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diff --git a/48620.txt b/48620.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 04a1a0c..0000000 --- a/48620.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5999 +0,0 @@ - THE THIRD CIRCLE - - - - -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 Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. 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. - - - -Title: The Third Circle -Author: Frank Norris -Release Date: March 31, 2015 [EBook #48620] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD CIRCLE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - *THE THIRD CIRCLE* - - - BY - - FRANK NORRIS - - AUTHOR OF "THE PIT," "THE OCTOPUS," ETC. - - - INTRODUCTION BY - - WILL IRWIN - - - - LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY - 1909 - - - - - CHEAP EDITION - - - _Printed from electrotype plates - by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London._ - - - - - _*TABLE OF CONTENTS*_ - -The Third Circle -The House With the Blinds -Little Dramas of the Curbstone -Shorty Stack, Pugilist -The Strangest Thing -A Reversion to Type -"Boom" -The Dis-Associated Charities -Son of a Sheik -A Defense of the Flag -Toppan -A Caged Lion -"This Animal of a Buldy Jones" -Dying Fires -Grettir at Drangey -The Guest of Honour - - - - - _*Introduction*_ - - -It used to be my duty, as sub editor of the old San Francisco _Wave_, 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. - -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 _Wave_, and especially that part of the files -which preserved the early, prentice work of Frank Norris. - -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. - -It was a surpassing study of the novelist in the making. J. O'Hara -Cosgrave, owner, editor and burden-bearer of the _Wave_, 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 -_feuilleton_ fashion week by week--"Moran of the Lady Letty." A curious -circumstance attended the publication of "Moran" in the _Wave_. 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 _Maine_ was blown up February 14, 1898. In -the later chapters of "Moran," he introduced the destruction of the -_Maine_ as an incident! It was this serial, brought to the attention of -_McClure's Magazine_, which finally drew Frank Norris East. - -"The studio sketches of a great novelist," Gellett Burgess has called -these ventures and fragments. Burgess and I, when the _Wave_ 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 _Wave_. 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. - -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 _flaneur_ 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. - -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. - -WILL IRWIN. -March, 1909. - - - - - _*The Third Circle*_ - - -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. - -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.) - -"What a dear, quaint, curious old place!" exclaimed Miss Ten Eyck. - -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. - -"Might just as well be in China itself," he commented. - -"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." - -"I say, Harry (Miss Ten Eyck's first name was Harriett) let's have some -tea." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"There's that fortune-teller again," observed Hillegas, presently. -"See--down there on the steps of the joss house?" - -"Where? Oh, yes, I see." - -"Let's have him up. Shall we? We'll have him tell our fortunes while -we're waiting." - -Hillegas called and beckoned, and at last got the fellow up into the -restaurant. - -"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. - -"Part Chinaman, part Kanaka." - -"Kanaka?" - -"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. - -"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." - -"No fortune--tattoo." - -"Tattoo?" - -"Um. All same tattoo--three, four, seven, plenty lil birds on lady's -arm. Hey? You want tattoo?" - -He drew a tattooing needle from his sleeve and motioned towards Miss Ten -Eyck's arm. - -"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." - -"Let him do it on your finger, then. You never could wear evening dress -if it was on your arm." - -"Of course. He can tattoo something as though it was a ring, and my -marquise can hide it." - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -The merchant turned and looked at Hillegas over his spectacles. - -"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?" - -"Ahem!--well, yes--I--we are." - -"Without doubt--without doubt!" murmured the other. - -"I suppose you are the proprietor?" ventured Hillegas. - -"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." - -He spread a pile upon the counter, and selected one that was -particularly beautiful. - -"Permit me," he remarked gravely, "to offer you this as a present to -your good lady." - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -"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." - -"Hatchet-man?" said I. - -"No," answered Manning, spitting green; "he was a two-knife Kai-Gingh." - -"As how?" - -"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." - -"And Miss Ten Eyck was not so much as heard from again?" - -"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." - -"And the women?' - -"Lord! they're slaves--Ah Yee's slaves! They get the swift kick most -generally." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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?" - -Sadie shook her head. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Wait a minute," said I, my hand on Manning's arm. "How long have you -been living with Chinamen, Sadie?" - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't," answered Sadie. Suddenly her -head rolled upon her shoulder, her eyes closing. Manning shook her -roughly: - -"Let be! let be!" she exclaimed, rousing up; "I'm dead sleepy. Can't -you see?" - -"Wake up, and keep awake, if you can," said Manning; "this gentleman -wants to ask you something." - -"Ah Yee bought her from a sailor on a junk in the Pei Ho river," put in -one of the other women. - -"How about that, Sadie?" I asked. "Were you ever on a junk in a China -river? Hey? Try and think?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"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: - -"Say, how did I get that on me?" - -She thrust out her left hand, and I saw a butterfly tattooed on the -little finger. - - - - - _*The House With the Blinds*_ - - -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. - -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. - -About this "House With the Blinds" now. - -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. - -I have a very good friend who is a sailing-master aboard the "_Mary -Baker_," 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. - -The day before the "_Mary Baker_" 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. - -The story of "The House With the Blinds" begins here. