," said one of the officers, at -length; "if you don't go home with your mother, -I'll call the wagon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jimmy!" said the woman, and then, coming -close to him, she spoke to him in a low voice and -with an earnestness, an intensity, that it hurt one -to see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the last time, will you come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! No! No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The officer faced about and put the key into the -box, but the woman caught at his wrist and drew -it away. It was a veritable situation. It should -have occurred behind footlights and in the midst -of painted flats and flies, but instead the city -thundered about it, drays and cars went up and down in -the street, and the people on the opposite walk -passed with but an instant's glance. The crowd -was as still as an audience, watching what next -would happen. The crisis of the Little Drama -had arrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the last time, will you come with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She let fall her hand then and turned and went -away, crying into her handkerchief. The officer -unlocked and opened the box, set the indicator and -opened the switch. A few moments later, as I -went on up the street, I met the patrol-wagon -coming up on a gallop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What was the trouble here? Why had that -young fellow preferred going to prison rather than -home with his mother? What was behind it all -I shall never know. It was a mystery—a little -eddy in the tide of the city's life, come and gone -in an instant, yet reaching down to the very depths -of those things that are not meant to be seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as I went along I wondered where was the -father of that young fellow who was to spend his -first night in jail, and the father of the little -paralytic girl, and the father of the blind idiot, and it -seemed to me that the chief actors in these three -Little Dramas of the Curbstone had been -somehow left out of the programme.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="shorty-stack-pugilist"><em class="bold italics large">Shorty Stack, Pugilist</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Over at the "Big Dipper" mine a chuck-tender -named Kelly had been in error as -regards a box of dynamite sticks, and Iowa -Hill had elected to give an "entertainment" for the -benefit of his family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The programme, as announced upon the posters -that were stuck up in the Post Office and on the -door of the Odd Fellows' Hall, was quite an affair. -The Iowa Hill orchestra would perform, the -livery-stable keeper would play the overture to -"William Tell" upon his harmonica, and the town -doctor would read a paper on "Tuberculosis in -Cattle." The evening was to close with a "grand -ball."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then it was discovered that a professional -pugilist from the "Bay" was over in Forest Hill, and -someone suggested that a match could be made -between him and Shorty Stack "to enliven the -entertainment." Shorty Stack was a bedrock -cleaner at the "Big Dipper," and handy with his -fists. It was his boast that no man of his weight -(Shorty fought at a hundred and forty) no man -of his weight in Placer County could stand up to -him for ten rounds, and Shorty had always made -good this boast. Shorty knew two punches, and -no more—a short-arm jab under the ribs with his -right, and a left upper-cut on the point of the chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pugilist's name was McCleaverty. He -was an out and out dub—one of the kind who -appear in four-round exhibition bouts to keep the -audience amused while the "event of the evening" -is preparing—but he had had ring experience, -and his name had been in the sporting -paragraphs of the San Francisco papers. The dub -was a welter-weight and a professional, but he -accepted the challenge of Shorty Stack's backers -and covered their bet of fifty dollars that he could -not "stop" Shorty in four rounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so it came about that extra posters were -affixed to the door of the Odd Fellows' Hall and -the walls of the Post Office to the effect that -Shorty Stack, the champion of Placer County, and -Buck McCleaverty, the Pride of Colusa, would -appear in a genteel boxing exhibition at the -entertainment given for the benefit, etc., etc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty had two weeks in which to train. The -nature of his work in the mine had kept his -muscles hard enough, so his training was largely a -matter of dieting and boxing an imaginary foe -with a rock in each fist. He was so vigorous in -his exercise and in the matter of what he ate and -drank that the day before the entertainment he had -got himself down to a razor-edge, and was in a -fair way of going fine. When a man gets into -too good condition, the least little slip will spoil -him. Shorty knew this well enough, and told -himself in consequence that he must be very careful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night before the entertainment Shorty went -to call on Miss Starbird. Miss Starbird was one -of the cooks at the mine. She was a very pretty -girl, just turned twenty, and lived with her folks -in a cabin near the superintendent's office, on the -road from the mine to Iowa Hill. Her father -was a shift boss in the mine, and her mother did -the washing for the "office." Shorty was -recognised by the mine as her "young man." She was -going to the entertainment with her people, and -promised Shorty the first "walk-around" in the -"Grand Ball" that was to follow immediately after -the Genteel Glove Contest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty came into the Starbird cabin on that -particular night, his hair neatly plastered in a -beautiful curve over his left temple, and his pants -outside of his boots as a mark of esteem. He wore no -collar, but he had encased himself in a boiled -shirt, which could mean nothing else but mute and -passionate love, and moreover, as a crowning -tribute, he refrained from spitting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you feel, Shorty?" asked Miss Starbird.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty had always sedulously read the interviews -with pugilists that appeared in the San Francisco -papers immediately before their fights and knew -how to answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel fit to fight the fight of my life," he -alliterated proudly. "I've trained faithfully and -I mean to win."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It ain't a regular prize fight, is it, Shorty?" -she enquired. "Pa said he wouldn't take ma an' -me if it was. All the women folk in the camp are -going, an' I never heard of women at a fight, it -ain't genteel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I d'n know," answered Shorty, swallowing -his saliva. "The committee that got the -programme up called it a genteel boxing exhibition -so's to get the women folks to stay. I call it a four -round go with a decision."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My, itull be exciting!" exclaimed Miss Starbird. -"I ain't never seen anything like it. Oh, -Shorty, d'ye think you'll win?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't </span><em class="italics">think</em><span> nothun about it. I know I will," -returned Shorty, defiantly. "If I once get in my -left upper cut on him, </span><em class="italics">huh</em><span>!" and he snorted -magnificently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty stayed and talked to Miss Starbird until -ten o'clock, then he rose to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I gotta get to bed," he said, "I'm in training -you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, wait a minute," said Miss Starbird, "I -been making some potato salad for the private -dining of the office, you better have some; it's the -best I ever made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," said Shorty, stoutly, "I don't want any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hoh," sniffed Miss Starbird airily, "you don't -need to have any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't you see," said Shorty, "I'm in -training. I don't dare eat any of that kinda stuff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stuff!" exclaimed Miss Starbird, her chin in -the air. "No one </span><em class="italics">else</em><span> ever called my cooking -stuff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't you see, don't you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't see. I guess you must be 'fraid -of getting whipped if you're so 'fraid of a little -salad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" exclaimed Shorty, indignantly. "Why -I could come into the ring from a jag and whip -him; 'fraid! </span><em class="italics">who's</em><span> afraid. I'll show you if I'm -afraid. Let's have your potato salad, an' some -beer, too. Huh! </span><em class="italics">I'll</em><span> show you if I'm afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Miss Starbird would not immediately -consent to be appeased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you called it stuff," she said, "an' the -superintendent said I was the best cook in Placer -County."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at last, as a great favour to Shorty, she -relented and brought the potato salad from the -kitchen and two bottles of beer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the town doctor had finished his paper on -"Tuberculosis in Cattle," the chairman of the -entertainment committee ducked under the ropes -of the ring and announced that: "The next would -be the event of the evening and would the -gentlemen please stop smoking." He went on to -explain that the ladies present might remain without -fear and without reproach as the participants in -the contest would appear in gymnasium tights, -and would box with gloves and not with bare -knuckles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't they always fight with gloves?" -called a voice from the rear of the house. But -the chairman ignored the interruption.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "entertainment" was held in the Odd Fellows' -Hall. Shorty's seconds prepared him for -the fight in a back room of the saloon, on the other -side of the street, and towards ten o'clock one of -the committeemen came running in to say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter? Hurry up, you fellows, -McCleaverty's in the ring already, and the -crowd's beginning to stamp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty rose and slipped into an overcoat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All ready," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now mind, Shorty," said Billy Hicks, as he -gathered up the sponges, fans and towels, "don't -mix things with him, you don't have to knock him -out, all you want's the decision."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next, Shorty was aware that he was sitting in -a corner of the ring with his back against the ropes, -and that diagonally opposite was a huge red man -with a shaven head. There was a noisy, murmuring -crowd somewhere below him, and there was a -glare of kerosene lights over his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buck McCleaverty, the Pride of Colusa," -announced the master of ceremonies, standing in -the middle of the ring, one hand under the dub's -elbow. There was a ripple of applause. Then -the master of ceremonies came over to Shorty's -corner, and, taking him by the arm, conducted -him into the middle of the ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shorty Stack, the Champion of Placer County." The -house roared; Shorty ducked and grinned -and returned to his corner. He was nervous, -excited. He had not imagined it would be exactly -like this. There was a strangeness about it all; -an unfamiliarity that made him uneasy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take it slow," said Billy Hicks, kneading the -gloves, so as to work the padding away from the -knuckles. The gloves were laced on Shorty's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Up you go," said Billy Hicks, again. "No, -not the fight yet, shake hands first. Don't get -rattled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then ensued a vague interval, that seemed to -Shorty interminable. He had a notion that he -shook hands with McCleaverty, and that some -one asked him if he would agree to hit with one -arm free in the breakaway. He remembered a -glare of lights, a dim vision of rows of waiting -faces, a great murmuring noise, and he had a -momentary glimpse of someone he believed to be the -referee, a young man in shirtsleeves and turned-up -trousers. Then everybody seemed to be getting -out of the ring and away from him, even Billy -Hicks left him after saying something he did not -understand. Only the referee, McCleaverty and -himself were left inside the ropes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somebody, that seemed to Shorty strangely like -himself, stepped briskly out into the middle of the -ring, his left arm before him, his right fist clinched -over his breast. The crowd, the glaring lights, -the murmuring noise, all faded away. There only -remained the creaking of rubber soles over the -resin of the boards of the ring and the sight of -McCleaverty's shifting, twinkling eyes and his -round, close-cropped head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Break!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The referee stepped between the two men and -Shorty realised that the two had clinched, and -that his right forearm had been across McCleaverty's -throat, his left clasping him about the -shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What! Were they fighting already? This was -the first round, of course, somebody was shouting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the stuff, Shorty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All at once Shorty saw the flash of a red -muscled arm, he threw forward his shoulder ducking -his head behind it, the arm slid over the raised -shoulder and a bare and unprotected flank turned -towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," thought Shorty. His arm shortened -and leaped forward. There was a sudden impact. -The shock of it jarred Shorty himself, and he -heard McCleaverty grunt. There came a roar -from the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it to him, Shorty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty pushed his man from him, the heel of -his glove upon his face. He was no longer -nervous. The lights didn't bother him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll knock him out yet," he muttered to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They fiddled and feinted about the ring, watching -each other's eyes. Shorty held his right ready. -He told himself he would jab McCleaverty again -on the same spot when next he gave him an opening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Break!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They must have clinched again, but Shorty was -not conscious of it. A sharp pain in his upper lip -made him angry. His right shot forward again, -struck home, and while the crowd roared and the -lights began to swim again, he knew that he was -rushing McCleaverty back, back, back, his arms -shooting out and in like piston rods, now for an -upper cut with his left on the—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Time!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Billy Hicks was talking excitedly. The crowd -still roared. His lips pained. Someone was spurting -water over him, one of his seconds worked the -fans like a windmill. He wondered what Miss -Starbird thought of him now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Time!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He barely had a chance to duck, almost double, -while McCleaverty's right swished over his head. -The dub was swinging for a knockout already. -The round would be hot and fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay with um, Shorty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the stuff, Shorty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He must be setting the pace, the house plainly -told him that. He stepped in again and cut loose -with both fists.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Break!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty had not clinched. Was it possible that -McCleaverty was clinching "to avoid punishment." Shorty -tried again, stepping in close, his right arm -crooked and ready.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Break!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dub was clinching. There could be no -doubt of that. Shorty gathered himself together -and rushed in, upper-cutting viciously; he felt -McCleaverty giving way before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got um going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was exhilaration in the shout. Shorty -swung right and left, his fist struck something that -hurt him. Sure, he thought, that must have been -a good one. He recovered, throwing out his left -before him. Where was the dub? not down there -on one knee in a corner of the ring? The house -was a pandemonium, near at hand some one was -counting, "one—two—three—four—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Billy Hicks shouted, "Come back to your corner. -When he's up go right in to finish him. He -ain't knocked out yet. He's just taking his full -time. Swing for his chin again, you got him -going. If you can put him out, Shorty, we'll take -you to San Francisco."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seven—eight—nine—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>McCleaverty was up again. Shorty rushed in. -Something caught him a fearful jar in the pit of -the stomach. He was sick in an instant, racked -with nausea. The lights began to dance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Time!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was water on his face and body again, -deliciously cool. The fan windmills swung round -and round. "What's the matter, what's the -matter," Billy Hicks was asking anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something was wrong. There was a lead-like -weight in Shorty's stomach, a taste of potato salad -came to his mouth, he was sick almost to vomiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He caught you a hard one in the wind just before -the gong, did he?" said Billy Hicks. "There's -fight in him yet. He's got a straight arm body -blow you want to look out for. Don't let up on -him. Keep—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Time!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty came up bravely. In his stomach there -was a pain that made it torture to stand erect. -Nevertheless he rushed, lashing out right and left. -He was dizzy; before he knew it he was beating -the air. Suddenly his chin jolted backward, and -the lights began to spin; he was tiring rapidly, too, -and with every second his arms grew heavier and -heavier and his knees began to tremble more and -more. McCleaverty gave him no rest. Shorty -tried to clinch, but the dub sidestepped, and came -in twice with a hard right and left over the heart. -Shorty's gloves seemed made of iron; he found -time to mutter, "If I only hadn't eaten that stuff -last night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What with the nausea and the pain, he was hard -put to it to keep from groaning. It was the dub -who was rushing now; Shorty felt he could not -support the weight of his own arms another -instant. What was that on his face that was warm -and tickled? He knew that he had just strength -enough left for one more good blow; if he could -only upper-cut squarely on McCleaverty's chin it -might suffice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Break!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The referee thrust himself between them, but -instantly McCleaverty closed again. Would the -round </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> end? The dub swung again, missed, -and Shorty saw his chance; he stepped in, -upper-cutting with all the strength he could summon up. -The lights swam again, and the roar of the crowd -dwindled to a couple of voices. He smelt whisky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gimme that sponge." It was Billy Hicks -voice. "He'll do all right now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty suddenly realised that he was lying on -his back. In another second he would be counted -out. He raised himself, but his hands touched -a bed quilt and not the resined floor of the ring. -He looked around him and saw that he was in -the back room of the saloon where he had dressed. -The fight was over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I win?" he asked, getting on his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Win!" exclaimed Billy Hicks. "You were -knocked out. He put you out after you had him -beaten. Oh, you're a peach of a fighter, you are!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Half an hour later when he had dressed, -Shorty went over to the Hall. His lip was badly -swollen and his chin had a funny shape, but -otherwise he was fairly presentable. The Iowa Hill -orchestra had just struck into the march for the -walk around. He pushed through the crowd of -men around the door looking for Miss Starbird. -Just after he had passed he heard a remark and -the laugh that followed it:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quitter, oh, what a quitter!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shorty turned fiercely about and would have -answered, but just at that moment he caught sight -of Miss Starbird. She had just joined the -promenade or the walk around with some other man. -He went up to her:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you promise to have this walk around -with me?" he said aggrievedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, did you think I was going to wait all -night for you?" returned Miss Starbird.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she turned from him and joined the march -Shorty's eye fell upon her partner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was McCleaverty.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-strangest-thing"><em class="bold italics large">The Strangest Thing</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The best days in the voyage from the Cape -to Southampton are those that come -immediately before and immediately after that -upon which you cross the line, when the ship is as -steady as a billiard table, and the ocean is as smooth -and shiny and coloured as the mosaic floor of a -basilica church, when the deck is covered with -awning from stem to stern, and the resin bubbles -out of the masts, and the thermometer in the -companion-way at the entrance to the dining-saloon -climbs higher and higher with every turn of the -screw. Of course all the men people aboard must -sleep on deck these nights. There is a pleasure in -this that you will find nowhere else. At six your -steward wakes you up with your morning cup of -coffee, and you sit cross-legged in your pajamas on -the skylight and drink your coffee and smoke your -cigarettes and watch the sun shooting up over the -rim of that polished basilica floor, and take -pleasure in the mere fact of your existence, and talk and -talk and tell stories until it's time for bath and -breakfast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We came back from the Cape in </span><em class="italics">The Moor</em><span>, -with a very abbreviated cabin list. Only three of -the smaller tables in the saloon were occupied, -and those mostly by men—diamond-brokers from -Kimberly, gold-brokers from the Rand, the manager -of a war correspondent on a lecture tour, cut -short by the Ashanti war, an English captain of -twenty-two, who had been with Jameson at -Krugersdorp and somehow managed to escape, an -Australian reporter named Miller, and two or -three others of a less distinct personality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miller told the story that follows early one -morning, sitting on the Bull board, tailor-fashion, -and smoking pipefuls of straight perique, black as -a nigger's wool. We were grouped around him -on the deck in pajamas and bath robes. It was -half after six, the thermometer was at 70 degrees, -</span><em class="italics">The Moor</em><span> cut the still water with a soothing -rumble of her screw, and at intervals flushed whole -schools of flying fish. Somehow the talk had drifted -to the inexplicable things that we had seen, and we -had been piecing out our experiences with some -really beautiful lies. Captain Thatcher, the -Krugersdorp chap, held that the failure of the Jameson -Raid was the most inexplicable thing he had ever -experienced, but none of the rest of us could think -of anything we had seen or heard of that did not -have some stealthy, shadowy sort of explanation -sneaking after it and hunting it down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I saw something a bit thick once," -observed Miller, pushing down the tobacco in his -pipe bowl with the tip of a callous finger, and -in the abrupt silence that followed we heard the -noise of dishes from the direction of the galley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was in Johannesburg three years back, when -I was down on me luck. I had been rooked -properly by a Welsh gaming chap who was no end of -a bounder, and three quid was all that stood -between me and—well," he broke in, suddenly, "I -had three quid left. I wore down me feet walking -the streets of that bally town looking for -anything that would keep me going for a while, and -give me a chance to look around and fetch breath, -and there was nothing, but I tell ye nothing, and I -was fair desperate. One dye, and a filthy wet -dye it was, too, I had gone out to the race track, -beyond Hospital Hill, where the pony races are -run, thinking as might be I'd find a berth, handling -ponies there, but the season was too far gone, -and they turned me awye. I came back to town -by another road—then by the waye that fetches -around by the Mahomedan burying-ground. Well, -the pauper burying-ground used to be alongside -in those dyes, and as I came up, jolly well blown, -I tell ye, for I'd but tightened me belt by wye of -breakfast, I saw a chap diggin' a gryve. I was -in a mind for gryves meself just then, so I pulled -up and leaned over the fence and piped him off -at his work. Then, like the geeser I'd come to be, -I says:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'What are ye doing there, friend?' He -looked me over between shovelfuls a bit, and then -says:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oh, just setting out early violets;' and that -shut me up properly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I piped him digging that gryve for -perhaps five minutes, and then, s' help me, I asked -him for a job. I did—I asked that gryve-digger -for a job—I was that low. He leans his back -against the side of the gryve and looks me over, -then by and bye, says he:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'All right, pardner!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I'm thinking your from the Stytes,' says I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Guess yes,' he says, and goes on digging.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we came to terms after a while. He was -to give me two bob a dye for helping him at his -work, and I was to have a bunk in his 'shack', as -he called it—a box of a house built of four boards, -as I might sye, that stood just on the edge of the -gryveyard. He was a rum 'un, was that Yankee -chap. Over pipes that night he told me something -of himself, and do y' know, that gryve-digger -in the pauper burying-ground in Johannesburg, -South Africa, was a Harvard graduate! Strike -me straight if I don't believe he really was. The -man was a wreck from strong drink, but that was -the one thing he was proud of.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Yes, sir,' he'd say, over and over again, -looking straight ahead of him, 'Yes, sir, I was a -Harvard man once, and pulled at number five in the -boat'—the 'varsity boat, mind ye; and then he'd -go on talking half to himself. 'And now what -am I? I'm digging gryves for hire—burying -dead people for a living, when I ought to be dead -meself. I am dead and buried long ago. Its just -the whiskey that keeps me alive, Miller,' he would -say; 'when I stop that I'm done for.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The first morning I came round for work I met -him dressed as if to go to town, and carrying a -wickered demijohn. 'Miller',' he says, 'I'm going -into town to get this filled. You must stop here -and be ready to answer any telephone call from -the police station.' S' help me if there wasn't a -telephone in that beastly shack. 'If a pauper cops -off they'll ring you up from town and notify you -to have the gryve ready. If I'm awye, you'll have -to dig it. Remember, if it's a man, you must dig -a six foot six hole; if it's a woman, five feet will -do, and if it's a kid, three an' half'll be a plenty. -S'long.' And off he goes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strike me blind but that was a long dye, that -first one. I'd the pauper gryves for view and -me own thoughts for company. But along about -noon, the Harvard graduate not showing up, I -found a diversion. The graduate had started to -paint the shack at one time, but had given over -after finishing one side, but the paint pot and the -brushes were there. I got hold of 'em and mixed -a bit o' paint and went the rounds of the gryves. -Ye know how it is in a pauper burying-ground—no -nymes at all on the headboards—naught but -numbers, and half o' them washed awye by the -rynes; so I, for a diversion, as I sye, started in to -paint all manner o' fancy nymes and epitaphs on -the headboards—any nyme that struck me fancy, -and then underneath, an appropriate epitaph, and -the dytes, of course—I didn't forget the dytes. -Ye know, that was the rarest enjoyment I ever -had. Ye don't think so? Try it once! Why, Gawd -blyme me, there's a chance for imagination in it, -and genius and art—highest kind of art. For -instance now, I'd squat down in front of a blank -headboard and think a bit, and the inspiration -would come, and I'd write like this, maybe: -'Jno. K. Boggart, of New Zealand. Born Dec. 21, 1870; -died June 5, 1890,' and then, underneath, 'He -Rests in Peace'; or else, 'Elsie, Youngest -Daughter of Mary B. and William H. Terhune; b. May -1st, 1880; d. Nov. 25, 1889—Not Lost, but Gone -Before'; or agyne, 'Lucas, Lieutenant T. V. -Killed in Battle at Wady Halfa, Egypt, August -30, 1889; born London, England, Jan. 3, 1850—He -Lies Like a Warrior, Tyking His Rest with -His Martial Cloak Around Him'; or something -humorous, as 'Bohunkus, J. J.; born Germany; -Oct. 3d, 1880; died (by request) Cape Town, -Sept. 4, 1890'; or one that I remember as my very -best effort, that read, 'Willie, Beloved Son of Anna -and Gustave Harris; b. April 1st, 1878; d. May -5th, 1888—He was a Man Before His Mother.' Then -I wrote me own nyme, with the epitaph, -'More Sinned Against Than Sinning;' and the -Harvard chap's too. His motto, I remember, was -'He Pulled 5 in His 'Varsity's Boat.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I had more sport that afternoon than I've -ever had since. Y'know I felt as if I really were -acquainted with all those people—with John -Boggart, and Lieutenant Lucas, and Bohunkus, -and Willie and all. Ah, that was a proper -experience. But right in the middle of me work -here comes a telephone message from town: -'Body of dead baby found at mouth of city -sewer—prepare gryve at once.' Well, I dug that -gryve, the first, last and only gryve I ever hope to -dig. It came on to ryne like a water-spout, and -oh, but it was jolly tough work. Then about -four o'clock, just as I was finishing, the Harvard -chap comes home, howling drunk. I see him go -into the shack, and pretty soon out he comes, with -a hoe in one hand and a table leg in the other. -Soon as ever he sees me he makes a staggering -run at me, swinging the hoe and the table leg and -yelling like a Zulu indaba. Just to make everything -agreeable and appropriate, I was down in -the gryve, and it occurred to me that the situation -was too uncommon convenient. I scrambled out and -made a run for it, for there was murder in his eye, -and for upwards of ten minutes we two played -blindman's buff in that gryveyard, me dodging -from one headboard to another, and he at me -heels, chivying me like a fox and with intent to -kill. All at once he trips over a headboard, and -goes down and can't get up, and at the same -minute here comes the morgue wagon over Hospital Hill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now here comes the queer part of this lamentable -history. A trap was following that morgue -wagon, a no-end swell trap, with a cob in the -shafts that was worth an independent fortune. -There was an old gent in the trap and a smart Cape -boy driving. The old gent was the heaviest kind -of a swell, but I'd never seen him before. The -morgue wagon drives into the yard, and I—the -Harvard chap being too far gone—points out the -gryve. The driver of the morgue wagon chucks out -the coffin, a bit of a three-foot box, and drives back -to town. Then up comes the trap, and the old -gent gets down—dressed up to the nines he was, -in that heartbreaking ryne—and says he, 'My -man, I would like to have that coffin opened.' By -this time the Harvard chap had pulled himself -together. He staggered up to the old gent and -says, 'No, can't op'n no coffin, 'tsgainst all -relugations—all regalutions, can't permit no coffin -tobeopp'n.' I wish you would have seen the old -gent. Excited! The man was shaking like a -flagstaff in a gyle, talked thick and stammered, he -was so phased. Gawd strike me, what a scene! I -can see it now—that pauper burying ground wye -down there in South Africa—no trees, all open and -bleak. The pelting ryne, the open gryve and the -drunken Harvard chap, and the excited old swell -arguing over a baby's coffin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pretty soon the old gent brings up a sovereign -and gives it to the Harvard chap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Let her go,' says he then, and with that he -gives the top board of the coffin such a kick as -started it an inch or more. With that—now -listen to what I'm telling—with that the old gent -goes down on his knees in the mud and muck, and -kneels there waiting and fair gasping with -excitement while the Harvard chap wrenches off the -topboard. Before he had raised it four inches -me old gent plunges his hand in quick, gropes there -a second and takes out something—something shut -in the palm of his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'That's all,' says he: 'Thank you, my man,' -and gives us a quid apiece. We stood there like -stuck swine, dotty with the queerness, the -horribleness of the thing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'That's all,' he says again, with a long -breath of relief, as he climbs into his trap with his -clothes all foul with mud. 