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 "_Mary -Baker's_" 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 "_Mary Baker's_" 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. - -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: - -"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?" - -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. - -Now this is the mystery of the house with the blinds. - -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. - -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?" - -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." - -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." - -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? - - - - - _*Little Dramas of the Curbstone*_ - - -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: - -"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." - -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. - -"Your son is sick?" said I. - -"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." - -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---- - -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. - -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? - -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." - -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: - -"Ah, the dirty beasts of doctors--they robs us and impose on us and tell -us lies because we're poor!" - - * * * * * - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -"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." - -"No!" - -"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. - -"No!" - -"For the last time, will you come?" - -"No! No! No!" - -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. - -"For the last time, will you come with me?" - -"No!" - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - _*Shorty Stack, Pugilist*_ - - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"How do you feel, Shorty?" asked Miss Starbird. - -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. - -"I feel fit to fight the fight of my life," he alliterated proudly. -"I've trained faithfully and I mean to win." - -"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." - -"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." - -"My, itull be exciting!" exclaimed Miss Starbird. "I ain't never seen -anything like it. Oh, Shorty, d'ye think you'll win?" - -"I don't _think_ nothun about it. I know I will," returned Shorty, -defiantly. "If I once get in my left upper cut on him, _huh_!" and he -snorted magnificently. - -Shorty stayed and talked to Miss Starbird until ten o'clock, then he -rose to go. - -"I gotta get to bed," he said, "I'm in training you see." - -"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." - -"No, no," said Shorty, stoutly, "I don't want any." - -"Hoh," sniffed Miss Starbird airily, "you don't need to have any." - -"Well, don't you see," said Shorty, "I'm in training. I don't dare eat -any of that kinda stuff." - -"Stuff!" exclaimed Miss Starbird, her chin in the air. "No one _else_ -ever called my cooking stuff." - -"Well, don't you see, don't you see." - -"No, I don't see. I guess you must be 'fraid of getting whipped if -you're so 'fraid of a little salad." - -"What!" exclaimed Shorty, indignantly. "Why I could come into the ring -from a jag and whip him; 'fraid! _who's_ afraid. I'll show you if I'm -afraid. Let's have your potato salad, an' some beer, too. Huh! _I'll_ -show you if I'm afraid." - -But Miss Starbird would not immediately consent to be appeased. - -"No, you called it stuff," she said, "an' the superintendent said I was -the best cook in Placer County." - -But at last, as a great favour to Shorty, she relented and brought the -potato salad from the kitchen and two bottles of beer. - -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. - -"Well, don't they always fight with gloves?" called a voice from the -rear of the house. But the chairman ignored the interruption. - -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: - -"What's the matter? Hurry up, you fellows, McCleaverty's in the ring -already, and the crowd's beginning to stamp." - -Shorty rose and slipped into an overcoat. - -"All ready," he said. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -"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. - -"Up you go," said Billy Hicks, again. "No, not the fight yet, shake -hands first. Don't get rattled." - -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. - -"Time!" - -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. - -"Break!" - -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. - -What! Were they fighting already? This was the first round, of course, -somebody was shouting. - -"That's the stuff, Shorty." - -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. - -"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. - -"Give it to him, Shorty." - -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. - -"I'll knock him out yet," he muttered to himself. - -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. - -"_Break!_" - -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-- - -"_Time!_" - -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. - -"_Time!_" - -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. - -"Stay with um, Shorty." - -"That's the stuff, Shorty." - -He must be setting the pace, the house plainly told him that. He -stepped in again and cut loose with both fists. - -"_Break!_" - -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. - -"_Break!_" - -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. - -"He's got um going." - -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--" - -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." - -"Seven--eight--nine--" - -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. - -"_Time!_" - -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. - -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. - -"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--" - -"_Time!_" - -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." - -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. - -"_Break!_" - -The referee thrust himself between them, but instantly McCleaverty -closed again. Would the round _never_ 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. - -"Gimme that sponge." It was Billy Hicks voice. "He'll do all right -now." - -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. - -"Did I win?" he asked, getting on his feet. - -"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!" - - * * * * * - -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: - -"Quitter, oh, what a quitter!" - -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: - -"Didn't you promise to have this walk around with me?" he said -aggrievedly. - -"Well, did you think I was going to wait all night for you?" returned -Miss Starbird. - -As she turned from him and joined the march Shorty's eye fell upon her -partner. - -It was McCleaverty. - - - - - _*The Strangest Thing*_ - - -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. - -We came back from the Cape in _The Moor_, 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. - -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, _The Moor_ 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. - -"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. - -"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: - -"'What are ye doing there, friend?' He looked me over between -shovelfuls a bit, and then says: - -"'Oh, just setting out early violets;' and that shut me up properly. - -"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: - -"'All right, pardner!' - -"'I'm thinking your from the Stytes,' says I. - -"'Guess yes,' he says, and goes on digging. - -"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. - -"'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.' - -"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. - -"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.' - -"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. - -"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." - -Pretty soon the old gent brings up a sovereign and gives it to the -Harvard chap. - -"'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. - -"'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. - -"'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." - -"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?" - -"Ah, what was it?" said Miller. "I'll be damned if I know what it was. -I never knew, I never will know." - - - - - _*A Reversion to Type*_ - - -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. - -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. - -Paul Schuster had never heard anything of a grandfather. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -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: - -"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!" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Pull up!" Schuster was in the midst of the trail, his cheek caressing -the varnished stock. - -"Whoa! Steady there! What in hell----" - -"Pull up. You know what's wanted. Chuck us that brick." - -The superintendent chirped sharply to the horse, spurring with his left -heel. - -"Stand clear there, God damn you! I'll ride you down!" - -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. - -"I got you, all right!" - -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." - -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. - -Men coming over the trail from the Hill the next morning found the young -superintendent, and spread the report of what had befallen him. - - * * * * * - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"What was old Schuster up for?" I asked. - -"Highway robbery," said my friend. - - - - - *"*_*Boom*_*"* - - -San Diego in Southern California, is the largest city in the world. If -your geographies and guide-books and encyclopaedias 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. - -Incidentally corner lots are desirable. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -He stared at me wonderingly. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - - - - - _*The Dis-Associated Charities*_ - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Marseillaise_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Vin Ordinaire_ (tres 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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Ah, yes," exclaimed this farceur Leander, sanctimoniously, while I -stared, "that's the only thing worth while," and he sighed and wagged -his head. - -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. - -"It's the only thing," said Cluness, "that she can keep on her stomach." - -"She told you so?" asked Leander. - -"Yes, yes." - -"Well, she ought to know." - -We arrived at the Seven Houses and Cluness paused before the tallest and -dirtiest. - -"Here's where she lives; I'm going up for a few moments." - -"Have a drink first," suggested Leander, fixing his eyes upon the saloon -under the brick house. - -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. - -"Tut, tut," said Cluness, "poor fellow, blind, you see, what a pity, -I'll give him a quarter." - -"No, let me," exclaimed Leander. - -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. - -"What misery there is in this world," sighed Cluness as his eye fell -upon this latter, "one half the world don't know how--" - -"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. - -"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." - -"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, _I'll_ give 'em something. - -"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." - -I frowned at Leander when Cluness was gone. "Now what tom-foolery is it -this time?" said I. - -"Tom-foolery," exclaimed Leander, blankly. "It's philanthropy. By Jove, -here's another chap with his lamps blown out. Look at him." - -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. - -"Eins!" called the Dutchman to the Kanaka, as he sat down with the -lavender man and the Indian. "Eins--mit a hem sendvidge." - -"Excuse me," said Leander, coming up to their table. - -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: - -"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?" - -They caught on. - -"May God bless you, young man!" exclaimed the old lavender man. - -The Indian grunted expressively. - -The Dutchman twisted about in his place and shouted in the direction of -the bar: - -"Mek ut er bottle Billzner und er Gotha druffle, mit ein _im_-borted -Frankfooter bei der side on." - -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-- - -"Donner wetter," shouted the Dutchman, "genuch!" smiting the table with -his fist. - -The other subsided. The Kanaka woman turned