'That's all, thank -Gawd.' Then to the Cape boy: 'Drive her home, -Jim.' Five minutes later we lost him in the blur of -the rain over Hospital Hill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what was it he took out of the baby's -coffin?" said half a dozen men in a breath at this -point. "What was it? What could it have been?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, what was it?" said Miller. "I'll be -damned if I know what it was. I never knew, I -never will know."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-reversion-to-type"><em class="bold italics large">A Reversion to Type</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Schuster was too damned cheeky. He -was the floor-walker in a department store -on Kearny street, and I had opportunity to -observe his cheek upon each of the few occasions -on which I went into that store with—let us say my -cousin. A floor-walker should let his communications -be "first aisle left," or "elevator, second floor -front," or "third counter right," for whatsoever is -more than this cometh of evil. But Schuster used to -come up to—my cousin, and take her gently by the -hand and ask her how she did, and if she was to be -out of town much that season, and tell her, with -mild reproach in his eye, that she had been quite a -stranger of late, while I stood in the background -mumbling curses not loud but deep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, my cousin does not figure in this yarn, -nor myself. Paul Schuster is the hero—Paul -Schuster, floor-walker in a department-store that -sold ribbons and lace and corsets and other things, -fancy, now! He was hopelessly commonplace, -lived with a maiden aunt and a parrot in two -rooms, way out in the bleak streets around Lone -Mountain. When on duty he wore a long black -cutaway coat, a white pique four-in-hand and -blue-grey "pants" that cost four dollars. Besides this -he parted his hair on the side and entertained -ideas on culture and refinement. His father had -been a barber in the Palace Hotel barber shop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul Schuster had never heard anything of a grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Schuster came to that department-store when he -was about thirty. Five years passed; then -ten—he was there yet—forty years old by now. -Always in a black cutaway and white tie, always with -his hair parted on one side, always with the same -damned cheek. A floor-walker, respectable as an -English barrister, steady as an eight-day clock, a -figure known to every woman in San Francisco. -He had lived a floor-walker; as a floor-walker he -would die. Such he was at forty. At forty-one -he fell. Two days and all was over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It sometimes happens that a man will live a -sober, steady, respectable, commonplace life for -forty, fifty or even sixty years, and then, -without the least sign of warning, suddenly go counter -to every habit, to every trait of character and every -rule of conduct he has been believed to possess. -The thing only happens to intensely respectable -gentlemen, of domestic tastes and narrow -horizons, who are just preparing to become old. -Perhaps it is a last revolt of a restrained youth—the -final protest of vigorous, heady blood, too long -dammed up. This bolting season does not last -very long. It comes upon a man between the -ages of forty and fifty-five, and while it lasts the -man should be watched more closely than a young -fellow in his sophomore year at college. The -vagaries of a sophomore need not be taken any -more seriously than the skittishness of a colt, but -when a fifty-year-old bolts, stand clear!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the second of May—two months and a day -after his forty-first birthday—Paul Schuster -bolted. It came upon him with the quickness of a -cataclysm, like the sudden, abrupt development -of latent mania. For a week he had been feeling ill -at ease—restless; a vague discomfort hedged him -in like an ill-fitting garment; he felt the moving of -his blood in his wrists and his temples. A -subtle desire to do something, he knew not what, bit -and nibbled at his brain like the tooth of a tiny -unfamiliar rodent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the second of May, at twenty minutes -after six, Schuster came out of the store at the -tail end of the little army of home-bound clerks. -He locked the door behind him, according to -custom, and stood for a moment on the asphalt, his -hands in his pockets, fumbling his month's pay. -Then he said to himself, nodding his head -resolutely:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-night I shall get drunk—as drunk as I -possibly can. I shall go to the most disreputable -resorts I can find—I shall know the meaning of -wine, of street fights, of women, of gaming, of jolly -companions, of noisy mid-night suppers. I'll do -the town, or by God, the town will do me. Nothing -shall stop me, and I will stop at nothing. -Here goes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, if Paul Schuster had only been himself -this bolt of his would have brought him to nothing -worse than the Police Court, and would have -lasted but twenty-four hours at the outside. But -Schuster, like all the rest of us, was not merely -himself. He was his ancestors as well. In him as in -you and me, were generations—countless -generations—of forefathers. Schuster had in him the -characteristics of his father, the Palace Hotel -barber, but also, he had the unknown characteristics -of his grandfather, of whom he had never heard, -and his great-grandfather, likewise ignored. It -is rather a serious matter to thrust yourself under -the dominion of unknown, unknowable impulses -and passions. This is what Schuster did that -night. Getting drunk was an impulse belonging -to himself; but who knows what "inherited tendencies," -until then dormant, the alcohol unleashed -within him? Something like this must have -happened to have accounted for what follows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Schuster went straight to the Palace Hotel bar, -where he had cocktails, thence to the Poodle Dog, -where he had a French dinner and champagne, -thence to the Barbary Coast on upper Kearny -street, and drank whiskey that rasped his throat -like gulps of carpet tacks. Then, realising that -San Francisco was his own principality and its -inhabitants his vassals, he hired a carriage and -drove to the Cliff House, and poured champagne -into the piano in the public parlor. A waiter -remonstrated, and Paul Schuster, floor-walker and -respectable citizen, bowled him down with a catsup -bottle and stamped upon his abdomen. At the -beginning of that evening he belonged to that -class whom policemen are paid to protect. When -he walked out of the Cliff House he was a -free-booter seven feet tall, with a chest expansion of -fifty inches. He paid the hack-driver a double -fare and strode away into the night and plunged -into the waste of sand dunes that stretch back from -the beach on the other side of the Park.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It never could be found out what happened to -Schuster, or what he did, during the next ten -hours. We pick him up again in a saloon on the -waterfront about noon the next day, with thirty -dollars in his pocket and God knows what disorderly -notions in his crazed wits. At this time he -was sober as far as the alcohol went. It might be -supposed that now would have been the time for -reflection and repentance and return to home and -respectability. Return home! Not much! Schuster -had began to wonder what kind of an ass he -had been to have walked the floor of a department-store -for the last score of years. Something was -boiling in his veins. B-r-r-r! Let 'em all stand far -from him now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That day he left San Francisco and rode the -blind baggage as far as Colfax on the Overland. -He chose Colfax because he saw the name chalked -on a freight car at the Oakland mole. At Colfax, -within three hours after his arrival, he fought -with a restaurant man over the question of a -broken saucer, and the same evening was told to -leave the town by the sheriff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of Colfax, some twenty-eight miles into the -mountains, are placer gold mines, having for -headquarters a one-street town called Iowa Hill. -Schuster went over to the Hill the same day on the -stage. The stage got in at night and pulled up in -front of the postoffice. Schuster went into the -postoffice, which was also a Wells-Fargo office, a -candy store, a drug store, a cigar store, and a -lounging-room, and asked about hotels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only the postmaster was in at that time, but as -Schuster leaned across the counter, talking to him, -a young man came in, with a huge spur on his left -boot-heel. He and the postmaster nodded, and -the young man slid an oblong object about the size -of a brick across the counter. The object was -wrapped in newspaper and seemed altogether too -heavy for anything but metal—metal of the -precious kind, for example.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He?" answered the postmaster to Schuster, -when the young man had gone. "He's the -superintendent of the Little Bear mine on the other -side of the American River, about three miles by -the trail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the next week Schuster set himself to work -to solve the problem of how a man might obtain a -shotgun in the vicinity of Iowa Hill without the -fact being remembered afterward and the man -identified. It seemed good to him after a while -to steal the gun from a couple of Chinamen who -were washing gravel along the banks of the -American River about two miles below the Little -Bear. For two days he lay in the tarweed and witch -hazel, on the side of the canyon overlooking the -cabin, noted the time when both Chinamen were -sufficiently far away, and stole the gun, together -with a saw and a handful of cartridges loaded -with buckshot. Within the next week he sawed -off the gun-barrels sufficiently short, experimented -once or twice with the buckshot, and found occasion -to reconnoiter every step of the trail that led -from the Little Bear to Iowa Hill. Also, he found -out at the bar of the hotel at the Hill that the -superintendent of the Little Bear amalgamated -and reported the cleanup on Sundays. When he -had made sure of this Schuster was seen no more -about that little one-street mining town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He says it's Sunday," said Paul Schuster to -himself; "but that's why it's probably Saturday or -Monday. He ain't going to have the town know -when he brings the brick over. It might even be -Friday. I'll make it a four-night watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is a nasty bit on the trail from the Little -Bear to the Hill, steep as a staircase, narrow as a -rabbit-run, and overhung with manzanita. The -place is trumpet-mouthed in shape, and sound -carries far. So, on the second night of his watch, -Schuster could at last plainly hear the certain -sounds that he had been waiting for—sounds that -jarred sharply on the prolonged roll of the -Morning Star stamps, a quarter of a mile beyond the -canyon. The sounds were those of a horse threshing -through the gravel and shallow water of the -ford in the river just below. He heard the horse -grunt as he took the slope of the nearer bank, and -the voice of his rider speaking to him came -distinctly to his ears. Then silence for -one—two—three minutes, while the stamp mill at the -Morning Star purred and rumbled unceasingly and -Schuster's heart pumped thickly in his throat. -Then a blackness blacker than that of the night -heaved suddenly against the grey of "the sky, close -in upon him, and a pebble clicked beneath a shod -hoof.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pull up!" Schuster was in the midst of the -trail, his cheek caressing the varnished stock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whoa! Steady there! What in hell——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pull up. You know what's wanted. Chuck -us that brick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The superintendent chirped sharply to the -horse, spurring with his left heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand clear there, God damn you! I'll ride -you down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stock leaped fiercely in Schuster's arm-pit, -nearly knocking him down, and, in the light of two -parallel flashes, he saw an instantaneous picture—rugged -skyline, red-tinted manzanita bushes, the -plunging mane and head of a horse, and above it -a Face with open mouth and staring eyes, -smoke-wreathed and hatless. The empty stirrup thrashed -across Schuster's body as the horse scraped by him. -The trail was dark in front of him. He could -see nothing. But soon he heard a little bubbling -noise and a hiccough. Then all fell quiet again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got you, all right!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Schuster, the ex-floor-walker, whose part -hitherto in his little life-drama had been to say, -"first aisle left," "elevator, second floor," "first -counter right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he went down on his knees, groping -at the warm bundle in front of him. But he found no -brick. It had never occurred to him that the -superintendent might ride over to town for other -reasons than merely to ship the week's cleanup. -He struck a light and looked more closely—looked -at the man he had shot. He could not tell whether -it was the superintendent or not, for various -reasons, but chiefly because the barrels of the gun -had been sawn off, the gun loaded with buckshot, -and both barrels fired simultaneously at close -range.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men coming over the trail from the Hill the -next morning found the young superintendent, and -spread the report of what had befallen him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When the Prodigal Son became hungry he came -to himself. So it was with Schuster. Living on -two slices of bacon per day (eaten raw for fear of -kindling fires) is what might be called starving -under difficulties, and within a week Schuster was -remembering and longing for floor-walking and -respectability. Within a month of his strange -disappearance he was back in San Francisco again -knocking at the door of his aunt's house on Geary -street. A week later he was taken on again at his -old store, in his old position, his unexcused absence -being at length, and under protest, condoned by a -remembrance of "long and faithful service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Schuster picked up his old life again precisely -where he had left it on the second of May, six -weeks previously—picked it up and stayed by it, -calmly, steadily, uneventfully. The day before he -died he told this story to his maiden aunt, who -told it to me, with the remark that it was, of -course, an absurd lie. Perhaps it was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One thing, however, remains to tell. I repeated -the absurd lie to a friend of mine who is in the -warden's office over at the prison of San Quentin. -I mentioned Schuster's name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Schuster! Schuster!" he repeated; "why we -had a Schuster over here once—a long time ago, -though. An old fellow he was, and a bad egg, too. -Commuted for life, though. Son was a barber at -the Palace Hotel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was old Schuster up for?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Highway robbery," said my friend.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="boom"><span class="bold large">"</span><em class="bold italics large">Boom</em><span class="bold large">"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>San Diego in Southern California, is the -largest city in the world. If your -geographies and guide-books and encyclopædias -have told you otherwise, they have lied, or their -authors have never seen San Diego. Why, San -Diego is nearly twenty-five miles from end to end! -Why, San Diego has more miles of sidewalk, more -leagues of street railways, more measureless lengths -of paved streets, more interminable systems of -sewer-piping, than has London or Paris or -even—even—even Chicago (and I who say so was born -in Chicago, too)! There are statelier houses in -San Diego than in any other "of the world's great -centres," more spacious avenues, more imposing -business blocks, more delicious parks, more -overpowering public buildings, the pavements are better -laid, the electric lighting is more systematic, the -railroad and transportation facilities more -accommodating, the climate is better than the Riviera, -the days are longer, the nights shorter, the men -finer, the women prettier, the theatres more -attractive, the restaurants cheaper, the wines more -sparkling, "business opportunities" lie in wait for -the unfortunate at dark street-corners and fly at -his throat till he must fain fight them off. Life -is one long, glad fermentation. There is no -darkness in San Diego, nor any more night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Incidentally corner lots are desirable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All of this must be so, because you may read it -in the green and gold prospectus of the San Diego -Land and Improvement Company (consolidated), -sent free on application—that is, at one time -during the boom it was sent free—but to-day the -edition is out of print, and can only be seen in the -collection of bibliophiles and wealthy amateurs, -and the boom is only an echo now. But when the -guests of the big Coronado Hotel over on the -island come across to the main land and course -jackrabbits with greyhounds in the country to the -north of the town, their horses' hoofs, as they -plunge through the sagebrush and tar weed, will -sometimes slide and clatter upon a bit of concrete -sidewalk, half sunk of its own weight into the -sand; or the jack will be started in a low square -of bricks, such as is built for frame house -foundations, and which make excellent jumping for the -horses. There is a colony of rattlers on the shores -of a marsh to the southwest (the maps call it -Amethyst Lake) and the little half-breed Indians -catch the tarantulas and horned toads that you buy -alive in glass jars on the hotel veranda, near the -postoffice site, and everything is very gay and -pleasant and picturesque.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why I remember it all so well is because I found -Steele in this place. You see, Steele was a very -good friend of mine though he was Oxon, and I -only a man from Chicago. When his wife knew -I was coming west she gave me Steele's address, -and told me I was to look him up. Since she told -me this with much insistence and reiteration and -with tears in her voice, I made it a point to be -particular. She had not heard from Steele in two -years. The address she gave me was "Hon. Ralph -Truax-Steele, Elmwood avenue and One Hundred -and Eighty-eighth street, San Diego, California."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I arrived at San Diego I found it would -be advisable to hire a horse, for 188th street, -instead of waiting for the Elmwood Avenue -electric car, and when I asked for directions a -red-headed man whose father was Irish and whose -mother was Chinese, offered to act as guide for -twenty dollars. He said, though, he would furnish -his own outfit. I demurred and he went away. -I was told that some eight miles out beyond the -range I would find a water-hole, and that if I held -to the southwest after leaving this hole, keeping -my horse's ears between the double peak of a -distant mountain called Little Two Top, I would -come after a while to a lamp-post with a tarantula's -nest where the lamp should have been. It would -be hard to miss this lamp-post, they told me, as -the desert was very flat thereabouts, and the -lamp-posts could be seen for a radius of ten miles. Also, -there might be water there—the horse would smell -it out if there was. Also, it was a good place -to camp, because of a tiny ledge of shale -outcropping there. I was to be particular about this -lamp-post, because it stood at the corner of -Elmwood avenue and 188th street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I asked about the Hon. Truax-Steele, -Oxon, information was less explicit. They shook -their heads. One of them seemed to recollect a -"shack" about a mile hitherward of Two Top, -a statement that was at once contradicted by -someone else. Might have been an old Digger -"wicky-up." Sometimes the Indians camped in the valley -on their way to ghost dances and tribal feasts. It -wasn't a place for a white man to live, chiefly -because the climate offered so many advantages -and attractions to horned toads, tarantulas and -rattlesnakes. Then the red-headed Chinese-Irishman -came back and said, with an accent that was -beyond all words, that a sheepherder had once -told him of a loco-man out beyond McIntyre's -waterhole, and another man said that, "Yes, that -was so; he'd passed flasks with a loco-man out that -way once last June, when he was out looking for a -strayed pony. In fact, the loco-man lived out -there, had a son, too, leastways a kid lived with -him." This seemed encouraging. The -Hon. Truax-Steele, Oxon, was accredited with a -son—so his wife had said, who should know. So I -started out, simultaneously hoping and dreading -that the loco-man and the honourable Truax might -be one flesh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I left San Diego at four o'clock A.M. to avoid -as much as possible the heat of mid-day, and just -at sunset saw what might have been a cactus plant -standing out stark and still on the white blur of -sage and alkali like an exclamation point on a -blank page. It was the lamp-post of the spider's -nest that marked the intersection of Elmwood -avenue and 188th street. And then my horse -shied, with his hind legs only, in the way good -horses have, and Ralph Truax-Steele rose out -of a dried muck-hole under the bit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had expected a madman, but his surprise and -pleasure at seeing me were perfectly sane. After -awhile he said: "Sorry, old boy. It's the -hospitality of the Arab I can give you; nothing better. -A handful of dates (we call 'em caned prunes out -here), the dried flesh of a kid (Californian for -jerked beef), and a mouthful of cold water, which -the same we will thicken with forty-rod rye; -incidentally, coffee, black and unsweet, and tobacco, -which at one time I should have requested my -undergroom to discontinue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We went to his "shack" (I observed it to be -built of discarded bricks, mortared with 'dobe -mud) and I was made acquainted with his boy, -Carrington Truax-Steele, fitting for Oxford under -tutelage of his father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had supper, after which the Hon. Truax, -Sr. stood forth under the kindling glory of that -desert twilight by that incongruous, reeling -lamp-post, booted, bare-headed and woolen-shirted, and -to the low swinging scimitar of the new welded -moon declaimed Creon's speech to Oedipus in -sonorous Greek. When he was done he exclaimed, -abruptly: "Come along, I'll show you 'round."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked about that stricken reach of alkali, and -followed him wondering. That evening the -Hon. Ralph Truax-Steele, Oxon, showed me his real -estate and also, unwittingly, the disordered -workings of his brain. The rest I guessed and -afterwards confirmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Steele had gone mad over the real estate "boom" -that had struck the town five years previously, -when land was worth as many dollars as could -cover it, and men and women fought with each -other to buy lots around the water hole called -Amethyst Lake. The "boom" had collapsed, and -with it Steele's reason, for to him the boom was -on the point of recommencing; sane enough on -other points, in this direction the man's grip upon -himself was gone for good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," he said to me that evening as we -crushed our way through the sagebrush, indicating -a low roll on the desert surface, "there are my villa -sites, here will run a driveway, and yonder where -you see the skeleton of that steer I'm thinking of -putting up a little rustic stone chapel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ralph, Ralph," I said, "come out of this. -Can't you see that the whole business is dead and -done for long since? You're going back with me -to God's country to-morrow—going back to your -wife, you and the boy. She sent me to fetch you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at me wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it's bound to come within a few days," -he said. "Wait till next Wednesday, say, and you -won't recognise this place. There'll be a rush -here such as there was when Oklahoma was opened. -We have everything for us—climate, temperature, -water. Harry," he added in my ear, "look around -you. You are standing on the site of one of the -grandest, stateliest cities of civilisation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night the boy Carrington and I sat late -in consultation while Steele slept. "Nothing but -force will do it," said the lad. "I know him well, -and I've tried it again and again. It's no use any -other way." So force it was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How we got Steele back to San Diego I may not -tell. Carrington is the only other person who -knows, and I'm sure he will say nothing. When -Steele found himself in the heart of a real city -and began to look about him, and take stock of -his surroundings, the real collapse came. He is in -a sanitarium now somewhere in Illinois, and his -wife and son see him on Wednesday and Sunday -afternoons from two till five. Steele will never -come out of that sanitarium, though he now realises -that his desert city was a myth, a creation of -his own distorted wits. He's sound enough on -that point, but a strange inversion has taken place. -It is now upon all other subjects that he is insane.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-dis-associated-charities"><em class="bold italics large">The Dis-Associated Charities</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There used to be a place in feudal Paris -called the Court of Miracles, and Mister -Victor Hugo has told us all about it. This -Court was a quarter of the town where the beggars -lived, and it was called "of the miracles", because -once across its boundaries the blind saw, the lame -walked and the poor cared not to have the gospel -preached unto them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>San Francisco has its Court of Miracles too. -It is a far cry thither, for it lies on the other side -of Chinatown and Dagotown, and blocks beyond -Luna's restaurant. It is in the valley between -Telegraph Hill and Russian Hill, and you must -pass through it as you go down to Meigg's Wharf -where the Government tugs tie up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One has elected to call it the Court of Miracles, -but it is not a court, and the days of miracles are -over. It is a row of seven two-story houses, one -of them brick. The brick house is over a saloon -kept by a Kanaka woman and called "The Eiffel -Tower." Here San Francisco's beggars live and -have their being. That is, a good many of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doubled-up old man with the white beard -and neck-handkerchief who used to play upon a -zither and the sympathies of the public on the -corner of Sutter street has moved out, and one can -find no trace of him, and Father Elphick, the -white-headed vegetarian of Lotta's Fountain, is -dead. But plenty of the others are left. The -neatly dressed fellow with dark blue spectacles, -who sings the </span><em class="italics">Marseillaise</em><span>, accompanying himself -upon an infinitesimal hand organ, is here; -Mrs. McCleaverty is here, and the old bare-headed man -who sits on the street corner by the Bohemian Club, -after six o'clock in the evening and turns the crank -of a soundless organ, has here set up his -everlasting rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The beggars of the Seven Houses are genuine -miserables. Perhaps they have an organisation -and a president, I don't know. But I do know -that Leander and I came very near demoralising -the whole lot of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More strictly speaking, it was Leander who did -the deed, I merely looked on and laughed, but -Leander says that by laughing I lent him my -immoral support, and am therefore party to the act.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leander and I had been dining at the "Red -House," which is a wine-shop that Gelett Burgess -discovered in an alley not far from the county -jail. Leander and I had gone there because we -like to sit at its whittled tables and drink its </span><em class="italics">Vin -Ordinaire</em><span> (très ordinaire) out of tin gill measures; -also we like its salad and its thick slices of bread -that you eat after you have rubbed them with an -onion or a bit of garlic. We always go there in -evening dress in order to impress the Proletariat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On this occasion after we had dined and had -come out again into the gas and gaiety of the -Mexican quarter we caromed suddenly against -Cluness. Cluness is connected with some sort of a -charitable institution that has a house somewhere -in the "Quarter." He says that he likes to -alleviate distress wherever he sees it; and that after -all, the best thing in life is to make some poor -fellow happy for a few moments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leander and I had nothing better to do that -evening so we went around with Cluness, and -watched him as he gave a month's rent to an infirm -old lady on Stockton street, a bundle of magazines -to a whining old rascal at the top of a nigger -tenement, and some good advice to a Chinese girl who -didn't want to go to the Presbyterian Mission -House.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's my motto," says he, as we came away -from the Chinese girl, "alleviate misery wherever -you see it and try and make some poor fellow -happy for a few moments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes," exclaimed this farceur Leander, -sanctimoniously, while I stared, "that's the only -thing worth while," and he sighed and wagged -his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cluness went on to tell us about a deserving case -he had—we were going there next—in fact, -innocently enough, he described the Seven Houses -to us, never suspecting they were the beggar's -headquarters. He said there was a poor old paralytic -woman lived there, who had developed an appetite -for creamed oysters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the only thing," said Cluness, "that she -can keep on her stomach."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She told you so?" asked Leander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, she ought to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We arrived at the Seven Houses and Cluness -paused before the tallest and dirtiest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here's where she lives; I'm going up for a -few moments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a drink first," suggested Leander, fixing -his eyes upon the saloon under the brick house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We three went in and sat down at one of the -little round zinc tables—painted to imitate -marble—and the Kanaka woman herself brought us our -drinks. While we were drinking, one of the -beggars came in. He was an Indian, totally blind, -and in the day time played a mouth-organ on Grant -Avenue near a fashionable department store.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut," said Cluness, "poor fellow, blind, -you see, what a pity, I'll give him a quarter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, let me," exclaimed Leander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke the door opened again and another -blind man groped in. This fellow I had seen often. -He sold lavender in little envelopes on one of the -corners of Kearny street. He was a stout, smooth-faced -chap and always kept his chin in the air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What misery there is in this world," sighed -Cluness as his eye fell upon this latter, "one half -the world don't know how—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look, they know each other," said Leander. -The lavender man had groped his way to the -Indian's table—evidently it was their especial -table—and the two had fallen a-talking. They ordered -a sandwich apiece and a small mug of beer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's do something for 'em," exclaimed -Cluness, with a burst of generosity. "Let's make 'em -remember this night for years to come. Look at -'em trying to be happy over a bit of dry bread and -a pint of flat beer. I'm going to give 'em a dollar -each."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," protested Leander. "Let me fix it, -I've more money than you. Let me do a little good -now and then. You don't want to hog all the -philanthropy, Cluness, </span><em class="italics">I'll</em><span> give 'em something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be very noble and generous of you, -indeed," cried Cluness, "and you'll feel better for -it, see if you don't. But I must go to my paralytic. -You fellows wait for me. I'll be down in twenty -minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I frowned at Leander when Cluness was gone. -"Now what tom-foolery is it this time?