to the Indian. - -"Whiskey," he grunted, "plenty whiskey, big beefsteak, soh," and he -measured off a yard on the table. - -"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." - -"I've _not_ 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. - -Cluness came in and beamed on them. - -"See how happy you've made them, Leander," he said gratefully. "They'll -always remember this night." - -"They always will," said Leander solemnly. - -"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. - -"I guess we two will stay," said I. Cluness left, thanking us again and -again. - -"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." - -"_I_," said Leander, blankly. "But I suppose I should expect to be -misjudged." - -Just then the Kanaka woman came over to give us our check. - -"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. - -After she left _us_, 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. - -"Four dollars, six bits," she announced. - -There was a silence, not one of the blind men moved. - -"Watch now," said Leander. - -"Four, six bits," repeated the Kanaka, her hand on her hip. - -Still none of the blind men moved. - -"Vail, den," cried the Dutchman, "vich von you two vellars has dose -money, pay oop. Fier thalers und sax beets." - -"I haven't it," exclaimed the lavender man, "Jim has it," he added, -turning to the Indian. - -"No have got, no have got," grunted the Indian. "_You_ have got, you or -Charley." - -I looked at Leander. - -"Now, what have you done?" - -For answer Leander showed me three five dollar gold pieces in the palm -of his hand. - -"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." - -I reached for my hat. - -"I'm going to get out of here." - -Leander pulled me back. - -"Not just yet, wait a few moments. Listen." - -"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 _you_ den, Meest'r Paites, dat hab dose finf -thalers?" - -"No have got," gurgled the Indian, swaying in his place as he canted the -neck of the whiskey bottle towards his lips. - -"I thought you had the money," protested Mr. Bates, the lavender man, -"you or Jim." - -"No have got," whooped the Indian, beginning to get angry. "Hug-gh! -_You_ got money. He give you money," and he turned his face towards the -Dutchman. - -"That's what _I_ thought," asserted Mr. Bates. - -"Tausend Teufels _no_," shouted the other. "I tell you _no_." - -"_You, you,_" growled the Indian, plucking at Mr. Bates' coat sleeve, -"you have got." - -"Yah, soh," cried the Dutchman, shaking his finger at the lavender man, -excitedly, "pay dose finf thalers, Meest'r Paites." - -"Pay yourself," exclaimed the other, "I haven't touched them. I'll be -_any_ name, I'll be _any_ name if I've touched them." - -"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. - -"It's der Indyun. It's Zhim. Get ut vrom Zhim." - -"Lie, lie," vociferated the Indian, "white man lie. No have got. _You_ -hav got, or _you_." - -"I'll turn my pockets inside out," exclaimed Mr. Bates. - -"Schmarty," cried the Dutchman. "Can I _see_ dose pocket?" - -"Thief, thief," exclaimed the Indian, shaking his long black hair. "You -steal money." - -The other two turned on him savagely. - -"There aint no man going to call me that." - -"Vat he say, vait, und I vill his het mit der boddle demolisch. Who you -say dat to, _mee_, or Meest'r Bates?" - -"Oh, you make me tired," cried the lavender man, "you two. _One_ of you -two, pay Missus Amaloa and quit fooling." - -"Come on," cried the Kanaka, "pay up or I'll ring for the police." - -"Vooling, vooling," shouted the Dutchman, dancing in his rage. "You -sheats Missus Amaloa und you gall dot vooling." - -"_Who_ cheats," cried the other two simultaneously. - -"Vail, how do _I_ know," yelled the Dutchman, purple to the eyes. "How -do _I_ know vich." - -The Kanaka turned to Leander. - -"Say, which of these fellows did you give that money to?" - -Leander came up. - -"Ah-h, _now_ we vill know," said the Dutchman. - -Leander looked from one to the other. Then an expression of perplexity -came into his face. He scratched an ear. - -"Well, I thought it was this German gentleman." - -"_Vat!_" - -"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 _you_," to the Indian. "But it _couldn't_ 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 _must_ 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." - -"Oh, I'll get it all right," returned the Kanaka, confidently. "Come -on, one of you fellows dig up." - -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. - -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. - -"Thief, thief." - -"Teef yourselluf, pay oop dose finf thalers." - -"No have got, no have got." - -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. - -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 _I'm_ shy four -dollars and six bits." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"I'll bet you felt better and happier for doing it." - -"Well, it did make me happy." - -"Of course, and those three fellows will never forget that night." - -"No, I guess they won't," said Leander. - - - - - _*Son of a Sheik*_ - - -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 Thevenot, you will the better understand -this.) - -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. - -And in the midst of it all,--we. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 Polytechnique; he had written -books that had been "_couronne par l'Academie_"; he had become -naturalised; he had been prominent in politics (no one can cut a wide -swath in Paris in anything without hitting against _la politique_;) 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 "_Sous-chef-des -bureaux-Arabes dans l'Oran_," 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. - -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." - -"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." - -"Yes," said Bab Azzoun, "but it is a narrow and a very selfish -patriotism." - -"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." - -"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 _country_ 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. - -"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." - -"Ah-h, _fichtre_!" exclaimed Santander, listlessly, throwing a cushion -at Bab Azzoun's head; "_va te coucher_. 