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom-foolery," exclaimed Leander, blankly. -"It's philanthropy. By Jove, here's another chap -with his lamps blown out. Look at him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A third unfortunate, blind as the other two, -had just approached the Indian and the lavender -man. The three were pals, one could see that at -half a glance. No doubt they met at this table -every night for beer and sandwiches. The last -blind man was a Dutchman. I had seen him from -time to time on Market street, with a cigar-box -tied to his waist and a bunch of pencils in his fist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eins!" called the Dutchman to the Kanaka, as -he sat down with the lavender man and the Indian. -"Eins—mit a hem sendvidge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excuse me," said Leander, coming up to their -table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What was it? Did those three beggars, their -instinct trained by long practice, recognise the -alms-giver in the sound of Leander's voice, or in -the step. It is hard to say, but instantly each one -of them dropped the mildly convivial and assumed -the humbly solicitous air, turning his blind head -towards Leander, listening intently. Leander took -out his purse and made a great jingling with his -money. Now, I knew that Leander had exactly -fifteen dollars—no more, no less—fifteen dollars, -in three five-dollar gold pieces—not a penny of -change. Could it be possible that he was going -to give a gold piece to the three beggars? It was, -evidently, for I heard him say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excuse me. I've often passed you fellows on -the street, in town, and I guess I've always been -too short of change, or in too much of a hurry to -remember you. But I'm going to make up for it -now, if you'll permit me. Here—" and he jingled -his money, "here is a five dollar gold piece that -I'd like to have you spend between the three of -you to-night, and drink my health, and—and—have -a good time, you know. Catch on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They caught on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May God bless you, young man!" exclaimed -the old lavender man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Indian grunted expressively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Dutchman twisted about in his place and -shouted in the direction of the bar:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mek ut er bottle Billzner und er Gotha druffle, -mit ein </span><em class="italics">im</em><span>-borted Frankfooter bei der side on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kanaka woman came up, and the Dutchman -repeated his order. The lavender man paused -reflectively tapping his brow, then he delivered -himself: "A half spring chicken," he said with -profound gravity, "rather under done, and some -chicory salad and a bottle of white wine—put the -bottle in a little warm water for about two -minutes—and some lyonnaise potatoes with onions, and—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Donner wetter," shouted the Dutchman, "genuch!" -smiting the table with his fist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other subsided. The Kanaka woman -turned to the Indian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whiskey," he grunted, "plenty whiskey, big -beefsteak, soh," and he measured off a yard on the -table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leander," said I, when he rejoined me, "that -was foolishness, you've thrown away your five -dollars and these fellows are going to waste it in -riotous living. You see the results of indiscriminate -charity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> thrown it away. Cluness would say -that if it made them happier according to their -lights it was well invested. I hate the charity that -means only medicines, clean sheets, new shoes and -sewerage. Let 'em be happy in their own way." There -could be no doubt that the three blind men -were happy. They loaded their table with spring -chickens, Gotha truffles, beefsteaks, and all manner -of "alcoholic beverages," till the zinc disappeared -beneath the accumulation of plates and bottles. -They drank each other's health and they pledged -that of Leander, standing up. The Dutchman -ordered: "Zwei Billzner more alreatty." The -lavender man drank his warmed white wine with -gasps of infinite delight, and after the second -whiskey bottle had been opened, the Indian began to -say strange and terrible things in his own language.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cluness came in and beamed on them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See how happy you've made them, Leander," -he said gratefully. "They'll always remember this -night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They always will," said Leander solemnly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to go though," said Cluness. I made -as if to go with him but Leander plucked my coat -under the table. I caught his eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess we two will stay," said I. Cluness left, -thanking us again and again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what it is," said I seriously to -Leander, "but to-night you seem to me to be too -good to be wholesome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span>," said Leander, blankly. "But I suppose I -should expect to be misjudged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then the Kanaka woman came over to give -us our check.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is on me," said Leander, but he was so -slow in fumbling for his purse that I was obliged, -in all decency, to pay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After she left </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>, the Kanaka went over to the -blind men's table, and, check-pad in hand, ran -her eye over the truffles, beer, chicken, beefsteak, -wine and whiskey, and made out her check.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four dollars, six bits," she announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence, not one of the blind men -moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Watch now," said Leander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four, six bits," repeated the Kanaka, her hand -on her hip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still none of the blind men moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vail, den," cried the Dutchman, "vich von you -two vellars has dose money, pay oop. Fier thalers -und sax beets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't it," exclaimed the lavender man, -"Jim has it," he added, turning to the Indian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No have got, no have got," grunted the Indian. -"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> have got, you or Charley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at Leander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, what have you done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer Leander showed me three five -dollar gold pieces in the palm of his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Each one of those chaps thinks that one of the -other two has the gold piece. I just pretended to -give it to one of 'em, jingled my coin, and then -put it back, I didn't give 'em a cent. Each one -thought I had given it to the other two. How -could they tell, they were blind, don't you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I reached for my hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to get out of here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leander pulled me back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not just yet, wait a few moments. Listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vail, vail," cried the Dutchman, beginning to -get red. "You doand vants to cheats Missus -Amaloa, den berhaps—yes, Zhim," he cried to the -Indian, "pay oop, or ees ut </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> den, Meest'r -Paites, dat hab dose finf thalers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No have got," gurgled the Indian, swaying in -his place as he canted the neck of the whiskey -bottle towards his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you had the money," protested -Mr. Bates, the lavender man, "you or Jim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No have got," whooped the Indian, beginning -to get angry. "Hug-gh! </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> got money. He give -you money," and he turned his face towards the -Dutchman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> thought," asserted Mr. Bates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tausend Teufels </span><em class="italics">no</em><span>," shouted the other. "I -tell you </span><em class="italics">no</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You, you,</em><span>" growled the Indian, plucking at -Mr. Bates' coat sleeve, "you have got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yah, soh," cried the Dutchman, shaking his -finger at the lavender man, excitedly, "pay dose -finf thalers, Meest'r Paites."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pay yourself," exclaimed the other, "I haven't -touched them. I'll be </span><em class="italics">any</em><span> name, I'll be </span><em class="italics">any</em><span> -name if I've touched them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I ain't going to wait here all night," -shrilled the Kanaka woman impatiently. The -Dutchman shook his finger solemnly towards -where he thought the Indian was sitting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's der Indyun. It's Zhim. Get ut vrom Zhim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie, lie," vociferated the Indian, "white man -lie. No have got. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> hav got, or </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll turn my pockets inside out," exclaimed Mr. Bates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Schmarty," cried the Dutchman. "Can I </span><em class="italics">see</em><span> -dose pocket?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thief, thief," exclaimed the Indian, shaking -his long black hair. "You steal money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other two turned on him savagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There aint no man going to call me that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vat he say, vait, und I vill his het mit der -boddle demolisch. Who you say dat to, </span><em class="italics">mee</em><span>, or -Meest'r Bates?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you make me tired," cried the lavender -man, "you two. </span><em class="italics">One</em><span> of you two, pay Missus -Amaloa and quit fooling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on," cried the Kanaka, "pay up or I'll -ring for the police."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vooling, vooling," shouted the Dutchman, -dancing in his rage. "You sheats Missus Amaloa -und you gall dot vooling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Who</em><span> cheats," cried the other two simultaneously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vail, how do </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know," yelled the Dutchman, -purple to the eyes. "How do </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know vich."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kanaka turned to Leander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, which of these fellows did you give that -money to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leander came up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah-h, </span><em class="italics">now</em><span> we vill know," said the Dutchman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leander looked from one to the other. Then -an expression of perplexity came into his face. He -scratched an ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I thought it was this German gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Vat!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only it seems to me I had the money in my -left hand, and he, you see, is on the right hand -of the table. It might have been him, and then -again it might have been one of the other two -gentlemen. It's so difficult to remember. Wasn't -it you," turning to Mr. Bates, "or no, wasn't it -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span>," to the Indian. "But it </span><em class="italics">couldn't</em><span> have been -the Indian gentleman, and it couldn't have been -Mr. Bates here, and yet I'm sure it wasn't the -German gentleman, and, however, I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> have -given it to one of the three. Didn't I lay the coin -down on the table and go away and leave it." Leander -struck his forehead. "Yes, I think that's -what I did. I'm sorry," he said to the Kanaka, -"that you are having any trouble, it's some -misunderstanding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll get it all right," returned the Kanaka, -confidently. "Come on, one of you fellows dig up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the quarrel broke out afresh. The three -blind men rose to their feet, blackguarding and -vilifying one another till the room echoed. Now -it was Mr. Bates and the Dutchman versus the -Indian, now the Indian and Dutchman versus -Mr. Bates, now the Indian and Mr. Bates versus the -Dutchman. At every instant the combinations -varied with kaleidoscopic swiftness. They shouted, -they danced, and they shook their fists towards -where they guessed each other's faces were. The -Indian, who had been drinking whiskey between -intervals of the quarrel, suddenly began to rail -and howl in his own language, and at times even -the Dutchman lapsed into the vernacular. The -Kanaka woman lost her wits altogether, and -declared that in three more minutes she would ring -for the police.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then all at once the Dutchman swung both fists -around him and caught the Indian a tremendous -crack in the side of the head. The Indian vented -an ear-splitting war-whoop and began pounding -Mr. Bates who stood next to him. In the next -instant the three were fighting all over the room. -They lost each other, they struck furious blows at -the empty air, they fell over tables and chairs, or -suddenly came together with a dreadful shock -and terrible cries of rage. The Dutchman bumped -against Leander and before he could get away -had smashed his silk hat down over his ears. The -noise of their shouting could have been heard a -block.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thief, thief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Teef yourselluf, pay oop dose finf thalers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No have got, no have got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the door swung in and four officers -began rounding them up like stampeded sheep. -Not until he was in the wagon could the Dutchman -believe that it was not the Indian and Mr. Bates -who had him by either arm, and even in the -wagon, as they were being driven to the precinct -station-house, the quarrel broke out from time to -time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As we heard the rattle of the patrol-wagon's -wheels growing fainter over the cobbles, we rose -to go. The Kanaka stood with her hands on her -hips glaring at the zinc table with its remnants of -truffle, chicken and beefsteak and its empty bottles. -Then she exclaimed, "And </span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> shy four dollars -and six bits."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the following Saturday night Leander and -I were coming from a Mexican dinner at Luna's. -Suddenly some one caught our arms from behind. -It was Cluness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to thank you fellows again," he -exclaimed, "for your kindness to those three blind -chaps the other night. It was really good of -you. I believe they had five dollars to spend -between them. It was really fine of you, Leander."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't mind five dollars," said Leander, -"if it can make a poor fellow any happier for a -few moments. That's the only thing that's worth -while in this life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll bet you felt better and happier for doing it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it did make me happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, and those three fellows will never -forget that night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I guess they won't," said Leander.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="son-of-a-sheik"><em class="bold italics large">Son of a Sheik</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The smell of the warm slime on the Jeliffe -River and the sweet, heavy and sickening -odour that exhaled into the unspeakable heat -of the desert air from the bunches of dead and -scorched water-reeds are with me yet; also the sight -of the long stretch of dry mud bank, rising by -shallow and barely perceptible degrees to the edge of -the desert sands, and thus disclosed by the -shrinkage of the Jeliffe during the hot months. The -mud banks were very broad and very black except -where they touched the desert; here the sand had -sifted over them in light transparent sprinklings. -In rapidly drying under the sun of the Sahara, they -had cracked and warped into thousands of tiny -concave cakes that looked, for all the world, like -little saucers in which Indian ink has been mixed. -(If you are an artist, as was Thévenot, you will the -better understand this.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then there was the reach of the desert that -drew off on either hand and rolled away, ever so -gently, toward the place where the hollow sky -dropped out of sight behind the shimmering -horizon, swelling grandly and gradually like some -mighty breast which, panting for breath in the -horrible heat, had risen in a final gasp and had -then, in the midst of it, suddenly stiffened and -become rigid. On this colourless bosom of the -desert, where nothing stirred but the waxing light -in the morning and the waning light in the night, -lay tumbled red and gray rocks, with thin drifts -of sand in their rifts and crevices and grey-green -cacti squatting or sprawling in their blue shadows. -And there was nothing more, nothing, nothing, -except the appalling heat and the maddening silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in the midst of it all,—we.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now "we" broadly and generally speaking, were -the small right wing of General Pawtrot's division -of the African service; speaking less broadly and -less generally, "we" were the advance-guard of -said division; and, speaking in the narrowest and -most particular sense, "we" were the party of -war-correspondents, specials, extras, etc., who were -accompanying said advance-guard of said wing of -said army of said service for reasons herein to be -set forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the long, black scow of the commissariat -went crawling up the torpid river with the -advance-guard straggling along upon the right, "we" lay -upon the deck under the shadow of the scow's -awning and talked and drank seltzer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I forget now what led up to it, but Ponscarme -had said that the Arabs were patriotic, when Bab -Azzoun cut in and said something which I shall -repeat as soon as I have told you about Bab Azzoun himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bab Azzoun had been born twenty-nine years -before this time, at Tlemcen, of Kabyle parents -(his father was a sheik). He had been -transplanted to France at the age of ten, and had -flourished there in a truly remarkable manner. -He had graduated fifth from the Polytéchnique; -he had written books that had been "</span><em class="italics">couronné -par l'Académie</em><span>"; he had become naturalised; he -had been prominent in politics (no one can cut a -wide swath in Paris in anything without hitting -against </span><em class="italics">la politique</em><span>;) he had occupied important -positions in two embassies; he was a diplomat of -no mean qualities; he had influence; he dressed in -faultless French fashion; he had owned "Crusader"; -he had lost money on him; he had applied -to the government for the office of "</span><em class="italics">Sous-chef-des -bureaux-Arabes dans l'Oran</em><span>," in order to recoup; -he had obtained it; he had come on with "us", and -was now on this, his first visit to his fatherland -since his tenth year, on his way to his post.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when Ponscarme had spoken thus about -the patriotism of the Arabs, Bab Azzoun made -him answer: "The Arabs are not sufficiently -educated to be true patriots."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah!" said Santander, "a man does not require -to be educated in order to be a patriot. And, -indeed, the rudest nations have ever been the most -devotedly patriotic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Bab Azzoun, "but it is a narrow -and a very selfish patriotism."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't see that," put in Ponscarme; "a patriot -is like an egg—he is either good or bad. There -is no such thing as a 'good enough egg,' there is -no such thing as a 'good enough patriot'—if a -man is one at all, he is a perfect one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I agree," answered Bab Azzoun; "yet patriotism -can be more or less narrow. Listen and I -will explain"—he raised himself from the deck on -his elbow and gestured with the amber mouth-piece -of his chibouk—"Patriotism has passed -through five distinct stages; first, it was only love -of family—of parents and kindred; then, as the -family grows and expands into the tribe, it, too, -as merely a large family, becomes the object of -affection, of patriotic devotion. This is the second -stage—the stage of the tribe, the dan. In the -third stage, the tribe has sought protection behind -the inclosure of walls. It is the age of cities; -patriotism is the devotion to the city; men are -Athenians ere Grecians, Romans ere Italians. In -the next period, patriotism means affection for -the state, for the county, for the province; and -Burgundian, Norman and Fleming gave freely of -their breast-blood for Burgundy, Normandy and -Flanders; while we of to-day form the latest, but -not the last, link of the lengthening chain by -honouring, loving and serving the </span><em class="italics">country</em><span> above all -considerations, be they of tribe, or town, or tenure. -Yet I do not believe this to be the last, the highest, -the noblest form of patriotism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," continued Bab Azzoun, "this development -shall go on, ever expanding, ever mounting, -until, carried upon its topmost crest, we attain to -that height from which we can look down upon -the world as our country, humanity as our countrymen, -and he shall be the best patriot who is the -least patriotic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah-h, </span><em class="italics">fichtre</em><span>!" exclaimed Santander, listlessly, -throwing a cushion at Bab Azzoun's head; "</span><em class="italics">va te -coucher</em><span>. It's too hot to theorise; you're either a -great philosopher, Bab, or a large sized"—he -looked at him over the rim of his tin cup before -concluding—"idiot." ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Bab Azzoun had gone on talking in the -meanwhile, and now finishing with "and so you -must not blame me, if, looking upon them" (he -meant the Arabs) "and theirs, in this light, I find -this African campaign a sorry business for France -to be engaged in,—a vast and powerful government -terrorising into submission a horde of -half-starved fanatics," he yawned, "all of which is very -bad—very bad. Give me some more seltzer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were aroused by the sudden stoppage of the -scow. A detachment of "Zephyrs," near us upon -the right bank, scrambled together in a hollow -square. A battalion of Coulouglis, with </span><em class="italics">haik</em><span> and -</span><em class="italics">bournous</em><span> rippling, scuttled by us at a gallop, and -the Twenty-Third Chasseurs d'Afrique in the front -line halted at an "order" on the crest of a sand -ridge, which hid the horizon from sight. The -still, hot air of the Sahara was suddenly pervaded -with something that roused us to our feet in an -instant. Thévenot whipped out his ever-ready -sketch-book and began blocking in the landscape -and the position of the troops, while Santander -snatched his note-book and stylograph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of the scene which now gathered upon us, I -can remember little, only out of that dark chaos -can I rescue a few detached and fragmentary -impressions—all the more vivid, nevertheless, from -their isolation, all the more distinct from the grey -blur of the background against which they trace -themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instantly, somewhere disquietingly near, an -event, or rather a whirl of events that rushed and -writhed themselves together into a maze of dizzying -complexity, suddenly evolved and widened like -the fierce, quick rending open of some vast scroll, -and there were zigzag hurryings to and fro and -a surging heavenward of a torrent of noises, noises -of men and noises of feet, noises of horses and -noises of arms, noises that hustled fiercely upward -above the brown mass and closed together in the -desert air, blending or jarring one with another, -joining and separating, reuniting and dividing; -noises that rattled; noises that clanked; noises that -boomed, or shrilled, or thundered, or quavered. -And then came sight of blue-grey tumulous -curtains—but whether of smoke or dust, I could not -say, rumbling and billowing, bellying out with -the hot tempest-breath of the battle-demon that -raged within, and whose outermost fringes were -torn by serrated files of flashing steel and -wavering ranks of red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this was all at first. I knew we had -been attacked and that behind those boiling -smoke-billows, somewhere and somehow, men, infuriated -into beasts, were grappling and struggling, each -man, with every sinew on the strain, striving to kill -his fellow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now we were in the midst of a hollow -square of our soldiery, yet how we came there I -cannot recall, though I remember that the water -of the Jeliffe made my clothes heavy and -uncomfortable, although a mortal fear sat upon me of -being shot down by some of our own frenzied -soldiers. And then came that awful rib-cracking -pressure, as, from some outward, unseen cause, -the square was thrown back upon itself. And with -it all the smell of sweat of horses, and of men, -the odour of the powder-smoke, the blinding, -suffocating, stupefying clouds of dust, the horrible -fear, greater than all others, of being pushed down -beneath those thousands of trampling feet, the -pitch of excitement that sickens and weakens, the -momentary consciousness—vanishing as soon as -felt—that this was what men called "war," and -that we were experiencing the reality of what we -had so often read.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not inspiring; there was no romance, no -poetry about it; there was nothing in it but the -hideous jar, one against the other, of men drunk -with the blood-lust that eighteen hundred years -had not quenched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at Bab Azzoun; he was standing at the -gunwale of the scow (somehow we were back on -the scow again) with an unloaded pistol in his -hand. He was watching the battle on the bank. -His nostrils quivered, and he shifted his feet -exactly like an excited thorough-bred. On a -sudden, a trooper of the Eleventh Cuirassiers came -spinning round and round out of the brown of the -battle, gulping up blood, and pitched, wheezing, -face downwards, into the soft ooze where the river -licked at the bank, raising ruddy bubbles in the -water as he blew his life-breath in gasps into it, -and raking it into gridiron patterns as his quivering, -blue fingers closed into fists. Instantly afterward -came a mighty rush across the river beneath -our very bows. Forty-odd cuirassiers burst into it, -followed by eighty or a hundred Kabyles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I can recall just how the horse-hoofs rattled on -the saucer-like cakes of dry mud and flung them -up in countless fragments behind them. They -were a fine sight, those Kabyles, with their fierce, -red horses, their dazzling white </span><em class="italics">bournouses</em><span>, their -long, thin, murderous rifle-barrels, thundering and -splashing past, while from the whole mass of them, -from under the shadow of every white </span><em class="italics">haik</em><span>, from -every black-bearded lip, was rolling their war-cry: -"Allah, Allah-il-Allah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some long dormant recollections stirred in Bab -Azzoun at this old battle-shout. As he faced them -now, he was no longer the cold, cynical </span><em class="italics">boulevardier</em><span> -of the morning. He looked as he must have -looked when he played, a ten year-old boy, about -the feet of the horses in his father's black tent. -He saw the long lines of the </span><em class="italics">douars</em><span> of his native -home; he saw the camels, and the caravan crawling -toward the sunset; he saw the women grinding -meal; he saw his father, the bearded sheik; he saw -the Arab horsemen riding down to battle; he saw -the palm-broad spear-points and the blue yataghans. -In an instant of time all the long years of culture -and education were stripped away as a garment. -Once more he stood and stepped the Kabyle. And -with these recollections, his long-forgotten native -speech came rushing to his tongue, and in a long, -shrill cry, he answered his countrymen in their -own language:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allah-il-Allah, Mohammed ressoul Allah.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He passed me at a bound, leaped from the scow -upon the back of a riderless horse, and, mingling -with the Kabyles, rode out of sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that was the last I ever saw of Bab Azzoun.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-defense-of-the-flag"><em class="bold italics large">A Defense of the Flag</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It had been the celebration of the feast of the -Holy St. Patrick, and the various Irish societies -of the city had turned out in great force—Sons -of Erin, Fenians, Cork Rebels, and all. The -procession had formed on one of the main avenues -and had marched and countermarched up and -down through the American city; had been -reviewed by the mayor standing on the steps of the -City Hall and wearing a green sash; and had -finally disbanded in the afternoon in the business -quarter of the city. So that now the streets in -that vicinity were full of the perspiring members -of the parade, the emerald colour flashing in and -out of the slow moving maze of the crowd, like -strands of green in the warp and woof of a loom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were marshals of the procession, with -batons and big green rosettes, breathing easily once -more after the long agony of sitting upon a nervous -horse that walked sideways. There were the -occupants of the endless line of carriages, with -their green sashes, stretching their cramped and -stiffened legs. There were the members of the -various political clubs and secret societies, in their -one good suit of ready-made clothes, cotton gloves, -and silver-fringed scarfs. There was the little girl, -with green tassels on her boots, who had walked -by her father's side carrying a set bouquet of cut -flowers in a lace paper-holder. There was the -little boy who wore a green high hat, with a pipe -stuck in the brim, and who carried the water for -the band; and there were the members of the -groups upon the floats, with overcoats and sacques -thrown over their costumes and spangles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men were in great evidence in and around -the corner saloons talking aloud, smoking, drinking, -and spitting, and calling for "Jim," or "Connors," -or "Duffy," over the heads of the crowd, -and what with the speeches, and the beer, and the -frequent fights, and the appropriate damning of -England and the Orangemen, the day promised to -end in right spirit and proper mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It so came about that young Shotover, on his -way to his club, met with one of these groups near -the City Hall, and noticed that they continually -looked up towards its dome and seemed very -well pleased with what they saw there. After he -had passed them some little distance, Shotover, -as well, looked up in that direction and saw that -the Irish flag was flying from the staff above the cupola.