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." ... - -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." - -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 _haik_ and _bournous_ 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. Thevenot 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _bournouses_, their long, thin, murderous rifle-barrels, -thundering and splashing past, while from the whole mass of them, from -under the shadow of every white _haik_, from every black-bearded lip, -was rolling their war-cry: "Allah, Allah-il-Allah!" - -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 -_boulevardier_ 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 _douars_ 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: - -"_Allah-il-Allah, Mohammed ressoul Allah._" - -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. - -And that was the last I ever saw of Bab Azzoun. - - - - - _*A Defense of the Flag*_ - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Mayflower_, -further back than which it is not necessary to go. - -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 _moujik_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"We don't allow no one up there without a permit," he answered. - -"I suppose," returned Shotover, "that you have the keys?" - -No answer. - -"You have the keys, haven't you--the keys to the door there at the foot -of the stairs?" - -"We don't allow no one to go up there without a permit. Didn't you hear -me before?" - -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." - -"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. - -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. - -"If you will come along with me now, sir," said the porter, "I'll open -the door for you." - -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. - -"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." - -"All right," answered Shotover, "I will," and he hugged the flag close -to him, going up the narrow stairs two at a time. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -When the door finally went down and the first man jumped in, Shotover -hit him. - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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). - -"He's dead on," said Shannon, turning to Shotover. "It's all ye kin do. -Yer're actin' agin the law." - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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: - -"_Now shoot!_" - -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 _what_ 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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -When the officers finally arrived, they made no distinction between the -combatants, but locked them all up under the charge of "Drunk and -Disorderly." - - - - - _*Toppan*_ - - -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. - -And he was hardly thirty. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -Through it all Toppan found time to revise his notes for his last -lecture, and to call upon Victoria twice a week. - -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. - -"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." - -After they had wrangled over this oft-mooted question they parted -coldly, and Toppan went away feeling aroused and unhappy. - -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 _Scientific Weekly_ -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?" - -While Bushby was fingering the leaves of the volume, Toppan caught sight -of his name on the leaf of the _Scientific Weekly_ 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: - -"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." - -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"-- - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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 _could_ die. For an hour he -led them steadily into the heart of the unknown: the twilight of the -unseen. Then he had an inspiration. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Two weeks later the Kamtchatka Expedition sailed with Bushby in command. -Toppan did not go; he was married to Victoria Boyden that Fall. - -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. - - - - - _*A Caged Lion*_ - - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -After this we had a clown-elephant, dressed in a bib and tucker and vast -baggy breeches--like those of a particularly big French _Turco_--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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -"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. - -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." - -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. - -"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. - -"When he stops that he'll spring," said Toppan, excitedly. - -"Bring a light, Jerry--quick!" came the tamer's voice. - -People were clambering to their feet by this time, talking loud, and we -heard a woman cry out. - -"Please keep as quiet as possible, ladies and gentlemen!" cried the -tamer; "it won't do to excite--" - -From the direction of the voice came the sound of a heavy fall and a -crash that shook the iron gratings in their sockets. - -"He's got him!" shouted Toppan. - -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. - -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 _rip, rip_ of the -cruel, blunt claws. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -_reata_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - -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." - -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 _Linoka-Noka_, 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--" - -His wife Victoria came out to us in evening dress. - -"Ah, Vic," said Toppan, jumping up, with a very sweet smile, "we were -just talking about your paper-german next Tuesday, and _I_ think we -might have some very pretty favours made out of white -tissue-paper--roses and butterflies, you know." - - - - - *"*_*This Animal of a Buldy Jones*_*"* - - -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 -_esquisse_ 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 _esquisse_ 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 "_Herald_" to "the brutal and -lawless students." - -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 "_aurait -affaire avec lui, oui, avec lui, cre nom!_" - -Heavens! No one _aimerait avoir affaire avec cette animal de_ 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. - -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. - -"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." - -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 _esquisses_ 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. - -All this by way of introduction. - -I wonder how many Julien men there are left who remember the _affaire_ -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. - -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. - -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. - -Now, Bouguereau had placed the _esquisse_ of "This Animal of a Buldy -Jones" fifth, the precedence over Camme. - -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. - -Camme was going on at a great rate. - -"_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._" - -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: - -"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!" - -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. - -"Now, we can't do that," said Adler; "these beastly continentals would -misunderstand. Can you shoot, Buldy Jones?" - -"Only deer." - -"Fence?" - -"Not a little bit. Oh, let's go and punch the wadding out of him, and -be done with it!" - -"No! No! He should be humiliated." - -"I tell you what--let's guy the thing." - -"Get up a fake duel and make him seem ridiculous." - -"You've got the choice of weapons, Buldy Jones." - -"Fight him with hat-pins." - -"Oh, let's go punch the wadding out of him--he makes me tired." - -"Horse" Wilson, who hadn't spoken, suddenly broke in with: - -"Now, listen to me, you other fellows. Let me fix this thing. Buldy -Jones, I must be one of your seconds." - -"Soit!" - -"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. _Sur le -terrain_, you will deliver these balls simultaneously toward each other, -repeating till one or the other adversary drops. Then honour can be -declared satisfied." - -"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." - -"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." - -"What's that?" - -"Tie your left wrists together, and fight with knives in your right -hand. That'll scare the tar out of him." - -And it did. The seconds had a meeting at the cafe of the _Moulin -Rouge_, 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. - -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. - -"How do you feel?" I whispered to our principal, as I passed the ball -into his hands. - -"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." - -"How's the ball?" - -"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." - -"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-- - -"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?" - -"I don't know yet. Maybe I'll let him have an up-shoot. Never make up -my mind till the last moment." - -"All ready, gentlemen!" said Roubault, coming up. - -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. - -"Play ball!" he muttered. - -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. - -"Fire!" cried "Horse" Wilson. - -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. - -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. - -"It is an in-curve!" exclaimed "Horse" Wilson in my ear. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -We never found it. - - - - - _*Dying Fires*_ - - -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. - -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 -Canon--showed interest in an environment made up chiefly of saloons. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 Canon; 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -There was no friend nearer than his native state on the other fringe of -the continent. He was fearfully alone. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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'?" - -"I have a sort of notion for one," hazarded the young man; and Conant -had demanded to hear it. - -Stammering, embarrassed, Overbeck outlined it. - -"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." - -And so the young fellow made his first step in New York. The very next -day he began his second novel. - -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." - -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. - -"Ah, one of the most exquisitely delicate allegories I've ever heard, -and so true--so 'in the tone'!" - -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. - -"How he understands women!" - -"Such _finesse_! More subtle than Henry James." - -"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." - -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: - - _The stalwart rain!_ - _Ah, the rush of down-toppling waters;_ - _The torrent!_ - _Merge of mist and musky air;_ - _The current_ - _Sweeps thwart my blinded sight again._ - - -"Ah!" exclaimed one of the audience, "see, see that bright green flash!" - -Thus in public. In private all was different. Walking home with one or -another of the set, young Overbeck heard their confidences. - -"Keppler is a good fellow right enough, but, my goodness, he can't write -verse!" - -"That thing of Miss Patten's to-night! Did you ever hear anything so -unconvincing, so obvious? Poor old woman!" - -"I'm really sorry for Martens; awfully decent sort, but he never should -try to write novels." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -But the New Bohemians could not abide this. - -"Not so much _faroucherie_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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 _dramatis personae_ were all -of the leisure class, opera-goers, intriguers, riders of blood horses, -certainly more refined than Lizzie Toby, biscuit-shooter, certainly more -_spirituelle_ 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. - -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 denouement. - -"I think you have found your _metier_, 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. _Je vous fais mes -compliments_. 'Renunciations' is a _chef-d'oeuvre_. 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'?" - -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! - -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. - -A fortnight after he had delivered the manuscript to Conant he presented -himself in the publisher's office. - -"I was just about to send for you," said Conant. "I finished your story -last week." - -There was a pause. Overbeck settled himself comfortably in his chair, -but his nails were cutting his palms. - -"Hastings has read it, too--and--well, frankly, Overbeck, we were -disappointed." - -"Yes?" inquired Overbeck, calmly. "H'm--that's too b-bad." - -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: - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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 _finesse_. 