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover was American-bred and American-born, -and his father and mother before him and -their father and mother before them, and so on -and back till one brought up in the hold of a ship -called the </span><em class="italics">Mayflower</em><span>, further back than which it -is not necessary to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He never voted. He did not know enough of -the trend of national politics even to bet on the -presidential elections. He did not know the names -of the aldermen of his city, nor how many votes -were controlled by the leaders of the Dirigo or -Comanche Clubs; but when he was told that the -Russian </span><em class="italics">moujik</em><span> or the Bulgarian serf, who had -lived for six months in America (long enough for -their votes to be worth three dollars), was as much -of an American citizen as himself, he thought of -the Shotovers who had framed the constitution in -'75, had fought for it in '13 and '64, and -wondered if this were so. He had a strange and -stubborn conviction that whatever was American -was right and whatever was right was American, -and that somehow his country had nothing to be -ashamed of in the past, nor afraid of in the future, -for all the monstrous corruptions and abuses that -obtained at present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But just now this belief had been rudely jarred, -and he walked on slowly to his club, the blood -gradually flushing his face up to the roots of his -hair. Once there, he sat for a long time in the big -bay-window, looking absently out into the street, -with eyes that saw nothing, very thoughtful. All -at once he took up his hat, clapped it upon his -head with the air of a man who has made up his -mind, and went out, turning in the direction of the City Hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whence arrived there, no one noticed him, for -he made it a point to walk with a brisk, determined -air, as though he were bent upon some especially -important business, "which I am," he said to -himself as he went on and up through tessellated -corridors, between court-rooms and offices of clerks, -commissioners, and collectors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a long time before he found the right -stairway, which was a circuitous, ladder-like flight -that wormed its way upward between the two walls -of the dome. The door leading to the stairway -was in a kind of garret above the top floor of the -building proper, and was sandwiched in between -coal-bunkers, water-tanks, and gas-meters. Shotover -tried it, and found it locked. He swore softly -to himself, and attempted to break it open. He -soon concluded that this would make too much -noise, and so turned about and descended to the -floor below. A negro, with an immense goitre and -a black velvet skull-cap, was cleaning the -woodwork outside a county commissioner's door. He -directed Shotover to the porter in the office of the -Weather Bureau, if he wished to go up in the -cupola for the view. It was after four by this -time, and Shotover found the porter of the -Weather Bureau piling the chairs on the tables and -sweeping out after office-hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well you see," said this one, "we don't allow -nobody to go up in the cupola. You can get a -permit from the architect's office, but I guess they'll -be shut up there by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm sorry," said Shotover; "I'm leaving -town to-morrow, and I particularly wanted to get -the view from the cupola. They say you can see -well out into the ocean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The porter had ignored him by this time, and -was sweeping up a great dust. Shotover waited a -moment. "You don't think I could arrange to get -up there this afternoon?" he went on. The porter -did not turn around.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't allow no one up there without a -permit," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," returned Shotover, "that you have -the keys?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have the keys, haven't you—the keys to -the door there at the foot of the stairs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't allow no one to go up there without -a permit. Didn't you hear me before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover took a five-dollar gold piece from his -pocket, laid it on the corner of a desk, and -contemplated it with reflective sadness. "I'm sorry," -he said; "I particularly wanted to see that view -before I left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you see," said the porter, straightening -up, "there was a young feller jumped off there -once, and a woman tried to do it a little while -after, and the officers in the police station -downstairs made us shut it up; but 's long as you only -want to see the view and don't want to jump off, -I guess it'll be all right," and he leaned one hand -against the edge of the desk and coughed slightly -behind the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he had been talking, Shotover had seen -between the two windows on the opposite side of -the room a very large wooden rack full of -pigeon-holes and compartments: The weather and -signal-flags were tucked away in these, but on the top -was a great folded pile of bunting. It was sooty -and grimy, and the new patches in it showed -violently white and clean. But Shotover saw, with a -strange and new catch at the heart, that it was -tri-coloured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will come along with me now, sir," said -the porter, "I'll open the door for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover let him go out of the room first, then -jumped to the other side of the room, snatched the -flag down, and, hiding it as best he could, followed -him out of the room. They went up the stairs -together. If the porter saw anything, he was wise -enough to keep quiet about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't bother about waiting for you," said -he, as he swung the door open. "Just lock the -door when you come down, and leave the key -with me at the office. If I ain't there, just give -it to the fellow at the news-stand on the first floor, -and I can get it in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," answered Shotover, "I will," and -he hugged the flag close to him, going up the -narrow stairs two at a time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a long while he came out on the narrow -railed balcony that ran around the lantern, and -paused for breath as he looked around and below -him. Then he turned quite giddy and sick for a -moment and clutched desperately at the hand-rail, -resisting a strong impulse to sit down and close his -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Seemingly insecure as a bubble, the great dome -rolled away from him on all sides down to the -buttresses around the drum, and below that the gulf -seemed endless, stretching down, down, down, to -the thin yellow ribbon of the street. Underneath -him, the City Hall itself dropped away, a confused -heap of tinned roofs, domes, chimneys, and cornices, -and beyond that lay the city itself spreading -out like a great gray map. Over it there hung a -greasy, sooty fog of a dark-brown color. In places -the higher buildings over-topped the fog. Here, -it was pierced by a slender church-spire. In -another place, a dome bulged up over it, or, again, -some sky-scraping office-building shouldered itself -above its level to the purer, cleaner air. Looking -down at the men in the streets, Shotover could see -only their feet moving back and forth underneath -their hat-brims as they walked. The noises of the -city reached him in a subdued and steady murmur, -and the strong wind that was blowing brought him -the smell of the vegetable-gardens in the suburbs, -the odour of trees and hay from the more distant -country, and occasionally a faint whiff of salt from -the ocean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sight was a sort of inspiration to Shotover. -The great American city, with its riches and -resources, boiling with the life and energy of a new -people, young, enthusiastic, ambitious, and so full -of hope and promise for the future, all striving -and struggling in the fore part of the march of -empire, building a new nation, a new civilisation, -a new world, while over it all floated the Irish flag.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover turned back, seized the halyards, and -brought the green banner down with a single -movement of his arm. Then he knotted the other -bundle of bunting to the cords and ran it up. As -it reached the top, the bundle twisted, turned on -itself, unfolded, suddenly caught the wind, and -then, in a single, long billow, rolled out into the -stars and bars of Old Glory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover shut his teeth against a cheer, and the -blood went tingling up and down through his -body to his very finger-tips. He looked up, -leaning his hand against the mast, and felt it quiver -and thrill as the great flag tugged at it. The sound -of the halyards rattling and snapping came to his -ears like music.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was not ashamed then to be enthusiastic, and -did not feel in the least melodramatic or absurd. -He took off his hat, and, as the great flag grew -out stiffer and snapped and strained in the wind, -looked up at it and said over softly to himself: -"Lexington, Valley Forge, Yorktown, Mexico, the -Alamo, 1812, Gettysburg, Shiloh, the Wilderness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the knot of people on the sidewalk -below, that had watched his doings, had grown -into a crowd. The green badge was upon every -breast, and there came to his ears a sound that was -out of chord with the minor drone, the worst sound -in the human gamut, the sound of an angry mob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The high, windy air and the excitement of the -occasion began to tell on Shotover, so that when -half an hour later there came a rush of many feet -up the stairway, and a crash upon the door that -led up to the lantern, he buttoned his coat tightly -around him, and shut his teeth and fists.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the door finally went down and the first -man jumped in, Shotover hit him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Terence Shannon told about this afterward. "It -was a birdie. Ah, but say, y' ought to of seen um. -He let go with his left, like de piston-rod of de -engine wot broke loose dat time at de power-house, -an' Duffy's had an eye like a fried egg iver since."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd paused, partly through surprise and -partly because the body of Mr. Duffy lay across -their feet and barred their way. There were about -a dozen of them, all more or less drunk. The one -exception was Terence Shannon, who was the -candidate of the boss of his ward for a number on the -force. In view of this fact, Shannon was trying -to preserve order. He took advantage of the -moment of hesitation to step in between Shotover -and the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aw, say, youse fellows rattle me slats, sure. -Do yer think the City Hall is the place to scrap, -wid the jug only two floors below? Ye'll be -havin' the whole shootin'-match of the force up -here in a minute. Maybe yer would like to sober -up in the 'hole in the wall.' Now just pipe -down quiet-like, an' swear um in reg'lar at the -station-house down-stairs. Ye've got a straight -disturbin'-the-peace case wid um. Ah, sure, -straight goods. I ain't givin' yer no gee-hee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the crowd stood its ground and glared at -Shotover over Shannon's head. Then Connors -yelled and drew out his revolver. "B'yes, we've -got a right," he exclaimed. "It's the boord av -alderman gave us the permit to show the green -flag of ould Ireland here to-day. It's him as is -breaking the law, not we, confound you." ("Confound -you" was not what Mr. Connors said).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's dead on," said Shannon, turning to Shotover. -"It's all ye kin do. Yer're actin' agin the law."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover did not answer, but breathed hard -through his nose, wondering at the state of things -that made it an offense against the American law -to protect the American flag. But all at once -Shannon passed him and drew his knife across the -halyards, and the great flag collapsed and sank -slowly down like a wounded eagle. The crowd -cheered, and Shannon said in Shotover's ear: -"'Twas to save yer life, me b'y. They're out for -blood, sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said Connors, using several altogether -impossible nouns and adjectives, "now run up the -green flag of ould Ireland again, or ye'll be sorry," -and he pointed his revolver at Shotover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," cried Shannon, in a low voice to -Shotover—"say, he's dead stuck on doin' you dirt. I -can't hold um. Aw, say, Connors, quit your foolin', -will you; put up your flashbox—put it up, -or—or—" But just here he broke off, and catching up -the green flag, threw it out in front of Shotover, -and cried, laughing, "Ye'll not have the heart to -shoot now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotover struck the flag to the ground, set his -foot on it, and catching up Old Glory again, flung -it round him and faced them, shouting:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Now shoot!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at this, in genuine terror, Shannon flung his -hat down and ran in front of Connors himself, -fearfully excited, and crying out: "F'r Gawd's sake, -Connors, you don't dast do it. Wake up, will yer, -it's mornin'. Do yer want to hiv' us all jugged -for twenty years? It's treason and rebellion, and -I don't now </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> all, for every mug in the gang, -if yer just so much as crook dat forefinger. Put -it up, ye damned fool. This is a cat w'at has -changed colour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something of the gravity of the situation had -forced its way through the clogged minds of the -others, and, as Shannon spoke the last words, -Connors's fore-arm was knocked up and he himself -was pulled back into the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You can not always foretell how one man is -going to act, but it is easy to read the intentions of -a crowd. Shotover saw a rush in the eyes of the -circle that was contracting about him, and turned -to face the danger and to fight for the flag as the -Shotovers of the old days had so often done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the books, the young aristocrat invariably -thrashes the clowns who set upon him. But somehow -Shotover had no chance with his clowns at all. -He hit out wildly into the air as they ran in, and -tried to guard against the scores of fists. But their -way of fighting was not that which he had learned -at his athletic club. They kicked him in the -stomach, and, when they had knocked him down, -stamped upon his face. It is hard to feel like a -martyr and a hero when you can't draw your -breath and when your mouth is full of blood and -dust and broken teeth. Accordingly Shotover gave -it up, and fainted away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the officers finally arrived, they made no -distinction between the combatants, but locked -them all up under the charge of "Drunk and Disorderly."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="toppan"><em class="bold italics large">Toppan</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Frederick Woodhouse Toppan -came out of Thibet and returned to the -world in general and to San Francisco -in particular, he began to know what it meant to -be famous. As he entered street cars and hotel -elevators he remarked a sudden observant silence -on the part of the other passengers. The -reporters became a real instead of a feigned -annoyance and the papers at large commenced speaking -of him by his last name only. He ceased to cut -out and paste in his scrap-book, everything that -was said of him in the journals and magazines. -People composed beforehand clever little things -to say to him when they were introduced, and he -was asked to indorse new soaps and patented -cereals. The great magazines of the country -wrote to him for more articles, and his "Through -the Highlands of Thibet", already in its fiftieth -thousand, was in everybody's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he was hardly thirty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To people who had preconceived ideas as to -what an Asiatic explorer should be like, Toppan -was disappointing. Where they expected to see -a "magnificent physique" in top boots and pith -helmet, flung at length upon lion skins, smoking -a nargile, they saw only a very much tanned young -gentleman, who wore a straw hat and russet -leather shoes just like any well dressed man of -the period. They felt vaguely defrauded because -he looked ordinary and stylish and knew what to -do with his hands and feet in a drawing-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had come to San Francisco for three reasons. -First because at that place he was fitting out an -expedition for Kamtchatka which was to be the -big thing of his life, and cause him to be spoken -of together with Speke, Nansen and Stanley; second -because the manager of the lecture bureau with -whom he had signed, had scheduled him to deliver -his two lectures there, as he had already done in -Boston, New York, and elsewhere; and, third -because Victoria Boyden lived there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Toppan got back, the rest of Victoria's -men friends shrank considerably when she -compared them with Toppan. They were of the -type who are in the insurance offices of fathers and -uncles during the winter, and in the summer are -to be found at the fashionable resorts, where they -idle languidly on the beaches in white flannels or -play "chopsticks" with the girls on the piano in the -hotel parlors. Here, however, was the first white -man who had ever crossed Thibet alive, who -knew what it meant to go four days without -water and who could explain to you the -difference between the insanity caused by the lack -of sleep and that brought about by a cobra-bite. -The men of Victoria's acquaintance never had -known what it was to go without two consecutive -meals, whereas Toppan at one time in the -Himalayas had lived for several weeks upon ten ounces -of camel meat per day, after the animals had died -under their burdens. Victoria's friends led -germans, Toppan led expeditions; their only fatigue -came from dancing. Upon one occasion on Mount -Everest, Toppan and his companions, caught in a -snow-storm where sleep meant death, had kept -themselves awake by chewing pipe-tobacco, and -rubbing the smarting juice in their eyes. He had -had experiences, the like of which none other of -her gentlemen friends had ever known and she had -cared for him from the first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When a man tells a girl that he loves her in a -voice that can speak in the dialects of the interior -Thibetan states around the Tengrinor lake, or -holds her hand in one that has been sunken deep -in the throat of a hunger-mad tiger, she cannot -well be otherwise than duly impressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To look at, Victoria was a queen. Just the -woman you would have chosen to be mated with a -man like Toppan, five feet, eleven in her tennis -shoes, with her head flung well back on her -shoulders, and the gait of a goddess; she could look -down on most men and in general suggested figures -of Brunehilde, Boadicea, or Berenice. But to -know her was to find her shallow as a sun-shrunken -mill-race, to discover that her brilliancy was the -cheapest glitter, and to realise that in every way -she was lamentably unsuited for the role of -Toppan's wife. And no one saw this so well as -Toppan himself. He knew that she did not -appreciate him at one-tenth his real value, that she -never could and never would understand him, and -that he was in every way too good for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As his wife he felt sure she would only be a -hindrance and a stumbling-block in the career that -he had planned for himself, if, indeed she did not -ruin it entirely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But first impressions were strong with him, and -because when he had first known her she had -seemed to be fit consort for an emperor, he had -gone on loving her as such ever since, making -excuses for her trivialities, her petty affectations, -her lack of interest in his life work, and even at -times her unconcealed ridicule of it. For one thing, -Victoria wanted him to postpone his expedition -for a year, in order that he might marry her, and -Toppan objected to this because he was so circumstanced -just then that to postpone meant to abandon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No man is stronger than his weakest point. -Toppan's weak point was Victoria Boyden, and -he acknowledged to himself with a good deal of -humiliation that he could not make up his mind -to break with her. Perhaps he is not to be too -severely blamed for this. Living so much apart -from women as he did and plunged for such long -periods into an atmosphere so entirely different -from that of ordinary society, he had come to feel -intensely where he felt at all, and had lost the -faculty possessed by the more conventional, of easy -and ephemeral change from one interest to -another. Most of Victoria's admirers in a like case, -would have lit a cigarette and walked off the -passion between dawn and dark in one night. But -Toppan could not do this. It was the one weak -strain in his build, "the little rift within the lute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of the natural consequences of their -intercourse was that they were never happy together -and hailed with hardly concealed relief the advent -of a third person. They had absolutely no -interests in common, and their meetings were made -up of trivial bickerings. They generally parted -quarrelling, and then immediately sat down to -count the days until they should meet again. I -have no doubt they loved each other well enough, -but somehow they were not made to be mated—and -that was all there was about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the month before the Kamtchatka -expedition sailed Toppan worked hard. He -commanded jointly with Bushby, a lieutenant in the -Civil Engineer Corps, and the two toiled from the -dawn of one morning till the dawn of the next, -perfecting the last details of their undertaking; -correcting charts, lading rifles and ammunition, -experimenting with beef extracts and pemmican, -and corresponding with geographical societies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through it all Toppan found time to revise his -notes for his last lecture, and to call upon Victoria -twice a week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On one of these occasions he said; "How do -you get on with my book, Vic, pretty stupid -reading?" He had sent her from Bombay the first -copy that his London publishers had forwarded to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," she answered, "I like it very much, -do you know it has all the fascination of a novel -for me. Your style is just as clear and strong as -can be, and your descriptions of scenery and the -strange and novel bits of human nature in such -an unfrequented corner of the globe are much more -interesting than the most imaginative and carefully -elaborated fiction; those botanical and zoological -data must be invaluable to scientific men, I should -think; but of course I can't understand them very -well. How do you do it, Fred? It is certainly -very wonderful. One would think that you were -a born writer as well as explorer. But now see -here, Freddy; I want to talk to you again about -putting off your trip to—what do you call it—for -just a year, for my sake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After they had wrangled over this oft-mooted -question they parted coldly, and Toppan went -away feeling aroused and unhappy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night he and Bushby were making a chemical -analysis of a new kind of smokeless powder. -Bushby poured out a handful of saltpeter and -charcoal upon a leaf torn from a back number of -the </span><em class="italics">Scientific Weekly</em><span> and slid it across the table -towards him. "Now when you burn this stuff," -remarked Toppan, spreading it out upon the table -with his finger, "you get a reaction of -2KNO3+3C=CO2+CO+, I forget the rest. Get out your -formulae in the bookcase there behind you, will -you, and look it up for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While Bushby was fingering the leaves of the -volume, Toppan caught sight of his name on the -leaf of the </span><em class="italics">Scientific Weekly</em><span> which held the -mixture. Looking closely he saw that it occurred in a -criticism of his book which he had not yet seen. -He brushed the charcoal and saltpeter to one side -and ran his eyes over the lines:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Toppan's great work," said the writer, "is a -book not only for the scientist but for all men. -Though dealing to a great extent with the -technicalities of geography, geology, and the sister -sciences, the author has known how to throw his -thoughts and observations into a form of -remarkable lightness and brilliancy. In Toppan's hands -the book has all the fascination of a novel. His: -style is clear and strong, and his descriptions of -scenery, and of the weird and unusual phases of -human nature to be met with in such an unfrequented -corner of the globe are much more interesting -than most of the imaginative and carefully -elaborated romances of adventure in the present -day. His botanical and zoological data will be -invaluable to scientific men. It is rare we find the -born explorer a born writer as well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he read, Toppan's heart grew cold within his -ribs. "She must have learnt it like a parrot," he -mused. "I wonder if she even"—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Equals CO2+CO+N3+KCO3," said Bushby -turning to the table again, "come on, old man, -hurry up and let's get through with this. It's -nearly three o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next evening Toppan was to deliver his -lecture at the Grand Opera House, but in the -afternoon he called upon Victoria with a purpose. She -was out at the time but he determined to wait for -her, and sat down in the drawing-room until she -should come. Presently he saw his book with its -marbled cover—familiar to him now as the face -of a child to its father,—lying conspicuously upon -the center table. It was the copy he had mailed to -her from Bombay. He picked it up and ran over -the leaves; not one of them had been cut. He -replaced the book upon the table and left the -house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night the Grand Opera House was packed -to the doors and the street in front was full of -hoarse, over-worked policemen and wailing -coachmen. The awning was out over the sidewalk and -the steps of the church across the street were -banked with row upon row of watching faces. It -was known that this was to be the last lecture of -Toppan's before he plunged into the wilderness -again, and that the world would not see him for -five years. The mayor of the city introduced him -in a speech that was too long, and then Toppan -stood up and faced the artillery of opera-glasses, -and tried not to look into the right-hand proscenium -box that held Victoria Boyden and her party.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kept the audience spell-bound for an hour, -while he forgot his useless notes, forgot his hearers -and the circumstances of time and place, forgot -about Victoria Boyden and their mean little -squabbles and remembered only that he was Toppan, the -great explorer, who had led his men through the -interior of Thibet, and had lived to tell it to these -people now before him. For an hour he made the -people too, forget themselves in him and his story, -till they felt something of what he had felt on those -occasions when Hope was a phantom scattering -chaff, when Resolve wore thin under friction of -disaster, when the wheels of Life ran very low and -men thanked God that they </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> die. For an -hour he led them steadily into the heart of the -unknown: the twilight of the unseen. Then he had -an inspiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had worked himself up to a mood wherein -he was himself at his very best, when his chosen -life-work made all else seem trivial and the desire -to do great things was big within him. In this -mood he somehow happened to remember Victoria -Boyden, which he should not have done because she -was not to be thought of in connection with great -deeds and high resolves. But just at that moment -Toppan felt his strength and knew how great he -really was, and how small and belittled she seemed -in comparison. She had practiced a small -deception upon him, had done him harm and would do -him more. He suddenly resolved to break with her -at that very moment and place while he was strong -and able to do it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did it by cleverly working into his talk a -little story whose real meaning no one but Victoria -understood. For the audience it was but a bright -little bit of folk-lore of upper India. For Victoria, -he might as well have struck her across the face. -It was cruel; it was even vulgarly cruel, which is -brutal, it was vindictive and perhaps cowardly, but -the man was smarting under a long continued -bitterness and he had at last turned and with closed -eyes struck back savagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The exalted mood which had brought this about, -was with him during the rest of the evening, was -with him when he drove back to his rooms in his -coupe with Bushby, and was with him as he flung -himself to bed and went to sleep with a deep sigh -of relief for that it was now over and done with -forever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it left him during the night and he awoke -the next morning to a realisation of what he had -done and of all he had lost. He began by -remembering Victoria as he had first known her, by -recalling only what was good in her, and by -palliating all that was bad. From this starting point -he went on till he was in an agony of grief and -remorse and ended by lashing himself into the -belief that Victoria had been his inspiration and -had given zest and interest to every thing he had -done. Now he bitterly regretted that he had -thrown her over. He had never in his life before -loved her so much. He was unfitted for work -during all that day and passed the next night in -unavailing lamentations. His morning's mail -brought him face to face with the crisis of his life. -It came in the shape of a letter from Victoria -Boyden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very thick and a very heavy letter and -she must have spent most of the previous day in -writing it. He was surprised that she should have -written him at all after what had passed on that -other evening, but he was deeply happy as well -because he knew precisely what the letter would be, -before he opened it. It would be a petition for his -forgiveness and a last attempt to win him back to -her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Toppan knew that she would succeed. He -knew that in his present mood he would make any -sacrifice for her sake. He foresaw that her appeal -would be too strong for him. That was, if he -opened and read her letter. Just now the question -was, should he do it? If he read that letter he -knew that he was lost, his career would stop where -it was. To be great he had only to throw it -unopened into the fire; yes, but to be great without -her, was it worth the while? What would fame -and honour and greatness be, without her? He -realised that the time had come to choose between -her and his career and that it all depended upon -the opening of her letter. Two hours later, he -flung himself down before his table and took her -letter in his hand. His fingers itched for the touch -of it. Close to his elbow lay a little copper knife -with poison grooves, such as are used by the -Hill-tribes in the Kuen-Lun mountains. Toppan kept it -for a paper cutter; just now he picked it up. For a -long time he remained sitting, holding Victoria's -letter in one hand, the little knife in the other. -Then he put the point under the flap of the envelope -and slowly cut it open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two weeks later the Kamtchatka Expedition -sailed with Bushby in command. Toppan did not -go; he was married to Victoria Boyden that Fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Last season I met Toppan at Coronado Beach. -The world has about forgotten him now, but he is -quite content as he is. He is head clerk in old -Mr. Boyden's insurance office and he plays a capital -game of tennis.