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. - -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. - -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. - -He tried to go back; he did in very fact go back to the mountains and -the canons 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - _*Grettir at Drangey*_ - - - *I* - - *HOW GRETTIR CAME TO THE ISLAND* - - -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. - -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. - -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 -_jokuls_. 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. - -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. - -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. - -"I see," answered Illugi, "only wrack and drift of wreck and streamers -of kelp, but we are close upon it." - -Then all at once Grettir threw the boat up into the wind, and shouted -aloud: - -"Look overhead! Quick! Above there! We are indeed close." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - *II* - - *HOW GRETTIR AND ILLUGI HIS BROTHER KEPT THE ISLAND* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Robber!" shouted the shepherds, "since when have you bought the island? -Show the title." - -For answer Grettir drew his sword from its sheath, and held it high. - -"That is my title," he cried. "When that you shall take from me, the -Island of Drangey is yours again." - -"At least render up our sheep," answered the shepherds. - -"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. - -The shepherds sailed back to the mainland, and could think of no way of -ridding the island of Grettir and his brother. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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! - - - *III* - - *OF THE WEIRD OF THURID, FOSTER-MOTHER TO THORBJORN HOOK* - - -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. - -"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. - -Another time The Hook hired a man named Hoering, 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. - -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. - -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. - -Then, though he was loath to visit the island again, she bade him man an -eight-oared boat and flit her out to Drangey. - -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. - -"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." - -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: - -"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." - -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. - -"An evil deed, brother," said Illugi. "Surely no good will come of -that." - -"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." - -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: - -"What work ye there, foster-mother?" - -"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. - -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. - -"It will come to shore," he said. - -"Ay, that I hope," said the witch; "to the shore of Drangey." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - - - *IV* - - *THE NIGHT-FLITTING OF THORBJORN HOOK* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"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." - -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. - -"Brother," cried Illugi, "have a heed what ye do!" - -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. - -"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. - -Grumbling, the thrall made his way to the ladder-head, and sat down -cursing. - -"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." - -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. - -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: - -"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?" - -"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." - -"A log, say you?" whispered The Hook. Then turning to a comrade: "Mark -you that, Hialfi Thinbeard." - -"A log cut with runes," insisted Noise. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - *V* - - *OF THE MAN-SLAYING ON DRANGEY* - - -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. - -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. - -"I think," said Grettir after a while, "that now I may sleep a little." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Something shocked heavily at the door of the hut, and the Outlaw stirred -uneasily, and his blue eyes opened a little. - -"It is only the old ram, brother," said Illugi. "He butts hard to get -in." - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"Who showed thee the way hither?" said Grettir quietly. - -"God showed us the way," The Hook made answer. - -"Nay, nay, it was the hag, thy foster-mother." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"Help me, Thorbjorn. He is killing me. For Christ's sake----" - -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. - -Then those that yet remained alive, drawn off a little, panting, spent, -saw a terrible sight--the death of Grettir. - -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. - -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. - - - - - _*The Guest of Honour*_ - - - *PART ONE* - - -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: - -"Well, Manning, how are you?" - -"If I were well, Henry," answered Verrill gravely, "I would not be -here." - -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. - -"It's my nerves--I _suppose_," began Verrill. "Henry," he declared -suddenly leaning forward, "Henry, I'm scared; that's what's the matter -with me--I'm scared." - -"Scared," echoed the doctor, "What nonsense! What of?" - -"Scared of death, Henry," broke out Verrill, "scared _blue_!" - -"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!" - -"I've seen thirty--twenty-nine I should say, twenty-nine of my best -friends go." - -The doctor looked puzzled a moment; then--"Oh! you mean that club of -yours," said he. - -"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. - -"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 _Dreibund_ 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--" - -"Well," prompted the doctor as his friend paused: - -"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." - -"And, of course, you'll not go," declared the doctor. - -"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." - -"Hold on," interrupted the doctor, "you are speaking now of thirty. A -while ago you said thirty-one." - -"Yes, I know," assented Verrill, "There were thirty in the club, but we -always placed an extra cover--for--for the Guest of Honour." - -The doctor made a movement of impatience. Then in a moment, "Well," he -said, resignedly, "go on." - -"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. _By God, Henry, I'm afraid; I'm afraid of Death! It's -horrible!