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-caged-lion"><em class="bold italics large">A Caged Lion</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In front of the entrance a "spieler" stood on -a starch-box and beat upon a piece of tin -with a stick, and we weakly succumbed to his -frenzied appeals and went inside. We did this, I -am sure, partly to please the "spieler," who would -have been dreadfully disappointed if we had not -done so, but partly, too, to please Toppan, who -was always interested in the great beasts and liked -to watch them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is possible that you may remember Toppan -as the man who married Victoria Boyden, and, in -so doing, thrust his greatness from him and became -a bank clerk instead of an explorer. After he -married, he came to be quite ashamed of what he -had done in Thibet and Africa and other unknown -corners of the earth, and, after a while, very -seldom spoke of that part of his life at all; or, -when he did, it was only to allude to it as a passing -boyish fancy, altogether foolish and silly, like -calf-love and early attempts at poetry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I used to think I was going to set the world -on fire at one time," he said once; "I suppose -every young fellow has some such ideas. I only -made an ass of myself, and I'm glad I'm well out -of it. Victoria saved me from that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But this was long afterward. He died hard, -and sometimes he would have moments of strength -in his weakness, just as before he had given up his -career during a moment of weakness in his -strength. During the first years after he had given -up his career, he thought he was content with the -way things had come to be; but it was not so, and -now and then the old feeling, the love of the old -life, the old ambition, would be stirred into activity -again by some sight, or sound, or episode in the -conventional life around him. A chance paragraph -in a newspaper, a sight of the Arizona deserts of -sage and cactus, a momentary panic on a ferry-boat, -sometimes even fine music or a great poem -would wake the better part of him to the desire -of doing great things. At such times the longing -grew big and troublous within him to cut loose -from it all and get back to those places of the earth -where there were neither months nor years, and -where the days of the week had no names; where -he could feel unknown winds blowing against his -face and unnamed mountains rising beneath his -feet; where he could see great, sandy, stony -stretches of desert with hot, blue shadows, and -plains of salt, and thickets of jungle-grass, broken -only by the lairs of beasts and the paths the -steinbok make when they go down to water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The most trifling thing would recall all this to -him, just as a couple of notes have recalled to you -whole arias and overtures. But with Toppan it -was as though one had recalled the arias and the -overtures and then was not allowed to sing them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We went into the arena and sat down. The -ring in the middle was fenced in by a great, circular, -iron cage. The tiers of seats rose around this, -a band was playing in a box over the entrance, -and the whole interior was lighted by an electric -globe slung over the middle of the cage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Inside the cage a brown bear—to me less -suggestive of a wild animal than of lap-robes and -furriers' signs—was dancing sleepily and allowing -himself to be prodded by a person whose celluloid -standing-collar showed white at the neck above -the green of his Tyrolese costume. The bear was -mangy, and his steel muzzle had chafed him, and -Toppan said he was corrupted of moth and rust -alike, and the audience applauded but feebly when -he and his keeper withdrew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After this we had a clown-elephant, dressed in -a bib and tucker and vast baggy breeches—like -those of a particularly big French </span><em class="italics">Turco</em><span>—who -had lunch with his keeper, and rang the bell and -drank his wine and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief -like a bed-quilt, and pulled the chair from -underneath his companion, seeming to be amused -at it all with a strange sort of suppressed -elephantine mirth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, after they had both made their bow -and gone out, in bounded and tumbled the dogs, -barking and grinning all over, jumping up on their -stools and benches, wriggling and pushing one -another about, giggling and excited like so many -kindergarten children on a show-day. I am sure -they enjoyed their performance as much as the -audience did, for they never had to be told what -to do, and seemed only too eager for their turn -to come. The best of it all was that they were -quite unconscious of the audience and appeared to -do their tricks for the sake of the tricks themselves, -and not for the applause which followed them. -And then, after the usual programme of wicker -cylinders, hoops, and balls was over, they all -rushed off amid a furious scrattling of paws and -filliping of tails and heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While this was going on, we had been hearing -from time to time a great sound, half-whine, -half-rumbling guttural cough, that came from -somewhere behind the exit from the cage. It was -repeated at rapidly decreasing intervals, and grew -lower in pitch until it ended in a short bass grunt. -It sounded cruel and menacing, and when at its -full volume the wood of the benches under us -thrilled and vibrated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a little pause in the programme -while the arena was cleared and new and much -larger and heavier paraphernalia was set about, -and a gentleman in a frock coat and a very -shiny hat entered and announced "the world's -greatest lion-tamer." Then he went away and the -tamer came in and stood expectantly by the side -of the entrance, there was another short wait and -the band struck a long minor chord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then they came in, one after the other, with -long, crouching, lurching strides, not at all -good-humouredly, like the dogs, or the elephant, or -even the bear, but with low-hanging heads, surly, -watchful, their eyes gleaming with the rage and -hate that burned in their hearts and that they -dared not vent. Their loose, yellow hides rolled -and rippled over the great muscles as they moved, -and the breath coming from their hot, half-open, -mouths turned to steam as it struck the air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A huge, blue-painted see-saw was dragged out -to the centre, and the tamer made a sharp sound -of command. Slowly, and with twitching tails, -two of them obeyed and clambering upon the -balancing-board swung up and down, while the -music played a see-saw waltz. And all the while -their great eyes flamed with the detestation of the -thing and their black upper lips curled away from -their long fangs in protest of this hourly renewed -humiliation and degradation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And one of the others, while waiting his turn -to be whipped and bullied, sat up on his haunches -and faced us and looked far away beyond us over -the heads of the audience—over the continent and -ocean, as it were—as though he saw something -in that quarter that made him forget his present -surroundings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You grand old brute," muttered Toppan; and -then he said: "Do you know what you would see -if you were to look into his eyes now? You -would see Africa, and unnamed mountains, and -great stony stretches of desert, with hot blue -shadows, and plains of salt, and lairs in the -jungle-grass, and lurking places near the paths the -steinbok make when they go down to water. But now -he's hampered and caged—is there anything worse -than a caged lion?—and kept from the life he -loves and was made for"—just here the tamer -spoke sharply to him, and his eyes and crest -drooped—"and ruled over," concluded Toppan, -"by some one who is not so great as he, who has -spoiled what was best in him and has turned his -powers to trivial, resultless uses—some one weaker -than he, yet stronger. Ah, well, old brute, it was -yours once, we will remember that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They wheeled out a clumsy velocipede, built -expressly for him, and, while the lash whistled and -snapped about him, the conquered king heaved -himself upon it and went around and around the -ring, while the band played a quick-step, the -audience broke into applause, and the tamer smirked -and bobbed his well-oiled head. I thought of -Samson performing for the Philistines and Thusnelda -at the triumph of Germanicus. The great beasts, -grand though conquered, seemed to be the only -dignified ones in the whole business. I hated the -audience who saw their shame from behind iron -bars; I hated myself for being one of them; and -I hated the smug, sniggering tamer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This latter had been drawing out various stools -and ladders, and now arranged the lions upon -them so they should form a pyramid, with himself -on top.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he swung himself up among them, with -his heels upon their necks, and, taking hold of -the jaws of one, wrenched them apart with a great -show of strength, turning his head to the audience -so that all should see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And just then the electric light above him -cackled harshly, guttered, dropped down to a -pencil of dull red, then went out, and the place was -absolutely dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The band stopped abruptly with a discord, and -there was an instant of silence. Then we heard -the stools and ladders clattering as the lions leaped -down, and straightway four pairs of lambent green -spots burned out of the darkness and traveled -swiftly about here and there, crossing and -recrossing one another like the lights of steamers in -a storm. Heretofore, the lions had been sluggish -and inert; now they were aroused and alert in an -instant, and we could hear the swift pad-pad of -their heavy feet as they swung around the arena -and the sound of their great bodies rubbing against -the bars of the cage as one and the other passed -nearer to us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I don't the think the audience at all appreciated -the situation at first, for no one moved or seemed -excited, and one shrill voice suggested that the -band should play "When the electric lights go out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep perfectly quiet, please!" called the tamer -out of the darkness, and a certain peculiar ring in -his voice was the first intimation of a possible -danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Toppan knew; and as we heard the tamer -fumbling for the catch of the gate, which he -somehow could not loose in the darkness, he said, with -a rising voice: "He wants to get that gate open -pretty quick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But for their restless movements the lions were -quiet; they uttered no sound, which was a bad -sign. Blinking and dazed by the garish blue -whiteness of a few moments before, they could -see perfectly now where the tamer was blind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," said Toppan. Near to us, and on the -inside of the cage, we could hear a sound as of -some slender body being whisked back and forth -over the surface of the floor. In an instant I -guessed what it was; one of the lions was crouched -there, whipping his sides with his tail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When he stops that he'll spring," said Toppan, -excitedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring a light, Jerry—quick!" came the tamer's -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>People were clambering to their feet by this -time, talking loud, and we heard a woman cry out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please keep as quiet as possible, ladies and -gentlemen!" cried the tamer; "it won't do to -excite—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the direction of the voice came the sound -of a heavy fall and a crash that shook the iron -gratings in their sockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got him!" shouted Toppan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then what a scene! In that thick darkness -every one sprang up, stumbling over the seats and -over each other, all shouting and crying out, -suddenly stricken with a panic fear of something they -could not see. Inside the barred death-trap every -lion suddenly gave tongue at once, until the air -shook and sang in our ears. We could hear the -great cats hurling themselves against the bars, and -could see their eyes leaving brassy streaks against -the darkness as they leaped. Two more sprang -as the first had done toward that quarter of the -cage from which came sounds of stamping and -struggling, and then the tamer began to scream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think that so long as I shall live I shall not -forget the sound of the tamer's scream. He did -not scream as a woman would have done, from -the head, but from the chest, which sounded so -much worse that I was sick from it in a second with -that sickness that weakens one at the pit of the -stomach and along the muscles at the back of the -legs. He did not pause for a second. Every -breath was a scream, and every scream was alike, -and one heard through it all the long snarls of -satisfied hate and revenge, muffled by the man's -clothes and the </span><em class="italics">rip, rip</em><span> of the cruel, blunt claws.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hearing it all in the dark, as we did, made it all -the more dreadful. I think for a time I must have -taken leave of my senses. I was ready to vomit -for the sickness that was upon me, and I beat my -hands raw upon the iron bars or clasped them over -my ears, against the sounds of the dreadful thing -that was doing behind them. I remember praying -aloud that it might soon be over, so only those -screams might be stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as though it had gone on for hours, -when some men rushed in with a lantern and long, -sharp irons. A hundred voices cried: "Here he -is, over here!" and they ran around outside the -cage and threw the light of the lantern on a place -where a heap of grey, gold-laced clothes writhed -and twisted beneath three great bulks of fulvous -hide and bristling black mane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The irons were useless. The three furies -dragged their prey out of their reach and crouched -over it again and recommenced. No one dared to -go into the cage, and still the man lived and -struggled and screamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I saw Toppan's fingers go to his mouth, and -through that medley of dreadful noises there issued -a sound that, sick as I was, made me shrink anew -and close my eyes and teeth and shudder as though -some cold slime had been poured through the -hollow of my bones where the marrow should be. -It was as the noise of the whistling of a fine -whiplash, mingled with the whirr of a locust magnified -a hundred times, and ended in an abrupt clacking -noise thrice repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At once I remembered where I had heard it -before, because, having once heard the hiss of an -aroused and angry serpent, no child of Eve can -ever forget it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound that now came from between Toppan's -teeth and that filled the arena from wall to -wall, was the sound that I had heard once before -in the Paris Jardin des Plantes at feeding-time—the -sound made by the great constrictors, when -their huge bodies are looped and coiled like a -</span><em class="italics">reata</em><span> for the throw that never misses, that never -relaxes, and that no beast of the field is built strong -enough to withstand. All the filthy wickedness -and abominable malice of the centuries since the -Enemy first entered into that shape that crawls, -was concentrated in that hoarse, whistling -hiss—a hiss that was cold and piercing like an -icicle-made sound. It was not loud, but had in it some -sort of penetrating quality that cut through the -waves of horrid sounds about us, as the -snake-carved prow of a Viking galley might have cut -its way through the tumbling eddies of a tide-rip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the second repetition the lions paused. None -better than they knew what was the meaning of -that hiss. They had heard it before in their native -hunting-grounds in the earlier days of summer, -when the first heat lay close over all the jungle like -the hollow of the palm of an angry god. Or if -they themselves had not heard it, their sires before -them had, and the fear of the thing bred into -their bones suddenly leaped to life at the sound -and gripped them and held them close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When for a third time the sound sung and -shrilled in their ears, their heads drew between -their shoulders, their great eyes grew small and -glittering, the hackles rose, and stiffened on their -backs, their tails drooped, and they backed slowly -to the further side of the cage and cowered there, -whining and beaten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Toppan wiped the sweat from the inside of his -hands and went into the cage with the keepers and -gathered up the panting, broken body, with its -twitching fingers and dead, white face and ears, -and carried it out. As they lifted it, the handful -of pitiful medals dropped from the shredded grey -coat and rattled down upon the floor. In the -silence that had now succeeded, it was about the -only sound one heard.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As we sat that evening on the porch of Toppan's -house, in a fashionable suburb of the city, he said, -for the third time: "I had that trick from a -Mpongwee headman," and added: "It was while -I was at Victoria Falls, waiting to cross the -Kalahari Desert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he continued, his eyes growing keener and -his manner changing: "There is some interesting -work to be done in that quarter by some one. You -see, the Kalahari runs like this"—he drew the lines -on the ground with his cane—"coming down in -something like this shape from the Orange River -to about the twentieth parallel south. The aneroid -gives its average elevation about six hundred feet. -I didn't cross it at the time, because we had -sickness and the porters cut. But I made a lot of -geological observations, and from these I have -built up a theory that the Kalahari is no desert at -all, but a big, well-watered plateau, with higher -ground on the east and west. The tribes, too, -thereabout call the place </span><em class="italics">Linoka-Noka</em><span>, and that's -the Bantu for rivers upon rivers. They're nasty, -though, these Bantu, and gave us a lot of trouble. -They have a way of spitting little poisoned thorns -into you unawares, and your tongue swells up and -turns blue and your teeth fall out and—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His wife Victoria came out to us in evening dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Vic," said Toppan, jumping up, with a -very sweet smile, "we were just talking about your -paper-german next Tuesday, and </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> think we might -have some very pretty favours made out of white -tissue-paper—roses and butterflies, you know."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="this-animal-of-a-buldy-jones"><span class="bold large">"</span><em class="bold italics large">This Animal of a Buldy Jones</em><span class="bold large">"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We could always look for fine fighting at -Julien's of a Monday morning, because -at that time the model was posed for the -week and we picked out the places from which to -work. Of course the first ten of the </span><em class="italics">esquisse</em><span> men -had first choice. So, no matter how early you got -up and how resolutely you held to your first row -tabouret, chaps like Rounault, or Marioton, or the -little Russian, whom we nicknamed "Choubersky," -or Haushaulder, or the big American—"This -Animal of a Buldy Jones"—all strong </span><em class="italics">esquisse</em><span> men, -could always chuck you out when they came, which -they did about ten o'clock, when everything had -quieted down. When two particularly big, -quick-tempered, obstinate, and combative men try to -occupy, simultaneously, a space twelve inches -square, it gives rise to complications. We used to -watch and wait for these fights (after we had been -chucked out ourselves), and make things worse, and -hasten the crises by getting upon the outskirts of -the crowd that thronged about the disputants and -shoving with all our mights. Then one of the -disputants would be jostled rudely against the -other, who would hit him in the face, and then -there would be a wild hooroosh and a clatter of -overturned easels and the flashing of whitened -knuckles and glimpses of two fierce red faces over -the shoulders of the crowd, and everything would -be pleasant. Then, perhaps, you would see an -allusion in the Paris edition of the next morning's -"</span><em class="italics">Herald</em><span>" to "the brutal and lawless students."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I remember particularly one fight—quite the best -I ever saw at Julien's or elsewhere, for the matter -of that. It was between Haushaulder and Gilet. -Haushaulder was a Dane, and six feet two. Gilet -was French, and had a waist like Virginie's. But -Gilet had just come back from his three years' -army service, and knew all about the savate. They -squared off at each other, Gilet spitting like a cat, -and Haushaulder grommelant under his mustache. -"This Animal of a Buldy Jones," the big American, -bellowed to separate them, for it really looked -like a massacre. And then, all at once, Gilet spun -around, bent over till his finger-tips touched the -floor, and balancing on the toe, lashed out -backwards with his leg at Haushaulder, like any cayuse. -The heel of his boot caught the Dane on the point -of the chin. An hour and forty minutes later, -when Haushaulder recovered consciousness and -tried to speak, we found that the tip of his tongue -had been sliced off between his teeth as if by a pair -of scissors. It was a really unfortunate affair, and -the government very nearly closed the atelier -because of it. But "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" -gave us all his opinion of the savate, and -announced that the next man who savated from any -cause whatever "</span><em class="italics">aurait affaire avec lui, oui, avec -lui, cre nom!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Heavens! No one </span><em class="italics">aimerait avoir affaire avec -cette animal de</em><span> Buldy Jones. He was from -Chicago (but, of course, he couldn't help that!), -and was taller than even Haushaulder, and much -broader. The desire for art had come upon him -all of a sudden while he was studying law at -Columbia. For "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" -had gone into law after leaving Yale. Here we -touch his great weakness. He was a Yale man! -Why, he was prouder of that fact than he was of -being an American, or even a Chicagoan—and that -is saying much. Why, he couldn't talk of Yale -without his face flushing. Why, Yale was almost -more to him than his mother. I remember, at the -students' ball at Bulliers, he got the Americans -together, and with infinite trouble taught us all the -Yale "yell", which he swore was a transcript from -Aristophanes, and for three hours he gravely -headed a procession that went the rounds of a hall -howling "Brek! Kek! Kek! Kek! Co-ex!" and -all the rest of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More than that, "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" -had pitched on his Varsity baseball nine. In his -studio—quite the swellest in the Quarter, by the -way—he had a collection of balls that he had -pitched in match games at different times, and he -used to show them to us reverently, and if we were -his especial friends, would allow us to handle them. -They were all written over with names and dates. -He would explain them to us one by one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This one," he would say, "I pitched in the -Princeton game, and here's two I pitched in the -Harvard game—hard game that—our catcher gave -out—guess he couldn't hold me" (with a grin of -pride), "and Harvard made it interesting for me -until the fifth inning; then I made two men fan -out one after the other, and then, just to show 'em -what I could do, filled the bases, got three balls -called on me, and then pitched two inshoots and -an outcurve, just as hard as I could deliver. Printz -of Harvard was at the bat. He struck at every -one of them—and fanned out. Here's the ball I -did it with. Yes, sir. Oh, I can pitch a ball all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now think of that! Here was this man, "This -Animal of a Buldy Jones," a Beaux Arts man, one -of the best colour and line men on our side, who -had three </span><em class="italics">esquisses</em><span> and five figures "on the wall" -at Julien's (any Paris art student will know what -that means), and yet the one thing he was proud of, -the one thing he cared to be admired for, the one -thing he loved to talk about, was the fact that he -had pitched for the Yale 'varsity baseball nine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this by way of introduction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder how many Julien men there are left -who remember the </span><em class="italics">affaire</em><span> Camme? Plenty, I make -no doubt, for the thing was a monumental character. -I heard Roubault tell it at the "Dead Rat" -just the other day. "Choubersky" wrote to "The -Young Pretender" that he heard it away in the -interior of Morocco, where he had gone to paint -doorways, and Adler, who is now on the "Century" -staff, says it's an old story among the illustrators. -It has been bandied about so much that there is -danger of its original form being lost. Wherefore -it is time that it should be brought to print.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now Camme, be it understood, was a filthy -little beast—a thorough-paced, blown-in-the-bottle -blackguard with not enough self-respect to keep -him sweet through a summer's day—a rogue, a -bug—anything you like that is sufficiently insulting; -besides all this, and perhaps because of it, he was -a duelist. He loved to have a man slap his -face—some huge, big-boned, big-hearted man, who knew -no other weapons but his knuckles. Camme would -send him his card the next day, with a message to -the effect that it would give him great pleasure to -try and kill the gentleman in question at a certain -time and place. Then there would be a lot of -palaver, and somehow the duel would never come off, -and Camme's reputation as a duelist would go up -another peg, and the rest of us—beastly little -rapins that we were—would hold him in increased -fear and increased horror, just as if he were a -rattler in coil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, the row began one November morning—a -Monday—and, of course, it was over the allotment -of seats. Camme had calmly rubbed out the -name of "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" from the -floor, and had chalked his own in its place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, Bouguereau had placed the </span><em class="italics">esquisse</em><span> of -"This Animal of a Buldy Jones" fifth, the -precedence over Camme.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Camme invented reasons for a different -opinion, and presented them to the whole three -ateliers at the top of his voice and with unclean -allusions. We were all climbing up on the taller -stools by this time, and Virginie, who was the model -of the week, was making furtive signs at us to give -the crowd a push, as was our custom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camme was going on at a great rate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ah, farceur! Ah, espece de volveur, crapaud, -va; c'est a moi cette place la Saligaud va te -prom'ner, va faire des copies au Louvre.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be told to go and make copies in the Louvre -was in our time the last insult. "This Animal of a -Buldy Jones," this sometime Yale pitcher, towering -above the little frog-like Frenchman, turned to the -crowd, and said, in grave concern, his forehead -puckered in great deliberation:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know, precisely, that which it is -necessary to do with this kind of a little toad of two -legs. I do not know whether I should spank him -or administer the good kick of the boot. I believe -I shall give him the good kick of the boot. Hein!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned Camme around, held him at arm's -length, and kicked him twice severely. Next day, -of course, Camme sent his card, and four of us -Americans went around to the studio of "This -Animal of a Buldy Jones" to have a smoke-talk -over it. Robinson was of the opinion to ignore the -matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, we can't do that," said Adler; "these -beastly continentals would misunderstand. Can -you shoot, Buldy Jones?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only deer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fence?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a little bit. Oh, let's go and punch the -wadding out of him, and be done with it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! No! He should be humiliated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you what—let's guy the thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up a fake duel and make him seem ridiculous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got the choice of weapons, Buldy Jones."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fight him with hat-pins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, let's go punch the wadding out of him—he -makes me tired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horse" Wilson, who hadn't spoken, suddenly -broke in with:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, listen to me, you other fellows. Let me -fix this thing. Buldy Jones, I must be one of your -seconds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Soit!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to Camme, and say like this: 'This -Animal of a Buldy Jones' has the naming of -weapons. He comes from a strange country, near -the Mississippi, from a place called Shee-ka-go, and -there it is not considered etiquette to fight either -with a sword or pistol; it is too common. However, -when it is necessary that balls should be -exchanged in order to satisfy honour, a curious -custom is resorted to. Balls are exchanged, but not -from pistols. They are very terrible balls, large as -an apple, and of adamantine hardness. 'This -Animal of a Buldy Jones,' even now has a collection. -No American gentleman of honour travels without -them. He would gladly have you come and make -first choice of a ball while he will select one from -among those you leave. </span><em class="italics">Sur le terrain</em><span>, you will -deliver these balls simultaneously toward each -other, repeating till one or the other adversary -drops. Then honour can be declared satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and do you suppose that Camme will listen -to such tommy rot as that?" remarked "This -Animal of a Buldy Jones." "I think I'd better just -punch his head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen to it? Of course he'll listen to it. You've -no idea what curious ideas these continentals have -of the American duel. You can't propose anything -so absurd in the dueling line that they won't give it -serious thought. And besides, if Camme won't -fight this way we'll tell him that you will have a -Mexican duel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tie your left wrists together, and fight with -knives in your right hand. That'll scare the tar -out of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And it did. The seconds had a meeting at the -cafe of the </span><em class="italics">Moulin Rouge</em><span>, and gave Camme's -seconds the choice of the duel Yale or the duel -Mexico. Camme had no wish to tie himself to a -man with a knife in his hand, and his seconds came -the next day and solemnly chose a league ball—one -that had been used against the Havard nine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Will I—will any of us ever forget that duel? -Camme and his people came upon the ground -almost at the same time as we. It was behind the -mill of Longchamps, of course. Roubault was one -of Camme's seconds, and he carried the ball in a -lacquered Japanese tobacco-jar—gingerly as if it -were a bomb. We were quick getting to work. -Camme and "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" were -each to take his baseball in his hand, stand back to -back, walk away from each other just the distance -between the pitcher's box and the home plate (we -had seen to that), turn on the word, and—deliver -their balls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you feel?" I whispered to our principal, -as I passed the ball into his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel just as if I was going into a match game, -with the bleachers full to the top and the boys -hitting her up for Yale. We ought to give the -yell, y' know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's the ball?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bit soft and not quite round. Bernard of the -Harvard nine hit the shape out of it in a drive -over our left field, but it'll do all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This Animal of a Buldy Jones" bent and -gathered up a bit of dirt, rubbed the ball in it, and -ground it between his palms. The man's arms -were veritable connecting-rods, and were strung -with tendons like particularly well-seasoned rubber. -I remembered what he said about few catchers -being able to hold him, and I recalled the pads and -masks and wadded gloves of a baseball game, and -I began to feel nervous. If Camme was hit on the -temple or over the heart—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, say, old man, go slow, you know. We -don't want to fetch up in Mazas for this. By the -way, what kind of ball are you going to give him? -What's the curve?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know yet. Maybe I'll let him have an -up-shoot. Never make up my mind till the last -moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All ready, gentlemen!" said Roubault, coming up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camme had removed coat, vest, and cravat. -"This Animal of a Buldy Jones" stripped to a -sleeveless undershirt. He spat on his hands, and -rubbed a little more dirt on the ball.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Play ball!" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We set them back to back. On the word they -paced from each other and paused. "This Animal -of a Buldy Jones" shifted his ball to his right hand, -and, holding it between his fingers, slowly raised -both his arms high above his head and a little over -one shoulder. With his toe he made a little -depression in the soil, while he slowly turned the ball -between his fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fire!" cried "Horse" Wilson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the word "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" -turned abruptly about on one foot, one leg came -high off the ground till the knee nearly touched the -chest—you know the movement and position well—the -uncanny contortions of a pitcher about to deliver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camme threw his ball overhand—bowled it as is -done in cricket, and it went wide over our man's -shoulder. Down came Buldy Jones' foot, and his -arm shot forward with a tremendous jerk. Not till -the very last moment did he glance at his adversary -or measure the distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is an in-curve!" exclaimed "Horse" Wilson -in my ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We could hear the ball whir as it left a grey -blurred streak in the air. Camme made as if to -dodge it with a short toss of head and neck—it was -all he had time for—and the ball, faithful to the -last twist of the pitcher's fingers, swerved sharply -inward at the same moment and in the same direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When we got to Camme and gathered him up, I -veritably believed that the fellow had been done -for. For he lay as he had fallen, straight as a -ramrod and quite as stiff, and his eyes were winking -like the shutter of a kinetoscope. But "This -Animal of a Buldy Jones," who had seen prize-fighters -knocked out by a single blow, said it was all right. -An hour later Camme woke up and began to mumble -in pain through his clenched teeth, for the ball, -hitting him on the point of the chin, had dislocated -his jaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The heart-breaking part of the affair came -afterward, when "This Animal of a Buldy Jones" kept -us groping in the wet grass and underbrush until -after dark looking for his confounded baseball, -which had caromed off Camme's chin, and gone—no -one knows where.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We never found it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="dying-fires"><em class="bold italics large">Dying Fires</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Young Overbeck's father was editor and -proprietor of the county paper in Colfax, -California, and the son, so soon as his high-school -days were over, made his appearance in the -office as his father's assistant. So abrupt was the -transition that his diploma, which was to hang over -the editorial desk, had not yet returned from the -framer's, while the first copy that he was called on -to edit was his own commencement oration on the -philosophy of Dante. He had worn a white pique -cravat and a cutaway coat on the occasion of its -delivery, and the county commissioner, who was -the guest of honour on the platform, had -congratulated him as he handed him his sheepskin. For -Overbeck was the youngest and the brightest -member of his class.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Colfax was a lively town in those days. The -teaming from the valley over into the mining -country on the other side of the Indian River was at -its height then. Colfax was the headquarters of -the business, and the teamsters—after the long -pull up from the Indian River Cañon—showed -interest in an environment made up chiefly of -saloons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then there were the mining camps over by Iowa -Hill, the Morning Star, the Big Dipper, and -further on, up in the Gold Run country, the Little -Providence. There was Dutch Flat, full of -Mexican-Spanish girls and "breed" girls, where the -dance-halls were of equal number with the bars. -There was—a little way down the line—Clipper -Gap, where the mountain ranches began, and where -the mountain cow-boy lived up to the traditions of -his kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this life, tumultuous, headstrong, vivid in -colour, vigorous in action, was bound together by -the railroad, which not only made a single -community out of all that part of the east slope of the -Sierras' foothills, but contributed its own life as -well—the life of oilers, engineers, switchmen, -eating-house waitresses and cashiers, "lady" operators, -conductors, and the like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of such a little world news-items are evolved—sometimes -even scare-head, double-leaded descriptive -articles—supplemented by interviews with -sheriffs and ante-mortem statements. Good grist -for a county paper; good opportunities for an -unspoiled, observant, imaginative young fellow at -the formative period of his life. Such was the -time, such the environment, such the conditions -that prevailed when young Overbeck, at the age of -twenty-one, sat down to the writing of his first novel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He completed it in five months, and, though he -did not know the fact then, the novel was good. -It was not great—far from it, but it was not merely -clever. Somehow, by a miracle of good fortune, -young Overbeck had got started right at the very -beginning. He had not been influenced by a fetich -of his choice till his work was a mere replica of -some other writer's. He was not literary. He -had not much time for books. He lived in the -midst of a strenuous, eager life, a little primal even -yet; a life of passions that were often elemental in -their simplicity and directness. His schooling and -his newspaper work—it was he who must find or -ferret out the news all along the line, from Penrhyn -to Emigrant Gap—had taught him observation -without—here was the miracle—dulling the edge -of his sensitiveness. He saw, as those few, few -people see who live close to life at the beginning -of an epoch. He saw into the life and the heart -beneath the life; the life and the heart of Bunt -McBride, as with eight horses and much abjuration -he negotiated a load of steel "stamps" up the -sheer leap of the Indian Cañon; he saw into the -life and into the heart of Irma Tejada, who kept -case for the faro players at Dutch Flat; he saw -into the life and heart of Lizzie Toby, the -biscuit-shooter in the railway eating-house, and into the -life and heart of "Doc" Twitchel, who had degrees -from Edinburgh and Leipsic, and who, for obscure -reasons, chose to look after the measles, sprains -and rheumatisms of the countryside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, besides, there were others and still others, -whom young Overbeck learned to know to the -very heart's heart of them: blacksmiths, traveling -peddlers, section-bosses, miners, horse-wranglers, -cow-punchers, the stage-drivers, the storekeeper, -the hotel-keeper, the ditch-tender, the prospector, -the seamstress of the town, the postmistress, the -schoolmistress, the poetess. Into the lives of these -and the hearts of these young Overbeck saw, and -the wonder of that sight so overpowered him that -he had no thought and no care for other people's -books. And he was only twenty-one! Only -twenty-one, and yet he saw clearly into the great, -complicated, confused human machine that clashed -and jarred around him. Only twenty-one, and yet -he read the enigma that men of fifty may alone -hope to solve! Once in a great while this thing -may happen—in such out of the way places as that -country around Colfax in Placer County, -California, where no outside influences have play, -where books are few and misprized and the reading -circle a thing unknown. From time to time such -men are born, especially along the line of cleavage -where the furthest skirmish line of civilisation -thrusts and girds at the wilderness. A very few -find their true profession before the fire is stamped -out of them; of these few, fewer still have the -force to make themselves heard. Of these last the -majority die before they attain the faculty of -making their message intelligible. Those that remain -are the world's great men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the time when his first little book was on its -initial journey to the Eastern publishing houses, -Overbeck was by no means a great man. The -immaturity that was yet his, the lack of knowledge of -his tools, clogged his work and befogged his vision. -The smooth running of the cogs and the far-darting -range of vision would come in the course of the -next fifteen years of unrelenting persistence. The -ordering and organising and controlling of his -machine he could, with patience and by taking -thought, accomplish for himself. The original -impetus had come straight from the almighty gods. -That impetus was young yet, feeble, yet, coming -down from so far it was spent by the time it -reached the earth—at Colfax, California. A -touch now might divert it. Judge with what care -such a thing should be nursed and watched; -compared with the delicacy with which it unfolds, the -opening of a rosebud is an abrupt explosion. Later -on, such insight, such undeveloped genius may -become a tremendous world-power, a thing to split a -nation in twain as the axe cleaves the block. But at -twenty-one, a whisper—and it takes flight; a -touch—it withers; the lifting of a finger—it is gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The same destiny that had allowed Overbeck -to be born, and that thus far had watched over his -course, must have inspired his choice, his very first -choice, of a publisher, for the manuscript of "The -Vision of Bunt McBride" went straight as a -home-bound bird to the one man of all others who could -understand the beginnings of genius and recognise -the golden grain of truth in the chaff of unessentials. -His name was Conant, and he accepted the -manuscript by telegram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did more than this, and one evening Overbeck -stood on the steps of the post-office and opened -a letter in his hand, and, looking up and off, saw -the world transfigured. His chance had come. In -half a year of time he had accomplished what other -men—other young writers—strive for throughout -the best years of their youth. He had been called -to New York. Conant had offered him a minor -place on his editorial staff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Overbeck reached the great city a fortnight -later, and the cutaway coat and pique cravat—unworn -since Commencement—served to fortify -his courage at the first interview with the man who -was to make him—so he believed—famous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, the delights, the excitement, the inspiration -of that day! Let those judge who have striven -toward the Great City through years of deferred -hope and heart-sinkings and sacrifice daily renewed. -Overbeck's feet were set in those streets whose -names had become legendary to his imagination. -Public buildings and public squares familiar only -through the weekly prints defiled before him like a -pageant, but friendly for all that, inviting, even. -But the vast conglomerate life that roared by his -ears, like the systole and diastole of an almighty -heart, was for a moment disquieting. Soon the -human resemblance faded. It became as a -machine infinitely huge, infinitely formidable. -It challenged him with superb condescension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must down you," he muttered, as he made his -way toward Conant's, "or you will down me." He -saw it clearly. There was no other alternative. -The young boy in his foolish finery of a Colfax -tailor's make, with no weapons but such wits as the -gods had given him, was pitted against the leviathan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no friend nearer than his native state -on the other fringe of the continent. He was -fearfully alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he was twenty-one. The wits that the gods -had given him were good, and the fine fire that -was within him, the radiant freshness of his -nature, stirred and leaped to life at the challenge. -Ah, he would win, he would win! And in his -exuberance, the first dim consciousness of his power -came to him. He could win, he had it in him; he -began to see that now. That nameless power was -his which would enable him to grip this monstrous -life by the very throat, and bring it down on its -knee before him to listen respectfully to what he -had to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The interview with Conant was no less -exhilarating. It was in the reception-room of the -great house that it took place, and while waiting -for Conant to come in, Overbeck, his heart in his -mouth, recognised, in the original drawings on -the walls, picture after picture, signed by famous -illustrators, that he had seen reproduced in -Conant's magazine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Conant himself had appeared and shaken -the young author's hand a long time, and had -talked to him with the utmost kindness of his book, -of his plans for the immediate future, of the -work he would do in the editorial office and of the -next novel he wished him to write.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll only need you here in the mornings," -said the editor, "and you can put in your -afternoons on your novel. Have you anything in mind -as good as 'Bunt McBride'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a sort of notion for one," hazarded the -young man; and Conant had demanded to hear it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stammering, embarrassed, Overbeck outlined it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see, I see!" Conant commented. "Yes, there -is a good story in that. Maybe Hastings will want -to use it in the monthly. But we'll make a book -of it, anyway, if you work it up as well as the -McBride story."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so the young fellow made his first step in -New York. The very next day he began his second -novel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the editorial office, where he spent his -mornings reading proof and making up "front matter," -he made the acquaintance of a middle-aged lady, -named Miss Patten, who asked him to call on her, -and later on introduced him into the "set" wherein -she herself moved. The set called itself the "New -Bohemians," and once a week met at Miss Patten's -apartment up-town. In a month's time Overbeck -was a fixture in "New Bohemia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was made up of minor poets whose opportunity -in life was the blank space on a magazine -page below the end of an article; of men past their -prime, who, because of an occasional story in a -second-rate monthly, were considered to have -"arrived"; of women who translated novels from -the Italian and Hungarian; of decayed dramatists -who could advance unimpeachable reasons for the -non-production of their plays; of novelists whose -books were declined by publishers because of -professional jealousy on the part of the "readers," or -whose ideas, stolen by false friends, had appeared -in books that sold by the hundreds of thousands. -In public the New Bohemians were fulsome in the -praise of one another's productions. Did a sonnet -called, perhaps, "A Cryptogram is Stella's Soul" -appear in a current issue, they fell on it with eager -eyes, learned it by heart and recited lines of it -aloud; the conceit of the lover translating the -cipher by the key of love was welcomed with -transports of delight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, one of the most exquisitely delicate -allegories I've ever heard, and so true—so 'in the -tone'!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Did a certain one of the third-rate novelists, -reading aloud from his unpublished manuscript, -say of his heroine: "It was the native catholicity of -his temperament that lent strength and depth to her -innate womanliness," the phrase was snapped up on -the instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How he understands women!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such </span><em class="italics">finesse</em><span>! More subtle than Henry James."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul Bourget has gone no further," said one -of the critics of New Bohemia; "our limitations -are determined less by our renunciations than by -our sense of proportion in our conception of ethical -standards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The set abased itself. "Wonderful, ah, how -pitilessly you fathom our poor human nature!" New -Bohemia saw colour in word effects. A poet -read aloud:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">The stalwart rain!</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ah, the rush of down-toppling waters;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">The torrent!</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Merge of mist and musky air;</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">The current</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Sweeps thwart my blinded sight again.</em></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed one of the audience, "see, see -that bright green flash!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus in public. In private all was different. -Walking home with one or another of the set, -young Overbeck heard their confidences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keppler is a good fellow right enough, but, -my goodness, he can't write verse!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That thing of Miss Patten's to-night! Did -you ever hear anything so unconvincing, so -obvious? Poor old woman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm really sorry for Martens; awfully decent -sort, but he never should try to write novels."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By rapid degrees young Overbeck caught the -lingo of the third-raters. He could talk about -"tendencies" and the "influence of reactions." Such -and such a writer had a "sense of form," -another a "feeling for word effects." He knew all -about "tones" and "notes" and "philistinisms." He -could tell the difference between an allegory -and a simile as far as he could see them. An -anticlimax was the one unforgivable sin under heaven. -A mixed metaphor made him wince, and a split -infinitive hurt him like a blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the great word was "convincing." To say -a book was convincing was to give positively the -last verdict. To be "unconvincing" was to be shut -out from the elect. If the New Bohemian decided -that the last popular book was unconvincing, there -was no appeal. The book was not to be mentioned -in polite conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the author of "The Vision of Bunt McBride," -as yet new to the world as the day he was -born, with all his eager ambition and quick -sensitiveness, thought that all this was the real thing. -He had never so much as seen literary people -before. How could he know the difference? He -honestly believed that New Bohemia was the true -literary force of New York. He wrote home that -the association with such people, thinkers, poets, -philosophers, was an inspiration; that he had -learned more in one week in their company than -he had learned in Colfax in a whole year.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps, too, it was the flattery he received that -helped to carry Overbeck off his feet. The New -Bohemians made a little lion of him when "Bunt -McBride" reached its modest pinnacle of popularity. -They kotowed to him, and toadied to him, -and fagged and tooted for him, and spoke of his -book as a masterpiece. They said he had -succeeded where Kipling had ignominiously failed. -They said there was more harmony of prose -effects in one chapter of "Bunt McBride" than in -everything that Bret Harte ever wrote. They -told him he was a second Stevenson—only with -more refinement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the women of the set, who were of those -who did not write, who called themselves "mere -dilettantes," but who "took an interest in young -writers" and liked to influence their lives and works, -began to flutter and buzz around him. They told -him that they understood him; that they under -stood his temperament; that they could see where -his forte lay; and they undertook his education.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was in "The Vision of Bunt McBride" a -certain sane and healthy animalism that hurt -nobody, and that, no doubt, Overbeck, in later books, -would modify. He had taken life as he found it -to make his book; it was not his fault that the -teamsters, biscuit-shooters and "breed" girls of the -foothills were coarse in fibre. In his sincerity he -could not do otherwise in his novel than paint life -as he saw it. He had dealt with it honestly; he -did not dab at the edge of the business; he had -sent his fist straight through it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the New Bohemians could not abide this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so much </span><em class="italics">faroucherie</em><span>, you dear young -Lochinvar!" they said. "Art must uplift. 'Look -thou not down, but up toward uses of a cup';" and -they supplemented the quotation by lines from -Walter Peter, and read to him from Ruskin and -Matthew Arnold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, the spiritual was the great thing. We were -here to make the world brighter and better for -having lived in it. The passions of a waitress in -a railway eating-house—how sordid the subject! -Dear boy, look for the soul, strive to rise to higher -planes! Tread upward; every book should leave a -clean taste in the mouth, should tend to make one -happier, should elevate, not debase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So by degrees Overbeck began to see his future -in a different light. He began to think that he -really had succeeded where Kipling had failed; -that he really was Stevenson with more refinement, -and that the one and only thing lacking in his work -was soul. He believed that he must strive for the -spiritual, and "let the ape and tiger die." The -originality and unconventionally of his little book -he came to regard as crudities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said one day to Miss Patten and a -couple of his friends, "I have been re-reading my -book of late. I can see its limitations—now. It -has a lack of form; the tonality is a little false. It -fails somehow to convince."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the first Winter passed. In the mornings -Overbeck assiduously edited copy and made up -front matter on the top floor of the Conant -building. In the evenings he called on Miss Patten, -or some other member of the set. Once a week, -up-town, he fed fat on the literary delicatessen that -New Bohemia provided. In the meantime, every -afternoon, from luncheon-time till dark, he toiled -on his second novel, "Renunciations." The -environment of "Renunciations" was a far cry from -Colfax, California. It was a city-bred story, with -no fresher atmosphere than that of bought flowers. -Its </span><em class="italics">dramatis personae</em><span> were all of the leisure class, -opera-goers, intriguers, riders of blood horses, -certainly more refined than Lizzie Toby, biscuit-shooter, -certainly more </span><em class="italics">spirituelle</em><span> than Irma Tejada, -case-keeper in Dog Omahone's faro joint, -certainly more elegant than Bunt McBride, -teamster of the Colfax Iowa Hill Freight -Transportation Company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From time to time, as the novel progressed, he -read it to the dilettante women whom he knew -best among the New Bohemians. They advised -him as to its development, and "influenced" its -outcome and dénouement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you have found your </span><em class="italics">métier</em><span>, dear boy," -said one of them, when "Renunciations" was nearly -completed. "To portray the concrete—is it not a -small achievement, sublimated journalese, nothing -more? But to grasp abstractions, to analyse a -woman's soul, to evoke the spiritual essence in -humanity, as you have done in your ninth chapter -of 'Renunciations'—that is the true function of -art. </span><em class="italics">Je vous fais mes compliments</em><span>. 'Renunciations' -is a </span><em class="italics">chef-d'oeuvre</em><span>. Can't you see yourself -what a stride you have made, how much broader -your outlook has become, how much more catholic, -since the days of 'Bunt McBride'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be sure, Overbeck could see it. Ah, he was -growing, he was expanding. He was mounting -higher planes. He was more—catholic. That, of -all words, was the one to express his mood. -Catholic, ah, yes, he was catholic!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When "Renunciations" was finished he took the -manuscript to Conant and waited a fortnight in an -agony of suspense and repressed jubilation for the -great man's verdict. He was all the more anxious -to hear it because, every now and then, while -writing the story, doubts—distressing, perplexing—had -intruded. At times and all of a sudden, after days -of the steadiest footing, the surest progress, the -story—the whole set and trend of the affair—would -seem, as it were, to escape from his control. -Where once, in "Bunt McBride," he had gripped, -he must now grope. What was it? He had been -so sure of himself, with all the stimulus of new -surroundings, the work in this second novel should -have been all the easier. But the doubt would fade, -and for weeks he would plough on, till again, and -all unexpectedly, he would find himself in an agony -of indecision as to the outcome of some vital pivotal -episode of the story. Of two methods of treatment, -both equally plausible, he could not say which -was the true, which the false; and he must -needs take, as it were, a leap in the dark—it was -either that or abandoning the story, trusting to -mere luck that he would, somehow, be carried -through.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A fortnight after he had delivered the manuscript -to Conant he presented himself in the publisher's -office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was just about to send for you," said Conant. -"I finished your story last week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause. Overbeck settled himself -comfortably in his chair, but his nails were cutting -his palms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hastings has read it, too—and—well, frankly, -Overbeck, we were disappointed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" inquired Overbeck, calmly. "H'm—that's -too b-bad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not hear, or at least could not -understand, just what the publisher said next. Then, -after a time that seemed immeasurably long, he -caught the words:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would not do you a bit of good, my boy, to -have us publish it—it would harm you. There are -a good many things I would lie about, but books -are not included. This 'Renunciations' of yours -is—is, why, confound it, Overbeck, it's foolishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Overbeck went out and sat on a bench in a -square near by, looking vacantly at a fountain as -it rose and fell and rose again with an incessant -cadenced splashing. Then he took himself home -to his hall bedroom. He had brought the -manuscript of his novel with him, and for a long time he -sat at his table listlessly turning the leaves, -confused, stupid, all but inert. The end, however, did -not come suddenly. A few weeks later "Renunciations" -was published, but not by Conant. It bore -the imprint of an obscure firm in Boston. The -covers were of limp dressed leather, olive green, -and could be tied together by thongs, like a -portfolio. The sale stopped after five hundred copies -had been ordered, and the real critics, those who -did not belong to New Bohemia, hardly so much -as noticed the book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Autumn, when the third-raters had come -back from their vacations, the "evenings" at Miss -Patten's were resumed, and Overbeck hurried to -the very first meeting. He wanted to talk it all over -with them. In his chagrin and cruel disappointment -he was hungry for some word of praise, of -condolement. He wanted to be told again, even -though he had begun to suspect many things, that -he had succeeded where Kipling had failed, that he -was Stevenson with more refinement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the New Bohemians, the same women and -fakirs and half-baked minor poets who had -"influenced" him and had ruined him, could hardly -find time to notice him now. The guest of the -evening was a new little lion who had joined the -set. A symbolist versifier who wrote over the -pseudonym of de la Houssaye, with black, oily hair -and long white hands; him the Bohemians thronged -about in crowds as before they had thronged about -Overbeck. Only once did any one of them pay -attention to the latter. This was the woman who -had nicknamed him "Young Lochinvar." Yes, she -had read "Renunciations," a capital little thing, a -little thin in parts, lacking in </span><em class="italics">finesse</em><span>. He must -strive for his true medium of expression, his true -note. Ah, art was long! Study of the new -symbolists would help him. She would beg him to -read Monsieur de la Houssaye's "The Monoliths." Such -subtlety, such delicious word-chords! It -could not fail to inspire him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shouldered off, forgotten, the young fellow crept -back to his little hall bedroom and sat down to -think it over. There in the dark of the night his -eyes were opened, and he saw, at last, what these -people had done to him; saw the Great Mistake, -and that he had wasted his substance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The golden apples, that had been his for the -stretching of the hand, he had flung from him. -Tricked, trapped, exploited, he had prostituted the -great good thing that had been his by right divine, -for the privilege of eating husks with swine. Now -was the day of the mighty famine, and the starved -and broken heart of him, crying out for help, -found only a farrago of empty phrases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to go back; he did in very fact go back -to the mountains and the cañons of the great -Sierras. "He arose and went to his father," and, -with such sapped and broken strength as New -Bohemia had left him, strove to wrest some -wreckage from the dying fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the ashes were cold by now. The fire that -the gods had allowed him to snatch, because he -was humble and pure and clean and brave, had -been stamped out beneath the feet of minor and -dilettante poets, and now the gods guarded close -the brands that yet remained on the altars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They may not be violated twice, those sacred -fires. Once in a lifetime the very young and the -pure in heart may see the shine of them and pluck -a brand from the altar's edge. But, once possessed, -it must be watched with a greater vigilance than -even that of the gods, for its light will live only -for him who snatched it first. Only for him that -shields it, even with his life, from the contact of -the world does it burst into a burning and a shining -light. Let once the touch of alien fingers disturb -it, and there remains only a little heap of bitter -ashes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="grettir-at-drangey"><em class="bold italics large">Grettir at Drangey</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW GRETTIR CAME TO THE ISLAND</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A long slant of rain came from out the -northwest, and much fog; and the sea, -still swollen by the last of the winter -gales—now two days gone—raced by the bows of -their boat in great swells, quiet, huge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was cold, and the wind, like a hound at fault, -hunted along through the gorges between the wave -heads, casting back and forth swiftly in bulging, -sounding blasts that made an echo between the -walls of water. At times the wind discovered the -boat and leaped upon it suddenly with a gush of -fierce noise, clutching at the sail and bearing it -down as the dog bears down the young elk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sky, a vast reach of broken grey, slid along -close overhead, sometimes even dropping flat upon -the sea, blotting the horizon and whirling about -like geyser mist or the reek and smoke from the -mouth of </span><em class="italics">jokuls</em><span>. Then, perhaps, out of the fog -and out of the rain, suddenly great and fearful -came towering and dipping a mighty berg, the -waves breaking like surf about its base, spires of -grey ice lifting skywards, all dripping and gashed -and jagged; knobs and sharp ridges thrusting from -under beneath the water, full of danger to ships. -At such moments they must put the helm over -quickly, sheering off from the colossus before it -caught and trampled them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But no living thing did they see through all -the day. Sea birds there were none; no porpoises -played about the boat, no seals barked from surge -to surge. There was nothing but the silent gallop -of the waves, the flitting of the leaden sky, the -uneven panting of the wind, and the rattle of -the rain on the half-frozen sail. The sea was very -lonely, barren, empty of all life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards the middle of the day, when Iceland -lay far behind them,—a bar of black on the ocean's -edge,—they were little by little aware of the roll -and thunder of breakers, and the cries and calls of -very many sea birds and—very faint—the bleating -of sheep. The fog and the scud of rain and the -spindrift that the wind whipped from off the -wavetops shut out all sight beyond the cast of a spear. -But they knew that they must be driving hard upon -the island, and Grettir, from his place at the helm, -bent himself to look under the curve of the sail. -He called to Illugi, his brother, and to Noise, the -thrall, who stood peering at the bows of the boat -(their eyes made small to pierce the mist), to know -if they saw aught of the island.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," answered Illugi, "only wrack and drift -of wreck and streamers of kelp, but we are close -upon it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then all at once Grettir threw the boat up into -the wind, and shouted aloud:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look overhead! Quick! Above there! We -are indeed close."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And for all that the foot and mid-most part of -the island were unseen because of the mist, there, -far above them, between sea and sky, looming, as it -were, out of heaven, rose suddenly the front of the -cliff, rearing the forehead of it, high from out all -that din of surf and swirl of mist and rain, bare -to the buffet of storms, iron-strong, everlasting, a -mighty rock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They lowered the sail and ran out the sweeps, -and for an hour skirted the edge of the island -searching for the landing-place, where the -rope-ladder hung from the cliff's edge. When they -had found it, they turned the nose of the boat -landward, and, caught by the set of the surf, were -drawn inwards, and at last flung up on the beaches. -Waist-deep in the icy undertow, they ran the boat -up and made her fast, rejoicing that they had won -to land without ill-fortune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind for an instant tore in twain the veils -of fog, and they saw the black cliff towering above -them, as well as the ladder that hung from its -summit clattering against the rock as the wind -dashed it to and fro, and as they turned from the -boat to look about them, lo, at their feet, stranded -at make of the ebb, a great walrus, crushed between -two ice-floes, lay dead, the rime of the frost -encrusting its barbels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Grettir Asmundson, called The Strong, -outlawed throughout Iceland, came with his brother -Illugi, and the thrall Noise, to live on the Island of -Drangey.