_ It's as though I were on the list of 'condemned' and were -listening to hear my name called every minute." - -"Well, so are all of us, if you come to that," observed the doctor. - -"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." - -"So I will, by advising you. You give up the idiocy. Cut out the -dinner this year; yes, and for always." - -"You don't understand," replied Verrill, calmly. "It is impossible. I -could not keep away. I _must_ be there." - -"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 _I'll_ 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--" - -Verrill shook his head. - -"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. _That's_ the -thing to fear. To think that we all go along living and working and -fussing from day to day, when we _know_ 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. _Then_ we'd realise how -sweet life was, and we'd look back at the old days with horror--just as -I do now." - -"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 _do_ take a -Friday-to-Monday trip. Tramp in the woods, get tired, and _don't go to -that dinner_!" - -"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. _This_ door, is it? Not through the waiting-room, eh? -Yes, I remember.... Henry, did you ever--did you ever face death -yourself--I mean--" - -"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense," cried the doctor. But Verrill persisted. -His back to the closed door, he continued: - -"_I_ did. _I_ 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,--_and I saw death then, face to face_! - -"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." - -"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." - -The door closed. Verrill was gone. - - - *PART TWO* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Across his face, like the passing of a long breath, he felt the abrupt -sensation of life, indestructible, persistent. - -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. - -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: - -"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. - -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! - -But suddenly midnight struck. He heard the strokes come booming upward -from the city streets. His vigil was all but over. - -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: - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - -"_Gentlemen, I give you the toast of the evening._" And as he emptied -the glass, a quick, light footstep sounded in the corridor outside the -door. - -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. - -But the footsteps drew nearer, and as Verrill stood frowning at the door -at the far end of the hall, it opened. - -A gentleman came in, closed the door, behind him, and faced about. -Verrill scrutinised him with an intent eye. - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"Indeed, you need not explain," replied the stranger. "I am a member of -your club, you know." - -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." - -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: - -"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." - -But the stranger smiled calmly. - -"I defy augury, and I snap my fingers at the portent. Here is my place -and here I choose to remain." - -"As you will," answered Verrill, "but it is a singular choice. It is -not conducive to appetite." - -"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." - -"'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: - -"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." - -"But a Prince in all events," murmured Verrill, half to himself. - -"Prince and Slave," returned the other, "slave to circumstance." - -"Are we not all--," began Verrill, but the stranger continued: - -"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." - -"Your profession is, I take it," observed Verrill, "that of a -physician." - -"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." - -"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--" - -The stranger had already opened the bottle of wine which stood by his -plate, and filled the silver cup. He handed it to Verrill. - -"Drink," he said. - -Verrill hesitated: - -"But this wine," he protested: "This cup--pardon me, it was reserved--" - -"Drink," repeated the stranger. "Trust me." - -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. - -"Drink," he urged for the third time. - -Verrill took the cup, and the stranger raised his glass. - -"To our better acquaintance," he said. - -But Verrill, at length at the end of all conjecture, cried out, the cup -still in his hand: - -"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?" - -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: - -"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." - -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. - -"Ah ... it is you ... at last." - -"Well!" - -Verrill smiled: - -"It _is_ 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." - -"Did I not tell you," said the other, "that of all the world, I am the -most cruelly misunderstood?" - -"But you confessed to the masquerade." - -"Oh, blind, blind, not to see behind the foolish masque. Come, we have -not yet drunk." - -He placed the cup in Verrill's hands, and once again raised the glass. - -"To our better acquaintance," he said. - -"To our better acquaintance," echoed Verrill. He drained the cup. - -"The lees were bitter," he observed. - -"But the effect?" - -"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." - -The other rose: "Then there is no need," he said, "to stay here any -longer. Come, shall we be going?" - -"Yes, yes, I am ready," answered Verrill. "Look," he exclaimed, pointing -to the windows. "Look--it is morning." - -Low in the east, the dawn was rising over the city. A new day was -coming; the stars were paling, the night was over. - -"That is true," said Verrill's new friend. "Another day is coming. It -is time we went out to meet it." - -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. - -He went out quietly, shutting the door behind him. - - * * * * * - -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. - -It was the symphony of energy, the vast orchestration of force, the -paean of an indestructible life, coeval with the centuries, renascent, -ordained, eternal. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD CIRCLE *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48620 - -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(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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