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW GRETTIR AND ILLUGI HIS BROTHER KEPT THE ISLAND</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On top of the cliff (to be reached only by -climbing the rope-ladder) were sheep-walks, where the -shepherds from the mainland kept their flocks. -Grettir and Illugi took over these, for food and -for the sake of their pelts which were to make -them coverings. They built themselves a house -out of the driftwood that came ashore at the foot -of the cliff with every tide, and throughout the -rest of the winter days lived in peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But in the early spring a fisherman carried the -news to the mainland that he had seen men on the -top of Drangey, and that the ladder was up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Forthwith came the farmers and shepherds in -their boats to know if such were the truth. They -found, indeed, the ladder up, and after calling and -shouting a long time time, brought the hero and his -brother to the cliff's edge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What now?" they cried. "Give a reckoning -of our sheep. Is it peace or war between you and -us? Why have you come to our island? Answer, -Grettir—outlaw."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I have, I hold," called Grettir. "Outlawed -I am, indeed, and no man is there in all -Iceland that dare help me to home or hiding. Mine -is the Island of Drangey, and mine are the sheep -and the goats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robber!" shouted the shepherds, "since when -have you bought the island? Show the title."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer Grettir drew his sword from its -sheath, and held it high.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is my title," he cried. "When that you -shall take from me, the Island of Drangey -is yours again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least render up our sheep," answered the -shepherds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I have said, I have said!" cried Grettir, -and with that he and Illugi drew back from the -cliff's edge and were no more seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherds sailed back to the mainland, and -could think of no way of ridding the island of -Grettir and his brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The summer waned, and finding themselves no -further along than at the beginning, they struck -hands with a certain Thorbjorn, called The Hook, -and sold him their several claims.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So it came about that Thorbjorn the Hook was -also an enemy of Grettir, for he swore that foul -or fair, ill or well, he would have the head of the -hero, and the price that was upon it, as well as the -sheepwalks and herds of Drangey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This Thorbjorn had an old foster-mother named -Thurid, who, although the law of Christ had long -since prevailed through all the country, still made -witchcraft, and by this means promised The Hook -that he should have the island, and with it the heads -of Illugi and Grettir. She herself was a mumbling, -fumbling carline of a sour spirit and fierce temper. -Once when The Hook and his brother were at -tail-game, she, looking over his shoulder, taunted him -because he had made a bad move. On his answering -in surly fashion, she caught up one of the -pieces, and drove the tail of it so fiercely against -his eye that the ball had started from the socket. -He had sprung up with a mighty oath, and dealt -her so strong a blow that she had taken to her -bed a month, and thereafterward must walk with a -stick. There was no love lost between the two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Grettir and Illugi lived in peace -upon the top of Drangey. Illugi was younger than -the hero; a fine lad with yellow hair and blue -eyes. The brothers loved each other, and could -not walk or sit together, but that the arm of one -was about the shoulder of the other. The lad knew -very well that neither he nor Grettir would ever -leave Drangey alive; but in spite of that he abode -on the island, and was happy in the love and -comradeship of his older brother. As for Grettir, -hunted and hustled from Norway to Skaptar Jokul, -he could trust Illugi only. The thrall Noise was -meet for little but to gather driftwood to feed the -fire. But Illugi, of all men in the world, Grettir -had chosen to stay at his side in this, the last stand -of his life, and to bear him company in the night -when he waked and was afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the weird that the Vampire had laid upon -Grettir, when he had fought with him through the -night at Thorhall-stead, lay heavy upon him. As -the Vampire had said, his strength was never -greater than at the moment when, spent and weary -with the grapple, he had turned the monster under -him; and, moreover, as the dead man had foretold, -the eyes of him—the sightless, lightless dead eyes -of him—grew out of the darkness in the late -watches of the night, and stared at Grettir -whichever way he turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a long time all went well with the two. -Bleak though it was, the brothers grew to love the -Island of Drangey. Not all the days were so bitter -as the one that witnessed their arrival. Throughout -the summer—when the daylight lengthened -and lengthened, till at last the sun never set at -all—the weather held fair. The crust of soil on the -top of the great rock grew green and brilliant with -gorse and moss and manzel-wursel. Blackberries -flourished on southern exposures and in crevices -between the bowlders, and wild thyme and heather -bloomed and billowed in the sea wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Day after day the brothers walked the edge of -the cliff, making the rounds of the snares they had -set for sea fowl. Day after day, descending to the -beaches, they fished in the offing or with ready -spears crept from rock to rock, stalking the great -bull-walruses that made the land to sun themselves. -Day after day in a cloudless sky the sun shone; -day after day the sea, deep blue, coruscated and -flashed in his light; day after day the wind blew -free, the flowers spread, and the surf shouted -hoarsely on the beaches, and the sea fowl clamoured, -cried, and rose and fell in glinting hordes. -The air was full of the fine, clean aroma of the -ocean, even the perfume of the flowers was crossed -with a tang of salt, and the seaweed at low tide -threw off, under the heat of the sun, a warm, sweet -redolence of its own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a brave life. They were no man's men. -The lonely, rock-ribbed island, the grass, the -growths of green, the blue sea, and the blessed -sunlight were their friends, their helpers; they held -what of the world they saw in fief. They made -songs to the morning, and sang them on the -cliff's edge, looking off over the sea beneath, -standing on a point of rock, the wind in their faces, the -taste of salt in their mouths, their long braids of -yellow hair streaming from their foreheads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They made songs to their swords, and swung -the ponderous blades in cadence as they sang—wild, -unrhymed, metrical chants, monotonous, turning -upon but few notes; savage songs, full of -man-slayings and death-fights against great odds, -shouted out in deep-toned, male voices, there, far -above the world, on that airy, wind-swept, lonely -rock. A brave life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The end they knew must come betimes. They -were in nowise afraid. They made a song to their -death—the song they would sing when they had -turned Berserk in the crash of swords, when the -great grey blades were rising and falling, death, -like lightning, leaping from their edges; when -shield rasped shield, and the spears sank home and -wrenched out the life in a spurt of scarlet, and the -massive axes rang upon helmet and hauberk, and -men, heroes all, met death with a cheer, and went -out into the Dark with a shout. A brave life!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OF THE WEIRD OF THURID, FOSTER-MOTHER TO THORBJORN HOOK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Twice during that summer The Hook made -attempts to secure the island. Once he sailed -over to Drangey, and standing up in the prow -of his boat near the beach, close by where -the ladder hung, talked long with Grettir, who -came to the rim of the cliff in answer to his shouts. -He promised the Outlaw (so only that he would -yield up the island) full possession of half the sheep -that yet remained and a free passage in one of his -ships to any port within fifty leagues. But the -hero had but one answer to all persuadings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drangey is mine," he said. "There is no rede -whereby you can get me hence. Here do I bide, -whatso may come to hand, to the day of my death -and my undoing," and The Hook must sail home -in evil mind, gnawing his nails in his fury, and -vowing that he would yet gain the island and lay -Grettir to earth, and get the best out of the bad -bargain he had made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another time The Hook hired a man named -Hœring, a great climber, to try, by night, to scale -the hinder side of Drangey where the cliff was not -so bold. But halfway up the man lost either his -wits or his footing, for he fell dreadfully upon the -rocks far below, and brake the neck of him, so that -the spine drave through the skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And after that, certainly Grettir and Illugi were -let alone. The fame of them and of their seizure -of Drangey and the blood feud between them and -Thorbjorn, called The Hook, went wide through -all that part of Iceland, and many the man that -put off from the mainland and sailed to the island, -just to hail the Outlaw, at the head of the ladder, -and wish him well. Thus the summer and the next -winter passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At about the break-up of the winter night, The -Hook began to importune his foster-mother, -Thurid, that she should make good her promise as to -the winning of Grettir. At last she said: "If you -are to have my rede, I must have my will. Strike -hands with my hand then, and swear to me to do -those things that I shall say." And The Hook -struck hands and sware the oath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, though he was loath to visit the island -again, she bade him man an eight-oared boat and -flit her out to Drangey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they had reached the island, and after -much shouting had brought Grettir and Illugi to -the edge of the rock, Thorbjorn again renewed his -offer, saying further that if there were now but few -sheep left upon the island, he would add a bag of -silver pennies to make the difference good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bootless be your quest," answered Grettir. -"Wot this well. What I have said, I have said. -My bones shall rot upon Drangey ere I set foot on -other soil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at his words the carline, who till now had -sat huddled in rags and warps in the bow of the -boat, stirred herself and screamed out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An ill word for a fair offer. The wits are out -of these men that they may not know the face of -their good fortune, and upon an evil time have -they put their weal from them. Now this I cast -over thee, Grettir; that thou be left of all health -and good-hap, all good heed and wisdom, and that -the longer ye live the less shall be thy luck. Good -hope have I, Grettir, that thy days of gladness shall -be fewer in time to come than in time gone by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And at the words behold, Grettir the Strong, -whose might no two men could master, staggered as -though struck, and then a rage came upon him, and -plucking up a stone from the earth, he flung it at -the heap of rags in the boat, so that it fell upon -the hag's leg and brake it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An evil deed, brother," said Illugi. "Surely -no good will come of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor none from the words of that hell-cat yonder," -answered Grettir. "Not over-much were-gild -were paid for us, though the price should be one -carline's life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Hook sailed back to the mainland after this, -and sat at home while the leg of his foster-mother -mended. But when she was able to walk again, -she bade him lead her forth upon the shore. For -a time she hobbled up and down till she had found -a piece of driftwood to her liking. She turned -over, now upon this side, now upon that, mumbling -to herself the while, till The Hook, puzzled, said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What work ye there, foster-mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bane of Grettir," answered the witch, and -with that she crouched herself down by the log and -cut runes upon it. Then she stood upright and -walked backwards about the log, and went widdershins -around it, and then, after carving more runes, -bade Thorbjorn cast it into the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Hook scoffed and jeered, but, mindful of his -oath, set the log adrift. Now the flood tide made -strongly at the time, and the wind set from off the -ocean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will come to shore," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, that I hope," said the witch; "to the shore -of Drangey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the beaches, where the torn scum and froth -of the waves shuddered and tumbled to and fro in -the wind, The Hook and the old witch stood watching. -Thrice the surf flung the log landward, thrice -the undertow sucked it back. It was carried under -the curve of a great hissing comber, disappeared, -then rose dripping on the far side. The hag, bent -upon her crutch, her toothless jaws fumbling and -working, her gray hair streaming in the wind, fixed -a glittering eye, malevolent, iniquitous, far out to -sea where Drangey showed itself, a block of misty -blue over the horizon's edge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A strong spell for a strong man," she muttered, -"and an ill curse for an evil deed. Blighted be the -breasts that sucked ye, and black and bitter the -bread ye cat. Look thou now, foster-son," she -cried, raising her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Hook crossed himself, and his head -crouched fearfully between his shoulders. Under -his bent brows the glance of him shot uneasily -from side to side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bad business," he whispered, and he trembled -as he spoke. For the log was riding the waves like -a skiff, headed seawards, making way against tide -and wind, veering now east, now west, but in the -main working steadily toward Drangey. "A bad -business, and peril of thy life is toward if the deed -thou hast done this day be told of at Thingvalla."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE NIGHT-FLITTING OF THORBJORN HOOK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By candle-lighting time that day the storm -had reached such a pitch and so mighty was -the fury and noise raging across the top of -Drangey, that Grettir and Illugi must needs put -their lips to one another's ears when they spoke. -There was no rain as yet, and the wind that held -straight as an arrow's flight over the ocean, had -blown away all mists and clouds, so that the -atmosphere was of an ominous clearness, and the coasts -of Iceland showed livid white against the purple -black of the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were strange sounds about: the prolonged -alarums of the gale; blast trumpeting to blast all -through the hollow upper spaces of the air; the -metallic slithering of the frozen grasses, writhing -and tormented; the minute whistle of driving sand; -the majestic diapason of the breakers, and the wild -piping of bewildered sea-mews and black swans, -as, helpless in the sudden gusts, they drove past, -close overhead with slanted wings stretched tense -and taut.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards evening Grettir and Illugi regained the -hut, their bodies bent and inclined against the wind. -They bore between them the carcass of a slaughtered -sheep, the last on the island, for by now they -had killed and eaten all of the herd, with the -exception of one old ram, whom they had spared -because of his tameness. This one followed the -brothers about like a dog, and each night came to -the door of the hut and butted against it till he was -allowed to come in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Earlier in the day Grettir, foreseeing that the -weather would be hard, had sent Noise, the servant, -to gather in a greater supply of drift. The -thrall now met the brothers at the door of the hut, -staggering under the weight of a great log. He -threw his burden down at Grettir's feet and spoke -surlily, for he was but little pleased with his lot:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There be that which I hold will warm you -enough. Hew it now yourself, for I am spent with -the toil of getting it in on such a night as this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But as Grettir heaved up the axe, Illugi sprang -forward with a hand outstretched and a warning -cry. He had glanced at the balk of drift, and -had seen it to be one that Grettir had twice -discarded, suspicious of the runes that he saw were -cut into it. Even Noise had been warned and -forbidden to bring it to the hut. Doubtless on this -day the thrall had found it close by the foot of the -ladder, and being too slothful and too ill-tempered -to seek farther, had fetched it in despite of Grettir's -commands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brother," cried Illugi, "have a heed what ye do!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he spoke too late. Grettir hewed strong -upon the balk, and the axe flipped from it and -drave into his leg below the knee, so that the blade -hung in the bone. Grettir flung down the axe, and -staggered into the hut and sank upon the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ill-luck is to us-ward," he cried, "and now wot -I well that my death is upon me. For no good -thing was this drift-timber sent thrice to us. Noise, -evilly hast thou done, and ill hast thou served us. -Go now and draw the ladder, and let thy faithful -service henceforth make good the ill-turn thou hast -done me to-day." And with the words the brothers -drove him out into the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Grumbling, the thrall made his way to the -ladder-head, and sat down cursing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine life," he muttered, "hounded like a -house-carle from dawn to dark. Because the son -of Asmund swings awkwardly his axe and notches -the skin of him, I must be driven from house and -hearthstone on so hard a night as this. Draw the -ladder! Ay, draw the ladder, says he. By God! it -were no man's deed to risk whether he could win -to the island in such a storm as this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For all that, he made at least one attempt to -draw the ladder up. But it was heavy, and the -wind, thrashing it to and fro, made it hard to -manage. Noise soon gave over, and, out of spite -refusing to return to the hut, drew his cloak over -his head, and crawling in behind a bowlder -addressed himself to sleep. He was awakened by a -blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang up. The night was overcast; it had -been raining; his cloak was drenched. Men were -there; dark figures crowding together, whispering. -There was a click and clash of steel, and against -the pale blur of the sky, he saw, silhouetted, the -moving head of a spear. Again some one struck -him. He wrenched about terrified, and a score of -hands gripped him close, while at his throat sprang -the clutch of fingers iron-strong. Then a voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool, and son of a fool, and worse than a fool! -It is I, Thorbjorn, called The Hook. Speak as he -should speak who is nigh to death, true words and -few words. What of Grettir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sore bestead," Noise made shift to answer, -through the grip upon his throat. "Crippled with -his own axe as he hewed upon a log of firewood but -this very day. Down upon his back he is, and none -to stand at his side, when the need is on him, but -the boy Illugi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A log, say you?" whispered The Hook. Then -turning to a comrade: "Mark you that, Hialfi -Thinbeard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A log cut with runes," insisted Noise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, with runes," repeated The Hook. "With -runes, I say, Hialfi Thinbeard. My mind misgave -me when the carline urged this flitting to-night, and -only for my oath's sake I would have foregone it. -But an old she-goat knows the shortest path to the -byre. As for you"—he turned to Noise: "Grettir -is mine enemy, and the feud of blood lies between -us, but he deserves a better thrall than so foul a -bird as thou."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thereat he gave the word, and his carles set -upon Noise and beat him till no breath was left in -his body. Then they bound him hand and foot, -and dragged him behind a rock, and left him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Noise watched them as they drew to one side and -whispered together. There were at least twenty of -them. For a long moment they conferred together -in low voices, while the wind shrilled fiercely in the -cluster of their spear-blades. Then there was a -movement. The group broke up. Silently and -with cautious steps the dark figures of the men -moved off in the direction of the hut. Twice, as -The Hook gave the word, they halted to listen. -Then they moved on again. They disappeared. A -pebble clicked under foot, a sword struck faintly -against a rock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no more sound. The rain urged by -the wind held steadily across the top of the Island -of Drangey. It wanted about three hours till dawn.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OF THE MAN-SLAYING ON DRANGEY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the hut, his head upon his brother's lap, -Grettir lay tossing with pain. From the thigh -down the leg was useless, and from the thigh -down it throbbed with anguish, yet the Outlaw gave -no sign of his sufferings, and even to speed the -slow passing of the night had sung aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a song of the old days, when all men were -friendly to him, when he was known as Grettir -Asmundson and not Grettir the Outlaw; and as he -sang, his mind went back through the years of all -that wild, troubled life of his, and he remembered -many things. Back again in the old home at Biarg, -free and happy once more he saw himself as he -should have been, head of his mother's household, -his foot upon his own hearthstone, his head under -his own rooftree. And there should be no more -foes to fight, and no more hiding and night-riding; -no noontime danger to be faced down; no enemies -that struck in the dark to be baffled. And he -would be free again; he would be among his -fellows; he would touch the hand of friends, would -know the companionship of brave and honest men -and the love of good and honest women. Would it -all be his again some day? Would the old, old -times come back again? Would there ever be a -home-coming for him? Fighter though he was, a -hero and a warrior, and though battles and -man-slayings more than he could count had been his -portion, even though the shock of swords was music -to him, there were other things that made life glad. -The hand the sword-hilt had calloused could yet -remember the touch of a maiden's fingers, and at -times, such as this, strange thoughts grew with a -strange murmuring in his brain. He was a young -man yet; could he but make head against his -enemies and his untoward fortune till the sentence of -outlawry was overpassed, he might yet begin his -life all new again. A wife should be his, and a son -should be born to him—a little son to watch at play, -to love, to cherish, to boast of, to be proud of, to -laugh over, to weep over, to be held against that -mighty breast of his, to be enfolded ever so gently -in those mighty sword-scarred arms of his. Strange -thoughts; strange, indeed, for a wounded outlaw, -on that storm-swept, barren rock in the dark, dark -hours before the dawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," said Grettir after a while, "that now I -may sleep a little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illugi made him comfortable upon the sheep-pelts, -and put his rolled-up cloak under his head; -then, when Grettir had closed his eyes, put a new -log upon the fire and sat down nigh at hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Long time the lad sat thus watching his brother's -face as sleep smoothed from it the lines of pain; as -the lips under the long, blond mustaches relaxed a -little, and the frown went from the forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a kindly face, after all; none of the -harshness in it, none of the fierceness in it that so -bitter a life as his should have stamped it with—a -kindly face, serious, grave even, the face of a -big-hearted, generous fellow who bore no malice, who -feared no evil, who uttered no complaint, and who -looked fate fearless between the eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something shocked heavily at the door of the -hut, and the Outlaw stirred uneasily, and his blue -eyes opened a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only the old ram, brother," said Illugi. -"He butts hard to get in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hard and over hard," muttered Grettir, and as -he spoke the door split in twain, and the firelight -flashed upon the face of Thorbjorn Hook.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instantly Illugi was on his feet, his spear in -hand. It had come at last, the end of everything. -Fate at last was knocking at the door. Grettir was -to fight the Last Fight there in that narrow hut, -there on that night of storm, in the rain and under -the scudding clouds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind him, as he stood facing the riven door -and the men that were crowding into the doorway, -he heard Grettir struggling to his feet. The fire -flared and smoked in the wind, and the rain, as it -swept in from without, hissed as it fell among the -hot embers. From far down on the beaches came -the booming of the surf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The onset hung poised. After that first -splintering of the door The Hook and his men made no -move. No man spoke. Illugi, his spear held -ready, was a statue in the midst of the hut; Grettir, -upon one knee, with his great sword in his fist, one -hand holding by Illugi's belt, did not move. His -eyes, steady, earnest, were upon those of The -Hook, and the two men held each other's glances -for a moment that seemed immeasurably long. -Then at last:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who showed thee the way hither?" said Grettir -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God showed us the way," The Hook made answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay, it was the hag, thy foster-mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the sound of voices broke the spell. In an -instant the great fight—the fight that would be told -of in Iceland for hundreds of years to come—burst -suddenly forth like the bursting of a dyke. Illugi -had leaped forward, and through the smoke of the -weltering fire his spear-blade flashed, curving like -the curving leap of a salmon in the rapids of the -Jokulsa. There was a cry, a rush of many feet, -a parting of the group in the doorway, and Hialti -Thinbeard's hands shut their death-grip upon the -shaft of Illugi's spear as the blade of it tore out -between his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But now men were upon the roof—Karr, son of -Karr, thrall of Tongue-stone, Vikaar and Haldarr -of the household of Eirik of Good-dale, Hafr of -Meadness in the Fleets and Thorwald of -Hegra-ness—tearing away the thatch and thrusting madly -downward with sword and spear. Illugi dropped -the haft of the weapon that had slain Hialfi, and -catching up another one, made as if to drive it -through the hatch. But even as he did so the whole -roof cracked and sagged; then it gave way at one -corner, and Karr, son of Karr, fell headlong from -above. Grettir caught him on his sword-point as -he fell, and at the same moment The Hook drave -a small boar-spear clean through Illugi's head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And from that moment all semblance of consecutive -action was lost. Yelling, shouting, groaning, -cursing, the men rushed together in one blurred -and furious grapple. The wrecked hut collapsed, -crashing upon their heads; the fire, kicked and -trampled as the fight raged back and forth, caught -the thatch and sheep-pelts, and flamed up fiercely in -and around the combat. They fought literally in -fire—in fire and thick smoke and driving rain. The -arms that thrust with spear or hewed with sword -rose and fell all ablaze. Those who fell, fell among -hot coals and fought their fellows—their own -friends—to make way that they might escape the -torment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twice Grettir, dying though he was, flung the -fight from him and rose to his full height, a -dreadful figure, alone for an instant, bloody, dripping, -charred with ashes, half naked, his clothes all -burning; and twice again they flung themselves upon him, -and bore him down, so that he disappeared beneath -their mass. And ever and again from out the swirl -of the onset, from that unspeakable jam of men, -mad with the battle-madness that was upon them, -crawled out some horrid figure, staggering, gashed, -and maimed, or even dying, done to death by the -great Outlaw in the last fight of his life. Thorfin, -Gamli's man, had both arms broken at the very -shoulders; Krolf of Drontheim reeled back from -the battle with a sword-thrust through his hip that -made him go on crutches the rest of his life; -Kolbein, churl of Svein, died two days later of a -spear-thrust through the bowels; Ognund, Hakon's son, -never was able to use his right arm after that night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hardly a man of all the twenty that did not -for all the rest of his life bear upon his body the -marks of Grettir's death-fight. Still Grettir bore -up. He had with one arm caught Thorir, The -Hook's stoutest house-carle, around the throat, -while his other arm, that wielded his sword, hewed -and hewed and smote and thrust as though it would -never tire. Even above the din of the others rose -the clamour of Thorir's agony. Once again Grettir -cleared a space around him, and stood with -dripping sword, his left arm still crushing Thorir in -that awful embrace. Thorir was weaponless, his -face purple. No thought of battle was left in him, -and frantic, he stretched out a hand to his fellows, -his voice a wail:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Help me, Thorbjorn. He is killing me. For -Christ's sake——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Grettir's blade nailed the words within his -throat. The wretch slid to the ground doubled in -a heap, the blood gushing from his mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then those that yet remained alive, drawn off a -little, panting, spent, saw a terrible sight—the -death of Grettir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment in that flicker of fire he seemed -to grow larger. Alone, unassailable, erect among -those heaps of dead and dying enemies, his stature -seemed as it were suddenly to increase. He -towered above them, his head in swirls of smoke, the -great bare shoulders gleaming with his blood, the -long braids of yellow hair soaked with it. Awful, -gigantic, suddenly a demi-god, he stood colossal, -a man made more than human. The eyes of him -fixed, wide open, looked out into the darkness -above their heads, unwinking, unafraid—looked -into the darkness and into the eyes of Death, -unafraid, unshaken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There he stood already dead, yet still upon his -feet, rigid as iron, his back unbent, his neck proud; -while they cowered before him holding their -breaths waiting, watching. Then, like a mighty -pine tree, stiff, unbending, he swayed slowly -forward. Stiff as a sword-blade the great body leaned -over farther and farther; slowly at first, then with -increased momentum inclined swiftly earthward. -He fell, and they could believe that the crash -of that fall shook the earth beneath their -feet. He died as he would have wished to die, in -battle, his harness on, his sword in his grip. He -lay face downward amid the dead ashes of the -trampled fire and moved no more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-guest-of-honour"><em class="bold italics large">The Guest of Honour</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">PART ONE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The doctor shut and locked his desk drawer -upon his memorandum book with his right -hand, and extended the left to his friend -Manning Verrill, with the remark:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Manning, how are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were well, Henry," answered Verrill -gravely, "I would not be here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor leaned back in his deep leather chair, -and having carefully adjusted his glasses, tilted -back his head, and looked at Verrill from beneath -them. He waited for him to continue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's my nerves—I </span><em class="italics">suppose</em><span>," began Verrill. -"Henry," he declared suddenly leaning forward, -"Henry, I'm scared; that's what's the matter with -me—I'm scared."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scared," echoed the doctor, "What nonsense! -What of?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scared of death, Henry," broke out Verrill, -"scared </span><em class="italics">blue</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is your nerves," murmured the doctor. "You -need travel and a bromide, my boy. There's -nothing the matter with you. Why, you're good for -another forty years,—yes, or even for another fifty -years. You're sound as a nut. You, to talk about -death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've seen thirty—twenty-nine I should say, -twenty-nine of my best friends go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor looked puzzled a moment; then—"Oh! you -mean that club of yours," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Verrill, "Great heavens! to think -that I should be the last man after all—well, one -of us had to be the last. And that's where the -trouble is, Henry. It's been growing on me for -the last two years—ever since Curtice died. He -was the twenty-sixth. And he died only a month -before the Annual Dinner. Arnold, Brill, Steve—Steve -Sharrett, you know, and I—just the four,—were -left then; and we sat down to that big table -alone; and when we came to the toast of 'The -Absent Ones' ... Well, Henry, we were pretty -solemn before we got through. And we knew that -the choice of the last man,—who would face those -thirty-one empty covers and open the bottle of -wine that we all set aside at our first dinner, and -drink 'The Absent Ones,'—was narrowing down -pretty fine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Next year there were only Arnold and Steve, -and myself left. Brill—well you know all about his -death. The three of us got through dinner somehow. -The year after that we were still three, and -even the year after that. Then poor old Steve -went down with the </span><em class="italics">Dreibund</em><span> in the bay of Biscay, -and four months afterward Arnold and I sat down -to the table at the Annual, alone. I'm not going -to forget that evening in a hurry. Why, -Henry—oh! never mind. Then—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," prompted the doctor as his friend paused:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Arnold died three months ago. And the day -of our Annual—I mean my—the club's," Verrill -changed his position. "The date of the dinner, -the Annual Dinner, is next month, and I'm the only -one left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, of course, you'll not go," declared the -doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Verrill. "Yes, I will go, of -course. But—" He shook his head with a long -sigh. "When the Last Man Club was organised," -he went on, "in '68, we were all more or less -young. It was a great idea, at least I felt that way -about it, but I didn't believe that thirty young men -would persist in anything—of that sort very long. -But no member of the club died for the first five -years, and the club met every year and had its -dinner without much thought of—of consequences, -and of the inevitable. We met just to be sociable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold on," interrupted the doctor, "you are -speaking now of thirty. A while ago you said -thirty-one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know," assented Verrill, "There were -thirty in the club, but we always placed an extra -cover—for—for the Guest of Honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor made a movement of impatience. -Then in a moment, "Well," he said, resignedly, "go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's about the essentials," answered Verrill. -"The first death was in '73. And from that year -on the vacant places at the table have steadily -increased. Little by little the original bravado of -the thing dropped out of it all for me; and of late -years—well I have told you how it is. I've seen -so many of them die, and die so fast, so regularly—one -a year you might say,—that I've kept saying -'who next, who next, who's to go this year?' -... And as they went, one by one, and still I was -left ... I tell you, Henry, the suspense was, -... the suspense is ... You see I'm the last now, and -ever since Curtice died, I've felt this thing weighing -on me. </span><em class="italics">By God, Henry, I'm afraid; I'm afraid -of Death! It's horrible!</em><span> It's as though I were -on the list of 'condemned' and were listening to -hear my name called every minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, so are all of us, if you come to that," -observed the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know, I know," cried Verrill, "it is -morbid and all that. But that don't help me any. -Can you imagine me one month from to-morrow -night. Think now. I'm alone, absolutely, and -there is the long empty table, with the thirty places -set, and the extra place, and those places are where -all my old friends used to sit. And at twelve -I get up and give first 'The Absent Ones,' and then -'The Guest of the Evening.' I gave those toasts -last year, but there were two of us, then, and -the year before there were three. But ever since -Curtice died and we were narrowed down to four, -this thing has been weighing on me—this idea of -death, and I've conceived a horror of it—a—a -dread. And now I am the last. I had no idea -this would ever happen to me; or if it did, that it -would be like this. I'm shaken, Henry, shaken. -I've not slept for three nights. So I've come to -you. You must help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I will, by advising you. You give up the -idiocy. Cut out the dinner this year; yes, and for always."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand," replied Verrill, calmly. -"It is impossible. I could not keep away. I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> -be there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it's simple lunacy," expostulated the doctor. -"Man, you've worked upon your nerves over this -fool club and dinner, till I won't be responsible for -you if you carry out this notion. Come, promise -me you will take the train for, say Florida, -tomorrow, and </span><em class="italics">I'll</em><span> give you stuff that will make you -sleep. St. Augustine is heaven at this time of year, -and I hear the tarpon have come in. Shall—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand," he repeated. "You -simply don't understand. No, I shall go to the -dinner. But of course I'm—I'm nervous—a little. -Did I say I was scared? I didn't mean that. Oh, -I'm all right; I just want you to prescribe for me, -something for the nerves. Henry, death is a -terrible thing,—to see 'em all struck down, -twenty-nine of 'em—splendid boys. Henry, I'm not a -coward. There's a difference between cowardice -and fear. For hours last night I was trying to -work it out. Cowardice—that's just turning tail -and running; but I shall go through that Annual -Dinner, and that's ordeal enough, believe me. But -fear,—it's just death in the abstract that unmans -me. </span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> the thing to fear. To think that -we all go along living and working and fussing -from day to day, when we </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> that this great -Monster, this Horror, is walking up and down the -streets, and that sooner or later he'll catch us,—that -we can't escape. Isn't it the greatest curse in -the world! We're so used to it we don't realise -the Thing. But suppose one could eliminate the -Monster altogether. </span><em class="italics">Then</em><span> we'd realise how sweet -life was, and we'd look back at the old days with -horror—just as I do now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but this is rubbish," cried the doctor, -"simple drivel. Manning, I'm ashamed of you. I'll -prescribe for you, I suppose I've got to. But a -good rough fishing-and-hunting-trip would do more -for you than a gallon of drugs. If you won't go -to Florida, get out of town, if it's only over Sunday. -Here's your prescription, and </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> take a -Friday-to-Monday trip. Tramp in the woods, get tired, and -</span><em class="italics">don't go to that dinner</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand," repeated Verrill, as the -two stood up. He put the prescription into his -pocket-book. "You don't understand. I couldn't -keep away. It's a duty, and besides—well I -couldn't make you see. Good-by. This stuff will -make me sleep, eh? And do my nerves good, too, -you say? I see. I'll come back to you if it don't -work. Good-by again. </span><em class="italics">This</em><span> door, is it? Not -through the waiting-room, eh? Yes, I remember.... -Henry, did you ever—did you ever face -death yourself—I mean—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense," cried the doctor. -But Verrill persisted. His back to the closed -door, he continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> did. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> faced death once,—so you see I should -know. It was when I was a lad of twenty. My -father had a line of New Orleans packets and I -often used to make the trip as super-cargo. One -October day we were caught in the equinox off -Hatteras, and before we knew it we were wondering if -she would last another half-hour. Along in the -afternoon there came a sea aboard, and caught me -unawares. I lost my hold and felt myself going, -going.... I was sure for ten seconds that it was -the end,—</span><em class="italics">and I saw death then, face to face</em><span>!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I've never forgotten it. I've only to shut -my eyes to see it all, hear it all—the naked spars -rocking against the grey-blue of the sky, the wrench -and creak of the ship, the threshing of rope ends, -the wilderness of pale-green water, the sound of -rain and scud.... No, no, I'll not forget it. -And death was a horrid specter in that glimpse I -got of him. I—I don't care to see him again. -Well, good-by once more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by, Manning, and believe me, this is all -hypochondria. Go and catch fish. Go shoot -something, and in twenty-four hours you'll believe -there's no such thing as death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door closed. Verrill was gone.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">PART TWO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The banquet hall was in the top story of one of -the loftiest sky-scrapers of the city. Along the -eastern wall was a row of windows reaching from -ceiling to floor, and as the extreme height of the -building made it unnecessary to draw the curtains -whoever was at the table could look out and over -the entire city in that direction. Thus it was that -Manning Verrill, on a certain night some four -weeks after his interview with the doctor, sat there -at his walnuts and black coffee and, absorbed, -abstracted, looked out over the panorama beneath -him, where the Life of a great nation centered and -throbbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the unenlightened the hall would have -presented a strange spectacle. Down its center -extended the long table. The chairs were drawn up, -the covers laid. But the chairs were empty, the -covers untouched; and but for the presence of the -one man the hall was empty, deserted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the head of the table Verrill, in evening dress, -a gardenia in his lapel, his napkin across his lap, -an unlighted cigar in his fingers, sat motionless, -looking out over the city with unseeing eyes. Of -thirty places around the table, none was distinctive, -none varied. But at Verrill's right hand the -thirty-first place, the place of honour, differed from all -the rest. The chair was large, massive. The oak -of which it was made was black, while instead of -the usual array of silver and porcelain, one saw -but two vessels,—an unopened bottle of wine and a -large silver cup heavily chased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From far below in the city's streets eleven o'clock -struck. The sounds broke in upon Verrill's reverie -and he stirred, glanced about the room and then, -rising, went to the window and stood there for -some time looking out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At his feet, far beneath lay the city, twinkling -with lights. In the business quarter all was dark, -but from the district of theatres and restaurants -there arose a glare into the night, ruddy, vibrating, -with here and there a ganglion of electric bulbs -upon a "fire sign" emphasising itself in a whiter -radiance. Cable-cars and cabs threaded the streets -with little starring eyes of coloured lights, while -underneath all this blur of illumination, the people, -debouching from the theatres, filled the sidewalks -with tiny ant-like swarms, minute, bustling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farther on in the residence district, occasional -lighted windows watched with the street-lamps -gazing blankly into the darkness. In particular one -house was all ablaze. Every window glowed. No -doubt a great festivity was in progress and Verrill -could almost fancy that he heard the strains of the -music, the rustle of the silks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then nearer at hand, but more to the eastward, -where the office buildings rose in tower-like clusters -and somber groups, Verrill could see a vista of open -water—the harbour. Lights were moving here, -green and red, as the great hoarse-voiced freighters -stood out with the tide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And beyond this was the sea itself, and more -lights, very, very faint where the ships rolled -leisurely in the ground swells; ships bound to and -from all ports of the earth,—ships that united the -nations, that brought the whole world of living -men under the view of the lonely watcher in the -empty Banquet Hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill raised the window. At once a subdued -murmur, prolonged, monotonous,—the same murmur -as that which disengages itself from forests, -from the sea, and from sleeping armies,—rose to -meet him. It was the mingling of all the night -noises into one great note that came simultaneously -from all quarters of the horizon, infinitely vast, -infinitely deep,—a steady diapason strain like the -undermost bourdon of a great organ as the wind -begins to thrill the pipes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the stir of life, the breathing of the -Colossus, the push of the nethermost basic force, -old as the world, wide as the world, the murmur -of the primeval energy, coeval with the centuries, -blood-brother to that spirit which in the brooding -darkness before creation, moved upon the face of -the waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And besides this, as Verrill stood there looking -out, the night wind brought to him, along with the -taint of the sea, the odour of the heaped-up fruit -in the city's markets and even the suggestion of the -vegetable gardens in the suburbs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Across his face, like the passing of a long breath, -he felt the abrupt sensation of life, indestructible, -persistent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But absorbed in other things, Verrill, unmoved, -and only dimly comprehending, closed the window -and turned back into the room. At his place stood -an unopened bottle and a glass as yet dry. He -removed the foil from the neck of the bottle, but -after looking at his watch, set it down again -without drawing the cork. It lacked some fifteen -minutes to midnight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once again, as he had already done so many -times that evening, Verrill wiped the moisture from -his forehead. He shut his teeth against the slow -thick labouring of his heart. He was alone. The -sense of isolation, of abandonment, weighed down -upon him intolerably as he looked up and down the -the empty table. Alone, alone; all the rest were -gone, and he stood there, in the solitude of that -midnight; he, last of all that company whom he -had known and loved. Over and over again he muttered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All, all are gone, the old familiar faces." Then -slowly Verrill began to make the circuit of the -table, reading, as if from a roll call, the names -written on the cards which lay upon the -place-plates. "Anderson, ... Evans, ... Copeland,—dear -old 'crooked-face' Copeland, his camp companion -in those Maine fishing-trips of the old days, -dead now these ten years.... Stryker,—'Buff' -Stryker they had called him, dead,—he had -forgotten how long,—drowned in his yacht off the -Massachusetts coast; Harris, died of typhoid -somewhere in Italy; Dick Herndon, killed in a mine -accident in Mexico; Rice, old 'Whitey Rice' a suicide -in a California cattle town; Curtice, carried off by -fever in Durban, South Africa." Thus around the -whole table he moved, telling the bead-roll of -death, following in the footsteps of the Monster -who never relented, who never tired, who never, -never,—never forgot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His own turn would come some day. Verrill, -sunken into his chair, put his hands over his eyes. -Yes his own turn would come. There was no -escape. That dreadful face would rise again -before his eyes. He would bow his back to the -scourge of nations, he would roll helpless beneath -the wheels of the great car. How to face that -prospect with fortitude! How to look into those -terrible grey eyes with calm! Oh, the terror of -that gorgon face, oh, the horror of those sightless, -lightless grey eyes!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But suddenly midnight struck. He heard the -strokes come booming upward from the city streets. -His vigil was all but over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill opened the bottle of wine, breaking the -seal that had been affixed to the cork on the night -of the first meeting of the club. Filling his glass, -he rose in his place. His eyes swept the table, and -while for the last time the memories came thronging -back, his lips formed the words:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the Absent Ones: to you, Curtice, Anderson, -Brill, to you, Copeland, to you, Stryker, to -you, Arnold, to you all, my old comrades, all you -old familiar faces who are absent to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He emptied the glass, but immediately filled it -again. The last toast was to be drunk, the last of -all. Verrill, the glass raised, straightened himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But even as he stood there, glass in hand, he -shivered slightly. He made note of it for the -moment, yet his emotions had so shaken him during -all that evening that he could well understand the -little shudder that passed over him for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he caught himself glancing at the windows. -All were shut. The doors of the hall were closed, -the flames of the chandeliers were steady. Whence -came then this certain sense of coolness that so -suddenly had invaded the air? The coolness was -not disagreeable, but none the less the temperature -of the room had been lowered, at least so he -could fancy. Yet already he was dismissing the -matter from his mind. No doubt the weather had -changed suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the next second, however, another peculiar -circumstance forced itself upon his attention. The -stillness of the Banquet Hall, placed as it was, at -the top of one of the highest buildings in the city -was no matter of comment to Verrill. He was -long since familiar with it. But for all that, even -through the closed windows, and through the -medium of steel and brick and marble that composed -the building the indefinite murmur of the city's -streets had always made itself felt in the hall. It -was faint, yet it was distinct. That bourdon of -life to which he had listened that very evening was -not wholly to be shut out, yet now, even in this -supreme moment of the occasion it was impossible -for Verrill to ignore the fancy that an unusual -stillness had all at once widened about him, like the -widening of unseen ripples. There was not a -sound, and he told himself that stillness such as this -was only the portion of the deaf. No faintest -tremor of noise rose from the streets. The vast -building itself had suddenly grown as soundless as -the unplumbed depth of the sea. But Verrill shook -himself; all evening fancies such as these had -besieged him, even now they were prolonging the -ordeal. Once this last toast drunk and he was -released from his duty: He raised his glass again, -and then in a loud clear voice he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Gentlemen, I give you the toast of the evening.</em><span>" And -as he emptied the glass, a quick, light footstep -sounded in the corridor outside the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill looked up in great annoyance. The -corridor led to but one place, the door of the -Banquet Hall, and any one coming down the corridor -at so brisk a pace could have but one intention—that -of entering the hall. Verrill frowned at the -idea of an intruder. His orders had been of the -strictest. That a stranger should thrust himself -upon his company at this of all moments was exasperating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the footsteps drew nearer, and as Verrill -stood frowning at the door at the far end of the -hall, it opened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gentleman came in, closed the door, behind -him, and faced about. Verrill scrutinised him with -an intent eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was faultlessly dressed, and just by his -manner of carrying himself in his evening clothes -Verrill knew that here was breeding, distinction. -The newcomer was tall, slim. Also he was young; -Verrill, though he could not have placed his age -with any degree of accuracy, would none the less -have disposed of the question by setting him down -as a young man. But Verrill further observed that -the gentleman was very pale, even his lips lacked -colour. However, as he looked closer, he discovered -that this pallor was hardly the result of any present -emotion, but was rather constitutional.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment's silence as the two looked -at each other the length of the Hall; then with a -peculiarly pleasant smile the stranger came forward -drawing off his white glove and extending his hand. -He seemed so at home, so perfectly at his ease, and -at the same time so much of what Verrill was wont -to call a "thoroughbred fellow" that the latter -found it impossible to cherish any resentment. He -preferred to believe that the stranger had made -some readily explained mistake which would be -rectified in their first spoken words. Thus it was -that he was all the more non-plussed when the -stranger took him by the hand with words: "This -is Mr. Manning Verrill, of course. I am very glad -to meet you again, sir. Two such as you and I -who have once been so intimate, should never -forget each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill had it upon his lips to inform the other -that he had something the advantage of him; but at -the last moment he was unable to utter the words. -The newcomer's pleasure in the meeting was so -hearty, so spontaneous, that he could not quite -bring himself to jeopardise it—at the outset at -least—by a confession of implied unfriendliness; so -instead he clumsily assumed the other's manner, -and, though deeply perplexed, managed to attain -a certain heartiness as he exclaimed: "But you have -come very late. I have already dined, and by the -way, let me explain why you find me here alone, -in a deserted Banquet Hall with covers laid for so -many."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, you need not explain," replied the -stranger. "I am a member of your club, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A member of the club, this total stranger! Verrill -could not hide a frown of renewed perplexity; -surely this face was not one of any friend he ever -had. "A charter member, you might say," the -other continued; "but singularly enough, I have -never been able to attend one of the meetings until -now. Of us all I think I have been the busiest—and -the one most widely traveled. Such must be -my excuses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the moment an explanation occurred to Verrill. -It was within the range of the possible that -the newcomer was an old member of the club, some -sojourner in a foreign country, whose death had -been falsely reported. Possibly Verrill had lost -track of him. It was not always easy to "place" -at once every one of the thirty. The two sat down, -but almost immediately Verrill exclaimed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me, but—that chair. The omen would -be so portentous! You have taken the wrong -place. You who are a member of the club! You -must remember that we reserved that chair—the -one you are occupying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the stranger smiled calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I defy augury, and I snap my fingers at the -portent. Here is my place and here I choose to -remain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will," answered Verrill, "but it is a -singular choice. It is not conducive to appetite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Verrill," answered the other, "I shall -not dine, if you will permit me to say so. It is very -late and my time is limited. I can stay but a -short while at best. I have much to do to-night -after I leave you,—much good I hope, much good. -For which," he added rather sadly, "I shall -receive no thanks, only abuse, only abuse, my dear -Verrill." Verrill was only half listening. He was -looking at the other's face, and as he looked, he -wondered; for the brow was of the kind fitted for -crowns, and from beneath glowed the glance of a -King. The mouth seemed to have been shaped -by the utterance of the commands of Empire. -The whole face was astonishing, full of power -tempered by a great kindliness. Verrill could not -keep his gaze from those wonderful, calm grey -eyes. Who was this extraordinary man met under -such strange circumstances, alone and in the night, -in the midst of so many dead memories, and -surrounded by that inexplicable stillness, that sudden, -profound peace? And what was the subtle -magnetism that upon sight, drew him so powerfully to -the stranger? Kingly he was, but Verrill seemed -to feel that he was more than that. He was—could -be—a friend, such a friend as in all their -circle of dead companions he had never known. -In his company he knew he need never be ashamed -of weakness, human, natural, ordained weakness, -need not be ashamed because of the certainty of -being perfectly and thoroughly understood. Thus -it was that when the stranger had spoken the -words"—only abuse, only abuse, my dear -Verrill." Verrill, starting from his muse, answered -quickly: "What, abuse, you! in return for good! -You astonish me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Abuse' is the mildest treatment I dare expect; -it will no doubt be curses. Of all personages, -I am the one most cruelly misunderstood. My -friends are few, few,—oh, so pitiably few." "Of -whom may I be one?" exclaimed Verrill. "I -hope," said the stranger gravely, "we shall be the -best of friends. When we met before I am afraid, -my appearance was too abrupt and—what shall I -say—unpleasant to win your good will." Verrill -in some embarrassment, framed a lame reply; but -the other continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not remember, as I can easily understand. -My manner at that time was against me. -It was a whim, but I chose to be most forbidding -on that occasion. I am a very Harlequin in my -moods; Harlequin did I say, my dear fellow I am -the Prince of Masqueraders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a Prince in all events," murmured Verrill, -half to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prince and Slave," returned the other, "slave -to circumstance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are we not all—," began Verrill, but the -stranger continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Slave to circumstance, slave to time, slave to -natural laws, none so abject as I, in my servility. -When the meanest, the lowest, the very weakest -calls, I must obey. On the other hand, none so -despotic as I, none so absolute. When I summon, -the strongest must respond; when I command, the -most powerful must obey. My profession, my -dear Verrill, is an arduous one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your profession is, I take it," observed Verrill, -"that of a physician."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may say so," replied the other, "and you -may also say an efficient one. But I am always -the last to be summoned. I am a last resource; -my remedy is a heroic one. But it prevails—inevitably. -No pain, my dear Verrill, so sharp that -I cannot allay, no anguish so great that I cannot -soothe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then perhaps you may prescribe for me," said -Verrill. "Of late I have been perturbed. I have -lived under a certain strain, certain contingencies -threaten, which, no doubt unreasonably, I have -come to dread. I am shaken, nervous, fearful. -My own doctor has been unable to help me. Perhaps -you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger had already opened the bottle of -wine which stood by his plate, and filled the silver -cup. He handed it to Verrill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drink," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill hesitated:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this wine," he protested: "This cup—pardon -me, it was reserved—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drink," repeated the stranger. "Trust me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took Verrill's glass in which he had drunk -the toasts and which yet contained a little wine. -He pressed the silver cup into Verrill's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drink," he urged for the third time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill took the cup, and the stranger raised his -glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To our better acquaintance," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Verrill, at length at the end of all -conjecture, cried out, the cup still in his hand:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your toast is most appropriate, sir. A better -acquaintance with you, I assure you, would be most -pleasing to me. But I must ask your pardon for -my stupidity. Where have we met before? Who -are you, and what is your name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger did not immediately reply, but -fixed his grave grey eyes upon Verrill's. For a -moment he held his gaze in his own. Then as the -seconds slipped by, the first indefinite sense of -suspicion flashed across Verrill's mind, flashed and -faded, returned once more, faded again, and left -him wondering. Then as the stranger said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you remember,—it was long ago. Do you -remember the sight of naked spars rocking against -a grey torn sky, a ship wrenching and creaking, -wrestling with the wind, a world of pale green -surges, the gale singing through the cordage, and -then as the sea swept the decks—ah, you do remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For Verrill had started suddenly, and with the -movement, full recognition, complete, unequivocal, -gleamed suddenly in his eyes. There was a long -silence while he returned the gaze of the other, -now no longer a stranger. At length Verrill spoke, -drawing a long breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah ... it is you ... at last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verrill smiled:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> well, I had imagined it would be so -different,—when you did come. But as it is—," he -extended his hand, "I am very glad to meet you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I not tell you," said the other, "that of -all the world, I am the most cruelly misunderstood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you confessed to the masquerade."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, blind, blind, not to see behind the foolish -masque. Come, we have not yet drunk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He placed the cup in Verrill's hands, and once -again raised the glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To our better acquaintance," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To our better acquaintance," echoed Verrill. -He drained the cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lees were bitter," he observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the effect?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is calming—already, exquisitely so. It -is not—as I have imagined for so long, deadening, -on the contrary, it is invigorating, revivifying. I -feel born again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other rose: "Then there is no need," he -said, "to stay here any longer. Come, shall we be -going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, I am ready," answered Verrill. -"Look," he exclaimed, pointing to the windows. -"Look—it is morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Low in the east, the dawn was rising over the -city. A new day was coming; the stars were -paling, the night was over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," said Verrill's new friend. -"Another day is coming. It is time we went out to -meet it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They rose and passed down the length of the -Banquet Hall. He who had called himself the -great Physician, the Servant of the Humble, the -Master of Kings, the Prince of Masqueraders, -held open the door for Verrill to pass. But when -the man had gone out, the Prince paused a -moment, and looked back upon the deserted Banquet -Hall, lit partly by the steady electrics, partly by -the pale light of morning, that now began with -ever-increasing radiance to stream through the -eastern windows. Then he stretched forth his -hand and laid his touch upon a button in the wall. -Instantly the lights sank, vanished; for a moment -the hall seemed dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went out quietly, shutting the door behind him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And the Banquet Hall remained deserted, -lonely, empty, yet it was neither dark nor lifeless. -Stronger and stronger grew the flood of light that -burned roseate toward the zenith as the sun came -up. It penetrated to every corner of the room, and -the drops of wine left in the bottom of the glasses -flashed like jewels in the radiance. From without, -from the city's streets, came the murmur of -increasing activity. Through the night it had -droned on, like the low-pitched diapason of some -vast organ, but now as the sun rose, it swelled in -volume. Louder it grew and ever louder. Its -sound-waves beat upon the windows of the hall. -They invaded the hall itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the symphony of energy, the vast -orchestration of force, the pæan of an indestructible -life, coeval with the centuries, renascent, ordained, -eternal.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE THIRD CIRCLE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48620"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48620</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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